Ransome's Crossing (13 page)

Setting out her belongings did not take long. She sat down at the desk. Perhaps she should keep a record of her daily activities and observances. She withdrew several sheets of paper and her writing implements and then stared at the blank page for a long while. What would she write of today?
I arrived aboard safely. I mortified William by kissing him in front of his steward. I then kept the steward from his duties and landed him in trouble. And as if that were not enough, by asking the steward to move my trunk and bandboxes into the hold, I infuriated William by causing an accident and the waste of precious foodstuffs.

She put the blank paper, quill, and inkstand away. She hoped and
prayed the voyage would not be all worthy of forgetting, but so far nothing had happened worth remembering. She turned sideways in the chair and surveyed the cabin. William’s cabin. The quarters that had been her husband’s home for the past few years.

Draping her arm across the back of the chair, she rested her chin on her wrist. Just as on her father’s ships, she would never truly belong here; she would be a guest for however long it took to get from one side of the Atlantic to the other. And so far, she had made herself into a most unwelcomed guest.

With a deep sigh, she returned to the sleeping quarters and opened the small crate wedged in beside William’s sea chest. The contents must have shifted in transport, because the book she sought was no longer on the top. She found it after a brief search and carried it and a candle to the sofa tucked snugly in the corner beside her desk. She lit the candle in the wall sconce and settled in to read until William returned.

At ten o’clock, halfway through the first watch, Julia roused from a doze at a knock on the door. She considered just pulling her skirt down to cover her feet instead of moving from her reclining position, but she had embarrassed William enough for one day. She sat up and set her book on the desk. “Come in.”

Dawling entered and knuckled his forehead. “Evening, mum. Come to see to the com’dore.”

“He has not returned yet, Dawling. I am certain he will call for you when he is ready.”

“Yes, mum. Is there aught I can do for you?”

“No, thank you.” She kept her smile until the door closed behind Dawling. If Dawling had come in expecting William to be here at this time, she could think of only one explanation for his absence. He was avoiding her.

She doused her reading light and crossed to the wardrobe to retrieve a sleeping gown. If William did not want to speak to her, she would make matters easier for him by going to bed and feigning sleep when he finally did make his way back here.

As soon as she entered the sleeping cabin to change, the door to the day cabin opened. Voices—William’s and Dawling’s—reached her.

“Where is Mrs. Ransome?” William asked.

“Don’t rightly know, sir. She were here just moments ago.”

“I am here.” Julia stepped out into the main room, trying to affect a serene expression until she could gauge William’s mood. In the dim light provided by the few candles still lit, his expression was inscrutable.

“Good. That will be all, Dawling.”

“Sir?”

William’s brows raised.

Dawling knuckled his forehead and backed out the door. “Aye, aye, sir.”

William’s stance almost immediately changed, like a marionette whose strings went suddenly slack. He unbuttoned his coat and draped it over the back of his desk chair. The neckcloth was the next divestment, followed quickly by his waistcoat.

“Shall I hang those in the wardrobe for you?”

“Dawling will see to everything in the morning.” William tugged at his blouse, pulling it free from his trousers. The voluminous shirt floated away from his body but could not hide his fitness and strength.

She longed for him to hold her, as he had not done since before returning to
Alexandra
several days ago. How could just a few days of marriage have changed her so completely from a person who found all the strength she needed within herself to a woman who longed for the shelter of her husband’s arms?

“Julia?”

She closed the gap between them. “Yes?”

He reached up and touched her cheek, his thumb wiping away a streak of wetness. “Why the tears?”

Blinking rapidly to clear the tears she had not noticed herself, she wiped her other cheek dry. “I am sorry I disappointed and embarrassed you today.”

“I made something of a disaster of your first day aboard. It is I who
should be apologizing to you.” He let his hand trail down her shoulder, her arm, to her hand—which he raised to his lips. “Please forgive me for not making you feel more welcome.”

“Gladly, though I feel there is nothing to forgive. You must work, William. You cannot allow—”

He pressed the fingertips of his free hand to her lips. “Madam”—his voice was low and gruff—“lest you forget, I am a commodore in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. I believe I should be the judge of what I can and cannot allow to happen aboard my ship.” He slipped his hand around behind her neck and drew her in close for a kiss.

As William’s had moments before, Julia’s body finally released the tension she’d carried all day. Long and sweet, William’s kiss held restoration and peace and a promise tomorrow would be a better day.

He broke the kiss at the sound of raised voices out on deck.

“Do you need to go see about it?”

“If it is urgent, someone will come get me.” He released her to snuff the candles, throwing the cabin into almost complete darkness, and then tucked her into his side with his arm wrapped around her. “Tomorrow begins very early. It is time to get some sleep.”

Julia wrapped her arms around his waist, making it necessary for him to turn sideways to enter the sleeping cabin, where a few candles yet burned. As soon as she saw the hammock hanging at the far end, she released her embrace.

“Dawling.” William grumbled the name with a tone of exasperation. He pulled his arm from her shoulders, stepped over to the hammock, and started untying the ropes holding it up. “He was supposed to have taken this down before you arrived.”

“Oh. Then you…” Julia broke off, shyness stopping the rest of her statement.

“Plan to share the fancy box bed I purchased for my wife?” He smiled at her. “’Tis too late to petition for an annulment now, Mrs. Ransome.”

“We will stand for no cheekiness from you, Commodore Ransome. And since I travel with no lady’s maid, it is your task to see to my
buttons.” She turned her back to him. The skin between her shoulders tingled at the touch of his fingers. He finished the task with a kiss on the side of her neck.

By the time she pulled her sleeping gown on, William sat on his sea chest, in his breeches and blouse, barefoot, his arms crossed.

“Are you waiting for something?” She reached up and began to hunt amongst the pile of curls at her crown for the pins digging into her scalp.

“I do believe it takes you nearly twice as long to prepare for bed with no maid.”

The relief that came with removing the hairpins nearly made Julia giddy. “I shall get faster as I accustom myself to it. Besides”—a large lock of hair fell forward, and she pushed it back, dropping a few pins with the motion—“after today, my hair shall not see a coiffure like this until we reach Jamaica.”

William came up off the chest. “Wonderful.” He lifted both hands and ran his fingers through her hair, finding two stray pins in the process. “You know I prefer your hair down.”

Julia raised her face to meet him for a kiss. His lips found hers, and—

Pounding on the cabin door drew groans from both of them. Though she knew she should probably stay put, Julia pulled on her dressing gown and followed William into the main cabin.

She stopped short, with a gasp. “Collin! What is it? Is Susan—?”

“Susan is well.” But Collin still looked grave in the light of the lamp Dawling had brought in.

William dismissed his steward and invited Collin to sit. Collin refused and stood with his feet braced shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back.

Julia sank onto the edge of a nearby armchair.

“I was not sure if I should come—if I should tell you what happened.” Collin kept his gaze affixed on the stern windows.

“You are here, which means you decided to tell me.” William mirrored Collin’s stance.

“Aye.” Collin sucked in a deep breath. “Two men came by the house this evening looking for Charlotte.”

“For Charlotte?” Julia jumped to her feet to stand beside William, dread increasing.

“Aye, for Charlotte. One of them was a solicitor from London who said he works for Lord Rotheram, and that the marquess has sworn out a charge against Charlotte for assaulting him and causing him, as he said it, ‘grievous injury.’”

Julia pressed one hand over her mouth and wrapped the other arm around her waist. “That awful, horrible man.”

Both Collin and William turned to stare at her. “What know you of this?” William demanded.

She prayed Charlotte would forgive her for breaking her promise of confidentiality. “The day of your mother’s farewell dinner, I was summoned to Brampton Park. Charlotte had been attacked and very nearly strangled to death by Lord Rotheram—Lady Dalrymple’s son-in-law. Apparently, when Charlotte did not give in to his seduction, he decided to—take what he wanted. They had been at breakfast, and when the man started to strangle her, Charlotte defended herself with the only weapon she had available—a fork. Lady Dalrymple sent him back to London.”

Stony coldness made William look a different man than the one who had been kissing her moments before. “And you kept this from me?”

“Charlotte begged me to keep her confidence, William. It was her story to tell, not mine.”

He gave her one last look, as if to say they were not finished speaking of it, and then returned his attention to Collin. “I shall send word to Admiral Glover immediately that we must delay weighing anchor tomorrow—”

“Nay, William. You will do no such thing. I did not tell the solicitor and constable where Charlotte had gone, only that she was no longer living with us. I imagine they will eventually learn that your family home is in Gateacre. But do not worry”—he cut off William’s
interruption—“I sent word to your brother Philip as soon as I was certain I could get the messenger out without being seen. I will wait a few days and then go to the Fairfaxes’ country home myself to retrieve Charlotte, once I have had time to confer with my solicitor. I will see her safely home to her mother and will do whatever is necessary to clear her name and protect her reputation.”

Julia began pacing as William and Collin discussed the details of how Collin would handle the situation. Only when exhaustion made her unsteady on her feet did she quit the main cabin and snuff the candles in the sleeping cabin so she could retire. But even as tired as she felt, once she climbed into the box bed and found a comfortable position on the feather tick inside, sleep eluded her.

Nearly an hour later, the sound of the main door alerted her to William’s impending appearance. He carried the lamp in with him but put it out almost immediately. He did not, however, climb into the bed.

“William?”

“Aye.” He sounded tired, resigned.

“I made a promise to Charlotte. I could not tell you without breaking my word.”

“Yes, I understood that when you mentioned it before.” He sighed, and she could sense him moving toward the bed. Indeed, the bed’s slight swaying with the rhythm of the harbor below stopped with a bump against something solid. “Now it is my turn to extract a promise from you.”

“Yes, William.”

“Never keep anything that important from me again.”

The letter from Charlotte’s secret fiancé fluttered before her mind’s eye. “I promise, William. I will not keep anything like that from you again.”

E
xcitement drove Ned from his hammock well before the appointed hour. Food held no interest for him—though he forced himself to eat something. The rest of the lieutenants were not stirring when he left the wardroom. He took the stairs three at a time in his hurry to arrive on the quarterdeck. The crew on the morning watch had just started washing and holystoning the decks, polishing the brightwork, and flemishing any loose lines—activities Ned rarely witnessed, as on a typical day he was not required to be on deck for two more hours.

But this was no typical day. Today, the open sea beckoned and
Alexandra
would answer.

The indigo sky became gray on the eastern horizon. When three bells marked five thirty in the morning, all of the other lieutenants joined him on deck. At six o’clock, the time chosen by William as the most advantageous for wind and tide, Commodore Ransome appeared, accompanied by his wife.

Ned saluted Mrs. Ransome, who graced him with a beautiful, if somewhat tired-looking, smile. At a nod from William, she ascended the steps to the poop deck, from whence she would have a good overview of the activity of weighing anchor and getting under sail.

“Gibson,” William called to the senior midshipman.

“Aye, Commodore?” The young man stepped forward.

“Signal the convoy it is time to weigh anchor.”

A wide smile split the junior officer’s face—and Ned knew his own
expression matched the joy in Gibson’s demeanor. The lad took the steps to the poop in two bounding leaps, and his shoes pounded the deck in rapid succession as he made his way aft to hoist the appropriate signal flags.

“Matthews.” William acknowledged the boatswain’s forehead-knuckle with a nod. “Signal all hands.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The older, experienced seaman appeared just as excited as young Gibson. Ned rocked up onto his toes as the shrill signal sounded from Matthews’s brass whistle—followed by eerie echoing whistles from the twelve cargo ships and
Audacious.

Hundreds of sailors, marines, and midshipmen scurried around on the decks and up the masts. Energy vibrated through Ned’s body; he tapped his hand against the side of his leg.

“Lieutenant Cochrane.”

The moment had come. Ned tried to hide his smile as he stepped forward. “Stand by at the capstan.”

His order was echoed by midshipmen and warrant officers in charge of the crews at the capstans both above and below deck.

“Heave away.” As soon as the first syllable left Ned’s lips, the order echoed from the crew captains. As the thick anchor line went tight,
Alexandra
began to move slowly toward its only connection to solid ground.

At a signal from Matthews, Ned turned to William. “Anchor’s hove short, sir.”

William nodded, his face serious as ever. “Very good. Mr. Cochrane, get us underway to weather the point and then set course.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Having completed his calculations in the half hour of solitude he’d had above deck, Ned needed no time to check the wind or decide the bearing. “Loose the heads’ls. Hands aloft to loose the tops’ls.”

Men already aloft on the masts scurried out along the yardarms to free the sails from the ropes binding them to the yards. Pristine white canvas billowed out in brilliant contrast against the grayish-pink sky.

Once the sails were loosed, Ned turned to the sailing master. “Master Ingleby, weather the point and then set course south-by-west-quarter-west.”

“Weather the point then sou’-by-west-quarter west, aye, sir.” Ingleby and his mate took hold of the large double wheel and turned it to steer
Alexandra
south and slightly east. The ever-present harbor breeze caught them from aft, filling the sails and pushing her forward to round the easternmost point of the Isle of Wight and enter the Channel, whence Ingleby would set the southwesterly course.

Now that the hardest work had been accomplished, many men took their attention off their action stations and turned back toward the dockyard for one last look at loved ones who had come down before dawn to bid them a final farewell—though from here in Spithead, without a telescope, none of them had a hope of being able to distinguish individual figures through the distance and gloom of the dawning day.

For the first time on leaving England, a pang of regret struck Ned. He wished…but, no. He cut his gaze toward William, who alone still seemed focused solely on
Alexandra.
Even if Charlotte Ransome were on the quay, she would have been there for her brother, not for Ned.

He needed to put the unattainable young woman out of his thoughts. A distracted officer was a bad officer. And though he had no desire for further promotion, he still wanted to be the best lieutenant he could be. Then perhaps one day he might be worthy of a young woman of half Charlotte Ransome’s charms and beauty.

Charlotte still marveled at the sheer strength it had taken to raise
Audacious
’s anchor. The rope—thicker than her leg by half—had groaned as sixty sailors put all their weight against the bars. And another few dozen men had worked the capstan on the deck above, to give them extra leverage.

The motion of the ship beneath her sent strange—wonderful and
frightening—sensations up through the soles of her feet that reverberated through her body. She was on a ship under sail—on a man o’ war not as a guest for a few hours’ tour, but as a member of its crew. She’d dreamed of joining the navy as a small child, leading her to study all of the books her brothers had left behind and procuring more with the small allowance they’d provided for her, but she had always believed it to be nothing more than a dream. After all, as William had told her when she was six years old, women could not join the Royal Navy.

Her only regret was that she wished she could have been above deck when the sails were loosed. What a glorious sight that must have been.

The rolling movement of the floor below her increased. When Julia had talked about finding what she called her sea legs, she had mentioned that keeping her knees bent a little bit helped considerably to account for the unusual motion of the ship. She’d also mentioned feeling nauseated the first few days at sea.

Charlotte hoped she would not be ill. She would never live it down—Kent had a way of finding each boy’s weakness and exploiting it.

“Hamilton, Jamison, Martin, Lott, McLellan!” Third Lieutenant Gardiner’s voice expanded into the lower gun deck.

“Aye, sir?” they all called back.

“Inform your crews of their watch orders and then dismiss them to breakfast.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Charlotte called upon years of singing lessons to try to deepen her voice to match the timbre of the boys in their late teens answering with her. Twelve men—the two gun crews under her charge—gathered nearby, wiping sweat from their faces and necks with kerchiefs. When Charlotte pulled her watch bill from her pocket, the seamen’s expressions turned from expectant to suspicious.

Trying to keep her hands from shaking and her voice deep, she let them know they’d be part of the starboard watch, meaning that until the afternoon watch began at noon, they were amongst the idlers.

“With the crew split in two, that means you are on watch and watch,”
she informed them, though their rolled eyes and cleared throats at this news presented evidence they had no need of being told they would alternate watches with the other half of the crew. “Dismissed.”

The sailors grumbled as they cleared the deck.

“Lott, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d never served in a ship before.” Hamilton cuffed Charlotte’s shoulder. “Never let the men see you don’t know what your orders are. They must trust you implicitly, and part of that is trusting that you are confident in your knowledge of the orders you give them.”

“Right.”

“So tell me, Mr. Lott…” Hamilton drew himself up to an attention stance. “What are your orders?”

Charlotte came to attention also. “I am to report to Master Carpenter Colberson to begin my lessons in seamanship, sir.”

“Very good, Midshipman Lott. McLellan!” Hamilton looked over Charlotte’s left shoulder.

A young boy scurried up beside Charlotte. “Aye, sir?”

A twinkle sparkled in Hamilton’s blue eyes. “What are your orders?”

McLellan, a lad no older than thirteen, drove his hand into his pocket after his watch bill. “I…I am…” He scrutinized the piece of paper. “I am to report to the master carpenter for seamanship lessons.”

Hamilton gave Charlotte a
what did I tell you
glance. “Mr. McLellan, learn your orders before you come on deck. The lieutenants will not be as understanding and kind as I.”

“Yes, sir, Ham—I mean Midshipman Hamilton.”

A dimple appeared in Hamilton’s right cheek. Though he was a year older than Charlotte, that he could not keep his expression stern in reaction to McLellan’s eager tone made Charlotte feel much more advanced in years than the senior midshipman.

“You had both best be off then.”

Midshipman McLellan—Isaac, he introduced himself—chattered the entire way down to the orlop, the lowest deck of the ship.

“You’re late,” Colberson said gruffly, by way of greeting. Three other
midshipmen stood near the man charged with keeping the ship in good repair.

“Sorry, we got turned around.” Charlotte squinted at the others in the dim interior, glad she didn’t see any of Kent’s mates amongst the other boys. Hopefully the midshipmen who’d come aboard
Audacious
with Captain Parker were on a different rotation for taking daily lessons from each of the masters on the ship. Most midshipmen, including her brothers in their day, complained about having to make the rounds for seamanship lessons on each new ship they served, but Charlotte was glad of it.

Or she was until Colberson set them to breaking down barrels. They could not just smash them. The wood had to be saved, stacked neatly, and stored.

“How can there be this many empty barrels already? We are less than an hour from weighing anchor.” Charlotte used her teeth to try to remove a splinter from the palm of her hand.

The carpenter’s mate nearest her snorted. “This ain’t anything. It takes lots more barrels than this every day to keep the crew watered properlike.”

In addition to splinters, Charlotte’s hands smarted and stung where blisters had started forming yesterday from heaving the ropes to bring all these barrels aboard.

After what felt like all day, Charlotte and the other midshipmen were dismissed from their carpentry duties. Though what she wanted to do when she returned to the cockpit was lie down for a while, instead she retrieved her sextant, log book, and slate and trudged up to the quarterdeck for the navigation lesson, followed by marking noon.

She squinted against the midmorning sun, leaning her head as far back as she could without losing her balance to take in the spectacular sight of the sails carrying the wind, taking them away from England. The last of the cargo ships preceded them a hundred yards off their larboard bow. Off the stern to starboard, the Isle of Wight was only a hazy lump.

“Will you be joining us, Mr. Lott?”

Lieutenant Howe’s stern look drove all excitement from Charlotte,
leaving only a residue of fear—fear of discovery, fear of the unknown, fear of what she would find in Jamaica and what she would encounter along the way.

She sat on the empty stool between Martin and another boy who’d served under Collin Yates. At the other end of the semicircle, Kent narrowed his eyes at her. Though it had been the only available seat, her sitting with the mids from Collin’s crew served to indicate with whom she’d chosen to align herself.

Sailing Master Bolger gave them their bearing and speed, and Charlotte and the rest of the older midshipmen set about calculating their current position—not that they had much to calculate, as they had not yet traveled far.

Charlotte reveled in the mathematics required to calculate their position. She carefully wrote out each step of her figuring along with the final position, confident in her answer. She hoped that if she proved her adeptness at this task, she might be assigned to help the senior midshipman of her watch with keeping the log board and their dead reckoning on the charts.