Stephanie Laurens – The Daredevil Snared (страница 18)

Katherine heard the confidence in his tone. She wanted to embrace the news as he had, yet as the hours since she’d been in Caleb Frobisher’s company had passed and the reassurance conveyed by the warmth in his blue eyes and the comforting strength of his presence had faded, she’d started to question whether believing so wholeheartedly in the abilities of him and those who had sent him to successfully rescue them all wasn’t just a touch naive.

As if sensing her doubts, Hillsythe went on, “That Caleb is the third of his brothers to collaborate in locating us is, of itself, heartening. That means those arranging this rescue mission understand the dangers—that there are, as we suspected and Caleb has now confirmed, villains in the settlement in positions of authority such that they would learn of any ‘official’ rescue and shut down the mine and dispose of us before any relief could reach us. Our would-be rescuers have acted with all due care, and as the Frobisher name attests, those would-be rescuers are people with the capabilities and resources to carry off such a mission successfully.”

Hillsythe fixed his gaze on the flames of the small fire cheerily burning in the fire pit. “Trust me—we now have every reason to believe we will be rescued. Consequently, what we need to concentrate on now is, first, giving Frobisher and his masters every assistance we can and, second, surviving until the rescue force arrives and frees us.” Hillsythe raised his gaze to look at Dixon on the other side of the circle. “I’ll tell Dixon, Fanshawe, and Hopkins. We should tell Harriet, too—can you do that?”

“Yes, of course.” Katherine hesitated, then asked, “What about the others?”

Hillsythe weighed the question, then murmured, “Let’s keep it to just the six of us—and Diccon—for now. At least until we know that the necessary intelligence is on its way to London and cannot be stopped, and we get as firm an idea as possible of how long it’ll be before rescue arrives—will it truly be six weeks, or might it take longer? Frobisher is the only one who can give us a sound estimate, and we’ll need to work on strategies to ensure that we keep the mine producing steadily for at least that long.”

“I jockeyed Dubois into decreeing that I should go out only every second day—I thought if I went out every day, as he originally trapped me into doing, then after a week passes and he sees no trouble brewing between me and the other women, he might change his mind and stop me going out altogether. Then we would have to rely on Diccon to make contact with Frobisher, and that might not be wise if we have critical information to pass back and forth.”

Hillsythe nodded approvingly. “Good thinking. And if we need to make contact on your off days, we still have Diccon as a fallback courier.” He thought, then added, “Those reports Frobisher asked for—Dixon and I will have them ready so you can deliver them on your next outing. In the meantime, we can all put our minds to thinking of what we need you to ask Frobisher. Once we get him those reports, we need him to take them back to London as soon as humanly possible.” Hillsythe’s gaze swept all those—adults as well as children—sitting on the logs about the fire pit. “We simply can’t know what might happen with the mine, so the sooner rescue arrives the better.”

Katherine merely nodded; there was nothing she could think of to add to that. Rescue—even once on its way—still had to reach them before the diamonds ran low.

“I wonder...” Hillsythe’s gaze grew distant, almost dreamy. “Caleb said two of his older brothers, Declan and Robert, had captained the earlier legs of this mission. In light of that, I wonder if the oldest Frobisher brother—Royd—will be tapped on the shoulder to lead the rescue party.”

Katherine studied Hillsythe’s expression. “Will that be a good thing?”

Hillsythe’s rare smile lifted his lips. “Very likely an excellent thing. I’ve never met Royd Frobisher, but in my circles, tales of his exploits abound. Him taking on the likes of Dubois...that would be something to see.”

It had grown late. The children had been sent off to the barracks they shared with the women, while the women gathered any plates and mugs left about the logs. Katherine stood and shook out her skirts. She felt...different. More alive, more determined to remain so—buoyed on a slowly building wave of hope.

Hillsythe rose, too. He paused to murmur, “Remember—no word to anyone but Harriet.” He glanced at the others now drifting away, and his hard-edged expression softened. “This is news for rejoicing, and I’d like to tell everyone immediately, but we shouldn’t risk it. I suppose making such judgment calls is what leadership is all about.” He met Katherine’s eyes. “Once we’ve got confirmation that the necessary information has departed these shores, that will be the time to spread the good news.”

She let her lips curve reassuringly and nodded. With a murmured good night, she went to find Harriet.

* * *

At that same moment, Caleb was sitting with Phillipe and all their men on logs arranged about the center of their camp. A small lantern, turned very low, sat on a flat rock where a fire would have been had they been able to risk lighting one. With the compound so near, even shrouded in black night, chancing a fire was too great a risk; even a faint breeze could carry the smell of smoke to the guards, and then they would come looking.

“So.” Phillipe tossed the husk of a nut to join the small pile building up around the lamp. “We will spend tomorrow observing the mine, and I will write up a report on the best way for a rescue force to approach the area, while you write one on the compound itself, those inside, and possible considerations for mounting an attack-cum-rescue. Then on the day after tomorrow, the lovely Miss Fortescue will deliver the reports from inside the camp. And then”—Phillipe glanced sidelong at Caleb—“we’ll retreat to our ships, and you and The Prince will ferry all that information back to London.”

Caleb kept his gaze fixed on the lamp, but felt his face harden as he strove to mask his distaste for that path. Yet that was the mission he’d seized and taken on.

Responsible captains abided by the rules—by the unwritten demands of their mission’s imperatives.

Responsible captains didn’t rewrite missions to suit themselves.

Yet...

Unable not to, he lifted his gaze and scanned the faces of his and Phillipe’s men. The light was dim, yet he could still plainly see their disaffection—their uncomfortableness over simply doing what they’d been sent to do and no more.

The more that they could do.

Caleb didn’t need to glance at Phillipe to know what his friend thought. In such circumstances, he could guarantee that Phillipe would think as he did. Feel as he did.

Act as he did.

In this case, Phillipe and his men as well as Caleb’s crew would all abide by whatever Caleb decided.

It was his call. His responsibility.

He closed his eyes, searching for inner guidance—and remembered some of the tales he’d heard of Royd’s exploits.

Faced with this situation, if Royd were in his shoes, what would Royd do?

Phrased like that, the answer came in the next heartbeat.

Caleb felt his features ease. He opened his eyes, swept the group, then looked at Phillipe. “Our mission is to get the information back to London. But it won’t take all of us to accomplish that task.”

Phillipe merely arched his brows, inviting Caleb to continue down that path.

Looking at his men, Caleb said, “Once we’ve collected all the information London will need, if we’re where we think we are, even going directly north to the estuary, it’ll take at least two days to get the information back to The Prince. After that, it’ll be three weeks to get to London. Then realistically, it will take another three weeks minimum for any rescue force to reach here—and that’s assuming they’re ready to set sail within days of our news reaching Whitehall.” He scanned the faces. “That’s more than six weeks, very likely more than seven, that those held captive in the compound must survive.”

Various scenarios, various arguments, flowed through his mind. “As I see it, there’s nothing—no orders or mission considerations—that require all of us to leave and escort the information to London.” He glanced at Phillipe. “The Prince is fastest, so she should take the packet, but there’s no reason The Raven has to follow.”

“No, indeed.” Phillipe’s dark eyes glinted with amused approval—and encouragement.

“Against that,” Caleb continued, “we cannot know what might happen at the mine over those crucial seven weeks. Miss Fortescue told us that Dubois is already under pressure to mine faster, to get as many diamonds out as quickly as possible, presumably so the mine can be closed and the captives eliminated, thus concealing all evidence of the scheme as well as the identities of the villains behind it.

“So”—he drew a deep breath—“given the ultimate intent of our mission is to rescue the captives, in the circumstances in which we now find ourselves, I believe our correct way forward is to send the information back to London with an escort capable of ensuring it gets through, while the rest of us remain here—in readiness should something go wrong at the mine such that the captives need us to intervene. And if nothing adverse occurs, we’ll be here, in position to join the rescue force when it arrives.”