“We’re here,” he said, his desire for further excuses on her part completely absent. Instead, he got out and offered his hand to help her alight. “Watch your step as you go onboard. The gangplank might be slippery.”
Dismayed by his ability to shift gears with such remarkable speed, Ida merely nodded and accepted his escort. She couldn’t think straight at the moment, her body still on high alert from their interlude in the carriage. If only she were able to talk to Philipa about it, get her advice.
Ida sighed. Going back to Amourette’s wouldn’t be possible. The place was probably being watched, so she had to avoid it.
Clasping Simon’s hand for balance, she stepped down onto the deck of The Soaring Falcon.
“Right this way,” a burly man said when Simon inquired about Captain Finnegan Murdoch. He led Simon and Ida down below deck, through a passageway, and straight to the captain’s quarters at the stern of the ship.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Simon told Murdoch as soon as he and Ida met him. The captain inclined his head and offered them each a seat at a large table on which a collection of maps and other papers were strewn about. “We’re grateful for any assistance you might be able to offer.”
“We’ll see how helpful I can be once you’ve explained the exact nature of your visit. The note I received was vague at best.” Murdoch, who still stood, crossed to a cabinet and retrieved a large bottle. “Would either of you like a drink while we talk?”
When Simon immediately answered in the affirmative, Murdoch glanced at Ida and arched a brow.
Certain the drink would help put her frayed nerves back together, she nodded. “Please.”
Murdoch smirked with a hint of approval and collected three glasses. He filled them with a clear-colored liquid that burned a path all the way to Ida’s stomach the moment she sipped it.
“Now then,” the captain said as he took his seat on the opposite side of the table. “I believe there was some mention of a letter you’re hoping I might shed some light on?”
“Indeed.” Ida leaned forward, aware of Simon’s assessing gaze and the fact that he, as a man, had probably expected her to let him lead the interview. “From what I’ve recently been able to gather after extensive inquiry, you delivered two important letters four years ago, one to the captain of the British fleet guarding the island of Elba and the other to the French.”
Murdoch twisted his mouth in thought, then reached for his glass and drank. Returning the glass to the table, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes had darkened to pure black. “I don’t suppose the fact that both fleets left their positions the following day and allowed Napoleon to escape was a coincidence?”
“No.”
“Then I’ve nothing further to say.” Murdoch gave them both a hard stare. “I’ll have my boatswain show you out.”
“My father died because of those letters,” Ida said without moving to rise. “Whoever wrote them forged the signature along with the seals of King Louis and King George, then used him as a scapegoat.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t get involved in this mess,” Murdoch muttered.
“You got involved when you agreed to deliver the letters,” Simon cut in.
“And I was questioned then, too, about my involvement.”
“By whom?”
Murdoch’s jaw tightened. “A man I’d rather not meet again.”
“Made you nervous, did he?” Simon’s voice was jovial, but his body was taut and ready for action. “Perhaps we should share your name with the papers – make it known that you’ve started talking about Napoleon’s escape?”
Murdoch narrowed his gaze. “Are you threatening me?”
Simon fixed his attention on the captain while Ida held her breath. “No, not yet. And I’d like to think I won’t have to.”
Murdoch matched the hard glare in Simon’s eyes to perfection while holding perfectly still. “I don’t take kindly to those who try to force my hand.”
“In that case, I would suggest not giving me a reason to do so,” Simon said. “You’re a loyal Englishman, are you not?”
Ida glanced from one man to the other. Fierce determination hardened their features as they stared at each other like a pair of bulls who’d just locked horns
“Aye,” Murdoch agreed with a pensive murmur.
“Then help us find the bastard we’re after.”
Murdoch’s jaw tightened. He finally muttered an ugly series of curses and set his glass to his lips once more. “Fine.”
