A Buccaneer at Heart

  His expression close to a sneer, the lad stepped back, then turned away. “No point trying to ’elp those as is determined to be blind.”

  Aileen watched him go. After a moment, she murmured, “No point trying to convince those blinded by hope to see.”

  “Indeed.” Frobisher glanced down at her.

  She felt his gaze traveling over her face.

  When she finally gave in and glanced up, he met her eyes. “It’s past noon. There was a cafe just outside the slum, near where we told Dave to meet us later. Why don’t we go there and discuss our next move?”

  She realized she was hungry. She nodded and turned to walk back along the beach.

  Frobisher fell in beside her. After a moment, as if reading her mind, he murmured, “In circumstances such as these, replacing blind hope with a more healthy fear isn’t something that can be readily achieved—certainly not in a few days. Trying to convince those children that the men who come for them are evil and should be avoided will simply cast us as people to be disbelieved, avoided, and possibly even feared.”

  Reluctantly, she nodded. “Whoever they are, the men have gained the children’s trust. Us walking up and telling them that those particular men are untrustworthy isn’t going to help.”

  A few paces later, she put the feeling circling through her brain into words. “Kidnapping—simply seizing the children and carting them off—would have been bad enough. This—this preying on their innocent dreams, using those dreams against them—is worse.”

  Robert didn’t disagree. He looked ahead, then touched her arm and steered her up the sand toward the end of the main alley. “As far as I can see, the only way we can help those children and keep them out of the slavers’ clutches—and if God smiles, get the others back, too—is to finish this mission with all speed and take the information back to London so that the next stage can be launched.”

  He glanced down and met her eyes—saw and recognized the fierce light shining in them. “We’ll do what we can, as fast as we can.”

  Her lips firmed. She nodded and lengthened her stride. “Let’s find that cafe and decide what to do next.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Robert was happily surprised to discover that Miss Hopkins—Aileen—wasn’t wary over trying unusual foods. The little cafe they stepped into, close by the spot at which Dave was to meet them, served a local version of Mediterranean-style snacks, some of which were spicy, although everything smelled delicious.

  Wrapped in the cool shadows enveloping the counter of the small eatery, they perched on high stools, and apparently relaxed and animated, Aileen chatted with the proprietress over which of her many dishes she would recommend.

  Once the middle-aged woman had filled plates for them both and they settled to eat, between bites, Robert asked, “Have you traveled before?”

  His thorn—not so much of an irritant today—looked at him as if that was a foolish question. “Of course.” After swallowing another mouthful, she added, “I seized the opportunity to travel whenever David or Henry were posted to faraway places—India, Gibraltar, Malta, and Egypt.”

  “So you enjoyed the different cultures?”

  “I enjoyed the experiences, yes. But I have to admit that at the end of each journey, I was always happy to return to the green fields of England.” She directed a sharply inquisitive glance at him. “What about you? You must spend most of your days out of England. Or is it Scotland?”

  She wouldn’t be able to guess from any accent; he didn’t have any.

  “Scotland—Frobisher Shipping operates out of Aberdeen.”

  When he didn’t expand on that, she tipped her head and asked, “Do you spend most of your year on the waves?”

  He waggled his head while he thought of the reality of his life. “I spend most of my time—roughly three quarters of the year, I suppose—on trips of one sort or another. But for most of those trips, the traveling itself takes only about half of the time. The rest...goes in waiting for those I’ve ferried to complete their business and be ready to return—and that generally is to England.”

  She studied him for several seconds, then stated, “You don’t strike me as the sort to be a glorified ferryman.”

  He couldn’t stop his smile. He tipped his head in a fencer’s acknowledgment. “I usually take care of other business while I’m waiting.”

  The overt diplomatic purposes of his voyages were often a screen for activities rather more secretive and sensitive.

  She pushed away her empty plate and sighed. “Enough of us.” She caught his gaze as he looked up. “We need to decide what to do.”

  He edged aside his plate. “We need to decide what we can effectively do.”

  “First—what do we know about the children going missing?” She balanced on the high stool, held up her hand, and ticked each point off on her fingers. “The men—whoever they are—come roughly once a month, in the afternoon, and take four or so children, all hale and sufficiently strong to be able to work. Said men have managed to gain the children’s trust to the extent that simply warning the children away isn’t going to work.” She’d run out of fingers. She stared at her hand, then met his gaze. “So what can we do?”

  He felt his features harden as his earlier thoughts coalesced. “As far as I can see, we can do nothing directly—we could try, but both you and I know we’d be wasting our time.” He looked down at the scarred counter and traced a scratch with one finger. “The best we can do is to see if we can further our mission via the children. If we can learn anything pertinent that might lead us to the slavers’ camp. And that”—he looked at her—“depends on facts we don’t yet know. Such as”—he tapped his finger on the table—“whether these are the same men—the same slavers—who have been taking adult Europeans.”

  She frowned. “How likely would it be to have two entirely unconnected gangs seizing Europeans from the settlement, one taking adults, the other children?”

  He grimaced. “Not likely, but it’s possible there are two separate gangs supplying the same mine, especially as the men come for the children during the afternoon, while the slavers move adults at night.”

  He paused, then went on, “Assuming that, regardless of whether it’s children or adults they’ve seized, the slavers will take their captives to a jungle camp prior to moving them on, at this point, we don’t know if the camp the children will be taken to is the same camp through which the adults are transported.”

  She blinked. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? As you said, the children are most likely being taken for the same mine, so regardless of which camp we find—the one the children are taken to or the one the adults are taken to—then the trail they take out of that camp will lead to the same mine.”

  The mists in his mind cleared. He nodded. “You’re right. The children’s camp might not be the one I was sent to locate, but it will work just as well for our ongoing purpose.”

  “So!” She straightened on her stool. “How do we go about finding the camp the children are taken to? I assume the obvious way—by following the men who take the children the next time they come? And as they come in the afternoon—which they must as the children will go home at dusk—that shouldn’t be as difficult as following them at night.”

  He swiveled on the stool and leaned back against the counter. Looking outside, he saw Dave arrive and draw the carriage up to the rough curb. “It might be weeks before the men return.”

  “I don’t think so. The children said it’s been weeks since they last came—it sounds as if they’re due for a visit.”

  She was right, and it was definitely worth considering. His men were watching the slavers’ lair in the settlement, but if there was another—possibly more direct—route to a jungle camp supplying their putative mine...it never hurt to have a fallback plan.

  After a moment, he said,
“One thing that continues to puzzle me is why they’re taking only Europeans.”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her brows arch.

  “Perhaps,” she said, “they are taking natives as well, but we simply haven’t heard of it. We’ve only heard about the Europeans—that doesn’t mean they’re not seizing natives, just that they’re not seizing natives out of the settlement.”

  He had to admit that was possible. “Something to ponder.”

  She looked at him; he could feel her gaze, searching and acute. “So what are we going to do about the children?”

  He turned his head and met her gaze. Managed to keep his lips straight. “I take it you have a suggestion.”

  “Indeed. Why not ask that last lad, the one who doesn’t trust the men and who has apparently tried to warn the others, to come and tell us when the men come back? We could offer him a reward to come and alert us.”

  It was a viable idea. Most importantly, if he agreed, she wouldn’t insist on prowling the slum but instead wait for word... He narrowed his eyes, then shifted his gaze to stare absentmindedly outside. “We could tell him to bring the news to the inn where I’m staying—it’s not far from here.” He glanced at her, then away. “No point in him trying to report to you—even if a slum brat like him could get up Tower Hill to your lodgings without being challenged and chased home, Mrs. Hoyt’s is too far away. Even if the men leave before I reach the shore, I should be in time to pick up their trail whichever way they go.”

  He looked at her and met a pair of hard hazel eyes.

  “We,” she stated. “When we reach the shore, we should be able to pick up their trail.” She lifted her reticule from the counter. “And I agree. So let’s go and find that lad and put our proposition to him.”

  She slid from her stool and, head high, swept toward the open doorway.

  Robert enjoyed the view for several seconds, then rose and followed her, exceedingly careful to keep his smile off his face.

  * * *

  They returned to the shore, saw the lad in the distance, and managed to attract his attention and beckon without alerting any of the other children.

  But when the boy joined them in the lane in which they were lurking, he was reluctant and skittish; he showed every inclination of shying away, and only Aileen’s presence and her quick, reassuring words held him.

  She had her work cut out convincing the lad to aid them; Robert held his tongue and did nothing more than gravely nod every time the boy’s sharp gaze darted to him. The lad was quick to understand what they were asking, and eventually, he succumbed to Aileen’s persuasion and agreed to help them.

  Robert offered the lad half a crown, with the promise of a whole crown if he delivered a useful warning. A crown was riches to such a waif; Robert had little doubt the boy would do his best to earn it.

  When the boy reached out and took the coin, Aileen stepped aside; with her back to them, she took up position as lookout in similar fashion to Robert’s role that morning, with her gaze fixed on the children playing in the distance.

  Even though the lad was still nervous about dealing directly with Robert, he seemed grateful to Aileen for watching his back.

  His manner straightforward, Robert gave the boy directions to the inn. The boy dutifully recited the directions back, hesitated, then asked what to do if Robert wasn’t there.

  Robert glanced at Aileen; her attention remained fixed on the distant children. He looked back at the lad and quietly recited the directions to the hide his men had established in the slum farther up the hill. The boy appeared to know his way around that area, too; again, he recited the directions back without faltering.

  Satisfied, Robert lightly clapped the boy on the shoulder; he ignored the way the lad jerked and nearly leapt away. “You’re doing the right thing. Possibly the only thing you can do to help your friends—those too blind to see.”

  The boy met his eyes, searched them for a second as if to confirm he was sincere, then he ducked his head and sidled back.

  Robert let him go and lowered his arm.

  The boy looked at Aileen—rather curiously. The lad waited. When she glanced around, met his gaze, and smiled, he bobbed his head. “Missus.” Then he thrust his hands into the pockets of his ragged too-short trousers, put his head down, and slouched off. Not to rejoin his playmates but deeper into the slum.

  When Aileen looked questioningly at him, Robert kept his expression impassive. “Are you ready to return to your lodgings?”

  She nodded. “Yes. We may as well go back and sit in comfort while we plan our next move.”

  As to that, he had his own plans, but rather than invite an argument, he stepped back, let her walk past him, then fell in beside her.

  Side by side, they walked out of the slum and back to Dave and his carriage.

  * * *

  Robert fully intended to part from Aileen once they reached Mrs. Hoyt’s boardinghouse; he needed to go into the slums and check in with his men. Given he’d devoted the better part of his day to squiring Aileen about and letting her involve herself on the periphery of his mission, he assumed she would be weary and content to rest and recuperate.

  Or whatever gently bred ladies did after spending all day striding about a settlement in the tropical heat.

  When Dave drew the carriage up outside Mrs. Hoyt’s, Robert climbed down. He handed Aileen down—but before he could take his leave of her, she slipped her hand from his and swanned up the garden path.

  Accepting that he probably should see her to the front door, he followed; rather than speak from a distance, he climbed the porch steps in her wake. But instead of pausing there, she opened the door and sailed straight through—and finally halted in the front hall. She was looking to her right. She frowned. “Damn.”

  He’d halted just over the threshold; he heard the muttered curse clearly. Following her gaze, he saw a closed door.

  “There’s someone in the parlor,” she whispered. She reached back and tugged his sleeve. “Come upstairs, but for God’s sake, be quiet.”

  She released him, raised her skirts, and went swiftly up.

  Leaving him standing in the front hall, staring after her.

  He spent a bare second debating whether to follow or turn around, stride outside, and go on his way... That would lose him all the points he hoped he’d gained through their morning’s excursions.

  Silently—he could be more silent than she might imagine when he wished—he closed the front door and climbed the stairs. He found her waiting before a door in the upper corridor, the one to the corner room overlooking the front garden.

  Before he reached her—before he could speak—she opened the door and went into the room.

  Frowning, he was forced to follow, but halted just over the threshold. He glanced around—and she pushed him to the side as she quietly shut the door.

  Then she looked at him. “As long as we keep our voices down, we can talk freely here.”

  All he wished to say to her he could have said on the front porch. Indeed, in the street.

  “Miss Hopkins—”

  “Given we’re now working together and we’re in private, it’s acceptable to use my first name.”

  What precisely did she mean by working together? While he was digesting the implications of that, she walked to the writing desk, placed her black reticule upon it, sat on the stool before it—the only stool in the room—and looked up at him. “As it’s already afternoon, it seems unlikely we’ll receive any summons from that lad today. So what’s next on our list to tackle?”

  Our list? He studied her, his gaze taking in the brilliantly brassy shade of her hair and the direct, confident gaze she leveled at him. He reminded himself that he was a diplomat; he could talk his way out of almost anything. “Miss—” He inclined his head. “Aileen.”
br />   He paused.

  Sitting upright on the stool, she widened her eyes at him, transparently encouraging him to continue.

  Looking into her bright, browny-hazel eyes, he accepted that, regardless of his inclinations, with her, direct opposition would in no way be wise. He gripped his hands behind his back and settled into a familiar captain’s stance. “As I mentioned this morning, my men are watching over the slavers’ lair. They’ll be expecting me to look in, to learn what they’ve observed.”

  “I take it that should the slavers leave to lead captives back to their camp, you intend to follow.”

  He nodded. “With my men.”

  “I see.” She looked down and frowned. “Obviously, it will be impossible for me to accompany you on such an action given it will occur in the dead of night.”

  And will involve stealthily negotiating dangerous slums and who knows how much jungle. He contented himself with a curt nod. “Indeed.” Relief flowed down his spine, and he released his hands and straightened. “However, as promised, I will keep you informed of what we learn.”

  “Excellent.” She raised her head and smiled at him. Then she rose and picked up her reticule. “And as there’s nothing more I can do in the matter of the missing children at this time, and as I am now a partner in your mission, I believe I will accompany you to your men’s hideaway and view the slavers’ lair.”

  No. He bit back the bald refusal, but couldn’t quash the instinct that had him stepping across to block her path to the door. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  She halted and looked up, into his face. “Oh? Why not?”