The Trouble With Misbehaving

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The following morning, he went directly to a popular coffee house frequented by mariners. Scanning the room, he saw a familiar face. The long wall mirror reflected a tall top hat, dark hair and beard. At the other end of the bar sat his old friend, Captain Glyncarn, reading a paper.

Beau ordered coffee and strolled over. Sliding onto the stool next to his friend, he muttered, “I might have pictured you many places, but not in a London coffee house.”

Glyncarn set down his paper. “Now this is a pleasant surprise!” He grabbed Beau’s hand and shook it soundly. “How are you, me boy!” A black patch covered one eye. His other dark eye crinkled into a smile.

Beau blew on his hot coffee and grinned. “Still up to no good. How long will you be in London?”

Glyncarn’s laughter rumbled deep and jolly. “I’m taking each day as it comes. And you?”

“I might be here another day or two. I see you’re still reading the Index. Anything in it I should know?”

“Same old Confederate propaganda. The queen has declared the United Kingdom neutral in the war across the pond, but I’m with the folks here, the South has my sympathies. Unlike those rabble-rousers in the North, the South’s way of life is more genteel, like England’s. Plus, our upper and middle classes have family and business ties over there. But enough of that. What are you up to?”

“I’ve an opportunity to command a ship to one of my favorite spots.”

Glyncarn stroked his beard, his expression thoughtful. “Your little vacation at Old Capitol Prison didn’t spoil your appetite for playing fox?”

“You heard?”

“Aye. Rough patch of luck, that. Thought you might have swallowed the anchor and found another game.”

“The money they’re offering should make it more palatable.”

“It’s good to see someone’s got their spirit back.” Glyncarn grinned.

“Are you looking for a command?” Beau asked.

“Might be. If the money’s right.”

Beau lowered his voice. “What kind of money would make it right for Nassau to Wilmington?”

Glyncarn gave the hairs under his chin a vigorous scratch before responding. “Last I heard, a run there and back could make a captain five thousand in gold. But I’m through with that business.”

So C.C. was offering Beau more than the going rate to command a ship into Wilmington. Still, he’d vowed in prison to find a safer way to make a living. “You know of something better?”

“Ain’t nothin’ better, if it’s only money we’re speakin’ of,” Glyncarn growled. “Now, if it’s life and liberty, there are better places to ply your trade. Had a brush with the Yankee lads sitting off the Carolinas myself. Right surly bunch, they were. The thieves made my ship their prize. They took the cargo, ship, personal belongings, everything—claimed we were aiding the enemy. Held me for a couple of weeks until they decided my English citizenship papers were real.

“Captain Mclean and his ship weren’t so lucky. As he made for New Inlet, the Union gunboat Stampede cornered him. Fired solid shot and shrapnel. Killed Mclean where he stood. Some of it pierced the hull and set the engine and cargo afire. The inferno sent Mclean’s ship and a quarter of its crew to a watery grave.”

Glyncarn shook his head. Loathing sparked in his eye. “I don’t have the stomach for those kinds of games anymore. Too old. No amount of money would get me back in those waters.”

Beau could hardly believe the story. Not Mclean. He’d been a good friend, one of the best. No captain was more skilled or fearless. They’d both been officers in the Royal Navy and served together on the commerce raider, the St. Charles. Eventually they’d obtained commands on blockade-runners.

As he sipped his coffee, a vivid memory of the Roundabout’s capture came rushing back. Hate boiled in his gullet. He knew the Stampede well. Never would he forget the feel of cold steel jammed into his ear when Commander Rives hissed, “Swear you gave the command to fire on my vessel and your men will go free.” Twisted glee glinted in his eyes as he stood nearly nose-to-nose, his neatly trimmed beard and strangely prepossessing features pulled into a jackal’s grin.

The guards wrenched Beau’s arms up his back for the appropriate response, but he’d managed to wheeze, “We did not fire on your ship. Your shell hit part of our cargo and blew it back onto your vessel.”

Rives nodded to his guards who then beat Beau until he was nearly senseless. Afterwards, the commander shoved the gun into Beau’s mouth and cocked the hammer. His aquiline nose flared as he sneered and spewed spittle into Beau’s face. “You are a coward, a criminal and too arrogant to comprehend your incompetence. Swear or I’ll pull this trigger and hang your crew for piracy!”

So Beau confessed to Rives’s lie and saved his men.

Prison had been a series of dark and darker hells. When they finally released him, he’d a bagful of plaguey battle demons. Now when a memory of any of it crept in, he’d flex his fingers and imagine them locked around Rives’s throat.

Drawn back by Glyncarn slurping his coffee, Beau peered around the coffee house. “Is it my imagination, or is London crawling with spies?”

Glyncarn turned his head to follow his gaze.

At a small table in the corner, a fellow sat scribbling in a journal while pretending to read a paper. Even though the lighting had been dim at the inn, Beau recognized his face.

“No imagination, my friend,” Glyncarn said. “Plenty of Confederate sympathizers this side of the pond, lots of Union eyes too. Investors clamor to make money on both sides of the war.”

Beau slid off his stool. As he walked through the coffee house, he veered toward the man, strolled up to his little table, and looked him square in the face. “Weren’t you at the King’s Inn, night before last?”

The man squirmed and feigned confusion. “I don’t think—”

“I see you’re reading the London Parliamentary Review.” Beau reached down and slid the paper to the side revealing the London American, a pro-Yankee journal the man had hidden underneath. “Ah yes, keeping up with your fellow Yanks.” He tipped his hat. “Say hello to them for me, will you?”

As Beau turned to walk back to Glyncarn he heard the man mutter, “Swaggering villain.”

***

Beau strode into Mrs. Arnold’s townhouse under full steam. His little trip to the coffee house had answered more than a few questions and had helped make up his mind. “Jenkins, be a good man. Please arrange for a carriage. I’ll need it in fifteen minutes.”

“With pleasure, Captain,” the butler sniffed.

Beau marched up the stairs to his room and started throwing clothes into his trunk. Enough of this tomfoolery. The man he’d been had died when Rives forced him to surrender the Roundabout. It was a miracle he’d survived and still had all his limbs intact. Though tempting, the money C.C. offered would never be enough. Glyncarn spoke the truth. Life and freedom were far more valuable.

Death had stalked Beau too many times. His near miss with the gallows convinced him he’d used up all his good luck. Captain Mclean had been a better man than he—a man in his prime. His death made a sobering, cautionary tale.

For a short time Beau had the warmth and love of a family of his own. Millie and Freddie had given him so much joy. He’d been in prison when they needed him most. That guilt would haunt him till the end of his days.

Events over the last year had sated his urge for adventure, made him reconsider his life. There were safer, more stable ways to make a living. It was high time he stopped taking for granted the privileged world he’d been born into and the good family he still had.

Thomas had gotten him out of prison, hadn’t he? He should be with them right now, not charging back into a war across the pond. He didn’t need C.C.’s money. If he required more capital to build ships, he’d find his own investors.

Beau locked the trunk’s lid into place, fastened the straps, heaved it over his shoulder and quickly descended the stairs.

Jenkins stood in the vestibule at the ready.

“Please give Miss Collins my regrets.”

“You can give them to her yourself, Captain.” Her sultry voice echoed down the hallway.

C.C.’s vanilla and honeysuckle scent wafted over him, igniting memories of her coming to his bed in Grancliffe Hall. He dragged in the fragrance and turned. “I thank you for your hospitality, madam, but I’ve changed my mind and have a train to catch.”