Captive Splendors (28 page)

The Sea Siren's rain-swept decks, fore, aft and below, were alive with activity as the crew began the search the captain had ordered. Sara picked up a lantern and joined the men down the slippery deck, her long, heavy skirt caught in her fingers. She was intent on getting to the confines of the deepest regions of the ship before anyone else did. She held the lantern out in front of her, pretending to search in the darkest corners below decks. When she reached the locker-box area, she halted in her tracks and began to swing the lantern to and fro, humming to herself some senseless ditty that pleased her for the moment. Wouldn't silly old Wren be in her glory if she knew she was indirectly responsible for the activity aboard ship?

When her soft humming began to irritate her, Sara began to move about again, fighting the temptation to slide back the iron bolt and look inside. Let them rot, both of them. They deserved to die, eaten alive by the rats that scurried in the darkness.

Gustave, the galley cook, held his lantern high as he made his way to the locker box. Seeing Sara standing there carrying her own lantern aloft, he stopped short, his mouth agape.

“I've already looked in there, and there isn't anything inside but enormous rats,” she said. “I've looked all over this area,” she whined pitifully. “Aubrey Farrington was my friend, a dear friend, and I felt I had to do my bit by helping with the search.” She moved closer so that Gustave could see the tears trickling down her cheeks. “I'm so tired from all this searching that I feel faint. Please help me.”

Gustave, only too glad to take a rest, gallantly escorted her to a stack of wooden crates. Carefully, as though he were handling eggs, he eased her down and set his lantern on the floor at her feet.

“Oh, my, that does make me feel better,” Sara sighed as she opened the buttons of her dress and fanned herself with a handkerchief. “It certainly is sweltering in here,” she went on, opening another button and bending forward slightly. Her cleavage had the desired effect, and the cook forgot why he was in the depths of the ship, intent only on a better look at Sara's ample endowments.

“Dear lady, you must let me help you back to the deck,” Gustave said huskily.

“In a moment. First I have to catch my breath. While I'm doing that, why don't you look over there?” she suggested, pointing to a dark corner. “I've looked everywhere else, but whatever you do, please don't open that door. I couldn't bear to see those big old rats run by me. Why, a dozen of them ran right by me when I opened it before. But I didn't let that bother me. I looked all over that room and saw nothing but more rats. I swear to you, it was more than I could bear, but I forced myself for the sake of my friend Aubrey Farrington,” she declared breathlessly, leaning over again to peer at her dusty shoe. “Mercy me,” she continued to babble, “a person just isn't safe anywhere anymore, and I had put so much trust in Captain van der Rhys.” Sara watched the cook carefully to see how he was taking her blatherings; she was confident that she had indeed pulled the wool over his eyes. “Just keep looking,” she trilled to the startled Gustave. “We do want to tell Captain van der Rhys that we searched every inch of this blasted ship, as he ordered.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Gustave said happily. After he had satisfied himself that nothing or no one was lurking in the dark corner, he made his way back among the heaving packing crates and settled himself at Sara's feet to wait. For what he didn't know. She certainly looked like a lady, a distraught lady. His eyes went to the opening of her gown and her heaving breasts. How he wished he could reach inside that gown and touch her silky skin. Ladies like Miss Stoneham always had silky skin.

Sara watched him through sulky eyes and finally got up. “I think I feel strong enough to go back, if you'll just let me hold on to your arm.” Deftly she buttoned her dress and stared primly ahead.

“Yes, ma'am,” Gustave agreed dutifully. What had ever made him think a real lady like Miss Stoneham would be interested in the likes of him? She was the next thing to a saint, as his old mother used to say. Imagine a lady the likes of her coming all the way down here to help find the murderer of her friend. A genuine lady, there was no mistake about that.

 

Caleb's mouth became a tight white line when his crew stood before him and reported there was no stowaway on board. The
Sea Siren
was secure. He had known in his gut that the men would find nothing on the ship, but he had had to try. Now he would have to look elsewhere for the murderer of Aubrey Farrington. The crew understood what he was thinking, and each of them, save Gustave, wore a sullen look. Each had automatically become suspect.

His eyes on the sea, now calmed after the storm had spent itself, Caleb dismissed the crew and let his mind race. Wren must have been thrown overboard because of the gems. Whoever had done it must have thought Aubrey had more precious stones in his possession, and therefore had killed him. This solution was the only one that made sense.

The killer had to be a member of his crew. All the hands had watched the card game, making their own side bets on who was going to win, the ladies or the gambler. They had seen Wren and Lydia wrest a fortune in gems from Farrington, and Wren carry the stones away. Two lives for a pouch of colorful jewels. How Caleb wished that the murderer had been Bascom Stoneham; then he could wring that bastard's skinny neck.

As the night faded into the light of day, he drove himself and the crew unmercifully. He felt no need for a woman and turned Sara away when she offered to comfort him. As if there were any comfort for him anywhere. He only wanted to do his penance so he could live with himself. Comfort was the one thing he didn't need or want.

Sara stood against the rail and made her final plans. When the Puritans, the crew and Caleb left the ship, she would slip below and slide the bolt. It wouldn't matter then, for afterward she would be long gone. Caleb would be busy on land with the funeral service for Aubrey Farrington, and no one would miss her. If she unbolted the door silently, she would not have to make a penance. She had decided hours ago that she couldn't leave the pair locked in, no matter how she felt about them. After all, Malcolm was the true father of her child, and she simply couldn't kill him. If he chose to die by not opening the door, then that would be his decision. As long as she left it unlocked, God couldn't punish her.

The
Sea Siren
was like a ghost ship. The crew kept to itself, each man suspecting the other and fearful to be caught alone at any time of the day without someone close by. While Sara was amused, Lydia was quiet and withdrawn, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. The small pouch of gemstones she carried between her breasts—Wren's legacy to her—was becoming worrisome. She would give it to Captain van der Rhys for safekeeping and reclaim the gems when she needed them. She might as well do it now and get it over with. Sara was growing more peculiar by the hour, and that constant humming of hers was about to drive Lydia mad.

She approached the wheelhouse hesitantly, but when she entered, her stance was firm.

“Captain van der Rhys,” she said quietly, “I would like to speak with you for a moment.” She withdrew the pouch from her bodice and handed it to him. “Will you keep this for me till we make port?” Tears gathered in her eyes as she added, “It's Wren's legacy to me.”

Caleb was stunned and his back stiffened. “Are these the gems you and Wren won from Aubrey Farrington?”

“Yes, Captain. Wren gave them to me. She said I would need them to make a new life when I got to America. She only played cards with Aubrey Farrington so I could have what she called a stake to make a new life. She did it for me, and I can't bear it.” She began to sob.

“When did she give them to you?” Caleb asked harshly.

“Right after the card game, Captain. The following day she said she was going to try to figure out a way to get Lord Farrington and Bascom into another game. She said these gems wouldn't last me too long and that I would need gold and Bascom had gold.”

“Mrs. Stoneham, are you sure of what you're saying?” Caleb demanded.

“Of course I'm sure, Captain. I'm not a fool, as some people seem to think.” She dried her eyes and glared angrily at Caleb. “It was someone on this ship, and I can't forgive you for not finding out who it was. And if you think it was my husband, you're mistaken. He's a coward, not a murderer.”

Caleb's eyes were anguished and torn with guilt. Lydia felt sorry the moment she uttered the words, but they were true, she knew that. It was his duty to find the murderer. After all, he
was
the captain.

Long after Lydia Stoneham had returned to her quarters, Caleb sat hefting the small pouch in the palm of his hands. He was right back where he had started. If Wren and Aubrey hadn't been killed for the gems, then why had they been killed at all? Had they known something? Had they seen something? As always, his thoughts went to Bascom. According to the preacher's flock and to the guard on duty, Bascom Stoneham was as pure as an angel's wing. Caleb would just have to put him from his mind and concentrate somewhere else. The question was where? There was little time left. If the weather held, they would reach America in a few hours.

 

The
Sea Siren
straight on her course and secure, Peter herded the crew into Gustave's galley and motioned for silence. “It's time we had a few words,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice. “I'm tired of looking at all of you with suspicion, just as you're tired of looking at me in a like manner. This ship will dock in a few hours, and we're no closer to finding out who killed Farrington than when we first began searching. Now, I'm not against our captain, because we've all done our jobs and haven't come up with anything better than he has. I'm casting my vote now that I don't sail the
Sea Siren
on her return journey until the murderer is caught. Those in favor say aye; those not in favor, nay.”

A chorus of “Ayes” rang in his ears.

“If there's one among you who has an idea, a clue, something to go on, spit it out and we'll talk it over, and perhaps we'll come up with an answer. I've sailed with the lot of you, and it's my opinion none of you is guilty. We've crewed together for a long number of years, and this is the first trouble to hit us. Speak up.” to

“Peter is right,” Jacques, a Frenchman, said loudly. “I would have placed my life with the lot of you and never thought twice. I don't think it's any of us.”

“The Puritans in the hold, that divine preacher they have—what about him?” a seaman named Claude asked.

“The hold has been under guard at all times by one of us. Religious people like the preacher and his flock don't lie,” Peter volunteered.

“There's a first time for everything,” Jacques snapped.

“If what you say is true, that places the blame right square on one of us. Someone bludgeoned the old man and tossed the girl over the side.”

Diego Sanchez stood up, resplendent in his brilliant scarlet shirt, and spoke softly. “It is bad luck to sail a ship with women aboard.” He looked around to see the effect his words would have on the others.

The crew looked at one another and then at Peter, who was frowning.

“Diego is right,” Claude said sourly. “Women are unlucky. Wherever they go there is trouble, and that's all we've had on this bloody ship since we set sail.”

Heads nodded and sharp mutterings were heard as one man jostled another to make his point. All seemed in agreement that somehow a woman was involved. They were also in silent agreement that it couldn't be Miss van der Rhys, who had met her own untimely end, so therefore, it must be the preacher's wife.

“I disagree,” Peter declared firmly. “Lydia Stoneham is a timid little thing and wouldn't have the strength to do Farrington in. It took strength to kill him.” Heads nodded while the men mentally evaluated the only other woman who enjoyed the freedom of the ship—Sara Stoneham. She was tall, well fleshed and had muscular, long arms. Again there were vague mutterings and ominous curses. Only Gustave looked puzzled, out of his depth. How could they say such things about so fine a lady? he wondered. Why, she had been so distraught she had barely been able to walk, and still she had helped in the search. He should say something, make the men shut their filthy mouths. What did they know of fine ladies and how gentle they were? He sighed. Why waste his breath? All they would do was mock him. What did an old cook know?

 

Below decks, Sara paced the cabin, humming her sad little tune, her eyes burning feverishly. From time to time she cast anxious glances at Lydia, who sat quietly on her bunk, idly flipping Wren's playing cards.

Lydia watched Sara out of the corner of her eye, feeling her flesh crawl as the girl's nervous pacings seemed to take on an increased urgency. The humming sounded a triffle shrill, and she didn't like the way Sara was knotting and unknotting her hands. If only she had the nerve to tell Captain van der Rhys of her suspicions. He would think her dotty and perhaps blame her somehow, or, worse yet, make her go back into the hold with Bascom. Yet the captain seemed a fair man, and he had listened to her before and done what was right. Perhaps he would listen now, but would he understand and believe her? She could only try.

Sara, tiring of her pacing and humming, lay down on her bunk and closed her eyes. Lydia was off her bunk and out the door before Sara had time to open them. She made straight for the wheelhouse and waited for Caleb to motion her forward. Christ, he groaned to himself, now what? He forced a look of interest on his face as Lydia began to speak.

“Captain van der Rhys, I've anguished over this second visit today and decided that once I talk with you and tell you what I suspect, I will breathe easier. I may well be wrong, but then again I may be right, and you really should know. I'm saying this badly because . . . I don't want you to discount what I'm going to say because of Bascom. I'm not like him and the others. It's just that . . . what I mean is . . .”

Caleb was puzzled. He liked Lydia; she was a sensible woman who had shown great courage in her stand against her husband. He knew she had meant it when she said she would go over the rail if forced to return to her husband. He wouldn't admit it openly, but he admired her. He gave her his full attention and waited for her to get her thoughts in order.

Lydia squared her shoulders and primly folded her hands in her lap. “It's my sister-in-law, Sara, Captain. I know that she's . . . that she . . . is . . . is your lady, and that's why it is so difficult for me to say what I have to say. She's been acting very strange of late. She hums to herself, a nonsense tune, and her eyes are . . . are like Bascom's when he gets carried away, almost as if he's in some other world. Sara prowls the decks in the middle of the night, and she . . . she paces the cabin like a caged animal. May God have mercy on me, but I think she killed Aubrey Farrington.” She waited breathlessly for Caleb's eyes to lose their look of shock. “I feel it here,” she said, placing her hand over her heart. “I don't know why she killed Aubrey Farrington, but I do know that she hated Wren. I see that surprises you. Sara had no love for Wren, and Wren barely tolerated Sara. Women know things like that.” A ring of authority entered her voice. “It's up to you to find out the why of it all. Oh, one other thing. Sara is pregnant. She never said so, but the signs are unmistakable. I don't expect you to be aware of such things, and I don't know if it's important, but I felt I should mention it. Sometimes a woman will become crazed when she finds herself in that . . . delicate condition and without a husband.”

Caleb almost choked in his attempt to get his words out. He wet his lips before speaking, and his voice sounded far away to his ears. “Tell me, Mrs. Stoneham, when did you notice Sara's . . . condition?”

Lydia flushed. “In the hold, shortly after coming aboard. She was nauseous every morning, which, of course, could have had something to do with the rocking of the ship, but again, a woman knows these things. Also, she has gotten a . . . little thick around the middle.” The flush ran down to her throat and she closed her eyes. “Please, Captain, forgive me for being so forward and so blunt. I know a lady doesn't speak like this in front of a man, but I felt you should know. I don't want to stay in that cabin with her anymore,” she blurted. “She frightens me.”

Caleb felt as if the weight of the world had been removed from his shoulders. “Dear lady, whatever you want on this ship is yours, you have but to ask. You have just saved my life in more ways than one. If it won't cause you any anguish, you can have Farrington's quarters. One more thing, Mrs. Stoneham. In your opinion, why do you think Sara did this thing, if indeed she did do it?”

Lydia grimaced. She tapped her head lightly with her fingers and said, “She's fey, unstable. I don't like speaking ill of my husband, but he is her brother, and perhaps it's a trait they were both born with. It happens sometimes,” she insisted defensively, fearful that he didn't believe her. “Do you think, Captain, that what I said has any merit?”

“More than you know, dear lady. I don't want you to be afraid. I'll have the crew keep an eye on you. There's no cause for you to be alarmed.”

Relief flooded through Lydia. He believed her, she could see it in the grimness of his face and the set of his jaw. Thank God she had had the courage to come and tell him!

Caleb watched her leave the wheelhouse with a lightened heart. How fitting it was that a woman had caused so much havoc and that another woman had set it to rights. He grinned and stared out across the great expanse of water. Very fitting indeed.

A nod of his head and Peter came loping into the wheelhouse. They held a long, low-voiced conversation. Peter's eyes widened, and then his face also became grim. He nodded several times and left to follow his orders. Perhaps the lady called the Sea Siren wasn't cursed after all, he thought.

Sara wasn't surprised when the first mate came to get her. She rose from the bed and followed him docilely to the hatch, where she descended the ladder to the hold. She was conscious of her surroundings, but her eyes were glazed and staring. Nothing mattered anymore. Her family could take care of her; she was too tired to care what became of her.

Settling herself next to her mother, who ignored her completely, she narrowed her eyes and watched the first mate and Bascom carry on a quiet conversation. She would tell Bascom it was all Lydia's fault that she had been returned to his keeping. That should set his hackles to rising, and perhaps he would leave her alone. All she had to do was ignore him the way her very own mother was ignoring her. Nothing mattered anymore. Not Wren, not Malcolm, not Caleb, and least of all Bascom.

Something niggled at her brain. Wren. It always came back to Wren. Of course, Wren would starve if she didn't take her food. Malcolm would starve, too.

“I'll take care of her,” Bascom said curtly to Peter. “You can tell your captain that he's wrong about my sister. If he thinks she's acting strange, it's because of the fever she had. There's nothing wrong with her mind. She is as sane as I am.” At Peter's skeptical look, he hastened to continue. “My sister doesn't know the meaning of the word ‘violence.' Be sure to relay that message to Captain van der Rhys. If he fears for his crew, assure him that she's safe below with her family. Now, if you'll excuse me, we have a prayer meeting scheduled, and unless you're ready to become one of us, I suggest you go topside and leave us to our Lord.”