Page 9

The Royal Navy! Samuel’s heart was suddenly beating so hard it was likely that Marsden could hear it. Why would the Blind Beak give such an order when he’d already established that Samuel was a criminal? Was it some kind of trick? “But I’ve never so much as put a foot on a ship.” It was a pitiful excuse but the best his addled brain could muster.

“That is irrelevant,” the Blind Beak said. “I have yet to meet a pickpocket who was not a quick study.”

Samuel’s aching head had now taken to spinning. “But the navy—”

“At the Marine Society, you will be given clothing, food, a bed, and whatever basic training you require to perform your duties aboard ship,” the Blind Beak interrupted. “In exchange, you will serve this country rather than plague it.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “It is my firm belief that offering London’s abandoned youth an alternative to living on the streets is the best way to affect a significant drop in the city’s crime rate. And if such an option also eases the overcrowding in our jails and shortens the lists of those awaiting trials at the Old Bailey, the benefits would seem to be doubly worthwhile.” He shrugged. “It will be a big change, but I am of a mind to take a chance on you, Sammy.”

A change. A new chance. Samuel had heard plenty of stories of ghastly conditions on board ships. London’s wharf was rife with drunken old sailors whose tales were as gruesome as they were unbelievable. But Samuel had lived in squalor before, often surrounded by unsavory and violent men. And surely nothing could be as bad as being confined to a prison cell while awaiting a guilty verdict at the Old Bailey and a noose at Tyburn. Whether fresh clothing, ample food, and a comfortable bed were truly to be had at this Marine Society, Samuel did not know, but for the first time since his capture, he saw the possibility of a future.

“So, young man, do you have any further questions?” the Blind Beak asked.

“No, m’lord.”

The magistrate offered a dismissive nod. Marsden responded immediately, tightening his grip on Samuel’s arm once again and leading him briskly out of the room.

Chapter 5

Twelve Years Later

The Denningtons’ carriage listed to the right as the driver turned onto the road that led to the quay. Hannah shifted closer to the window, anxious for her first view of the Arabella. It had been over five months since the schooner had been in port, and her father had been expecting its arrival for a fortnight. His relief upon hearing that it had finally arrived late last evening had been palpable. Hannah understood. Other than her father and the ship’s captain, she was likely the only other person who knew the monetary value of the Arabella’s cargo. She also had a better understanding than most young ladies of the risk her father had taken in sending a schooner to the West Indies with the Revolutionary War still raging across the Atlantic.

“Do you see him?”

Him? Hannah interrupted her scan of the veritable forest of ships’ masts in the Pool of London to offer her sister Sophia a confused look. “Ships are she’s,” she said. “And, no, not yet. The Pool is always congested, but today, it seems to be especially bad.”

Sophia sighed. “I am not quite so dunderheaded as all that, Hannah. Everyone living in the same house as Father knows that ships are she’s. He talks of them as though they are as much his daughters as you, Elinor, and I are.”

There was more truth to Sophia’s statement than Hannah cared to admit. Especially recently, when their father’s worry over the Arabella’s prolonged absence had been at the forefront of his mind.

“I was not talking about the Arabella,” Sophia continued. “I was asking about Mr. Cantrell.”

“Oh.”

Mr. Francis Cantrell. She should have known that the presence of their father’s new solicitor would be of greatest importance to Sophia. Unlike Hannah, Sophia had no interest in ships or their cargo. She was here quite simply and rather reluctantly as Hannah’s companion and had already warned Hannah that she would not take one step onto the wharf unless there was a trustworthy gentleman nearby.

Sophia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You did tell Father that you had written to Mr. Cantrell on his behalf, asking that he meet us at the wharf at noon.”

“I did. And I am quite sure that Mr. Cantrell will be here.”

“Good,” Sophia said. “Although I cannot understand why—if Mr. Cantrell is willing to come to this awful place—he cannot take care of Father’s business without us having to be here at all.”

Their father’s solicitor had already shown significantly more willingness to assist their father with his business dealings than his older, recently retired, and somewhat cantankerous predecessor had done. The extra consideration had been especially helpful after their father had broken his leg six weeks ago. To their father’s immense frustration, his tumble down the front steps of their town house had confined him to his bed for weeks. Thankfully, Hannah had known enough about his business dealings to oversee the most pressing issues that had arisen during the weeks when the pain and discomfort had been at their worst.

Hannah turned her attention back to the distant ships. Their father’s strength was gradually returning, but as the doctor had prohibited him from putting any weight on his leg for another three weeks, he, too, had suggested sending Mr. Cantrell to the wharf in his stead. She had argued against it. Mr. Cantrell may be their solicitor, but he was not nearly so invested in the safe arrival of the Arabella’s cargo as she was. Hannah knew exactly how many sacks and hogsheads to expect, and she would not abdicate the responsibility of supervising their transfer just because Mr. Cantrell was a gentleman and she was a lady.

“The wharf is not so bad as all that,” she said.

“Have you taken a deep breath through your nose recently?”

Hannah laughed. Sophia would likely never understand the thrill Hannah experienced whenever she visited the wharf. The pungent smells of the saltwater, wet ropes, tar, and fish stirred a unique sense of excitement. They offered a glimpse of a fascinating world she would never know—a world beyond London and the English countryside.

“If you truly find it so distasteful, use your handkerchief to filter the odors.” Hannah gestured to the scene beyond the window. “That way you can still take in the visual wonder of this place so that you might re-create it on a canvas.”

“I would rather paint a rose garden,” Sophia said, fumbling for the handkerchief in her reticule. “Remind me once again how Elinor avoided this outing.”

“There’s no need,” Hannah said, fighting back more laughter. “You dislike the role of being Father’s nursemaid even more than you dislike the wharf.”

Sophia groaned dramatically. “You have Father’s head for business, Elinor inherited Mother’s gift for nurturing, and I am caught in the middle. My love of art is surely the least helpful trait of all.”