“Well, I’m not about to let Spargo and Ainsworth and Dr. Drake and whoever else is part of this mess sell it out from under our noses. Give me time. I may need to contact you at Pencliff.”
“I’ll be there,” Carlos said with a nod. “Anything else I can do to catch Spargo?”
The official fiddled with the pencil on his desk. “I shouldn’t involve a private citizen. You’re not even British.”
“I might be. Santo Domingo is periodically under British rule, and I’ve haven’t heard word from my home in over a week. So who knows?”
“A fragile argument, but we’re undermanned, so I’ll take it. What would help is if you can continue to act as if you’re interested in buying illegal goods off Spargo. Play to his greed, and if you can set up an exchange for a certain night, we can be ready, and arrest everyone and seize the Seadragon all at once.”
“Now who’s a pirate? What good is the Seadragon to you, other than the fact that it’s one less ship to watch?”
Snell chuckled. “As a matter of fact, we turn seized ships into our fleet. It will be repaired, refitted, and renamed. It will sail again…under His Majesty’s flag.”
Chapter 19
Poppy once again managed to get through the cave network to the basement doorway, and then up into the house to her room all unseen—she was getting quite good at this particular skill. True, there were servants moving about in the early morning, but all the other inhabitants were sound asleep at that hour.
When she reached the bedroom, Miss Mist was curled up on the bed. She looked up when Poppy crept in, and mewed in what could only be described as a disapproving tone.
“Oh, what are you looking at? You stay out all night.”
The cat did not deign to reply to that.
Poppy quickly removed her clothes and pulled on her nightrail, then washed her face and arms in the now-chilly water left for her the previous evening.
She had just pulled the cover away on the bed, intending to climb in, when the door swung open.
“Oh, my God!” Poppy gasped, her heart jumping out of her chest.
Millie squeaked in alarm, nearly dropping the bucket of wood she was carrying. “It’s only me, miss! I’m setting up the fireplace…why aren’t you abed?”
“I, er…had a restless night.” As if that could explain things!
“So I see, miss,” Millie said, picking up Poppy’s scuffed slippers and the new green gown from the floor. “I remember this being a much darker shade. Funny how things look different in the light.”
“Er, yes. I’m just going to have breakfast in my room today. I’ve a powerful need to pull the covers over my head and hope that the world stops existing for a bit.” Poppy needed to regain her equilibrium so she could decide how to get out of the increasingly tangled web she was weaving for herself.
“As you wish, miss. Oh, and this came in the late post.” Millie put an envelope on the dresser and left discreetly.
Poppy wanted to open the letter, but it seemed awfully far from the bed. In fact, Poppy fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, and she didn’t wake up again until noon.
When she woke, she noticed a breakfast tray on the table, and the original dark green gown hanging from the back of a chair, freshly pressed and perfect. Her slippers had also been cleaned and re-blacked. It was as if the previous night hadn’t happened.
Poppy got up and examined the green gown. How had it returned to her, and in such a pristine state? How many people were now involved in the subterfuge?
She drank down the cold tea as if it were the nectar of the gods. Cold dry toast was similarly devoured. Then she remembered the letter Millie had left on the dresser. Reaching over, she saw it was from Heather. However, it had been written before Poppy’s most recent missive reached her, so it didn’t answer any questions she’d had (including a carefully phrased question about when Heather first knew she loved the man she was to marry). Instead, she read about the escapades of the MacNair family, who seemed to number in the dozens and all had strong opinions about everything from politics to the proper way to make toast. Heather sounded like she was having the time of her life, and Poppy felt both delight for her friend and a little sadness that she was doing things all wrong.
Partly as a result of the letter, Poppy did her best to behave as properly as possible all afternoon. No one mentioned any sighting of a certain couple near Pencliff, or reported her returning alone at a scandalous hour, so Poppy believed that storm blew over. Carlos was also careful to not treat Poppy differently than before. He did tend to hold her gaze whenever he caught her glance, and that—combined with the memory of their single night on board the ship—made Poppy’s insides burn each time.
In the afternoon, Elowen pressed her into service as a chaperone (ha!) when Riding Officer Lowry came to call. Thus, Poppy had a front row seat to a courtship that was so completely opposite to her own experience that it was hard to keep from laughing.
“More tea, Mr. Lowry?” Elowen asked politely, for perhaps the tenth time.
“If you would be so kind, Miss Metcalfe.”
The conversation between the two would-be lovers was remarkable only for how many times it stopped completely, as the pair fell silent and either gazed into each other’s eyes…or looked shyly away at virtually anything else.
Every biscuit offered was praised, and relevant bits of information got parceled out over the course of a half-hour or so.
