Forgotten Fragrance (15 page)

Taking care, she crept around the bulkhead and made her way to the wheel in time to see Marcus stick out his hand and Henk clasp it.

‘I am pleased we have reached an agreement, Henk.' Marcus' voice sounded positive and encouraging. ‘As soon as we arrive in Boyd Town I will be happy to play my part. And should you have any difficulty with the authorities when we reach Port Albert do not hesitate to call on me.'

‘Nah. There'll be no problem. I'll tell them the Captain has contracted something contagious so he's voluntarily isolated himself from the crew and passengers to ensure no one gets sick. They'll like that.'

‘Good man.' Marcus punched Henk lightly on the arm and headed for the galley, obviously keen to sample more of Cookie's delights.

Once Marcus disappeared below decks Charlotte made her way back to the cabin, hopeful Jamie would be awake and the effects of laudanum eased. She needed his help to patch together the strange turn of events.

The scarred walls of the cabin came into focus once more and Christian moved his head from side to side searching for Charlotte. A pang of disappointment shafted through him, not the usual loneliness he tolerated every day. Something different. Shaking his head he tried to grasp hold of the baffling images racing through his mind. Reality and dreams all bundled up together in a mess of knots capable of confounding the most accomplished whaleman.

His eyes refused to clear, gritty and glued together. He rubbed the heel of his palm across his face, wincing as the skin pulled tight against the dried blood. He'd slept and even though his back still throbbed and burnt, and his throat was still sore and ragged, his breathing had calmed to an almost-normal rhythm.

The memory of the coldness and darkness of the water as he'd dived over the edge of the ship raised goosebumps on his skin, as did the certainty Henk's pistol shot had been for him. Shifting from side to side he tested the pain of his torn skin. Nothing to indicate the keel splinter remained impaled in his skin. The taste of the whale oil from the sponge coated his mouth. He licked his lips and remembered something more, the touch of lips. And her face again.

Again?

Lying stock-still he groped for the thought hovering on the outskirts of his mind. The face of an angel — his angel beckoning him. Leading him to the surface as she had done once before. Her long hair, like seaweed drifting around her perfect face. Perhaps he'd listened to old Jonas' tales of mermaids for too long. No. He'd seen her before, in the water leading him, guiding him. Closing his eyes he conjured her face again, hair spread around her like a halo, the pale skin and elegant neck with the golden chain lying between her breasts, her rosebud lips forming his name.

‘Jamie…Christian.'

Her cool hand touched his forehead. His eyes snapped open. He trapped her fingers with his own and clasped tightly.

‘You're awake. How are you feeling?'

His gaze locked on the chain as it swung towards his face. Releasing her hand he grasped it and ran his fingers down the warm metal until he reached the small blue bottle.

‘I didn't dream it. You're real.' Confusion rushed in spiralling whorls as he tried to marshal the myriads of images flashing behind his eyes.

‘Of course I'm real.' Her voice held the promise of a warm smile and as it broke across her face the pieces slipped together.

‘Lottie.'

A little giggle slipped between her perfect lips.

‘No one has called me Lottie for years. I'm Charlotte now.'

‘No. Lottie, my angel.'

A stabbing pain across his forehead made his eyes lose focus again. He blinked expecting that when he opened them again she would be gone. Instead, she fussed with the coverings, straightening them, soothing his brow, pouring water into a tin mug.

‘Can you lift yourself up a little? I expect you're thirsty.'

‘No!' He pushed himself up on his elbow and rolled onto his back, wincing as the pain cleared his mind. Pain kept him awake and made everything clearer. ‘Just water, I don't want whatever you gave me before.'

‘This
is
just water. There is no laudanum in it. Although I think Cookie was right. You slept and forgot the pain.'

Christian's hand shook as he took the mug and sipped the cool liquid. More than anything else he wanted to gulp it down his parched throat, but he feared another coughing fit. Taking measured sips he emptied the mug and handed it back to Charlotte, then eased himself up the bed until he was propped against the bulkhead. At least this way he felt more in control of reality.
Reality?
There was no reality. Nothing made sense. In the deep recesses of his mind the dream hovered and he wasn't sure where it ended and truth began.

‘Lot…Charlotte, can you explain? What is happening?'

‘Henk has taken command of the
Zephyrus
. He keelhauled you.' Her voice caught and a frown of anguish marred her beautiful face. Something he never wanted to be responsible for. He wanted only to see her happy. Running towards him with her hair flying like a pennant and the smile on her face lighting his life.

‘I remember. I dived overboard when Henk's pistol sounded and they pulled me under, then everything is scrambled. I saw your face — again. I'd seen it before.'

The clouds in her eyes cleared bringing a hint of sunshine. ‘Yes, you had, Jamie.' With a sigh of pure joy she clasped his hand. ‘Do you remember?'

Christian shook his head. Images flashed like the lights on the mast of a far-off ship at night, swaying with the tide, blinking comfort in the darkness, the knowledge he wasn't the only living soul on the midnight watch in a vast black sea of loneliness.

She dropped his hand to pull the stool closer to the bunk and sat, her hand resting near his own, small and fragile yet so strong. He struggled with the temptation to grab it and hold on tight. A lifeline, his anchor to the past.

‘Do you remember how you came to be on the
Zephyrus
?'

‘Of course. I am the captain. We're sailing from Hobart Town to Port Albert and then onto Boyd Town and Sydney. You, and your husband-to-be.' He cleared his throat. She offered the mug of water and he took a sip, not wanting her to know the pain in his chest not in his throat had caused him to stutter. ‘You and Marcus are my passengers bound for Sydney.'

‘But years before. How did you get to be aboard the
Zephyrus
?'

‘They dragged me from the water, found me bobbing in the ocean. I had no knowledge of where I'd come from or where I was bound. My life began that day. Before then,' — he spread his hands — ‘nothing.'

‘I think I know.' She smiled again, gentle and soothing with the tiniest tinkle of laughter. What made her laugh that way? As though she couldn't contain her joy, her pleasure bloomed and warmed him, washing away his confusion.

‘I believe you are Jamie. My childhood friend, Jamie.'

He rolled her words around on his tongue, around the name. Jamie.

The name didn't seem so strange; the sound of it echoed in his mind, hinting at events long forgotten. Or were they merely dreams, half-dreamt?

Had Charlotte been talking to Henk? Henk maintained he was a murderer. Who he was supposed to have murdered Henk had never been able to tell him. Henk also refused to accept his lack of memory saying it was nothing more than a means of covering up his foul deeds. Henk's version of the truth wouldn't make her smile at him this way. It would expose him for the low-life he was. ‘Tell me. Who is Jamie and why do you think I am he?'

‘Jamie and I were sentenced in London to transportation at the same time.' She paused for a moment to let her words sink in, her head tipped to one side waiting for his reaction.

What did she know? Her explanation triggered his deepest fears. ‘What else?' he asked, regretting the defensive tone in his voice.

‘Jamie was my friend, my soul mate. He protected my sister and me. We were children, alone on the streets, pickpockets, working for a fence to survive.'

Either Charlotte hadn't heard his concern or she chose to ignore it because her small hand returned to his, her thumb moving backwards and forwards in a movement he could almost interpret as a caress.

‘Elizabeth, my sister, was murdered. Jamie and I were accused, sentenced and separated. We made a promise to each other we would meet again in Van Diemen's Land once our sentences ended and begin a new life together.' Her hand lifted the chain around her neck and she grasped the tiny bottle. ‘But Jamie never arrived in Van Diemen's Land.'

‘You believe
I
was accused of murdering your sister?'

‘Yes.'

Then Henk had been right all along. ‘I am a murderer.' Christian wiped his hands over his eyes. The thudding in his head made it difficult to concentrate
. I am a murderer
. He had to see Henk. Ask questions. Seek answers.

‘I've lain abed long enough. Could you find me some clothes in the chest over there, and then leave me. It is time I went up on deck.'

Her mouth fell. ‘You can't go up on deck. When Henk sees you he will flog you. We have almost reached Port Albert, stay here and recover. Wait until we are back at sea.'

‘This is my chance to report these mutineers to the authorities. They will come aboard to disembark the convicts. I have to sign papers. Henk can't do it. Pass me my clothes.'

Christian threw back the covers and peered down at his legs, scratched and bruised, the chafe marks from the ropes purple around his ankles. He gritted his teeth as he eased himself upright and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk.

Charlotte hung his shirt around his shoulders and gently eased his arm into the first sleeve. Pain tore through him as the cotton touched the raw spots on his arms and back and he reached for her to steady himself. Her skin soft beneath his touch held such promise and the very closeness of her hinted at untold pleasures.

With a crash the door flew open. Marcus hurtled into the cabin. Charlotte leapt away from the bed, her eyes wide with fear and her face as white as chalk.

‘You are at your filthy business again I see, strumpet!'

Like a wraith or a demon from the deep Marcus hovered over them. His hair stood up on end, his eyes wide and bulging and a heavy, coiled grape of a vein pounded in his temple. Christian could barely comprehend the change in the man.

‘You are mine! I rescued you. I nurtured you. Offered you shelter in your time of need and you repay me this way.' Marcus' hands shook with rage at the end of his stiffened arms. He raised his hands and lunged towards Charlotte.

Convinced he intended to strangle her, Christian launched across the room. Hampered by his dangling shirt and his wounds he could do little more than shoulder-butt Marcus against the wall. It enabled him to offer her some protection from the pop-eyed raging beast masquerading as a philanthropist.

‘She is mine!' Marcus screamed in Christian's face. Knowing there was little he could do in his debilitated state Christian sought some way to pacify the man and break the tension.

‘I have nurtured her,' Marcus screamed. ‘I have tried to show her the ways of God but the foul harridans aboard the convict ship had tainted her. She was so young I thought to cleanse her. Her sentence almost served and she has fallen by the wayside. She is no better than the strumpets in the hold with their silken skin and lascivious eyes.'

The man was mad, there was no doubt about it.

‘She belongs in The Whaleman's Rest. She must not escape. She must serve her sentence with the other whores.'

The man's ranting and raving made no sense. His train of thought was impossible to decipher. At least Marcus' tirade distracted him from Charlotte. Christian glanced over his shoulder. Charlotte stood, back pressed against the wall of the cabin, eyes wide and her hands clasped to her neck clutching the little glass bottle.

The London mist, cool and dank, swirled and cleared and parted. He slipped his hand into the gentleman's pocket and withdrew a silk handkerchief, a silver matchbox and a little blue bottle. He cut off around the back into the alley and under the streetlight examined his find. He slipped the bottle into his inside pocket and kept the silver matchbox and the silken handkerchief in the big pocket of his greatcoat. When the fence demanded the night's takings he'd all but forgotten the little blue bottle and later that night he had given it to Lottie. Lottie! Charlotte!

He'd vowed to keep her safe and now while he stood by and dreamed of a long-forgotten past, this God-bothering idiot threatened her.

‘Charlotte has been a gift. Without her attention I doubt I would be standing here before you.' Christian swayed slightly hoping his platitudes would have a calming effect on the enraged man.

‘She must be punished for her sins,' Marcus reiterated, his voice a little calmer.

‘She will be punished for her sins,' Christian agreed, attempting to appease Marcus.

Charlotte's eyes snapped a warning at Christian. He gave an imperceptible shake of his head and she lowered her eyes once more, a picture of contrition and submission.

‘As Captain of this ship I shall ensure she is punished.'

‘Ah ha!' Marcus turned his back on Charlotte, his finger waggling ominously close to Christian's face. ‘But you are not captain of this ship. You have been supplanted. Punished for your sins. The murderer and the whore.'

Step by step Marcus edged to the doorway, then produced a large key from his pocket and flourished it in the air. ‘You are confined to your quarters until we leave port. Captain's orders.'

With a toss of his head Marcus slammed the door. The latch slotted into place. Christian collapsed onto the bunk and rubbed his hand against the stubble on his chin. One part of him wanted to laugh. The man was an idiot and a pompous one at that. Marcus had no qualms about siding with Henk and the crew and with his assurances the constabulary would not query the disembarkation of the convicts. Henk would drum up some imaginative reason as to why the captain remained confined to his quarters and the authorities at Port Albert wouldn't query it as long as the convicts were all present and accounted for.