The Ransom (31 page)

Miss Ellie ran to kneel beside him, gripping his hand and sobbing.

Horror numbed Juliana. All she could manage was, “Where’s Rowan?”

“He’s not come home yet, miss,” Abbot said. “Shall I go look for him?”

“Nay.” There was no point. Rowan would come home when Rowan was ready to come home.

Candlelight angled over Cook’s face as she passed Juliana and murmured, “I’ll brew some tea, miss.” As if a cup of tea would make the world right again.

Juliana swallowed and approached her father, easing onto the bed beside him, expecting the usual castigation—and oddly feeling sad when it didn’t come. Instead, he struggled to open his eyes and turned toward Ellie. “Ah, stop your crying, sweet Ellie. We knew a cantankerous old sod like me wouldn’t live out his days.” His voice sounded so very weak.

“Don’t be sayin’ sich things, sir.”

“Henry. Please use my Christian name.” He rasped out a cough that seemed to pain him. “Just once.”

Juliana was stunned by the affection between the maid and her father.

“Henry.” Ellie said the word with reverence, then took his hand and pressed her cheek against it, tears slipping from her eyes. “You cannot leave. I won’t stand for it.”

He squeezed her hand. “A man knows when he’s done for.” He coughed again, the effort exhausting him. He closed his eyes and his shallow breathing became hoarse and labored. Blood trickled from one side of his mouth, and Juliana dabbed it with a rag, forcing back her tears.

He slowly turned and faced her, surprise flickering across his expression as if he hadn’t realized she was there. “Juliana.”

“Yes, Papa. I’m here,” she choked out as emotion seared her throat.

“’Twould seem you and Abbot got what you wanted.” He snorted with his usual disdain.

“Papa, don’t say such things. All we wanted was for you to get well.”

He seemed ready to argue, but released a sigh instead as if he had no fight left in him. “I’ve not been a good father to you,” he finally whispered and closed his eyes again.

Now the tears came, spilling down her cheeks and dripping from her jaw into her lap. All her life she’d waited to hear those words. All her life she’d desperately longed to hear his admission of guilt—that he’d treated her and Rowan terribly and was sorry for it, that mayhap somewhere deep inside, he loved them. But hearing the words now brought her no comfort.

“It doesn’t matter, Papa. All that matters is that you ask forgiveness from God and go to him in peace.”

He closed his eyes and frowned. “Never was much for religion.”

“Papa, please.” No matter how cruelly he had treated her mother and her and Rowan, she didn’t wish him to suffer the fires of hell.

“Do as she says, sir—Henry. I want to see you agin.” Miss Ellie drew his gaze, and there it remained, for only upon the sweet maid’s face did a spark of joy touch his eyes. Never when he looked at Juliana. Had he ever loved her at all?

He drew a raspy breath. “I regret …” He halted and released a shuddering sigh. Then his eyes went hard and cold. A breeze fluttered the candle by his bed, flickering ribbons of light and dark over his still form.

“No!” Ellie lifted his hand to her lips. “No!”

Juliana bowed her head and sobbed. Now what would she do?

Chapter 25

A blast of muggy air swamped Juliana as she left her house and stepped onto the street. Mrs. Childers waved at her from across the way where she escorted her two children to their waiting carriage. Juliana waved back, forcing a difficult smile on her lips. She must keep up appearances. She must not let anyone suspect that her father had departed into eternity. For the past two weeks she had not put on her mourning gown, nor had she kept to the house, or called on friends for comfort.

Egad! She had not even put her father to rest.

Though she had wanted to do all of those things—wanted so desperately to allow herself to grieve. To grieve for the loss of her last parent, at being left all alone in the world, and for the responsibility that now weighed solely on her shoulders. But she hadn’t. She had a business to run, mouths to feed, and appearances to make. How long she could do any of those things, she had no idea.

Especially not alone. Rowan had finally come home early the morning her father died, drunk as usual, though he appeared to sober up the instant he saw Father’s body. Falling by his side, Rowan had wept far longer than Juliana would have expected for a boy who’d been nothing but belittled by the man. The sight had brought renewed tears to her eyes just when she’d thought she had no more to shed. Then, with more maturity than she believed he possessed, Rowan assisted Mr. Abbot in washing Papa’s body and dressing him in his best suit. Abbot quickly went to work building a simple wooden coffin and once finished, he coated the inside with the tar Dutton Shipping used on their brigs to preserve wood and rigging. Afterward, they wrapped her father in several clean quilts then carefully laid him inside and sealed the outside with the same tar. It was the best they could think to do in order to keep the odor down until they could bury him properly.

Hope waning, she turned onto High Street as a carriage clattered by. A bell tolled from the bay, while a flock of gulls soared overhead. Waves of heat rose from the ground and rippled through her as her guilt was doing. But what else could they do? Since there was only one cemetery in town, they could hardly place him there without the entire city knowing. Of course they could sneak him to the mainland at night and bury him in the jungle, but Juliana couldn’t bring herself to force such an indignity upon her father.

Which is why she needed Lord Munthrope. He was the only one who had known about her father’s condition, and his silence thus far on that matter engendered her to trust him once more. He had friends on the city council and surely could arrange a proper burial for an unnamed acquaintance. But after sending several posts to his home, begging to meet him, she’d not heard a word in return. Against all propriety, she’d even called upon him one day, only to be turned away by his impudent butler Mr. Whipple with the excuse that His Lordship wasn’t home, and he had no idea when he would return.

Now, as she made her way to the orphanage, she wondered if she’d been wrong about Munthrope all along. Mayhap his kindness had just been part of their act to keep his father’s interests in Munthrope’s marriage status at bay. And when her company didn’t aid that cause, he had no need of her.

The sweet smell of bananas, papayas, and breadfruit swept away her gloomy thoughts as she passed the market and waved at the plump mulatto woman standing behind her cart.

“Fresh mangos fer the young’nes, Miss Juliana,” she shouted.

“Not today, Sally. Thank you,” Juliana replied, wishing she
could
purchase some fruit. But she had only enough funds to pay her staff and provide food for the next few months. In a week, the
Esther’s Dowry
would be loaded with sugar, coffee, yams, indigo, and logwood headed for the American colonies. The profit from their shipment should provide enough to live on for several months. Then, of course the
Ransom
, their third brig, was due to sail into port from Liverpool in thirteen days.

The
Ransom
. Just the thought of it sent warmth through her. Not the ship itself but the name her mother had given it. Her father had named their other two brigs, but had allowed his wife, after much pleading from her, this one privilege. When Juliana had inquired as to the meaning of the name, her mother had quoted from Hosea:

I will ransom them from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O grave, I will be thy destruction
.

A smile had graced her mother’s delicate lips and a gleam sparkled in her eye as if she’d looked upon God himself as she spoke. Juliana had always been envious of her mother’s relationship with the Almighty—one of love and companionship, not obedience and servitude.

Yet, as it turned out, God hadn’t ransomed Juliana’s mother from the grave at all.

Frowning, Juliana brought her thoughts back to Dutton Shipping. Everything was about perfect timing, good wind, and fair weather. And no pirates. Pirates like the Pirate Earl. Nay. In good sooth, he
had
returned her pearls. Or rather, Mr. Kinder’s pearls, who—praise be to God—had promptly forgiven all and went on his way.

Albeit with threats to return and visit her father.

Which now would never happen. She cringed once again at the thought of her father rotting away in a coffin in his bedchamber. Another blemish on her wayward soul. Along with the liberties she’d allowed the Pirate Earl. Not just allowed, but enjoyed!
The shame!
She made no doubt the rogue had all but forgotten the incident, so many were the kisses he likely received—or stole. ’Twas nothing to him. Just another lady overcome by his masculine charm.

She had begged God for forgiveness and for help to forget the scoundrel, and thus far, the Almighty had been silent. Just another sign she needed to try harder to behave.

Releasing a heavy sigh, she dabbed the perspiration on her neck.

Nevertheless, with the Pirate Earl out plundering, Munthrope ignoring her, and Rowan gone for days on end drinking and gambling, Juliana felt more alone than she ever had. Of course she had Abbot, who, though he was still learning how to manage the business, was an invaluable helper and friend. And also Miss Ellie, whom Juliana doubted would ever leave her side. Regardless, she could not stop the despondency that weighed on her as she passed Gallows Point on her left and Bridewell Prison on her right—a prison for lazy strumpets, or so they said. The orphanage certainly wasn’t in the best part of town, but it was daylight, and Mr. Pell was nowhere to be found to drive her.

Hefting the sack filled with fabric, an assortment of bowls and spoons, and a few medical supplies, she made the final turn toward the orphanage. Crumbling stone walls enclosed a front yard filled with palms and a weed-infested vegetable garden. To her left stood the old church, used only for storage now, and toward the back was the brick building, where she could hear young ones playing. She opened the door to an explosion of happy greetings and smiling faces. It had been far too long since she’d visited, and the children’s yelps of delight did much to soothe her agitated soul.

Kneeling, she dropped the sack and opened her arms to embrace as many of the sweet urchins as she could in one swoop. The scent of lye and sunshine and innocence filled her lungs and put a smile on her face. The first one since her father had died.

But Eunice’s frown, when she entered from the side room, quickly dissipated Juliana’s joy. The woman attempted a pleased expression, but Juliana had known her too long to be fooled.

“What is amiss?” She stood and hoisted little Rose into her arms.

Eunice wiped her hands on her stained apron as the monkey skittered across the rafters, chattering and eliciting giggles from some of the children.

“You haven’t gotten rid of the beast yet?” Juliana asked as the creature jumped onto her shoulder and swung one hairy arm around her head and one around Rose’s. The little girl laughed, and the monkey leaned against her cheek to cheek.

“You see why I hasn’t, Miss Juliana. He’s a smart one. He knows if he wins the children’s hearts, he ain’t goin’ nowheres.”

The monkey planted a kiss on Juliana’s cheek, and then gave her a wide grin as if he understood everything Eunice had said.

“Now, children, go play fer a minute. I needs to talk wit’ Miss Juliana.” Eunice clapped her hands, and the children obligingly scattered. The monkey too. He leapt into the rafters as Juliana deposited Rose on the floor. Then, stepping over a bucket filled with water, she followed Eunice into the other room, where not only Michael lay on his pallet, but three other children as well.

“Oh no.” Juliana dashed to the first one, Moses, a two-year-old Negro, and laid a hand on his head. Hot as a griddle. And young Mable, too, on the pallet next to his. Along with Gordon, not yet six. Lastly, Michael, who had grown even more gaunt and listless since the last time she’d seen him.

“I kin hardly keep anythin’ down him that he don’t spit right back up,” Eunice said, her face scrunched in worry.

Isaac entered. “We’re keeping the other children away from them as much as we can. Do you think it’s the pox?”

“What does Dr. Vern say?”

“He ain’t been here.”

“Not been here?” Juliana shook her head, disgusted. She knew some doctors refused to care for the indigent, but she had thought Dr. Verns a more charitable sort. Gazing over the sick children, her stomach sank like a rock. She would not lose these precious children. She could
not
lose them. She must find a way.

♥♥♥

Alex stood at the bow of the
Vanity
, hand gripping the back stay as the ship rose and plunged through the agitated sea. Agitated like his heart, his spirit—if men actually possessed such things. Wind flapped his shirt and whipped strands of hair across his cheek. He drew in a deep breath of the briny sea and waited for the sense of satisfaction that normally filled him when he was on his ship.