Read Online Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run by K.D. Mason - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: K.D. Mason
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didn’t. There was a knock. She exhaled and took several breaths, hoping to still her pounding heart before answering that knock. That unseen hand rapped again, and this time she heard the cook’s voice through the door. “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss. The Captain has requested your presence.”
The sound of his kindly voice calmed her and she opened the door. He repeated what he had just said: “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss. The Captain has requested your presence.”
“Thank you,” she said, stepping out of her cabin as he turned toward the Captain’s door. She followed.
The cook’s knock on the door pushed it open wider. Christine saw the Captain quickly turn and place on the table behind him the piece of paper he had been holding. Then, turning back, he said in a strong voice, “Come.”
The cook pushed the door fully open and retreated, leaving her alone in the doorframe. The two men were standing, facing the door, in front of the Captain’s table. This time there was no hiding as the Captain’s guest stared at her. As she had noted before, his appearance was unkempt, with his clothing in need of replacement for there was little that had not been repaired many times. He was stout and looked to be a powerful man, one who would be a formidable adversary in a fight. His beard was flecked with grey and was in need of trimming, and what skin was exposed was rough, ruddy, and pocked. His eyes were close-set, as black as night, and moved about constantly. Only when he stared directly at her did they become still, and she could feel them bore into her with a gaze so intense that she could almost feel him undressing her. She shivered, then crossed her arms in front and held herself as if to prevent her clothes from being removed.
The Captain stood with his hands clasped behind his back, blocking her view of the table. She had the feeling that it was not for her to see whatever was on it. She hesitated, then, he motioned at her to step forward. Tentatively, she moved toward the two men as he said, “Miss Armitage, this is Mr. Josiah Whitbey.” Then he added, even though he had already said so to her on deck, “He is an old friend of your uncle’s in Newport, Rhode Island.”
Alfred stopped. He stared at the page and reread that last sentence: “… this is Mr. Josiah Whitbey. He is an old friend of your uncle’s in Newport, Rhode Island.” He couldn’t believe what he was reading. He grabbed some papers covered in scribblings and shuffled through them until he found a particular one. His eyes widened as he read what he had written. His hand began to shake. He looked again at the book, then at his notes, then back at the book again. Countless times his eyes went from one to the other. Each time his heart beat more rapidly and he began to smile. His mind was racing. He had to be the one and the same: the man responsible for his family’s misfortunes. Alfred never considered the fact that what he was reading was a novel, fiction. At that moment, in his mind, those made-up characters of Polly’s were very real. Any fatigue he may have felt was now long gone. Flush with this new knowledge, he picked up her book and continued.
She was terrified and all she could say was a very faint “Sir,” with a slight curtsy.
His voice was as rough as his look as he said, “Miss Armitage, you are as pretty as your uncle said you were.”
That statement surprised her, which made her feel even more uneasy. They made no further attempt at conversation, and after an awkward pause, the Captain dismissed her with a curt, “Thank you, Miss Armitage. You may go.”
She understood his meaning and replied, “Sir.” Then summoning a stronger voice, she turned her head to face his guest and said, “Mr. Whitbey, it was a pleasure.” With that she curtsied again, turned, and walked out. As she pulled the door shut she heard Whitbey say, “She’s a lovely girl.”
She did not hear the Captain’s response because the door clicked shut.
The sound of his kindly voice calmed her and she opened the door. He repeated what he had just said: “Beggin’ your pardon, Miss. The Captain has requested your presence.”
“Thank you,” she said, stepping out of her cabin as he turned toward the Captain’s door. She followed.
The cook’s knock on the door pushed it open wider. Christine saw the Captain quickly turn and place on the table behind him the piece of paper he had been holding. Then, turning back, he said in a strong voice, “Come.”
The cook pushed the door fully open and retreated, leaving her alone in the doorframe. The two men were standing, facing the door, in front of the Captain’s table. This time there was no hiding as the Captain’s guest stared at her. As she had noted before, his appearance was unkempt, with his clothing in need of replacement for there was little that had not been repaired many times. He was stout and looked to be a powerful man, one who would be a formidable adversary in a fight. His beard was flecked with grey and was in need of trimming, and what skin was exposed was rough, ruddy, and pocked. His eyes were close-set, as black as night, and moved about constantly. Only when he stared directly at her did they become still, and she could feel them bore into her with a gaze so intense that she could almost feel him undressing her. She shivered, then crossed her arms in front and held herself as if to prevent her clothes from being removed.
The Captain stood with his hands clasped behind his back, blocking her view of the table. She had the feeling that it was not for her to see whatever was on it. She hesitated, then, he motioned at her to step forward. Tentatively, she moved toward the two men as he said, “Miss Armitage, this is Mr. Josiah Whitbey.” Then he added, even though he had already said so to her on deck, “He is an old friend of your uncle’s in Newport, Rhode Island.”
Alfred stopped. He stared at the page and reread that last sentence: “… this is Mr. Josiah Whitbey. He is an old friend of your uncle’s in Newport, Rhode Island.” He couldn’t believe what he was reading. He grabbed some papers covered in scribblings and shuffled through them until he found a particular one. His eyes widened as he read what he had written. His hand began to shake. He looked again at the book, then at his notes, then back at the book again. Countless times his eyes went from one to the other. Each time his heart beat more rapidly and he began to smile. His mind was racing. He had to be the one and the same: the man responsible for his family’s misfortunes. Alfred never considered the fact that what he was reading was a novel, fiction. At that moment, in his mind, those made-up characters of Polly’s were very real. Any fatigue he may have felt was now long gone. Flush with this new knowledge, he picked up her book and continued.
She was terrified and all she could say was a very faint “Sir,” with a slight curtsy.
His voice was as rough as his look as he said, “Miss Armitage, you are as pretty as your uncle said you were.”
That statement surprised her, which made her feel even more uneasy. They made no further attempt at conversation, and after an awkward pause, the Captain dismissed her with a curt, “Thank you, Miss Armitage. You may go.”
She understood his meaning and replied, “Sir.” Then summoning a stronger voice, she turned her head to face his guest and said, “Mr. Whitbey, it was a pleasure.” With that she curtsied again, turned, and walked out. As she pulled the door shut she heard Whitbey say, “She’s a lovely girl.”
She did not hear the Captain’s response because the door clicked shut.
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