Cadence

Twelve

Twelve

“Mike Jamison is dead?” Curtis was incredulous.

Shortly after reaching port he’d left the ship to see to business arrangements and found another smaller ship that had set sail from Charleston a few days after his own. Cory Chambers had often teased Curtis about the swiftness of his own smaller vessel.

“Yes,” Chambers stated matter-of-factly. “Night before you sailed he was stabbed to death in an alleyway. Richard and Melissa Carlisle found him, not only that, but they saw a young woman standing over the body. Richard tried to catch her but with the storm and all…” his voice trailed off.

Curtis nodded, mind reeling. “I remember the storm. I thought it might delay our departure. Do they know who did it?” He rather dreaded the answer.

Chambers nodded grimly. “His daughter, the younger one, what’s her name? Constance? Cadence? Cadence, that’s it. The woman Richard saw had blond curly hair and Cadence Jamison disappeared the same night.”

A physical blow could not have staggered him more thoroughly. All the pieces fit perfectly into place. Had Cadence murdered her father? The bastard deserved it, but… the question exploded in his brain. Stumbling backward he bid a quick farewell to his friend, turned and ran across the quay to the Heavenly Mistress. Thundering onto the deck he shouted, “Mr. Bowen, where is Cam?”

The mate looked up in surprise. “I don’t know, sir, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Curtis tore through the ship in search of the Cadence. When a thorough search turned up no sign of her he sprinted back onto the deck. “If Cam comes back do not let him leave. I don’t care if you have to lock him in the brig, just keep him here!”

“Aye, sir,” Mr. Bowen nodded as Curtis dashed down the gangway back onto the wharf.

*      *      *

London was not what Cadence had expected.

The city was dingy and dirty, teeming with people who looked as though they burrowed with the rats. Rats! Oh, God the rats! Rats were everywhere. Huge, fat, disgusting rats. Rats the size of dogs unlike anything she’d seen before. Why had she left the ship? Why hadn’t she just confided in Curtis and let him help her? It was too late now. She was doomed in a fate of her own choosing alone and practically penniless in the White Chapel District of London, England.

Tentatively she peeked through a crack in the door of the deserted carriage house she’d slipped into to transform from cabin boy to woman. A man pulled a hand held cart down the alley just feet away. She waited for him to pass, nervously fingering her pink skirt, and clutching the old satchel more securely to her side. Perhaps she should have remained a boy a while longer. How would an unescorted woman be received? Panic welled in her throat, threatening to overwhelm her.

She drew a ragged breath, reminding herself to take this new life one step at a time. First things first. She would find a room at one of the more reputable looking inns. Once she had a roof over her head she could regroup and look for work—perhaps a dressmaker would be in need of an experienced seamstress. It would probably be best if she claimed herself a widow. Yes, definitely for the best.