Come Looking For Me (38 page)

“C'mon, lass,” yelled the sailors.

“Holdfast.”

“You can do it now.”

“Every hair a rope yarn, that's you, Miss.”

Powerless to help, Leander thought his chest would burst as he watched her struggle. After long, agonizing moments, a scream of exertion rent the harbour air as Emily hauled herself up and once again had her feet firmly on the ratlines. But likely weakened by her struggle, she stayed put and leaned her head against the security of the ropes. As all eyes were glued to her efforts, few witnessed Charlie's fall. It all happened so fast. He had been so close to the end of his race, but before anyone even realized he had gotten himself into trouble, he hit the deck with a ghastly thud. He lay there on his back at Trevelyan's feet, his limbs splayed unnaturally across the deck, blood trickling from his nose and right ear. His large eyes searched the concerned faces that closed in around him, as if looking for their approval, and his mouth went into spasm as if he were trying to speak. Leander knelt beside him and laid a hand on the lad's thin shoulder, knowing there was nothing he could do for him. Joe Norlan and Bun Brodie soon appeared and crouched down near the lad's head.

Charlie became agitated and hoarsely he cried out, “Miss … Miss?”

Aware of Charlie's misfortune, Emily was slow in descending the ropes. Once down, she clambered off the shrouds and fell onto her knees beside the boy, her chest heaving with emotion and breathlessness. There was a crazed look in her brown eyes that moved feverishly over the boy's broken body. She was no more than three feet from Leander yet she had no idea he was so near; her concentration was exclusively with Charlie. His heart full of anguish, Leander silently watched her take one of Charlie's hands in hers, their clasped hands raw and blackened with tar from the ropes.

“You soundly beat me,” she said.

Charlie's eyes brightened and a hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. But in a matter of seconds, his brow had furrowed. “I need ya to know … I didn't shoot ya, Miss.”

Emily smiled through her tears. “I know. I've long known.” Charlie choked up blood, the sight of which caused her distress, though realizing he had more to communicate, she leaned over and put her ear to his trembling lips. “If yer ever in Salem, tell me Ma … I was comin' up in the world.”

“I will.” Emily squeezed his hand. “For you, Charlie.”

His spasms ceased, his face relaxed, and his eyes stared sightlessly up the foremast. Emily tugged the red kerchief from her neck, used it to gently wipe the blood from his face, then tucked it inside his torn shirt. Her head fell onto her heaving chest as a brooding silence descended upon the men who, seconds before, had been in a celebratory mood. Leander could hear questions shouted from the nearby ships, the cry of the seagulls as they circled the anchored
Serendipity,
and Emily's quiet sobs. The rain came again, a few drops at first, but soon falling steadily, dimpling the pool of Charlie's blood that crept slowly along the deck. The sailors dispersed, some returning to their posts, others seeking shelter below. Only a few remained: Joe, Bun Brodie, Meg Kettle, and three other young lads who were likely the dead boy's messmates. Leander sensed Trevelyan standing over them, and peered up to see the man gazing upon Charlie's body as he would a dead rat.

Unable to contain his smouldering anger, Leander lashed out. “This should
never
have happened.”

Trevelyan regarded him coolly. “Yes. It's a pity the wrong climber fell.”

Emily stirred and lifted her face; her haunted eyes instantaneously sought Leander's. She looked disoriented, as if she did not know where she was, or whether the moment was one in which to grieve or rejoice. Her head shook slightly as she stared at him in disbelief, her lips soundlessly forming questions. The rain mingled with her tears and caused loose tendrils of her hair to attach themselves to her crimson cheeks. A slight frown played on her forehead, then, gradually, a gleam of affection appeared in her eyes. Endeavouring to suppress his own strong emotions, knowing his features betrayed all, Leander longed to be rid of those who gaped down upon them in fascination.

Emily's glance stayed fixed to Leander's face, and when at last she spoke, her voice was scarcely a whisper. “I am so tired. Is – is this all a dream, then? Have you been right here with me, all this time?” She released Charlie's little hand and reached for Leander's, but Trevelyan, witnessing the gesture, stepped between them. His orders pierced the lament of the pouring rain. “Dr. Braden, remove this corpse and its debris from my deck.”

Emily levelled a look of disdain at Trevelyan. A muscle worked in his scarred cheek as he reciprocated, his gaze equally as disdainful. “Mrs. Kettle, have your worthless washerwoman take down the laundry at once and hang it below.”

Out at sea, thunder rumbled like distant guns in battle.

Gus was sitting up in his cot, reading a book that Pemberton Baker had found for him – a moth-eaten copy of Boswell's
Life of Johnson
. Seeing that Mr. Walby had been laughing, that his face was glowing with enjoyment, Magpie stopped in his tracks. “What's so comical?”

“Did you know, Magpie, that Dr. Samuel Johnson believed that being in a ship is like ‘being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned,' and that ‘a man in a jail has more room, better food, and commonly better company.'”

Magpie pursed his lips. “I don't like the part 'bout drownin' but I don't think I'd find better comp'ny in jail than what I got here, sir.”

Gus gave his friend a warm smile. “The eye patch becomes you.”

“Ya don't think I look like a pirate, do ya, sir? Like Captain Kidd or Blackbeard or one o' them fellows?”

“No, but you do look
dauntless.
I don't think many will take up a quarrel with you.” Gus set down his book. “What's your news?”

“Since Prosper says yer doin' real good now, Pemberton's gonna take ya up on deck so's ya kin see fer yerself.”

A pensive look crept into Gus's eyes. “Is the
Isabelle
sailing again?”

“She won't never sail again, sir. But this sight'll sure cheer a soul up.”

Pemberton was as good as his word and soon arrived on the scene. With the help of Magpie, whose job it was to make certain Mr. Walby's splints didn't knock up against the ship's timber sides and cause the patient undue distress, he carried Gus up into the sunshine. At their posts, the Prosperous and Remarkables greeted Gus as he journeyed aft in Pemberton's strong arms to the taffrail where Prosper was waiting for them next to an elaborately carved ebony armchair and matching hassock. “Mr. Walby,” he said with a flourish of his arms, “this is so's ya kin view thee world in comfort while on deck.”

Once ensconced in his special chair, Gus, whose expression had been so full of joy from the moment he alighted into the warmth and brightness of the day, grew suddenly sombre, his face darkening like a rain cloud. Seeing a large ship a mile or two off their stern, its white sails obscuring any other identifying features, Gus stiffened. “That's not Trevelyan, is it?”

“Nay,” said Prosper. “Trevelyan's still holed up in thee harbour, quakin' in his boots 'cause he knows ole Prosper's waitin' on him. We bin circlin' that one out there fer a few days now.”

“Is it a merchantman that you're aiming to board?” Gus asked, uncertainty in his voice.

Prosper chuckled. “Nay! We're gonna save our resources fer
thee
prize, though it be killin' me men. There be plenty o' merchantmen comin' from thee harbour and no one ta stop 'em.”

Magpie's eye rounded in excitement as he handed Gus the spyglass he had found abandoned on the
Isabelle's
deck that final day. “Squint through the glass, sir. What d'ya see?” As Gus's arms were encumbered with splints, Magpie held up the glass for him.

“Why, it's the
Amethyst!
” Gus stared at Magpie. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”

“We weren't certain 'til this mornin', sir,” said Magpie, beaming. “When she run up her colours, we knew she were British, but vis'bility's bin poor with all o' the rain, and she made sure she kept her distance from us 'cause Prosper refused to make it known what he was about. Besides, Mr. Walby, yer the one with the keen eyes. Yer the one what woulda known fer sure.”

“What do you suppose she's doing down here?” asked Gus, peering again through the glass.

“On blockade duty, most like,” suggested Prosper.

“She's bin goin' out to sea for thee past two days to shoot off her guns,” added Pemberton.

“I like to think she's come lookin' fer us, sir,” answered Magpie in a small voice.

Prosper and Pemberton howled with laughter. “There won't be no one lookin' fer thee likes o' yas. Far's anyone kin tell, yer inside Jonah's whale.”

Magpie grimaced, not liking that image of his presumed departure.

Prosper rested one hand on Gus's shoulder. “Rest here fer a spell. We'll fetch yas fer dinner. And then both o' yas kin mess with me.”

Gus waited until Prosper and Pemberton had wandered out of earshot. “Does that mean I get to meet his band of ruffians?”

Magpie nodded. “Aye! They're a frightful lot, but ya'll fit right in, sir, with yer busted limbs and all.”

Gus watched the
Amethyst
in silence for several minutes. “Magpie, are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Likely, sir.”

Gus peered up at his friend. “Do we
dare
think it – do we
dare
hope …”

“… there be Isabelles on board?” Magpie finished.

“Dress yourself appropriately, madam, and be in my cabin in five minutes.”

“For what purpose, sir?” asked Emily, clutching her chest from the shock of his sudden appearance at her door.

He gave her a humourless smile. “Why, for a glass of wine and some conviviality, of course.”

She quickly changed into a roughly woven earth-coloured dress from Charlie's collection of castoffs, and overlaid it with Leander's coat. Upon entering Trevelyan's cabin, her heart endured another shock, for standing by the stern windows, staring out upon the harbour that glittered in the waning sunshine, was Leander. Hearing her step, he glanced round expectantly. His face was suffused with colour, likely the result of his heated words with Trevelyan, but the stony expression in his eyes softened the moment they beheld her. Emily felt her own face flush and stood there like an awkward schoolgirl at a country ball, aware that Trevelyan was closely watching their behaviour as he poured claret into three glasses.

“Drink up, madam,” he said, handing Emily her refreshment. “You have a moribund look about you.” He turned to Leander. “As for you, Doctor, you must drink to forget those things you
cannot
change.” Lifting his own glass to his lips, Trevelyan planted his feet and allowed his eyes to travel freely over Emily. “You amaze me, for the day is exceedingly warm, yet you insist on wearing that frock coat.”

“It gives me great comfort, sir,” she said, meeting Leander's eyes. An endearing smile played upon the doctor's lips, but all too soon he returned his gaze to the harbour, leaving Emily overcome with sadness. For days she had prayed that his life had been spared the sinking of Captain Moreland's ship. Discovering him here, so close, had filled her exhausted heart with joy, but since that time there had been no opportunity for them to speak alone. Now it seemed as if those precious weeks on board the
Isabelle
had never taken place. Leander was still far away – on one of those distant ships that sailed on the cloudless blue horizon beyond the windows – and all that remained to torment her was a ghostly shadow.

Trevelyan interjected her forlorn thoughts with a snort. “
I
will choose what you wear tomorrow.”

Wresting her eyes from Leander, she gave Trevelyan an empty glance. “Why is that, sir?”

“I shall not
marry
you wearing another man's frock coat.”

A contemptuous laugh burst from Emily's lips. “I shall not
marry
you at all. I
loathe
you.”

“Seeing that our feelings are mutual, we should get on quite well.”

“I would prefer to be flogged with a cat o'nine tails, sir.”

“I shall arrange it for you, madam … with pleasure.” Trevelyan helped himself to a plum from a bowl of fruit on his table and sank his teeth into it. “I have brought with me a Mr. Humphreys from town. He hopes to travel with us as far as Boston. In exchange for his passage, he has agreed to conduct the ceremony.”

“Sir, I have no intention of marrying you. You do not interest me.”

“It may surprise you, madam, that beyond your family connections, I have
no
interest in you.”

Emily's retort was swift. “It does not surprise me at all, especially as you keep Mrs. Kettle and … Mr.
Lindsay
… so close to your side.”

Leander had turned from the windows to watch her, his hand in a fist before his mouth. Emily's hand shook as she raised her glass to her lips, fully expecting to feel the back of Trevelyan's hand cut across her face; instead, he finished eating his plum and examined her as he would the bilge water in his hold.

“There is no impediment that I know of. You are not married, though you travelled on the
Amelia
under the guise of Mrs. Seaton.”

Emily sniffed at him and lifted her chin. “But, sir, you have not posted the banns.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“I am not twenty-one.”

“Your parents are deceased. You have no guardian on this side of the world, and I have already secured what I need to make it legally binding.” Trevelyan raised one eyebrow. “You're not betrothed to an indulgent prince from the Continent now, are you?”

“I am not,” was her terse reply.

Trevelyan's eyes wandered in Leander's direction. “Or, perhaps, to an inferior ship's surgeon?”

Emily could not bear the look that had crept into Leander's eyes. “No, sir.”

“Good! For that might distress poor old Queen Charlotte, the Prince Regent, and your miscellany of uncles.”

“I can assure you their distress would be far greater if I were to marry a fiendish captain from an enemy fleet.”

“Oh, I think they shall be quite pleased with the arrangement. You see, madam, although you may be unaware of it, I am well connected, almost as well as you are. And as I am my
English
father's rightful heir, I intend to return to London to collect my fortune – one way or another – with you as my wife.”

Emily rounded on him. “If you are who you say you are, sir, it bewilders me that your behaviour towards your
countrymen
has been anything but exemplary. It bewilders me that you are commanding an American ship and not an
English
one. Furthermore, as we are totally unsuited for one another, I am quite puzzled that you should
require
a granddaughter of the King as your wife.”

Trevelyan walked over to his desk. Still there was nothing more upon its polished surface than the two miniatures. He picked up the one of the young sandy-haired lad, and smoothed the gold of the frame around the boy's smiling face with his fingers, quite as if he had forgotten that he was not alone. When he had replaced it again, he muttered, “I
shall
require it.”

So profound was the silence that fell upon the great cabin that Emily jumped when a sudden knock sounded at the door. A breathless young messenger appeared, asking for Leander.

“Beg yer pardon, sir, Dr. Braden's needed below in the surgery.”

Emily turned her head to find Leander's eyes fixed upon the miniature of Emeline Louisa. As he slowly set down his glass, she saw his lips part and heard him take a deep breath. Then he looked at her, as if for the last time.

“If you have something more to say, Doctor,” intercepted Trevelyan, “make it fast and be on your way.”

With all the composure he could muster, Leander replied, “I thank you for the wine, sir, and for the wisdom of your
counsel.”

The door closed quickly behind him. Emily's dark eyes flashed at Trevelyan. “Your
counsel?
”

Ignoring her, Trevelyan seated himself at his table. “The moment the winds and tides are in our favour, we will leave this place, and tomorrow Mr. Humphreys shall marry us.”

“You forget, sir, you do not have
my
consent,” snapped Emily.

“Madam, should you choose to be difficult, I shall deliver your
compatriots
to officials in the Navy Department.”

“My compatriots?” Emily hesitated a moment, unsure of what he meant. “You are welcome to hand Mrs. Kettle and Octavius Lindsay over to your
officials.
They deserve to rot in prison.”

“I refer to your Isabelles that sit in my gaol.”

Emily's mind raced. Was he telling her the truth? She had seen Bun Brodie. Was it possible there were others? Were Gus and Magpie – those two dear souls – languishing in the
Serendipity's
filthy hold?

Pouncing upon her uncertainty, Trevelyan added, “And of course there is your
esteemed
Doctor.”