Rourke wished he could believe that. Charles Benjamin had a way of forcing information out of a grown man, not to mention someone Tom’s age. Whether by threat or enticements, Benjamin could pry open the deepest recesses of a man’s heart.
“God will be with him,” Rourke said, mostly to convince himself. “He has to be.”
Surely God would aid a man acting in righteousness. The Bible was filled with examples. He had directed Gideon into battle against the Midianites. He had protected David from King Saul’s jealous wrath. Rourke’s small act would not change a nation, but it would save two precious souls. He hoped that would be enough to attract God’s protection.
The moon sat atop the mangroves now. Not a breath of breeze rustled the leaves. Soon the moon would slip behind the trees, casting their cove in darkness. Rourke took one last look at the channel mouth.
Nothing.
No boat. No splash of oars. No croak of an egret, their agreed-upon signal.
Rourke collapsed the spyglass and stuck it in his coat pocket. “God be with you, Tom Worthington.”
As if in response, the splash of oars sounded across the still waters.
Rourke motioned for John to stand still. He held his breath, every muscle taut.
There it was again. Splash. Splash. Splash. The regular rhythm could only belong to a strong and experienced rower.
He listened for the egret call but heard only silence. Even the splashing had stopped.
Was it Worthington or had the young crewman been intercepted? If the latter, the Windsprite was trapped. The cut had only one way out. Rourke should have known better than to choose a cut over a channel, but he’d thought the unconventional choice would throw off the curious or the vengeful.
He might have thought wrong. Rourke instinctively reached for his cutlass. It would do him no good against firepower, but he might stand a chance in hand-to-hand combat.
The whites of John’s eyes vanished when Rourke shuttered the lantern. His chief mate crouched behind the deckhouse, also with cutlass in hand.
Rourke did not move a muscle. Every sense was trained on the entrance to the channel, where the splashing sound drew closer.
Soon they would know if they’d been betrayed. Rourke tightened his grip and lifted the blade.
Kaw-roak.
The deep croak of the great egret sounded across the water.
Worthington. Rourke relaxed. John, however, stayed crouched behind the deckhouse. This could still prove a trap. Rourke raised the cutlass again.
By now, the mangroves cast the Windsprite in complete darkness. The moonlight spread a silver veil across the sea outside the channel entrance. A foe would cling to the shadows. Worthington would push into the light to announce his presence. Unless he’d been followed.
Again came the call of the egret. Rourke echoed it this time. The splashing increased in frequency, and soon a dinghy bearing a single man popped into the light outside the channel mouth.
Tom. Rourke set down his cutlass and hurried to the ship’s side to help the lad aboard. As the boat drew near, he whistled and drew an answering whistle.
“Hey-ho,” Worthington called out. “One to board.”
Even John dropped his cutlass.
“You weren’t seen or followed?” Rourke asked as he opened the shutter on the lantern.
“Nay, Captain.” Worthington scurried up the rope ladder. “No one saw me leave town or the island.”
“De message?” John asked eagerly. “She get it?”
Even in the dim light of the lantern, Rourke could see Tom’s shoulders droop.
“I couldn’t get to her. I waited, like you said, until the servants retired to quarters, but Anabelle never went near the gate. I waited until the last light went out in the house and the servants’ quarters got quiet. That’s why I was late. It took a long time for their guest to leave.”
“Guest?” Rourke asked.
“Red-faced man with a pointed nose and a green waistcoat. He didn’t leave Miss Elizabeth’s side.”
Finch. Charles Benjamin had wasted no time setting the man on Elizabeth. “Did she respond to his attentions?”
Tom shrugged. “She looked at her plate mostly, though she didn’t eat much. She left the table first, and they all went somewhere I couldn’t see.”
That did not bode well.
“But she didn’t join him on the porch when he left,” Tom added.
Rourke clung to that shred of hope, foolish though it was. How could he expect Elizabeth to fend off a full year of pressure from her father and Finch? “Were you able to get the letter to her?”
Worthington brightened. “Aye, Captain. Saw her in town with her friend Miss Brown earlier in the day and gave it to her then.”
Rourke breathed in with relief. Maybe there was hope after all. “Did she open it?”
“I didn’t stay. I figured she wouldn’t read it until she was alone.”
“You’re probably right.” He wished he could have known if his few words had given her hope.
“How we reach Anabelle?” John’s voice trembled.
Rourke chastised himself for dwelling on Elizabeth when greater troubles lay ahead. “Anabelle is shrewd. She knows where to go. She’ll be there as planned. We have to believe that.”