Captive Splendors (21 page)

When Peter ushered Lydia into the wheelhouse, Caleb groaned aloud. He was being overrun by females. “All right, the straight of it. What did she do?”

Peter suppressed a grin, his eyes twinkling merrily at Caleb's discomfort. “She said she was going over the side. She said she hated her husband and she refused to go back to the hold. She said if we made her go back, she'd find a way to get out again, and she also said she'd rather die than go back. The matter is in your hands, Captain,” he concluded smartly, turning on his heel and leaving the wheelhouse.

“Mrs. Stoneham, it isn't easy operating a ship,” Caleb began warily. “It takes one's full attention to navigate and stay true to the course. I have no time to settle marital disputes. Whatever your problem, it will have to be settled by you and your husband. There's no room topside for another female. I'm ordering you to go below to your husband.”

“I suppose you're going to tell me you're a messenger of the Lord, too. Is that it? Well, I'm not interested in hearing any more messages. I've had enough to last me a lifetime. I meant what I said. I would rather be dead than go back down there to him. He's no messenger of the Lord. He's the devil himself. He's evil. He makes me do terrible things, makes the others do terrible things, too. He tried to make Wren obey him and she wouldn't. You can't send me back. I won't go,” Lydia declared firmly, settling herself on a round stool near Caleb and the wheel.

Damn fool woman. Now what was he to do? “I'm the captain and you must obey me,” he said, frowning at her docile look. She wasn't going to budge, he could feel it in his bones.

“It was your very own sister who gave me the courage to rebel at last. What kind of man are you to make me go back there so he can force me to do all those terrible things?”

“My dear woman, there are worse things in life than praying for forgiveness.”

“I didn't do anything for God to forgive!” Lydia shrieked. “Weren't you listening to me?” Merciful God, was this strange person who was carrying on in such a state really Lydia Stoneham? Where had she gotten the courage to say something as bizarre as that she would jump over the rail? She couldn't swim and would go straight to the bottom! Belatedly, she covered her mouth and groaned inwardly. Who would blame the captain if he thought she was as dotty as her husband?

Caleb didn't want to ask her, but he did, almost knowing what her response would be. “What things, Mrs. Stoneham?”

Her face a bright crimson, Lydia spoke hesitantly, gathering courage as she went along, leaving out nothing, not even her own scorching humiliation, finally ending with, “I meant it, Captain. I'll leap over the side if you try to make me go back there.”

Aubrey, you bastard, where are you when I need you? Caleb swore silently. He felt out of his depth with this woman seated before him. He couldn't send her back. What man in his right mind would subject a woman to such degradation? The only name that came to his lips was Bascom Stoneham.

Caleb whistled between his teeth, a shrill, sharp note that brought Peter on the run. “Take Mrs. Stoneham to my quarters and arrange sleeping accommodations for her with the other two women. They can take turns with the bunks. I don't care how you do it, just do it.”

“Aye, Captain.” Peter grinned as he gallantly escorted Lydia from the wheelhouse.

Whoever had said that men needed women was a fool, Caleb thought with a grimace. Or else that person hadn't known the women on his ship.

Bascom Stoneham felt the eyes of his flock on him. For the first time since he had become a preacher, he knew the emotion of fear. If he couldn't control his wife, how could he minister to and aid his followers? He had to do something, say something, and it had to be now, before the mass in front of him revolted. Even his parents were looking at him strangely. He cleared his throat loudly and opened his prayer book. Deliberately, he lowered his eyes and read the printed words in a somber tone. The thick book closed with barely a sound. His eyes were hooded and his mouth grim when he began to address his congregation.

“I see now that all my prayers, all of your prayers, were not enough to drive the devil from my wife, Lydia. Sometimes the Lord works in strange ways. It has come to me that Lydia's fate is to be an example to all of us. Just this day I've perceived a vision. Lydia is lost to us and can never return. But,” he said, opening his eyes wide till the pupils were bare pinpoints, “we will continue to pray for her soul. Even though she is lost to us, we must never forget her. Now we are in a tunnel of darkness, but there is light at the end, and we will all walk toward that light while Lydia remains forever in the darkness with the devil at her heels.”

If the devil was indeed at Lydia Stoneham's heels, she paid him no heed as she blurted her tale to a sympathetic Wren. “I'm so frightened. When we get to America, what will I do? How will I survive? What's to become of me?” she cried pitifully.

Emotion welled in Wren's throat. What
would
become of this gentle creature in a new land? What would become of Wren van der Rhys in the new land? It was her fault that Lydia had defied her husband and was now sitting next to her with no future before her.

She squared her slim shoulders and spoke confidently. “I'll take care of you, Lydia. I have some money, and we'll manage somehow. We're young and strong and we can surely find something to do in America. Something that will pay us enough money to live on. You must not worry, Lydia, promise me.”

Lydia smiled and threw her arms around Wren. “I feel so good. So free for the first time in my life. I could sleep on the floor with the sleep of pure joy. And when I wake, I'll thank the Lord,
my
Lord, for giving me the courage to do what I did, and I'll thank Him for sending you to me to show me the way.”

Damnation! Now what had Wren gone and done? She had saddled herself with another responsibility when, according to Caleb, she couldn't even take care of herself. Money. She had to get money for Lydia. If need be, she would badger Caleb to take her back to Java. How he would love to see her come crawling to him for help. She quailed at the thought. She'd make her own way and the devil take the hindmost!

It always came down to money. Aubrey Farrington had money, she was convinced of that. Bascom Stoneham had money. Bascom Stoneham had a lot of money. All the Puritans had entrusted their life savings to him. He had a fortune and she had a deck of cards. A deck of marked cards. And Caleb had money, probably more than Farrington. All she had to do was figure out a way to relieve each one of his hoard, and then she could set Lydia up in America and not have to worry about her. All she needed was a foolproof plan, and she herself would be comfortable indefinitely. It never occurred to her that she would not come out the winner. After all, she was the one with the marked deck, and even a professional gambler like Aubrey hadn't been able to spot the markings. By the time they reached America, Lydia would have so much money she would need someone to help her carry it off the ship.

Sara entered the cabin, her eyes widening when she spotted Lydia talking to Wren. She looked at both women and said nothing. The flush that rode high on Sara's cheeks didn't escape Wren's notice, and her jaw tightened. She knew where Sara had been recently and what she had done. Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought. Sara looked like the cat that had sat in the cream crock.

Lydia walked over to her sister-in-law and put her arms around the girl's shoulders. “I want to be the one to tell you that I've renounced your brother. It's better you hear it from me. I hope it doesn't upset you, Sara,” Lydia said softly.

Sara grimaced. “Why should it upset me? Bascom is insane; we both know it. I'm just surprised that you had the courage to leave him. I could never understand how you tolerated him from the day you married him. Speaking personally, I think he's the devil reborn. I applaud you, Lydia.”

Lydia tightened her hold on Sara and laughed. “It seems the three of us have the same opinion of Bascom. I'm glad to see that you're feeling better, Sara. I was truly worried about you when we were both in the hold. The sea air has worked its magic on you, and for that I'm glad.”

“Sea air, my foot!” Wren snapped. “You can stop all this needless pretense, Sara Stoneham. I know what you've been doing and with whom, and you should be ashamed of yourself. Dallying with Caleb will get you nowhere, and it only cheapens you. He's a womanizer of the worst sort!” Her upper lip curled in distaste.

“Is that a note of jealousy I hear ringing in your tone?” Sara asked coolly. “Caleb isn't your real brother and you're simply jealous. Just the way you were with Malcolm because it was
me
he loved, not you. I told you, tried to warn you, but you wouldn't listen. It was only the van der Rhys' money Malcolm found alluring, Wren, not you!”

Wren's eyes glittered dangerously, sparks of fury lightening their depths. “Think what you will. I know Caleb, and if you have any serious plans, you might as well forget them. Caleb isn't the marrying kind. He plays with women the way children play with toys. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

The slim blond girl faced Wren defiantly, the naked truth of her hatred for Wren written on her features. “I'm glad Malcolm is dead! Glad, do you hear!” she shrilled. “Now you will never have him! I told you he belonged to me! He was mine, and now he'll always be mine! Just the way Caleb is mine! I only wish you had caught the pox, too. I only wish you
were
with Malcolm—in his grave!”

Wren nearly staggered beneath the hatred in Sara's voice. Lydia, too, was aghast at what she had just heard. Sara, with a smirk on her face, lay down on the bunk and turned her back on the two women.

Wren felt the need to breathe clean air, to be away from the stifling contempt which Sara exuded. She stumbled toward the door and Lydia followed, her hand ready to steady her new friend. Out on deck, leaning against the rail, Wren braced herself against the wind, the color slowly returning to her features. Lydia watched her anxiously, her own vivid red hair coming loose from its pins and whipping against her face. “I don't know what's come over that girl,” she said tonelessly.

“What comes over a woman when she's been spurned by a man she loves?” Wren said, her words more a statement than a question. “Lydia, it's not true that Malcolm is dead. When last I saw him, he was very much alive, although somewhat the worse for wear. I told Sara he was dead only out of cruelty. I should go back in there and admit I had lied.”

Lydia placed her hand on Wren's arm. “No, don't. It will do her little good. Better she thinks he's dead, for all the good he can do her. She has greater problems on her mind right now. Sara is with child.”

“Do you know what you're saying?” Wren asked in a shocked voice, the terrible implications dawning on her instantly.

“It's true. A woman can always tell. It also explains the sickness she had below. I'm familiar enough with women when they're bearing a child. My own mother brought nine besides me into the world. I feel sorry for Sara when Bascom discovers it. He'll kill Captain van der Rhys for taking advantage of his sister.”

“What makes you think Caleb is the father?” Wren demanded indignantly. “Caleb cannot be the father of her child, if she is in truth carrying a child.”

“Then who?” Lydia asked quietly, watching Wren's face.

“Who?” Wren repeated. “I don't know who. I just can't believe it's Caleb.” Damnation, it couldn't be Caleb, it just couldn't be! Wren's thoughts raced. There hadn't been enough time, the journey was barely two weeks gone. An unbidden memory of Sara and herself in their room at Tyler's house, and Sara's boasting that she could have Caleb madly in love with her before dinner was over that evening, came to Wren's mind.

Will you wait for me to grow up?
How often those words came back to haunt her. She had said them to Caleb the minute she had laid eyes on him in England, so long ago.
Will you wait for me to grow up?
Caleb had laughed and stared deeply into her eyes and said, “I may just do that.” Damn liar, just like all men. Why could a woman speak with another woman and pour out her heart and be completely understood, whereas a man had to lie and twist the truth? Did that make him feel more manly, more worldly? Her lip curled as she muttered, “I may just do that.” Damn liar. Caleb van der Rhys was a liar, and he had probably learned his trade from Regan.

Too bad dear old Caleb doesn't know what dear, sweet Sara has planned for him, Wren fumed inwardly. Instant fatherhood. Well, he can just stew in his own masculine juices for all I care!

 

Later, lying in her bunk, Wren admitted to herself that she was jealous of Sara. At the very least Caleb could have given her the opportunity to reject him. And reject him she would. Damnation, it was her inalienable right! He was making a fool out of her and she was allowing it. She would cut him down to size if it was the last thing she did.

“If you'll excuse me, ladies, I think I'll take a turn on the deck and see who's afoot,” Sara said, looking from Wren to Lydia, defying either of them to make a comment. Neither said a word as she walked through the door.

“Twice in one day is a bit much,” Lydia said pontifically. “She's like a harlot on the prowl.”

Wren shrugged as jealousy once again coursed through her. Damn you, Caleb van der Rhys, she thought murderously.

On deck, Sara carefully looked around and waited for Aubrey Farrington to make his appearance. For three days now she had seen him stuff leftover bread and cheese in his coat pockets. What did he do with it? If she could find out what Farrington was up to, she could go to Caleb and deepen his trust in her. She would say she wanted to help him and that whatever the old gambler was up to, Caleb should know about it.

Dressed in her Puritan garb, a black scarf around her bright hair, she stood waiting for the moon to take cloud cover. The spindly-legged gambler was late this evening. Perhaps he wasn't coming, she thought nervously. A footstep, another, and Aubrey Farrington came into view just as the moon ducked behind a dark cloud. She removed her stout shoes and pursued him stealthily.

Once Farrington stopped and looked over his shoulder to see if he was being observed. Sara crouched behind a thick roll of canvas and held her breath. Had he seen her? No. He was continuing his silent trek, and she was but a few steps behind him. She followed his cautious progress down the ladder of the fore hatch, her stockinged feet hesitantly finding the ladder rungs, and she dreaded stepping into the shallow pool of bilge water that sloshed rhythmically with the rise and fall of the ship. Plunging her feet into the murky, ankle-high depths and refusing to give her imagination free reign as to what unspeakable creatures might attack her from beneath the dark surface, she listened attentively for the sound of Farrington's treading water. Heeding her instincts, she caught up with him and winced from the light as he struck a flint to a tallow candle.

She stopped in midstride as she saw his arm reach out and slide back a bolt. After he had closed the wooden door, she tapped her stockinged foot impatiently on the planks. Who was inside that room, and what was Farrington doing in there?

Crouching low, she crept over to the door and pressed her ear against it, trying to hear what was being said. A chair scraped on the floor, and the words spoken within were muffled, as though the people talking didn't want anyone to overhear them. She would have to wait; when Farrington left, she would open the door to see for herself, but first she would have to arm herself with some sort of weapon. God only knew whom the gambler was harboring inside. A cutthroat, a pirate, a murderer. She crept cautiously back to the dim recesses and fumbled around for something that would serve as a weapon. Her fingers fastened on a stout piece of board, and she clutched at it like at a lifeline. Now all she had to do was wait for Farrington to leave. Her stomach churned at the thought of what she might find behind the door, but she had to do it. She had to do it so that Caleb would be indebted to her and trust her. Lovemaking was one thing, but this was something else entirely. Men didn't like to be made fools of, especially by other men. Malcolm had taught her that at the very beginning of their relationship. Yes, Caleb would thank her.

What seemed like an eternity later, the door of the locker box opened and Aubrey Farrington exited, but not before he had looked to the right and then to the left, a wry expression on his face. Satisfied that no one was about, he slid the heavy iron bolt into place and quickly walked away, his pockets noticeably lighter.

Sara drew in her breath and tiptoed over to the thick wooden door. Surprise would be on her side. Whoever or whatever was on the other side of the door would think the gambler had forgotten something and was returning. Slowly she slid back the bolt, the stout board clutched between her knees. The moment the bolt slid back, she grasped the club and flung open the door. Lantern light cast an oily, yellow glow over the small area. A rough bunk stood against one wall, bare of mattress or bedding. On it lay a man who was slowly getting to his feet, muttering, “Well, what did you forget to tell me, Farrington?”