Mirage

By April Gray

Alessandra must escape. Darkness, so thick it threatens to consume everything around it, works as ideal cover, concealing a dauntless young girl as she creeps aboard the pirate ship lying in harbor in seventeenth-century Port Royal. When darkness fades to light, she must find a way to stay safe. She must hide in plain sight. Alessandra must convince a ship full of rowdy, unscrupulous, battle-ready pirates that she belongs. By assuming the identity of a young boy, she learns to sail, fight, and steal, always aware that if she is ever discovered, it could cost her everything. When her path intersects with Benjamin Avery, a man of faith, the life she has built for herself is suddenly at risk. He sees through her charade, but what will he do with that knowledge? Everything seems poised to come to a crashing end as she clings to her secrets, though now it is not only her life but also the life of her crew at stake. Friendships formed through the trials and hardships of life at sea in the golden age of piracy, when danger lurks in every cove, will be tested to the breaking point; and nothing will ever be the same, for any of them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643008615

Book preview

9781643008615_cover.jpg

Mirage

April Gray

ISBN 978-1-64300-860-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64300-861-5 (Digital)

Copyright © 2018 April Gray

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books, Inc.

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

The End

Duty

Idle Hands

Culmination

Mistakes and Misconceptions

A Ship Is Lost

Horizon

Battle of Wills

A Rock and a Hard Place

Unexpected Resolution

Able-Bodied Seamen

The Falcon’s Captain

A Peck of Pirates

Eluded

Blood Brothers

Fulfillment

Becalmed

Delay

One Man’s Wreck, Another Man’s Treasure

Release

Treasure!

Duel Intentions

Diplomacy

Fe Fi Fo and a Bottle of Rum

Expectations

Trust

Enlightenment

Wreck of the Falcon

Capture

Discovering Judas

Cold Shoulders

Rescue

Secrets and Revelations

Friendship

I See London, I See France

Will Trade: Two Thieves for One Pirate

Free at Last

Treason

The End, Again

Author’s Note

Historical Figures

About the Author

Dedication

To my grandmother, Doreen, who always understood me and also gave me my first Christian novel, and to T.T.F. who helped in the journey. I couldn’t have done it without you.

1

The End

Caribbean Sea, 1671

Pain. Darkness. Chaos.

Fear.

Wood, hot from the sun, salty from the sea, pressed into Alessandra’s face. Pitch stuck against her cheek. Boots pounded the deck around her. Her arms buckled as she tried to push herself up from where she sprawled; fiery warmth radiated from Alessandra’s shoulder, sending pain down her arm, seeming to shoot out her fingertips.

So much shouting.

Shouting and . . . gunshot.

It seemed far away, and yet . . . She closed her eyes and let her head drop back to the deck.

Dead? Captain Rainer asked.

Was she dead? Alessandra had imagined death to be . . . less, well, loud.

Aye, Captain. No more worries from that one.

Shame. Was a good sailor. The captain’s remorse sounded genuine.

Had it coming, Captain. Tom did.

Tom.

She rolled over with a groan.

Tom was dead.

She drew in a long breath to clear her head. The day’s events began to line themselves up properly in her mind. Tom, a thief. Well, they were all thieves. But not against the company. Never against the company. Punishment? The flesh laid bare for punishment. Blood. So much blood.

It soaked into the deck, merging with the ocean salt.

Her blood.

Her back that screamed in agony.

Why?

The ship’s company had gathered to bear witness to Tom’s punishment. Alessandra, known to all aboard as First Mate Alessandro Martin, had been at her captain’s side. The quartermaster had led Tom toward the mainmast, but before he was tied, Tom screamed in defiance and threw the quartermaster off him, grabbed a pistol from one of the crew, and leveled it at Captain Rainer. Alessandra had no time to think. She launched herself at Rainer, knocking him to the ground. The lead shot, meant for him, had ripped into her flesh.

The fresh wound throbbed.

Look to the first mate! the captain ordered.

Sickness gurgled in her stomach; Alessandra moaned as well-meaning shipmates converged on her. They’d take her to the surgeon. They’d find out.

They dragged her to her feet. She stumbled as she tried to push them off. I’m well enough. I don’t need the doc. Lemmee go.

Easy now, Mr. Martin.

They slackened their grip, and she swayed. Taking her arm, they propelled her toward the ladder leading down to the surgeon’s cabin.

She wouldn’t go.

She jerked her arm from their grasp. Two steps—and the world spun as she crashed to the deck again. The impact tore an involuntary cry from her lips as pain knifed through her. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, Tom’s dead eyes stared into her own, a bullet hole in his forehead. Quickly, she rolled to her back. Someone grabbed her legs, and another put hands under her arms. Alessandra screamed when they lifted as renewed pain drove through her right shoulder. A black door promising release appeared, and she escaped.

It was quiet.

Quiet like death.

She pulled in a deep breath bringing unfamiliar smells, sharp and bitter.

She lay on her stomach in a small room. Lamplight shifted like a pendulum illuminating a sparsely furnished cabin. Leather squeaked from the corner, and she lifted her head. Pain, like a hot torch, shot through her back and shoulder, and she dropped her face against the smooth wood of the table with a huff.

A soft voice nearby. Easy, lass.

Lass?

Her brows knit as Alessandra forced herself to focus on the speaker. The surgeon raised himself from a stool in the corner to stand beside her, wiping long-fingered hands with a bloody rag. Lass. Alessandra closed her eyes, groaning.

Dread filled her. Her secret. Fiercely guarded for so very long. Women were permitted aboard a pirate ship for one reason, and she decided long ago she wouldn’t play that part. Fear of discovery haunted her always. Careful attention to dress, mannerisms, conscious moderation of her thankfully already low raspy voice, and always remaining attuned to who may be watching—so many years of cautiousness thrown away in one impulsive act. Why? Why had she done it?

Ball’s out, but it snapped your collarbone. Arm will be useless till it heals. Yer a brave bonnie lass. You’ll be right soon enough, he assured.

The surgeon, Macduff, was pressed into signing articles some years ago when his ship was captured; he had always been kind to her. Dare she hope he’d kept her secret?

Captain Rainer? she questioned.

You saved his life, and he’ll not be forgetting that.

He knows, she whispered.

He knows, he echoed.

Alessandra turned onto her back, teeth gritted against the pain.

Life was filled with pain.

Disguise was no longer a shield against it.

The door creaked open, revealing her captain. His command was firm—some said harsh—and he made quick unwavering decisions to benefit the company. These were good qualities in a captain, but not qualities she was hoping to see now. He paused in the doorway, clinical eyes assessing his first mate. Surprisingly, his features softened. He walked toward a table strewn with the doctor’s instruments and picked up an unfriendly looking device, turning it over absently in his hands. All this time . . . , he said to no one in particular.

He laid aside the instrument and clasped hands traitorously showing discomfort at his back, clearing his throat. Ah, Sandy. She wondered idly if he knew how much she hated being called Sandy. I’ve come to care for you like a . . . son. Never known one so loyal—so determined. He smiled sadly. Mastered whatever you put your hand to. And you saved my life. I’m in your debt. But—

Alessandra closed her eyes. There would be no mercy.

I’ll not have a female on my ship, he finished.

Alessandra squeezed her eyes against the wetness suddenly forming. Rejection, expected or not, hurt.

He paused, waiting for the protest that never came. He defended his decision anyway. It’s for your own safety. Once the crew find out . . .

Alessandra snorted softly. She’d heard a similar speech once before, and little good had come of it. She closed her eyes and tried to feel anger, betrayal, and even remorse—anything besides the hollow resignation filling her soul. This day was expected. It was always going to come.

Sand, strewn over the sole to keep blood from slicking it, scratched under Rainer’s boots.

First landfall, you’ll be put ashore, he said with a note of finality.

Alessandra lay silent.

Retreating steps sounded as the door softly closed.

It was quiet.

She was alone.

Oars cut too quickly through the clear turquoise waters toward the pink sands of the Bermudan shore as the Catherine May, her ship—her home—grew smaller.

Captain Rainer sat beside her in the cockboat. They did not look at one another. Cloistered in the surgeon’s cabin until today she had spoken to no one save Macduff. As far as she could tell, none of the crew knew her secret. As yet, Captain Rainer had told her nothing of her fate. Was his plan simply to maroon her? Perhaps, he meant to sell her. The cold manner Rainer had adopted did nothing to dispel her blackened mood.

There was a constant ache in her shoulder. Her arm was bound to her side to facilitate the shoulders healing. Even so, the restriction made her feel helpless. She disliked being at the mercy of others.

They landed, and she splashed into the sea, wading to the beach as the surf splashed water up her faded-black knee-length breeches. It felt good as the wind blew against the moisture, and she debated splashing water over her dark, loose-fitting blouse as the sun beat harshly down. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped down her temple. Her cutlass banged against her thigh. Dread mixed with curiosity as she readjusted the small leather satchel containing her sparse belongings. Inside was a small purse containing thirty ducats—the split from a Dutch trade vessel, the last they’d pillaged with the Catherine May. The last she’d pillage. It was not much to show for her years of plundering. She wished she’d saved more. However, saving against tomorrow was simply not the pirate way, she thought with a wry smile.

She continued to trudge through the sand taking no notice of her surroundings; it was with surprise she faced the door of a wooden shack. A skeleton of a ship lay nearby beside piles of lumber. Captain Rainer was admitted into the cabin, and the door shut in her face.

Staring a moment at the door after it banged shut, Alessandra turned sharply and trudged back to the water’s edge. The coral sand beaches contrasted stunningly with the clear, blue water. Seabirds swooped into the sea as its gentle lapping sounded a soothing rhythm. Alessandra let out a long sigh as she lowered herself to the sand, stretching her long legs out so the waves licked at her bare feet as they rolled in.

A young man dropped to the sand beside her without warning. Startled, Alessandra pulled away as she turned to study this bold soul. Chestnut hair curled in an unruly mass atop his head, softening a square jaw. Sparkling green eyes looked keen, yet gentle, a twinkle of humor dancing in them. He smiled widely, revealing even white teeth.

He stuck his hand out. Hullo, I’m Glenn. Glenn Davies.

She narrowed her eyes as she glanced at his hand, opting not to offer her own. Alessandro Martin.

Alessandro? Hmm . . . how about ‘Les’? he asked but then quirked one side of his mouth up. Nah. You don’t look like a Les. He looked up, thinking. Lex. Alessandro—that’s like Alexander. Yeah. You look like a Lex. Good to meet you, Lex, he said with a glance at her arm switching midgesture from an offered hand to a rough clap on her back. What happened to your arm?

Alessandra cocked her head to the side, hesitating only a moment before answering. Lex. She liked it. Moreover, she liked him. Shot. By a pirate.

His eyes widened as his eyebrows shot up. A pirate? Was your ship attacked?

No. Lex smirked, enjoying the private joke.

You met one ashore? His voice seemed to have an edge of excitement.

"I’m a pirate. At least, I was. Another pirate on our ship shot me."

A pirate. He looked her over from head to toe, seemingly reassessing his conversation partner with an air of approval.

Lex was surprised at his casual acceptance of her—acceptance that would end if he ever found out the truth.

Lex turned her face back to the sea, longing to be back out on the waves that came crashing in.

I’m a shipwright, Glenn said, puffing up his chest. He deflated slightly, adding, Well, I’ll be one soon anyway.

The door of the shack slammed, and they turned together. The captain clasped the hand of a stout middle-aged man sporting a round balding head. He rather looked like a rectangular block of granite with a sphere placed atop.

Lex could not hear the conversation, but they were looking in her direction and nodding. Then, Captain Rainer, after giving one last glance toward her, put his head down and hurried away.

Only as he retreated did Lex understand. This was where he was dumping her.

2

Duty

Bermuda 1672

Benjamin tugged at his emerald-colored doublet and straitened his silk cravat. He tried to stretch his shoulders, but the deep-green waistcoat kept him from moving them freely. He thought fleetingly of shedding it. It was too warm an ensemble on this muggy Bermudan evening. However, an Englishman never made concessions to fashion in the company of his peers. So his father felt. He already risked his father’s disapproval by not wearing one of the wigs now in vogue. His own thick head of golden hair, tied in the back, suited him better. Nevertheless, the coat would stay—for now. He adjusted the hair near his temple, trying to cover the thin, vertical scar—a constant, painful reminder of happier times, long past, time not filled with meaningless obligations.

Music floated from the ballroom into the foyer where it mingled delicately with the fragrance of fresh blossoms, trying to entice him onward.

Benjamin glanced toward the exit. Escape was near. He closed his eyes; took a slow, deliberate breath; and strode resolutely toward the beautifully carved mahogany doors that led into the ballroom. As he reached the threshold, a wave of chatter burst through the doors followed by a group of young ladies leaving the ballroom. Benjamin halted abruptly, but quickly remembered himself and bowed, flashing a polite smile at the assemblage. The women returned his greeting as they demurely fanned around him, effectively trapping their prey.

Why, it’s Dr. Avery! exclaimed one of the bookends, a fine-boned brunette wearing a flowing dress of blue silk. How do you do? She curtsied.

How do you do, Miss . . . ?

Evans. Ms. Penelope Evans. She offered her ivory hand, and he kissed it lightly.

The other bookend, a liberally curved young lady with pale golden hair glinting in the candlelight, eyed him coyly. Generous amounts of intricately embroidered satin made up her ivory gown, although Benjamin noted the material was a mite skimpy around the upper portion. He noted it a far bit longer than he intended, and when he finally did lift his eyes, he felt his cheeks burn at the sanguine expression she wore.

She dipped in a curtsy. Miss Wainscot.

He coughed in attempt to divert attention from his gaffe. I beg your pardon?

She closed the distance between them ever so slightly and offered her hand, "Ms. Christiana Wainscot." Her voice was like a silken whisper.

Benjamin kissed her hand more deliberately than he had Miss Evans. Milky white and soft as satin, it reminded him of a china doll. He held her delicate fingers for a little longer than he should have, and she blushed prettily.

Are you coming to dance, Doctor? Miss Evans asked as she took his arm.

Oh, you must, insisted Miss Wainscot as she clasped his other arm and dragged him through the door. The music is . . . irresistible.

As a torrent of bitter wind awakened the senses after having been tucked in a warm parlor, the animation of the room assaulted him. Ladies swirled around the floor, dressed in such an array of colors they reminded him of an English garden in full bloom; music wound through the crowd, tickling his ears with its sweet melody; jewels sparkled, and crystal dazzled, the individual beauty of each lost in the multitude, just as he himself felt swallowed by the masses.

Miss Evans and the other ladies were quickly snatched by young men as the young doctor led Miss Wainscot onto the floor. The steps to the dance were so thoroughly engrained he found his mind free to wander. His thoughts took him far from the ballroom and Bermuda altogether. As the music ended, another gentleman claimed Miss Wainscot. Benjamin watched her glide away; she was easily the loveliest woman here. He berated himself for being distracted while she’d been in his arms. Still, was beauty the only charm she held?

A whiff of tobacco wafted by, drawing his attention to a salon adjoining the ballroom. Skirting the perimeter of the dance floor, Benjamin entered the salon, obtaining a glass of port from a serving man. The plush furnishings of the salon dulled the noise from the ballroom, and as he sipped his drink, he caught the conversation between two women seated on a nearby divan.

You’re right, dear. He does rather have the look of a Spaniard. Too bad he didn’t take after his English father!

"Looks aren’t the only thing he didn’t get from his father, you know."

Oh?

Well, I heard the Spanish woman who bore him flew back to Spain the minute her husband died and took all the fortune with her!

No!

Oh yes. Didn’t stay for the burial or leave a copper for it!

"Well, she could never have really loved him—or her son. It’s no stretch of the imagination as to why not. I heard he seized her from a Spanish vessel he captured and, after he forced himself on her and she became with child, forced her to marry. Everyone says she didn’t care to lay eyes on the boy after he was born."

Yes, well, that’s the Spanish for you, remarked one of the ladies.

A soft male voice joined the conversation. Your pardon, madams, but were you discussing the Spanish? They do inhabit so many of these isles in the West Indies. I wonder if you know why Spain never settled this particular island.

Benjamin turned to see the bearer of the English lilt and was surprised to see a large, dark-complexioned man bearing the countenance of a Spaniard. A long black periwig fell well past his shoulders, draped in a deep red velvet greatcoat, laced heavily about cuffs and collar. He stood before the women with a smug expression.

The ladies, struck dumb by the object of their idle gossip, shook their heads, mouths agape as they tried to regain their composure.

Benjamin casually wandered toward them. Perhaps you’d like to tell us, Sir . . . ?

"Captain Bartholomew, he answered abrasively after giving the intruder a shrewd appraisal. He sniffed and raised his chin, saying, I shall happily assuage your ignorance. When Spain first sailed near this island, there were such horrible howling and ghastly noises coming from its coast—he paused as he looked at the women with poorly masked contempt—they believed it to be inhabited by evil spirits. Sometimes, it’s still called, rather appropriately. He spat, ‘The Isle of Devils.’" His lips curled into a sneer as his gaze bore into the ladies.

The speech invoked a sharp intake of breath from both women, and abruptly, they stood and huffed stiffly away, commenting about seeking air without so vile a perfume.

Benjamin sniffed the air, making an effort not to wrinkle his nose when the odor hit him. Sometimes, the wearer soured the perfume. Benjamin looked carefully at the offender.

Captain Bartholomew watched the ladies retreat with a satisfied smirk.

I’m Dr. Benjamin Avery, he introduced himself with a nod when the man’s gaze shifted back, wondering if his attitude was only such because of the ill-meaning slander that had been directed toward him. I’ve not been on this island since I was a child, and I find it much changed. You seem acquainted with the area. Perhaps, you could tell me something of it I’ve not heard?

"Avery. Yes, I thought you had the look of him, though he has not your stature. But then again, we don’t all take after our fathers, do we? There was a hostile note in his tone that he tried to cover with a smile. After taking a sip from his glass, he continued, I’m sure I could fill many an evening telling things you don’t know. For instance, the raucous noise the Spanish heard was made by nothing more than a bird. The cahow, as it were. The last of the ‘devils’ disappeared some thirty or so years ago. Creatures that survived thousands of years could not last twenty-five with the English. Stupid birds, really. He said more to himself. He took another drink. You enjoy the prattle of gossiping ninnies?"

Benjamin raised an eyebrow; his mouth set it a firm line. I admit I overheard the conversation. Certainly, I know idle chatter does not facts make. Fear not for your reputation by me. I do not repeat untruths.

Ah, a man of morals? He gave the young doctor another cursory glance as he swirled the liquor around the bowl of his goblet. Under his breath, not so quietly it could not be heard, he scoffed, Charming. Then after another draught, he continued. "They were not wholly untruths. My mother was a Spanish whore, and the wench stole my inheritance—leaving me with nothing. Even my father’s title was taken when she cast vicious lies to the peerage. I tried to vindicate his reputation, but they wouldn’t hear it. My father wasn’t guilty of any of it. If anything was true at all, she was to blame. Make no mistake—Bartholomew spat with venom—that harlot seduced my father. But I will make them pay. All of them! His voice dropped to a whisper, I’ve waited years for my due. And I’ll take it back, title, wealth, honor, and the prestige my family deserves!"

Bart’s eyes began to take on a fevered look, and he seemed to forget anyone else was there. Taken aback by the intensity of the speech, Benjamin was relieved, for a change, to see his father striding toward them, his blond periwig tied in the back, giving prominence to piercing blue eyes.

Ah, there you are, son. He looked his attire over and seemed to approve, despite Benjamin’s hair. I see you’ve made the acquaintance of our good man Bart. He placed a firm hand on the captain’s shoulder and gave him a kindly nod.

"Bartholomew. Captain Bartholomew," the captain corrected evenly.

"Yes, we were just getting . . . acquainted," Benjamin answered with some ambivalence.

"Has he told you of his purpose here? I only heard it a fortnight ago, but I have to say I commend him for such resolution and courage at undertaking such a noble, though perilous, quest. That takes fortitude, son." The senior Avery was practically beaming.

Benjamin pushed down a twinge of irritation. "I believe I’ve heard the ends of his noble and perilous quest. But, Captain, do tell me the means." He smiled falsely at the half-Spaniard.

The captain returned his smile with one that made Benjamin feel oddly tainted as Bartholomew clasped his hands behind his back and took on the guise of someone elevated above his audience. These waters are plagued by pirates who target merchants such as your father, he nodded at him politely. And I intend to be rid of them. We’ll all be better off once their kind is purged from these waters.

His father nodded his approval. An honorable occupation.

Occupation certain to capture the attention of the nobility and return a dishonored name to good standing. Benjamin longed to voice this thought but said instead, Indeed, but what of those sailing under the king’s letter of marque?

"Privateers? Naturally, I will not target those who despoil the Spanish and Dutch. It is only those who are terrorizing the English I am concerned with, although, truth told, I doubt there is one among them who does not plunder any and every ship that crosses their path, no matter what flag she flies. They are men without distinction or repute, the leeches of society. And, most importantly, they are all thieves, and thievery and deception go hand in hand, do they not? I would not regret it if their kind were purged from earth. We don’t need that lowborn sort or their activities, and if I were to accidentally find myself engaged with one of these, I would not lament it."

Benjamin did not miss the insult against the lowborn. A quick glance at his father’s passive face surprised him. How could this contemptuous, conceited swine not offend him?

A man’s life is more than his occupation or who he’s born to. A person’s actions, not his station, are what makes a man, he practically growled.

How gracious, Captain Bartholomew sneered. It’s certain then, with such a chivalrous conception, you are in the West Indies to assist your father and have given up the ill-advised occupation of physician. I’m sure with the long hours he keeps, it will be of great benefit to him to have his son ease the burden.

Benjamin sighed. The conversation wasn’t heading in a good direction. No, I’ll not be staying in Bermuda. A sloop I’ve commissioned locally is scheduled to be completed shortly, and I’ll be sailing as soon as she’s ready. He involuntarily glanced at his father to see his disappointed reaction.

Off to explore the edges of the maps are we? Captain Bart asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Something like that, mumbled Benjamin.

Obviously, you’re setting out to bring back exciting new trade opportunities to expand the business. He turned to the elder Avery. You must be so pleased.

Benjamin cringed at the look of displeasure crossing his father’s face.

Not quite. I have other . . . plans. Plans he didn’t want to discuss with this cur or have his father reminded of. Not that he thought he’d forgotten, but he did prefer his father’s current policy of ignoring them.

Well, off to tickle your own fancy then. I suppose your father is well capable of going on without you, Captain Bart said with a wicked smile. It seemed he knew only too well of the tensions rumored between the Averys.

Mr. Avery cleared his throat. Enough idle chatter. Son, why don’t you go enjoy the party. Perhaps, get yourself a dance with one of those enchanting young women milling about. Your mother and sister, they talked about these things for days . . . , his voice dropped off toward the end. He rarely spoke of them.

Benjamin frowned. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more—that his father seemed ignorant of what was, to him, an obvious duplicity in the captain or that he himself caused his father so much displeasure.

Oh, he has been dancing! offered Bart, disrupting Benjamin’s musings. In fact, he entered with the daughter of the baron on his arm. She’s an only child, yes? He offered a knowing wink. More than one way to title and fortune!

The baron’s daughter! exclaimed his father with delight. Having his only son gain a title for the Avery name would win Benjamin all the regard he’d ever wished for. Well, son, you’d better not keep the lady waiting.

Reluctantly, Benjamin conceded, downing his drink and stepping out of the salon to stand on the outskirts of the ballroom.

He knew in his heart his father meant well regardless of the friction that often occurred between them. The accident had changed him.

It had changed them both.

A skirt brushed his leg. With a start, Benjamin realized he’d been staring into space as Christiana Wainscot materialized beside him.

Thinking of someone? she asked coyly.

No, I . . . Well, yes. I was. A baroness. Somehow, she seemed less appealing, yet still, a lovely distraction.

Anyone I know? She batted her eyes innocently.

He offered his elbow. I heard the estate has a lovely garden. Would you care for a turn? She took his arm, smiling prettily.

The teeming garden was imbibed with the sweet scent of flowers almost to the point of intoxication. Benjamin breathed it deeply as he shook off the stale air from the overcrowded manor.

In the dimming light of evening, warm-colored hibiscus mingled with geranium, their softened edges bleeding together into a mottled pool of color. A tree frog whistled nearby. The earlier humidity gave way to cool night breezes that teased the greenery, the supple leaves licking and scraping at one another with a gentle rustling. Its contrast with the balmy indoor air caused Miss Wainscot to shiver.

Benjamin shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. Better?

Yes, thank you. She headed to a secluded area and sat on the provided bench, inviting him to sit beside her with a delicate gesture.

As he did, she snuggled discreetly closer to him. Will you be in Bermuda long?

No. I’m here to oversee the final touches of my ship, and as soon as she’s ready, I shall set sail for the interior of the West Indies.

Oh poo, I hoped we’d have loads of time to spend together, she pouted.

Miss Wainscot, we’ve only just met. Surely, you shan’t miss me!

"But of course I