Rourke struggled to rein in his temper at the mate’s false accusation. “Search my ship for what you say you’ve lost. If you find it, it’s not only yours but I’ll pay half its value to compensate for the theft.”
To Rourke’s surprise, Captain Cross took his side. “See, Mr. Buetsch? No one took the brooch. Why would they?”
“A brooch?” Rourke echoed. “I would have noticed jewelry. What does it look like?”
“It bears my sweetheart’s initial, a script H.”
“I haven’t seen it, but you can search this ship.” Rourke spread wide his arms. “I know of no man aboard my vessel with a wife or fiancée whose name begins with the letter H.”
“A man might not care about the initial when the piece is made of gold and rubies,” the first mate countered.
That surprised Rourke. No mate aboard a merchant vessel made enough to afford the brooch he’d described. “Did you commission it, or is it an heirloom?”
Mr. Buetsch shuffled his feet. “No, I purchased it, but it’s mine, and it’s gone. How do I know you’re going to search thoroughly?”
Cross stepped in before the mate’s temper escalated. “With Captain O’Malley’s permission, Mr. Poppinclerk will conduct the search.”
Rourke didn’t relish the thought of Poppinclerk rummaging through his cabin. “My mate will assist him.”
Poppinclerk’s grin faded, for John was much larger and stronger.
“Very well, then,” Cross said. “We have a ship to salvage before she sinks any lower. Mr. Buetsch, ready the crew. Captain O’Malley, my men are at your disposal.”
From what John had told Rourke, the ship had settled on an outcropping. A change of wind or wave direction could send it hurtling into the deep water that ran along the outside of the reef. If that happened, they would have to abandon the wreck, along with whatever the master had gone to find and the mate’s prized brooch.
At least the ache and sweat of hard labor would shove all thoughts of Elizabeth Benjamin from his head. A wise man would forget her, but she had come back from Charleston more beautiful than the finest jewel. The time away had created a reserve in her that hadn’t been there before, but the passion could not be gone. Elizabeth Benjamin had more spirit than any woman he’d ever met. No, he could not forget her. But could he win her hand? First he must win over Charles Benjamin. And for that, he needed a healthy stake to start a business ashore.
As the sun sank low in the sky, the breeze died. Rourke’s men quickly rowed the boat across the gap between the ships. First Rourke would assess the state and quantity of cargo that could be salvaged, and then he would bring the Windsprite alongside for off-loading.
When the boat bumped against the wreck, Rourke scampered up the rope ladder that still dangled off the larboard side. Navigating the deck was just as tricky as during the storm. The slanted planking was still soaked and slippery as soap. Rourke used the same rescue line he’d strung earlier to keep his balance.
If the prior movement of the Victory’s crew was a good indicator, they had gone directly to the great cabin. Whatever they wanted was either inside it, on the deck below, or sitting on the bottom of the sea. With the chasm looming off the starboard side, it would have been easy to dispose of unwanted cargo. If that cargo had tumbled onto the reef, Rourke would find it. If it had fallen into the depths, no one would see it again.
“Don’t you want to look in the holds?” the master called out to Rourke.
“Do you have all your personal effects?” Rourke countered.
Cross nodded. “Nothing’s left in the cabins.”
Rourke would get nowhere under the man’s watch. “Good. Show the way.”
After a deckhand from the Victory broke open the hatch cover, Rourke heard the splash of surging water. John had correctly stated the extent of the damage. Rourke swung the lantern over the hold. Unfortunately, the master hadn’t exaggerated when he described the contents. Bolts of muslin sat atop bags of rice. The salt water had swelled the grain, causing the bags to split. Seawater lapped at the muslin.
Rourke groaned. The cloth could be salvaged, but it was a small percentage of the cargo. Unless he could discover what the master had tried to retrieve, this salvage would not set him up as a merchant.
The trunks did not arrive until after Elizabeth had bathed away the salt and was nestled in her old dressing gown. Her trunk stayed in the cookhouse since everything inside was wet. Anabelle sent the salt-stained mourning gown downstairs with Florie to add to the laundry.
Elizabeth eyed the bed. “Since I don’t have a proper gown, perhaps Cook will send supper to my room. I could sleep for days.”
“You know your father won’t stand for that.” Anabelle swung open the doors of the wardrobe.