Page 63 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“And when the bracelet isn’t found?” Mr. Wickes asked.

“Then, Northcott will apologize for his false accusation.”

Both men nodded their assent.

Cedric relieved Mr. Hayward from his post at the wheel, sending him to the crew’s quarters with Northcott and Wickes.

“The rest of you… get back to work!” Cedric barked, and the men on the deck below scattered.

An hour later Mr. Hayward’s salt and pepper head appeared at the top of the ladder.

“I didn’t hear a shot,” Cedric said as Mr. Hayward climbed onto the platform.

“He didn’t have it,” Mr. Hayward replied, hesitation in his voice. “But while we were searching through his possessions, Wickes discovered that he’s missing a gold ring.”

“How many men are missing items?” asked Cedric, unease settling in his stomach.

“Half the crew.”

“Are you?”

Mr. Hayward hesitated. “No, and neither is Mr. Johnson.”

“I’m not accusing either of you,” Cedric replied, and relief washed over Mr. Hayward’s tense face. “But we need to find the thief before we reach Ceresus.”

“How do you intend to do that?”

“Every man’s possessions will be searched. Any man who refuses will be considered the thief and dealt with as such.”

“Who should I put in charge of this task?” Mr. Hayward clearly did not want to be chosen for the assignment.

“Evans,” Cedric replied. “As the future captain of this ship, however short that time may be, this will be his first experience in dealing with a hostile crew.”

“I shall inform him.” A smile cracked Mr. Hayward’s stone face. He climbed down the ladder, and headed across the main deck, almost skipping with the news of Mr. Evans’ new task.

“Captain?” Mr. Northcott’s face appeared at the top of the ladder. “May I speak with you?”

Cedric gestured for him to climb onto the platform. “Do you have further information about the theft?”

“No.” Mr. Northcott’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He hesitated, then blurted out, “Carter’s dead. We tried to verify that none of his items had been taken, and when we went to wake him…”

Cedric sighed, the sound unable to express his full sorrow at Carter’s passing. “Wrap his body in a sheet, and we’ll honor his sacrifice with a sea burial.”

When Mr. Hayward returned, he took the wheel from Cedric without comment, the grief over Mr. Carter’s death weighing heavy on both of them.

“I’ll wake Dubois,” Cedric said. “He did attend to Carter before his death.”

Cedric climbed down the ladder and walked to the starboard side. After untying a bucket from the side of the ship, he dropped the wooden pail into the ocean, filling the container with the cold water, then hauled the bucket back onto the deck using a rope fastened to the pail’s iron handle.

He set the bucket down, then untied the rope from the handle. Lifting the bucket, he walked toward the stern, opened the door leading to the captain’s quarters, and strolled down the short corridor, whistling.

When he opened the door to his cabin, he wasn’t surprised to find Mr. Dubois curled in the same position beneath the table. His mouth quirking, Cedric strode over to Mr. Dubois, knelt, and upended the bucket of sea water over his red hair.

Mr. Dubois sat up with a gasp and smacked his head on the bottom of the table, then fell back, rolling on the floor, his hands clutching his forehead. The swear words that exploded from his mouth drew a snort of amusement from Cedric.

“Welcome back, Dubois.” He set the bucket down beside his foot. “Carter is dead.”

“That’s not my fault,” Mr. Dubois replied, the effects of the whiskey still apparent in his speech. He fell back, flinging his arms out. “But go on, shoot me.”