The Shipmaster's Daughter (3 page)

“Well, my girl, my name is Mrs. Peters. I’d very much like to know your name. You and your friends are somewhat of a mystery around here—a very welcome mystery, might I add.”

Luciana opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She touched her throat, her brow twitching together into a frown. Her mouth was dry and scratchy. She opened her mouth again, forcing out a horrid croak.

Mrs. Peters grimaced. She grabbed a glass of water from the side table. “Here. Drink this.”

Luciana propped herself on her elbow. Her entire body screamed out in pain as it shot throughout her limbs and head, but she drank the water eagerly. It refreshed her weary mind and tired body. When she’d swallowed the last drop, she fell against the pillows, gasping.

“Goodness,” Mrs. Peters said, setting the glass aside. “It’s like you’ve never seen water before.”

“No.” Luciana shook her head. Her voice was raspy, but at least she could speak. “I’ve seen water before. Too much of it. I just couldn’t drink any.”

The memory of bobbing about in the ocean all night came crashing back to her. She closed her eyes. If she tried hard enough, she could still hear the waves, smell the salt in the air, feel the cold water licking at her toes.

“Do you know your name, then?”

She opened her eyes. “Luciana Rene Renaldi.”

“And the year?”

“Nineteen-oh-eight.”

“Then you’re sound of mind.”

“Was I ever not?”

Mrs. Peters laughed. “And you have a quick one, too.”

Luciana struggled to pull herself onto her elbows again. “Have you found
ma
familia
?”

“Well, of course. They washed up on the shore like you. They’re in the great hall right now.”

Relief flooded throughout Luciana’s body. She exhaled, pushing the hair away from her sweaty and warm forehead. The sailor on
Charity
was wrong, like she suspected. Her family was fine. They were safe. She threw back her covers.

Mrs. Peters pushed her back. “No, no, you’re staying in bed.”

“But
ma familia
, I have to go and see them. I have to let them know I’m all right.”

“You can do that once you’re fever free. Until then, you stay in bed. Why don’t you get some rest now?”

“But–”

She held up her finger. “Ah. No buts. Just rest.”

Luciana consented, albeit with somewhat of a fuss. She hadn’t the time to rest. She needed to be with her family again. Mrs. Peters could not be swayed, though, and in the end, she fell asleep quickly, submitting to her body’s most dire need.

In her dreams, she saw fire. She saw
Charity
and men throwing themselves into the rolling waves. She saw herself, falling from the edge of the ship, her hands reaching for nothing. After her back hit the ocean, she couldn’t remember nor see anything else. It was all blank.

She woke with a start, sweat pouring down her forehead, her neck, her back. Her chest heaved. As she settled from her nightmare, the world around her came into focus.

Sunlight peeked through closed curtains and small particles of dust hung in the air. The sound of footsteps and murmured voices in the hallway drifted through the door. She sighed. Turning, she swallowed a shriek when she saw she was not alone.

A young girl stood in front of an oak chest. The lid had been flipped open and books covered the floor. An insignia of a roaring lion holding a wine glass carved on the front grabbed Luciana’s eyes. The girl held a long purple dress against her body. Her hand touched the edges, mesmerized by the soft fabric.

“Mi scusi
?” Luciana spoke up, frowning. “That’s my dress.”

The girl whirled, a mixture of shock and elation on her face. She held the dress tighter. “You’re awake. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” She paused and touched her chest. “I’m Esther Hargrave.”

Narrowing her eyes, Luciana leaned forward. Just where had this girl come from? “I’m Luciana.”

Esther looked at the dress in her hands. “This is a beautiful dress.”

“It was my mother’s.” Luciana looked around for Mrs. Peters, but the little girl was the only other person in the room. “Where is your mother?”

The girl looked away from the floor. “She’s dead.”

Luciana wrinkled her nose, unsure of what to say. After a moment, she asked, “Your father then?”

“He’s in the great hall with the doctor and Mrs. Peters.”

The door opened and, as if on cue, Mrs. Peters bustled in the door. She carried a silver platter of food along with her, humming a chipper tune. She stopped when her eyes landed on Esther. “Miss Esther? What are you doing in here?”

“I’m talking with the mermaid.”

Luciana sputtered. “Mermaid?”

Esther turned her eyes to Luciana. “Yes, mermaid. You washed up on shore like one. I was waiting to see if your tail flipped out from underneath–”

Luciana held up her hand, shaking her head. “I am not a mermaid.”

Mrs. Peters set the tray on the end of the bed, taking Esther’s shoulders. “I daresay not. Miss Esther, your father told you not to bother Miss Renaldi. Why did you sneak in here?” Esther chewed on her lower lip, shrugging. “Never mind that, then. We’ll let him deal with you. Say goodbye now.”

Esther waved to Luciana, but disappointment clouded her face. Luciana knew the feeling of yearning for an elder person’s approval. All through her childhood, she’d clung to her brothers, doing whatever she could to please them. They’d rarely ever glanced her way.

Once Mrs. Peters succeeded in shooing Esther down the hall, she turned to Luciana. “I apologize. She’s the master’s daughter. Always gets into things that she shouldn’t.”

Luciana glanced to the open trunk, pursing her lips. “I’d noticed.”

“She’s rather spoiled, too, being Mr. Hargrave’s only child. He dotes on her far too much.”

“
signora
Peters, all of this talk about that little girl is... wonderful, but I wonder if I might be allowed to go and visit my brothers now?” She knew she sounded rude, but the desire to see her family safe and whole overtook her sense of common politeness.

Mrs. Peters jaw went slack. Her eyes widened, shocked by Luciana’s sharp voice. With a quick sniff, she regained her composure. “I’m sorry, miss, but no, you cannot.”

“Why not? I have to let them know that I’m all right.”

“I understand that, but you’re still sick. Mr. Hargrave wants you in this room until you’re without a fever.”

Luciana touched her forehead. To her dismay, it still felt warm and slick. The rest of her body felt fine, despite some uncomfortable soreness.

“I’m sure that he could allow me one trip down the hall,” she said, raising her eyebrows in hope that Mrs. Peters would ease a little on her tight control.

“No, miss. Mr. Hargrave is a strict man. Orders are orders.” She handed Luciana a glass of milk. “And there’s something else you should know...”

Luciana pulled the glass away from her lips, raising her eyebrows. “
Si
?”

Mrs. Peters wrung her hands together, avoiding Luciana’s eyes. “One of the men that washed up—he passed away during the night. The fever was too much for him to bare, I suppose.”

The news was like a blow to Luciana’s stomach. She set aside the glass of milk, pushing her hand through her hair. “What was his name?” she breathed, afraid to ask, afraid to hear the answer.

The housekeeper just shrugged. “We don’t know any of their names. All they’ve done is sleep since we found them. But don’t worry, miss, I’m sure everything will turn out all right.”

Luciana blinked. How could the woman say such a thing? After just telling her that her brother was dead? Luciana’s friends had warned her of the strange ways of the Americans, but perhaps the British were worse.

“I think I’ll rest now,
signora
,” Luciana whispered, sinking low into the bed.
“Grazie.”

Mrs. Peters looked at the untouched tray of food. “Are you sure? You haven’t eaten anything since you arrived.”

“I’m fine, honest.” Luciana wouldn’t be able to stomach anything now anyway.

“I’ll close the curtains for you, then.” She crossed the room, drew the curtains, and then returned to the foot of the bed to pick up the tray. “If there’s anything you need, pull that cord in the corner and I’ll be here.”

Luciana turned her head away and drew the covers to her chin. “Thank you.”

She felt Mrs. Peters’s eyes on her before the door finally opened and closed. Was one of her brothers really dead? She could barely remember anything from the night the ship went down. Everything was a blur of water and flame. Surely they had survived and were waiting in the great hall. Surely it was one of the other men that died. Massimo and Piero were strong. A shipwreck couldn’t kill them.

After losing her mother and her father’s business, the prospect of losing anyone else tore her heart in two. They couldn’t be dead. They couldn’t be.

But if one of them were dead, what was she to do? Luciana didn’t want to rely on her brothers. She’d done that for too long. And though she loved them, she knew there came a time when a child left their home. She would have done so back in Italy, but when her mother died, she remained at home to support her father. Now, if her brother was indeed dead, would she have to remain with her father even longer?

She rolled onto her back, sighing. Being cast aside had taught her resilience and ingenuity. If it were true one of her brothers had died, she should be able to figure out a way to pursue her own life while caring for her father at the same time. She’d done it before; she would do it again.

To the sound of waves in the distance and wind beating against the house, Luciana fell asleep again.

Chapter 4

“S
ir, it’s been four days. I think Miss Renaldi has recovered.”

Reed looked up from his paper, narrowing his eyes at Mrs. Peters. “Do you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know that I detest sickness, Mrs. Peters. Having those men downstairs has been hard enough. If we turn this girl loose in the house, I don’t want the entire staff, nor my daughter, getting infected.”

“Sir, she is without fever. If anything, she only has a cold.”

Reed set aside his paper. He smoothed the down the crumpled edges, ran a hand down his face, then waved in her direction. “Fine. You have my permission to allow her out of the room. But—” He held up a finger. “—if she shows any signs of regressing, send her to the doctor and don’t let her return.”

Mrs. Peters curtseyed. “Yes, sir.”

Four days the visitors had been at Yellow Brook. Four days Reed had listened to nothing but violent coughing through thin walls. And in the course of four days, one of the men had died during the night. Poor Brigette had woken the whole house with her screams when she found him. Now that the two men who were left had recovered significantly, Reed was eager to return to the way things had been before they arrived. He had work to get back to, after all.

He left his office and headed toward the great hall. To his surprise, he found the sailors already standing in the foyer, speaking with Peters. One of the men, the leader of the two, shook Peters’s hand. The burn that covered his face didn’t hinder the smile he wore on his lips.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Peters.”

“Don’t thank me, sir. Thank Mr. Hargrave.” Peters stepped aside, motioning to Reed.

The man stuck out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Hargrave.”

Reed shook his hand. “I’m glad the two of you recovered, but I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Billy was always a sick boy. I suppose drifting in the ocean all night was the last straw, but thank you anyway.”

“Peters told me your ship sank? Quite unfortunate.”

“Yes, sir. The
Charity.
Rodger and I are from England, but we’ve been living in Italy for some time. Our ship was taking cargo and a few passengers to America when there was an unfortunate mishap involving a canon.” He blanched and glanced at his friend. “The ship went down and, as far as I know, Rodger, the lady, and I are the only survivors.”

“Lucky you.” Reed paused. “Where are you headed now?”

“London. We haven’t been home in years.”

“In that case, don’t let me keep you longer than necessary.” Reed jumped at the chance to send the men away without any fuss. Had the opportunity not presented itself as it had, Reed was unsure he would have been able to force a conversation much longer. “Good luck on your next endeavor, gentlemen.” He motioned toward the front door.

“Wait!”

Reed swallowed back a sigh. He turned his eyes toward the staircase. The woman—Miss Renaldi—stood at the top, her hand clutching the banister. She looked remarkably different compared to the first time he had seen her. Her hair was no longer disheveled and it cascaded down her back in dark waves. She wore a purple dress that bore a yellow stain on the left side. What from, Reed couldn’t tell. The cut on her cheek was still red around the edges, but it was scabbed over. Urgency played across her delicate face.

When she knew she held everyone’s attention, she rushed down the stairs. Her bare feet practically skidded to a halt. She wrung her hands together before her waist, and her eyes flitted to Reed before returning to the sailor.

“Where are my brothers?” she asked.

The sailor raised his eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“My brothers? Where are they? Mrs. Peters said they were here.”

“No, miss, I’m sorry. Mrs. Peters must be mistaken.”

Her mouth opened and closed several times. She rubbed her forehead, frowning. “I don’t understand.” Her strained voice filled the room. “Mrs. Peters said Massimo and Piero were here, that they had washed up too.”

The sailor glanced to Reed and then back to the woman. He set his jaw hard, his chin rising an inch. “You’re both mistaken. Massimo, Piero, and your father were some of the first off Charity, but I’m afraid their lifeboat collapsed. I’m dreadfully sorry, miss.”

Reed had never seen a face fall so fast. The woman stared at the floor in an attempt to hide the tears welling in her eyes. Her hands fidgeted. When she looked up, she nibbled on her lower lip.