Ransome's Crossing (15 page)

“Turpentine?”

Howe motioned toward the mug, sitting on the table before him. “It is here, sir, if you wish to test it yourself. I agree with Mr. Lott’s determination that someone has indeed added turpentine to the cup, based on odor and taste.”

“I am curious as to how you recognized it as turpentine, Lott.” Parker made no move toward the grog.

“When I was small, I had a stomach ailment which our apothecary treated with turpentine, sir. I recognized the smell and taste of it almost immediately.” No sense in bringing one of the Yates-crew midshipmen into the story.

“Did you put the turpentine into the grog intending to make Mr. Kent ill?”

“No, sir, I did not.”

“Where did you get the turpentine, Mr. Lott?”

“As I said, sir, the cup was handed to me with the turpentine already in it.” Frustration warred with amusement. This was the same method Philip had always used to try to get information out of her when they were children: circular questions hoping to snare her if she were lying.

Charlotte, Howe, and Kent all jumped at a knock on the door.

“Enter,” Parker called.

A man Charlotte had never seen, in civilian clothing, entered.

“Mr. Carberry, do come in.” Parker motioned the man to join Charlotte, Howe, and Kent. “Tell me, Carberry, have you prescribed turpentine or had any come up missing from your stores since coming aboard?”

“Yes—aye, sir.” The young doctor twisted his watch chain around his bony forefinger. “One of the midshipmen came to me with a stomach ailment and said he’d had turpentine before and it had helped.”

“Is that midshipman here now?” Parker looked pointedly at Charlotte.

She stood firm with the confidence of being innocent.

Carberry turned to scrutinize Charlotte and Kent. “No, sir. But he said his name was Lott, sir, if that helps at all.”

“He said his name was Lott, but you do not see him standing before you?” Parker’s veneer of calm began to crack. He pressed his palms on the table and stood, leaning over it.

“As I said, sir, I do not recognize either of these young men.”

“Thank you, doctor. That is all.” Parker straightened and waved his hand in dismissal.

The doctor inclined his head and backed out the door, as if leaving a royal chamber.

Parker ran his hands through his light hair. “As there is no clear indication of wrongdoing on Lott’s part, I cannot justify whipping or
any such severe punishment. But I also cannot have the midshipmen making mischief and setting a bad example for the rest of the crew.” Parker’s fierce gaze fell on Kent as well as Charlotte. She fought against smiling. “To set an example for the rest of the midshipmen, you are both on continuous watch for the next twenty-four hours.”

The dismayed expression that slackened Kent’s jaw made the punishment worth whatever toll the loss of sleep and unceasing work would have on Charlotte; for Kent now understood that he did not have the liberty to do or say whatever he wished with no fear of rebuke from the captain.

Parker’s expression hardened. “If either of you are found shirking your duties or asleep, I will revise my judgment and you will be subject to corporal punishment. Lott, Howe, you are dismissed. Kent, a word.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Charlotte should not have sounded so chipper for someone who had just been meted out punishment for a crime she had not committed. However, the idea that Kent was being punished along with her raised her spirits.

Howe followed her out onto the deck. “Lott, a moment.”

“Aye, sir?” She jammed her hat on her head, wishing for one of her wide-brimmed bonnets to block the glaring afternoon sun.

“I heard about your encounter with Kent yesterday. You…you did not put the turpentine in the mug and give it him as retribution, did you?”

“No, sir, I did not.”

“You believe the turpentine was intended for you?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Do you know who might have done so?” Howe fiddled with the adjustment of his bicorne, crossing his eyes to center the forepoint over his forehead.

Charlotte and the other midshipmen’s speculation that Kent’s mates had spiked her grog were unfounded and based merely on suspicion born from animosity. “No, sir. I would not hazard a guess as I have no evidence to support any accusation.”

Howe drew the corners of his mouth down in a disappointed expression. “Very well. What is your duty this watch?”

“I was idle, sir.”

“Report to—” Howe broke off when Hamilton rushed up to them.

“Lieutenant Howe, sir. Message from lead ship. Close ranks and form line. No more than twenty yards between ships, sir.”

Howe nodded. “Very good. I’ll inform the captain. You”—Howe included Charlotte with his nod—“return to the forecastle and continue to report on movements and orders.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“What happened?” Hamilton asked as soon as they were out of earshot of Howe.

She gave him a condensed version of the story.

“You are being punished for something you did not do?” He growled low in his throat. “Kent will pay.”

“Yes, he will, because he is being punished as well. And I believe the captain kept him to rebuke him privately for overstepping his authority.” She paused and stopped Hamilton by grabbing his sleeve. “You cannot take revenge on him, Mr. Hamilton. The captain was very angry at what he sees as mischief amongst the midshipmen. If there are any more incidents, I believe the punishments will be much harsher. He has been alerted to Kent’s conduct now. Let Kent be the one who brings reproach down on his own head.”

Hamilton stared at her a moment. “How can you be so calm about this?”

Charlotte shrugged. “Because nothing will come of my being upset over it.” And because she had to do what was necessary to keep from drawing undue attention to herself. “Come on. I cannot be seen shirking my duties. I have no desire to be whipped.”

N
ed relaxed back in his chair, sated from the simple yet tasty food prepared by Commodore Ransome’s steward. He was happy at the second invitation to join his commander and Mrs. Ransome for supper, but he had to wonder at the reasoning behind it. Though William had almost always had the officers in to dine a couple of times each week before, now that Mrs. Ransome was aboard, Ned had expected the invitations to become less—not more—frequent.

Mrs. Ransome sat at the foot of the table, enthralled by a story about one of their many engagements with a French warship in the Mediterranean as spun by O’Rourke. She looked much heartier than earlier this afternoon. Apparently, Dr. Hawthorne, who sat to her left, had been able to find a restorative that worked for her.

“How many times have you made the crossing, Mrs. Commodore?” Midshipman Kennedy asked. Both Kennedy and Gibson, the two most senior midshipmen, were infatuated with the commodore’s wife, having had the duty of carrying messages between William and Julia for several days before their wedding. Gibson had worn much the same dewy-eyed expression yesterday as Kennedy wore tonight.

“This is my third sailing from England to Jamaica. I made it the first time when I was not quite ten years old. It was on that voyage that I met Midshipman William Ransome. My mother and I returned to England during the Peace of Amiens, twelve years ago. When renewed hostilities with France seemed imminent, my father sent us back to Jamaica.” She let out a sigh. “And I was happy to go. Jamaica had
become my home, you see. And…well, suffice it to say events conspired during my stay in England that made me long for home.”

When Mrs. Ransome stole a glance down the table at the commodore, Ned thought he understood it. And he was certain he was not the only one at the table who had heard the rumor that William and Julia had been intended for each other but that William had walked away.

“And why did you return to England this time?” Kennedy persisted.

“My father believed the war to be coming to an end, so he came to Jamaica to retrieve my mother, to bring her back to England for good. But she died just before he made port. I had intended to go with them to help my mother get settled in before I returned to Jamaica to continue running the sugar plantation. I had planned to stay only a few months, but once I was in Portsmouth, I found I could not leave my father so readily, so I stayed on.” She looked down the table again, this time with a twinkle in her eyes and dimples in her cheeks. “I believe the timing worked out rather well, do not you, Commodore Ransome?”

William wore the same bored, emotionless expression as always. “Aye, Mrs. Ransome. I would say the timing seemed providential.”

If Ned knew no more about Julia Ransome than the fact that she did not let her husband’s seeming disinterest in everything bother her, he would mark her down as the perfect wife for the commodore. But having heard much more about her over the years through the Royal Navy’s rumor mill, he envied William for the blessing of a wife who knew and understood naval life in a way the majority of women would not. Ned’s own mother and sister did not begin to understand the power the sea had over him, drawing him to the shore just to hear the waves rushing against the sand.

During this last visit, to the farm owned by his sister Becky’s new husband, she and Mother could not understand his disinterest in the way the crops lay in the fields or the husbandry of the animals. Nor could they fathom the bound-up, closed-in feeling he tried to express after several days there. Surrounded by fields and trees and low hills,
they were happier than they had ever been in their small, rented rooms in Plymouth. And Ned was happy for them. But he’d been happier for himself the moment he’d stepped on the ship that transported him from Plymouth to Portsmouth. Hanging his hammock in their wardroom, though it afforded him no privacy whatsoever, had been more refreshing to him than the early morning strolls through the fields Becky and Mother had taken to.

“What of you, Lieutenant Cochrane?”

Mrs. Ransome’s voice broke through his musings. “Ma’am?”

“Have you ever been to the Caribbean?”

“No, ma’am. I have never been south of the Mediterranean or west of Ireland.”

“Oh, but you have been south of the Mediterranean,” O’Rourke contradicted. “You told me you once made landfall in Tripoli. That is most definitely south of the Mediterranean.”

Aye, a mistake that would haunt Ned for the rest of his life. “ ’Twas nearly ten years ago, and not something I think of often.” Except when the memories of the dying men’s screams invaded his sleep.

William gazed at him over his steepled fingers. Ned looked away rather than face the knowledge in his commander’s eyes. William knew the facts of the tragedy and Ned’s involvement, but only to the point of Ned’s being cleared of any implication of wrongdoing by his captain at the time. He did not know that Ned had not been so lenient with himself.

“Ah, Tripoli. Then you must be well versed in dealing with pirates, Mr. Cochrane.” A hint of a smile danced around Julia’s lips.

“Pirates—no. Our encounter was with a French ship, not pirates.” His shoulders and neck tensed as memories started breaking loose of his tight blockade of them. “Wh–what do you look forward to the most about returning to Jamaica, Mrs. Ransome?”

Her eyes took on a dreamy quality, and Ned tried to focus on that instead of the turmoil building in the back of his mind.

“My reunion with friends. I have been away so long, I fear they will have learned they can do quite nicely on their own without me.”

Ned kept his gaze trained on Julia as she talked about the people she’d left behind in Jamaica, but his focus wandered to a newly made lieutenant in command of a small, captured prize vessel. He’d thought to make a name for himself and capture a more heavily armed French frigate by pretending to be part of the detachment of American ships docked in the harbor off Tripoli just after the Americans had taken the city by force from the Barbary pirates.

They had been kind enough to let Ned lead a party ashore to resupply with fresh water—and it had been they who’d told him of the French frigate sighted just outside the bay. The timing had seemed providential, to use William’s description.

But it had been naive and arrogant and should have cost Ned his commission—except that one of his men who managed to make it back from the ill-fated boarding attempt found a packet of dispatches the frigate had been transporting. The intelligence gleaned from those letters, along with the tale of the harrowing escape told by what remained of the crew, earned Ned a commendation rather than the condemnation he’d deserved for the two sailors he sacrificed in the engagement—watching them be run through on the deck of the French ship even as he ordered his helmsman to tack and flee.

No. He would not—could not relive that again. He had told William the truth of the matter years ago; and although he appreciated the trust and level of responsibility William lavished on him, he could take comfort in the idea that William would make the hard decisions, especially when it came to sending men to certain death.

Ned would resign before being faced with that responsibility again.

Charlotte covered her yawn with the back of her hand. The darkest hours of the night still stretched before her. The reflection of moon and stars off the undulating water beyond the beakhead lulled her into a stupor. Even after dancing until dawn at the ball Lady Dalrymple
held for her, Charlotte had not been this exhausted. Of course, last week she had been able to sleep the morning away after staying up all night. On
Audacious,
she would have one four-hour watch to sleep before returning to duty

“Mr. Kent, careful what you’re doing there!” Lieutenant Gardiner’s voice sliced through the thick night air.

Charlotte smiled. She had found Kent nodding off once already. He’d dared her to tell Wallis, the fourth lieutenant, who had been on watch at the time. Charlotte had merely shrugged and gone about her business. If Kent could not stay awake before midnight, he would surely fall asleep sometime during the early morning hours.

She turned at the sound of footfalls on the deck behind her, straightened, and saluted the third lieutenant.

“Mr. Lott, I assume since I have not heard from you that our position relative to the
Buzzard
is good?”

“Aye, Lieutenant Gardiner. Though it is hard to tell in the dark, I believe we have not gained on it significantly.”

Gardiner nodded. “Very good.” He looked her up and down. “You seem to be faring better than your mate Kent. How long have you been on duty now?”

“Since just after one thirty this afternoon, sir. About twelve hours.”

“On my first ship, the captain believed in meting out punishment that was swift and rather brutal. I do not know which is worse: the beating when it is happening or a long, drawn-out continuous watch. At least the beating is soon over with. But,” he sighed and rubbed his backside, “the effects do linger several days.”

He turned and leaned against the bulwark. “It is unfortunate that you should be punished for something you did not do.”

Charlotte blinked a few times, unsure she’d heard him correctly. “Sir?”

“It is my understanding that Kent fabricated the charges against you as revenge for your standing up to him in an altercation your first day aboard. Is that not so?”

Though less that forty-eight hours had passed since she first stepped foot on
Audacious,
no one could accuse her of being a slow learner. “It was a misunderstanding, sir. A simple misunderstanding.”

Gardiner tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger and then pointed at her. “A wise answer, Mr. Lott. Now, as I know Mr. Kent has already found occasion to nod off during his time on deck, it is only fair that you should have a few moments’ relief to refresh yourself. You have ten minutes, Mr. Lott. Make the most of them.” He handed her his lantern.

“Thank you, sir,” Charlotte called, already dashing toward the forward companion stairs.

The cockpit reverberated with the snores of her fellow midshipmen as she cautiously made her way through the common area. At her stall—made only semiprivate by two canvas curtains along the sides—she dug out a washrag from her sea chest and dipped it into the nearby bucket of seawater provided for washing.

She continued on through the cockpit to the roundhouse, just under the masthead in the bow of the ship. Fortunately, the privy was vacant. She looped the piece of rope hanging from the door around the peg in the wall to keep any of the boys from walking in on her.

With the ocean visible through the open grating below her feet, Charlotte shucked her uniform and unwrapped the muslin banding from her chest for the first time since she’d left Collin and Susan’s house. After making proper use of the facility and bathing as much of the sweat and grime from her body as she could, she rewrapped her chest and dressed.

Uncertain of how much time had passed, she hastily returned her washrag to her area, took a drink of water from the dipper in the barrel, and, returning only to grab the lantern off the table, hurried back up on deck.

“Efficient, Mr. Lott. You returned with a few minutes to spare.” Gardiner took the lantern from her. “Continue as midshipman of the forecastle. Report if there is any signal from the leading ship or if any change in position becomes necessary.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” It took her eyes a few minutes to readjust to the darkness after Gardiner retreated to the stern quarter of the ship with the lantern. She stood, hands clasped behind her back, making certain she did not allow herself to become drowsy by looking at one point too long. She studied the sky, picking out as many constellations as she could name. She challenged herself to try to make out as many details of the supply ship ahead of them as she could. She reviewed the names of the sails and riggings in her head.

Each half hour, the bell sounded, counting down the time remaining of her punishment. Four o’clock came with the sound of eight bells, which meant a brief flurry of activity as the crew on middle watch left the deck and the morning watch took over. Cook lit the fires in the large stove two decks below—Charlotte could smell the smoke from the chimney just behind her.