Ransome's Crossing (32 page)

As Ned seemed anxious to return to the wardroom, and Charlotte to the day cabin, William dismissed them both. Julia’s idea that Charlotte was in love with his former first officer, and that inviting him to dinner—and to accompany them to Tierra Dulce—was a good way to get her to give up her notion of marrying Henry Winchester did not seem to be working.

After supper William sat at his table in the big cabin, hoping to finish a few reports before taking two weeks away from his ship. But Julia was like a jolly boat on a stormy sea, tossed from one wave to the next. First at her desk, then the sofa, then the window seat, then back to her desk.

“Would you like a glass of wine to calm your nerves, Mrs. Ransome?” He set his quill down and rubbed his forehead. Charlotte had given up and gone to sit at the dining table to write her letter of full explanation to Mother.

“No. I do not want—we are so close, William. I can smell the air—the Jamaica air. I want to be there, on my island, at my home.”

He breathed in through his nose, but all he could smell were the odors of a ship that had been at sea for more than seven weeks. Which was not nearly as bad as a ship that had been at sea for six months. But, still, Julia’s imagination seemed to be overexerting itself.

Her restlessness continued. More than an hour after they retired
for the night, William pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his hand to cease her constant chatter. Even then, the tension in her body kept him from doing more than dozing occasionally.

When morning came, his eyes were dry and grainy, his head whirling almost at the same speed Julia flew around the cabin packing the last few items she had needed this morning. Dawling stood by, helpless, as Julia did everything herself. She would have skipped breakfast, but William insisted—needing coffee more than food.

He would not have been surprised if Julia ran out on deck and commanded the sailors to work faster at lowering the boat and loading her dunnage into it. As soon as the sailors rowed toward the Kingston docks with her crates, valises, and trunks, William ordered a second boat lowered and crewed. His and Ned’s small valises and Charlotte’s sea chest were lowered into it.

Julia did not make a fuss about being lowered down to the boat in the bosun’s chair. Charlotte did. He quelled her protest with one look, and she grudgingly obeyed.

Beside him on the seat in the boat, Julia trembled. She squeezed his hand until his fingers went numb. She would have been the first one to jump out at the quay, but William held her back, allowing the sailors to secure the boat to the dock first. He climbed out and turned to assist Julia and then Charlotte.

“Miss Witherington! Miss Witherington!”

Julia shaded her eyes, let out a cry, lifted her skirt, and ran up the pier. At the head she threw her arms around the necks of two figures. The people around them stared—as did William. The black man and woman were both taller than Julia and, from this distance, looked older—perhaps as old as Mother and the admiral.

William added his and Charlotte’s baggage to the pile of Julia’s and then made his way to where his wife stood, chatting animatedly with the dark-skinned couple.

The woman noticed him first. She patted Julia’s arm until Julia stopped talking. “I believe the captain has something he needs to say to you, Miss Julia.”

“The captain—?” She turned, and when she saw William, she laughed. “Come, William.” She hooked her arm through his. “I want you to meet two of the most important people in my life.” She motioned with her free hand. “Jerusha and Jeremiah Goodland, may I present Commodore William Ransome, my husband.”

“I hoped by the way you grabbed onto his arm that he was some relation to you, young miss.” Jeremiah Goodland extended his large, calloused right hand. “Welcome to Jamaica, Commodore.”

William clasped hands with the man briefly. Jerusha curtseyed, and William bowed to her. “I am pleased to be making your acquaintance. Mrs. Ransome speaks of you often.”

Jerusha turned sparkling hazel eyes on Julia. “ ‘Mrs. Ransome.’ How nice that sounds.” She hugged Julia again.

William turned at the sound of a clearing throat. Charlotte and Ned had joined them. Julia made the introductions.

“Welcome, all.” Jerusha beamed at them. “Miss…I mean, Mrs. Ransome, we brought the buggies and wagons, just as you requested. Jeremiah figured you’d have brought back more than what you went away with.”

“Who drove?” Julia asked.

Jerusha began listing names, and Julia’s excitement grew. She clasped the older woman around the elbow. “Come, I must see them.”

The two of them moved through the crowd to the wagons waiting on the road.

The brick buildings and cobblestone streets of Kingston beyond the harbor were just as William remembered from his first view of them twenty years ago.

“It is good to have her home. Thank you, Commodore, for bringing her back to us.” Jeremiah watched her greet each of the drivers as if each were a brother she had not seen in years. While four of the five men were black, the fifth was not—but his appearance consternated William even more. The man looked like a pirate, the kind featured in storybooks about the famous pirates Blackbeard and Morgan from almost two hundred years ago.

At a gesture from Julia, they left the wagons and buggies and made their way down the quay, filing past William, Ned, and Charlotte with polite nods. They turned down the sailors’ offers of help in loading the large trunks and crates, handling them readily and quickly. In short order the wagons were loaded.

William returned to the end of the dock where Lieutenant O’Rourke waited. “Take the boats back to the ship. You are in command until I return. The commander from Fort Charles will take command of the supply ships this morning. Shore leave by watches—two watches on
Alexandra
at all times. Revocation of shore leave for the remainder of the time in port if they are late returning.” He had conveyed all this, and more, to O’Rourke yesterday. He stepped back and touched two fingers to the forepoint of his hat. “You have your orders, Lieutenant.”

O’Rourke returned the salute. “Aye, aye, sir.”

When William rejoined his wife, tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks. “What is wrong?”

She shook her head. “I cannot help myself. I am so happy to be home, to see my friends once more, that I feel I am about to burst.”

How would he ever be able to compete for her love when simply stepping off his boat onto the Kingston dock made her happier than he had ever seen her, even on their wedding day?

C
harlotte bit her tongue as the carriage bumped over the packed-dirt road that cut through what appeared to be a forest of tall grass.

“This is the sugarcane,” Julia announced, looking as pleased about the unruly, unkempt green fronds as Lady Dalrymple was about her prized climbing roses. “And just around this bend…”

The road curved and the wall of sugarcane on the left gave way to a rolling field of dark green grass—real grass—and the house. Charlotte had not expected something as grand as Lady Dalrymple’s home, but with the way Julia had spoken of Tierra Dulce, and the rumors of her wealth the Fairfaxes had shared, she had expected something more like the Fairfaxes’ home in Portsmouth than what she saw.

The low, white clapboard house, with its deep porches and steep, gabled roof, sprawled across the emerald lawn like a cat sunning itself.

Julia’s excitement rose as people appeared beside the carriage—more dark faces, though not all of them were of African origin—and she greeted each one by name. But she did not speak to them as if they were mere servants, people to do her bidding and then be thought of or heard from no more; she spoke to them as if they were her friends and neighbors, asking about their children or parents, their friends and relatives, and their own health and happiness.

The closer they drew to the house—slowed now by the people surrounding the carriage—Charlotte’s fear grew. What if Henry were
nothing like what she remembered? She could not conjure an image of him in her mind. Would she recognize him?

She refused to look back at Ned, who rode with Jeremiah and Jerusha in the second carriage by his own choice.

Julia tried introducing her and William to everyone, but there were just too many. She shrugged. “You will learn their names as need arises.” The carriage had not quite rolled to a stop when Julia jumped to her feet to get out. “Come!” She grabbed William’s hand and pulled him down with her. Charlotte thought they might forget about her, let her sit outside for a while and work up her courage to face Henry, but Julia turned and motioned for her to join them.

Charlotte followed them up the few steps to the porch. All up and down it, doors and windows stood open; white, gauzy drapes fluttered in the slight breeze.

She could learn to like this place.

The interior of the house was just as different from anything Charlotte had seen as the outside. Above her, there was no ceiling. Instead, the large room opened up all the way to the exposed timbers and slats of the roof—all whitewashed to give it a light, bright feeling. Furniture that approximated the fancy pieces at the large homes and estates she had seen in England, but which were different enough to show they had been made locally, filled the enormous sitting room.

“You will want to refresh yourselves after the journey.” Julia turned to find Jeremiah and Jerusha in the cluster of people gathered near the front door. “Jeremiah, will you please show Captain Cochrane to his quarters—the blue room? Jerusha, Miss Ransome could use your assistance—and she will need a lady’s maid, as well.” Julia touched Charlotte’s shoulder. “You will be in my old room.”

Charlotte followed the woman she assumed to be the housekeeper down a long hallway. The house appeared to be much larger than her original estimation, given how far from the main room her bedroom, at the end of the hallway, was.

The room, with its pale yellow walls and coverlet, the dark blue upholstery on the chaise, the desk chair, and the bench at the end of
the bed, reminded Charlotte forcefully of Julia. No floral wallpaper—and she had seen wallpaper in a few rooms they passed—just yellow paint. As in the other rooms, a mat that looked as though made of straw lay on the floor where a carpet should be.

“That’s woven out of the dried grass from the cane.” Jerusha motioned a younger man into the room. He set Charlotte’s sea chest down in front of the wardrobe and left without saying a word.

“The close stool is there, behind the screen, as is the washstand. There’s fresh water, soap, and towels if you wish to wash up some before tea.” Though thin, the way Jerusha moved toward the door could only be called bustling. “I will send Huldah to you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Goodland.”

The housekeeper laughed, a loud, strong sound. “No one calls me that, miss. You can call me Jerusha, just the same as does Miss Julia—Mrs. Ransome. La, it will take time to get used to the change.”

After making use of the necessary and washing her face, Charlotte stepped out through the open door onto the porch at the rear of the house. A white rocking chair sat looking out over the lawn, which sloped down toward the sugar fields—and beyond, an expanse of water. She frowned. They had driven several hours from Kingston and, she thought, away from the sea. But there it lay, sparkling and bright blue.

“Miss Charlotte?” A rusty voice came from the bedroom.

Charlotte pushed the drapes aside and entered the room. “You must be Huldah.” The woman could only be a few years older than Charlotte. Her skin was neither dark nor light but a rich tan. Her hair curled in tight ringlets only a shade darker than her skin. And her eyes—the pale golden orbs seemed to be taking in Charlotte’s appearance as she assessed her.

“Jerusha sent me to help you with anything you need, miss.”

“I would love to take a bath—but I know there is not time before tea. Perhaps later. For now, I could use your help in changing clothes.” Charlotte pulled the small mobcap off her head, and Huldah gasped and crossed herself. Charlotte spun to see what the maid reacted to, but saw nothing. “What is it?”

“Have you been ill, Miss Charlotte? Is that why they cut off all your hair?”

Self-consciously, Charlotte reached up and touched the blunt end of her hair, which now hung just below her ears. “I have been ill recently, but that is not why my hair is short. It was a mistake that never should have happened.”

“I’ll say. You’re too pretty to be walking around looking like a shorn sheep, miss.” Huldah’s manner was so open and unaffected, Charlotte could not take offense. She laughed and showed her which dress she wanted to wear.

“Oh, you have been ill.” Huldah draped the discarded dress over the screen and turned Charlotte by her shoulder to look at her. “But that’s all right. Mama Virgie’s cooking will fill in those gaps betwixt your ribs.”

Charlotte had no choice but to surrender herself to Huldah’s ministrations. Once she stopped trying to help, the process went much faster.

“There now. As soon as we cover up your hair, you’re ready for tea.” Huldah dug through the stack of mobcaps Julia had purchased for Charlotte in Barbados until she found one she liked, and she adjusted it until she liked the way it angled just slightly over Charlotte’s right ear. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring the hot irons and we will see what we can do with this here in the front.”

“Thank you, Huldah.” As a midshipman, wearing a midshipman’s uniform and living without a lady’s maid had been easy. But in this lifestyle, with stays and petticoats and gowns that buttoned in the back, Charlotte realized just how much she needed someone like Huldah.

The maid curtseyed. “Tea will be in the great room, just down the other end of the hall.”

Charlotte thanked her again before she left. Taking a deep breath, she prepared for the worst and hoped for the best.

The worst came before she even made it to the sitting room.

Instead of walking down the hall, Charlotte decided to walk around the outside of the house on the porch, to see what could be seen.

What she saw was her fiancé, Henry Winchester, in close conference with a seedy-looking man. As soon as Henry saw her coming, he wrapped up his conversation and sent the other man scuttling away.

Henry turned toward her and bowed. “You must be of the party Miss Witherington brought with her from Kingston.”

Charlotte shook her head, unsure if she had heard him correctly. “Do you not recognize me?”

“I apologize, miss. Have we met before? Perhaps at the Abingdons’ ball last month?”

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. The confusion gathering in the lines around his eyes indicated he was not joking. “Henry—it is I, Charlotte Ransome.”

“You mean to tell me—”

Henry whirled at William’s voice from the other side of the porch.

“—that you are engaged to a man who does not recognize you when he sees you?”

“Engaged—” Henry turned back to face her. “Charlotte? Darling, it is you.” He drew her into an embrace. “Two years…two long years.” He pushed her back and held her at arm’s length. “But what are you doing here? I did not expect to see you for years yet—until I sent for you.”

“I came to see you, Henry. To marry you.”

The expression that filled his eyes was more akin to frustration than happiness. “We cannot marry yet, dear. Not until I have finished what I came here to do.”

William separated the two of them. “And what is that, Mr. Winchester?”

“Work until I have saved enough money to deserve Miss Ransome’s hand.”

Of the same height, William, in his uniform, seemed to tower over Henry, in his plain brown suit. The breeze ruffled his blond hair—had it been so light last she’d seen him?—and deep lines formed around his eyes as he squinted against the afternoon sun. Handsome. As she recalled. But not nearly as handsome as Ned.

But she was not engaged to Ned. She was engaged to Henry.

Ned stepped away from the window, having heard more of the conversation already than he should have. The harsh tones of men’s voices had first drawn him to the open window, though he could not make out what they said. He had been about to step out and make his presence known, rather than skulking and eavesdropping, when Charlotte spoke.

He lowered himself onto the edge of the bench at the end of the bed. She had sounded so hurt and betrayed when Winchester did not recognize her that Ned wanted to burst through the door and challenge the man right then. Something that would now be left to her brother to handle.

And if he provided William with a viable alternative to Charlotte’s marrying Winchester…

He smiled. He hated to see Charlotte hurt by Mrs. Ransome’s steward, but he planned to take full advantage of the man’s mistakes.

At the sound of the large clock in the hall striking four o’clock, Ned shrugged into his uniform coat and made his way back to the enormous room at the front of the house. Charlotte sat in a delicate chair beside the settee on which Julia sat. William stood behind Charlotte as if on his own quarterdeck, looking at Henry Winchester as if the steward were standing before a court martial accused of mutiny.

“Captain Cochrane, please join us.” Julia set down the heavy silver pot and held a cup and saucer toward him.

He took the delicate china and sat in the chair on the other side of the low table—from which he could see all parties.

“My dear Commodore…” Julia gazed up at her husband with a cocked head.

William took her meaning and moved around Charlotte to sit beside his wife.

“Jerusha and Jeremiah asked me to pass along their apologies that they
could not join us. They each had duties that called them away.” Julia exchanged another look—this one unreadable—with her husband.

Ned tried to hide his consternation by looking down into his cup. Though uncertain the exact nature of the positions held by the older couple, the idea that they would have expected the Goodlands to be joining them for tea shocked him. He expected life in Jamaica to be different than in England. But to include servants at tea?

Julia broke the awkward silence by asking Winchester to give her a report on his expectation for the harvest in a few months. He tried couching his answers in general terms, but Julia continued questioning him for specifics.

Ned watched Charlotte during the exchange. Though she tried to appear interested in the subject, her blue eyes soon hazed over with indifference followed by boredom. Ned bit into a scone and relaxed. He might not have much to do to show Charlotte—and convince William—she would never be happy with Winchester, that she would be happiest married to a naval officer.