Marrying Christopher (21 page)

“Besides, I am not officially on duty tonight.”

“Oh?” Marsali cringed inwardly, guessing what was coming next.

He lowered his hand. “Would you care to accompany me on a moonlit stroll around the deck, Miss Abbott?”

I would not.
The airs with which he spoke suggested it really wasn’t a question at all so much as a generous offering of time to be spent with him, of which she would be a fool to refuse.

She glanced up and caught him preening that ridiculous mustache of his, curling one end around his finger, then patting it in place. She supposed she would have to walk with him. The ship was small enough that they encountered each other at least once a day and had to endure each other’s company at dinner every other night. There was no point in making a situation awkward.
Better I am annoyed and he is oblivious.
The moon seemed too bright for stargazing anyway.

“Let me put this chart away.” She rolled it up, then extinguished the lantern and stowed both safely beside a folded sail.

Mr. Luke did not offer a hand to help her up as Mr. Thatcher had but continued swirling the other side of his mustache.
So much for gentlemanly behavior.
She stood on her own, and only then did his elbow jut out as if awaiting her hand. Marsali pretended not to notice and instead folded her arms across her middle and focused her gaze upon the sky as they began to walk. “Are you familiar with the tales associated with the constellations, Mr. Luke?”

“A sailor has little use for stories, Miss Abbott. The stars are not something men gaze upon with fondness. They are a tool of navigation. Why, I could safely guide us to any point on this ocean using only the stars as my compass.”

New York will do fine
. “No doubt such skill is why Captain Gower hired you.”

“And a wise choice it was.” Mr. Luke’s chest puffed out. “While he is busy playing with his steam engine and other inventions, I am steering this ship across the Atlantic and into port.”

Marsali could think of no comment to this, so she made none but did not doubt Captain Gower would have had plenty to say had he heard such claims from his first officer.

They reached the stairs leading to the lower deck, and she glimpsed a familiar figure darting toward the saloon door.

“Mr. Thatcher,” she called before stopping to consider what she was doing.

He paused, stiffened, and turned toward them.

“What is
he
doing about at this time of night?” Mr. Luke grumbled.

“Mr. Thatcher enjoys stargazing as well, don’t you?” She looked directly at him as she hurried down the stairs, silently begging him to stay and save her from further enduring the company of the insufferable officer
.

“I have in the past.” Mr. Thatcher’s voice was not quite curt, yet neither was it as friendly as she was accustomed to. Marsali supposed she had Mr. Luke’s presence to blame for that.

“However,” Mr. Thatcher continued, “tonight I find that the moon is too bright for any serious study of the constellations.” His tone seemed almost accusatory as his gaze flitted between Marsali and Mr. Luke. “Good evening, Miss Abbott, Mr. Luke.”

He nodded briefly, opened the door to the saloon, entered, and was gone, leaving Marsali feeling bewildered and strangely bereft as well.

Beside her Mr. Luke prattled on as they walked the circumference of the ship, all the while her thoughts circling back to Mr. Thatcher and what she might have done to earn his displeasure.

The sun momentarily disappeared behind a cloud overhead as Christopher closed the book he had just finished— another from the captain’s library, this one a volume about the various inventions of the early nineteenth century. He’d enjoyed it immensely and wondered, when subsequent editions were printed, what additional machines and contraptions would be found between those pages.

Clasping his hands behind his head, he lay back on the deck and allowed his mind to wander, imagining a plow that might dig furrows without a horse pulling it or a wagon that might propel itself, much as Captain Gower’s marvelous steamship this very moment.

The sea was calm today, almost still, yet the great wheel of the
Amanda May
was turning while steam poured from her stack as she made steady progress toward America.

“Eight knots this morning,” Captain Gower had announced proudly at the noon meal. “We’ve made up the day we lost to those fools at Liverpool.”

“Splendid,” Lady Cosgrove said. She was well enough to join them for brief periods, though her daughter remained in her sickbed. “The sooner I am off this wretched ship, the better.”

“I quite agree with you,” Captain Gower replied, at which Christopher had happened to catch Miss Abbott’s eye and exchange an amused glance with her, causing her to choke on her biscuit.

Fortunately, Lady Cosgrove— most often oblivious to others— didn’t catch the good captain’s barb.

And fortunately Miss Abbott’s biscuit caused no serious harm.

Christopher’s thoughts slid from inventions to Miss Abbott and the troubling idea of her being harmed by a biscuit or anything else. Her situation continued to weigh upon his mind, though he had managed, somewhat, to force other thoughts regarding Miss Abbott from it. Seeing her out strolling with Mr. Luke should have helped, but instead he had felt only annoyed. Christopher had been avoiding her as much as possible— difficult when on a ship together— and he ought to have felt relieved that she had found other companionship in his absence.

He wondered if she had been thinking at all about what awaited her, though he had not heard her mention it since their brief conversation the morning he had tended her cut.
Perhaps she has shared her troubles with Mr. Luke.
The idea bothered him.
Likely she
wishes the ship to slow down.
Even caring for fussy Lady Cosgrove had to be better than what Miss Abbott would be facing once they reached America.

While he pondered her situation, the sun made its appearance again, already heading toward its spot on the western horizon, soon to mark the end of another day.
One day closer to New York.
The thought still excited him, but not as it had when he’d first boarded the ship— before he’d met Miss Abbott. The end of their voyage would not mark happiness for her, and he could no longer think of his own adventures without worrying over hers. He was doing his best to think of a way he might help her, a way he might protect her from Mr. Thomas and his cruel, if not deadly, practices.

It was disheartening, though not surprising, to learn that such cruelty existed in America, just as it did in England. Christopher had hoped for better in the new world, but it seemed the fledging country had not yet perfected the liberties and rights its constitution so boldly promised.

“Been doing a bit of reading, have you?” Captain Gower’s shadow fell across Christopher, and he rose to his feet, the book still clutched in his hands.

The captain ran a hand over his chin. “I suppose I ought to set a chair or two out here for passengers when the weather is nice, as it is today.”

“I was quite comfortable,” Christopher assured him.

“Maybe…” The captain’s look was far off. “I envision a time when traveling on a steamship won’t be just for those immigrating. Maybe folks will take to the sea simply because they enjoy it or they want a holiday somewhere far off.”

Christopher did not want to dash the captain’s hopes, but he had a difficult time imagining such a scenario. Satisfactory though his accommodations were, there was little for a passenger to do on board a ship, and it had taken less than a week before his restlessness had set in. “Those passengers would need to have stronger constitutions than Lady Cosgrove.”

“True enough,” Captain Gower said. Seeming to come back to the present, he withdrew his pipe from his pocket and proceeded to fill it. “But what have you been reading today?”

“Quite a fascinating volume.” Christopher turned the book so the captain might view the title. “I should like to see a demonstration of that machine in your quarters, the one that can make the likeness of a person.”
If I had such a portrait of Grace and Helen, would it lessen how much I miss them, or would it make my longing to see them just that much worse?
“I was thinking that if I was able to get such an image made, I might send it to my sisters.”

“Ah,” Captain Gower said knowingly. “Thinking of home again, are you?”

“Not too much,” Christopher assured him. “I think more about America and what awaits us there.” Being around Miss Abbott had lessened his longing for Grace and Helen— until he had recognized the danger in that.
I will not be with her much longer, and I do not need another bitter parting, this one on America’s shores.
But in spite of his efforts to lessen their interactions throughout the day, he was beginning to fear it was too late to avoid a difficult parting.

Samuel would say it was worth it.
Christopher brushed the thought aside.

Captain Gower lit his pipe. “If you’d like, you can come with me when I show Joseph’s invention to those wealthy American investors he is so hopeful about. It will be interesting to see what comes of it, though I still cannot believe that making images is the way of the future, not more so than steam engines, anyway.”

“Time will tell,” Christopher said noncommittally, feeling rather fascinated with both the heliograph and camera obscura. Steam travel was important, yes. But it was not an invention that might apply to all. Very few people traveled across the ocean or a continent, and for those who did not, a faster ship or a self-propelled wagon was of little use.

But a contraption that could preserve an image… that was something that could be important to all of humankind. What family would not benefit from preserving time, as it were, in a portrait that was not painted?
Or having the ability to look upon a loved one’s face when far away?

Secretly, Christopher thought that perhaps Mr. Niépce might be correct in his assumption that the heliograph was an invention of great importance.

“And have you been conjuring inventions of your own?” Captain Gower asked, his gaze direct.

“Not exactly.” Christopher had considered— on several occasions since reading Miss Abbott’s letter— of telling Captain Gower of her predicament. Each time, he had decided against it, but they were now halfway through their voyage, and Christopher had yet to come up with a solution to help her. Perhaps the captain, knowing Mr. Thomas as he did, might be able to offer a suggestion. “Rather, I have been wishing I might invent a way to help Miss Abbott with a particularly worrisome problem.”

“With Lady Cosgrove?” The captain waved his hand dismissively. “It’s not as much of a problem as you think. Miss Abbott knows her place. She was born to servitude. It’s in her blood, whether she wishes it or not. Lady Cosgrove has sensed that and taken advantage of it, is all.”

“I disagree,” Christopher said. Miss Abbott’s demeanor and upbringing did not seem at all like that of a servant. “Miss Abbott was born to wealthy parents. She was educated and led to expect far more from life than what it has given her.”

“She has adapted well, then,” the captain said. “And anyway, she has but another two weeks at most to put up with Lady Cosgrove.” He glanced around furtively, as if to make sure the woman herself was not about. “And then we shall
all
be rid of her.”

“And it is then that Miss Abbott’s real trouble will begin,” Christopher said. “Just before leaving England she received a letter from her sister in Virginia.”

“And?” The captain blew out a puff of smoke.

“Perhaps we should walk,” Christopher suggested, as much to avoid a face full of the captain’s smoke as to avoid being overheard.

Captain Gower’s brows rose as he appraised him. “This sounds serious.”

Christopher nodded. “I believe it is.” They walked to the edge of the ship and began to follow the rail around to the stern. “How well do you know Mr. Thomas?”

The captain shrugged. “How well does one know any man? I know Thomas for my purposes. He is wealthy, and he is often right in the business risks he assumes— two requirements I sought in my investors.”

“But on a personal level?” Christopher asked. “Have you any knowledge of him or his family? Have you ever been to his home?”

The captain shook his head. “Our meetings have taken place elsewhere— at shipyards, mostly, as we discussed what materials were to be used and who was to manufacture the various parts of our ship.”

Christopher had never heard Captain Gower refer to the
Amanda May
in terms of “our” before. She was named after his wife, and he often spoke of the ship as if he were married to her. But though he might be the one behind her wheel, it was Thomas who had paid for that wheel, Thomas who owned nearly the entire ship, from bow to stern.

The captain is in no position to help Miss Abbott
, Christopher realized. But he also saw no harm in telling him what awaited her.

“The last three lady’s maids employed in the Thomas household have all suffered untimely deaths— shortly before their terms of indenture were to be over.”