Ransome's Crossing (19 page)

Julia looked out into the silvery blackness. “How have you taken measurements when the next ship is but a shadow in the dark?”

William stopped at the aft railing. “See the yellow light there?” He pointed slightly to the left.

“Yes, I can just…oh, is that a signal light?”

“Aye. Each ship in the line has one. It is how we communicate after sundown.”

“Is it very dangerous to have the convoy spread too far?” The wind blew loose curls into her face.

William reached up and gently brushed the hair back. “I am not overly concerned. We shall see where we stand in the morning, and
I will make adjustments then as needed.” His palm cupped her jaw, and he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

Julia’s knees nearly buckled. She held onto the balustrade with every ounce of strength.

His eyes, deep blue as the night sky above, roved her face and then rested on her mouth—followed by the soft touch of his lips.

She released her grip on the railing and rested her hand on his shoulder, raising up on her toes—

Her gasp of pain ended the kiss. William looped his arm around her waist for support and then pressed his forehead to hers. “Foot feeling better, is it?”

Even though her breathing hitched with each throb in her toes, Julia had to smile. “Tell me, would you admit to the pain caused by tripping on the skylight? Or any sailor aboard—would he confess or just suffer to save himself humiliation?”

He raised his head, his expression serious. “You are not a sailor, Julia, and I would be very displeased should you start acting like one.”

Offense rose in her throat, but before she could speak, William pressed the tips of his fingers to her lips.

“You are the strongest woman I have ever known. I well remember you climbing the shrouds and doing everything else your brother did—usually better. But that was twenty years ago when you were a child, the captain’s
daughter
.” He brushed more unruly curls back from her face. “Now you are my
wife,
the lady of my household, and it makes me unhappy that you are in pain and trying to hide it from me. I wish for us to always have honesty between us, even if it causes either of us embarrassment. Agreed?”

Lost in the sapphire depths of his eyes, Julia couldn’t help feeling like a besotted schoolgirl. “Aye, aye, Commodore.”

William shook his head and kissed her again. “Do you think you can walk, or shall I carry you?”

“You’ll carry me only if you clear the entire quarterdeck and dismiss the marine standing guard at the cabin door.”

William indulged her stubbornness—for the moment. As soon as she gave any indication she would be unable to continue, he was ready to sweep her into his arms and carry her to her bed.

In spite of his doubts, Julia managed to make it all the way back to their quarters, where she collapsed on the small sofa in the corner of the main cabin.

William knelt and untied the pink ribbons at her ankle. She drew in a sharp breath through her clenched teeth as he slipped the shoe off her foot. Even through the silk stocking he could see that the side of her foot was beginning to swell and bruise.

“You stay right where you are—and remove your stocking. I’m going for Hawthorne.” He stood and reached the door in two strides.

“No—William, please. Let me…at least let’s have a look at it privately first.” She uncovered her foot.

He brought a lamp from the desk to get a better view. The pool of light shone on her swollen, black-and-blue skin. He looked up at her, cocking his left brow in question.

“Oh, all right. Get the doctor.” She lay back with a huff. “But when he says it’s nothing—”

William closed the door on her complaint. Most of the crew were turned in for the night, so he met no one on the main deck as he made his way through the sea of hammocks. Their loud snores made it unnecessary to try to muffle his footsteps.

As he expected, a light still gleamed in Hawthorne’s quarters. He knocked.

The young doctor looked shocked to see the ship’s commander at his door at such a late hour. “Commodore Ransome, sir, is something wrong?”

“Yes. Mrs. Ransome is injured and in need of your services.”

The doctor shrugged into his civilian coat and gathered up some medical supplies into a large black bag. As soon as he doused his lamp, William spun on his heel.

“How did she acquire the injury, sir?” Hawthorne panted, climbing the stairs behind William.

“She…” What had she said about humiliation? “She hit her foot against something in the dark.”

The main cabin was brighter than William recalled, and Julia sipped a cup of tea, a damp cloth covering her bare foot.

Dawling lowered the glass chimney over the lamp on the wall behind Julia and then knuckled his forehead. “Com’dore. Doc.”

“That will be all, Dawling.” Had Julia’s protestations of not wanting anyone to know been to make William somehow more sympathetic toward her plight? He paced the width of the room while Hawthorne examined Julia’s foot. A couple of times, William paused at her sharp intakes of breath.

“The two smallest toes are dislocated. I need to reset them and then bind your foot until they’ve straightened. Commodore—”

William joined them.

“Mrs. Ransome may need you, as this will be quite painful.”

He sat beside her. She sat up, and he put his arm around her. As soon as Hawthorne began manipulating the toes, Julia grabbed William’s left hand with both of hers and buried her face in his shoulder with a groan.

A few minutes later, William pulled his hand from hers to assist the doctor by holding a small board to the bottom of Julia’s foot while the doctor swathed it in bandages.

Julia seemed to regain her composure quickly, though a sheen of perspiration shone on her forehead.

Hawthorne knotted the bandage and trimmed the excess. “Now, you must stay off your foot for several days, Mrs. Ransome. Else, we’ll be right back here putting those toes in place again.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hawthorne.”

He inclined his head. “Ma’am. Sir.”

William waited a few moments to ensure that Hawthorne was out of earshot. “Julia—”

“William,” Julia said, her voice low. “I really do believe you should
speak with Dawling. I think he listens at the door. No sooner had you left than he came in and started propping a pillow behind me and telling me I needed tea and a cold compress.”

William sank into the desk chair and untied his neckcloth. The truth of her statement made him feel guilty for doubting her. “Yes. I have been meaning to speak to him. He seems to have gotten worse about it since our time in Portsmouth.”

“You know I’m fond of him,” Julia quieted her voice even further. “And I do not believe he does it with any ill intent—on the contrary, I think he does it to try to improve his service. But it worries me to think that our private conversations may be…not private.”

“I will speak with him first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you. Of course, he did tell me he’s seen a crutch down in the hold—”

William glanced at her, noticing for the first time her pallor, emphasizing the dark circles beneath her eyes. She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the sofa.

He was immediately at her side and lifted her into his arms, smiling at her surprised, “Oh!”

“Hawthorne said you are to stay off your feet. No crutch. At least not until he gives his approval.”

“And what am I to do all day? Lie abed?”

“How are you getting to that bed?”

She finally stopped frowning at him. “I do thank you for this.” She reached her hands behind her to steady her descent as he settled her into the box bed. “But you cannot stay with me all day. I will need to dress and move about the cabin to…take care of necessities. A crutch would be a great help.”

He opened his mouth to argue further but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “We are not finished with this conversation.”

“I tingle with anticipation.” Her green eyes sparkled with humor.

He went out through the main room and opened the door. “Hawthorne?”

“I thought your wife might need this, sir.” The doctor thrust a long
stick at William. “She will need to use extreme caution, though, until she is accustomed to it.”

It took William a moment to realize the stick was a crutch. He thanked the doctor and sent him on his way.

Julia had somehow managed to get her dress off before William returned.

Her lips trembled with what looked like an effort to restrain her smile when he propped the crutch in the corner. He crossed to his sea chest and withdrew a large canvas bundle. He started to hang his old hammock from the iron rings in the ceiling beams.

“William, I…meant no disrespect.”

The fear in her voice surprised him. He turned and tried to reassure her with a smile. “Disrespect? No. Stubborn you may be. Strong willed, certainly. But never disrespectful.”

“Then why…?” She motioned at the hammock.

He laid the ropes and canvas aside and moved to lean over her, his hands on the feather tick on either side of her. “Because I’ve no wish to hurt you while we sleep.”

“You won’t.” She held her foot out. “He has so swathed it in bandages that no harm will come to it.”

He dropped his head and sighed. He had no desire to give up sleeping beside her, but it was nice to hear she wanted him with her. “Fine. But the first time you so much as twitch…”

She kissed the top of his head. “Good. Now, it is late. You need your rest.”

When he finally doused the last lamp and climbed into bed, Julia was nearly asleep, on her side facing away from him. He pulled her close, careful to be aware of the position of her foot.

“Good night, husband.” She twined her fingers in his where his hand rested at her waist.

“Sleep well, wife.”

F
og’s as thick as turtle soup.” Bolger,
Audacious
’s sailing master, continued to grumble and mutter under his breath.

Charlotte stifled a yawn. The thick fog cast an eerie silence around the ship in the predawn gloom. She rubbed her eyes when the writing on the log board blurred before them. Martin’s handwriting was nearly as crooked as his teeth, but she could make out the ship’s position as recorded at each hour of the watches that came before hers. But the final entry for this hour…

She looked up at the tall young man. He held the chalk in his hand, but instead of writing, he stood frozen, frowning, head slightly cocked, a distant expression in his brown eyes.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He shushed her and wandered out onto the quarterdeck, seemingly led by his left ear. Charlotte glanced at the sailing master.

“I’ve learned to trust that lad. He can hear things no one else can.” With a jerk of his chin, he motioned Charlotte to follow Martin.

She followed him all the way to the forecastle.

Kent jumped up from his seated position. “What’s the meaning of—”

“Quiet!” Martin snapped. Charlotte was impressed—it was the first time she’d seen Martin stand up to Kent.

She moved to stand beside Martin and squinted, as if that would help her see better through the fog. A flash of lightning a fair distance
off the larboard bow caught her attention. But the boom that followed a moment later wasn’t thunder.

“Get down!” Martin grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the deck. She spun and caught sight of Kent staring at them in annoyance. She grabbed his arm and pulled him down with them.

The cannonball hit the bulwark not two feet from where Kent had stood seconds before.

Martin jumped to his feet and started running back toward the quarterdeck. “Beat to quarters, beat to quarters!”

Charlotte leapt up and tried to follow, but her feet twisted with Kent’s. She fell, pushed herself back up, and chased Martin, weaving between the sailors pouring onto the deck. She stumbled at another impact, chest tightening with terror.

The war was over. Who could possibly be attacking them?

Captain Parker came out of his cabin, stuffing his arms into his coat sleeves. “Report!”

Martin gave a breathless recounting of the past few minutes.

“Clear for action. Run out the guns!”

Charlotte did not wait to hear the remainder of Parker’s commands but spun and ran down the companion stairs.

Her two gun crews were already at work readying the cannons.

“Who is it, Mr. Lott?”

“Be it the Frenchies starting the war again?”

“We don’t know,” she snapped. “Prepare to run out the guns.” She glanced at Hamilton. The pallor of his skin was the only betrayal of his unease. Gulping a few deep breaths and hoping for the ship to somehow get through this safely—and for William to come to their rescue—she managed to achieve a small measure of control over her fear.

“Don’t fire until you can see their hull!” Lieutenant Gardiner paced behind them.

The ship shuddered with another impact. Bile rose in the back of Charlotte’s throat. She had read so many accounts of battles that she’d thought she’d be prepared for it if anything like this happened. But reading about it could not compare to experiencing it.

“Prepare to fire!”

Charlotte repeated the order to her crews. At least they knew what they were doing. Through the gun portals she could make out the shadow of the enemy ship.

“Fire when you bear!”

She closed her eyes, summoning her strength. Beside her, Hamilton gave the command. Before she could think, she opened her mouth and cried, “Fire!”

The whole ship rocked in recoil when the starboard battery fired at almost the same moment.

“Reload!”

Acrid smoke filled the gun deck. She coughed hard enough to bring tears to her eyes and struggled to catch her breath. She wanted to be a child again, to have dreamed all of this, to wake up, climb into her mother’s lap, and be comforted.

But she had made this choice. She must live with it now.

“Gun ready, sir!”

“Gun ready, sir!”

“Run ’er out!” she called to her crews. She bent down to sight the other ship through the portal. The enemy’s battery fired at that moment.

She jumped back just as a cannonball shattered the side of the portal. Pain worse than she’d ever felt slammed against the side of her head.

Pounding feet overhead awakened William. Outside, dawn lay gray and pink on the horizon. He listened a moment longer before untangling himself from Julia, leaping out of bed, and hastening to dress.

Julia propped up on one elbow, eyes bleary, hair tousled. “What is it?”

“I’m not certain. But I intend—” Loud banging on the door cut him off and set his heart to racing.
God, please. Not hostilities with Julia aboard.

He punched his arms into his uniform jacket and ran his fingers through his hair as he rushed to the door.

Cochrane, white faced, stood on the other side. “Message come up the line, sir—
Buzzard is
under attack.
Audacious
is engaging the enemy.”

“Beat to quarters and clear for action. Boxhaul the ship. Send word to the convoy they are to remain on course.” The drumming and pounding of feet matched the hammering of his heart. For the first time since he’d been made commander of a vessel, he paused before leaving his quarters and joining the fracas on deck.

Julia stood in the doorway between the sleeping cabin and the main cabin, balanced on her uninjured foot, straightening the dress she’d pulled on in haste, eyes wide with fear.

In that moment he resented her—resented loving her, resented her presence. Never before had he experienced fear in the face of an enemy attack.

He crossed the cabin, grabbed her by the shoulders, and kissed her with the force of anguish his fear created. “Stay in the main cabin—but away from the windows.” His men were already shoving their trunks aside in the sleeping cabin to get to the cannon in there.

Julia caressed his cheeks. “Do not worry about me, William. Go. See to your ship.”

Cochrane had already relayed William’s orders and the deck swarmed with crew.
Alexandra
shuddered as the crew threw the canvas aback, catching the wind with the fronts of the sails to halt their forward progress.

“Heave to. Hard to larboard.” William climbed to the poop where he had a better vantage as the ship swung around. A lingering fog limited visibility but not the distant echoes of cannon fire. William braced himself against the bulwark as
Alexandra
heeled, leaning far over as she came about.

“Cleared for action, sir, and guns run out.” Ned stopped next to him, breathing heavily.

If Captain Parker had made more of an effort to exploit his position at the rear and bring the line tighter together, this might not have happened.

The rising sun burned away the fog. They passed two ships; and through his scope, William could see the next four in line.

Silence descended. Even with all canvas spread and catching a fair wind on the starboard tack,
Alexandra
seemed to crawl through the water.

Ahead—smoke. William tried to will
Alexandra
to gain speed. He scanned the water for any signs of an enemy vessel.

“Enemy ship sighted, Commodore!” came a cry from the quarter-deck.

“Where away?”

“Seven points off the starboard bow.”

William swung his telescope that direction. Two vessels came into view—the larger looked like one of the cargo ships. The smaller… “Thirty-two gun French frigate. Make chase, Lieutenant Cochrane.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Ned’s heart raced, though he tried to keep the excitement from his voice. He leapt down the steps to the quarterdeck and relayed William’s orders.
Alexandra
almost immediately changed to the more easterly course on a pursuit path.

The smoke billowing from
Audacious
appeared to be waning, meaning the ship was in no danger of burning, so Ned put it out of his mind, focusing solely on their enemy. But after several minutes they had drawn no closer to the French scavenger and the captured cargo ship.
Alexandra
was under full sail, yet the smaller ships had the advantage of at least half an hour’s lead. At this point, they could chase them all the way back to France and never close the gap.

He turned and looked up at William, who stood at the fore of the poop. “Sir, we are not closing.” The words seemed unnecessary, given the grim expression on the commodore’s face.

“Lay off pursuit. We shall return and render assistance to
Audacious
.”

Ned saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.” As soon as Ned gave the orders to turn
the ship and return to
Audacious,
the men made their disappointment clear. But they obeyed and brought
Alexandra
around.

He examined
Audacious
through his glass. The privateer’s cannons had ripped holes in the bulwarks and around the gun portals, but the masts appeared to be intact. So long as she was not hulled below the waterline, it looked as though most of the damage could be repaired under sail.

If he had been in command of
Audacious,
he would not have allowed an enemy vessel to get the better of his ship, fog or no fog. Of course, he would never find himself in such a position, as he would never accept a command.

As they drew nearer, Ned could see the chaos that still prevailed on deck.

William joined him on the quarterdeck. “Matthews, haul in the ship’s boats. Mr. Cochrane, choose a crew to take with us to
Audacious
—including the doctor and the carpenter and his mates.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Ned ran through the crew and chose several he knew could help the
Audacious
crew put their ship to rights. Minutes later he climbed out of the jolly boat and up the accommodation ladder onto the other ship’s deck.

The frenzy on deck was worse than it had looked through his glass. Ned stood slack jawed for a moment. A thirty-two gun ship had created this much carnage? He moved closer to the mainmast and saw that it was pocked with holes. The frigate had used grapeshot in some of their cannon, and the small pellets had done what they were meant to do: take down as many sailors as they could, throwing the rest into panic.

“Where is Captain Parker?” William called over the screams of the injured.

A young lieutenant saluted him. “Captain Parker’s dead, sir. Along with the first and second lieutenants.”

Ned’s stomach lurched. Howe had been a friend—someone he had looked forward to being on station with in Jamaica.

“Who is in command, then?”

The young lieutenant looked as if he were about to be sick. “I am sir. Third Lieutenant Gardiner, sir.”

“How long have you held your commission, Mr. Gardiner?”

“Two years and five months, sir.”

William nodded, his mouth set in a thin line. “Show me your captain.”

Ned followed them to the starboard side of the quarterdeck. Three bodies lay on the deck, covered with ragged pieces of canvas from the shredded sails now being lowered and replaced. William pulled the material down to look at each man’s face and then straightened.