Ransome's Quest (9 page)

“We were concerned after your dear mother’s passing that the admiral would decide to sell Tierra Dulce.” The owner of the plantation neighboring Tierra Dulce to the north tried to look sincere.

Julia kept her smile to herself. The only thing he had been afraid of was that her father would sell the plantation to somebody else. “Nay, my father knows how much I love this place, and how I enjoy the running of it.”

The older man across from her shifted uneasily on the light blue damask chair. “Yes, yes. But it goes without saying, of course, that when you run into problems I’m ready and able to assist you and set things to right.”

Perhaps Julia should have included an accounting of her escape from the sinister designs of her aunts and cousin back in England along with the anecdotes she’d related about the year she had been away. And she kept her opinion to herself that her neighbor was the one more likely to find himself in need of help running a plantation than she.

The man’s wife, an angular, severe-looking woman, gazed down the bridge of her long nose at Julia. “And should you need someone to talk to about, well, more delicate matters, such as wifely duties and behaviors, I will be more than happy to step into the place left void by your dear mama.”

Because she wanted to laugh at the preposterous idea of going to this woman for wifely advice, Julia had no trouble smiling at her. “I will keep that in mind, thank you. It is wonderful to have neighbors who care so much.”

As if sensing Julia would be unable to withstand more of these neighbors, Jerusha appeared in the doorway.

“Will we see you at church Sunday?”

Julia did not miss the pointed implication behind the question. “As I did before my mother died, I will attend services in the chapel here at Tierra Dulce tomorrow.”

The look the older couple exchanged made Julia glad for the years she had spent watching her mother paste a smile on her face and be pleasant to people she did not like. Julia did the same now. She stood and paid her farewell courtesy, keeping the smile on her face until her visitors disappeared out the door. She sank back into her chair rubbing her forehead. “Who is here now?”

“No one. But Jeremiah needs to see you out in the office.”

Julia snapped her gaze up to the housekeeper, surprised to find grim lines framing Jerusha’s usually smiling lips. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Jerusha shook her head. “I’m not sure, Miss Julia. Jeremiah just said send for you as soon as you could come.”

Julia jumped up from her chair and hurried toward the door. She paused when she reached Jerusha. “Should anyone else arrive—”

“I shall tell them you are much indisposed with business and cannot take any more callers today.”

Julia considered Jerusha’s suggestion a moment. “Why scandalize the neighbors more than necessary? Tell them I am indisposed from the long voyage but will repay their kindness with a call as soon as I can.”

Jerusha chuckled. “Yes, Miss Julia.”

“Thank you.” Julia squeezed the housekeeper’s arm before hurrying through the house and out the door at the end of the bedroom corridor. The bright blue sky, the delicious heat of the afternoon, and the salty breeze blowing off the bay wiped away the previous two hours’ tribulation so much so that she did not mind the armed guard who trotted along behind her as she hurried to the plantation office.

The square white building sat at the edge of the cane field. With a deep porch that ran around the outside of the building, it could have made a very pretty little house. All the doors and windows were open to catch the cooling sea breeze; but unlike the main house, there were no gauzy white drapes to catch the current and wave in welcome. Julia paused as soon as she stepped into the central hall to let her eyes adjust from the brightness outside. Three of the building’s four rooms were used as offices; the fourth room with a large table in it made a good place to work in a group. Upstairs were the living quarters for the plantation steward.

Julia passed the stairs with a glance upward and clenched her teeth. She would find out what Henry Winchester had been up to if it was the last thing she did. Bypassing her own office on the front left corner, she went to the room behind it, but Jeremiah was not in his office. A scuffing sound drew her attention, and she crossed the hall and stepped through the open doorway into the steward’s office.

Jeremiah sat at Henry Winchester’s desk rifling through the drawers. Julia stepped further into the room. “Jeremiah? What are you doing? Where’s Winchester?”

“That’s why I sent for you, Miss Julia. That thieving scoundrel is gone.”

T
he savory aroma of the roasted chicken was enough to make Charlotte cry, but she had survived worse in her weeks aboard
Audacious
. She could survive this. Never before had she seen such sumptuous fare served aboard a ship at sea, but Captain Salvador—though his tastes in furnishings seemed simple—enjoyed elaborate dining. And his steward had presented his captain with meals even Lady Fairfax would have been proud to serve.

Of course, Charlotte could not vouch for the tastiness of the food, not having eaten any herself. She averted her eyes to keep from seeing the chicken’s juices running down the meat as Salvador cut into it. Her stomach groaned with hunger, and she swallowed against a wave of nausea. How could he do this to her?

Onto a plate with a succulent chicken breast, Salvador piled vegetables and fruits Charlotte had never seen—all of which served only to pique her curiosity as to what they would taste like and feel like in her mouth, which watered ferociously.

Must he make her sit at the table during meals? It was bad enough that the smell of the food filled the entire small cabin three times a day. She closed her eyes and squeezed her hands together in her lap. She’d never thought there would come a time when she would long for the stringy, greasy mutton that had been the staple of the midshipmen’s diet aboard
Audacious
.

Salvador looked at her for a long moment before he started eating. Charlotte closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. She could survive this.

“Marvelous chicken. Suresh has outdone himself once again,” Salvador said between bites. “He has a way of combining spices to make even this mean chicken into a delicacy. And the vegetables…I would imagine there’s not a table in Jamaica that could boast better, not even the vaunted Tierra Dulce.”

A tear trickled out of the corner of Charlotte’s right eye before she could stop it. How could he be so cruel? Couldn’t he see how hungry she was?

When silence fell, Charlotte opened her eyes and looked at her captor. She turned her head away again quickly, not wanting to witness the scrutiny in his gaze. But that he watched her for any sign of weakness, she had no doubt.

Salvador grunted and returned to eating. “Just as jumping overboard and trying to drown yourself did not work, I do not know why you believe that starving yourself will avail you in securing your freedom. Besides,” he waved his fork at her, “if you truly mean to escape, you will need your strength. Being faint with hunger is not going to allow you to get very far before we recapture you.”

Charlotte crossed her arms. “You, sir, are decidedly not a gentleman.”

“You, miss, possess the uncanny knack of stating the obvious.”

At the sound of fine china scraping across the table, Charlotte canted her eyes to see what he was doing. Salvador pulled her plate of food toward him and cut a small piece of chicken. He held the fork toward her.

“Please do not make me feed you by force.” Salvador’s dark eyes bored into her like a weevil through a biscuit.

Arms still folded but unable to ignore the demands of her stomach any longer, Charlotte leaned forward and scraped the piece of meat off the fork with her teeth. The promise of the aroma of herbs and spices filling the room had not prepared her for the richness of flavor she now experienced.

Salvador smiled. “Did not I tell you? Suresh is a master with spices.”

Unwilling to concede further, and hoping the steward could not hear her, Charlotte said, “Perhaps he is, or perhaps even your boot leather would be tasty to someone who has not eaten in more than a day.”

Salvador’s smile faded. Charlotte reached for her plate, but instead of letting her have it Salvador pulled it closer to himself and proceeded to cut the large piece of chicken into small bits. He then began to mash the vegetables with the back of his fork.

“What are you doing?” Charlotte snatched the plate away from him. Several pieces of something round and orange slid off the plate. Charlotte grabbed them with her fingers and put them back, surprised at their soft, spongy texture.

“You are acting like a child; therefore, I assumed you need your food cut up for you as a child would.” Salvador returned his energies to his own plate. “And you cannot be that hungry. If I recall correctly, you ate everything on your plate and some of what was left on mine yesterday evening after our little swim. I do not believe skipping today’s breakfast and midday meal constitutes not having eaten for a full day. But I suppose you are practicing for when—if—you are returned to your family. Telling them the black-hearted pirate starved you for days to punish you for trying to escape will sound much better than telling them about your childish attempt at a hunger strike.”

Charlotte jerked her fork at Salvador’s insult. The spongy orange vegetable landed with a splat against the palm of her hand.

“Be careful. That dress is a gift, and I would like it to be unspoilt when the recipient sees it.”

Charlotte scraped the mushy orange stuff off of her hand. “The gowns…they are gifts? For whom? I assumed they were left behind by a previous guest.”

“Which is why you helped yourself to a second gown today, even though your own clothing is now dry?” Salvador arched his scarred left brow at her, but he didn’t look angry.

Charlotte pushed the orange stuff around on her plate, trying to figure out what it was. “My dress was still damp this morning.” She scooped up some of the mush and put it in her mouth. The odd combination of soft, fibrous texture and sweet, earthy flavor almost made her stomach revolt. She managed to swallow the small amount and then reached for her glass of wine to wash away the flavor, even though she knew the wine would not be to her taste either.

“That is disgusting. What is it so I can be certain never to eat it again?” She wiped her mouth, but would rather have wiped her tongue.

Salvador laughed heartily. “It is called a yam. Roasted yams are very common on tables throughout the Caribbean. You’d best accustom yourself to them. Occasionally, when we cannot put in somewhere to resupply, all we have to eat are yams.”

“Then you’d best leave me ashore next time you put in to resupply because I am
not
eating that again.” She speared several of the small chunks of chicken with her fork and ate those instead. “For whom did you buy these dresses?”

Salvador carved the back quarter of the side of the chicken facing him and added it to his plate. “They are for my fiancée.”

“You are betrothed?” Charlotte looked down at the beautifully worked pink silk dress. Modest and tasteful, it did not strike her as the type of gown a woman who would marry a pirate would wear. She returned her gaze to Salvador and tried to see him objectively. Dark hair that glinted with hints of red in the direct sunlight, brown eyes with flecks of gold and green, broad shoulders, and well-tailored clothing that showed him to be a fine physical specimen. Yes, she supposed he could be considered quite handsome—when he wasn’t abducting innocent young women.

“Does she know, your fiancée, who you are? What you do, I mean? Does she know the gifts you bring her are purchased with ill-gotten gains?”

“She knows what I have told her, and that is enough.”

If Salvador had known telling Charlotte Ransome he was engaged to be married would result in such a drastic change in her demeanor, he would have revealed that fact within hours of bringing her aboard
Vengeance.
She did not speak for the remainder of the meal, a contemplative frown etched between her delicate eyebrows.

The consternation had no effect on her appetite, however. She consumed almost half the chicken on her own, in addition to the few vegetables she ate. He liked a woman with a hearty appetite; though having felt nearly every bone in Charlotte Ransome’s body when he carried her away from Tierra Dulce and again yesterday in the water, he wondered if this appetite was newly discovered. She couldn’t weigh more than a couple of cannonballs together, even when she had been fully clothed and soaking wet.