Read Forgotten Fragrance Online
Authors: Téa Cooper
One empty chair stood to the left of the table. By rights Henk had usurped his position at the head of the table. The man was holding court and he'd interrupted. Had Jonas ever relinquished his position at the head of the table? He couldn't remember a time, not in any of the years he had been aboard. It had taken two years before he was even entitled to sit with the crew. Every one of the men around the table had earned the right to a share of the profits.
His moment of indecision passed as Cookie appeared with a steaming plate of meat and potatoes and threw it none too delicately down in the middle of the table. âGrub's up! There's more where that came from. Make the most of it. First meal out of port's always the best.'
To a man the crew dismissed Henk and turned to the food, more interested in satisfying their hunger than listening to Henk's ranting. Fresh bread, a hunk of mutton partially-sliced, a chicken, its legs and thighs ripped from the carcass, hard-boiled eggs and a massive slab of cheese disappeared onto their plates.
Christian waited, his gaze never wavering from Henk's face until he flexed his fingers, making his forearms bulge, and left the spot at the head of the table vacant.
Before he'd even settled at the table Christian had a pretty good idea exactly what Henk had been talking about. âWas I the only member of this crew not to know the
Zephyrus
had become a slave trader?'
Knives dropped to tin plates with a clatter. The sheepish glances the crew threw confirmed his suspicions. Every bloody one of them knew they'd taken aboard the blackbirds â everyone except him. Except the captain. The one person supposed to know what was going on.
Henk said nothing. A sardonic grin tipped the corner of his thin lips as he studied a steaming piece of lamb he'd speared with his knife.
âWell?' Christian demanded, pushing himself to his feet and glaring down the table. âBristol? What about you?'
Two-thirds of the way down the table the large man with arms the width of the barrels he made pushed his chair back, rocking away from the table. Bristol was one of the few who'd openly supported Jonas' plans for the
Zephyrus
.
âWell, Capt'nâ¦' Bristol squirmed. âCan't see as how it'll do much harm. We've still got the convicts aboard. We deliver them, unload the blackbirds and fill the space with Boyd Town oil. Who the hell's going to know? It'll make a bloody great difference to the pot at the end.'
âBristol â they're children, young girls. You'll be selling them into slavery.'
âNot our problem.' Bristol stuffed a boiled egg into his mouth, his eyes fixed firmly on Christian's face. For a fleeting moment the clouds in Christian's mind cleared and he had a vision of Bristol's reddened face as he had first seen it, wreathed in sweat and billowing clouds as he hammered a barrel of whale oil closed. âI'm in it for the money not the women. Hand âem over and we'll be on our way.'
Henk downed the remaining jug of ale and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. âThink we're all in agreement, Capt'n â all of us excepting you.' The challenge in his voice filled the galley.
âNo!' Christian slammed his fist down on the table sending a flurry of tin mugs skittering across the surface. The crew's long-practised hands reached out and grabbed at the tankards before a drop spilt.
âGood evening, gentleman.'
Christian's head snapped back and he glared at the pale, black-clad figure in the doorway.
âI do hope we're not interrupting,' Wainwright said. âCharlotte assured me we would be welcome and now the heaviest weather has passed I feel I am getting my sea legs.'
Dragging in a deep breath of the close air Christian flicked his fingers at Jinks and Windy down the bottom of the table. âOff you go, lads, make room for our guests.' The two youngest crew members pushed their chairs back. âAnd take something up for Catz, he's at the wheel. Cookie! More food.'
Christian sank back into his seat, ignoring the shuffling and movements around the table. No matter how profitable, Henk's extra cargo horrified him. He would not run a slave trader and despite Henk's insidious assertions, Jonas wouldn't have been party to it either. If the authorities caught them with a hold full of blackbirds they'd come down on him like a ton of bricks. The inns along the Hobart Town waterfront had been full of the news of the stand the government took against the American slave trade â a stand he agreed with. How in heaven's name had Henk managed to get the women on board without him knowing? The whole crew had to be involved. Hen frigate â he snorted. Henk's words had been as two-faced as every other deal he dipped his dirty paws in.
âThank you, Lord, for this bountiful plenty.' Wainwright's voice droned and Christian's gaze came to rest on Charlotte standing behind Wainwright's chair. A ghost of a smile played around her lips and in the lamplight all evidence of Wainwright's handprint had disappeared from her cheek. Her pink tongue traced the contours of her mouth as she passed Wainwright the plate of meat and potatoes. The man had recovered remarkably quickly from his bout of seasickness judging by the amount of food loaded onto his plate. He fell upon his meal leaving Charlotte gazing hungrily at the table.
âMiss Charlotte, please come and sit at the table.'
Her eyes flashed at him but she ignored his words. Surely the pompous preacher wasn't expecting her to wait until he'd eaten before allowing her to sit at the table.
âI'd like something to drink with my meal, Charlotte. A little ale, I think.' Charlotte walked the length of the table and reached for the flagon in front of Christian. He flinched as a lock of her unbound hair brushed his hand and had to bunch his fingers to restrain the urge to reach out and entwine his fingers in the silken threads. Leaping to his feet he snatched up the vacant chair and scooted it to the corner of the table next to him. âSit here, Miss Charlotte.'
Her hand fell from the flagon and casting a questioning look at Wainwright she sank onto the chair. With a flick of his wrist Christian sent the flagon skittering down the table. âHelp yourself. There's plenty more where that came from.' Ignoring the hooded glance from Wainwright, he said, âCookie, bring another plate for Miss Charlotte. Fill it from the kitchen, the food will be warmer.'
âSo where were we up to, Capt'n?' Henk said.
âI think this would be better discussed at a later stage, Henk, when we don't have company.' Marcus Wainwright could keep his bony nose out of the
Zephyrus'
business. He'd already said more than enough.
Henk lapsed into a thoughtful silence and picked his teeth with a splinter of chicken bone.
âNo, no, gentlemen. Carry on.' Wainwright bent to examine his next forkful with a myopic stare.
Henk's head came up and a flash of determination crossed his face. âWe were discussing our cargo â maybe a second opinion wouldn't be such a bad idea. What d'you think, Capt'n?'
Christian narrowed his eyes and frowned at Henk. What was he up to? A man of Wainwright's standing would be horrified at the thought of those poor young women being transported like animals to some dubious establishment servicing a mob of randy sailors.
âWhat are your thoughts on
human
cargoes, sir?' Henk invested the word with heavy emphasis.
Wainwright chewed thoughtfully on a piece of cheese, and then ran his tongue around his pale lips. âA cargo is a cargo. I'm no more than a cargo for you, except you have to feed me.'
âYou've got a good point there.' Henk patted his belly and rocked back in his chair. âSo you don't see anything wrong with us transporting convicts for the government to Port Albert where they're needed to work on the new wharves?'
âNo, I can't see much wrong. I presume the government pays you.' Wainwright's gaze flashed up at Christian, searching for confirmation.
Christian had to hand it to Henk. He was doing a pretty good job of lining up his argument; however, once Henk mentioned the words âwomen' and âSouth Sea Islands' Wainwright would disagree. Christian smiled at Charlotte and resisted the temptation to cover her small hand as it rested beside his on the table.
Henk grunted and removed the piece of bone from his teeth before flicking it over his shoulder. âThen you wouldn't see anything wrong with us carrying human cargo for a private party?'
Wainwright poured another mug of ale and swirled it around. âNo.'
Like the ship's cat with a sewer rat Henk grinned.
âAnd what if the cargo were women?' Christian's patience exhausted, he spat the words down the table, anger churning in his gut.
Wainwright pushed his chair back and crossed his long skinny legs, preening with delight at being the centre of attention once more. âIt depends onâ¦' he cleared his throat, ââ¦the nature of those women. Sometimes women need help and sometimes they are beyond even our good Lord's assistance. Now take Miss Charlotte. She is my bonded servant and must do as I request.' His bony fingers reached across the table and patted her arm like some patronising uncle.
Christian ground his teeth. The sanctimonious prig should keep his hands to himself. Charlotte's eyes flickered and she withdrew her hand and placed it in her lap.
âI'm sure she'll be happy to admit she arrived in Van Diemen's Land aboard a transport with a group of very dubious characters.' Wainwright raised his bushy eyebrows.
Dubious characters? The man should take a good long look at himself before he judged others.
âI saw it as my God-given duty to rescue her before her soul could be further tainted. Once her sentence is served and her dues paid she will be able to marry me.'
The thought of Charlotte tied to the arrogant fool for life made his blood run cold. âBut what if these women were not convicts, if they had been stolen from their homeland?' Christian persisted.
âStolen from their homeland?' Marcus guffawed. âI can't see it happening. Press gangs are a thing of the past and besides, I've never heard of women being press ganged.'
âThese women are from the South Seas.'
âBlack savages you mean?' Wainwright's face flushed as he contemplated the possibility. âNo hope. Spawn of the devil. Deserve everything they get. No morals, none at all. Stories I could tell you about blacks in Van Diemen's Land.'
Charlotte's face remained a blank mask as she shrank back from the table, her cheekbones standing out against the pallor of her face.
âRight!' Henk slammed his fist on the table. âSo you agree with me and the crew there's no reason we shouldn't be carrying a cargo of women to Boyd Town.'
âI can't see why not. No. It seems like a reasonable cargo to me.' Wainwright threw his satisfied grin around the table like pennies to paupers.
Charlotte's pale cheeks flooded with colour and the tears welled in her eyes. Before Christian could speak she threw back her chair and stood glaring across the table. âMarcus, Mr Wainwright, how can you say such a thing. I saw those poor creatures. They are starving children and almost as naked as the day they were born, caged like animals in the hold.'
A flash of brimstone sparked in Wainwright's eye and he pulled his silver fob watch from his pocket and studied it, his thin lips curled in a smirk. âThen you have work to do, my dear.' Thrusting the timepiece back into his pocket he rose from the table and pinned Charlotte with his cold glare. âCome with me.'
Charlotte's mouth dropped open in astonishment as Wainwright's hand tightened around her upper arm. Christian leapt to his feet intent on peeling the man's hands from her body, but a light flickered in her stormy eyes warning him off and he stood helpless as the pompous prick towed his wife-to-be out of the confines of the galley.
Christian's rage grew with every subtle sway of Charlotte's hips as Wainwright dragged her out. She should not suffer such indignity. The sanctimonious jackass had no right to deal with her this way. Anger slanted into his heart like a well-aimed punch, robbing him of breath, winding him.
As she disappeared from view, Christian slumped back against the wall, sliding down till he sat; his elbows propped on his raised knees and his face covered by his hands.
Charlotte shrugged away Marcus' arm as he propelled her onto the deck. A huge moon hung like a ripe melon behind the rigging casting sinister shadows across the ship.
âSo, my dear, your philanthropic nature has come to the fore. I would have thought with your family history you would be happier to leave your past experiences behind you. But if you must, you must. I cannot interfere. God moves in a mysterious way.'
âMarcus, I cannot leave those children in that state. You should see them. They are caged like animals and it makes no difference what colour their skin is. No one should be kept in those conditions.'
âSo be it. Lead the way.'
Charlotte skirted a pile of crates stacked beneath the deck rail until she reached the hatch. Someone had to do something and it had become clear to her that Marcus and the other members of the crew cared little for the girls' welfare. With a great deal of shaking and shoving she pried the cover of the hold loose.
Marcus stood by, his arms folded, his disapproval evident in his refusal to offer any assistance. The hatch weighed far more than she expected. Christian had lifted it with such ease. She staggered as she slid it onto the deck. Garnering courage from some unknown reserve she peered down into the darkness, forcing back her rising nausea. The foul air emanating from the hold threw her back to the time when only Jamie's promises had kept her alive. Her hand clasped the chain around her neck and she clamped her lips together.
âMarcus, I can't see at all now. We need to get a lantern. It is far too dark.'
âPerhaps it is better left until the morning then. One more night is not going to make any difference to them.'