Page 29 of Scandalous

Martín took the cup of coffee and sat.

“I’m afraid I am going to have to impose on you on behalf of His Majesty’s government, Captain.” Keeton stopped, as if to gauge the effect of his words so far. Whatever he saw on Martín’s face caused him to continue somewhat hastily. “I need you to transport, er, Captain Graaf back to England. I conferred with our Chief Justice, who is in charge of such matters at the Vice-Admiralty Court, and we both agree that we simply do not have the authority to dispose of this matter here.”

Martín stared, blood pulsing louder and louder in his ears like insistent pounding from a club. It took a long, excruciating moment to find enough spit in his mouth to squeeze out the words.

“Excuse me, Admiral, but am I to understand you want me to take Graaf to England because you lack the authority to prosecute him for trading in slaves?”

The older man fiddled with the handle of his cup.

It was the woman who answered. Naturally.

“It would seem Captain Graaf is related to some rather important people, Captain Bouchard. So important, the admiral does not feel he is the person to determine the outcome of this matter.” Martín could hear something in her voice that sounded like anger. He met her eyes and saw that he was right. She was angry. At the slaving Dutch captain? The pounding in his skull seemed to ease up.

“And the Blue Bird?” Martín turned from the woman to the admiral, his heart sinking even before he heard the answer.

“I’m afraid I cannot make any firm decision on that right now, either. I will hold her, of course, and await word from London.”

Martín resisted the urge to hurl his cup at the man’s head. Instead, he took a deep breath and looked at the other two people in the room. Only the woman met his eyes, her face an unreadable mask.

The admiral cleared his throat, and Martín turned back to him.

“Miss Fisher has explained her circumstances to me. I have informed her that we can offer her no assistance at this time regarding her village. I have also informed her that I cannot, in good conscience, allow her to leave Freetown by herself.” Martín could feel the woman’s anger without even looking. “We have agreed England is the best place for her right now. Your ship is returning to England, Captain. Surely there is no good reason you cannot accommodate her?” For the first time Martín heard steel in the man’s voice. Keeton might feel shame for caving under the pressure of foreign dignitaries, but he wasn’t bending when it came to what was due an English gentlewoman.

Martín squeezed the cup as he worked his mouth, biting his tongue both literally and figuratively.

“I’m sure you will receive recompense for her passage,” Keeton added, knowing nothing of the sort.

Martín jerked out a nod and stood. “When can we depart?”

“You are free to shove off as soon as the captain and Miss Fisher are ready. I’ve taken the liberty of having their personal items transferred to your ship.”

Martín turned on the pair, who’d also risen. “May I have your permission to depart?” His voice was raw with the strain of not yelling.

“I am ready,” the woman said.

Captain Graaf inclined his head.

“Excellent!” The admiral rubbed his hands together as if he were looking forward to a journey himself. “Let me escort you to the door.”

The trip back to the ship was quick and silent, both the woman and the sick man too busy keeping up with Martín’s savage pace to attempt any conversation.

Beauville met him as soon as he stepped off the gangplank, his silent stare and compressed lips proof he already knew the reason for the presence of the two people behind him.

Martín turned to his unwanted passengers. “Captain, please retire to the sick bay; it is the only spare cabin. Mademoiselle Fisher, you might as well tell Daniels to remove his possessions from his cabin.” He turned on his heel before she could open her mouth. “Beauville, with me.”

Martín found Jenkins in his cabin. “A bath and breakfast, in that order.” Once the little man had left, he turned to Beauville. “Speak,” he said, taking off his wrinkled coat and waistcoat and throwing them over a chair.

“I was told the disposition of the ship was a matter to be determined in England. I was given the opportunity to make a complete inventory of the Blue Bird. By my calculations we are owed a great deal. The ship is in excellent shape and appointed with nothing but the best. The admiral’s factotum would tell me nothing other than that all crew members were to be released, mutineers included, and the ship was to be held indefinitely.”

Martín collapsed onto the padded bench as Jenkins came into the room bearing a pot of coffee.

“I have nothing to add,” Martín said, raising one foot so Jenkins could remove his boot. “Except that we must bring Graaf back to England. I would hazard a guess the good captain has some rather powerful connections and is too valuable to squander out here in the middle of nowhere. I would not be at all surprised if we end up with empty hands at the end of all this.” He shot his first mate a hard look. “Keep that to yourself, Beauville.”

The laconic Frenchman nodded. Beauville knew Martín could afford to pay his men out of his own pocket and would do so if necessary.

The money Martín had earned working for Captain Standish—or Lord Ramsay, as he was now known—had been equal to the wealth of kings. Martín had plenty of money, more than he could ever spend. He’d learned his methods from Standish and had been wise about choosing and keeping his men. The division of property on his ship was much more equitable than on any other privateer. As a result, sailors fought to crew his ship.

That didn’t mean Martín planned to let the Dutch ship go without a struggle. He boiled to think Graaf might escape all punishment. Martín stripped off his breeches and tossed them to Jenkins before shrugging into the robe he held open.