Why Mermaids Sing

Chapter 36

Returning from her ride with Devlin, Kat tore up her half-written note to the Irishman Aiden O’Connell and burned the scraps.

It had occurred to her that sending any written communication—no matter how carefully composed—would be folly. The danger of such a note falling into the hands of Jarvis’s agents were simply too high.

She had just over twenty-four hours left. Closing her writing desk with a snap, she went to change into a walking dress of straw-colored lawn decorated with plaiting at the bodice and waist and set out to track down the Irishman herself.

The spymaster continued to be elusive. But as she mingled with a crowd of well-dressed onlookers cheering their favorite teams in the summer’s last regatta on the Thames, Kat found herself in the company of Russell Yates, ex-privateer and former owner of the ill-fated Harmony.

For a woman with Kat’s talents, it was easy enough to maneuver herself next to Yates and engage him in conversation. He was an imposing figure, tall and large boned, with broad shoulders and a solid physique he kept well honed at Jackson’s and Angelo’s. He wore the buff-colored breeches, striped silk waistcoat, and dark blue morning coat of a gentleman, but he still looked like a pirate, with his hawkish nose, sun-darkened skin, and dark hair he kept just a shade too long.

“I saw you at Covent Garden last night,” he said, the gold hoop in his left ear catching the light as he bowed over her hand. “I must say, you make a charming shrew. But then you also make a regal Cleopatra and an incomparable Juliet.”

Kat smiled. “We’re considering doing Othello next. I thought of you when I read the text. You owned a ship that was lost at sea, did you not? The Helpmate or the Handsome or some such thing.”

He lifted a glass of wine from the tray of a servant who hovered at his elbow and took a slow sip. “The Harmony. Singularly inappropriately christened ship, considering its fate.”

“You’ve heard the rumors, I suppose? That these grisly murders are somehow linked to the ship’s ordeal?”

“No. I hadn’t heard any talk. But I’m not surprised. Devilish business, that. Frankly, I’m glad the ship sank off Portugal. It would have been impossible to crew with that kind of history, and then what would I have done with it?”

A cool breeze from the river flapped Kat’s straw hat. She put up one hand to steady it. “The ship was insured, was it?”

Yates laughed. “Oh, yes. I believe in insurance—unlike Wesley Oldfield, poor sod.”

“Oldfield?”

“The Harmony carried a shipment of his tea. Lost it all. Third cargo in as many months. Turned his brain, I’m afraid—that and the accommodations in the Marshalsea, I suppose.”

A shout went up from among the crowd of spectators. Kat swung to look out over the water, to where the lead crew was fighting hard to maintain their advantage, the spray from their oars sparkling in the sunshine. “Was Oldfield a passenger on the Harmony?”

“Oldfield? No.”

She glanced back at the man beside her. “Were you?”

A slow smile spread across his pirate face. “You know, I’m getting the distinct impression you engaged me in conversation this afternoon for the sole purpose of learning everything you could about the Harmony.”

“Acute of you,” said Kat, returning his smile.

He laughed, then abruptly sobered. “It’s because of Devlin, I suppose. I’ve heard he’s looking into these murders. I must admit, I didn’t think about the possible connection to the Harmony when it was just Carmichael and Stanton. But now that they’ve found Captain Bellamy’s son dead, as well…”

Kat studied his handsome, sun-darkened face. “Do you have sons, Mr. Yates?”

“No. Thank God, considering the circumstances.” He brought one hand to his chest and gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’ve never yet found a woman to steal my heart.”

She laughed politely, as she was meant to do, then said, “Who else died on that ship besides Lord Jarvis’s son, David?”

“Let me see…” Yates dropped his hand to his side and stared thoughtfully out over the river. “Two or three of the crew were killed in the storm, I believe; the rest either died under some African’s spear or at the end of a rope. But that’s it. The ship’s log was lost in the wreckage, so there’s no real record.”

“None of the other passengers died?”

He shook his head. “There were only some half a dozen besides Stanton and Carmichael. And no, I don’t recall their names,” he added when she opened her mouth to ask exactly that. “You know, if you ever tire of the stage, you ought to consider applying at Bow Street. You’re a natural.”

“It’s my understanding they don’t employ females.”

“More fool they. I’ve heard Aiden O’Connell say no one can ferret out information faster or more reliably than a female. I’m beginning to think he’s right.”

Kat brought her wandering attention back to his face. It seemed a strange thing for him to have said, and she wasn’t convinced it was as offhand as it sounded. “You’re acquainted with Aiden O’Connell?”

A light gleamed in his eyes, then was gone in an instant. “We’ve been known to do business together.”

Kat kept her voice casual and disinterested. “Has he left town? I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

“Not that I’m aware of. Do you intend to hound him about the Harmony as well? If I see him, I’ll warn him you were asking after him.”

Kat gave a soft laugh. “What has Aiden O’Connell to do with the Harmony?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

She stayed talking nonsense with him a few more minutes, then moved on. It was some quarter of an hour later, as she was preparing to leave the terrace, that Yates approached her again.

“It’s occurred to me that there was indeed another death on the Harmony,” he said, leaning in close so that his words would not be overheard. “Bellamy’s cabin boy. A spar fell on him during the storm, injuring him badly. He died several days before the Sovereign’s appearance.”

“The cabin boy? What was his name?” Kat asked, her voice coming out more sharp than she’d intended it to.

“That I can’t recall. But if it comes to mind, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Kat had almost reached the steps of her house in Harwich Street when she became aware of a tall, well-dressed gentleman walking toward her, his bootheels tapping ominously on the empty paving.

“Miss Boleyn,” said Colonel Bryce Epson-Smith, sweeping her a mocking bow. “How…fortuitous.”

Kat’s grip on the handle of her sunshade tightened, then relaxed. Inclining her head, she gave the man a faint, bored smile. “Colonel.”

“A gentle reminder about tomorrow night,” he told her, his gaze traveling over her in a way that made her skin crawl. “After the play, of course. We wouldn’t want to deprive London of one last glimpse of the divine Miss Kat Boleyn, in the event that you should elect to be…shall we say…stubborn?”