Her Three Captains
Arabella Sheen
The Honorable Olivia Trevillion lifted the long skirts of her embroidered silk evening gown and stepped cautiously down from her carriage into the grey oppressive darkness of the night. She had come straight from a rout party given by her aunt. Adorned with glittering jewels and festooned in her best finery, Olivia was hardly dressed to visit a sailor’s tavern on such a cold November night, but time was of the essence. She was in need of help and guessed that the gentleman she thought most likely to be of assistance to her was probably to be found amid the thirsty patrons of The Sailors Haven, which was the black-and-white timber-framed watering hole before her.
A thick fog was rolling in on the evening’s tide, and several of the tall ships docked on the quayside were already half concealed by the heavy mist that was falling. The unsettling noise of the inn’s inebriated patrons emanating from the tavern could be heard above the soft sound of the lapping waves as they hit gently against the wooden hulls of ships and the stone walls of the dockside, but she wasn’t deterred. She wasn’t here on a whim. She was on a mission and had a purpose.
“Wait here, Barnet,” she said, impatient to be gone. “I shall not be long.”
Her coachman touched a finger to his forelock and, with a flick of his hand, signaled for the young groom beside him to go to the front of the carriage and take hold of the horses’ heads.
“Aye, miss,” Barnet mumbled. “But I ain’t happy about you having no one with you. You ought not to venture in there alone. Would you like Wicks to accompany you?”
Olivia shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
Reminded of possible danger, she felt in the folds of her cloak and was reassured by the heavy weight of her pistol.
“It won’t be safe for you, miss,” Barnet warned.
Barnet had worked for her family for many years. He was an old and loyal servant, and Olivia always trusted his judgment. But this was something she had to do, and she had to do it tonight … and alone.
Drawing her cloak tightly about her person and ignoring her coachman’s counsel, she walked with steady determined strides toward the flickering lights of the tavern. Placing her hand against the gnarled wood of the door, she pushed it open and entered the hostelry.
The tavern was dimly lit. A roaring fire burned bright in the hearth, and several men with a tankard of ale in one hand and a pretty wench in the other were making free and merry, uncensored by the noisy crowd around them.
“And what can we do for you, my dear?” asked a buxom woman.
The woman’s hands were rested on her well-rounded hips, and her dress, where the neckline had slipped low and deep, showed an ample amount of cleavage. She didn’t look like one of the taverns’ punters, more like the landlady. And there was also an air of authority about her that suggested she might actually own the place.
Olivia peered into the horde of drunken revelers, searching for a familiar face, but she couldn’t see the man she was looking for.
“I was told Luke Crowe might be here this evening,” she said. “Perhaps I was misinformed.”
Olivia had just come from her aunt’s rout party where she had overheard mentioned that a ship, The Mattea, had docked in Bristol’s harbor that morning.
It was also suggested that Luke Crowe and his unsavory crew would undoubtedly be enjoying some of the worldly pleasures that were to be found in one of the quayside’s many taverns that very night.
“No, my lovely, he’s here all right.” The woman smiled, showing an uneven row of rotten teeth. “You’ve come to the right place. But our Captain Luke ain’t one to sit with the likes of these unruly gentlemen.”
The woman flicked her head in the direction of her customers as if to indicate they were the undesirables.
Olivia sighed her relief. “You mean, he’s here? Captain Crowe is here?”
The fact Luke was to be found at the tavern gave her hope. When entering The Sailors Haven unaccompanied, she had taken a chance and risked her reputation, but it seemed as if her gamble was about to pay off.
“He always asks for our best parlor at the back of the house. And it’s never anything else but the best. Drink, food … women.” The woman winked. “If you’re after him, he’s sitting with some fine fellows he calls friends, but he doesn’t like being disturbed, not when he’s playing a winning hand of cards.”
“But I must see him,” Olivia insisted. “It’s an urgent matter, and I must speak with him privately.”
“As I said, he won’t see anyone, especially if they are a stranger to him.”
“But I do know him. We were once acquaintances, friends, but…”
“Ahh, you’re a lady friend of his, are you?”
Olivia didn’t make an effort to deny the landlady’s wrong assumption. Instead, she dipped her hand deep into her reticule and retrieved several coins. She pressed them into the woman’s palm. “If you would now lead the way…”
With her palm greased, the woman soon changed her tune. “Well, as I’ve never known him to refuse a pretty lady anything before, you’d best come with me, miss.”
Olivia was taken to the back of the tavern, where the landlady pulled aside a dark velvet curtain to reveal a room clouded in thick smoke. Men were sitting around a table, and by the pile of coins stacked high in the center, it looked like a game of cards had been in full swing for some time.
A dark-haired man, strikingly handsome in countenance, with broad shoulders and a broad chest, with supreme confidence in his actions, laid down his cards and leaned across the table. With the arrogant assurance of a winner, he spread his arms wide, and then giving a loud laugh of satisfaction, he gathered the mountain of coins into a heap, pulling them toward him.
“Thank you, gentlemen. It was my pleasure,” he said.
The man was indeed Luke Crowe.
Even though it had been ten years or more since Olivia had last met Luke at Chamber Manor, her family’s home in Devon, she would have recognized him anywhere. He was decidedly older, but just as good-looking, if not more so. A sudden rush of heat surged through her. His dark chestnut-brown hair was tied back from his face with a black ribbon, and a smattering of grey tufts showed amid his dark tresses, but unlike before, Luke was dressed not in a seafaring uniform, but elegantly in a suit made from a rich, finely woven cloth. Matured, sun-kissed and weathered, he still held a mysterious fascination for her.
Luke raised his eyes from the table and their gazes locked. For a brief moment, a frown of puzzlement marred his brow, and then, with slow deliberation, his hand lifted the thin cheroot he was holding between his fingers to his lips and he inhaled deeply. After exhaling a long, threadlike cloud of tobacco smoke into the air, he stood and bowed low.
“Gentlemen, there’s a lady in our midst,” he said in a deep, commanding voice.
Olivia felt deflated. He hadn’t recognized her.
She had thought he might have remembered her from when she was a child, but he obviously couldn’t recall who she was.
A scraping of chairs on the hardwood of the bare tavern floor could be heard, and the men seated at the card table hurriedly got to their feet to acknowledge her presence.
They were all dressed to the height of fashion.
Wearing fine linen shirts with high pointed collars reaching to just beneath their chins, and kitted out in fancy tailored waistcoats embroidered with fine gold threads, it was apparent that these gentlemen were not of the same social standing as the occupants toward the front of the tavern. But that didn’t mean they had absolutely nothing in common with their fellow patrons. It was clear these men were also inebriated to the point of near senselessness. Most of them were well into their cups and were standing unsteadily on their feet.
“A lady friend of yours, is she, Crowe? And a mighty pretty one at that.”
The man who had spoken lifted a glass to his lips. Tilting his head back, he drained the dregs from his goblet. Tottering, he staggered, falling backward onto his chair, and as his head and torso tumbled forward onto the table, the loud snorts and grunts that followed were an unmistakable indication of his level of unconsciousness.
“You must excuse Lord Hepworth, my dear,” Luke said. “The sight of a beautiful woman tends to have that effect upon him.”
Olivia caught her breath at the innuendo behind the backhanded compliment. She was not flattered.
“Captain Crowe, my concern is not for Lord Hepworth and his reaction to the female form. My business happens to be with you, sir. Is there somewhere private where we may speak? I have something I must ask and would feel more at ease if we were alone.”
Luke gave an indifferent shrug, and she began to wonder if he, too, had overindulged in the carafe of wine that was close to his hand. Was he sober enough to hear her out?
“As you can see, there is nowhere private in this place. We are as private as we’re likely to be. Which is perhaps a good thing. I would not wish your reputation to be sullied.”
“Sir, I care not for my reputation. I must speak with you about—”
“Madam, you might not care for your reputation, but I certainly have mine to think of. All too often I’ve been caught off guard, and never again will I trust a woman.”
Several men burst into laughter, but even though she knew it was partially the drink talking, she had difficulty seeing the humor in Luke’s remark. Was his glib insult directed at her, or was there something else behind his harsh words?
Tilting her chin upward, she said, “Please forgive me for wasting your time, Captain. I am at fault. I had thought you could help, but it’s apparent that tonight I’ve made a needless journey. Good night, sir.”
Pulling her cloak securely around her, Olivia turned and left the room. She was defeated. She had braved the perils of the sailors’ watering hole and had pinned all her hopes on persuading Luke to help her, and it had been to no avail.
Making her way back through the crowded tavern, she emerged into the chill of the November night and filled her lungs with clean, sea-scented air. She felt dirty and soiled and crushed. Her encounter with Luke had left her feeling defeated. He was obviously not the gentleman she remembered him to be.
The fog had cleared. Walking to the edge of the quayside, she looked down and saw the bright shadow of the moon reflected as its yellow light rippled across the dark waters of the harbor. Somewhere without family, and lost on the other side of the ocean, was her brother, Joseph.
She had hoped to help him, but tonight she had failed.
Returning to where the carriage was stationed, she looked up at the coachman. He sat with reins in hand, awaiting instructions.
“You may take me home, Barnet. Unfortunately, Captain Crowe is not the man I remembered him to be. He cannot help us.” And with a heavy heart, Olivia made her way home, trying to think of other ways in which she might help her brother.
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