Ransome's Crossing (28 page)

While he should have changed into his other, fresher uniform, he now had not the time or the energy. “Very well, then. Let us be off.”

He straightened his waistcoat, took his hat from his steward, and led the way from the cabin to the waist entry port. He looked down at the boat waiting for him at the bottom of the accommodation ladder and had to grab the bulwark rail to keep from pitching head-long over the side. Though the ship lay quietly at her moorings, with the way his head was spinning, he felt as though he were on a ship in the midst of a hurricane.

But it would not do for the captain of the ship, acting or no, to have to be lowered down with the bosun’s chair. Gathering his strength, Ned turned. “Mr. Gardiner, you have the ship.”

“Aye, sir.” Gardiner saluted.

Ned returned it, took a deep breath, and started down the side of the ship. Only his experience with using the narrow slots to climb up and down the sides of ships kept him from falling into the boat. The surgeon’s mate offered him a steadying hand when he stepped in, which Ned accepted readily.

Charlotte was last to descend to the boat. Her foot slipped from the last slot, and she pitched backward. Ned, still standing, was in perfect position to catch her and keep her from falling over the side. His hands clamped around her waist—and he was shocked at just how thin she truly was under her layers of voluminous uniform. He waited until certain she regained her balance before releasing her.

They took their seats, and Charlotte took charge of commanding the sailors to row the boat around
Alexandra’s
stern to her starboard entry port.

After gaining permission to board, Ned climbed up first, fighting nausea the entire time. He would have to do it straight off. Until he confessed, his guilt would continue attacking him.

He ordered Charlotte to the midshipmen’s berth, and she complied, following Midshipman Kennedy down the nearest companionway. The surgeon’s mate asked permission to visit Dr. Hawthorne, which Ned gave with alacrity. The rest of the sailors would find their way among
Alexandra’s
crew.

Ned trudged toward the big cabin. William stood before the wheelhouse, waiting for him. As usual, the commodore’s expression revealed nothing of his thoughts.

“Come. We have much to discuss.” William motioned Ned to follow him to the big cabin.

When the door closed behind him, Ned flinched, imagining the shackles of the bilbo clamping down over his ankles.

“Report.”

“Sir?”

William frowned. “Report on your ship’s activities since your last report in Madeira.”

Oh, yes. If it had not been to clap Ned in irons over Charlotte, the other reason William would have ordered him to
Alexandra
was to report upon his ship. He pulled out his journal from his coat pocket and gave William the important parts.

“…We searched the ship from bow to stern. No trace of the stolen food, and no one would confess to having done it.”

“Searching the entire ship was a good idea, especially by including the officers. The sailors will respect you more for that.”

“Thank you, sir.” Would now be a good time to tell William, when he was happy with something Ned had done? “Sir, there is something—”

The door from the day cabin opened. Julia stood framed in the opening, hesitant and looking from William to Ned and back. “I am sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to greet Captain Cochrane and assure him that we miss him considerably.”

Ned stood, but he kept his hands braced against the tabletop to keep his balance. Chills rushed over the surface of his skin. He was starting to think that these might not be the symptoms of guilt but of something much simpler. He was getting sick. A risk every sailor ran when coming to the tropics for the first time.

“Thank you, Mrs. Ransome. I miss serving on
Alexandra.”

“Have you—did you determine what to do about the problem you spoke to me about at Madeira?” Julia’s green eyes were piercing.

She had not told William. “Nay, but it should be resolved shortly.”

William looked back and forth between the two of them. “May I be privy to the secret?”

Julia clasped her hands in front of her, looking almost as ill as Ned felt.

“You cannot blame Mrs. Ransome, Commodore. I alone bear the responsibility.”

William pressed his own palms against the tabletop and leaned forward. “Speak.”

Wave after wave of chills broke over Ned, and he began to tremble. “Sir, when I first reported to
Audacious,
I noticed a problem with one of the—”

A knock on the door interrupted him.

William stepped around behind Ned and opened it. Kennedy and another midshipman stood there.

“What is it?” William demanded.

“Sir, it’s Midshipman Lott. He fainted, sir. We took him to Dr. Hawthorne, and he said to come tell you it’s a serious fever.”

William’s demeanor changed from annoyance to concern. “Is he recommending quarantine?”

“Not for the ship, sir, but—”

“Oh, dear.” Ned reached for his chair, but his knees gave out on him and he fell to the floor, succumbing to a swirling blackness.

W
illiam tried to hold Julia back, but she pulled her arm free and knelt beside the fallen officer. He staunched his jealousy when she pressed her hands to Ned’s cheeks and forehead.

“He burns with fever.” She looked over her shoulder at William.

“Mr. Kennedy, pass word for Dr. Hawthorne and his mates.” William put his hands around Julia’s waist and lifted her away from Ned.

“Aye, aye, sir.” Kennedy rushed away, the other midshipman on his heels.

As soon as William released Julia, she hoisted her skirt and hurried into the day cabin. He was happy to have her away from Ned. The headache had brought her so low the last two days, he feared she might catch whatever Ned had. “Dawling!”

The steward threw open the main door. “Aye, sir?”

“Fetch water and cloths.”

“No need.” Julia returned with the bowl of water from the washstand and several clean rags. She again knelt beside the prone figure, placed a wet rag across his forehead, and bathed his face with another.

Ned groaned and stirred.

“Shh. Do not try to move.” Julia pressed down on his shoulders when he tried to sit up.

William moved around to Ned’s other side and knelt as well. “The doctor is coming.”

“Audacious
…and Char—”

“Hush, now, save your strength.” Julia dipped the cloth in the water, wrung it out, and continued bathing Ned’s face.

Watching her tender ministrations, William remembered the time he had taken a shard of wood in his leg many years ago. When it became infected and he landed in the sick berth with a high fever, he had dreamed of Julia—as he had last seen her at seventeen years old—hovering over his hammock, whispering endearments to him.

Dr. Hawthorne arrived. “Has he been vomiting? Complaining of back pain? Headache?”

William stood and allowed the doctor to take his place beside Ned.

Julia sat back on her heels. “You believe it is yellow fever?”

The doctor nodded. “The young midshipman from
Audacious
presented with those symptoms, which are commonly associated with the disease.” Hawthorne looked at Julia with concern. “You are from this part of the world, are you not, Mrs. Ransome?”

“Yes, I spent most of my life in Jamaica.”

“Do you know if you have ever contracted yellow fever?”

“Yes. When I was a girl.”

Hawthorne nodded. “You are unlikely to become sick with it again.” The doctor stood and faced William. “May I request that Mrs. Ransome help with nursing the sick? I would like to limit exposure to keep it from spreading to the rest of the crew, if possible.”

“No—”

“Yes, I will be happy to help in whatever way I can.” Julia stood, drawing the doctor’s attention to herself and cutting off William’s protest.

“Ah…I shall leave the decision to the two of you.” Hawthorne cleared his throat and then ordered Ned placed in the canvas litter his mates had carried in with them.

Julia disappeared into the day cabin while William helped lift Ned. He joined her after the doctor and his mates took his former first officer away. In just the few moments that had taken, Julia had changed out of her green evening gown into the yellow gown she called a work
dress. At his entrance she turned, arms lifted as she tied a kerchief over her bundled hair.

“Julia, you will not risk yourself by attending the sick berth.”

She finished tying up her hair and then turned to retrieve a large apron from the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. When she finished dressing, she moved to stand before him.

“If it were James or Philip, would you ban me from the sick room? Did not you, yourself, allay my fears back in Portsmouth by reassuring me that I would not sicken with yellow fever and die, as I have had it once before?” She rested her hands on the lapels of his coat. “William, I have had no duty, no effectual function since I have been aboard except teaching two calculus lessons to the midshipmen.”

Her color heightened, her eyes sparkling with energy, William admitted defeat. Julia needed to feel useful, needed to contribute to the workings of life around her—something she had been denied since boarding his ship. “Very well. But you will take every caution, and you will obey the doctor. If he sends you away, you will leave.”

She nodded, raised up on her toes, and kissed him. “Pray for them, William.”

He pulled her close for a moment. “I will pray for you as well.”

Julia nodded again and departed.

William stepped out onto the deck, and the officers and crew—who had lined the sides of the ship chattering and trading with the merchants that always swarmed around an arriving ship—now looked upon him with a mixture of curiosity and fear. As soon as he stepped out from under the shade of the poop deck awning, the questions started—all the sailors speaking at once, yelling to be heard over one another.

A raised hand was all it took to silence them. William looked around at the familiar faces of the men who had pledged their lives to serve him, this ship, the Royal Navy, and King George.

“Captain Cochrane and one of his crew members who came with him from
Audacious
are taken ill. Dr. Hawthorne believes it might be yellow fever. They are to be quarantined in the sick berth. There is no
reason to fear a plague. It is expected that a few men will fall ill with fever upon arrival in the Caribbean, but pass word to your mates that if you begin to feel feverish, nauseated, or faint, you are to report to Dr. Hawthorne immediately. Is that understood?”

“Aye, sir,” chorused from the men.

“Good. As you were.” He waited until the men returned to duty or idling and then turned. As he hoped, his first officer awaited him in the wheelhouse.

“Mr. O’Rourke, prepare the ship’s boat to take me to
Audacious.
Captain Cochrane is too ill to return and command her, so I must go confer with his first lieutenant and ensure he is competent to command the ship into Jamaica.”

“Aye, sir.” The Irishman worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “Sir, is it safe for you to board
Audacious?”

William raised his brows. “Are you questioning my judgment, Mr. O’Rourke?”

“No, sir!” O’Rourke snapped to attention, his eyes showing his horror at the idea. “I will go prepare the ship’s boat now, sir.”

“Very good.” William returned to the cabin and changed from his formal frock coat to the plain one he wore daily. He returned to deck just as the men finished lowering the jolly boat into the water. The sailors O’Rourke had designated to man the oars quickly filled the boat.

“Lieutenant O’Rourke, you have command until I return.” He inclined his head toward his first officer and then climbed down the side of his ship.

His mind replayed the last hour, settling on the odd interaction between Ned and Julia before Ned’s swoon had interrupted them.

The two shared a secret; of that, William had no doubt. He could be patient…to a point. But before they reached Jamaica, he would have the truth from them.

The doctor and his mates worked at getting Ned into a hammock.
Julia took the opportunity to lean over Midshipman Charles Lott. Charlotte’s gaunt face startled her—as did the angry red scar across her cheek. Julia’s decision not to tell William about his sister came into vivid relief. If Julia had told William and he had sent for her, Charlotte might not have suffered such pain and indignity.

“Mrs. Ransome, would you mind divesting the midshipman of his coat and waistcoat?” Dr. Hawthorne glanced at her over Ned’s hammock. “One of my mates will join you shortly and take charge of removing the rest of the lad’s clothing.”

Julia shook her head. “There is something…Doctor, may I speak with you privately a moment?” She could not believe she was about to reveal Charlotte’s identity to Hawthorne before William.

Frowning, Hawthorne turned Ned’s care over to his mates and motioned Julia toward his small cabin, which served as both office and sleeping quarters. “Is there a problem, Mrs. Ransome?”

“A problem. Um, yes. Well, more of a complication. You see, Midshipman Lott…well, he is not actually a boy.” Julia chewed the tip of her thumb, trying to figure out how to explain what she meant without revealing who lay in the sick berth behind her.

“I am unclear as to your meaning.”

She sighed. Best to come right out and say it. “The midshipman is not a boy, but a young woman disguised as a boy.”

The doctor’s jaw slackened and his mouth hung open a moment. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “Captain Cochrane confided this to me.”

“Then I shall rely on you more than I originally thought. Have you served as a nurse in a sick chamber before, Mrs. Ransome?”

“I have been called upon many times to tend ill workers on my plantation when the doctor was busy elsewhere.” Including tending her mother those final weeks of her life. She swallowed hard. If Charlotte died, and Julia could have saved her by revealing her secret to William, not only would she never expect or deserve William’s forgiveness, she would never forgive herself.

“Good. We shall work together to get them hale and healthy again.”

She followed him out of the cabin and busied herself with removing Charlotte’s coat and vest while Hawthorne informed his mates that Julia would be responsible for the midshipman.

When Julia put her hand under Charlotte’s side to roll her so she could remove the excess clothing, she could feel each of Charlotte’s ribs. The young woman weighed practically nothing, enabling Julia to manipulate and move her easily—and increasing Julia’s concern over Charlotte’s eventual recovery. While Charlotte’s figure had not been ample before, Julia had a hard time imagining she had been this thin when dining upon the rich foods served her at the Yateses’ and Lady Dalrymple’s homes.

Several years ago a half-starved slave sought refuge at Tierra Dulce. When Julia helped her undress to bathe, she had been horrified by the way her skin clung to her bones, showing the definition of each one. Although Julia, Jerusha, and the doctor had done everything they could, the young woman developed a fever and died a few days later. All they had been able to do was make her as comfortable as possible, and she died with a smile on her face, a song on her lips.

Fear formed a lump in Julia’s throat. She would not allow Charlotte to die.

Another lump gave her concern—until she reached under the blouse and extracted a leather-bound book, a journal, from under the waistband of Charlotte’s pants. Impressed by the girl’s ingenuity at finding a hiding place for her most personal of possessions, she set it aside with the clothing and began bathing Charlotte.

Charlotte moaned and tossed her head.

Julia shushed her. “It is all right. You are safe.”

“Mama?”

The word, spoken with a child’s inflection, broke Julia’s heart. “Nay, ’tis Julia. I am here to nurse you through your fever.”

“Tell Mama…about me…if I die, they won’t know. No one will know to tell Mama…William.” Charlotte opened her eyes, and though she looked at Julia, there was no recognition in her eyes.

“I will tell them. Have no fear.”

“And Ned. I need…to apologize.”

Julia glanced across at the other hammock, where Dr. Hawthorne leaned over, ear pressed to Ned’s chest. “You will tell him yourself when you are recovered.”

Tears trickled from the corners of Charlotte’s blue eyes. “I’ve been foolish. I should have stayed in Portsmouth. But I needed…wanted to go.”

Julia shushed her again, even though Charlotte’s voice barely rose above a whisper. She needed to keep the doctor and his mates from learning who she was—at least until she told William.

Charlotte continued to mumble, but the words slurred together until incoherent. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she slept.

Julia straightened, a hand to the small of her back, which ached from leaning over the hammock to bathe Charlotte as best she could without completely undressing her. With the doctor’s assistance cutting through it at the back as Julia held Charlotte up on her side, they removed the muslin wrapped around Charlotte’s chest. Even in her sleep, Charlotte shivered when Julia ran the cool, wet cloth over the red marks the binding left behind. The doctor brought a clean blouse and trousers, and sent his men to fetch various items or discard others while Julia changed Charlotte’s clothes.