Page 19 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
A fter his argument with the girl, the two of them made their way back to the market.
They would have to be quick. He had ordered the men to ready the ship for departure but they still needed a few more supplies.
Knowing how much she enjoyed the market and since he couldn’t leave her on the ship unattended, they ventured together.
Seagulls and vendors clamoured for attention in the bustling port. Sidney loved this kind of location; however, he couldn’t enjoy it as he usually would, considering all the things he had to worry about. Case in point: this beautiful young woman who was drawing far too much attention.
The same man he had noticed earlier was lingering far too close for his peace of mind.
He grabbed Docila’s arm and quickly led her through the narrow streets in an attempt to evade their follower.
Sidney left his first mate in charge of ensuring all the provisions were brought to the ship.
The man he saw was likely after the treasure — or perhaps after Docila.
In either case, neither of them could be captured.
Sidney kept his stride purposeful as they navigated through the market, trying not to betray the tension coiling in his gut.
Docila matched his pace admirably, asking no questions despite the obvious concern etched across her features.
He found himself silently appreciating her composure — most women of his acquaintance would have fallen into hysterics at the first sign of danger.
But then, Docila Archer had proven time and again that she was not most women.
“Turn left here,” he murmured to Docila, guiding her down a narrow passage between a bakery and a silversmith’s workshop. The scent of fresh bread momentarily overwhelmed the usual salt-and-fish odour of the port. “And don’t look back.”
She obeyed without hesitation, her expression betraying nothing beyond mild interest in their surroundings. Only the slight quickening of her breath and the tension in her arm beneath his hand revealed her awareness of their predicament.
“Is he still following?” she asked softly, eyes fixed ahead as instructed.
“Yes.” Sidney didn’t elaborate. The man was good — better than a common thief or hired muscle. He maintained a careful distance, pausing at stalls as if browsing when they slowed, moving with purpose when they did. A professional, then. The question was: whose professional?
Blackwell was the obvious suspect. His old adversary had resources, connections in ports throughout the Caribbean.
But something about the pursuer’s manner struck Sidney as unfamiliar — not Blackwell’s usual type.
And then there was the possibility that this had nothing to do with the treasure at all.
What if the man were one of Hugo Archer’s agents, sent to retrieve his wayward niece?
The thought sent an unexpected surge of protectiveness through Sidney. Whatever her secrets, whatever complications her presence created for his mission, he would not deliver Docila back into the hands of a guardian who would sell her to the highest bidder.
They emerged onto a wider street lined with shops catering to wealthier merchants and naval officers. Sidney guided Docila toward a clothing establishment with large windows displaying the latest London fashions.
“Act as if you’re admiring the gowns,” he instructed, positioning himself so he could observe the street’s reflection in the glass. “Tell me about your favourite.”
She caught on immediately, launching into an animated assessment of a blue silk creation while her eyes darted discreetly to the reflections behind them. “The colour is exquisite, don’t you think? Though perhaps a bit impractical for shipboard life.”
The humour in her voice, even now, tugged at something in Sidney’s chest.
“Impractical indeed,” he agreed, spotting their pursuer as the man paused at a tobacconist’s shop across the street. “Though I imagine you’d make it practical somehow. You’ve a talent for adaptation.”
“Necessity breeds innovation, Captain.” Her smile was genuine despite the circumstances. “My father always said that resourcefulness was more valuable than gold.”
“A wise man, your father.” Sidney watched as their follower purchased something, his attention seemingly elsewhere.
But the way the man lingered, the careful positioning that kept Sidney and Docila in his peripheral vision — it confirmed Sidney’s suspicions.
“Though I suspect even he would agree that sometimes the wisest course is a strategic retreat.”
Docila’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Are we retreating, Captain?”
“Tactically withdrawing,” he corrected, placing his hand lightly at the small of her back to guide her away from the window. “Back to the Seraphim. We’re leaving with the evening tide.”
“We’re being tracked from the rooftops now,” Docila whispered suddenly, her eyes flicking upward briefly before returning to the street ahead.
Sidney followed her gaze, impressed by her observation. She was right — a second man, slimmer and more agile than their original pursuer, was moving along the roofline, keeping pace with them through the twisting streets.
“Clever,” he muttered. One man on the ground, another above. If they lost one, the other could maintain surveillance. “Turn right at the next corner, quickly.”
They rounded the corner into a narrow alley, and Sidney immediately pulled Docila into a recessed doorway of a closed shop. The space was tight, forcing them close together, her back against the wooden door, his larger frame effectively shielding her from view.
“Are you afraid?” he asked quietly, surprised by the gentleness in his own voice.
She looked up at him, her eyes clear and steady despite the circumstances. “Not of them,” she replied simply.
The answer perplexed him, but there was no time to pursue it.
He peered carefully around the edge of the doorway, watching as their ground-level pursuer passed the alley entrance.
The rooftop man would have a harder time tracking them in these narrow confines, with overhanging buildings creating blind spots.
“Now,” Sidney said, taking Docila’s hand and pulling her back into the alley, moving swiftly in the opposite direction from their pursuer. They wound through the backstreets of Bridgetown, sticking to the narrowest passages, doubling back occasionally to ensure they weren’t followed.
Only when they neared the harbour did Sidney finally slow their pace, reasonably confident they had lost their followers, at least temporarily.
“We should be fine now,” he said, releasing her hand reluctantly. “But we need to return to the ship immediately and prepare to depart.”
“Won’t they simply follow us to sea?” Docila asked, adjusting her slightly dishevelled clothing.
“Possibly. But we have the advantage there. The Seraphim is one of the fastest vessels in these waters, and I know routes that few others would dare to navigate.”
They emerged onto the bustling harbourfront, where sailors and dockworkers moved between ships and warehouses. Sidney scanned the crowd carefully, alert for any sign of their pursuers.
“Stay close,” he instructed, guiding Docila through the throng toward where the Seraphim was moored. The sight of his ship, sleek and proud against the blue Caribbean waters, brought a sense of relief.
Fletcher spotted them approaching and hurried down the gangplank to meet them, his weathered face creased with concern.
“Captain! We were beginning to wonder. Is everything alright?”
“We need to prepare for immediate departure,” Sidney replied, ushering Docila ahead of him onto the gangplank. “Evening tide at the latest. Have all supplies been loaded?”
“Aye, sir. Just finished an hour past.” Fletcher’s eyes darted between Sidney and Docila, clearly sensing the tension. “Trouble, sir?”
“Possibly. I’ll explain once we’re underway.” Sidney turned to address the crew members who had been enjoying their shore leave on the dock. “Back aboard, lads! Shore leave is cut short. We sail with the evening tide.”
A chorus of groans and muttered complaints met his announcement, but the men began making their way back to the ship.
“Harrison,” Sidney called to the young sailor. “Find the rest of the crew immediately. Check the usual establishments. Any man not aboard by sunset is left behind, understood?”
“Aye, Captain!” The boy set off at a run, eager to prove himself useful.
Sidney turned back to Fletcher, lowering his voice. “Post extra watches. No one goes ashore again, and no visitors aboard. I want a careful eye kept for any unusual vessels preparing to sail around the same time as us.”
Fletcher nodded, his expression serious. “Is it Blackwell, sir?”
“I’m not certain,” Sidney admitted. “But it’s someone well-organized and well-funded. They had men tracking us through town — professional work, not casual interest.”
“The map?” Fletcher asked, glancing briefly at Docila.
“Possibly. Or other interests.” Sidney did not elaborate further. “Double-check all cargo and supplies. Make sure nothing unusual has been brought aboard. And have Turner prepare additional powder and shot for the cannons, just in case.”
Fletcher moved off to carry out the orders. Sidney turned to find Docila watching him with an unreadable expression.
“You’re preparing for a fight,” she observed.
“I’m preparing for all contingencies,” he corrected. “It’s what a captain does.”
“And what should I do?” she asked, lifting her chin with that familiar determination that both irritated and impressed him. “Hide below decks while men risk their lives?”
Sidney sighed, running a hand through his hair. “For now, yes. Stay out of sight until we’re at sea. Whoever was following us may still be watching the ship. I don’t want to advertise your presence or importance.”