Authors: Susan Carroll
"I daresay you are quite tired, Mr. Henry." She
directed a particularly sweet smile at Trent. "Dear Mr. Henry visits every
poor parishioner at Christmas, makes sure they all have a log for their fire
and a kettle of warm soup."
"Very creditable, I'm sure," Trent said, taking a
sip of his wine.
"Only my duty," the vicar mumbled.
"I do hope you found Sukey Green and little Peggety
well?" Emma inquired anxiously. "I have been quite worried about
them."
"They are as well as can be expected. I did wonder if a
certain blessed event might take place today on Christmas and instructed the
midwife to keep herself at the ready."
"Poor Mrs. Green," Lucy cooed. "It must be so
hard to be in an interesting condition with one's husband so far away."
"Very imprudent of her, I call it," Agnes said,
beckoning for her third helping of plum pudding. "I wonder why people that
poor will persist in having so many children."
Chloe flushed with indignation. "Poor people have as
much right to---to be as interested as anyone else."
This ingenuous remark set Lathrop off into a choking fit, and
Trent himself was obliged to snatch up his napkin to hide his smile.
Chloe leveled an accusing stare down the length of the table
at him. "I see no occasion for amusement, Captain. I fear Mrs. Green's
problem is all the fault of your precious Admiralty."
"Is it, by Jove?" the irrepressible Lathrop
called out. "To think I always fancied the Admiralty such a bunch of
stuffy old men."
Lucy giggled, rapping Lathrop's wrist and crying fie upon
him. Seeing both Emma and Mr. Henry appear much shocked, Trent frowned
reprovingly at his friend.
As for Chloe, she had turned a bright red. "What I
meant was, the Admiralty is responsible for the Greens' poverty. Tom Green has
sailed upon naval warships for nearly six years, yet he hardly ever receives
his proper pay."
Trent frowned. "I will admit the navy is frequently lax
in that regard. It is a difficulty I have experienced aboard my own ship."
Lathrop said warmly, "And a difficulty you have dealt
with out of your own pocket. It is often Trent's custom, Miss Chloe, to pay his
sailors' wages himself."
"Oh." Chloe looked momentarily nonplussed.
Trent was far too proud to allow her to strain herself,
being obliged to think well of him on some score.
"It is only a matter of good policy to keep one's crew
content. Mutiny must be avoided at all costs."
The cold speech would have served its purpose except
unfortunately, at that moment, Mr. Doughty was passing through the dining room,
helping Polly serve up the meal.
"Oh, aye, Cap'n." Doughty grinned. "I 'spect that's
why you sent a deal of money to the bosun and gunners' widows and children.
They be a fierce pack o' mutineers, them orphans."
"That will do, Mr. Doughty," Trent growled. He was
mortified to discover that he became embarrassed as easily as Mr. Henry did.
"There must be a great deal of hardship involved
in being a sailor," Emma remarked in her gentle accent.
"Amen to that," Doughty mumbled as he backed out
of the room, his arms laden with empty plates.
Trent glowered at him before conceding, "It is not
always pleasant aboard ship. One frequently contends with seasickness, storms
and contaminated water supplies."
"How Papa must have hated it," Chloe said sadly.
"Perhaps," Trent said. "But I never knew Sir
Phineas to make any complaint. After he gained his sea legs, he took quite an
interest in the operation of the ship. Given time, I believe he could
have—" Trent broke off, wanting to curse his own tongue. Time was
obviously the one thing that had not been granted Sir Phineas. Trent's
unfortunate remark seemed to have a sobering effect on the whole table. Even
Agnes shoved away her trifle, untasted.
"The letter you wrote informing us about Papa was so
brief, Captain Trent." Chloe raised troubled eyes to his. "Can you
not explain anything more about what happened?"
What had happened? Trent thought bleakly. A musket ball had
happened. He avoided her gaze, taking refuge in his wineglass instead. As
though caught in the sparkling liquid, painful images flickered before Trent's
eyes—Sir Phineas lurching forward, the bright crimson stain pooling over the
old man's chest.
Trent could never remember losing his sense of calm during
battle until that moment. He had dropped to the deck, catching Sir Phineas in
his arms, threatening him and cursing. Yet not one of his oaths could stay the
old man's course a moment longer. There was nothing more humbling than death to
remind a captain that he wasn't God, not even on the deck of his own ship.
Thrusting the memory away, Trent set down his wineglass with
a sharp click. "This is hardly anything to talk about on Christmas
Day."
Chloe started to protest, but she was shushed by Emma.
Though she appeared far from satisfied, Chloe was obliged to subside. The meal
was finished in an awkward silence.
Before long, the ladies retired to the drawing room.
Although Trent managed to shrug off the lowering of spirits that discussing Sir
Phineas had produced, he was not tempted to linger long over his port. He found
it difficult to enjoy Mr. Henry's company, and Lathrop made his eagerness to
rejoin Miss Lucy all too apparent.
As Trent followed the other two men into the drawing room,
he felt in little humor for another evening spent in merrymaking, especially if
he was obliged to watch Chloe fawn over Mr. Henry.
She was making such a fool of herself over the man, Trent
longed to give her a brisk shake—that is, until something occurred to shed new
light upon her motives.
Lathrop most charmingly begged the ladies for a little
music.
"I am seized with the most uncontrollable desire to
dance," he said, smiling at Lucy.
But Chloe darted between them, dragging Lucy to the
pianoforte. "Lucy must play for us," she said. "She does it so
beautifully."
"Nonsense, Chloe," Lucy cried, tugging her hand
free, looking by no means pleased. "You know Emma plays far better than
I."
"But Mr. Henry wants Emma to stand up with him, don't
you, sir?" Chloe appealed to the young clergyman.
"Well, I---I---" Mr. Henry stammered.
And in that instant, comprehension flashed through Trent's
mind.
Chloe had not been throwing herself at the vicar's head all
afternoon. Rather, she was endeavoring to toss the hapless fellow at Emma. Mr.
Henry must be the man Chloe believed Emma adored, and she was desperately
trying to thrust them together.
Yet all her innocent machinations were to no avail. Far from
looking like star-crossed lovers, Emma and Mr. Henry merely seemed disconcerted
by these tactics.
Chloe all but wrung her hands as Emma lost no time in
slipping behind the pianoforte and Mr. Henry asked Agnes to dance. Lucy paired
off with Lathrop, and as the two couples began moving through the paces of a
simple country dance, Chloe was obliged to retreat to one side, looking
disconsolate.
Now that he perceived the truth of the matter, Trent could
regard her disappointment with a kind of tender amusement. He even sympathized
a little with her desire to secure Mr. Henry as a brother-in-law. Trent did not
know how he had failed to do so before, but he now saw that Mr. Henry was a
very likable fellow, possessed of great strength of character.
Chloe appeared so woebegone, Trent could not help making his
way to her side.
"Come, Chloe," he said, offering her his hand with
a smile. "I would deem it a great honor if you would stand up with
me."
"No, thank you," she bit out, the rejection sharp
and unmistakably final. There remained nothing for bent to do but withdraw.
With a stiff bow, he retreated, her rebuff paining him more than he cared to
admit.
Even the short time he had spent at Windhaven had been
enough to make him aware of the role Chloe played in her family. She was the
warmth, the bright spirit that spread sunshine on the bleakest day. To everyone
but him, that is, Trent thought bitterly.
Even Mr. Doughty basked in the rays of her approval. When
the burly seaman entered the parlor, bringing in more logs, Chloe skipped to
his side immediately. Soon she and Doughty were lost in conversation, Chloe
appearing to have completely forgotten Trent's existence.
In this the captain was quite mistaken, for Chloe remained
very much aware of where Trent stood, alone, his arms folded, distanced from
the laughter, the dancing, the music, the circle of light spilling from the
hearth.
She felt a stab of remorse. Something akin to hurt had
flashed in Trent's eyes when she had refused his offer to dance, and she did so
hate hurting anyone. Maybe she should have explained that she never danced if
she could help it. Not only was she tone-deaf to the lilt of music, but she had
a very poor sense of rhythm.
Yet when did Captain Trent ever trouble himself offering
explanations? It distressed her, the way he had refused to discuss what had
happened to her father aboard his ship. That, coupled with the captain's blind
obstinacy about Emma, made Chloe feel as though she would never be able to like
the man.
She thought she had been so clever in getting Mr. Henry to
Windhaven, certain that having him so near would bring Emma to her senses. But
all her plotting had come to nothing. There Emma sat at the pianoforte while
Mr. Henry danced with the wrong sister. Both of them looked so determinedly
cheerful, while Chloe knew they had to be absolutely miserable. It made her
miserable just to watch them.
She forced her attention back to Mr. Doughty, taking refuge
in the genial steward's company as he stoked the fire. He was so full of salty
tales and marvelous lore. She drew up a stool, coaxing him to tell her once
again how it was possible to raise up a strong wind from the depths of the
ocean by having all the cabin boys whistle on deck. Chloe wagered that Captain
Trent didn't know such things.
"'Course one needs to be careful, miss, that the wind
don't become a squall," Doughty said with a sage nod of his head.
"There can be a deal of danger, stirring up spirits from the deep."
Chloe listened, entranced, until she noticed that Trent had
moved closer. Although he seemed to be absorbed in watching the dancing, she
could tell he had heard what Doughty was saying to her. The captain rolled his
eyes in scornful fashion.
Perhaps she would give the man a sharp lesson in
eavesdropping.
"Of course," she said. "We have always had
our own spirits here at Windhaven."
"You never say so, miss." Doughty paused in his
exertions with the fire to wipe beads of sweat from his brow. His eyes gleamed
with interest.
"Oh yes, the ghosts of two sisters." Chloe watched
the captain out of the corner of her eye to be sure that he was also listening.
"They were the daughters of the cavalier who first built Windhaven Manor,
sweet, lovely girls despite their poverty. Legend has it that they were twins
who loved each other dearly and never wanted to be separated. But one day a
knight came to marry the elder and take her away."
"Sounds in the natural course o' things, miss."
"It might have been, except that the knight was a very
wicked, coldhearted man who did not love the elder daughter at all."
To Chloe's satisfaction, the crease of a frown appeared upon
Trent's brow.
Doughty scratched his head. "Beggin' yer pardon, miss,
but that don't rightly make sense. If this lady was so poor, why else would
that knight 'a wanted to marry her but out o' affection?"
"I daresay he had his own nefarious reasons. In any
event, the wedding never took place, for rather than be so cruelly separated,
the twin sisters went out to a cliff near here. Holding hands, they leapt into
the sea."
"Seems a little drastic, miss. Wouldn't it have been a
deal more prudent for the older girl just to have refused that knight?"
"They were desperate young women, Mr. Doughty,"
Chloe said solemnly, determined to ignore this gaping hole in her tale "The
two ladies vanished into the sea foam, but not forever."
Doughty leaned forward eagerly as Chloe dropped her voice in
dramatic fashion. "On bleak winter nights, their spirits still walk this
house, seaweed tangled in their blond tresses, their eyes burning fire, their
pale lips moaning reproach, to drive out all unwelcome strangers from this
house."
Chloe thought she heard Trent mutter a soft oath, but
Doughty swallowed, his eyes fairly starting from their sockets, his
side-whiskers seeming to bristle on end. "Sometimes," Chloe
continued, "You can even feel the brush of cold, silken fingers along the
back of your neck—"
"That will do, Chloe!" Trent rapped out. His sharp
tone startled Doughty so badly, he nearly tumbled over into Chloe's lap.
"Aieee, Cap'n," the steward said reproachfully.
"What a turn ye gave me, bellowing out that way."
"I shall give you a turn worse than that if you don't
take yourself off. I think you would be better employed elsewhere, Mr.
Doughty."
"Aye, aye, sir." Still looking a little shaken,
Doughty managed a salute. As he beat a hasty retreat, Chloe glanced up to where
Trent loomed over her. She protested, "There was no need for you to be so
short with him, Captain. We were only—"
"I know full well what you were doing," Trent said.
"And I'll have no more of it. Mr. Doughty is superstitious enough. You
don't need to frighten him out of what few wits he possesses with a pack of
fabricated ghost stories."
"What makes you so sure I was making it all up?"
Chloe asked sweetly. "Don't you believe in ghosts, Captain?"
"I certainly do not, and I would appreciate your not
encouraging my steward to do so either."
Chloe found it more than a little annoying, Trent's manner of
speaking to her as though she were a child. Entirely forgetting herself that
she had completely made up the story of the two sisters, she eyed Trent with
challenge.