Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

shuffled through them until he found a particular one. His eyes widened as he read what he had written. His hand began to shake. He looked again at the book, then at his notes, then back at the book again. Countless times his eyes went from one to the other. Each time his heart beat more rapidly and he began to smile. His mind was racing. He had to be the one and the same: the man responsible for his family’s misfortunes. Alfred never considered the fact that what he was reading was a novel, fiction. At that moment, in his mind, those made-up characters of Polly’s were very real. Any fatigue he may have felt was now long gone. Flush with this new knowledge, he picked up her book and continued.
She was terrified and all she could say was a very faint “Sir,” with a slight curtsy.
His voice was as rough as his look as he said, “Miss Armitage, you are as pretty as your uncle said you were.”
That statement surprised her, which made her feel even more uneasy. They made no further attempt at conversation, and after an awkward pause, the Captain dismissed her with a curt, “Thank you, Miss Armitage. You may go.”
She understood his meaning and replied, “Sir.” Then summoning a stronger voice, she turned her head to face his guest and said, “Mr. Whitbey, it was a pleasure.” With that she curtsied again, turned, and walked out. As she pulled the door shut she heard Whitbey say, “She’s a lovely girl.”
She did not hear the Captain’s response because the door clicked shut. Whitbey’s words were innocent enough, but something about the way he said them made her uneasy. She returned to her cabin, and it wasn’t until she had pulled the door shut tight that those feelings of unease began to release their grip on her.

CHAPTER 20
As she watched the boat pull away, with Mr. Whitbey sitting in the stern, hand on the tiller, there was a flurry of activity as the crew began the ritual of setting sail. They were already underway by the time Mr. Whitbey reached his ship, and as they sailed past, she could see him on the deck. She saw his head turn, his gaze following them, and there was no doubt in her mind that his attention was focused on her. She shivered and turned away.
She did not look again until Mr. Whitbey’s ship was far behind them. His sails were up and they were moving rapidly in the opposite direction. It didn’t take long for his ship to become a white handkerchief against the dark sea. Moments later it was a mere speck on the horizon. Then it was gone and they were once again alone.
The sun had disappeared over the horizon at nearly the same time that Mr. Whitbey’s ship had disappeared. The night air was cool so Christine turned to go below to her cabin. As she turned, the cook approached and inquired if she was hungry. Until that moment, because of all the excitement, she hadn’t given food any thought, but now, with its mention, she realized just how hungry she was.
“I am,” she replied. He said that he would bring supper to her cabin.
Consequently, she expected that the sudden knock on her cabin door announced that food had arrived, but when she opened it, instead of the cook with her tray, she was face to face with the Captain.
“Miss Armitage, would you join me in my cabin for supper?” His invitation was phrased as a question, but there was no doubt that she was not being given a choice. Before she could muster a reply, his intent was clarified. “I saw the cook and instructed him that you would be joining me. He is just now arriving.”
All she could say was, “Of course. Thank you.”
“Good.” And with that he turned and strode toward his cabin. She paused a moment, then followed.
Perhaps it was because of her hunger, but the dinner was splendid. The Captain even offered her wine. It wasn’t long before the awkward silence that had begun the meal was replaced with polite conversation and laughter.
Perhaps emboldened by the wine, Christine suddenly asked, “Captain, tell me more about Mr. Whitbey.”
With that question, she could feel the atmosphere change as a chill descended upon the table, and she knew that she had made a mistake. His smile remained, but now it seemed forced.
“Why do you ask?” Even as he spoke, she could sense that he was trying to mask the tension in his voice.
“I know little about ocean voyages, but it struck me as unusual that we should have run into another ship, a ship whose master was an old friend of my uncle’s. Also, he didn’t