Still, Declan would have felt happier had Caleb not seen The Cormorant racing south under full sail.
Relegating his younger brother to the back of his brain—he had more than enough to deal with in what lay before him—Declan refocused on the bustling wharf drawing ever nearer.
They’d sailed into Kroo Bay at daybreak and had anchored farther out in the harbor. He’d dispatched Henry and two crewmen in the tender, their task to secure suitable accommodation in the town. Henry now waited on Government Wharf, having sent the crewmen back with the news of a bungalow that was available for rent in the middle of the wealthier part of the town.
Had Edwina not been with him, Declan would have used the ship as his base for his excursions and investigations in the settlement. But the notion of confining Edwina on board had occurred only to be dismissed; quite aside from the fact that wouldn’t have fitted with their new direction, he hadn’t forgotten his father’s words. Edwina and her family possessed talents he and his lacked. She remained confident that she would be able to glean information from the ladies of the town. In the circumstances, he would be a fool to deny her the opportunity to utilize and, if the chance was there, capitalize on her innate skills.
The house and her appearance in local circles would also bolster their claim of being on their honeymoon; the more he’d thought of it, the more he’d realized that such a heaven-sent cover for his investigations might well prove critical.
He glanced at Edwina. His wife. Throughout the past thirteen days, she’d reopened his eyes in so many ways. Through familiarity, he’d forgotten so many of the delights of ocean sailing, but experiencing them again through her—the dolphins, the whales, the albatrosses and the wheeling gulls, the sunrises and sunsets, the sharp tang of the whipping breeze, the brilliance of the constellations in the black skies of midnight, and so much more—had given them, their impact, back to him.
Now, amused and, truth be told, a touch reassured, he took in the eager enthusiasm in her face as she drank in the sights and sounds—to her, no doubt exotic—of the hustle and bustle of the Freetown wharves. The area teemed with the usual assortment of sailors and navvies, with colorful locals and a sprinkling of uniforms and more formal coats mixed in. It was a polyglot place, with countless races brushing shoulders, the color of skins ranging from the paleness of the Scandinavians, through every shade of brown, to the near blue-black of the Africans from the interior. Hairstyles were equally varied, and the clamor was well-nigh deafening, a babel of hundreds of voices raised in dozens of different tongues, punctuated by the raucous cries of the ever-present gulls. The stench of fish, rotting seaweed, and brine was pervasive, but today was alleviated by a freshening sea breeze.
Declan glanced back at the bridge. He’d left Caldwell to bring the ship in to the wharf; looking up at the sails, he approved the changes his lieutenant had called, then he turned his attention back to Edwina and to what awaited them once they disembarked.
Over the past thirteen days of untrammeled sailing, they’d spent more hours together—truly together without having to think of the expectations of others—than they ever had. Stitch by inch, touch by all-but-imperceptible shift, they’d continued reshaping the framework of their marriage, consciously, and at times unconsciously, adjusting to each other’s needs.
Defining the path that would keep his needs, her wants, and their shared life aligned.
In balance.
He was confident that, for now, they were on a firm footing, as if the deck of their joint life had settled on an even keel.
The bagged side of the ship bumped up against the wharf; ropes in hand, his crewmen leapt to the wharf fore and aft to secure the ship.
The gate in the rail rattled back, then the gangplank rumbled out and thumped down on the worn timbers of the wharf.
He turned to Edwina. When, all but jigging with impatience, she swung to face him, he asked, “Are you ready?”
Given the light in her eyes, the eagerness that lit her whole face, the question was entirely redundant.
She gripped his sleeve and, tugging him into motion, shifted to walk by his side. “This is all so exciting!” From beneath the rim of her bonnet, she cast a laughing glance up at him. “I daresay you’re jaded, but this is all new to me.”
He smiled and refrained from pointing out that having her there was new to him, too. He offered his arm, and when she took it, he led her to the gangplank and escorted her down.
It was now midafternoon, and the tropical warmth was oppressive, yet in her lightweight green-and-white-striped day gown, with her pale golden curls peeking around the rim of her bonnet, she was a splash of brightness, a delicious spectacle that attracted and fixed the interest of damn near every man on the wharf.
Government Wharf was the primary commercial wharf in the harbor and also the wharf the naval squadron used. At that time of day, the long stretch of weathered timbers was crowded, male bodies milling everywhere, yet all but magically a path opened up for them as men noticed Edwina and stopped to stare.
Declan’s smile didn’t waver; that she knew exactly how to respond and “manage” the male admiration she inevitably drew was another thing he’d learned on the voyage. Watching her deal graciously—with understanding and gentleness—with his unexpectedly bashful and tongue-tied officers and his even more starstruck crew had been an education in her abilities and an assurance his male pride hadn’t been slow to recognize.
He stood in no danger whatsoever of losing her—other than, possibly, by overreacting and overreaching or, worse, doubting her.
In this instance, as they strolled along the wharf, she didn’t ignore the stares but rather behaved as if the attention was nothing out of the ordinary. Merely what anyone might expect.
And, he realized, that was precisely the right tack to take. With no overt reaction from either her or him to further fuel interest, the multitude looked, then went back to their tasks. They strolled on unimpeded to where Henry waited by the steps leading up to the street.
As they neared the steps, Edwina leaned closer and murmured for his ears alone, “I really don’t think we’ll need to advertise our arrival.”
His lips quirked. “No, indeed. The news will be all over town by sunset.”
Edwina continued to drink in all she could see without overtly staring. She felt thrilled, buoyed on a wave of delight and anticipation beyond anything she’d expected to feel. Eager excitement bubbled from deep inside her. Until now, she’d assumed her true sphere was the ton, that, as for her mother and sisters, London society would provide the stage on which the important events in her life would be played. Now, however, walking by Declan’s side into a distinctly foreign place on a secret mission, she finally understood where, for her, true satisfaction lay. Joining with him and aiding him in this quest would require all her talents—all her social skills plus the exercise of every wit she possessed.
She couldn’t wait to get started.
They halted before Henry, and he snapped off a salute. “The agent swears the house he has will be exactly what you want.” Henry tipped his head up and back to where tiled roofs rose in irregular terraces up the side of a hill. “It’s in the right quarter. He’s waiting there to show you and her ladyship around.”
“Did you mention my title?” she asked.
“Aye.” Henry nodded. “And just like you said, he couldn’t find the key fast enough.”
She smiled approvingly. “In that case, I’m sure this bungalow will suit.”
Several crewmen and both cabin boys had followed them from the ship, toting her trunk and Declan’s, as well as various bags and satchels of their own. Henry would act as their butler in town, and three sailors and the cabin boys would be their household staff. The sailors would also double as guards; having now glimpsed the nature of the settlement, she had no fault to find with that arrangement.
In a group with Henry leading, they climbed the steep steps, then walked up a short unpaved street to where it joined
what was clearly the main thoroughfare. “Water Street,” Declan informed her. “It runs east to west, parallel with the shoreline, more or less from one side of the town to the other.”
Henry had a hired carriage and a cart waiting. One of the sailors, Dench, took the carriage horses’ reins and climbed up to the box. Henry held the door; Declan handed her inside, then followed. After shutting the door, Henry climbed up beside Dench, and they set off, leaving the cart with the other sailors, the cabin boys, and their luggage to follow. The carriage rolled very slowly over the rutted street, then turned south onto another street that wound up the hill.
The carriage was old, but clean, reasonably sprung, and the seats still had some stuffing. Edwina peered out through the windows, studying the areas through which they passed. Water Street was lined with largely single-story buildings housing businesses of one sort or another. As they climbed the hill, the businesses gave way, first to what appeared to be the local equivalent of terrace houses, built cheek-by-jowl on both sides of the road; from what she glimpsed through open front doors, each house appeared to be home to several families. As they climbed higher, the abodes changed to individual houses, each set on their own block of land. By the time they reached the higher levels of the hill and turned onto a road that ran across the hillside, the houses had grown to larger bungalows in their own gardens, with stone walls set with heavy gates surrounding them.
They rolled past a very English-looking church.
“This is, for want of a better term, the European quarter.” Declan ducked to look up the hill, then pointed. “That’s Fort Thornton. The garrison quartered there has responsibility for keeping the peace throughout British West Africa, which extends much farther than Sierra Leone. In reality, the peace is kept by the chiefs of the local tribes, and the garrison stands more in support of the governor’s authority with those chiefs.”
She digested that, then asked, “And the navy—the West Africa Squadron—assists with that?”
“No.” Declan sat back. “The West Africa Squadron’s principal task is to enforce the anti-slavery laws, at least on the high seas—if anything, the garrison at Fort Thornton is supposed to act in support of them. However, finding slave caravans or slavers’ camps in the jungle in this region is well-nigh impossible, not unless you know exactly where to look. It’s much easier for the navy to pick off the slavers’ ships, and over the years, they’ve had considerable success.” He looked out of the window. “That said, there are still slave traders in this region, and some ships do get through the blockade.”
“Hmm. So we’ll have naval officers as well as army officers in town?”
“Not at the moment. From the hulls in the harbor, most of the squadron is presently at sea.”
After a moment, she said, “So that letter to Vice-Admiral Decker is unlikely to be of much use.”
Declan snorted. “I would have to be desperate to use it, anyway. Quite aside from Wolverstone’s warning, the notion of appealing to Decker to come to my aid… Let’s just say that I would really rather not.”
The carriage slowed and halted. Declan reached for the door handle. “Let’s see what this bungalow is like.”
He stepped out and looked around, then gave her his hand and helped her down to the dusty roadway.
She shook out her skirts, then looked around herself. All she could see were stone walls lining the street, some trees draping over the tops, a dray rumbling by, and a lone donkey tied up by a gate further down the street.
When she looked at Declan, he grinned. “Yes, this is the best residential street in town.”
With a light shrug, she reached for his arm, and they turned to the gate in the wall.
The garden beyond was lush with trees and bushes she didn’t recognize, creating a cooler oasis in which the house sat. A tessellated front porch ran the length of the house and was draped with a vine carrying small, white, highly scented flowers. The walls of the house were of whitewashed stone, and the windows and doors looked to be mahogany.
They passed through the open double doors into the front hall and found the local agent waiting.
At the sight of them, he bowed obsequiously. “My lady, Mr. Frobisher. Welcome to Freetown. I believe this house will fill your needs perfectly.”
Declan glanced at her. She met his gaze, then smoothly took the lead in an inspection of the house’s amenities. While the wooden ceilings were lower than those to which she was accustomed, the rooms were spacious, and all had multiple windows and French doors opening to terraces or garden nooks; the drift of air through the house eased the otherwise oppressive atmosphere. The house came fully furnished; somewhat to her relief, the pieces were all European in style and in excellent condition.
When she remarked on that fact, Wallace, the agent, mentioned that the house was often rented by visiting ambassadors and similar dignitaries.
On returning to the front hall, she smiled graciously upon him. “Thank you, Mr. Wallace. This will do very well.”
Declan reclaimed her hand. “We’ll take it for a week—at least initially.” To Wallace, he said, “Mr. Henry will settle the account.”
“Thank you, sir.” Wallace bowed deeply. “And if there’s anything further with which I might assist you, please feel free to send to my office.”
Declan nodded a dismissal and led Edwina into the drawing room.
As soon as Wallace departed, his rental fee in hand, they all joined in to assist with unpacking and settling in.
When, an hour later, Edwina returned with Declan to the drawing room, she was surprised to see nothing but blackness outside. “Great heavens! I hadn’t realized it was so late.”
“It’s not.” Declan waved her to the sofa, waited until she sat, then sprawled in a nearby armchair. In response to her puzzled look, he explained, “We’re almost on the equator, so night comes earlier than you might expect, and the darkness falls swiftly. Very swiftly. Don’t imagine you’ll have the sort of twilight you’re used to at home. Here, it goes from daylight to deepest night in less than half an hour.”
She arched her brows. “So we have day and night, and not much in between?”
“Precisely.”
“Very well.” She leaned back. “So we’re here. What’s our next step?”
He smiled. “Dinner.”
As at that very moment, Henry appeared in the doorway to call them to the table, she bided her time. Henry, the cabin boys, and the three sailors ate in the kitchen, leaving the long table in the dining room to her and Declan. She was grateful that Henry had set her place to Declan’s right and not at the far end of the long board.
Declan was clearly hungry, and to her surprise, she discovered she was, too; they left aside the matter of his mission to deal instead with a savory stew. She asked about spices and the odd vegetables in it, and wasn’t entirely surprised to find that he knew the answers. He was almost as naturally curious as she.
Finally, however, once they’d finished their desserts of some sort of piquant fruit even Henry couldn’t name, Declan pushed aside his plate, folded his arms on the table, and looked at her. “All right. I know what I need to do, which is to rather carefully make inquiries and see if I can pick up any leads as to where the four men who’ve disappeared have gone. If they all met the same fate, which is what Wolverstone and Melville fear, then it seems reasonable to suppose that they all went somewhere, or contacted someone, in common. I’ll start with Dixon, given he was the first to disappear and the others were sent to follow him. If I can get some idea of where he might have gone or if he spent time with anyone in particular, I can then check that against where the others went or who they visited before they vanished, too.”
She nodded. “Indeed. Meanwhile, I’ll see what the local ladies can tell me, both about those four men and also about anything else that might have a bearing on the disappearances.” She frowned. “At this point, I don’t imagine I will need to entertain, to host any social events, in this house. Certainly not at
this early stage—no one will expect that. I suspect that all I will need to do is”—she gestured airily—“contact one of the established ladies in town, drop my title, and let matters evolve from there.”
“As to that, I believe we can set your ball rolling very easily. Remember I mentioned I would need to call on Holbrook, a courtesy visit to confirm my presence and trot out our excuse for being here?” When she nodded, Declan continued, “It’s too late to call on the Holbrooks tonight. I suggest we call at the governor’s house tomorrow morning, at whatever time you think it most likely that Lady Holbrook will be available to meet with you while I talk to her husband.”
She beamed. “Excellent.” After a second’s consideration, she stated, “Ten-thirty. Unless things are very different here, that should prove the perfect time.”
Declan nodded. “Ten-thirty it is, then.” He hesitated, then said, “While I’m out trawling the streets of Freetown, there might be times you wish to go out and join the local ladies. The carriage will be here, at your disposal. That said, I brought Dench, Carruthers, and Billings with us for a reason. I don’t want you going anywhere alone. Dench will drive you in the carriage, and at least one of the others will tag along as a footman of sorts. In reality, they are your guards. This is not the sort of town in which a lady such as you should ever walk alone.”
He paused, holding her gaze, reading in it that she wasn’t about to argue or resist his orders. Her calm acceptance persuaded him that it was safer to be entirely open. “While it’s unlikely there are any slave traders operating within the settlement, one can never be sure. On top of that, the fact that you’re blond—especially blond of such a shade—makes you an especially attractive target. That’s the one thing I would ask of you while we’re here—please, never risk getting plucked off the streets.”
She reached for his hand and squeezed. “I won’t. And please promise me that wherever you go, you will also take care.”
“Fair enough.” He turned his hand and gripped her fingers. “I promise.”
Like so many things about this unexpected, unprecedented partnership of theirs, that had proved easier than he’d expected. He seriously doubted she would face any danger while visiting with any ladies, but her safety while traveling from house to house was less certain. Consequently, he’d put thought into ensuring her protection; he’d chosen Dench, Carruthers, and Billings as their on-shore support because the three men were all experienced fighters and had the scars to prove it. All three had served with him for years, and all three were quick with their knives. As for Henry—who looked like someone’s genial uncle—he was a devil with a blade, had uncanny hearing, and possessed a sixth sense for trouble. With those four on hand and their sojourn in Freetown likely to last no more than a week, he had decided against hiring local help, even local women. When it came to Edwina, he simply couldn’t entrust her safety to anyone he didn’t know and trust implicitly himself.