Death by Ploot Ploot

“Pfft! I have no intention of doing anything he says. He has violated our bargain! All wagers are off. If he demands such things now– who knows what he will demand next?”

  An image of his arresting features flashed into her mind; those opaline eyes dilated with blazing passion as he stroked powerfully inside her. She shivered and felt the juncture between her legs dampen.

  “Mabel, send a message asking Lord Henry to come to me at once!”

  Mabel shook her head. “I can’t do that, missy. Hisself gave me strict instructions.” She waved her own letter under Ginny’s nose.

  “He did, did he? Good lord,” she fumed. “You’re not actually thinking of following that dribble?”

  “He’s the lord of the manor.” Mabel crossed her arms over her ample belly. “Wot would you suggest I do? Flaunt his orders and find meself out in the streets?”

  “Oh, hush, Mabel, you can always go to Lord Henry; but it won’t come to that, you see I have a cunning plan...”

  Mabel slapped her forehead. “Where have I heard that one before? Ah, I remember. ‘Twas when ye came up wit the plan ta marry the bloke in the first place.”

  She gave Ginny a searing look.

  “Hush.” Ginny waved her concerns away. “It will all be right as rain; you’ll see. Lord Henry will aid us, of course. He has an aunt in the Carolinas, if I recall.

  He will give us a letter of introduction. All we have to do is simply set sail for the colonies and visit with her until I reach my majority.”

  “The Carolinas? Are ye daft? Even if that harebrained idea worked, wot will ye do when ye reach your majority?”

  “I shall annul the marriage.”

  Mabel arched her brow. “A bit late for that, hmm?” She nodded toward the rumpled bed.

  Ginny flushed. “Well, I shall work something out with the bounder later. We can always live separately; I can see no reason why he would object to that.”

  “Ye can’t?” Mabel gestured pointedly at the bed again.

  Ginny shrugged. “Why would he? So we spent the night together. He spends his nights with many women.” A strange tightening formed in her throat at those words. “It won’t make a difference to him, once he gets past any pride involved.”

  Mabel tsk-tsked. “Are ye blind? Do ye not see how he looks at ye? He wants ye, Ginny. Like a man wants a woman. Like a husband wants a wife.”

  Was that true?

  No, Mabel did not know Tyler as she did. He was a libertine through and through. He did only what was expedient for him.

  “Never mind that; do as I say. Tell Lord Henry I will meet with him tonight at the prearranged place in the alley.”

  “I don’t know how I let ye talk me around to these things,” Mabel groaned.

  * * *

  Later that night when Ginny explained the situation to Henley he surprised her by insisting he accompany them to the colonies for protection.

  What protection a fop would give was anyone’s guess; she knew for a fact that Henley could not even shoot a pistol straight. But, she loved him for caring enough about them to insist in the first place.

  Ginny rather suspected that Henley did not want to be apart from them for so long, as they were all each of them really had.

  A few days later, Ginny informed Henley that she had already found a ship for their journey. She had discovered it quite by chance when she had gone to the docks looking for the next ship bound for the Carolinas.

  A seaman she happened upon in the street had overheard her inquiries and graciously told her of his own ship that was leaving for the colonies the very next morning. He said he would speak with his captain for her, as they occasionally took on passengers.

  If the man looked a bit scruffy and appeared rather crude, well, it was the docks. She followed him to the ship, which was moored in a rather dank area of town.

  The captain came out to meet her and although he seemed a bit sharp at first, he became very cordial once he discovered her business.

  “So ya wants ta come aboard me ship, does ya?”

  “If you are planning on sailing to the colonies soon, then yes, my good man.”

  “Ooh, the colonies, is it?” He gave the seaman who brought her to him a wink. “Aye, we’re headed there straightaway. Ya got a husband going wit ya?”

  “No, just my maid and my fellow cousin. We can pay you handsomely, I assure you.”

  The man rubbed his scraggily jaw. “Got no doubts ‘bout that. It’s just that we don’t take on many passengers– although ya can always have me cabin, if need be. There’s a smaller one wot connects to it for me cabin boy. If agreeable, y’ can give yer maid that.

  Yer cousin will have ta sleep standing up on deck.”

  “What? Oh dear that won’t do.”

  He gave a raspy snicker. “I’m jesting ya. There’s a small storage room for him. But I warn ya, the accommodations ain’t fancy.”

  She didn’t care about fancy; she just wanted to get as far and fast away from that cur of a husband as she could.

  “We will be fine.”

  “Good enough then.” He bowed rather smarmily to her. “Be ready to board by dawn. We sail on the tide.”

  They would have to pack in a hurry, but the next passenger ship wouldn’t leave for almost a month and that was too late. Tyler would be home by then. “We will do so,” she smiled brightly at the captain. “And what was your name, good sir?”

  “Captain Creaze, at your service.” He looked her up and down. “Willy Creaze. And this be the good ship Abernathy.”

  The good ship Abernathy had been named for her prior captain; a poor bloke what found his neck sliced one fine afternoon not too long after becoming Creaze’s partner.

  The late Mr. Abernathy now took his tea with Davy Jones.

  One imagines the cucumber sandwiches were rather soggy.

  Creaze watched the lovely young woman leave, then slapped his crewman heartily on the back.

  Luck this good didn’t happen often.

  He had already picked up the prize he was after, circumventing the Panther into the bargain. He would turn it over to the Lion but only for a pretty pence.

  And this fine young bit o’ muslin would be a perfect bed warmer once they got aways out to sea.

  Sweeter still, she’d be paying him for the privilege before he robbed her of everything. He would toss the cousin overboard and give the maid to his men for sport.

  And once he was done with the girl, he’d toss her as well.

  Dead pups didn’t yap.

  There was also a shipload of cargo from New Guinea that he intended to pick up and sell for a goodly sum– if enough of the wretches survived the hold of his ship for the journey. Creaze sighed, content.

  Some days it was a real pleasure to be rotten.

  He held his belly as he shook with mirth.

  And a black-toothed laugh it was.

  * * *

  Everything had gone exactly as Ginny planned.

  They had boarded the ship– a converted galley by the look of it– without incident. Despite his uncouth, greasy appearance, Captain Creaze had been surprisingly cordial, ushering her to her cabin himself, making sure they were all comfortably settled before they set sail.

  Only Henley had seemed uncomfortable, whispering to her that the crew seemed of a somewhat hostile nature. Ginny reassured him. “They are sailors; they are supposed to be a bit crude from what I’ve heard.”

  “Perhaps... But Ginny-love, do you think we should rethink this? For all his swaggering over the matter of Reggie, Lord Devon has been quite decent with us, considering. I think we should–”

  “Do not lose courage now, dear Henley. We are embarking on a new adventure.”

  “Hmm.” He was not totally convinced.

  Worse than that, Henley immediately caught a wretched case of mal-de-mer as soon as they set sail.

  The poor thing rushed off to his tiny cabin and hadn’t been seen since.

  Ginny said her goodnights to Mabel and turned d
own the lantern in her cabin. Standing by the small portal, she gazed out at the churning waters of the channel and swallowed. Had she done the right thing?

  She would never knowingly put Mabel and Henley in danger, no matter what dire straights she found herself in. She exhaled heavily. There did seem to be something odd about this crew and that slimy Captain made her uneasy.

  Perhaps she was imagining it?

  They had a later start than planned, and the ship hadn’t left the harbor until late in the afternoon. Soon, they would be in open waters.

  Perhaps she would feel better about this then.

  It had been a long, tiring day; she donned her white cotton nightrail and climbed into the bed. Mabel had changed the sheets for her– they did not dare use any of the ship’s linens. After the older woman had tidied up some, the bed was reasonably clean, though the rest of the cabin was unbearably grimy.

  No doubt Mabel would tackle that during the voyage.

  Ginny yawned. It would be bearable for the time they were on board. She only hoped the passage was a smooth one. Storms at sea were always a danger, and then they were the tales of those bloodthirsty pirates...!

  She shivered in the damp air, pulling the sheets up to her chin.

  Best not think of that. The chances of getting attacked were slim.

  She lowered the flame, but decided to leave the lamp burning low. Just the thought of pirates had unnerved her. To think not too long ago they were discussing this topic over dinner at Lord Gingridge’s...

  She never would have imagined that she would soon be traveling herself. She had never even sailed before!

  Ginny slowly drifted off to sleep with the rocking of the boat.

  PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

  “Methinks I am Coshed By Mme. Passion’s Sweet Bludgeon (or a bit of bad syllabub)”

  Where am I? As I mentioned in my last posting to you, dear readers, there has recently been a successful assault on my stalwart sensibilities involving a knowledgeable member of the set. My better judgment against this baser deed is worse implied. I am afraid I rather enjoyed it. What has become of your faithful servant, you ask? Sink me, I am lured...

  –Sir R. Moore In my defense, let me first say that Tyler Devon is a very beautiful man. What we shared that night was quite extraordinary. But, you see, once I had tasted the sweet elixir of independence, of charting the course of my own destiny, there was no going back for me. Of course, my "husband" did not quite see it that way...

  PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

  Chapter Nineteen

  Off the coast of Cornwall, England “Wot will ye do, Capt’n?”

  Cappy stared anxiously at the Panther, his hands squeezing the moldy cap he had just whipped off his head. A few wisps of straggly hair fluttered in the sea breeze, giving him a harried expression. The small rowboat he had sent to shore had just returned, and the news was not good.

  They were too late.

  Creaze had already snatched the package and set sail.

  Tyler’s nostrils flared in annoyance. It had been difficult enough to secure the item initially; he should have known that blighter Creaze would try to undermine him! In a way, he was surprised; he didn’t think the slimy goat had it in him especially after he had warned the bastard against crossing him.

  Lion’s ancestral ring had no value to anyone but the Lion. Creaze was foolishly going to try to leverage his position with one of the most fearsome pirates on the seas.

  Now there would be a price to pay.

  Tyler could give two figs about Creaze– the blackhearted slaver deserved whatever he got– but he did care about the Lion. He had given his word that he would safeguard the heirloom.

  The Panther ground his teeth together. Creaze had better start looking over his shoulder because he was coming for him.

  Cappy cleared his throat. “The lads did manage to find out something else, sir.”

  “What?” he snapped.

  “One of the dockworkers overheard Creaze’s crew saying they were heading back to port London for supplies before they picked up their usual cargo and crossed the Atlantic.” Cappy spit over the ship's rail. “Y’

  know what his ‘usual’ cargo is– He’s a filthy trafficker, he is. Can’t stands him and his ilk. D’ ye think we could catch ‘im?”

  A nasty smile spread across the pirate captain’s face. “Oh, I think we could give it a try.” He shouted out a command to his sailingmaster on the quarterdeck.

  “Hallows, set a course back to Londontown, full sail.”

  “Aye, aye, Capt’n!” The crew cheered and immediately began scurrying across the decks as the ship turned to the wind. A well-trained lot, they went about their jobs with streamlined efficiency. It was what kept them alive time after time.

  If he figured it just right, he had a chance to catch up with Creaze after he outfitted in London. The wily trafficker wouldn’t hang around port any longer than he had to– not with a potential cargo waiting on him. “We’ll intercept that scurvy chum bucket before he reaches the open lanes of the Atlantic, mark my words,” he promised his quartermaster.

  Cappy gave a mostly toothless grin. “I likes that, Capt’n. Never cared for that one. I think it is time Creaze met me Betsy.” The old pirate withdrew his cutlass.

  “Betsy, let me introduce you to Creaze,” he slashed the air.

  A couple of sailors, swinging in the rigging above laughed heartily.

  “Invite him to dance, Betsy,” one hollered down.

  “Aye, take him in yer lovin’ embrace,” yelled the other.

  The crew on deck roared with laughter.

  Their captain chuckled dryly. “T’would be a pretty sight.”

  Cappy smacked a kiss on the flat of the blade before returning it to its scabbard. “Arrgh, it would.”

  “Y’ hear that, Mr. Hallows?” The Panther called out.

  “Betsy has a rendezvous; make haste!”

  Hallows covered his heart with a palm. “Aye, being of a romantic nature meself, I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of such a fine love affair.” The crew guffawed.

  The captain swept off his kerchief, giving a courtly bow to the ‘lovely’ Betsy as the Chameleon sailed back out to open sea.

  * * *

  A full moon lit their way the night they spotted Creaze’s ship.

  Tyler snickered as he stood near the helm, feet spread, hands on hips, as the wind ruffled his hair, lifting strands in the breeze.

  The Chameleon was a brigantine that had been redesigned to carry four extra canons, bringing its total number to fourteen. It also carried several twenty-four-pound carronades and two nine pounder guns along with a crew of sixty-five bloodthirsty men. Tyler preferred the brigantine to other ships. Unlike most pirates his aim was not to take a swift prize and run; it was to engage and sink his opponent.

  They were pirates that sailed on a true fighting ship.

  He was very familiar with the routes Creaze preferred, having secretly tagged his ship out of London on two separate occasions on other matters.

  The Abernathy was just reaching open shipping lanes outside the channel. If the Chameleon had been a shade slower (or Pratt hadn’t given him the letter when he did) he may have had to hunt down the slaver all the way to West Indies. He made a mental note to reward Pratt for his good service.

  Ordinarily, Tyler would have waited until the moon set to attack under cover of complete darkness. In this case, it would not be necessary. Like all slimes, Creaze was a coward. If he could not send others to do his dirty work, he would not be willing to take much of a risk. The Lion’s ring wasn’t worth dying for; Creaze would never take on the Chameleon and her crew.

  Tyler knew that they would board the Abernathy without a fight.

  Standing atop the quarterdeck, he watched his prey through a spyglass. “Steady as she goes, Mr. Hallows.”

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  The Chameleon’s crew awaited the signal to board with bated breath, hoping there would at least be a little
bit of mayhem for all their trouble. Perhaps a nice slice or two.

  “Can we at least lop off a few ears, Cap’n?” Hack put in a plea. “Just as a by-your-leave gesture of good will?”

  The Panther arched a brow at the crewman. “I’ll assess the situation.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm.

  They do owe us something for the trouble they’ve caused us... ”

  Low murmuring ensued, the tone agreeing with their fine captain.

  Tyler carefully observed the Abernathy through the lens. Appearances to the contrary, it was always best to have a care.

  Especially when it came to a backstabber like Creaze.

  “She may run a bit when we strike our colors. Be prepared, Cappy.”

  “Me and Betsy are always prepared, sir.” Cappy patted his scabbard. “’Tis how we grow old together.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Wind is changing a bit, Capt’n,” Hallows muttered.

  “Raise the lateen sails,” Tyler ordered.

  Several crew members scurried up the rigging to unfurl the sails.

  “We’re gaining on him, Capt’n.” Cappy raised his own spyglass.

  “Strike the colors, Cappy.”

  Cappy grinned a toothless grin. This was his favorite part of a raid, when the excitement of a good ransacking kissed the air. “Strike the mark of the Panther!” he called out.

  The Chameleon’s version of the jolly roger was hoisted:

  a skeletal cat’s claw amid cross bones on a blood red background.

  No need to be silent now. The crew gave a bloodthirsty yell as the ship surged forward after its prey.

  * * *

  As Tyler predicted, the Abernathy was boarded with neither blade nor pistol lifted.

  He had not even fired a warning shot; his jolly roger had been enough to instill prudence in the trafficker.

  Grappling hooks were thrown, and the Panther and his men vaulted onto the deck of the other ship.

  The Panther landed right before Creaze, who had come onto the main deck to nervously await the pirate's arrival.

  “P-Panther, this is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”