Ransome's Honor (27 page)

By the time she climbed into the coach to return home, Julia’s head spun. Most of the conversation over tea had been Lady Dalrymple’s account of her own wedding—the small private ceremony, the wedding breakfast, her trousseau, and the wedding trip to London. Julia had a hard time concentrating on the anecdotes, her mind wandering to the near future and wondering what her own wedding would be like.

“How kind of the viscountess to open her home for your breakfast.” Aunt Hedwig touched the back of Julia’s hand. “And how flattering that she holds you in such high esteem. And that she would be so magnanimous as to open her home to...more common folk and invite the captain’s officers and crew.”

Augusta’s glance at Julia could have withered the most hardy sugar-cane. “If you but knew her as well as I, Hedwig, you would have recognized the look of pity she gave us when Julia mentioned those navy people. As if the granddaughter of a baronet should have to sink so low, marrying below her station. She must be seen as bringing her husband up in society instead of being dragged down to his level.”

Hedwig clicked her tongue. “Now, Augusta, I know you have no love of military men, given it was service in the army that took your husband from you. But do recall that Julia’s own father is a naval man, that it is her sphere of society into which she marries. Perhaps it might be said that Eleanor married beneath herself—God rest her soul—but Sir Edward did go on to make quite a large fortune in addition to receiving a knighthood.”

Julia stared at her fists, trying to ignore the insult of both her parents from a woman who reminded her so of her mother.

“And who is to say that Captain—what’s the boy’s name?” Hedwig turned sparkling brown eyes onto Julia.

“Ransome.”

“Yes, of course.” Hedwig turned back to face Augusta. “Who is to say that this Ransome will not be as successful and singled out as Sir Edward?”

Augusta pursed her lips. Julia thought she understood her internal conflict—after all, if the Pembrokes’ finances were as straitened as her father said, Augusta would do well to stay in Lady MacDougall’s favor.

“Julia, I understand Augusta invited you to visit Marchwood with her before you leave for Jamaica.”

“Yes, Aunt Hedwig.” Though the idea of traveling anywhere with Augusta Pembroke was less appealing than falling into a vat of boiling sugar.

“I would love to see the estate again. I had the happiest childhood there and have only been back twice since I married the baron so many years ago.” Hedwig sighed. “We shall all go—make a day of it. Perhaps Sir Drake can join us and show us the improvements he means to make, as well.”

Improvements?
Julia regarded Augusta from the corner of her eye, but Augusta showed no sign of distress. Maybe the house was in better condition than Julia imagined. If Lady MacDougall were there, Julia would go. It would have made her mother happy.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A
noon Thursday, all of
Alexandra’s
lieutenants sat around a table in the port Admiralty headquarters, discussing their activities and travels over the past three weeks.

William knocked on the table to gain their attention. “I am pleased to see each of you here and ready to get back to work. I have a few duties for you today, as well as an invitation to dinner tonight at the beginning of the second dogwatch—that’s six o’clock in case you have forgotten over your long holiday.”

The lieutenants guffawed.

“Mr. Blakeley, the warrant officers await without. Please ask them to come in.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The youngest lieutenant rose and opened the door. General confusion filled the room as the purser, ship’s master, boatswain, gunner, and carpenter filed in and filled the remaining free space in the small room. William waited until silence fell naturally.

“Men, at five o’clock tomorrow morning,
Alexandra
will be released from dry dock.”

A cheer buffeted William’s ears. He allowed himself a small smile. “A crew from the dockyard will move her to our assigned mooring. We shall take possession at eight o’clock and begin the task of fitting her out for the voyage to Jamaica.”

Dread dropped into his stomach like an anchor. “Before I leave you, there is one more piece of news to impart.” Lord, give me strength. William trusted the eleven men in the room with his life and knew them well—but not well enough to predict how they would react to his announcement. He scanned the expectant faces. “Before we sail, I am to be married.”

After an infinite moment, Ned Cochrane’s laugh broke the stunned silence...but his mirth quickly melted from his expression. “You are not joking?”

“No, Mr. Cochrane.”

“The rumors be true then?” Boatswain Matthews asked with a sly grin.

“I do not know of which rumors you speak.” Although William suspected. “I am engaged to marry Miss Julia Witherington. She will travel with us to Jamaica.”

Cochrane stood. “Captain, on behalf of the men, may I wish you joy?” A hint of amusement laced his words. All of the others nodded.

No anger, no mutiny. Relieved, William cleared his throat. “Yes—thank you.” He faltered for a moment, not knowing what else to say. “I must be off to the dockyard for a final inspection. Mr. Cochrane has your orders.” He escaped and leaned against the closed door. The room erupted with voices. Above all, William heard his first officer.

“Gentlemen, the captain,” Cochrane said as if making a toast.

“The captain,” the other voices repeated.

“Oh, and if I may,” Cochrane continued, “you all owe me five quid—not only is the captain marrying, but he’s marrying Sir Edward’s daughter, just as I said.”

The rest of the men disagreed loudly with Ned’s comment. William left before hearing more. Not the reaction he’d expected, but despite his officers’ gambling—an offense, according to the Articles of War, punishable by whipping—it had gone well.

As soon as William’s feet touched
Alexandra’s
quarterdeck, all anxiety over his officers’ acceptance of Julia’s presence aboard vanished. The stillness of his ship jarred him—like an out-of-tune violin at a concert. But the brown aroma of new wood combined with the acrid smell of fresh paint and varnish whirled around him in a welcoming embrace. Above, the dockyard crew shouted and laughed as they trussed up the new sails and shrouds, the ropes whooshing and whirring through their stays and blocks.

Excitement scurried up William’s spine. Fifteen days more, and he would put Portsmouth behind him.

Dockmaster O’Reilley showed him the finer points of the repairs and improvements. “Ah, and here’s Boone.”

William turned to see a small, raisinlike man.

“Cap’n Ransome, sir.” Boone knuckled his forehead. William touched the tip of his hat in return salute. “Me missus heard tell you’re to marry before ye leave, sir, an’ suggested ye might be in need of a new bed, sir. Master O‘Reilley tol’ me you’d be here, sir, and per’aps ye might take a walk with me to me shop, as is. You’ll be wanting your lady travelin’ in comfort an’ all, sir.”

A dark cloud of William’s former anxiety returned. “Thank you, Boone. I shall attend you directly, as soon as Mr. O’Reilley and I have completed the inspection.”

The hammock maker nodded and departed. William charted his own course around the ship; O’Reilley followed in his wake, chattering like a gull. William ran his hand along
Alexandra’s
satiny wood and sinuous curves; a tingle shivered up his arm to his heart.

On a ship once again. No, not
a ship—his
ship. His home. His life’s blood. Not the first ship he ever commanded, but something about this seventy-four gunner had worked its way into his very soul and become a part of him. During his service in the navy, he’d heard captains and admirals speak of their ships as they would a wife or lover. As a lieutenant he’d not understood the emotion behind their words. Now, standing on the highest deck of his ship and looking over her majestic size and elaborate design, he understood. Once he took vows with Julia, he would never be unfaithful to her. But
Alexandra
would always hold a piece of his heart.

Entering the great cabin, he removed his hat to keep it from knocking against the joists of the poop deck above. The worn place in the leather of the window seat running the width of the stern had been repaired, much to his disappointment—it had taken him more than a year to break it in just right.

Beyond the day cabin, the sleeping quarters appeared much larger than he recalled—devoid of his sea chest and hammock, furnished with only a sparkling black twelve-pounder cannon.

He eyed the iron rings on the beams above, from which he used to hang his simple canvas hammock. His stomach lurched. Why had Collin not reminded him he would need bedding suitable for Julia? Of course, he’d not seen Collin much since the engagement, as he’d spent most of his time at the port Admiralty or with Cochrane making a list of necessary supplies for the voyage.

“I had the boys put up these brackets.” O’Reilley touched one of the four iron plates—two near the ceiling and two near the floor—bolted into the thick side wall. “In case yer missus should be wantin’ a wardrobe. A couple o’ sturdy ropes and it’ll move nary an inch, even in the heaviest waves.”

William’s dark cloud exploded into a full storm, wiping out any feelings of joy over being reunited with his ship. He would be married. He could imagine himself happier about the situation if it were not for the knowledge Julia would be aboard his ship for six to eight weeks until they dropped anchor in Kingston harbor. What sort of disruption would her presence create? How would she cope with being the only woman surrounded day and night by more than seven hundred men?

No longer deriving any happiness from his longed-for
Alexandra,
he left the cabin and made a brisk tour of the rest of the ship. No need for thorough inspection today—over the next week, he and the officers would scour the ship from bow to stern looking for any signs of imperfection.

He
left Alexandra
and found Boone’s stall in the dockyard market. He followed the hammock maker around the corner and up a side street to a graystone rowhouse. What should have been a front parlor had been invaded and conquered by piles of folded white canvas from floor to ceiling and hammocks and box beds hanging from closely spaced iron rings bolted into the ceiling beams.

William navigated the room with caution, his chest tightening from the close quarters created by the forest of canvas and rope.

“This is the one, sir.” Boone shoved several limp hammocks out of the way to reveal a wide box bed draped with elaborately embroidered bed hangings. “It’s not as large as a real bed, but wide enough for two to sleep comfortable-like.”

“The work is exquisite.”

Boone beamed. “Thank-ee, sir. Me missus and daughters done the work. She heard of the bed Lord Nelson, rest his soul, had on Victory and wanted to try her hand to recreate the like.”

“How much?”

Boone named his price, which seemed low to William. Boone, however, acted surprised that William did not negotiate, but rather removed his money bag from his pocket and paid the full price. He added two shillings more in Boone’s calloused, scarred palm. “Have it delivered to O’Reilley this afternoon.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n, sir!”

William squinted against the bright sun when he returned to the street. He oriented himself by the masts towering over the narrow gray houses and turned the direction that would take him to Harthorne Street. With a quick glance at his pocket watch, he hastened his step. Susan, Mother, and Charlotte would flay him and string him up on the nearest yardarm if he arrived later than four o’clock. That they thought everyone needed two hours to prepare for dinner reached beyond the boundaries of his understanding.

He opened the Yateses’ front door just as the clock chimed. Dawling met him with an impudent grin.

“The ladies just started wondering where you were, sir. I must say, sir, what good it does my heart to see you in your uniform. Did you see her, sir?
Alexandra,
that is.”

Dawling’s enthusiasm brought William out from under the dark clouds. “Aye, she is magnificent once again. Straight and clean and with not a scratch on her.”

Rapture filled Dawling’s pockmarked face. “And when are we going to her, sir?”

“Tomorrow. I shall need to be at the dockyard at four thirty in the morning. I intend to be on her when they float her out from dry dock. We officially take possession at eight. The midshipmen are to arrive at noon. You may bring my sea chest during that time and are certain of finding a boat ready to transport you.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The steward’s grin nearly split his face. He knuckled his forehead and turned to leave, but then he stopped. “Ah, sir, I nearly forgot—Miss Charlotte picked up the post today whilst she was in town. I believe she put yours on your desk, sir.”

“Thank you, Dawling.” William tucked his hat under his arm and jogged upstairs. On the main floor, he stopped in the doorway of the sitting room. His mother and Susan looked up from their needlework. He bowed. “Ladies, as you requested, I have returned by four o’clock. And here I find you wiling away the hours with your sewing. I am astonished you have not yet retired to your rooms to prepare for dinner.”

Susan returned her attention to the flimsy white fabric in her hands. “Do not be patronizing, William. If we did not give you a deadline, you would have spent all afternoon at the dockyard and been late for dinner with your own men.”

“Come, sit for a moment, William.” Smiling, his mother indicated the chair beside her. “Tell us of your ship and officers.”

He did as bade, careful to limit his words to conveying only the facts of the meeting with his men and the beauty of his ship. He omitted the encounter with the hammock maker, disinclined to see their knowing smiles and exchanged glances.

At four thirty, Susan laid aside her workbasket. “I believe it is time I should be retiring to my room to dress.”

No sooner had William stood than Collin appeared at the door, his face drawn—as it had been ever since the argument he and Susan had last week, the night Julia had dined here. “William, may I speak with you?”

“Of course.” He followed his friend into the library.

Collin closed the door behind him, crossed to the fireplace, and sank into one of the club chairs, his expression pensive.

Disconcerted at seeing his usually cheerful friend so low, William sat, rested his elbows on his chair’s arms, and pressed his fingertips together, waiting for Collin to speak.

“Susan is with child.”

Perplexed, William said nothing. Collin had long expressed his hope, his prayers, that God would bless them with a child. Yet the flat, emotionless tone of his voice conveyed none of the excitement the announcement should bring.

Collin shifted in his seat until he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “Last week she asked to go with me—with us—to Jamaica. She somehow got the notion in her head of an easy sail over, and that she would then stay with Julia at the plantation while you and I execute our commission in the Caribbean.” He stared into the cold fireplace. “I told her no. She even tried to get Julia to convince me to let her go, but bless her, Julia saw the folly of the plan. If Susan should lose this baby too...” His voice trailed off, and he buried his face in his hands.

So that had been the subject of the argument last week and cause of Collin’s subsequent graveness. William had no words for his friend, though he took comfort in the fact Julia showed such dispassionate logic.

Collin ran his fingers through his hair and then pressed his palms against the side of his head, face toward the rug. “She cannot come to sea with me. And I cannot bear the thought of leaving her at such a time. The doctor said after so many miscarriages, giving birth could threaten Susan’s life. If she should...and I am on the far side of the ocean and cannot be here—” He gulped several breaths. “She has no family to speak of—an aunt who lives in London and a cousin or two in the north part of the country. She would be here all alone.”