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Ten minutes later, Slayde stood by, watching Lexley settle himself on the bed. The poor man looked utterly exhausted, far too drained to converse. Unfortunately, the questions that had hammered at Slayde’s brain this past week would no longer be silenced.
“Lexley,” he began, making sure the door was securely shut, “I had another reason for seizing this opportunity to talk to you alone. I apologize for taxing your strength, but there is something I must know.”
The elderly sailor blinked, propping himself on his pillows. “Of course, m’lord. What is it?”
Slayde clasped his hands behind his back, realizing he was grasping at straws and not giving a damn. “First, I want your word that this conversation will remain between us. Courtney has suffered far too much already. I will not allow her to be hurt.”
“Of course,” Lexley looked utterly bewildered. “I’d never hurt Courtney.”
A nod. “Courtney’s father gave her a watch, a timepiece with a moving scene of a ship and a lighthouse.”
“Yes.” A painful sigh. “Captain Johnston’s wife gave that timepiece to him as a wedding gift. He wanted Courtney to have it after he…when he…”
“The watch stopped at the precise time Arthur Johnston went overboard. Since then, it has jumped ahead several times, inciting a great deal of anxiety, and questions, in Courtney’s mind. Further, she’s experienced repeated dreams in which her father is still alive, calling out to her, needing her. Her distress escalated to the point where I agreed to bring her to the spot where her father went down. It was horrible for her, reliving the entire occurrence a second time. I won’t subject her to that kind of pain ever, ever again. Not without damned good cause. My question to you is, does that cause exist?”
“Dear God.” Lexley’s face had gone sheet-white, beads of perspiration erupting on his brow. “Courtney has actually dreamed…” A distraught pause. “I knew you’d traveled to where the Isobel was overtaken. Lady Aurora explained it all to me. But she said you’d found nothing. I asked her a dozen times. She said you’d searched—but to no avail. Is that not true?”
“Yes. It’s true.” Slayde’s heart rate had begun to accelerate at the severity of Lexley’s reaction. “The currents were powerful, the waters rough. ’Twould be very difficult for someone to survive.”
“I know. But, dear Lord, how I prayed.”
“Did you have reason to pray?” Slayde jumped on the first mate’s statement, stalking across the room to grip the bedpost, all attempts at remaining calm having vanished. “I don’t mean groundless reasons; I mean well-founded ones.”
“At the time, I thought so,” Lexley muttered brokenly. “Maybe it was just wishful thinking. But it was the only way I could try to save him. Heaven help me, it wasn’t enough.”
Slayde inhaled sharply, asking the crucial question that had gnawed at him for over a week. “Before Armon forced you to thrust Arthur off the Isobel, did you manage to loosen his gag? His bonds? Did you somehow find a way to increase your captain’s chances of survival?”
Lexley stared. “How did you know?”
“God, then it’s true.” Hope and triumph converged, pounded through Slayde’s blood. “I knew—or rather, suspected—because Courtney’s memories include hearing her father scream as he went over. No gagged man can scream loud enough to be heard a deck below.”
“I loosened the gag just before we reached the rail. Armon was a dozen feet away. I turned my back on him while I maneuvered the captain to the side, positioned myself so Armon was unable to see what I was doing. I worked my blade from my pocket and slashed the bonds at Captain Johnston’s wrists and the rope tying the weighted sack to his thigh. The end of that rope I shoved into his hand, where he clutched it low and against him so it would appear to Armon that it was still fastened to his leg. The bastard got only a brief view because, a split second later, I thrust Captain Johnston over the edge. I knew his chances were slim. He would have had to unbind his own ankles—I didn’t dare risk taking the extra time to do so for fear of alerting Armon—and then battle that rough section of the Channel. But he was an incredibly strong swimmer and, with the currents in his favor, I prayed he could make it to shore. It appears my prayers were for naught.”
“Did you say the currents were with him?” Slayde demanded. “I don’t understand. Courtney and I sailed in those currents. They were powerful as hell, nearly dragging us out to sea.”
“They’re always fierce, almost impossible to navigate. But sometimes they change direction and surge inland. That was the case the day Captain Johnston went down.”
“When we revisited the area, Courtney said she thought that the current on that awful day had been running in the opposite direction to what we saw—but then she assumed she was mistaken.”
“Probably, she doesn’t know the current can reverse. Courtney wasn’t what you would call an avid sailor, m’lord. She rarely spent much time topside—only enough to know the route, not the more intricate challenges we encountered.”
Slayde gripped the bedpost so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You’re telling me those waters were moving in the opposite direction that day?”
Another nod.
“Then he could be alive.” Slayde’s eyes narrowed. “Courtney’s father could very well be alive.”
“No, m’lord.” Lexley shook his head emphatically. “If I believed that, I’d be crawling my way along the Cornish coastline, sea
rching. But I don’t. Because if Captain Johnston was alive, he would have found his way to Courtney.”
“Not if he was injured. Or ill. Or even unconscious. Hell, following such a furious bout with the seas, he could be any of those things.”
“But if he’d been found, wouldn’t his rescue have been reported?”
“Reported where? To whom? If Johnston was coherent, he would have realized the Isobel must have been destroyed. As for Courtney, the last he saw her, she was being held prisoner. He doubtless believed the worst. And that’s assuming he was lucid. What if he wasn’t? What if he was unable to identify himself? How would his rescuers know where to take him or whom to contact?”
“M’lord—” Lexley’s hands balled into fists, refusing to allow hope for what he feared to be virtually impossible. “I want to believe this as much as you do. But if nothing’s been reported, isn’t it more likely the captain drowned?”
