“In the grogshop?”
Poppinclerk brushed the reference to his drinking habits away as easily as the gnat that landed on his coat sleeve. “You seem to think I’m your enemy.”
“You lied in your statement to the court.”
“Now, now. That’s such a harsh word for a simple difference of perspective.”
Rourke halted. “Difference of perspective? You said I led you onto the reef, when in fact your incompetence drove it aground.”
Poppinclerk had the gall to look affronted. “I saw a light and thought your vessel was safely outside the reef.”
“That is why you’re a menace to every vessel you board,” Rourke muttered as he hurried on, hoping to shake the man.
Poppinclerk caught up. “In the spirit of camaraderie, I’m going to ignore that statement. In fact, I sought you today because I want to do you a favor.”
That startled Rourke into stopping again. “What favor?”
Poppinclerk was breathing so heavily that he could not speak for some moments. After glancing about, as if afraid someone would overhear, he whispered, “Your enemy knows.”
Rourke had no patience for cryptic warnings. “Speak plainly. What enemy? Knows what?”
“Who opposes you in wreckers’ court?”
Charles Benjamin. There could be no doubt. “What of him?”
“He knows your plans.”
Rourke’s blood ran cold.
“What plans?” he snapped. The man couldn’t possibly know that he intended to spirit Anabelle away from her master.
Poppinclerk’s malevolent grin confirmed Rourke’s worst fears. “No need for secrets between old friends. We both want the same end.”
Poppinclerk wouldn’t care about a slave. Unless it made him money.
“What end is that?” Rourke asked.
“Our fair share.”
“That is settled now that the libel has been dropped.”
“I’m not talking about a wrecking award. I have information of value to you, information that will give you what you want most.”
Elizabeth. The man must be talking about her, not Anabelle. How could Poppinclerk know anything that would make her his? Did he have proof of some scandal lurking in Benjamin’s past? Rourke shook his head. Though tempting, such information would only divide father from daughter and the bearer of the news from the hearer. A strong and honest marriage could not be built on division.
“If you expect me to give you a cent for this supposed information, you’re mistaken.” Rourke headed back toward the harbor. He could not walk to Elizabeth’s house now.
Naturally Poppinclerk joined him, though he did not comment on the change of direction. “I’m trying to help you,” he panted. “A gift.”
Poppinclerk gave nothing away. His recent antics showed he would do anything for a price. No doubt he expected substantial payment for the kind of information that could destroy a family. Rourke wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction.
“I don’t need your kind of gift.”
“You will soon regret that decision.” Poppinclerk straightened his coat. “Your enemy has not played his last card.”
Benjamin must have guessed Rourke’s plan or thought he would steal away his daughter. Dread shivered down Rourke’s spine. For a moment he was tempted to accept Poppinclerk’s offer, but he would not deal with a cheat and scoundrel.
He walked away, certain of what he must do next. Instead of finding excuses to stay in Key West, he must leave. After collecting his share from the sale of the wreck’s cargo, he would set sail as if heading for home. That might convince Benjamin that Rourke had no intention of spiriting away Elizabeth. However, Anabelle might fear he’d abandoned her, especially when she heard that he had headed for Harbour Island.
Somehow he had to get a message to her. He couldn’t do it himself. Benjamin would be looking for him. No, he had to send someone else.
The Windsprite bobbed on her anchor. The ship’s boat inched toward the wharf with Tom Worthington at the oars. Tom had brought Anabelle to Key West aboard the Dinah Hale. She would recognize him, and no one in the house would think twice of him inquiring after their welfare.
Rourke would send Tom. The lad could even deliver a second message to Elizabeth, one that Rourke hoped would bring her back to his side.
Caroline called on Elizabeth the following day, creating a welcome diversion from the sickening knowledge that she had an illegitimate sibling. She hadn’t been able to look Father in the eye at supper last night, a fact that he noticed. When he asked what was ailing her, she complained of a headache, though it was only partly true. Every part of her ached from the knowledge. This morning she’d hidden the diary beneath the shells in her rosewood box and vowed never to open it again.