Ransome's Crossing (27 page)

“You must say something to Lieutenant Gardiner.”

She let her pant leg down and climbed down from the table to take the chair next to her counterpart. “And what will I say? I
think
someone tripped me on purpose, but I saw no one and neither did the sailor who found me just after I fell. It was dark, and I am not the first person to fall when going down the stairs too quickly.”

“But the mark on your leg,” Jamison protested. “That is proof.”

Shaking her head, Charlotte almost grinned at the vast change five weeks on this ship had wrought—she had thought nothing of Jamison’s seeing her bare ankle just moments ago. “A mark like that could have happened at any time, anywhere on the ship. I took your advice
and told Lieutenant Gardiner about my sea chest—and nothing has come of that.” Except to upset Ned to the point she was certain he knew her true identity. “If I make another accusation and it reaches Captain Cochrane’s ears, I will become known as a troublemaker.”

“Then tell Ham or Martin. Even though they could not officially do anything for you, they need to be made aware of Kent’s continual misconduct so they can watch for more blatant examples of it and do something about it.”

Jamison had a point. And as she considered the two young acting lieutenants friends—and on her side when it came to Kent already—telling one of them would probably not land her back in front of Ned.

Six hours later, when she reported for duty, she was relieved to find Hamilton coming on as the lieutenant of the watch. She quickly reviewed the log board and double-checked it against the compass in the binnacle, made her calculations and notations in her log book, and conferred with the master’s mate currently at the wheel.

Finally, she joined Hamilton on the quarterdeck. “Sir, might I have a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. Lott.” Hamilton’s dimples appeared when he looked down at her.

In a low voice she told him what happened, and the dimples disappeared. “I know it could not have been Kent. He had just relieved me as midshipman of the watch. But I have two of his mates on my watch, and Jamison has three.” She went on to tell him what Jamison had seen in the cockpit, along with their suspicion that two of Kent’s mates who were senior to Charlotte but had been passed over for promotion were the instigators of the mischief. “However, there is no evidence, not solid proof, that any of them did anything, so I cannot go to Lieutenant Gardiner and make an accusation.”

Hamilton chewed his bottom lip, his eyes scanning the sails and rigging above them. After several long moments, he dragged his gaze away and pinned it on Charlotte once again. “I assume Jamison is the one who encouraged you to speak up about this?”

She nodded. “Aye, sir.”

“How are your injuries?”

She reached up and touched the back of her head. “I have a knot here. And my shoulder is tender. But I am otherwise unharmed and, as you can see, fit for duty.” She did not mention the pounding headache. Her experience with injuries over the recent past had taught her that the aches brought on by bumps and bruises eventually went away.

“Did you speak with one of the surgeon’s mates about it?”

“No, sir. I saw no need.”

He made an indistinguishable sound in the back of his throat and turned his attention toward the sails again.

She stood beside him, watching the activity of the sailors on the quarterdeck, wondering what he was thinking.

“Do you trust me, Mr. Lott?”

She looked up at the tall young man. “Sir?”

He turned toward her. “Do you trust me to deal with this situation in the manner in which I see fit?”

“Aye, sir.” The answer came easily. If she did not trust him, she would not have told him despite Jamison’s cajoling.

“Good. Carry on, Mr. Lott.” Hamilton touched the forepoint of his hat, effectively dismissing her.

She saluted and returned to the wheelhouse. The half hour chimed, and Charlotte made a mark on the log board.

The door of the captain’s cabin opened. Charlotte sucked in a breath and nearly choked when she tried to swallow at the same time. She sputtered and coughed, drawing the attention of everyone—including Ned.

“Are you ill, Mr. Lott? Do you need to be relieved?” Ned paused beside her, worry wrinkling what she could see of his brow under his hat.

She worked to relax her throat, taking a normal breath. “No, sir.” The rasp in her voice tried to belie her denial and pulled the heat of embarrassment into her cheeks. “I am well.”

“Carry on, then.”

“Thank you, sir.”

She cleared her throat and kept her eyes pinned to Ned’s back. He stopped to speak to Hamilton—and Charlotte nearly choked again. From the length of their conversation and Ned’s increased agitation, she did not need to hear what passed between them to know Hamilton was telling their captain of her fall down the stairs.

From now on, unless she could not stop the bleeding, she was not going to tell anyone on this ship about anything that happened to her.

G
uilt ate at Julia. Each time she sat down to a meal with her husband, every morning when he read from the prayer book and the Bible, every evening in the short time they had together before going to bed, whenever she looked at him, the news that Charlotte was aboard
Audacious
burned in her mind. Her inability to figure out how to tell him, how to confess to her husband she had kept this secret from him for ten days…eleven days…twelve days, settled like a weight on her chest.

At night she lay awake, staring at William’s profile as he slept. On several occasions, she thought to whisper the truth in those dark hours to try to alleviate her conscience. But the longer she waited for the appropriate opportunity to tell him, the less one seemed likely to occur.

Finally, her lack of sleep gave her the excuse she needed to avoid her husband altogether: a severe headache, pronounced by Dr. Hawthorne to be a migraine. He recommended rest and cold compresses and avoidance of light and noise. Julia had never heard the term applied to the aches, from which she had suffered for most of her life, but she latched onto the doctor’s suggested cure and retreated to the sleeping cabin, trusting William’s solicitude to keep him from disturbing her until she declared herself well again.

Though it nearly ripped her heart from her chest, she did not mount a protest when he removed his old canvas hammock from his sea chest and hung it in the day cabin so as not to disrupt her sleep by his comings and goings. Dawling plied her with tea and soups and pastries,
but the offense against her husband whittled away her appetite until none remained.

After two days, it was not her black mood that drove her from the sleeping cabin, but the overwhelming heat, which the closed gun port only exacerbated. She needed fresh air—and to bathe. She called for Dawling, announced herself well, and asked him to bring her water for washing.

While he went to comply, she stepped into the main cabin to retrieve clean clothing from the wardrobe. She stopped only two paces from the door.

From his desk, William stood and crossed to her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Are you well?”

She nodded, unable to meet his earnest blue eyes. “Dawling is bringing me water so that I can bathe and wash my hair. I came to retrieve fresh clothing.”

William pulled her into a gentle embrace. “I hoped you would be recovered today. We have arrived at Barbados and will be docking by midday. I will send word to Captain Cochrane to join us for supper.”

Her stomach churned. Would Ned arrive with Charlotte in tow, expecting that Julia had told William? “It…will be good to see him again.”

He held her at arm’s length, his gaze searching. “My dear, are you certain you are well?”

“Weak and tired. I need fresh air.” And to clear her conscience. She started forming the words in her mind, but then he smiled at her, and she could not bring herself to change that look, full of trust and caring, to something full of hurt, resentment, and anger.

“Come join me on the poop deck when you are ready.” He squeezed her shoulders and then bowed away.

“William, wait. I…there is something I need to tell you.”

He returned to her. “What is it?”

She was going to tell him. Until he reached out and brushed her limp hair back from her face, brushing his fingers across her cheek.

“What is this? Are you afraid to tell me?” His face betrayed neither concern nor amusement, but his eyes held hers with an intimacy that curled her toes.

Tears welled in her eyes. “I…I love you.”

His expressionless mask melted away, replaced by a look so tender, it broke her heart. “There, now. That was not so hard, was it?” He cupped her jaw with his hands and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Mrs. Ransome.”

“I do not deserve your love.” His face blurred; she blinked away the moisture from her eyes.

“Yet you have it. You have possessed my heart for a very long time.”

And she had squandered that gift. After he learned the truth, he would never look at her like this again. She committed this moment to her memory so that she could remember in the future she once held his full trust and love.

“Is there more you wanted to say?”

Why had Ned told her? Why had he burdened her with such a terrible secret?

“You are trembling. You should still be abed.”

“No. I am—I need to recover my strength. I have lingered too long already.” And played the coward too long. “I will bathe and dress and meet you on deck.”

As soon as he departed, Julia wrapped her arms around her middle and bent over with a groan.
Oh, Lord, how will I explain Charlotte to him? How will he ever forgive me?

Rustling sounds from the sleeping cabin alerted her to Dawling’s presence. She retrieved her clothing from the wardrobe and carried it into the smaller chamber. Dawling was not in the room but reappeared a moment later carrying a tea tray.

“I know you didn’t ask for it, mum, but I thought you could use a spot of food to start rebuilding your strength.” He set the tray atop William’s sea chest.

“Thank you, Dawling. I appreciate all your efforts on my behalf while I have been ill.”

“My pleasure, mum.” He knuckled his forehead and backed out the door that connected to the captain’s galley beyond.

Julia undressed and dunked a clean cloth into the wash basin, the tepid water cooling her hot skin and filling the air with the scent of honeysuckle from the soap Susan had given her. After bathing, she leaned over the washstand and dunked her hair into the shallow water. She soaped her scalp and rinsed it, trying to rub away the heaviness of the guilt along with the grime.

Then she dressed, having pulled out her favorite yellow day dress, and secured her damp hair behind her neck with a ribbon. But she paused before she left the cabin. She could not tell William while they were on deck, with others around. She would have to find a way to tell him before Ned arrived for supper.

Or perhaps she could find a way to pull Ned aside and let him know she thought William might take the news better from Ned than from her.

“Message from lead ship. ‘Captain,
Audacious,
to report to flagship four bells in the first dogwatch.’”

Ned glanced up from the charts spread out on his table and looked at the young midshipman carrying the message. “Is that all? No indication as to why?”

The boy shrugged. “No, sir.”

“Very good. Dismissed.” Ned thought he might be sick. If Julia had told William about Charlotte, Ned could very well be on his way to his doom in just a little while.

Bolger called his attention back to the charts as they calculated their own navigation into port at Barbados. The message had already been sent down the line as to the commodore’s orders for docking, but no matter whom the orders came from, Ned had been taught to never rely on another ship’s navigational directions without checking them for himself.

Satisfied that
Audacious
would not be torn apart by a sunken reef or grounded in shallow shoals, he relayed his orders for docking to his sailing master and lieutenants.

All hands were called to their stations. Ned, from his position at the fore of the poop deck, spotted Charlotte easily, his frozen lungs squeezing his heart as she scampered up the foremast shroud to observe the sailors on her station as they raised and secured the sails.

Ned’s skin prickled and a chill like melted snow ran down his back. The heat, combined with his concern for his commodore’s sister, did not agree with him.

Audacious
came to rest easily at her assigned mooring. While Ned might have wished for a spot on the opposite side of the eleven remaining ships of the convoy, William wanted him close by, so they lay a score of yards off
Alexandra’s
larboard stern.

Once he dismissed the crew, he returned to his cabin. He sank into his desk chair, hoping to alleviate the aches in his back. His steward carried in a tray of pastries along with his tea, but Ned waved the whole thing away. The very sight of it made him queasy.

If Julia had not already told William about Charlotte, it would fall on Ned—should fall on him—to tell the tale. Although he still was not certain prayer worked, he prayed for the strength not only to speak the words, but to submit to whatever punishment William meted out afterward.

His head started pounding. But now was no time to allow the symptoms of his guilt to keep him from his duty. He recalled his steward.

“Pass word for Midshipman Lott.”

“Aye, sir.”

To keep from sitting at the table with his head buried in his arms, Ned paced. The action had become a habit—something he had never seen William Ransome do, but it was the only way Ned could find to keep himself calm before his men.

Though Lieutenant Hamilton had not mentioned Lott’s name, his story of overhearing some boys discussing a practical joke they had played on another mid—standing below the stairs and holding
something out over a step to make the person trip and fall—had not fooled Ned. The surgeon’s mate reported all injuries to the captain and had informed Ned that Charles Lott had been to see him about a goose-egg-sized lump on the back of his head from falling down the steps. A few days later, Ned himself had noticed Charlotte limping, but when he asked about the injury, she shrugged and mentioned how easy it was to trip over an unknown object in the darkness of the cockpit.

Now that they were docked and only a few men were needed on watch—mostly to perform lookout and security duties—anyone wishing to do Charlotte harm would have ample time to plot and execute their plans. At Madeira, he had taken Jamison the first night and Kent the second night. He could not afford to raise any questions by not allowing Lott to go this time.

Though taking her to
Alexandra
would be dangerous, she knew the risk and would be cautious to hide her face from William or Julia. If Ned was invited for supper, Charlotte would dine in the midshipmen’s berth. And with Charlotte aboard
Alexandra,
one of two things would happen. William would recognize her before anything could be said, and he would take matters into his own hands; or Ned would be put through the agony of confessing, William would send for
Charles Lott
to be brought to the big cabin, and he would take matters into his own hands.

He jumped when the knock came. “Enter.”

Midshipman Lott came in. The bruises and swelling that had partially obscured her face when he’d first come aboard had faded away, leaving a long, red scar across her left cheek. She appeared wan, almost gaunt, but the continual oppression she suffered at Kent’s and his mates’ hands could explain that.

“Mr. Lott, you will form a detail to man the ship’s boat that will take me to
Alexandra
by four bells in the first dogwatch.”

“You want me to—” She swallowed convulsively, blue eyes wide. “Aye, sir.”

If he thought he could get away with it, he would take one of the
ship’s boats and run away with her, saving both of them from facing her brother’s anger and disappointment. His imagination showed him the idyllic picture of the two of them together—Charlotte in a white gown, as he’d been accustomed to seeing her—in a garden, behaving like normal people.

But they weren’t normal people. “That is all, Mr. Lott.”

For a moment it seemed that she would protest, but then she exited instead.

Ned sank into the closest chair. If he survived tonight, it would be a miracle. He folded his arms atop the table and rested his head on them.
“To sleep, perchance to dream…”
of a way to get out of the mess of his own making.

A knocking on the door awoke him. Groggy and bleary eyed, he raised his head. “Enter.”

Charlotte came in. “The boat is ready, sir.”

“So soon?”

She frowned. “We must leave almost immediately to get to
Alexandra
by four bells, sir.”

Ned pulled out his watch. He’d slept for more than an hour. No wonder his head felt heavy. And when he stood…pain arced through his back, and a wave of dizziness struck him with such force that he had to grab the side of the table to keep from losing his balance. If this was what the tropical heat did to him, he was not going to enjoy being assigned to Jamaica station. If he did not lose his commission in the next few hours.