Ransome's Crossing (4 page)

Charlotte sighed. To have fallen in love with a man of fortune, as Penelope had. To have no barriers of money, rank, or family disapproval to contend with. To have a fiancé who lived right here in England.

Another of Percy’s friends bowed to Charlotte, and Percy relinquished her hand with teasing grumbles before leaving her to find himself another partner.

Julia played an allemande next. Charlotte kept her amusement to herself as the names of the sails and rigging of a ship of the line started ringing through her head. As a girl she’d always set things to music to memorize them so she could think about that during the tedious hours of lessons and practice at the small parlor pianoforte William had purchased for Mama with the first prize money he’d ever received, at age fourteen—three years before Charlotte’s birth and their father’s
death. Mama had not touched the instrument since the loss of her husband, but she had insisted that Charlotte learn.

At midnight, when the butler announced supper, Charlotte was grateful for the support of Percy’s arm to the dining room. Tonight was good practice for the formal ball next week—at which the dancing would start earlier and end later, and the room would be more crowded.

Of course, she needed to grow accustomed to crowded conditions as well, if she were going to survive living aboard a ship populated by more than seven hundred souls in cramped conditions for two months.

Though not particularly hungry, Charlotte accepted a plate of cold meats, cheeses, bread, and fruit from Percy. Penelope waved at them, and Charlotte stifled the urge to groan with pleasure as soon as she sat, happy to be off her feet. Her new kid slippers pinched her toes and rubbed her heels until they burned.

The noise of conversation—of the dancers and the card players—which had been masked by the piano and the size of the parlor, filled the dining room and reverberated off the portrait-laden walls. What had seemed a small party—when divided amongst whist tables at one end and dancing at the other—now looked to be a hoard. Fifty guests at least gathered around the giant table in the dining room, eating, drinking, and making all manner of noise. A second scan of the room revealed William and Julia with the Yateses and Mama, who leaned close to Julia, listening and occasionally patting her hand.

A pang of guilt coursed through Charlotte. Mama would be so angry when she discovered Charlotte’s departure. Even though Charlotte had not yet determined how she would arrange to sneak away to report to
Audacious
next Thursday, she had already resigned herself to the knowledge it would involve lying to Mama. Again. Something she never would have done before she met Henry. Something she would do only for him.

A commotion at the door caught Charlotte’s eye. Mrs. Melling, the housekeeper, had what looked like a concerned conversation with the
butler. Melling left, and the butler made his way to Lady Dalrymple and leaned down to speak to her.

The dowager viscountess drew everyone’s attention a moment later when she stood. She waved the men back into their seats. “Enjoy your supper. I shall return shortly. A family matter to attend to has arisen.”

Speculative whispers rose as soon as the doors closed behind their hostess.

“Something to do with her youngest son, I’ve no doubt,” Penelope whispered, though with such effect Percy and St. Vincent heard her remark as well.

“Her youngest son?” Though yesterday Melling and the chamber-maid had given Charlotte the names and ages of Lady Dalrymple’s children, their husbands or wives,
their
children, and where they each lived, she’d still been so overwhelmed by her surroundings that she hadn’t taken much of it in.

“Yes. I do not recall his name, but he went into the navy at a young age.” Penelope glanced around, apparently reveling in the attention of not just her three companions, but of everyone else in hearing range. “He rose smartly through the ranks—of course, as the son of Viscount Dalrymple, he would. But then the story took a strange turn. He and the other officers on his ship were accused of mutiny, charged, tried, and convicted. Mama thinks that’s what killed the viscount—the previous one, not the current one, obviously—his son’s conviction as a mutineer. Sentenced to death along with the other officers, even though he cooperated with the tribunal and gave testimony that proved the guilt of the other men.”

Charlotte stared wide eyed at Penelope, hands pressed to her mouth to keep it from falling open. To commit the ultimate treachery at sea—deposing one’s captain—and then to turn around and betray his fellow officers…the man must have had a soul as black as obsidian. “Was he executed?”

“Nay. All but two escaped.” Percy jumped in, taking advantage of his sister’s pause for a drink. “So now, not only is he hunted by the
Royal Navy, he’s hunted by the men he betrayed. The miracle is that they managed to keep the entire sordid affair out of the papers, no doubt owing to the family’s position and wealth.”

Charlotte stole a glance across the table at her brother and Captain Yates. If they knew this story, would they be sitting here? Would William have agreed to holding his wedding breakfast in this house? Allow Charlotte to stay?

Recovering herself, she asked, “How do you know of this? Did not Lady Dalrymple live in Devon before her husband died?”

Percy nodded. “Lived, yes. But they spent many months every year at Brampton Park, so they have always been well known here.”

Slowly, the guests returned to the parlor to take up their former activities. Charlotte excused herself from the Fairfaxes and joined her family to say good night to Mama and Collin and Susan.

Walking back down the hall toward the parlor, Julia covered her mouth when a yawn overtook her.

“Do not go back in.” Charlotte stopped her sister-in-law with a touch on her arm. “I will play for the rest of the night—for however long everyone wishes to dance. I can see you’ve no desire for society tonight.”

Julia’s cheeks turned pink, and William’s severe expression eased. Julia took hold of Charlotte’s hand and squeezed it. “Bless you. I did not know how I would face another hour or two of playing, but I could not allow you to give up dancing.”

“My shoes pinch, and if I dance one more dance, I shall have a blister on my heel.” She smiled at their relieved expressions. “Shall I see you both before you leave tomorrow?”

Julia looked to William to answer.

“We shall breakfast at nine, if you wish to join us.”

“I will.” She was about to return to the parlor, but she could not wait until morning to get her questions answered. “William?”

He turned at the foot of the stairs, his arm around Julia’s waist. “Yes?”

“What do you know of Lady Dalrymple’s son, the one who joined the navy?”

“Why do you ask?”

She hurried over to him and gave a quick synopsis of the story Penelope and Percy had told at supper.

William’s mouth drew into a tight line as she spoke. “Complete nonsense. Geoffrey Seymour, Lady Dalrymple’s youngest son, was not a natural sailor or a remarkable one, but he was loyal to the last. Two lieutenants from his ship were convicted of mutiny, and Seymour testified against them—as did the captain and other officers. The two men were convicted and hanged according to the Articles of War.”

“You said ‘to the last.’ So is he dead, then?”

“Not that I have heard. He paid off as soon as the war ended. Where he went after that, I have not heard.” And his tone indicated he did not care.

Charlotte cared—not about where Mr. Seymour might have gone, but whether he might have left anything from his life at sea here at Brampton Park. Because any little piece of detritus or perhaps even a forgotten journal or log book would be a wonderful item to help her look like someone who’d served on several ships and traveled many places.

Starting tomorrow, she would take Lady Dalrymple up on her invitation to explore the house and see if anything here could help her build her new identity as Charles Lott.

N
ed jerked awake, skin clammy with sweat, heart hammering. The smoke. The screams. He wiped his face on his shirt hem. Too real.

Lord, how many times must I pray for forgiveness before the nightmares go away?
He climbed out of the hammock. Yet one more proof God did not, as William said, listen to his prayers.

The dream had not come so vividly in years. Why now? He stared into the reflection of his own bleary eyes in the small shaving glass.

Ah, yes. Today was Friday and
she
would be here. On the ship, perhaps within mere feet of him. But maybe the visit by Commodore Ransome’s mother and sister coming today, a day before the ball in her honor, would be good—would help Ned make peace with his resolve to see Charlotte Ransome as nothing more than his commanding officer’s little sister. Not much younger than his own sister, in fact. Someone to be seen, assisted, and, if needed, protected, but not to be looked at with longing in his heart.

Five bells rang on deck, marking half-past six. Ned made himself ready for duty and arrived on deck before six bells, when he officially started his primary duty of supervising the crew for the day. At eight o’clock, with the crew gathered on deck, Ned informed them of the Ransome women’s impending visit and the commodore’s expectation for the condition of the ship—every area of the ship, including the officers’ wardroom and the gun decks and galley.

The crew grumbled amongst themselves. Ned couldn’t blame
them—though he did quell the complaining with a sharp look. Making the ship ready for sail was chaotic work. Trying to do that and also clean up the ship to meet with a woman’s approval would be nigh impossible.

But for William Ransome, this crew would do almost anything. And Ned would see that they did.

He dismissed them to duty or breakfast—they each knew which, depending on their duty cycle—and then returned to the wardroom to cook his own eggs and toast for breakfast.

The other lieutenants, except O’Rourke, who was on watch, laughed and talked a great deal too much this morning, filling their small common room with a noise Ned usually enjoyed. This morning, however, anxiety stretched his nerves taut, and each peal of laughter after a jest, each voice raised to be heard over another, plucked at him like an archer drawing his bow. He needed solitude and time to organize his thoughts before he let loose arrows of ill temper on his mates. He stuffed the last crust of toast in his mouth, grabbed his hat, and practically ran all the way up on deck.

He glanced around the ship. Men crowded the yardarms, rerigging the sails. Not that the dockyard crew had done it incorrectly, but years of experience on
Alexandra
had taught these seasoned sailors exactly how she needed to be rigged for the best performance.

On deck men hoisted supplies from boats alongside them in the harbor up and over
Alexandra’s
sides and down into the dark chasm of the holds, with the purser, master gunner, and boatswain barking orders over all the noise. Elsewhere, men cleaned the cannons while others scrubbed the deck. Small boys darted in and out, fetching and carrying.

No solitude here.

He climbed up to the poop deck. The younger midshipmen looked around at him—away from the navigation lesson Sailing Master Ingleby was teaching. Toward the stern of the poop, the older mids worked on their calculus with the surgeon, Mr. Hawthorne—a happy discovery for Ned, who had been able to remember enough of the theory behind
the arithmetic to pass his examination but was flummoxed when trying to teach it to the mids. And though William seemed more than capable at teaching it, Ned suspected he hated it, as he always assigned Ned that task—until Mr. Hawthorne had observed Ned’s fumbling attempts to answer a boy’s question. Hawthorne stepped in, answered the question without hesitation, and taught the remainder of the lesson at Ned’s invitation. Even Ned had learned something that day.

With a sigh, Ned abandoned his search for solitude and made a tour of the ship, looking over and approving or correcting the work being done where necessary. The morning passed more quickly than he liked, but keeping himself busy held his anxiety over Charlotte Ransome’s visit at bay.

When he returned to the quarterdeck a couple of hours later, the boatswain scurried over to him.

“Jolly boat coming up, sir.” Matthews knuckled his forehead in salute to Ned. “Commodore Ransome and his party.”

As William had insisted the women’s visit was not to disrupt the crew’s work, Ned did not call the crew on deck to order, but merely made his way over to the starboard waist entry port to properly greet his commander.

William appeared first and returned Ned’s and Matthews’s salutes by touching the forepoint of his hat. Matthews and his mates were ready with the bosun’s chair for the ladies and swung it over the bulwark. Ned stole a glance over the side to see why William had abandoned the women in the boat.

Collin Yates, the former captain of
Audacious,
assisted an older woman onto the seat of the swing. Beside her, a fashionable bonnet hid the face Ned both longed and dreaded to see. Another woman, a little older than Charlotte and with light hair, sat in the center of the boat. She caught Ned looking at her and waved. Oh, yes. How could he forget Mrs. Yates?

Ned stepped forward in case his assistance should be needed with William’s mother, but it was not. Soon, all three women and Collin Yates—giving off a melancholic air in his civilian clothes—stood on deck.

To keep from staring at her, to drink in her innocent beauty, Ned avoided looking at Charlotte altogether.

William motioned Ned away from the visitors. “Report.”

“All is well and progressing apace, sir.” Ned gave William a quick rundown of everything the crew had done since his departure yesterday afternoon.

“Very well.” William removed his hat, wiped his brow, and settled the bicorne back over his dark hair. “Thank you for the extra effort you have been putting forth in my absence, Ned. It shall not be forgotten.”

“It is my honor, sir.” Keeping his commission and a position in these times was worth any manner of imposition. “May I make so bold as to ask, sir, why your wife did not come with you today?”

William gave him a sharp look—as if checking to see if Ned were needling him—but he must have recognized the sincerity of Ned’s question. His expression eased. “My—Jul—Mrs. Ransome is fulfilling some social obligations today.”

Purser Holt hovered nearby, almost vibrating with his anxiety to speak to the commodore, since he’d been put off yesterday…and the day before. William looked from Holt to the women to Ned.

Ned held in his sigh, steeling himself for the request to come.

“Might I impose on you, Ned, to accompany my guests around the upper decks while I square away Holt?”

“Of course, sir.” Ned hoped William’s conference with the purser did not last long. The less time he spent in Charlotte’s presence, the better—for his own peace of mind.

Mr. Yates offered his arms to his wife and William’s mother and set off down the quarterdeck, leaving Ned and Charlotte to bring up the rear. Ned motioned Charlotte to go before him, and he fell in step aft, gripping his hands behind his back.

In the forecastle, the Yateses and William’s mother stopped. At first, Ned couldn’t understand why—until he recognized the ship off the larboard bow.
Audacious.
Yates’s final command.

“How many guns is she?” Charlotte asked, pulling to a stop near them.

“Sixty-four,” Ned answered automatically.

“And was she refitted, same as
Alexandra?”
Charlotte looked up at him with raised brows and eyes so blue and clear, Ned couldn’t form words.

“Nay.” Mr. Yates ran his hand over the bulwark railing. “We did not see nearly as much close action in
Audacious
as your brother did, Miss Ransome. Though I did oversee the repairs to her before…” Yates glanced at his wife.

The silence grew. The knowledge that Captain Yates had resigned his commission on account of his wife’s delicate condition had spread through the navy rumor mill like weevils through a biscuit.

Ned cleared his throat. “
Audacious
is a fine ship.”

“And will you have command of something like it soon, Lieutenant Cochrane?” Mrs. Ransome asked.

His stomach rolled—in the opposite direction of the harbor beneath
Alexandra.
“No, ma’am. Aside from there being no open ships now that the war with France has ended, I would need to serve as commander of a smaller ship before I could begin to think of promotion to post captain and gaining a ship of the line like
Audacious.”
And only if his nightmare came true. He would rather leave the navy—leave the only life he knew, the life he loved—and try to make his living on land than to face taking command of a ship and its crew.

“Shall we continue the tour?” Collin led the two older ladies away. This time Charlotte would not allow Ned to walk behind her, but she paused until he realized her intention to walk beside him. A few paces ahead, Mr. Yates brought the finer points of
Alexandra’s
construction—and masts and rigging—to their attention. Though Charlotte looked everywhere he indicated, she seemed uninterested.

“Are you enjoying your stay at Brampton Park, Miss Ransome?” Ned couldn’t help himself. Her bonnet hid her face, but he at least wanted to hear her voice.

“I am, Lieutenant Cochrane. Though I do not see much of Lady Dalrymple. Two nights ago, during her card party, her daughter arrived unexpectedly. I am not certain exactly what happened, but something
to do with the husband and an argument over…something.” Charlotte’s tone indicated she knew more about the situation than she revealed. “She will be entering her confinement any day now, so Lady Dalrymple is constantly at her side.”

“You must be lonely.”

“I do have much solitude in that big, empty wing of the house by myself, now that William and Julia have returned to her father’s house, but I am resourceful. I can always find employment for my time.”

As Charlotte launched into a recitation of calls, dress fittings, and excursions to the shops in town, Ned wanted to silence her and tell her to watch her feet and be careful where she stepped to avoid tripping over ropes, which her mother and Mrs. Yates cautiously minced through.

But Charlotte was surefooted as an old seaman, never once putting her foot wrong or needing Ned’s ready assistance to step over or around anything.

Before Charlotte exhausted her monologue on how she filled her hours, Commodore Ransome joined them and dismissed Ned to return to his duties. Holt awaited Ned in the wheelhouse, but Ned did not join him right away.

Now that he’d been dismissed from the duty of escorting Charlotte around the ship, Ned wanted to be nowhere other than at her side. However, she spared him no glance, no sign to indicate she thought of him as anything more than a lieutenant on her brother’s ship—just one of many.

As well she should.

Julia tried to swallow the bitter tea past the knot in her throat. Lady Fairfax continued relating the latest gossip, apparently noticing nothing awry with her caller’s behavior.

Her father had given William permission to sleep ashore for the next week—both of them had informed her so. Wednesday evening,
he had agreed to stay with her because she had committed them to attend Lady Dalrymple’s card party. She appreciated his willingness to accommodate her—though she wondered what could he possibly be doing at night that would necessitate his sleeping aboard
Alexandra
that he could not accomplish from her father’s study.

But then yesterday had only served to confuse her more. After breakfast with her and Charlotte at Brampton Park, he had returned to
Alexandra,
and Julia paid their farewells to Lady Dalrymple. Julia expected she would not see him again that day. But then he arrived for dinner and explained he had not wanted to leave her alone her first night home from Brampton Park. Being in her father’s house—even though in a different bedroom and not in the room that had been Julia’s for the past year—the very air around them had been laden with tension and awkwardness. For the first time since their wedding, William had not done more than give her a chaste good-night kiss and then lay on his back, staring at the carved wood canopy above them. Yet in the middle of the night, Julia had been awakened from a fretful sleep when William pulled her into his arms—never waking from his own sound slumber.