Sea Mistress (4 page)

I feel calmer already,
she thought as she headed toward the dining room.
By the time he returns for supper, I'll be able to forgive myself. To forget what had happened. I'll no longer think such sinful things about him.

Bess entered the dining room. Edward Metcalfe wasn't there; neither was Uncle Joeson.

But Seth Garret was waiting for her.
Alone
. . .

The sound of ship's bells stirred Bess from sleep. She opened her eyes, and the reality of the present came crashing in on her.

Her heart was pounding. Thank God she'd awakened when she had, because what happened that day had been just the beginning of her loving relationship with Seth, and the heartbreak that followed soon afterward.

She sat up carefully, for she was on the lower bunk and her head was close to one above it. She willed the memories away, concentrating on her surroundings instead.

She could hear Reeves snoring above her, asleep on the upper bunk. Bess felt the gentle swaying motion of the
Sea Mistress
and, with a start, realized that the ship had left the dock.

How far were they out to sea? When had she fallen asleep? How long had she been dreaming?

The movement of the vessel was soothing. She lay back against the bunk and closed her eyes. She would think of the future, of justice, of the moment she would finally see Seth pay for his betrayal.

But inadvertently, she thought again of the past, of the pain she'd suffered at the man's hand. Silent tears seeped out from beneath her long feathered lashes, for two weeks with Seth Garret had stolen her ability to love. For a lifetime.

 

 

Three days later, the ship rolled on the choppy sea. Bess lay on her bunk in the small musty cabin, groaning, her stomach cramped with nausea, her brow damp with perspiration. She was alone, and had been for the past two nights as Reeves had moved into the fo'c'sle. Her illness had begun upon awakening after only a few hours' sleep that first night.
Plagued by the past,
she thought,
and now this!

Her fabrication had become a truth. She was seasick and miserable. Would she be ill for the entire voyage?

Bess sat up, fumbling for the chamber pot that Reeves had unearthed from the ship's cargo hold. After violently heaving her stomach's contents, she hunched over, cursing Seth Garret. If it weren't for her need to hide from the captain, she would venture topside for fresh air and a sight more cheerful than the four wooden walls of this dreary cabin.

Three days into the voyage, and for two of them she had been ill. She'd gone from bad to worse, and there was no sign that she'd get any relief.

Bess knew that below deck was the worst place for her to be, but she had no choice. Her presence on deck would draw interest. She had no intention of meeting Seth until she felt strong enough to confront him squarely. Perhaps she'd recover when the ship reached calmer waters. Until then, she could only endure.

A gentle knock sounded on her cabin door, and Bess stood, clutching her stomach. “Who's there?” she asked in her deepest voice, her face pressed against the wood. She had to continue her charade of being Robert Marlton, the E. Metcalfe Co. representative.

“Reeves.”

Bess swallowed against the bile in her throat. “Come in.” She stepped back, swaying, and Reeves rushed forward to steady her.

“You're no better,” he said with concern.

She shook her head, unable to speak as she stifled the urge to vomit.

“Perhaps you should give up this ridiculous plan of yours and come up on deck—”

“No!” she burst out, nearly gagging. She sat down on her bunk and doubled over, groaning when a violent spasm seized her stomach.

“You're right, of course.” Reeves searched the room for a pitcher of water; there was none. “Miss Metcalfe—” He stopped when she glared at him, white-faced. “Marlton,” he amended. “Can I get you anything? Some food?”

Bess moaned at the mention of food. As if realizing his mistake, Reeves shook his head, and Bess gave him a weak smile. “Do you think it's safe if I come up after dark?”

“I don't know.” Reeves frowned. “Perhaps during the second night-watch when the mate is topside.” He paled when Bess gasped, clutched her abdomen, and excused herself before she became sick.

“The stench in here alone is enough to make you ill,” he murmured, grimacing. Reeves reached for the chamber pot when Bess was done, and then he left to empty the offending vessel.

To Bess's amazement, her stomach quieted after Reeves's departure. She napped for a time; and when she woke up, she could tell that night had fallen, for it seemed darker in the cabin. All was silent but for the soft murmurs of off-duty seamen, the light tread of footsteps above, and the creak and groan of the
Sea Mistress
's hull.

A tap sounded on her door. “Marlton?”

Recognizing Reeve's respectful tone, Bess climbed from her bunk and opened the latch. She nodded for him to enter, then closed the door and faced him. “Well?”

“The captain is in his cabin. The chief mate, Kelley, is on deck with the night watch. Geoff Conrad, the second mate, is below.” Reeves appeared doubtful. “Conrad worries me. He has the next watch, and I don't trust him.” He reached for her cap, which lay on the table near her bunk. “Here—put this on.”

Bess complied, tugging the dark cap over her pinned-up golden braids. “How much time before the next watch?”

“About three hours.” He frowned, clearly unhappy with Bess's desire to go topside.

“Don't worry,” she said upon seeing her friend's expression. “This disguise worked before.”

“When you weren't under close scrutiny.”

Bess silently agreed. “There.” She stood back for Reeves's observation. She wore a baggy shirt and short trousers like those worn by the crew.

“I don't know.” Reeves shook his head. “It's too risky. The captain can still turn this tub around.”

Bess grinned. “Don't let Garret hear you calling her a tub,” she said, referring to the ship. She sobered. “Can't we at least try?” She needed to escape the cabin, if only for a short while. She was feeling better; a breath of fresh air would strengthen her.

Reeves didn't immediately answer, but handed her a cloth-covered bundle. “You'll feel better after you've had something to eat.”

“What is it?” she asked. She made a face as she unwrapped the cloth. There was a hunk of cold salt pork and two hard, unappetizing biscuits. “You want me to eat this?”

He nodded. “The Mate says it's the best cure.”

“For what?” Bess replied with sarcasm. “For gluttony?” But as she spoke, she took a nibble of the hard tack biscuit. It was dry as it went down her throat. “Is there anything to drink?”

“Water.” Reeves gestured toward the pitcher on the table. “I left it for you earlier.”

Bess's eyebrows rose as she learned that Reeves had entered while she slept, but she said nothing. She turned from his blushing face and poured herself a small tumbler. The water was warm, but it was wet, and it revived her. She noted with surprise that the food had set well in her belly. She was feeling more like her usual self.

Bess smiled at Reeves. “I'm ready.”

“Are you sure you want to attempt this?” The man still looked uncertain. “Tomorrow you'll be stronger.”

“No, I want to go now. I have to get out of here, if only for a few minutes. Three days in this cabin is enough to drive one mad.”

“As you wish.” He wasn't happy. “Keep your head down, but watch your step. And follow me closely.” He opened the cabin door.

Bess nodded. She tugged on the edges of her hat to ensure her hair was adequately covered. On impulse, she grabbed and slipped on her coat, hoping its dark folds would provide protection against vigilant eyes.

Satisfied, Reeves nodded. “You'll do,” he said before he preceded her out the door.

The first thing that Bess became aware of as she ventured up on deck was a warm blast of fresh air. There was a fine mist over the dark ocean, a light fog that smelled and tasted faintly of salt. The sounds of the night on board ship were soothing. The hushed murmur of conversation between the night watch drifted toward them on the soft breeze. A lone sailor's foot tread across the empty deck echoed in the late quiet. And there were the ever-present creaking sounds as the ship moved through the water.

Reeves stood silent beside her, still, wary.
Would they be safe?
Bess wondered. What would happen if the crew discovered her identity?

Worried, Bess reached out slowly, not wanting to alarm Reeves with any quick movements, and tugged lightly on his shirt sleeve. “Where's the watch?” she whispered.

Reeves didn't immediately answer, and Bess continued to scan the deck. A man's distant laugh rent the silence, followed by an answering chorus of deep male chuckles. Tensing, Bess searched the deck for signs of life and saw no one.

“I don't see anyone,” Reeves said. And she could feel his tension as he checked the deck.

Bess was fascinated with the ship and its riggings, and her sense of uneasiness gradually passed. She inhaled deeply of the salt air, under standing for the first time her late uncle's wonderful descriptions of life at sea. Above, the wind flapped the vessel's sails; below the waves lapped gently against the
Sea Mistress
's wooden hull.

“There's someone,” Reeves said, gesturing toward the quarter-deck. “Wait here. I'll alert him so he pays us no mind.”

Bess nodded and watched, trembling, as Reeves climbed the steps to the quarter-deck.

Was she a fool to believe that she could carry out her masquerade? This first test would be the worst. Would the crew believe her to be a lad?

She envisioned the moment of revelation when Seth became aware of Robert Marlton's real identity. And later in California when he learned that the man who took over the E. Metcalfe Co. wasn't Edward's cousin at all, but his niece . . .

Bess had a sudden gut-wrenching, frightening wish to be back home—safe—in Wilmington.

Why was the night so quiet? A shiver coursed down her spine. The moon was a pale, nebulous orb in a cloud-filled sky; no stars twinkled against the inky backdrop.

She clung to the rail and eyed the horizon. There wasn't much to see at this hour, only darkness and water. Here and there, she discerned a small whitecap gracing a cresting wave.

Her apprehension passed with the serenity of the night, and she was able to enjoy the freedom of the upper deck.
Why, I no longer feel sick.
Yet, she noted, the water was still choppy. The salt pork and biscuits must have done the job just like the mate—Mr. Kelley—had told Reeves.

Bess scowled at the thought of returning below deck, but what else could she do? Coming topside for a few minutes had been risky enough. The longer she remained the greater her chance of being discovered . . . the ruination of her plans. Were a few reviving breaths of air worth jeopardizing her moment of vengeance? As long as Garret didn't suspect that she was Robert Marlton, she held the upper hand.

But Bess was already impatient and wearying of her escapade.
Think of San Francisco, the land of gold.
There was more at stake than just revenge. There was money to be made in California.

“Marlton.”

She gasped as Reeves's voice startled her from her thoughts. He had come up silently behind her, and now he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “The sailor won't bother us—no, don't look his way!” he whispered urgently, spinning her back toward the rail.

Casually, so as not to appear suspicious, Reeves positioned himself between Bess and the seaman, blocking her from the sailor's view. “They're curious about you. Let's not buy trouble.”

Heart pounding, Bess nodded. “How much time do I have?” she asked. “I hate the thought of going below.”

Reeves grunted. “Not long. Garret will be coming up soon.”

“Garret!” Bess exclaimed, aghast. “I'm sorry,” she said softly, glancing at Reeves out of the corner of her eye. “I promise to be quieter.”

Her gaze returned to the dark sea, her thoughts full of Seth's image . . . Seth looking at her with adoration . . . Seth's solemn face the day he'd left her to go to sea. She placed her hand on her abdomen and felt the stark loss of what should have been. “
Damn!
”

“Marlton,” Reeves whispered in warning. He shot an anxious look toward the sailor, and Bess felt a sudden chill.

“Do you think he heard me?” She resisted the urge to search the ship.

John Reeves walked casually around to Bess's opposite side, turning her with him as he went. “No. It doesn't appear so.”

“Thank God,” she breathed, and her relief was mirrored in Reeves's sigh. Swallowing to moisten her dry throat, Bess caught her employee's arm. “Maybe I'd better go back.”

The two stared at each another for a long, tense moment. Bess saw fear in Reeves's expression, the silent message,
We'll have to be more careful.
She nodded in agreement and released his arm, preparing to go below.

“Sailor!” a deep voice barked from behind just as they turned, startling them both. Boots clicked against the decking as someone approached.

“Don't you 'ave work to do?” a gruff voice asked. The stranger clamped his hand on Bess's shoulder, and she froze in stark terror. Good Lord, he was speaking to her!

“Feather,” John Reeves interceded calmly, apparently familiar with the man, “let him go. He's not one of yours. It's Robert Marlton. He works for Metcalfe.”

The heavy hand was loosened immediately. “Marlton, is 'e?” Alf Feather chuckled, and Bess shuddered as the man moved to the rail beside her. Trembling, she kept her glance toward the water, her head bowed so he couldn't see her face.

“ 'Ear yuv been feeling green, landlubber,” he commented. “Been feeding the fishies, boy?”