‘Wait,’ Selina called. ‘Your parasol. You know how you burn.’
With a huff of impatience, Alice turned back to retrieve the lacy object from her friend. She smiled her thanks, took Selina’s arm and joined Mr Anderson, her father’s factotum, at the rail.
‘What ship is it?’ Alice asked.
Mr Anderson grimaced. ‘Can’t see from this angle, Miss Fulton. She’s flying the Union Jack.’
Alice breathed a sigh of relief. Thomas Anderson chewed on his bottom lip. ‘I think you and Lady Selina should go below.’
‘Why?’ Selina asked, her wide-eyed gaze turning to the middle-aged man who immediately turned pink. He’d been blushing every time she so much as glanced his way since they had left port. Not that Selina gave him the slightest encouragement. She simply took admiration as her due. Alice suppressed her irritation. She was past being interested in men of any sort.
Captain Dareth lowered his glass. ‘Let’s see if we can outrun her.’
The tense low mutter added pressure to Alice’s already taut chest. She kept silent as the second officer rushed off shouting orders for more sail. The captain didn’t need additional worries.
Richard, obviously brimming with excitement, turned to the master. ‘She’s fast for a brig.’
‘She is that,’ Captain Dareth said.
‘A privateer, do you think?’ Richard ask, his adolescent voice cracking with excitement.
Alice gasped. A run-in with a privateer was the worst possible scenario. With England at war with France and her allies, as well as America, too many nations had given out letters of marque. The legal document allowed greedy captains with fast ships to take as prizes any enemy merchantmen trying to slip through the blockade. They were little better than pirates, but they had the law on their side.
Until now, Fulton’s Shipping had prided itself on following international law to the letter, but the situation had become intolerable, with ships being routinely stopped. She glanced up at their Spanish flag with a wince. Perhaps after all it had not been such a good idea to hide their national identity. If only they hadn’t been quite so desperate to make sure this cargo reached England safely.
‘Is it a privateer?’ she asked.
The captain jerked his head around as if he’d only just noticed her presence. ‘Miss Fulton, I really must ask you to go below. And you, too, Lady Selina. Mr Anderson, please escort the ladies.’
‘Do you think it is a privateer, Captain Dareth?’ Alice asked firmly, aware of the heightened clamour of her heart.
The captain’s gaze shifted above her shoulder, then travelled up the mainmast to the sails being unfurled by his crew. ‘I don’t know, Miss Fulton. There were rumours in Lisbon.’
There were always rumours. ‘But you think it might be.’
Selina gave a little squeak of terror. ‘Are we in danger?’
‘I must take every precaution,’ the captain said.
Mr Anderson took Selina’s elbow and reached for Alice’s arm. ‘Ladies, if you please?’
‘No,’ Alice said. ‘Selina, go below if you wish, but it is as hot as Hades down there. Surely the Conchita will easily outrun her.’ The ship had been specially designed for speed. Father had thrown every last penny into making her one of the fastest merchantmen operating out of England.
Clearly unwilling to argue with his employer’s daughter, Mr Anderson turned his attention to Selina. He escorted her down the nearby companionway.
‘It would be pretty exciting if it is a privateer,’ Richard said.
The captain rolled his eyes. ‘Excuse me, Miss Fulton.’ He hurried off to confer with his first officer. A couple of crew members were taking down the shade awning, the rest hauled on sheets to the second officer’s command in grim silence.
The pursuing brig was now close enough to see crewmen moving around on its deck.
Richard raised his glass to his eye. ‘They are gaining on us.’
Boys. All they cared about was speed and danger. Hadn’t he learned anything on this voyage? This cargo was Father’s last hope—their family’s last hope—to salvage their fortunes.
She forced a smile. ‘Pray he doesn’t catch us instead of cheering him on.’
Richard looked down at her, his boyish face suddenly serious. ‘I’m not on his side, Alice. But you have to admire such a fine ship.’
‘I’d prefer to admire it far behind in our wake.’
Richard returned the glass to his eye. ‘Strange decking aft. High for a brig. Doesn’t seem to slow her speed.’
Apparently not. The brig’s bow was almost level with the Conchita’s stern. Please, please, let him break a mast, or foul his rudder. Anything, so they weren’t caught. Her hands gripped the parasol handle so tightly, they hurt. She snapped the blasted thing closed. Who cared about freckles when minute by minute their pursuer narrowed the patch of ocean between the ships?
Only yards from their rail, the Union Jack on the other ship’s mast went down and the American flag rose. In the stern a large blue flag unfurled bearing the image of a gryphon in gold, all sharp claws and gleaming teeth.
‘I knew it,’ Richard crowed.
Alice gritted her teeth, and yet she couldn’t help but stare in fascination at the approaching ship’s elegant lines.
A puff of smoke emerged from the privateer’s bow. A thunderous bang struck their ears. Alice jumped. Selina’s scream pierced the deck’s planking from below. A plume of water fountained ahead of the Conchita. A warning shot. The maritime signal to halt.
The captain issued a rapid order to the helmsman, who dragged the wheel hard over. The Conchita heeled away from their pursuer. Alice grabbed for the rail as the deck slanted away.
‘That surprised her,’ Richard muttered, one arm hooked around a rope.
The privateer’s sails flapped empty of wind.
‘Oh, good show. She’s in irons.’ Richard hurried off to join the captain at the helm.
‘Not for long,’ Mr Anderson said gloomily, joining Alice at the rail. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw Perkin emerge through the hatch and take in the scene.
‘You,’ an officer shouted. ‘To the yards.’
Perkin made for the stern.
With her heart in her throat and unable to do more than gaze with horrified fascination, Alice watched the privateer’s swift recovery. She swung across the Conchita’s wake, then clawed her way up their port side. All down the length of the sleek-looking ship, black squares of open gun ports bristled with nasty-looking muzzles.
‘Surely
