The Lady and the Captain (10 page)

“Did you believe him?” Robert scowled, upset on the wise woman’s behalf.

The lad should never have taken her down to the cargo hull. It was not a suitable place for any visitor aboard the ship, and most certainly not a lady. He was prepared to summon the young seaman to his side for a brutal face-to-face with the nearest judgment from God—a moment alone with his angry acting commander.

“Nay,” she said calmly.

Jeremy’s joviality had been forced. She had sensed it. But why pretend? And where were these so called other pranksters? Why was it the young seaman had been the only one standing there laughing?

“It all felt quite false, a veritable farce put forth by one person. I did not believe what he told me for an instant. It was pure blarney,” she finished.

The first mate’s frown deepened. He disliked these shenanigans. The dark image of a ghost suddenly appearing out of nowhere made him uncomfortable. Added to that, when he thought of the lovely wise woman in possible danger, he was ready to enact martial law. If she’d been harmed in any way, he’d have wrung the lad’s neck with his own bare hands. Gripping his chair in anger, he decided the impudent sailor and his co-conspirators were about to pay dearly for their nasty prank.

“I’ll have him and his mates put in the brig for this,” he muttered.

He felt his authority was being questioned by making a mockery of the beautiful woman under his protection. “But before I do that, I’ll flog the prankster myself! How dare the little bugger . . . the rascal, I’ll make him sorely regret his actions.”

“No, don’t!” she said, placing a restraining hand on him. “I don’t want any difficulties because of this foolishness. The crew has been through a terrible time with the loss of one of their shipmates, the fire, and now their captain’s announced death. They have had everything thrown at them at once. ’Tis acceptable with me if I am the one to make them laugh, to ease the tension . . . there’s no need to punish anyone. No harm has come to either me or to the ship. Aye, there is no need to exact any revenge on my behalf.”

She had personally taken care of that.

What she did not add to her tale was the fact that after the young seaman confessed what he’d done, she slapped him angrily across the face and then had promptly gone directly back up to the berth deck.

Once out of the hull, she began pulling a heavy potato sack across the trap door. She had some help. Master O’Grady, the master gunner, who upon seeing her struggle with the heavy sack, unquestioningly aided her.

She sat down on it. Calmly, she ignored the poundings and urgent shouts emitting from the other side. Blithely she smiled like a queen on her throne, at the seamen gathered about.

“I hope ye won’t take offense if I was to be asking if ye be in fair weather, ma’am?” asked the burly Irish gunner.

Frantic thumping sounds emanated from the sack beneath her.

“I’m desirous to do a bit of sitting, Mr. O’ Grady. That’s all I’m doing.” She smiled up at him and the other hands. “I’m afraid a wee bit of respect is needed to be taught to a certain young seaman aboard this warship.”

“For sure, ma’am,” said the Irishman mildly. “May I be so bold as to ask which one of our unworthy lads that would be, Mistress Duncan? Who needs the reprimanding?”

“A certain Jeremy Kaye by name, sir,” she said with a small offended sniff. “He was supposed to escort me about The Brunswick. Instead, he took me on a trip down to Hades itself.”

“Did that undisciplined, English buffoon offend your tender Celtic sensibilities, ma’am?” asked the Irish gunner, flexing an arm the size of a sturdy log.

“Would you like me to teach him what we sons of Erin do to those who give a pretty colleen, such as yourself, trouble?” asked another.

The other men gathered about her beamed eager smiles of agreement down at the flaxen-haired beauty. Aye, they muttered in agreement, they would all like to have a hand in punishing the young upstart. How dare the little braggart treat the commander’s betrothed this way! How dare he mock her!

“It would be delightful to give the young sea pup a proper paddling, especially when the lad is such a stuck up little bugger,” continued Mr. O’ Grady.

A chorus of rough ‘ayes’ were heard from the other able-bodied seamen.

“Nay, nay, gentlemen.” She beamed, rearranging her skirts prettily about her. “No need to go concerning yourselves over this small matter. I’m perfectly content to sit here and let the bilge rat remain in his rightful hiding place.”

She was happy . . . her revenge was complete.

Jeremy and his fellow pranksters, if there were any others, were down in the dark hull. They were unable to stir up any further trouble. Only when the steward came to fetch her for the evening meal with Robert, did she finally relinquish her makeshift throne. Master O’Grady, his wife, and various other members of the crew, pressed her to let them take her place.

“We’d be honored,” they said, “to stand guard for ye, ma’am.”

Before she could say, “Jack your brother,” more than half the hands volunteered. It would be well into the next day before the seaman was released.

Nay, I
do not need to worry about what happened in the hull. There’s no need for the first mate to do any bloodletting on my behalf. The crew has seen to that.

They finished their dinner pleasantly discussing places they both had visited. They talked about the various journeys they had taken, including the people they’d met. To Robert’s surprise, he learned that the wise woman was used to associating with those above her station. He noted during their conversation that there were times when she spoke with mocking humor about those considered to be her betters. He liked her all the more for it.

Secretly, he was impressed by the way she handled herself in his company. Most women of his acquaintance were a bit overawed by his presence and tended to babble on about mundane inanities, as if a commanding officer could possibly care that their dancing instructor didn’t know any French or that their mother wouldn’t let them wear wetted gowns to a ball. Other ladies paled, as well, when compared to Sarah’s natural beauty and feminine charm, which he found to be most alluring and innocently exciting. Indeed, he had never met a woman like her.

He himself had not been raised among the upper crust. Having earned his rank as a first lieutenant through merit, he felt uncomfortable among those who did not. The Smythe family’s origins were from among the solid merchant class. He did not aspire to a title higher than that of a captain of the Royal Navy. Although he knew of five naval admirals who had risen up the ranks this way, his aspirations did not lead him in that direction. He wanted simply to be in command of a naval warship.

“Do you play any instruments?” he asked. Her blonde eyelashes, he noted, were very long and her mouth as she smiled at him, was generous, just right for kissing, he mused.

She shook her head. “I enjoy it. But the best I can do is sing a little. Being brought up on a remote island never provided me with the opportunity. And you, do you play any instruments, Lieutenant?”

“I was most fortunate as a lad—I served on second and first rated warships as a young midshipman. They had several talented musicians. Under the tutelage of two of the chaplains, I learned to play a little of the harpsichord and mandolin.”

She smiled, looking about to see if any instruments were available “Will you not play for me now? It’s been a long time since I heard any melodies. When I was young, my mother would sometimes play on a penny whistle for me. Sometimes,” she modestly confessed, “I’m invited to my friend Lady Beatrice’s evening concerts at Brightwood Manor. My voice, it may be supposed, cannot be too out of tune. She often asks me to sing.”

“If that is true, I must see what I can do to fulfill your wish. Give me one moment,” he said, “and we shall have our own little musical soiree. I should be delighted to hear what a sweet voice you’ve been blessed with.”

He held himself back from adding that if her voice matched the rest of her appearance, he was in for a treat. Instead, he excused himself and went in search of the instrument.

Bearing the mandolin carefully in his hands, he returned.

He took it out of its case and placed it upon his knee. She noticed how strong and wide his thighs were, like the beams of the ship, sturdy, perfect for sitting on.

Before long they were singing in unison. Merry melodies that were familiar to both of them were heard echoing out the cabin window onto the bay. On some of the slower songs, his deep baritone joined her light soprano. The two voices blended together in perfect tune and pitch, encouraging the other to sing on.

He enjoyed watching her luscious mouth as she sang, the light of enjoyment in her light blue eyes. Sometimes her voluptuous bosom swelled upwards as she took in a deep breath, and he was forced to gaze elsewhere to keep from gawking at her like a school boy.

He had no right to think of touching the lovely Irish woman. She was under his protection.
She trusts you,
he sternly reminded himself.
Don’t be a cad and ruin it by giving into your carnal desires.

Observing him opened the wise woman’s eyes to a different aspect of his character. The minute he held the instrument in his hands, cradling it in the same competent manner he did his sexton, his whole demeanor changed. All the tenseness he held on his stiff uniformed shoulders during the day dropped away.

Music indeed can lighten a man’s burden.

He appeared more relaxed and content, lifting the corner of his mouth into a genuine warm smile. Something she had not seen since they’d come aboard. He always appeared to be in firm command of himself and those around him, except now, when playing.

Her feet lightly tapped the boards in time to the music as they went through a rollicking rendition of
Whiskey in the Rye
.

In the future, when we dine together,
I shall make a point of asking him to play. For surely it must do him some good to set aside his burdens as commander of this fine ship for a little while.

Watching him made her aware of the way he always held himself in check. He was always in tight control. His duty as acting captain, she understood, was both a blessing and a burden. But he had met the challenge of taking over for Captain Jackson admirably. He had done so with self-assurance, knowing he was able to command both the ship and the crew. There had been no doubts. And she respected and admired him because of it.

As she watched him play, she couldn’t help but notice his long, muscular arms, and idly wondered if he could hold a woman as well as he could an instrument? Undoubtedly, it would be most enjoyable to find out, she decided, gazing up at him from beneath her lashes. She then berated herself for thinking such wicked thoughts, for who was she but a lowly Irish wise woman.
He will want someone of higher rank than you.
Stop behaving like a moonstruck schoolgirl around him and be of good use instead.

She vowed to do what she could to help him, to see if she could make his life more agreeable. Maybe she could give the cook a hand with the food? She thought tasting the almost bland food placed in front of her. Perhaps help the other women aboard with their work . . . surely she could be of some use during her time aboard.

Thus resolved, she smiled up at him and enjoyed the rest of the evening in his company. For a few happy moments she forgot the awful events that had frightened her witless earlier. She put them aside and relaxed in his safe company. But unfortunately that evening was not to be the end of the matter between her, Jeremy Kaye, and the ghost. It was merely the beginning.

*    *    *

Lieutenant Smythe, upon retiring for the night, encountered the rather unusual watch being held on top of the potato sack. Upon learning why the master carpenter’s wife, Mistress Kelly, was perched there, he insisted on having a turn.

When the crew passed the hatch on their way to their hammocks that night they were greeted by a rather odd sight . . . their commanding officer was seated on a rustic gunny sack.

He softly whistled a well-known sea shanty, while whittling on a piece of driftwood. They quietly saluted him, tipping their hats as they passed.

“Night, Lieutenant Smythe,” they said as they passed to their hammocks.

Robert nodded politely in turn, acting as if this were a perfectly normal way for him, the master and commander of one of the swiftest warships of the line, to pass his free time.

His men appreciated his loyalty to his betrothed. They were glad to be serving under a gentleman with such discerning taste. Many of them, including several of the officers, envied him his choice of bride. For the beautiful Irish woman had proven she was not a spineless petticoat. She was a grand lady, worthy of their respect.

*    *    *

The morning of the memorial service for Captain Jackson was a somber affair. Sarah watched Robert give the eulogy from the quarter-deck. She looked about for Jeremy. Her nemesis was noticeably absent. He was nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps he had gone back to his bunk or been placed in the brig? Either way, she was secretly relieved she did not have to face him. She wanted to concentrate on the service, not on his unwelcome presence.

At the end of the memorial, Robert solemnly intoned, “Deal graciously, O’ Lord, we pray, with all who mourn this day. We cast all care on you, that we may know the consolation of your love through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

They sang a hymn as Mrs. Kelly played the small organ kept in the corner of the lower deck for Sunday services. Robert turned to Mr. Litton and nodded in a familiar signal known to both from years of working together.

“Crew . . . diss-missed!” the second mate said in a commanding voice that carried to those on the lower deck.

The men quickly dispersed, returning to their assigned duties.

Sarah looked again for Jeremy, wondering what had become of him. She knew that Lieutenant Smythe had kept his promise not to have the seaman punished because the boatswain, the officer in charge of superintending such punishments, had not been summoned.