Chapter Twenty-Three
Isabelle gracelessly stumbled out of the carriage Lily had loaned her. The footman caught her with a steadying hand under her elbow.
She took a few steps, her bunched muscles protesting and cramping. They’d stopped only to change horses. Her blue-gray traveling gown was hopelessly rumpled. She felt sticky all over from her long confinement.
Now that she was at the London docks, trepidation tugged at her skirts. The sights, sounds, and smells were overwhelming. The docks teemed with activity, and dawn had scarcely broken. Large men lugged crates and trunks up gangways. Raucous laughter erupted here and there, punctuating the ceaseless, dull roar of hundreds of voices.
The water of the Thames was scarcely visible from Isabelle’s vantage point. From where she stood, the river was a forest full of branchless trees with sails instead of leaves. Ships crowded the docks and waited in the river. Somewhere nearby, the hulks were anchored in the middle of the river, whole ships full of convicted thieves and murderers.
Even at this hour, prostitutes lurked at the fringes of activity, calling out to passing men. At the mouth of an alley, a man lay face down in a pool of vomit, a bottle of gin clutched in his hand. Isabelle couldn’t tell whether he was dead or alive, and no one else seemed to notice or care.
She shivered. This was no place for a lady. Reason shouted at her to climb back into the safety of the carriage and send the footman for Marshall.
This time, though, she had to let her heart take the lead. She had hurt him when she’d left, and she had to be the one to reach out and find him. She selfishly wanted to see the look on his face when he saw her.
He wouldn’t ever see her, however, if she remained planted next to the carriage, gawking at the bustling activity. He would be gone, forever beyond her reach, if she didn’t start moving.
With a shaking hand, she pulled from her reticule the paper Lily had given her. On it was the name of Marshall’s ship.
“Adamanthea,” she muttered. She looked at the ship closest to where she stood. The name painted on the hull was Siren’s Call. Isabelle scowled and took a few steps. A hand clamped around her upper arm. She shrieked.
“Wouldn’t you like me to go with you, ma’am?” Lily’s footman asked. “Miss Bachman would have my head if any harm came to you.”
Isabelle nodded gratefully. Together, they plunged into the morass of humanity moving across the docks and quays.
She allowed the footman to do most of the talking, asking for directions to Marshall’s ship. The first several brutes he questioned claimed ignorance. Another sent them toward the East India Company’s private docks. Yet another seaman sent them back in the direction from which they had just come.
The sun was fully above the horizon now. Isabelle stomped her foot and let out a strangled cry of frustration. She had come all this way at a breakneck pace to find Marshall, and now she was going to lose him forever because she couldn’t locate his bloody ship.
“Excuse me,” she called out to a nearby man holding a horse by the bridle, carefully guiding the animal through the crowd. He didn’t notice her. Isabelle tapped his shoulder. “I’m looking for the Adamanthea,” she said. “Do you know where it is?”
The man turned, revealing a weathered, hard face. Isabelle sucked in her breath. Thomas Gerald tugged the brim of his cap. “Indeed I do; I’m headed there m’self,” he said amicably. A flash of recognition crossed his face.
Isabelle backed away, looking over her shoulder for the footman.
“Please,” Gerald extended a staying hand, “me and His Grace have settled our differences. Why,” he said, pulling himself erect, “I’m going with him to South America as master of the horse.” He smiled proudly.
Isabelle returned his smile weakly. It seemed they had made their peace, after all. And more, the former convict could help her find Marshall.
“Where’s the ship?” Isabelle asked Thomas. “I have to see the duke.”
“Two ships down,” he answered.
Isabelle wheeled around to see where he pointed. She tsked in annoyance. “We passed it,” she said to the footman.
“Come on, then. I’ll walk with you.” Gerald gently tugged on the horse’s lead.
A dockhand stumbled into the horse, dropping a crate against its haunch. The already nervous animal reared up on its hind legs, flailing to escape. “Whoa now!” Gerald struggled to calm the horse. “Go on ahead,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be a few minutes here.”