Authors: Lightning
There was another explosion ahead. She wondered how anyone could see what was happening in the thick fog. Yet the ship plunged on, oblivious to the fog, the gunfire, the Union boats ahead. Lauren thought about Larry, what it had been like for him to wait there for enemy ships to make their run, to wait and then become caught in the crossfire. Her hands clenched around the railing as she realized her countrymen were now her enemies.
Still, she could not leave. She heard a throb of engines—not theirs—and her breath caught in her throat, but then she realized they must belong to another runner. It had the same sound and, like the
Sally Ann,
it carried no lights. The ship came so close, she saw its shadow and thought they must crash, but then the sound faded away.
Another cannon roared, and another. She felt as though she were blind, wandering in a field of fire, and her only safety was Adrian.
Her situation was so like Melissa’s. She had not had a chance to finish the diary. She had always been with Adrian until the last few nights, and those few times she wasn’t with him, she had fallen into exhausted slumber. She didn’t know why she couldn’t share the diary with Adrian; something always stopped her from doing so. She only knew it seemed meant for her, that Melissa had guided her to it for some reason.
The fog started to lift, and the engines speeded, gray smoke mixing with heavy moisture in the air. There were flares in different directions, smothered blazes in the sky. They were past the shoals, Adrian whispered. Now they would use the speed for which the ship was designed.
Caution no longer mattered so much. Coal was piled upon coal, maximum speed demanded. The ship sprinted ahead just as the fog lifted to reveal a black moonless night. Silhouettes were visible on the sea, but the
Sally
Ann was moving quickly. Lauren heard a shout from a faraway ship, saw flares and heard cannon splash far astern. And then the flashes and noise were farther away, and farther …
Several hours later, Lauren woke, still on deck, her head in Adrian’s lap. Dawn had broken, and the
Sally Ann
was alone on the sea. She realized that she had fallen asleep on deck, and that, rather than wake her, Adrian had comfortably tucked them both between some cotton bales. He was watching her as she sat up against one of the bales.
She yawned, and he grinned. “Ready to go to bed?”
She nodded. Even if she wasn’t, he should. And they were probably making a scandal of themselves out here. It was strange, though, how little she cared about that.
But Adrian needed rest.
They walked to their tiny cabins, Lauren all too aware of the unusual slowness of his steps. He kissed her lightly at the door of his cabin, his eyes again a mystery. His hand touched her cheek, and then he left.
Fully awake, Lauren paced the small cabin. It was permissible now to light the oil lamp, and she did that, then took out the diary.
July
26, 1861
He’s dead. Randall is dead.
At
a place called Manassas Junction. My brother died there too. And I wonder how I can bear it. Thank God for Sam. Lucas has gone, to look for Randall’s body, he said. They grew up together as boys, one white, one black, but as long as I’ve known them, they’ve been like brothers. I think that’s why Randall hated slavery so much
… he
saw men like Sam and Lucas enslaved. I never understood, not really, not until now, not until I saw the tears in Lucas’s eyes. At least he could cry. I cannot. For I still can’t make myself believe he’s gone.
But Lauren could cry. And she did. For Melissa. For Randall. For Lucas. And for herself.
She closed the diary, unable to read any more.
Bermuda was greener than Nassau, and its climate more hospitable. But the same sense of joie de vivre prevailed, an attitude that Lauren now had cause to suspect.
Unlike the
Specter,
the
Sally Ann
had several passenger cabins and, for propriety’s sake, Adrian had engaged one for each of them. There were several other passengers, including two Confederate officials headed toward England. Their presence, along with the lingering pain in Adrian’s shoulder, made Lauren and Adrian careful, Adrian for Lauren’s sake, and Lauren for Adrian’s. They talked together, they ate together, and yet they weren’t together. And the distance was obvious to both of them.
In desperation, Lauren asked Adrian to teach her more about playing cards. The cards had been saved along with the diary, and Adrian and Lauren found a place on deck and vied with each other. Occasionally one of the other passengers would join them.
The game they played was always poker. Adrian was only too familiar with it because of the frequent games between the blockade-running captains. He declared it much simpler than the English games of chance, most of which took more than two players. And they wagered imaginary fortunes, Lauren delighting in besting him. At the end of three days, she was ahead by $25,000.
Adrian would watch her grin in glee, some of the sadness and secrecy fading from her eyes. He enjoyed watching her win so much that while he didn’t lose purposely, neither did he bluff as much as he usually would. Her eyes fairly sparkled when she had a good hand, and he didn’t have the heart to warn her against such signs. It was enough to watch her honey-colored hair blowing in the wind as her hands clasped the cards to keep them from blowing away.
And then they were in Bermuda, a pink gem in a turquoise sea, and Lauren exclaimed aloud she had never seen anything quite so beautiful.
“Wait until you see England in the spring,” Adrian said. “And now, in late summer, it’s so green it makes your eyes hurt. You will see it with me.”
Lauren was silent. How could she go to England with him? She already loved him far too much for her own good. Nothing could come of prolonging their time together. Nothing but pain for her, and disillusionment for him. And yet he still needed her; his wound still required care.
Adrian took her silence as assent. They disembarked together, only to find themselves celebrities in St. George. They were greeted by Major Norman Walker, the Confederate representative, who’d been told of their prospective arrival by an earlier incoming ship.
“We’re planning a dance in your honor,” he told them. “And I’ve already made arrangements for you to stay at Hillcrest. This must be Miss Bradley. By Jove, you have to tell us all about your escape. The Yanks are beside themselves. And this must be that monkey we’ve been hearing about. Fetching little creature.”
Adrian grabbed Socrates, who had taken the comment, or perhaps the way it was said, as an insult and was making ready to attack. The movement made Adrian wince, and Lauren took Socrates, a flush darkening her face.
“You have no idea what your escape did for our morale here,” Walker continued. “It’s the talk of Bermuda. The governor wants to meet you; the English are mad as hell, begging your pardon, miss, about the Yanks holding Captain Cabot in the first place. And you, Miss Bradley, are a
cause celebre.
Like Rose Greenhow.”
Lauren didn’t listen anymore. She felt numb. She was quite aware of Rose Greenhow, a Confederate agent who had been confined in the Old Capitol Prison. And now, she, Lauren Bradley, was equally notorious. A Confederate heroine, when she was in actuality a Union spy! How had things ever become so twisted?
She felt Adrian’s steadying arm on her. “I think,” she heard him say, “that we both need some rest now. Can we talk about this later?”
“Of course, of course, Captain Cabot. Anytime. I’ll take you to your lodgings.”
“Are there any ships leaving for England shortly? We need passage as soon as possible.”
The Confederate agent paused. “There’s one sailing on tomorrow’s tide, but surely … the dance … the governor …”
“I think the Confederacy would be better served,” Adrian said shortly, “if I can get back to England and obtain another ship.”
“Of course, but …”
“Will you be so kind as to see whether accommodations are available?”
Norman Walker’s smile faded. “Certainly, if that’s what you desire.”
“It is,” Adrian said shortly, “and now, if you will see us to our lodgings.”
He tucked his arm into Lauren’s, and she followed his lead, almost blindly. Tomorrow. It was too soon. Too soon to give him up. Too soon to say good-bye. Too soon to make any plans.
Two rooms had been engaged at the comfortable guesthouse called Hillcrest. They were lucky, said the proprietor. The town would be flooded in the next three or four days with runners.
When they were finally free of the Confederate agent, Lauren sank down on the big feather bed in the middle of her room. Adrian was looking after their luggage. Unable to stay still, she went to the window from which, as in Nassau, she could see the harbor.
Could she go to England? And if not, where would she go? All she had in the world was the cottage in Delaware, and she certainly couldn’t go back there now. Just their brief walk through St. George made her realize she would find no livelihood here. It was very small, and the only activity seemed to be in taverns. Perhaps in England she could find some way to support herself—as a governess, or a teacher in a girls’ school. She had an excellent education.
And Adrian wouldn’t be there long. He’d made that clear. Just long enough to locate another ship.
Excuses. Excuses. She knew the real reason. She wasn’t prepared yet to give him up. Not until she knew his shoulder was well, not until he didn’t need her any longer, not until …
She saw him alight from a for-hire carriage, one of their new portmanteaus under his good arm, his chestnut hair glowing in the Bermuda sun, his walk confident as he gave directions to the man next to him. Her eyes relished every inch of him, relished and coveted and hungered.
It seemed forever since he had touched her intimately, although his eyes did so frequently. She kept telling herself she couldn’t, shouldn’t, go with him to England.
But in her heart, she knew she would. And try as she might, she could not feel regret, could feel nothing but great joy that she and Adrian would remain together a little longer.
Unlike the brilliance of sparkling Bermuda, London did not appear very hospitable at first sight. The city was incredibly dirty on the waterfront, dirty and noisy. It wasn’t at all as Adrian had described it.
Yet his eyes glowed when he first spied it from the deck of the clipper that brought them here. It was the first time in days she had seen that particular brightness.
She knew she had been looking for that hot blue flame in his eyes. And she occasionally caught glimpses of it, but now he controlled the fire as he hadn’t before. He was polite rather than passionate. No, more than polite. Restrained was the word, she thought. Tightly leashed.
Once more he had engaged separate cabins, although she would have preferred to share one. He disappeared more and more during the day, into, she thought, the captain’s cabin, or he joined the man at the wheel. She and Adrian usually joined the captain and the ten other passengers for meals, and took sedate walks around the deck, but there was no more of her going to sleep in his arms, and she missed it. How bitterly she missed it!
He had tired of her, she thought sadly. His eyes were masked, and he kept his hands close to his body.
Once when she had hesitated outside her cabin after dinner, he had only pressed her hand. Her eyes, she knew, pleaded with him.
“We have to be careful of your reputation,” he said softly, his breath touching her with its usual exciting effect.
“I don’t think I have a reputation left,” she replied.
“Ah, but you do, Lauren. That of a heroine, and it will stand you in good stead if we do nothing to destroy it.”
“I’m not a heroine.”
“I would disagree.”
“Adrian …” She saw him stop, pause, and wait, a strange sort of expectancy in his eyes. She couldn’t go on. “Good night,” she said, defeatedly.
Something like disappointment flickered in his face. Then he merely nodded and turned away, and she watched him reach his own cabin, hesitate, pass it, and go toward the hatch that led back on deck. She wanted to go after him, to stand with him against the wind, to taste all the flavors of life again, but something stopped her. She thought about the diary inside, but she dismissed the idea. She already knew too much about Melissa’s pain. She didn’t think she could bear more.
So the days had fallen into a pattern. They occasionally still played cards, but she felt him fade further and further away. Perhaps he felt that she would expect him to marry her, and was trying to let her down gently.
She knew she did not meet the requirements of a lord’s wife. But it hurt.
Adrian directed the hired carriage to the town home of Sir Giles Gray, the man who had once been his captain, his mentor, and later his benefactor. He threw a glance at Lauren, who was looking discomfited in a muslin dress she’d purchased in Virginia before boarding the train to Wilmington. She was biting her lip, as she did when she was not entirely sure of herself. It was an endearing habit, and one he’d seen more frequently since crossing the Potomac.
If he did not know her so well by now, he might wonder that she was nervous about meeting Sir Giles when neither Yankee gunboats nor soldiers nor storms seemed to give her a whit of concern. He had known she was ready to bolt at any time, and he had used his wound shamelessly to keep her with him. Moreover, he had not given her any time to protest or plan, moving as he had so quickly from one place to another.