Rebellious Cargo Page 7

  He found her in the small office area adjoining her cabin. He stood quietly for a few moments, one arm propped on the door, observing her writing what looked like a letter. The spectacles balanced on her nose should have marred her attractiveness, but he found them strangely appealing as she sat lost in concentration in the task at hand. She absentmindedly curled a lock of mahogany hair through her fingers as she worked, and he felt that now familiar throb of lust stirring in his groin and abruptly straightened up.

  Her head jerked up at his movement. Removing her spectacles, she glared at him. Obviously she was still smarting from his recent put-down.

  “Is there something I can help you with, Captain?”

  He winced at her tone, wondering how long she was going to be on his ship before she showed him any respect.

  “Indeed there is, Mrs. Charlesworth. I will be entertaining Captain Townsend at my table tonight and your presence is also requested.”

  She took a few seconds to consider his words. He watched with guarded amusement as he tried to guess the sentiment running through her head. Probably something along the lines of two arrogant captains to endure instead of the usual one.

  Finally she settled cool eyes on him. “Thank you for your kind invitation, Captain, but I would be dull company tonight, so I must decline.” With the air of a dismissal, she turned back to her letter and dipped her quill purposefully in to the ink.

  Impudent chit. Adam leaned against the door, folded his arms, and answered her softly. “Mrs. Charlesworth, you do not decline your captain’s requests to dine. Incidentally, your company is never dull. Bizarre, entertaining, and frequently insolent, but never dull. It will be a small informal gathering and I will make sure you are not kept up late.”

  Her quill stopped in mid-air as she slowly turned to face him. They locked eyes for a few moments and he watched as her colour heightened as if a flame was consuming her. He braced himself for a scathing reply. But she just narrowed her eyes slightly and gave him a stiff nod.

  “Very well, Captain, thank you for your commanding invitation. I, of course, accept.”

  His lips twitched at the sarcasm that laced her reply.

  “I look forward to your congenial company,” he said, before he turned on his heel.

  “By the way, you’re dripping ink,” he called, without looking back.

  His eyes widened at the muttered curses that accompanied the sound of her fiercely dabbing up the pool of ink that had formed on her desk.

  ***

  Jane returned to her cabin that evening reflecting on a surprisingly enjoyable meal. The captain of the Pamela had proved to be a polite and humorous guest, even though he had seemed strangely tongue-tied at their initial introduction.

  She had now been informed that their destination was Malta, and found this fact comforting. Her father had often spoken of Cookson, who now commanded the forces on the island, as a good and trusted friend. She looked forward to meeting him. Perhaps he could shed some light on her father’s death and the reluctance of the service to fully investigate the circumstances. The heaviness settled on her chest as she forced her mind to dwell on the events that had happened since he had been gone.

  They had been as close as a father and daughter could be, especially since the loss of her mother when she was two years old. She had vague memories of an auburn-haired woman, with warm arms, a soft laugh, and sparkling eyes. Her life, she was sure, would have been different if her mother hadn’t died. She suspected she would have been more traditionally schooled in female pursuits and never been allowed the freedom to share her father’s world of intrigue. But then if her mother had lived she would surely have given him sons, so the responsibility of carrying on the family tradition would not have fallen to her.

  As she entered her cabin, Celine greeted her with a welcoming smile. “I trust there were no disagreements at the captain’s table this time, Jane?”

  “No. Just good company and good food – a definite improvement on the last meal I was summoned to. I did not put my foot in it once. Captain Marston had no need to send me one black look the whole evening.” She shook her hair loose of its pins and removed her feet from the dainty constraining shoes.

  “Thankfully, Chaplain Crosby wasn’t present this time, so the meal wasn’t marred by his bad tempered face and spiteful comments.”

  Celine’s smile disappeared and she remained silent as she stowed away the shoes as Jane continued. “Did I mention I had words with him this morning? He spouted me a passage from Genesis and did not like it much when I questioned the accurateness of his quotation.”

  Celine spun around, silencing Jane with the anger on her face. “Why can you not just keep away from the man? It is stupid and dangerous to provoke him.”

  The harshness of her words startled Jane and an awful silence hung between them for a few moments.

  “Celine, something is wrong. Please tell me what it is.”

  Celine shrugged, keeping her eyes lowered. “I am sorry – it is just – Crosby is not worth discussing, you should keep away from him. Let him be.”

  Jane frowned. “Has the man been upsetting you, Celine?”

  “No, I avoid him.”

  Jane was thoughtful as she retrieved her hair pins. Crosby’s malevolent face floated in front her eyes. He must be the source of Celine’s strange moods.

  “The chaplain has been bothering you, hasn’t he? Tell me or I will go and ask him myself.”

  Celine ignored her and continued her tidying.

  “Right then.” Jane rose with every intention of carrying out her threat when Celine’s hand shot out and grasped her wrist. She winced under the unexpected pressure.

  “Leave it, Jane – it’s none of your concern.”

  “I am making it my concern.”

  Celine let out a ragged sigh. “It is just that I have seen Crosby before – years ago.”

  “He knows you?” A sick feeling was nestling in Jane’s stomach at the bitter glow in her friend’s eyes.

  “I do not believe he has recognised me. But I will never, ever, forget him.”

  Celine’s knuckles were white, still clenched around her wrist. Jane gently pulled the fingers open and took them in her hand as she sat back down.

  “Tell me – all of it,” she whispered. “You know I will give you no peace until you do.” There was a long, tense silence before Celine responded.

  “It was thirteen years ago I last saw him. I wasn’t sure at first; he wasn’t a chaplain then – far from it. He was on the slave ship. One of the last orders I remember him giving was for my mother to be thrown overboard.”

  Jane held her breath, she could find no words to comfort the pain in Celine’s eyes as she continued.

  “My mother and I had been brought on deck with a few of the other women. We were thankful at the time, released from our shackles and allowed to breathe the untainted air. But my mother soon guessed what was in store for us – we had been selected for the crew’s entertainment. She tried to protect me, pleading with them, but it only fed their enjoyment. One of them started running their hands over me and she struck him. It was such a foolish thing for her to do.”

  Jane’s eyes filled with tears. They had discussed the cruelty of the slave ship various times over the years, even Celine’s mother’s death. Jane knew she had died on board but had thought it had been from illness.

  “So, Crosby was on the slave ship?”

  Celine nodded. “He was an overseer. After my mother had struck one of the crew, the rest beat and kicked her until she lay in a broken heap at their feet. It didn’t take much of an effort on their part – she was already, like all the slaves, virtually skin and bones. Crosby had stood and watched in approval. I remember clinging at his feet and begging him to call his men off and spare her. He had looked down at me and smiled before he calmly ordered my mother’s body to be thrown over the side. Then he pulled me up by my hair and threw me back to the rabble. I never knew if she was alive or dead when
she hit the water.”

  Jane clung to Celine’s hand and they sat for a long while in silence. Words did not seem adequate.

  Finally Jane rose. “I am going to expose him now – the man is not fit to serve on this ship, let alone to be in a position of trust.”

  “Jane, sit down. Think!” The urgency in Celine’s voice made her sink back down. Her friend’s eyes were filled with alarm. “I have no proof; it would be my word against his. He is a man of God – and I am a servant.”

  “My friend and companion,” Jane muttered.

  “A servant in the eyes of the captain and his crew. It may be better to keep things to ourselves.”

  “But I must warn the captain, Celine. Get him to check out Crosby’s papers; surely they must be forged. And are you sure he has not recognised you?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I would have been just one of the many slaves he had enjoyed seeing violated, and I have changed a lot over the years. One thing I do remember is the name he used on the slave ship. It was not Crosby. It was Wood – Lucas Wood.”

  Jane wasn’t convinced keeping quiet was the right course to take, but she feared that if Crosby knew Celine could expose him as a fraud he would probably find a way to get rid of her. Neither was she convinced that anyone could forget the stunning features of Celine.

  But what would happen if the captain dismissed her story, especially as he had already witnessed the animosity between her and the chaplain? If the captain questioned Crosby and then failed to keep the man locked up, it could put Celine in danger. After all, crimes against slaves on a ship thirteen years ago would not be a strong enough charge, especially if it was Crosby’s word against Celine’s.

  Jane lay awake that night, the soothing motion of the sea directly in conflict to the hatred manifesting inside her for Crosby and the terrible hurt he had caused her friend. She decided she would watch him closely and wait for a suitable time to expose him as the despicable specimen of humanity he surely was.

  ***

  Jane stepped out on deck, frowning at the sky. Raindrops pattered onto her bonnet, so she changed her course and headed for the gun room where she often spent an afternoon reading. As she approached, she spotted Ben, the young midshipman, hunched over his books. She stopped to observe him as he straightened and took a letter from inside his pocket. He unfolded the paper and looked gravely at the contents. She felt the urge to cheer him up, share a joke, anything to dispel such seriousness.

  The son of a viscount, he could expect a swift rise through the naval ranks. But he already looked weighed down in responsibility. He still had not noticed her as he refolded the paper and put it beside his books. She wondered if he had received bad news from home. She didn’t want to intrude or embarrass him but she wanted to offer some comfort.

  As she approached him, his head shot up.

  “Good evening, ma’am.” He rose and offered a smile, but she could see it was a poor attempt of cheerfulness. His hand was shaking a little and he would not meet her eyes.

  “May I join you for a moment, Ben?” She sat down on the bench opposite him. He gave her a dubious look as he resumed his own seat, but he was far too well bred to object.

  “Celine had promised to bring some refreshments. Perhaps you might join me?”

  He looked around nervously. He wanted to escape.

  “Is there anything wrong, Ben? You seem preoccupied – have you received bad news from home?” She nodded towards the letter.

  He flushed and shook his head as he stuffed the paper into his inside pocket. “Nothing important, ma’am.”

  “Not important, but not pleasing,” she suggested, giving the boy an opportunity to talk about his worries. She liked Ben, all stiff-backed and proper, but could sense his sadness as they sat in silence.

  She tried again. “Are your family well, Ben?”

  “My father ails but his condition is stable.” His voice faltered. “But I have lost a friend.”

  “I am sorry, friends are very precious.” She kept her eyes averted; he was fighting back emotion and she knew all about that. But, of course, the son of a viscount could never be seen to lose control.

  After a few moments he straightened his shoulders as if he realised the need to clarify the matter. “Brown was a very special friend; when I was very young, he used to be my constant companion.”

  “Tell me about him.” Jane guessed he was referring to a devoted servant or a tutor who had passed away.

  “Brown was my dog, ma’am.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said softly. “I am sorry. What happened to him?”

  “He ran out under the wheels of the carriage. It sounds most unlike him. I just hope he didn’t suffer too much.” Ben’s voice faltered and Jane laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

  He tensed and she instantly lifted it. “He was fortunate to have a friend like you, Ben, and you must focus on the good times you shared.”

  “Just wish I could have been with him at the end.” Ben sighed. “He must have thought I had abandoned him when I left for sea.”

  “Did he do any tricks?” she asked, trying to turn his sad memories to more positive ones.

  His faced relaxed slightly as he considered her question and then turned to her, filling the next ten minutes with anecdotes of Brown’s amazing feats.

  Jane giggled a couple of times during his rendition, and when he had finished, she noticed his mood had lightened.

  He was regarding her with some puzzlement. They exchanged a long stare before his eyes clouded and he quickly looked away. A shiver went through her. What was wrong with him? He had lost his dog, but she had the feeling there was much more disturbing him.

  “You were truly lucky to have known such a splendid friend as Brown.”

  He gave her a guarded look and then nodded in agreement.

  She picked his book up in an attempt to engage him in less personal conversation. “What are you studying at the moment?”

  “Mathematics – algebraic equations. Mr. Crosby has explained it but I fear that I am completely at a loss as how to apply his logic.”

  Jane tensed at the man’s name. After observing Crosby’s attempts to educate in the past few days, she wasn’t surprised by Ben’s confusion. She cast a sympathetic eye over the boy’s attempts.

  They were soon engrossed in calculations and formulas, Jane tactfully feigning ignorance on a page of problems she could complete in minutes. But instead she started making suggestions and observations, so he was able to sort the problems out for himself, mimicking the way she had been taught. His shoulders relaxed as he corrected his workings. He was a quick learner and proceeded to apply his new knowledge to the rest of the exercise.

  She watched him work, contributing when asked, and reading a book of her own when not, until he finally completed the task.

  “Well done, Ben, you learn quickly.”

  “Where did you learn mathematics, Mrs. Charlesworth?” he asked, as they exchanged a small conspiratorial smile.

  “My father was very liberal thinking with my education…” She stopped as Ben’s face tensed and a shadow fell across the table.

  “I wonder at your thoughtlessness, madam. The young gentlemen’s study should not be distracted by inconsequential chatter of the female kind.” The sound of the chaplain’s reedy voice was like a beetle crawling over her skin; she fought to control her temper.

  Ben stood up instantly coming to her defence. “Mrs. Charlesworth and I were discussing the text – she was merely trying to assist me with a point I was having trouble with and—” Ben was silenced by the chaplain’s stare.

  “I cannot think how she could assist. It is not a subject a woman could ever hope or need to understand.”

  Ben frowned as the bell rang out to signal a change of watch. He exchanged a reproachful dignified look with Crosby. Then he took his leave to answer the call to his duties.

  Crosby’s gaze turned to her.

  “So good of you to presume to instruct my charges on the
ir lessons, Mrs. Charlesworth, but surely the point of giving them work is for them to complete it on their own.”

  “Of course they should, but one would have supposed they had been given sufficient instruction in which to do so.”

  “The boy is lazy like the rest of the midshipmen, and you are a poor influence with your constant disruptive attempts to distract them from their work. I will deal with him later. As for you, I will be speaking to the captain.”

  “Well that is a coincidence,” she replied, “as I have some information of my own to relate to the captain.” Biting her lip, Jane just stopped herself in time from adding Mr. Lucas as she watched Celine approaching with the promised refreshments. Crosby turned to follow her gaze.

  “Ah! Here is your servant. Here, girl!” He beckoned Celine over with a bony finger. “I will partake in some of that coffee.”

  Celine’s face was like a blank sheet of parchment as she approached them, but Jane could see the tension in her as she set a cup in front of the chaplain. Celine lifted the coffee pot and proceeded to pour.

  A slight sway of the ship coupled with the shake in Celine’s hand caused the liquid to spill and trickle from the table on to Crosby’s knees. He jumped to his feet with a greatly exaggerated howl of pain and slapped Celine across the face, making her reel backwards, knocking her head against a beam. She slithered to the deck.

  “You clumsy heathen, you will pay for that.” He leaned down and raised his hand a second time, but a jab to his ribs bent him double. He turned with a renewed howl of pain.

  Jane stood before him like a small warrior brandishing a broom. Blazing brown eyes challenged him. Crosby snaked a hand out and tried to wrench the broom from her grasp and they struggled for a few moments before she lost her footing and released her hold. Instantly her hands dropped to the folds of her skirts searching for her pocket and the weapon she always carried with her.