Ransome's Quest (18 page)

She paused at Declan’s words. Perched on a barrel, the American first mate was still taller than Charlotte. In the light streaming in from the forward windows, she could well see Declan’s flirtatious grin.

“He is no more than a year or two younger than Captain Salvador. As for his height, at least he is not in constant danger of cracking his skull against the decking. How is your head feeling?”

Declan rubbed the top of his head. “I am well recovered. Thank you for your concern, Miss Ransome.”

She sighed and returned to her pacing—only to be stopped again, this time by the door swinging open to admit Suresh.

“He is ready for you, Miss Ransome.”

Her heart pounded its way up into her throat, and she moved toward the door.

Suresh stepped past her and leaned over to pick something up from the floor. “You decided against the cap?”

Charlotte glanced toward the mobcap—the one she’d been wearing when Salvador took her—which she’d just dropped. “Yes…no…yes…”

Suresh handed it to her. “Take it with you. You may not be allowed to return and retrieve it.”

Charlotte took the cap from him and wadded it in one hand. She stopped him from exiting with a touch on his arm. “If I do not get the chance to say it later, thank you for everything you’ve done for me during my time here. You’ve made my stay as pleasant as possible, and for that I’ll always be grateful.”

“What about me?”

She turned to find Declan standing behind her, hunched over as usual. Though she railed internally against the delay, she could not be rude to him. “Thank you, Mr. Declan, for making my time here…more interesting.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Ransome. Though I’m thinking the captain might put up a fight rather than to let go of his only bargaining chip.”

“Yet I believe Captain Salvador is more of a gentleman than you give him credit for, Mr. Declan.”

He had the audacity to grin at her again. “We shall see, shan’t we?”

“Miss Ransome, he is waiting.”

Grateful for Suresh’s soft reminder, Charlotte whisked out of the infirmary and hurried down the length of the main deck toward the stern. She almost greeted Hamilton and Duncan at the door to the companionway to the half deck, but she remembered in time that she was no longer Charles Lott and they should not recognize her, so she ducked her head as she rushed past them.

Her heart nearly burst when she entered the cabin. Before he turned completely around, Charlotte launched herself at Ned, throwing her arms around his neck. She whispered his name over and over, twining her fingers through his hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her from the floor. She could hardly breathe from the crush of his embrace, but what did breathing matter?

After a forever that did not last long enough, Ned set her on the floor again and, keeping one arm around her, turned to face Salvador.

“You will face charges of kidnapping and assault, Captain Salvador. Miss Ransome’s presence here is all the proof I need.”

Charlotte pulled away from Ned and placed herself between him and Captain Salvador, facing Ned. “But you cannot—we need his help. He has been nothing but courtesy itself since I have been here.”

“Charlotte, he is a pirate. The mere fact he has been pleasant toward you in the few days you have been here does not atone for years of criminal activity.” Ned settled his hands on her shoulders. “I expect the trauma you have experienced is muddling your reason at the present. I must execute my duty as an officer of His Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

Charlotte shrugged his hands off but tried to maintain a serene expression so Salvador could not see how Ned’s patronizing tone infuriated her. “My reason is
not
muddled. I can think rationally and clearly as I always have. I understand that Captain Salvador is on the list of pirates you are supposed to hunt down and arrest but…” He would not believe her unless she showed him. She would ask Salvador’s forgiveness later.

She crossed to the trunk full of the clothing for Salvador’s fiancée, knelt before it, and lifted the lid.

“Miss Ransome, what are you—?” Salvador took a few steps toward her and then hesitated when she dug her arms down under the gowns and undergarments and fabrics meant for his future bride.

Her fingers jammed up against the hard edge she sought. With great effort she extricated the large ledgers and then carried them over to the table. “Unless I am mistaken, Captain Salvador has kept an accounting of every ship from which he has ever taken anything. These”—she pointed at the items that had been struck through—“appear to be those which he has already repaid in some manner. In this book,” she opened the second ledger, “he has kept an accounting of the slave ships he has liberated. Now, what kind of pirate repays those from whom he steals and liberates slaves at no profit to himself?”

Ned leaned over the first book and thumbed through several pages. “There seem to be quite a number of entries for ships from Tierra Dulce which have not been crossed out.” He straightened and looked at Salvador. “What is your connection with that plantation?”

Salvador’s expression did not change, but his posture stiffened. Charlotte moved around Ned so she was between them again, this time facing Salvador. Now she would finally find out why Salvador seemed so concerned about Julia and her safety.

W
illiam returned the salute of the lieutenant who met the jolly boat at the dock. Fort George was nothing compared to Fort Charles in Port Royal, but it was a Royal Navy outpost, and for that William was grateful.

“Commodore William Ransome of His Majesty’s Ship Alexandra. I need to speak with the fort’s commanding officer.”

“Commodore Ransome. We’ve been anticipating your arrival, sir.”

William frowned but did not question the younger officer as he followed him up the dock to the low stone building.

The lieutenant announced William as soon as they entered. The captain sitting at a small desk stood and saluted.

“Commodore, a messenger arrived in the middle of the night looking for you. I sent him into Port Antonio to secure lodging, as we did not know when you would arrive.”

“A messenger?” William’s heart stuttered. He had informed Jeremiah to send word to him here if anything…“Did he leave his name?”

“No, sir. ’Twas an older black man, though, if that makes a difference.”

William reeled. Jeremiah had come himself? He was not certain how to interpret that—but he hoped it was because Charlotte had been recovered. “Take me where you sent him.”

“No need, Commodore.”

William whirled at Jeremiah’s gasping voice. Julia’s overseer stood in the doorway doubled over, hands braced on knees, panting for breath. Though not spry to begin with, Jeremiah’s haggard appearance alerted William the man had traveled hard and fast to arrive here. He prayed it was with good news.

When the lieutenant, still standing near the door, eyed Jeremiah with distaste, William ushered the overseer into the room and onto a chair facing the captain’s desk. “Water.”

At least the lieutenant knew better than to disobey William’s order. He poured water into a tin cup from the pitcher on the stand behind the captain and handed it to William.

Jeremiah gulped down the liquid, wiping a few loose drops from his chin with the back of his hand. “I ran all the way back from town when I heard a Royal Navy ship arrived.”

William’s hope drowned in the severe expression in Jeremiah’s dark eyes. “What has happened?”

“Yesterday morning Miss Julia set out for Kingston to meet with the banker. I sent trusted men with her—Levi, the driver, and two of his sons, Ruben and Asher. A few hours later, Asher came riding back to the plantation with his horse in a lather to tell us Miss Julia had been taken and his father lay shot and dying on the road. He gave me this, sir.” Jeremiah rummaged in his pockets and withdrew a crumpled letter.

William almost tore the parchment in his haste to unfold it.

IN SEVEN DAYS JULIA WITHERINGTON RANSOME WILL BE EXECUTED FOR THE CRIMES PERPETRATED BY HER FATHER, ADMIRAL SIR EDWARD WITHERINGTON, AND HER HUSBAND, COMMODORE WILLIAM RANSOME.

SHAW

William’s knees buckled, and he had to grab the edge of the desk to keep from toppling to the floor. How could Shaw have Julia when he’d taken Charlotte?

“Before I could leave to bring you this message, another messenger arrived with this.” Jeremiah handed him another letter.

William opened it, apprehension numbing his fingers.

Charlotte Ransome is safe and well and will remain so if negotiations for her return can be made under the flag of parlay.

Further information forthcoming.

El Salvador de los Esclavos

Shaw had Julia; Salvador had Charlotte. William’s chest felt as if it were collapsing. He could not go after both his wife and his sister. And while what he knew of Salvador led William to believe the pirate was interested only in ransom, he still could not endanger Charlotte by leaving her in the hands of a pirate while he hunted down Shaw to save Julia’s life.

The close heat and humidity in the room turned frigid.

“I rode through the night to get here, sir. Asher said he thought he heard one of the pirates say something about Negril.” Jeremiah set the cup on the desk.

William stared at the water remaining at the bottom of the cup. Julia or Charlotte? Charlotte or Julia? A prayer formed in his mind, but his anxiety blocked him from articulating it. How could he be expected to make such a choice?

If only he had not sent James away. He could send his brother after Charlotte and focus all his energy on finding Julia. But he could not…

A thought poked through the anxious haze clouding his mind. Ned Cochrane. Ned could continue the search for Charlotte, allowing William to set his sights on Shaw. “I need a map.”

Moments later William leaned over a chart. If he continued on around the north side of the island, with full canvas spread and a good wind, he could be at Negril in less than a day—and if Ned had stayed on course, William could probably intercept him near Negril, as they were not supposed to meet at Falmouth for two more days.

He straightened and adjusted his waistcoat with a tug at the hem. “Should anyone need to know, I shall be sailing
Alexandra
for Negril.” He looked at each of the three men with him. “Thank you for your assistance.” He gave a brief nod and turned to leave. The sooner he could get
Alexandra
underway, the sooner he could start the search for Julia.

“Commodore—wait.”

He paused in the doorway at Jeremiah’s entreaty and turned to look at Julia’s overseer.

Jeremiah launched himself from the chair. “I want to go with you.”

William shook his head. “No. I need you to return to Tierra Dulce to see that everything continues to operate efficiently, as Mrs. Ransome would expect. She will be very put out with both of us if she comes back to find the plantation had foundered in her absence.”

“Yes, sir.” Jeremiah ran his fingers along the wide brim of his woven grass hat. “Bring her home, Commodore.”

William’s heart echoed the pain in Jeremiah’s voice. “I will.”

He sent the words to God as a vow. Because life would not be worth continuing without Julia.

Shaw knocked his brother’s feet off the lacquer table, one of his favorite pieces in his cabin. “I spent two years—
two years
—getting you the training and job postings necessary to secure you the position of steward at the Witherington plantation.”

“And I spent months…weeks courting the Ransome girl and making her fall in love with me so she’d agree to marry me. I’d say you had the easier task.” Henry swiped his blond hair from his eyes and tilted his chair back on two legs.

Unable to control his rage any longer, Shaw grabbed his brother’s throat and pushed him back. He crouched over him, hand tightening until the smirk left Henry’s face. “If you were not my brother, I would have already killed you for disobeying me.”

Henry grabbed Shaw’s wrist, trying to ease the chokehold, but Shaw’s anger had not yet abated. “All you had to do was continue following the plan. Work the plantation. Court the Ransome girl. Listen. Watch. And make sure you were in position when the opportunity came.”

He held Henry’s throat a moment longer to drive his point home. As soon as he released his grip, Henry gasped and coughed, doubling over before rolling off the upturned chair.