public—though keeping her good name seemed the least of her worries at the moment. During her years at sea she’d learned that some rough characters were rock-hard on the outside but gentle as lambs on the inside.
This man looked as if he were made of stone clear through.
However, she’d come too far to turn back now. Gathering her courage, Juliana straightened her shoulders and spoke with as much authority as she could muster. “My name is of no consequence. I wish to speak with Captain Gabriel. Would you be so kind as to tell him that he has a visit—”
Her words died as a gummy wad of tobacco hit the wooden dock not six inches from her slipper.
“Shove off. The captain chooses his doxies, not the other way ’round.”
“Doxies! Now see here, we’re not—I mean, we aren’t—my good man, if you just inform the captain of our arrival, I’m sure he will—”
She ducked as a well-aimed chaw sailed over her head and spattered against the shed behind her.
“Well, that could have gone better,” Meg commented dryly as she looked from the spatter to the disappearing hulk of the sailor. “What do we do now?”
What indeed? In her younger days, Juliana would have stormed the gangway and yelled at the tobacco-chewing sonof a packet rat until he was forced to take her to Connor, but those days were long gone. Such behavior would almost certainly attract the attention of the night watch—and assure her a front-page headline in tomorrow’s
Tattler
. The Jollys would be mortified. Juliana had little choice but to give up and go home. “But I cannot go home, not yet,” she breathed, speaking more to herself than to Meg. “There must be some way I can get on that ship and see Connor—”
“He ain’t there.”
Juliana and Meg whirled as one and stared at the large wine cask that had apparently developed speech. Juliana stepped closer. “Who said that?”
There was a scuffling noise and a child stepped out from behind the cask, a boy of eight or nine with curly black hair that needed combing. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his oversized pea coat and glared up at Juliana with curious, wary eyes.
A strange feeling of recognition washed over Juliana, though she was quite sure she had never seen the boy before. She glanced at Meg, but the look of surprise on her friend’s face showed that she was as astonished by the child’s appearance as Juliana was. She took a step toward him. The boy darted out of her reach like a wild animal.
“Captain’s over to the Bell,” he said grudgingly, as if regretting his decision to reveal himself.
The Bell was a tavern on the docks that had been serving strong ale and few questions to seafaring men since the reign of Elizabeth. It took its name from the brass bell hung over the entrance, which was rung every time a ship went down. Juliana had visited it once, smuggled in under Tommy Blue’s coat like a piece of contraband cargo. She remembered it as a raucous place, full of strong drink, laughter, fistfights, and pretty ladies with painted faces and old eyes. She’d had the time of her life until Connor had found them. Honestly, she’d thought he was going to skin poor Tommy alive.
Meg laid a hand on her shoulder. “Julie, the boy.”
Juliana looked around and saw that the child was backing away into the shadows, poised to run. “Wait!”
Her cry tethered the boy. He looked up at her, his dark, hunted eyes showing that he was as puzzled as she was that her words had stopped him. “Crikey, what is it, lady?”
“I—” Juliana paused, inexplicably tongue-tied. After spending years in the rarified society of the
ton
, where rhetoric was an art that strove for complexity and cleverness rather than truth, she was at a loss for honest words. There was so much she wanted to know about the boy—where he came from, how he knew Connor, why he had helped them. Most of all, she wanted to know why she felt a strange ache in her heart when she looked into his
This man looked as if he were made of stone clear through.
However, she’d come too far to turn back now. Gathering her courage, Juliana straightened her shoulders and spoke with as much authority as she could muster. “My name is of no consequence. I wish to speak with Captain Gabriel. Would you be so kind as to tell him that he has a visit—”
Her words died as a gummy wad of tobacco hit the wooden dock not six inches from her slipper.
“Shove off. The captain chooses his doxies, not the other way ’round.”
“Doxies! Now see here, we’re not—I mean, we aren’t—my good man, if you just inform the captain of our arrival, I’m sure he will—”
She ducked as a well-aimed chaw sailed over her head and spattered against the shed behind her.
“Well, that could have gone better,” Meg commented dryly as she looked from the spatter to the disappearing hulk of the sailor. “What do we do now?”
What indeed? In her younger days, Juliana would have stormed the gangway and yelled at the tobacco-chewing sonof a packet rat until he was forced to take her to Connor, but those days were long gone. Such behavior would almost certainly attract the attention of the night watch—and assure her a front-page headline in tomorrow’s
Tattler
. The Jollys would be mortified. Juliana had little choice but to give up and go home. “But I cannot go home, not yet,” she breathed, speaking more to herself than to Meg. “There must be some way I can get on that ship and see Connor—”
“He ain’t there.”
Juliana and Meg whirled as one and stared at the large wine cask that had apparently developed speech. Juliana stepped closer. “Who said that?”
There was a scuffling noise and a child stepped out from behind the cask, a boy of eight or nine with curly black hair that needed combing. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his oversized pea coat and glared up at Juliana with curious, wary eyes.
A strange feeling of recognition washed over Juliana, though she was quite sure she had never seen the boy before. She glanced at Meg, but the look of surprise on her friend’s face showed that she was as astonished by the child’s appearance as Juliana was. She took a step toward him. The boy darted out of her reach like a wild animal.
“Captain’s over to the Bell,” he said grudgingly, as if regretting his decision to reveal himself.
The Bell was a tavern on the docks that had been serving strong ale and few questions to seafaring men since the reign of Elizabeth. It took its name from the brass bell hung over the entrance, which was rung every time a ship went down. Juliana had visited it once, smuggled in under Tommy Blue’s coat like a piece of contraband cargo. She remembered it as a raucous place, full of strong drink, laughter, fistfights, and pretty ladies with painted faces and old eyes. She’d had the time of her life until Connor had found them. Honestly, she’d thought he was going to skin poor Tommy alive.
Meg laid a hand on her shoulder. “Julie, the boy.”
Juliana looked around and saw that the child was backing away into the shadows, poised to run. “Wait!”
Her cry tethered the boy. He looked up at her, his dark, hunted eyes showing that he was as puzzled as she was that her words had stopped him. “Crikey, what is it, lady?”
“I—” Juliana paused, inexplicably tongue-tied. After spending years in the rarified society of the
ton
, where rhetoric was an art that strove for complexity and cleverness rather than truth, she was at a loss for honest words. There was so much she wanted to know about the boy—where he came from, how he knew Connor, why he had helped them. Most of all, she wanted to know why she felt a strange ache in her heart when she looked into his
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