His voice was exceptional—strong, powerful, yet well-modulated. He spoke with a surprisingly clear diction and had very little accent.
When, after the first prayer, he released them to sit, Edwina settled on the pew and thought: Someone’s taught him. Of course, she then wondered what had caused her to think that; as with consummate skill Undoto wove his magic over his audience, she continued to watch, to analyze—to look past the smoke and brimstone.
His voice was his principal weapon; a deep baritone, it rose and fell, the cadence a swelling wave that lifted and swept his audience along. Dramatic gestures and finely honed timing played their part; overall, he put on a mesmerizing performance.
When, during the sermon, he thundered, and the pulpit shook beneath his fist, the thought that popped into Edwina’s mind was: Fireworks. A brilliant flash to temporarily distract.
Indeed, everything Undoto did was as superficial, as insubstantial and illusory, as firework stars.
He had no real passion.
A quick mental comparison with old Reverend Gillings, who had held the living at Ridgware for decades—who spoke softly and whose sermons were models of gently and sincerely expressed thought—confirmed it; even though he spoke quietly, belief—and the passion that nurtured—resonated in Reverend Gillings’s every word.
There was no belief behind Obo Undoto’s histrionics.
Entertainment, pure and simple, was his creed and what he delivered, albeit wrapped up in the vestments of religion. Glancing curiously at the faces she could see, Edwina had to admit that she doubted any of those attending truly confused this with worship, not in their hearts. This was almost a mockery of true worship; no wonder Reverend Hardwicke was so disapproving of Undoto’s ministry.
She couldn’t imagine a performance of this ilk being such an attraction anywhere other than in a settlement of this type, where there were so few other sources of entertainment, especially for the wives of the soldiers, administrators, and merchants.
They had to fill their days somehow, and all in all, charlatan though he most certainly was, perhaps in that Undoto could be said to be offering a useful service. Attending pseudo-religious services was unlikely to hurt anyone.
And the hymns were still hymns. Edwina enjoyed singing and saw no reason not to allow the comforting refrains to fill her soul; she could take at least that much genuine enjoyment from the event.
Finally, after the offering plate had done the rounds—in Edwina’s view, acting much as a busker’s hat—Undoto held out his hands and delivered a blessing. On the heels of that final benediction, he descended from the pulpit and marched up the aisle, both his stride and his expression confident and assured.
Edwina had hoped that, as happened at home, the congregation would file out and then gather in groups outside to chat for a few minutes before dispersing. With Mrs. Sherbrook close behind, she followed Lady Holbrook, Mrs. Quinn, and Mrs. Robey up the aisle.
Undoto stood just outside the doorway, waiting to farewell his parishioners. The other ladies didn’t shake hands with him but smiled and inclined their heads. Lady Holbrook complimented the priest on an excellent service, and Undoto smiled, white teeth flashing in his dark face.
Stepping aside, Lady Holbrook gestured to Edwina. “Lady Edwina is visiting from England. She was keen to experience one of your services.”
“Indeed?”
Edwina found herself the object of Undoto’s dark-eyed gaze. Holding close her cloak of noble superiority, she coolly replied, “My husband and I will be in town for only a few days, so I was pleased I was able to attend today.”
Undoto bowed low. “I am honored, my lady.”
With her most regal nod, Edwina moved away. Pleased to note that Lady Holbrook had already become engaged with several other ladies in an animated discussion, Edwina halted and waited for Mrs. Sherbrook to join her.
As the other woman came up beside her, Edwina touched her sleeve. “I wonder if we could speak now.”
“Yes, of course.” Mrs. Sherbrook nodded to one of several benches set to one side of the forecourt. “Let’s sit there, out of the noise.”
Billings materialized from the crowd; he followed Edwina and Mrs. Sherbrook as they crossed to the unoccupied bench. When Mrs. Sherbrook glanced discouragingly his way, Edwina said, “My footman.”
“Oh. I see.”
They sat, and Billings halted a few feet away, far enough to give them privacy. Not knowing for how long Lady Holbrook would remain chatting, Edwina plunged in. “Forgive me if my question sounds intrusive, but I, and my husband, too, have grown rather concerned about these odd disappearances.”
She glanced at Mrs. Sherbrook in time to see that lady bite her lower lip. Edwina continued, “When the matter came up over tea at Lady Holbrook’s, and then again at the Macauleys’, I couldn’t help notice that you seemed…perturbed.”
Her gaze rising to lock on Edwina’s face, Mrs. Sherbrook clearly debated, then in a rush said, “We lost our nanny. The one we had before. Or rather, she vanished, just like some of the others we’ve heard about. She went to fetch a package from the post office and simply never returned. The package was still there—she never reached the post office.” Mrs. Sherbrook’s face clouded, and there was a touch of belligerence in her tone as she said, “It’s all very well for those like Letitia Holbrook to imply that the young women who’ve vanished are fast and wanton and that they’ve gone off following men…” Mrs. Sherbrook’s gaze steadied on Edwina’s face, and her chin firmed. “But Katherine wasn’t like that—not at all.”
Edwina placed a comforting hand over Mrs. Sherbrook’s twisting fingers. “What was Katherine like?”
“She was kind, and the children adored her.” Mrs. Sherbrook paused, then went on, “Her name was—is—Katherine Fortescue. She was gentry-bred—more so than I am, truth be told, but her family had fallen on hard times and…well, Katherine was proud and was determined to be independent and no burden on anyone. She answered an advertisement we placed in The Times the last time we were in London, and she returned to Freetown with us.”
Mrs. Sherbrook seemed to deflate. “She became our children’s beloved nanny, and over the last months, she’d also become a dear companion to me.” Raising her eyes, she met Edwina’s. “There is no possibility at all that Katherine simply went off with some man into the jungle. She was taken. By whom or why I have no idea, but she was kidnapped—there’s no other viable explanation. My husband has tried to raise the matter with the governor, but over this, Governor Holbrook seems determined to be blind. He just shrugs it off and claims there’s nothing to be done.”
Edwina sensed the other woman’s frustration and distress, but what could she say? “I believe that there are others who are starting to accept that certain people have been taken—kidnapped. But, as you say, by whom or why remains a mystery.”
Mrs. Sherbrook’s shoulders sagged. “I’ve kept putting off writing to Katherine’s family, hoping against hope… But it’s been months now, and we’ve heard nothing.” Staring bleakly ahead, Mrs. Sherbrook drew in a breath, then she straightened her spine. “I’ll have to write soon.”
Edwina understood Mrs. Sherbrook’s sense of helplessness, but helplessness wasn’t a feeling she herself ever readily entertained. Perhaps it was something to do with being a duke’s daughter, but she was much more inclined to demand answers and resolutions.
“Lady Edwina! Yoo-hoo!” Through the thinning crowd, Mrs. Quinn waved, then pointed at the carriages. “Lady Holbrook is ready to leave, my lady.”
Edwina swallowed a sigh and rose. As Mrs. Sherbrook rose, too, Edwina grasped the woman’s hand and gently squeezed. “Thank you for telling me about Katherine.”
Mrs. Sherbrook nodded. She drew her hand rather nervously from Edwina’s and bobbed a curtsy. As she straightened, she said, “If you should learn anything…”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.” With an inclination of her head, Edwina parted from Mrs. Sherbrook. While the other
woman hurried to her own carriage, Edwina went to climb into Lady Holbrook’s. She wasn’t looking forward to the inquisition that no doubt awaited her as to her opinion on Obo Undoto’s performance.
“But at least I learned something for my time.” Summoning a smile, she strengthened her customary armor for dealing with society, stood back to let Billings open the carriage door, then she climbed up to join the other ladies.
She settled beside Lady Holbrook and, bright-eyed, let her gaze pass over the other ladies’ faces. “As you all warned me, that was, indeed, diverting.” She sat back; with any luck, the resulting exclamations and effusions would last all the way back to Tower Hill.
* * *
Declan spent the better half of his afternoon trawling through the likely haunts around Fort Thornton, through the European quarter, and lower on Tower Hill where a single gentleman attached to the governor’s office might conceivably have dined.
In a settlement such as Freetown, European gentlemen who were neither army nor navy weren’t so thick on the ground that people didn’t notice and place each individual. Although he didn’t have a physical description of Hillsythe, Declan knew the man’s age, where he’d worked, and how long he’d been in Freetown—that should have been enough to pick up his trail.
When his search on Tower Hill proved futile, Declan considered inquiring at the governor’s office, located in the fort, but he’d be identified the instant he showed his face, and given the avid interest his story about following a rumor had generated, any questions he asked would be noted and commented on.
And Wolverstone and Melville no longer trusted those in the governor’s office.
Declan decided he wasn’t yet desperate enough to act against all good sense and continued down the hill. Harboring no real hope regarding Hillsythe and already thinking of what his next move should be, he returned to the tavern where he’d arranged to meet with his men.
One glance at Upshaw’s face and his despondent mood evaporated. “What did you learn?”
Higgins and Martin made “get on with it” gestures.
Upshaw all but bounced as he said, “Seems he took a liking to a little place not far from the Customs House. Used to sit in their front window and watch the people walk by as he ate. No name, of course, but the woman who runs the place said as he was a recent arrival and worked up at the fort in the government building. He told her as much.”
“Excellent.” Declan reflected that he should have known that one of Wolverstone’s men wouldn’t have let down his guard either near the fort or in dockside taverns. “Did the woman know where he was billeting?”
“He wasn’t—billeting, that is. He never told her, but one day she saw him on the street not far from her place, and she saw him pull out a latchkey and let himself in. She pointed out the door to me—she said the shop-owner rents the room above his shop, and that’s where our man had been going.”
Declan clapped Upshaw on the shoulder. “You’ll make bosun yet.”
It was a standing joke among his men because no one could imagine replacing Grimsby.
Higgins asked, “So are we going to go around there and take a look-see?”
Declan thought, then said, “We’ll go around, but I want you three to hang back. I’ll spin a tale about being Hillsythe’s replacement and wanting to check if he’s left anything in the room. Better you’re not seen with me, but you may as well wait outside until we see what I learn.”
They did as he asked, waiting in a group on the other side of the street a block away, out of sight of the window of the small tailor’s shop above which Hillsythe had apparently slept.
The old tailor who owned the shop swallowed Declan’s tale whole and readily unlocked the outside door and showed him up the stairs. Hillsythe had paid the rent for three months, so the tailor had left his things undisturbed. The man also verified that no one else had come to the shop asking after Hillsythe.
The room above the shop was relatively Spartan. It contained a bed, a narrow wardrobe, a small bookcase, a desk set before the single window with a straight-backed chair beside it, and a traveling chest set to one side of the door. With a sweeping glance, Declan took in the brushes and shaving kit on the small shelf above the washstand. Another one who hadn’t expected not to come home.
He walked to the desk. There were no papers left upon it and no drawer in which anything might have been hidden. Aware of the tailor standing in the doorway and watching him, Declan turned to the wardrobe and opened the door. As he scanned the contents, he felt the hairs at his nape stir.
One evening coat, a hanger with a pair of trousers neatly folded over the bar, an empty hanger, and another with a spare shirt all hung precisely aligned, but on the lower shelf, Hillsythe’s dress shoes, a pair of well-worn boots, and a pair of old, comfortable shoes lay haphazardly askew.
Declan forced himself to go through the motions of checking for the papers he’d told the tailor he’d been sent to find. Then he closed the wardrobe and advanced on the chest. A cursory glance inside confirmed that it, too, had been thoroughly searched.
He let the lid fall and, with a resigned sigh, directed a faint smile at the tailor. “Well, it was a long shot, but clearly he didn’t leave those papers here.”
A minute later, he was back on the street and striding toward his men. He walked straight past them, and they turned and followed. He didn’t stop until he was around the corner and back in the busy hubbub of Water Street.
Higgins, Martin, and Upshaw halted before him. Higgins arched his brows. “You found something?”
“Hillsythe’s room has been searched. In secret. The tailor knew nothing of it.” Declan was still trying to work out what that meant. “They couldn’t risk trying to get to Dixon’s room at the fort, or Fanshawe’s or Hopkins’s quarters aboard ship. But they could easily access Hillsythe’s rooms to search, and they did.”
Martin blinked. “What were they searching for?”
Declan grimaced. “Presumably for something that might have tipped off someone—someone like me—as to where Hillsythe went, or who he suspected—most likely the same men who took him.”
“So…” Upshaw blinked. “Doesn’t that mean that there really is someone snatching these men—that they haven’t wandered off but that someone’s kidnapped them?”
Grimly, Declan nodded. He set his jaw, then glanced around. “I think we’ve learned all we’re likely to about the four men. You three get back to the ship, but there’s one more place I need to check.”
Higgins, Martin, and Upshaw snapped off salutes, then they turned and headed toward Government Wharf, from where they would row out to The Cormorant.
Declan watched them go, then hauled in a deep breath, metaphorically girded his loins, and walked on to the settlement’s hospital.
CHAPTER 10
An hour later, Declan returned to the bungalow, walked into the drawing room where Edwina was waiting, and slumped into an armchair. For several seconds, he stared unseeing across the room at the long windows open to the terrace, then he raised both hands and scrubbed them over his face.
Silk rustled as Edwina rose; he heard her footsteps on the polished floor, followed by the clink of crystal.
As he lowered his hands, she halted beside his chair. She held out a crystal tumbler with two fingers of whisky. “Here. You look like you need it.”
He hadn’t even told her where he’d been, much less what he’d seen. Gratefully, he took the glass. “Thank you.”
While he took his first sip, she returned to her chair. She sat and clasped her hands in her lap. Her blue gaze traveled over his face. “So—where have you been and what did you learn?”
Her crisp tone helped him refocus. He took a larger mouthful, swallowed, and felt the burn all the way down his throat. The potent liquor hit his stomach, the warmth spread, and he felt a little better. He fixed his gaze on her face. “I’ve just come from the morgue.”
She frowned. “Do you have reason to think the fou
r men have been killed?”
“No. Quite the opposite.” He cradled the glass between his hands and outlined the way he and his men had spent their day. “We found nothing to support the notion that any of the four men just up and went off to find their fortunes.” He arched a brow, his expression cynical. “The more one hears that excuse, the less believable it seems. However, we did find evidence that all four had expected to return to their quarters as usual. Their belongings were all there—brushes, combs, shaving kits, and clothes all left at the ready. On top of that, Hillsythe’s room had been searched, in secret, after he vanished. All of that strongly suggests they’ve been kidnapped.” He paused, then went on, “Following that reasoning further, if they were attacked and captured, then each of them would have fought back—one or more might have been killed. We needed to know, so I went to the morgue.”
“Were—had any of them been there?”
“No. Given the weeks that have passed, I didn’t expect to find their bodies still in keeping—not in this climate, especially. But I went through the records for the last five months. There were no unidentified European male corpses that might have been them.”
He sighed, then swallowed another mouthful of whisky. “Morgues are never pleasant places, but in the tropics…” He still hadn’t got the stench out of his nostrils.
“But they weren’t there.” She frowned. “From that, can we assume they’re still alive?” She widened her eyes at him. “Couldn’t they have been killed elsewhere and their bodies buried or thrown into the sea?”
He considered, then grimaced. “We can’t rule that out, but to my mind, that none of the four have turned up dead anywhere in the settlement significantly increases the likelihood that they’re all still alive. Again, because this is the tropics, a dead body is usually found quite quickly. And as the natives have burial rites of their own and are superstitious about such observances, if they find a dead European, they will bring that body to the morgue as soon as possible. Admittedly, our four might have died away from anyone, but… All in all, with no bodies turning up anywhere, the most likely explanation is that they were kidnapped and are still alive, being held somewhere, for some reason.”