Salting the Wound (9 page)

‘You hurt me.’

Even though it was the only cure for her injury, he felt guilty. ‘I had to be cruel to be kind. It doesn’t feel as painful as it did before though, eh?’

‘S’better,’ she said with some surprise.

‘You must be careful with it for the next few weeks, while it heals. We’ll put it in a sling. We’re going to have to shave some of your hair off now, so we can see to that cut on your head.’

Her brilliant smile made him ache, because he knew there was more pain to come and she was trying to be brave.

‘Cut it off,’ she said.

‘You have lovely hair, so certainly not.’

The only sound she made was a small moan now and again, though she bit her lip. When the stitching was done she turned her face against the blanket and cried, giving small snuffling sobs. Eventually, she fell asleep, and Nick knew the laudanum would keep her asleep for some time.

‘Are we turning back to port with her, Captain?’ Red said.

‘Like hell, we are. It’s too much trouble. I’ll have to re-provision and questions will be asked.’

‘Somebody’s going to miss her.’

‘It serves them right. They should have looked after her better. Oh, don’t worry, Red. I know her family.’ And Charlotte will be furious, he thought with some satisfaction.

‘Where will the girl sleep?
Samarand
is already stuffed to the gills with cargo.’

Nick looked around his cabin, and his eyes settled on his cot. ‘In there, she won’t take up too much room. We’ll rig a canvas across the cabin on that side of the door to give her some privacy. I’ll have one side for my cabin, and she can have the other. As for sleeping arrangements, I’ll share and share about with the first mate. After all, we’re rarely on deck together. Thanks, Red. Make some nice broth for when she wakes. You may go now.’

Sam came in with the water and Nick set about cleaning the blood from his unwanted guest. Aria was fair-skinned where she was usually covered, but wore a light tan on her face that supported a drift of freckles – as though she threw off her bonnet whenever she got the chance. She was attractive. Hell, she was more than that, he thought.

Placing a blanket over her he slid the bloodstained chemise and gown down over her dainty feet. He moved her to the bunk, nodding towards the soiled garments. ‘Put those to soak, Sam, but don’t expect to get rid of the bloodstains altogether. Clear my things away from this side of the cabin. We’ll make our guest as comfortable as we can. Rig up a rope so she can hang her things up. Make sure there’s a bucket and a jug of clean water at all times. You can empty her slops along with mine every day. I’m making you responsible for her comfort, Sam, and I don’t want her to feel embarrassed by her situation. It won’t be easy for a woman to live amongst men. They have different feelings and needs. You have five sisters and you know what females are like.’

Sam said quite seriously, ‘Yes, Captain . . . like a coop of quarrelsome hens.’

Nick laughed at that. ‘And don’t get any ideas about Miss Honeyman. I know what lads of your age are like, and how they think. I used to be one.’

Sam’s face turned a fiery red.

Charles Barrie was entertaining Edgar Wyvern and some other guests when a manservant came in with a card on a silver tray.

Charles nodded. ‘Give the gentleman a brandy and ask him to wait in my study.’

When the ladies excused themselves and went into the sitting room to socialize, Charles sent his male guests into the billiards room then beckoned to Edgar.

‘You’ll excuse us for a short while, gentlemen. Some business has come up that I need to attend to.’

The man in the study was in his early twenties. Placing his brandy on the table, he stood when Charles and Edgar entered. A pair of astute grey eyes gazed at them.

‘Adam Chapman . . . you have brought news at last?’ Edgar said, and the three of them shook hands.

‘Forgive me for arriving unannounced, especially since you are entertaining, Sir Charles. I have this evening received a comprehensive report, and felt you should be informed of it as soon as possible.’

The three men settled themselves, then the two gazed at the younger man expectantly.

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid the news is not very promising. Jonathan Barrie was wed to Mary Elizabeth Ellis in Hobart. A year later he was clearing some land and met with an accident.’

Charles was filled with an uneasy dread. ‘What sort of accident?’

‘There’s no easy way to tell you this, Sir Charles, and I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, your son was killed by a falling tree branch. By all accounts, death was instantaneous.’

Charles gave a distressed murmur.

Edgar poured his friend a brandy, and handed it to him. ‘I’m so sorry, Charles. Be consoled by the fact that he didn’t suffer.’

‘There is more, sir.’

‘How much more bad news can there be?’

‘I didn’t say the news was entirely bad.’ The man gave a small, cautious smile. ‘Sometimes the Lord provides us with hope. Jonathan and Mary Barrie had a son . . . born just a month before your son died. He was christened John Charles after his father, and after you, I presume.’

Charles gave a faint smile as he glanced at Edgar and told him the obvious. ‘If Jonathan named a grandson after me, he no longer bore any anger towards me.’

‘That’s true, of course,’ Edgar said gently.

Charles turned back to Chapman. ‘Where is my grandson and his mother? Are they with you?’

‘No, sir. There is a trail of sorts to follow. After your son died his wife became destitute, and with the child still at her breast was forced to . . . beg on the streets.’

Charles gasped. ‘My daughter-in-law had to beg?’

The man gave him a pitying glance. ‘There is worse, sir. Mrs Barrie came to the notice of an army officer, who befriended her. He rented accommodation and she and the boy moved in with him. One can only suppose—’

When Charles gave a shocked cry Adam shrugged. ‘Women are born with an instinct to sacrifice themselves for the sake of a child. We must not blame them for it.’

‘Only the men who take advantage of it, eh.’

‘And sometimes a situation can be misread,’ Edgar said firmly. ‘Not all men are predatory. The relationship could have been quite innocent.’

‘Quite,’ Chapman said. ‘A couple of years later Mrs Barrie died after a lingering illness. She had consumption, brought about, no doubt by the privations she was obliged to endure on the streets. She is buried next to your son. The soldier resigned his commission shortly before the event.’

‘So the scoundrel ruined my daughter-in-law and stole my grandson,’ Charles cried out. ‘We must hunt him down and make him pay for his crimes.’

Edgar gave a deep sigh and reminded him, ‘You’re making out a prima facie case against him Charles. The soldier saw Mary decently buried next to her husband, which reveals some sensitivity of character on his part. Perhaps she had relatives who took the boy in.’

Adam Chapman consulted his notes. ‘According to someone who shared a cabin with her on the voyage out, Mrs Barrie said she had no kin . . . previous to her marriage to your son, of course.’

‘The soldier who gave her a home may have placed the boy in an orphanage or given him to a barren couple to be loved and cared for,’ Edgar said. ‘After all, a child needs a mother to nurture him in the proper manner. Then again, the boy may have died and have been buried with her.’

Charles prayed that Edgar was wrong. ‘Do you have the soldier’s name, Mr Chapman?’

The man consulted a paper in his hand. ‘He is Colonel Seth Hardy, and he had an exemplary military record before he came into a legacy and surrendered his obligations to the crown. There the trail ends, for there’s no mention of him taking a child on board the ship that brought him back to England.

‘So my grandson is still in Hobart Town.’

‘So far there’s been no trace of him. A neighbour saw Colonel Hardy go aboard the ship that brought him to England. He was alone. I’m here to see if you wish the search for him to be continued.’

‘What other choice do I have? The boy is the only relative I have left.’

‘Sir . . . Hobart Town is small. The advertisements, even those with the offer of a reward for the return of the child, have produced no results, and the bill is mounting up. There is nowhere else to look there. My contacts will, of course, keep their eyes and ears open for any news of the boy.’

‘I’ve got nothing else to spend my money on, Mr Chapman. If you present your account I will bring you up to date as well as pay you a further retainer before you depart. What do you suggest we do?’

‘At this point it might prove to be of use if we try and find Colonel Hardy. If we can find him in England, we can simply ask him what happened to the boy.’

Charles wished he’d thought of that himself. Jonathan was dead . . . and had been for a long time. And his grandson, a boy he’d never met but who Charles now already felt the loss of keenly, was missing. Although Charles had strongly suspected that something untoward had happened to his son, it was still a shock. It was his fault. If only he’d allowed Jonathan his head. He must find his grandson. He must! Jonathan would expect nothing less from him.

Edgar rose to his feet. ‘Charles, with your permission I’ll go and inform your guests that you’ve received bad news while you settle your business with Mr Chapman. I’ll rejoin you in due course.’

Charles nodded. ‘Thank you, Edgar. Perhaps you’d tell the butler as well. He can inform the staff.’ A few minutes later he heard their muted voices as his guests departed, closing the door quietly behind them.

He dragged in a breath and gazed at the man. ‘Mr Chapman, please spare no expense in finding me this soldier, Colonel Seth Hardy.’

‘And when I do?’

Charles liked Chapman’s positive attitude. Young as he was, the man believed in his own ability, and that made Charles believe in him too. ‘Do not approach him on my behalf, or alert him in any way. I’d prefer to do that myself. I can usually tell if a man is honest or otherwise when I meet him face to face and look into his eyes.’

The eyes of the man he was looking at were grey with dark flecks, and they didn’t waver from his as they shook hands.

‘I’ll place advertisements in the main newspapers and we’ll see if anything turns up,’ Chapman said as Charles escorted him to the door.

‘Offer a reward.’

‘It will attract confidence tricksters.’

‘It can’t be helped. Follow all leads Mr Chapman, and keep me informed.’

Despite his disquiet over the news of his son and daughter-in-law’s deaths, Charles had been given something to hope for by news of his grandson’s existence, he thought, as he bid the inquiry agent goodnight.

‘Would you like me to leave, Charles?’ Edgar said as he returned to the drawing room.

‘No, old friend. Stay and share a brandy with me. My own company will be too miserable at the moment.’

‘Jonathan’s death must be a hard pill to swallow so soon after that of his brother.’

‘Yes it is, but I half expected it. And the pill has a sugar coating.’

‘Don’t get your hopes up too high, Charles.’

‘We’ll find my grandson, of that I’m certain,’ he said calmly.

‘And when you do?’

Charles smiled. ‘John Charles will become my reason for living.’

‘M
y chemise and gown is tied to the rigging?’ Clad in one of Nick’s shirts, her shawl wrapped around her to serve as a skirt, Marianne put her hands against her burning cheeks and said faintly. ‘Oh . . . how embarrassing.’

She caught the quick grin Nick gave before he said, ‘It’s the quickest way to dry it. Besides, most of the men on this ship would have seen a chemise before. Eat your breakfast.’

‘Broth . . . for breakfast?’

‘Red made it especially for you. How was I to know you’d wake with the appetite of a starving wolf? Most people would have been seasick by now.’

‘I don’t see why. The movement of the ship is quite pleasant when you get used to it. And fun.’

‘Wait until we hit an Atlantic storm if you think that.’ He slapped a piece of smoked bacon on a thick slab of bread and butter and held it out to her. ‘Here, eat this instead.’

Nick’s patience was wearing thin, so she smiled and bit a chunk from one side. ‘Thank you, Nick, but I’ll eat the broth if you don’t mind. It smells delicious.’

‘Contrary little madam,’ he growled.

Nick was like a cauldron. Turn the heat up under him and he began to boil. Turn it down and his temper subsided like a charm. ‘Stop being in such of a grumble with me,’ and she bestowed her most charming smile on him. ‘When will we get back to Poole? Charlotte will be sick with worry about me.’

The smile Nick gave her was altogether smug. ‘In approximately seven weeks’ time, since we’re going there via Boston.’

‘Seven weeks!’ She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping it was all a dream. When she opened them again Nick would be gone, the ship would be gone and her aching head would be gone. Though, better an aching head that not having a head at all. The trouble was she could still hear the wind and water, ropes slapping, timbers creaking, and other marine sounds. She’d have to use guile on him, though she didn’t think she’d be very good at it. She opened her eyes to their fullest, dipped her eyelashes once, then gave him her best smile. ‘I don’t suppose—’

‘You suppose right, Aria. Turning back would cost Thornton Shipping a great deal of time and money, and it would put our schedule out.’ His mouth took on an amused curve. ‘Why are you blinking, have you got something in your eyes?’

‘You know I haven’t. I’m being alluring.’

‘I assure you, you’re not.’

She giggled when he chuckled, and opened her purse to gaze at the contents. She closed it again, saying hopefully, ‘I have two shillings, will that get me home?’

He whooped with laughter. ‘That won’t even pay for your provisions.’

Picking up her spoon she scooped up the broth, in case it proved to be her last meal. It was filling and had barley in to thicken it. She sighed when she finished it. ‘That was tasty. Is there any fruit?’

He plucked a couple of purple plums from a dish and offered them to her. ‘They’re a bit sour. I was waiting for them to ripen.’