Till Dawn Tames the Night (4 page)

"Oh, no!
On the contrary!"
Suddenly Aurora's eyes misted. The Phipps-Bluefield Home might have been an orphanage, but Mrs. Bluefield had made it a wonderful place. In the years she had grown up there, as far back as she could remember
,
the kind woman had been her mother, her friend, her teacher. And now she was severing her last and only ties to her. Despite her troubles with John Phipps, it was painful.

"There, there, my dear." Mrs. Lindstrom watched her with a troubled expression. She patted her hand and said,

"They must have been good to you then, for you to miss them so."

"Yes, yes." Aurora's words spilled out before she could stop herself. For some reason she was becoming unbearably homesick.

"But now, Miss Dayne, you'll see the world—well, at least half of it!

"Yes." She tried to smile.

"And who knows what passion and romance you may find along the way!"

Aurora blushed. That was just exactly what she craved, but now that it was before her, she wondered if she was up to the challenge. Perhaps she really was as "properly quiet" as John had said she was.

"I'm afraid to disillusion you, Mrs. Lindstrom," she said. "My life has been rather unremarkable, and I fear even a trip to Jamaica may not change that."

"When one is young and beautiful as you are, my dear, there's no telling what adventures may
lie
ahead."

Aurora laughed in spite of herself. "Well, we can always hope, can't we?"

"We must!" Mrs. Lindstrom laughed in return. Abruptly the matron released the black whalebone frame of her parasol and without further ado, she said, "Come, Miss Dayne. Though Mr. Lindstrom's been dead almost ten years, I still find I mourn him, but I cannot take the sun in these weeds. So if you'd be so kind, I should like us to find respite in my cabin. I could have my maid make us some chocolate and together we can wait to weigh anchor."

"Why—why—that would be lovely," Aurora said, but Mrs. Lindstrom had already left, her pointed black parasol leading the way like the prow of a ship.

Mrs. Lindstrom's cabin between decks was quite grand. The chests of drawers were made of mahogany and there was the slightest bit of
bronzedore
decorating the corners, but still the furniture was made for a ship. The
nobs
and handles were recessed into the wood so that should one lose one's balance during the course of the trip there would be no sharp protrusions from the
bureaux
. A tiny blue
Axminster
carpet brightened the cabin considerably and with the portholes open, a nice breeze flowed in from the Thames. Mrs. Lindstrom's maid, upon their arrival, busied herself putting refreshments on the
teapoy
, which was also designed for a ship, for
it
sported a small brass railing around its top.

"So, Miss Dayne," Mrs. Lindstrom began once their chocolate was served, "does your cabin meet your expectations?"

"Yes, yes, my cabin is lovely." Aurora didn't mention that even her small, rather plain cabin was still far larger and more elegant than her garret room back at the Home. She took a sip of her chocolate and added, "I'm sure the fare is heavenly on this grand vessel. I can hardly believe my new mistress was so generous as to book me on it."

"Yes, that's quite extraordinary, especially since the owner is traveling with us. That makes the fare double. Less room, you know, and also, they take such greater pains."

"Do you know the owner?" Aurora asked.

Mrs. Lindstrom shook her head. Her silver sausage curls peeking out from the front of her calash bobbed like springs. "No, I only know that he is supremely wealthy—the
Seabravery
is only one of fifty ships that he owns. He also has an enormous sugar plantation on some island in the Caribbean.
St. Kitts, I think or perhaps Nevis."

"He seems quite mysterious," Aurora commented while fiddling with the ribbons of her bonnet. She longed to take her bonnet off, but they surely would be sailing soon and she would have to return to the deck.

"I must say he is quite mysterious, quite the romantic figure, I hear. You see, my dear," Mrs. Lindstrom leaned forward as if she were about to tell a wicked piece of gossip, "another reason passage on the
Seabravery
is so dear is because this ship has never been plundered. Not by a pirate or privateer. Apparently there's something absolutely dastardly about this owner's reputation that has kept even the worst sort of ruffian from bothering it."

"Is that so?" Aurora asked in a hushed voice.

"Quite. I heard it from my son-in-law, and he knows everything.
Absolutely everything.
That's why he got me on this ship. He felt it would be the safest passage."

"Are you going home, then? Have you a house in St. George's?" Aurora anxiously fingered her locket. She was glad to change the subject. This trip had always seemed a bit too wonderful to be true, and she didn't want anything to spoil that impression. For some reason, the talk about the ship's owner made her vaguely uncomfortable.

"Yes! I've been gone six months, and though I love my grandchildren considerably, I cannot wait to see my friends. We've got quite a little group of ladies in town— oh, I wish you were not going on to Jamaica! Mrs. Ransom has a young daughter just about your age . . . what are you, my dear?
About nineteen?"

She hesitated. She always loathed that question. "Yes, nineteen," she said too hastily.

"That's superb. Julia Ransom is twenty now. You two would be the best of friends!"

Aurora was once more taken aback by Mrs. Lindstrom's forthrightness. The woman was quite casual in including her within her social circle. It was as if the woman forgot to whom she was speaking. Aurora had rarely had any contact with the upper classes, but every now and again a wealthy uncle or cousin would deposit his undesirable orphaned relatives at the Home. Those guardians of any consequence always made it pointedly clear that she and Mrs. Bluefield were not their equals.
But not the remarkable Mrs. Lindstrom.

"More chocolate, Miss Dayne?"
Mrs. Lindstrom waved her hand in the direction of the pot.

Aurora shook her head. "Please call me Aurora, won't you?" She gave the widow a quiet little smile. She felt so relieved that she'd met her. The voyage would surely not be so terrifying while Mrs. Lindstrom was aboard.

"I know we're to be great friends." The matron seemed delighted at her offer. She patted her hand. "And you must call me Flossie. That was Mr. Lindstrom's nickname for me."

"How dear you must have been to him."

The matron smiled a sad smile of remembrance, but then she promptly brightened. "Now, Aurora, surely Captain Corbeil is ready to sail, so why don't we see what's going on up top?"

Aurora nodded and clutched her gloves. "Something should be happening by now. We must be hours behind schedule."

"Shall we go up and see if this vastly mysterious owner has arrived?" Mrs. Lindstrom brazenly winked. "Oh, I do hope he dines with us and not in his cabin. How utterly dull the voyage would be then!"

The matron straightened her bonnet and gathered her pagoda-shaped parasol. As Aurora watched, she was certain she had never met anyone like Flossie Lindstrom. When the matron sailed out of her cabin, appearing like a huge black ship bearing down on the less loquacious as if they were merely flatboats, Aurora was awestruck. She simply couldn't imagine anything being dull with her around.

The sun set behind the Tower and still the
Seabravery
had yet to leave its mooring. From the quarterdeck Aurora watched the sparks of exploding firecrackers on the docks heralding Midsummer Eve. Mrs. Lindstrom had retired to her cabin long ago, and Aurora was left to pace the decks, sure that they would not leave before dawn, yet still anxiously waiting for . . . something.

As she looked out, London's sooty nighttime gloom was chased away by the many orange bonfires lit in the streets. "Huzza!" she heard men shout gleefully. Both the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Archbishop of York had tried to impress upon their flock that it was the festival of John the Baptist they were celebrating. They had instructed them that church was the place for them on this eve.

Aurora smiled. It had certainly done no good. People continued to build their fires in the streets, eager to celebrate the summer solstice. Even now she could see through the narrow cobbled streets people dancing in pagan silhouette around the brilliant fires.

Dreamily, she rested her elbows on the railing. Tonight it seemed as if civilization had never come to England. The bonfires were the Druid Baal fires of centuries ago and Midsummer rites abounded. Hempseed was being sowed in the churchyard, and unmarried girls were taking their pincushions and hanging them up for the night in their stockings in hopes that that would bring them a glimpse of their future husbands. Caught up in the excitement, Aurora blithely wondered if she had brought a pincushion on board. She laughed at herself for being so superstitious.

On the docks she heard the snapping of more firecrackers. Boys cheered and horses shied. The commotion distracted Aurora, and she didn't see the wagons pull up to the ship's gangway until they were unloading.

At first she thought the owner had finally arrived, but it seemed unlikely that his omnipotent presence would appear in a common wagon. Captain Corbeil came to the main deck and supervised. She watched as costly silk prayer rugs from Persia were heaved aboard. Mahogany tables with elaborate caryatid legs were hoisted up also. At one point four men carried aboard a black upholstered sofa sporting legs carved to look like gilded dolphins. It was clear even to Aurora that all the furnishings were the finest specimens of current taste. And it was clear that they were being brought aboard to appoint one cabin.
One very large cabin.
Most obviously the owner's cabin.

Aurora looked past a man bearing a bronze urn and found the captain standing idly by the railing. From below, she could hear the pounding of hammers and the murmurs of male voices as workers nailed the furniture into the cabin to make it immobile for the voyage. Added to the celebrating on the docks, the cacophony was deafening. There was certainly no retiring to her cabin in this din, so she remained in the shadows of the masts. Yet still the captain's gaze found her.

The barrel-chested, grizzled captain had been the epitome of a gentleman all through the day. He had cheerily seen to her and Mrs. Lindstrom's every comfort; he'd been quick with a kind word or a polite joke. Yet now, caught off guard by her appearance, he looked different. It was as if she troubled him somehow, as if those worries that he'd been able to hide in the activity and brightness of daytime were now not so easily disguised in the shadows of night.

As quiet as a frightened doe, she stood by while he studied her shabby pelisse. Every patch, every threadbare edge of her garment seemed to shame him and she wondered if he pitied her. Perhaps he had somehow found out she was from the Home and felt sorry for her. But instinctively she knew that wasn't the reason. His look was too involved and too dark to be that easily explained.

It may have been the explosive celebrating down on the docks, or even the harsh banging of the workmen
belowdecks
, but all at once her nerves were strung taut. She forced her worried stare away from the captain's troubled one and turned to the rail. She knew that whatever she imagined she saw in the captain's eyes had to be a mistake. Mrs. Lindstrom's romantic imaginings were surely rubbing off on her.

She looked out to the Thames and marveled at how her perspective had changed. In the daylight she had thought the river a sparkling gateway to adventure. Now it looked more like the river Styx winding black and fathomless into the murky fog. Feeling suddenly cold, she wrapped her pelisse around herself more tightly and bore up against the wind.

"Miss Dayne, I'm surprised to find you up at this late hour."

Quickly she spun around and found Captain Corbeil at her side. Gone was the troubled look, and in its stead his brown eyes held a cheerful twinkle.

"I-I-I was not sleepy," she stuttered like a child. Thoroughly disgusted with her lack of composure, she took a deep breath and said, "Do forgive me, Captain. I've been nervous about the voyage, and the delay has made me only more so. In fact, I believe I'm even seeing things in my distress." She
wavered
a smile. Already she felt foolish. The captain was no keeper of great, dark secrets. He was a paternal and chivalrous man, concerned with her welfare and comfort. She should be gladdened to be in such good hands, not suspicious.

The chuckle booming from his chest only reassured her further. He laughed and said, "I'm sure you're mistaken, Miss Dayne. What could you be seeing? Are you displeased with the ship?"

"No, no! The ship is quite wonderful." She gave him a sheepish smile. Whatever had possessed her to think anything was sinister?

"I do apologize for the delay, however. It has been regrettable, but I promise we shall leave within the hour."

"At night?" she inquired. "Isn't that most unusual?"

The captain gripped the railing. She glanced down and for the first time noticed that three of his fingers were missing. The scars on his hand were massive and she wondered how that could have escaped her. Not wanting to be caught staring, she quickly looked up, but he gave her a reassuring smile. "I know the Thames, miss. We'll be out in the Channel in no time."