Her penance?
And then he realized. He braced himself simply for the sight of her. Those blue eyes. That infectious smile.
He’d always braced himself. The response of his body and heart threatened to overwhelm him.
Even now?he wondered, tightening his gloves.
Even now.
From the carriage door, he saw steel-grey silk. Next, black glove, black bonnet, black boot. More grey silk.
And then there she was, stepping lightly down, notebook clutched to her chest. She waved smoothly to him. She shaded her eyes with a gloved hand to stare at the tall ships in a line along the quay.
“Is it here? Have you docked?” she asked excitedly.
Joseph nodded, allowing the sight of her to wash over him. She seemed barely to notice him, staring up with enthusiasm at the boats. Her face was lit by the sunshine and unmasked anticipation. She’d worn another horrible dress—dark grey mottled fabric with brown-black trim. She looked like a pearl inside the hard grey shell of an oyster.
Oyster or not, he struggled to absorb the sight of Tessa Chance on a London dock. He was reminded of a sparrow in a church. He understood how she got in, but he had to stifle the urge not to whip off his coat and spirit her safely back the way she’d come.
“Which one is it?” she prodded, waving the carriage away. She stepped lightly around a trio of laborers who bickered over an open flask.
“There,” said Stoker from the gatepost. “Third brig.”
“Mr. Stoker?” Tessa gushed, turning her smile to him. “How lovely to see you! I apologize for this change of plan with the docks. I am gratified to see that you’ve found a place to rest your head after all.”
“Thanks to you,” he said, stomping out his cheroot.
“But where is Cassin?” she asked, speaking of their third partner.
Stoker made a hissing noise. “Halfway to Yorkshire by now.” He drew a timepiece from his waistcoat pocket. “He set out on horseback from Canvey Island yesterday.”
“Home to see Willow...” Tessa sighed, her smile softening. “Of course he did. It was so difficult for Willow to say good-bye to him again after she’d settled at Caldera.”
Joseph watched her closely. There had been happiness all around when Cassin and Willow’s marriage of convenience grew into earnest love; but now Willow and Cassin appeared to be the very last thing on her mind. She stared up at the brig with an expression of fascination. Joseph felt something squeeze in his gut. He had delighted in her enthusiasm over many things at Berymede. Enthusiasm from Tessa had been as reliable as the sunrise. But she had exclaimed over snowflakes, the ribbons on her shoes, the shine on his boots. He rolled his shoulders, admitting that this new enthusiasm was no less alluring.
“Tessa,” he heard himself say, “we’ve given the crew an eighteen-hour furlough.” He sounded as if he were reading a speech, and he cleared his throat. “They’ll be back by sunset, and we’ll need to know our length of time in port. I’m prepared to take over from here—with our deepest gratitude for all you have done—but you’ll have to explain what they’ve told you about the warehouse space. And...” he hesitated “...I will need to know what’s become of the money. From the canceled warehouses at your father’s docks.”
“Oh, yes.” She swung her attention back to him. “But there is no need to be cryptic about the money. Every shilling rests safely in an account in the long room of the dock house. Do you have the manifest? The searcher’s office is just here.” She pointed. “Hopefully Mr. Cosgrove won’t be too behind for today. I arrived as early as I could. There’s no point in coming before he’s unlocked and taken his coffee. Oh, and I have my own copy of the dock warrant, in case you’ve mislaid the one I gave you yesterday.”
“I have the warrant,” Joseph said.
She isn’t going,he thought, and he felt a rush of relief. He’d been afraid she’d give him an overview and disappear, return to her little townhouse and her new life. Without him.
She isn’t going,he thought again.There is more.
He looked at the line of men filing into the stone outpost that bore the sign Customs and Levies.
“I have the manifest,” said Stoker.
“Lovely,” Tessa said, sidestepping two more laborers and an overturned barrel of chum. She strode to the customs office as if she’d done it every day for a month. Joseph and Stoker were given little choice but to follow.
Stoker shot Joseph a look. “Chin up, mate,” he said.
The events that followed, first in Customs with the searcher and then with the auxiliary examiner, and after that with the cargo ledger clerk in the dock office, and finally with the indecipherable hierarchy of dock and warehouse workers, were nothing short of astounding.
Tessa presided over it all with a balance of studied authority and delight. He thought she might actually clap her hands as she watched each new development fall into place. In Joseph’s experience, making port and warehousing cargo was a slow, tedious process; to Tessa, it was like opening night of an operetta—with her in the director’s chair.
“You’ll be amazed at how quickly the ship will be unloaded,” she told Joseph as they stood quayside and stared up the hull of the brig. Stoker had boarded to work with the auxiliary examiner to weigh their barrels.
