The Ransom (3 page)

Ellie Sims entered the room, tray in hand. “Did you fall asleep agin tendin’ your father, miss?”

Juliana sighed. “I suppose.” Pain shot through her arms and shoulders as she unfolded herself from the chair and stretched. The last thing she remembered was sitting beside her father’s bed to pray for God to heal him. But it had been a long day of paperwork and decisions, a visit to the orphanage, and then her harrowing adventure down by the wharves. She must have drifted asleep before she uttered a single petition.

Ellie set down the tray and tore open the velvet curtains, admitting a flood of light that transformed dust into glitter. Juliana wished her problems would transform so easily into sparkling powder—powder that would blow away in the next blast of trade winds. But she discovered in her twenty years that life was never that easy.

The lady’s maid shoved her hands onto her hips. “Just look at your gown, miss. A knot of wrinkles. After I tend your father, I’ll ’elp you out of it so I can press it properly.”

Glancing down at her disheveled attire, Juliana fingered strands of hair that had fallen from her pins. “I believe I have far worse problems than wrinkles, Ellie, but thank you.” She smiled at the woman who had been more like an older sister to her than a servant—a nagging older sister, but at least one who cared. “I am in your debt for all you do, truly. Much more than any lady’s maid is required. Especially tending to my father.”

“Ah, go on now. You know I love this family as my own, and I’m ’appy to serve. I understand why you don’t want the rest of the staff to know your business.”

Juliana sighed. Secrets, so many secrets. Her father coughed again, followed by a moan as he pried open his eyes. “Cannot a man have some privacy in his own bedchamber?!” He attempted to growl with his usual force, but the impact fell impotent on his breathless voice.

Lowering to sit on the bed beside him, Juliana took his hand in hers. The strength and resolve that had once permeated his fingers had fled, leaving them clammy, weak, and bony. “Not when you are ill, Papa. You must be cared for.”

His eyelids fluttered above a scowl. “Must I be cossetted like a child? Be gone with you all!” He coughed again and a drop of blood slid from the corner of his lips.

Grabbing a cloth, Juliana dabbed it, avoiding his fumbling attempt to swat her away. “Now, now, Papa, we are only trying to help.”

“Trying to kill me is the way of it.”

Reaching behind him, Ellie assisted him up while she propped his pillows.

“Come now, Papa, you are far too disagreeable for God to welcome in heaven just yet.” Juliana set the cloth on the table and stood. “I do believe He may have more work to do on your behalf.”

“God, bah!” Her father’s exclamation resulted in another bout of coughing that prevented him from continuing his tirade. Juliana would grin at the justice if her heart wasn’t so heavy. In truth, there was naught to smile about. What remained of her father’s health deteriorated day by day.

After all the years she’d spent cowering beneath his enraged outbursts, cringing beneath his insults, anxiously anticipating his pendulous moods, and fawning over his every need so as not to prick his ire, it felt good to finally speak her mind—to say the things she’d forced behind a wall of suppressed defiance.

She only regretted the circumstances by which she’d gained her courage. And her independence.

Mr. Abbot appeared in the doorway, his normal livery forsaken for a fine suit of black taffeta bordered in silver lace. A brown periwig sat atop his head, while a creamy neckerchief bounded from his neck. How fortuitous that her father and Mr. Abbot were the same size. In fact, if not for his humble demeanor, no one would suspect that Mr. Abbot was anything but an urbane gentleman. Certainly not a butler. And an indentured servant at that.

His eyes skipped over Ellie and Juliana’s father and landed on Juliana in an unspoken request.

“And the two of you!” her father barked. “Stealing my business. Robbing me blind while I lay in my bed. I will not suffer it. I tell you, I will not suffer it!” He attempted to rise, but a fit of coughing forced him back to his pillows. When they were spent, he managed to grunt out, “Stealing my clothes too, are you now, Abbot? I’ll send you back to the auction block!”

Feeling her anger churn, Juliana repressed it with a sigh. “You’re being silly, Papa. Mr. Abbot and I are
saving
your business, not stealing it, so that when you are well again, it will not have suffered from your absence. Now, if you don’t calm yourself like the doctor says, you’ll only get worse.”

He mumbled some obscenity Juliana was glad she couldn’t hear, while Ellie drew a cup of steaming tea from the tray and held it to the man’s lips.

He jerked his mouth away.

“Papa, you will eat what Miss Ellie has brought you. And you will cooperate with Dr. Verns when he comes to call later today.”

“That charlatan! All he knows to do is bleed me.” He raised a shaky hand and dismissed Juliana with a wave. “Faith, I’ll not have an ounce of the fluid left in me if he has his way.”

“I can ’andle ’im, miss. You go on now.” Ellie gave a nod, and Juliana knew she
could
and would deal with her father. For some reason the old man favored the woman who had been his wife’s lady’s maid before she’d become Juliana’s. While he flung contempt and mockery upon everyone in the house, he tolerated Miss Ellie, spoke to her in pleasant tones, even confided in her. Juliana could never discern the reason, save that Ellie cared for him with ne’er a complaint, ne’er a bitter word, and accepted his harsh ways.

“I’ll check on you later, Papa.” Juliana left the chamber before he could respond, falling into step with Abbot down the long hallway. “Have you seen Rowan?”

“Aye, miss. I found him sprawled across the settee in the drawing room when I arose this morning. Me and Mr. Pell carried him to his chamber.”

Juliana breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Abbot. I cannot imagine what I would do without you.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but if your brother were half the person you are, you would have no need of my services.”

She stopped him and pressed a hand on his arm as they reached the stairs. “I will always have need of you, Abbot.”

Clearing his throat, he turned away, uncomfortable with her praise. Which was one of the many things she admired about him. “’Twould that Master Rowan would cease his drunken roisterings, miss, for I see they grieve you great,” he said as he followed her down the stairs.

“Great
ly
, Abbot,” she corrected him as they eased across the marble floor of the foyer and entered her father’s study. “Your speech has much improved over the past months. Why, you almost sound like a cultured gentleman, not a butler, and certainly not the shoemaker you were back in England.” An odd thought occurred to her regarding the fine quality of the pirate’s speech last night, but she shoved it aside.

“All due to your tutelage, miss.” He scanned the books lining the shelves on one side of the room. “Learning to read, even just a little, has brought me more joy than I can say.”

“I should have taught you long ago, not waited for its necessity. Forgive me, Abbot.” She skirted the large mahogany desk and plopped down in her father’s high-back chair. One glance at the mounds of documents littering the top caused her remaining strength to ebb.

Adjusting his periwig, Mr. Abbot approached, awaiting his orders for the day. At five-and-forty, he still maintained his youthful appearance and vigor, with but a few lines on his face and select gray hairs to indicate otherwise. He was tall and lithe, and his hands were thick and rough. Not the hands of a butler, but the hands of a workman. The hands of an indentured servant whom her father had purchased soon after their arrival in Jamaica.

Yet Mr. Abbot had never seemed like a servant to Juliana.

“I wish I could relieve you of some of your burden, miss.” He scanned the papers.

She sighed as a warm breeze, ripe with the sea, blew in through the open French doors. “I wish you could as well, Abbot, but alas, the task falls to me to keep this business running while father recovers.”
Oh, Lord, please let him recover soon
.

“The task fell to you, miss, because the good Lord knew He would equip you with all you need to best handle it.”

“Some days I wonder. I truly wonder.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she retrieved the document she’d set out for her immediate perusal. “I wonder how long I—no, we—can keep up this charade.”

“No one seems the wiser, miss.” He hesitated. “Though several merchants and a few of your father’s workmen have asked why he doesn’t come to the docks anymore.”

“And what have you told them?”

“Just what you said, Miss Juliana, that your father made me his manager of business affairs while he enjoys a more leisurely life at home.”

Juliana nodded. “Good.”

“My only fear is that I will make a mistake in my dealings, misread something, or miscalculate monies due, and the ship owners will demand to see your father.”

Juliana skimmed the bill of lading as familiar fear began shredding her nerves. Should that happen, should anyone discover a woman was running Dutton Shipping, all her customers would flee like bats before the sun. She’d eventually lose everything: their three ships, their income, the house, her father’s medical care, and probably even his life.

And the rest of them would be cast onto the streets.

She could not allow that to happen. She
would not
allow that to happen.

“We expect the
Esther’s Dowry
to sail into port this afternoon,” she said, shifting beneath a sudden pang to her heart at the name of the ship—her mother’s Christian name—and the second word that exposed to all the world the only reason Juliana’s father had proposed to her. What an insult to her mother while she lived, and now to her memory, to have her only perceived value painted in red on the hull of a brig.

“This is an important shipment, Abbot. We stand to make twenty pounds if all goes well, which you know we desperately need at the moment.” Rising, Juliana circled the desk and laid the document before the butler. “Here”—she slid a finger down a list on the left—“are the items we purchased in England and France. See my marks on the side? That will help you determine what they are should you have trouble reading them.” She assessed the butler’s worried expression as his eyes peered at the writing and then over to the code they’d worked out for him to use until he learned to read well enough.

She pointed to one symbol. “What is this?”

“Oak chest of drawers.”

“And this?”

“French tapestry.”

“Indeed! Well done, Abbot, and over here are the prices the merchants who ordered them agreed to pay, their deposits, and the amount they still owe us upon delivery.”

He nodded and swallowed nervously. “I’ve never dealt with so huge a shipment. What if I forget? What if I can’t read these numbers? What if they try to cheat me?”

Juliana forced her breathing to settle. “Captain Greyson, along with father’s warehouse managers, will assist you as always.”

“Of course. I pray I learn all this soon enough, miss. I fear someone will sense my distress.”

“I predict you will find yourself an expert in no time, Mr. Abbot. I am sure of it.” Her voice rang confidently, though she felt none of that surety within her at the moment. Every man in her life had let her down. She believed Mr. Abbot wouldn’t do so intentionally, yet she feared he would as well. Nevertheless, what choice did she have? She folded the paper and handed it to him. “The task fell to you, Mr. Abbot, because the good Lord knew He would equip you with all you need to best handle it,” she said, repeating his prior statement with a wink.

He chuckled. “How do you say … ?” He scratched his periwig, setting it askew. “It’s a French word … Tu—”

“Touché?”

“Yes. Touché, miss. Touché.” He drew a deep breath and adjusted his neckerchief.

Standing on her tiptoes, Juliana set his wig straight and gave him an approving nod, then watched as he strolled from the room, shoulders slumped, nervous twitch in his fingers.

Her own pulse began to twitch, and she tossed a hand to her throat. Though Abbot had successfully handled several minor shipments, the one sailing into port today was by far the largest and most important. These merchants were friends of Papa’s, had dealt with him for years. If Abbot didn’t satisfy them with the same exemplary service, if he didn’t answer their questions with the utmost alacrity, then Dutton Shipping would be certain to fail, and all their lives would be forfeit to the cruel fate of Port Royal’s outcasts.

Chapter 3

Juliana rose from her father’s desk, rubbed her eyes, and gazed at the half-eaten meal of turtle stew and biscuits Cook had brought her at noon. Four hours ago. Exhausted, she moved to the open French doors, allowing the afternoon sun to slide warm fingers over her skin and knead out the kinks in her shoulders. How had father kept up with all the paperwork required to run his shipping business? No wonder he’d spent hours locked away in his study and then even more hours down by the docks. Thank the good Lord that Juliana had inherited his mind for numbers, for it hadn’t taken her long to determine his system of managing things. If she hadn’t … she shuddered at the thought and closed her eyes, absorbing the sun’s warm rays instead.