The Saintly Buccaneer (29 page)

Charity stared at him, shivered and whispered, “Know him? Of course I know him!”

“You—you may be mistaking him for another man,” Blanche whispered, almost in a plea. “You can’t be
sure!
”

Charity pushed Blanche away, stood straight and pointed at the man whose face had gone pale beneath his tan.

“There’s no mistake!” Charity seemed to weave and she began to back toward the door, fearfully, as if afraid they would attack her. She reached the door, then turned. They were both staring at her, and there was an expression in the dark eyes of the man who stood before her that would have brought pity to her heart if it had been any other man.

“Not know him?
I put that scar on his face!
”

She turned and with a sob left the room. They heard her feet as she fled down the corridor, and then they stood silently.

Finally he spoke, his voice heavy with foreboding. “Well, my dear, we don’t have to wonder about me anymore, do we?” He dropped his head, standing there like a statue. After a while he lifted his eyes, and a bitter smile touched his mobile lips.

“Paul Winslow—I wonder what sort of fellow I’ll turn out to be? It seems we’ll know pretty soon, doesn’t it?”

They stood there like strangers, and she felt an ominous fear that he had gone far, far away—and that the man she knew as Hawke would never come to her again!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HERO—OR VILLAIN?

When Blanche left her cabin just after dawn, she nearly stumbled as the ship took a slow roll that threw her off balance. Twice as she made her way to the deck, she saved herself from being thrown against the bulkhead by sheer effort alone. Stepping out on deck, she saw at once that the sky was no longer blue, but was like a lead-colored bowl pressed over the sea, colorless and somehow ominous. The sea itself was different, for though there were no whitecaps, the surface was flowing with long undulations that slowly picked the ship up, then dropped it into the troughs.

The repair work was still going on, and Blanche sensed an urgency in the men as they drove themselves at a frantic pace. Hawke was standing beside the rail on the quarterdeck taking a sight with a sexton, and she hurried to his side. He turned quickly at the sound of her footsteps, his questioning eyes searching hers. Without waiting for him to speak, she began. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” noting the dark circles.

“I got a few winks,” he shrugged. “But you look worn out. I guess you didn’t rest much, either.” He turned his eyes skyward, then back at her. “I almost came to your cabin to question the girl—but she was in a bad state. I thought maybe she’d talk to you.”

“Not a word!” Blanche drew her mouth together in anger. “I told her how you’d lost your memory—but she didn’t
believe it! Then I tried to get something out of her, and she just turned her face to the wall.”

“She said nothing at all?”

“Well—she did tell me—”

“What?” He saw that she was uneasy, and understood the reason. “She obviously hates me. What did she say?”

“Oh, only that I’d be sorry if I married you. I thought all night about it, and I think the girl has lost her mind.” There was a defiant stubbornness in Blanche’s chin and she added, “The strain of losing her father has driven her too far.”

Hawke smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s wishful thinking. We can’t ignore this, Blanche.” He looked up quickly, lifting his eyes to the mainsail. It was furled, but a sharp gust of wind caught the loose ropes, causing them to whip around the mast sharply.

Seeing the uneasiness in his face, she asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I think we’re in for a blow—maybe a bad one. And if it hits before we get the rigging repaired, it could wipe us out.” He stared at the sky steadily, shaking his head. “I can’t leave the deck for long, but I’ll get the working crews going. After that we’d better have a talk with the girl.”

She stayed where she was, watching as he moved along the deck, giving orders calmly, answering questions and pointing from time to time at the rigging as he explained. There was an air of quiet command about him, and she’d been around the navy long enough to see that he was a natural leader. Finally he returned and took her arm, “Let’s go below.”

They made their way to the cabin, and Blanche opened the door and entered, followed by Hawke. Charity was standing with her back against the wall, her eyes hard and defiant. Hawke immediately began to speak, his voice quiet and even. “Miss Alden, I’m sorry to intrude on you, but I don’t have much choice....”

As he stood there explaining how he’d come aboard the
Neptune,
battered and without a trace of memory, Charity
searched his face. He
was
different, tanned and lean, though his face was the same, and the white scar that traced its way along his cheek was like a flag.
He’s better looking than ever,
she thought briefly, but she was caught in a rush of memories, not only of the terrible scene when she’d slashed his cheek, but of the countless nightmares that had haunted her ever since. Furthermore, there was the knowledge that he was the enemy who had killed her father and stolen her ship—this burned in her as well, and she remained silent, challenging him with cold eyes, her face pale as old ivory.

Finally he finished. “So you see, Miss Alden, it’s been a difficult time.” He bit his lip and the firm gaze wavered slightly. “It’s been an ordeal that you probably can’t understand: not knowing what you are is terrible.”

Charity almost weakened, but once again the hatred that had taken possession of her raged within and she shook her head stubbornly.

“I think she made the whole thing up!” Blanche glared at Charity, adding venomously, “You probably heard of Lieutenant Hawke’s problem and decided to get revenge for the death of your father. I think you’re lying!”

“Do you?” Charity’s eyes flashed in anger, and she lifted her head high. “I can prove what I say easily enough. All you have to do is send for Daniel Greene. I haven’t said a word to him—but he’ll know you as soon as he lays eyes on you!”

Hawke stared at her, then nodded, “Very well, we’ll see.” He stepped to the door and called loudly, “Sergeant! Sergeant!” He waited until a red-coated marine appeared and stood to attention. “Go to the hold and bring the prisoner Daniel Greene to this cabin—immediately!”

“Aye, sir!”

An oppressive silence pervaded the room as Hawke shut the door, and the three stood there stoically. Charity remained against the wall, waiting silently. Blanche bit her lip nervously as she looked at Hawke’s expressionless face. It was a painful time; the only sound that broke the silence was the creaking
of timbers as the ship rolled slowly with the swells. Finally they heard footsteps, and soon a knock on the door.

“Bring the prisoner in, Sergeant,” Hawke called out. He walked toward the far bulkhead, pausing deliberately, keeping his back toward the door as it swung open. “Remain outside, Sergeant,” he ordered. He waited until the door closed, then wheeled to face the prisoner.

Dan had been in the darkness of the hold so long that the light of day was painful, and he was forced to squint. As his eyes adjusted, he surveyed the scene quickly: Charity against the wall, the woman across from her who’d come with her to the hold, and an officer in a blue uniform, who now spoke. “Do you know me, Greene?” Captain Hawke asked sharply.

Greene batted his eyes, focused on the man’s face, and as the truth dawned, his eyes widened with shock. “Winslow! Paul Winslow!”

“Does that satisfy you?” Charity snapped. She saw the befuddled look on Dan’s face, and explained hurriedly, “He claims to have lost his memory.”

Greene looked back into the dark eyes that were regarding him intently, and inquired soberly, “Is that true?”

“Yes. I can remember nothing that happened before I was brought aboard the frigate
Neptune
about two years ago. I was carried there by a press gang,” he added, “and I had an injury to my head. Evidently it did more damage inside than out, because until Miss Alden called my name, I had no idea who I was.”

Dan waited, listening carefully to the words. He glanced at Charity, shifted his gaze back to Winslow, and finally said, “Well, I can tell you that your name is Paul Winslow.” He hesitated slightly before asking, “Don’t you remember me at all?”

“No.”

The monosyllable fell flat, and Dan shrugged. “Well, we were not friends, Winslow. As a matter of fact, we were
enemies. I might as well tell you that we were scheduled to meet in an affair of honor.”

“An affair of honor? What was the quarrel?”

Dan shook his head, but Charity spoke up. “
I
was the cause! You had dishonored me, Winslow.”

He stared at her, his eyes expressionless. She was waiting for him to apologize, but he said nothing for what seemed like an eternity. When he did speak, it was not of her.

“Who am I, Greene? Will you tell me about my family?”

Dan was taken aback. He had never heard of such a thing, and his first thought was that Charity was right: the man was playing a role. He studied the face of the officer, and finally asked quietly, “Are you telling me the truth? You don’t know who you are?”

“I do not.”

Dan Greene was a perceptive man, and he could see nothing in the steady gaze that suggested Winslow was lying—and he had been doing some rapid calculations with dates. “I believe you—”

“Well,
I
don’t!” Charity broke out.

“But, Charity,” Dan protested, “remember how he disappeared? It was in March when we went to the Winslows’. That was two years ago—and they told us Paul had disappeared.”

“But they said he’d been murdered and his body thrown into the sea! Mr. Winslow said he
couldn’t
have been pressed—he said he’d had it checked!”

“Obviously, whoever checked was not successful.” Dan shrugged. “Was it in March when you were brought on board?” he questioned, turning to Winslow.

“It was the third day of March,” Blanche declared. “That was the day my mother and I boarded ship to go to the West Indies—and I was there when Hawke—” She broke off abruptly, an odd look in her eyes. “Or should I say
Paul?
Anyway, I was there when he came out of his coma. He couldn’t remember a thing about his past. I’ve been with him for these two years—and he’s not lying.”

For a moment the cabin was still, then Dan said in a subdued voice, “Well, I think it’s obvious that you were injured and lost your memory. I’m sorry for it. Would you like to ask questions?”

Paul Winslow’s eyes grew warm at Greene’s willing spirit and he replied hastily, “Well, of course, I still want to know about myself. I mean, am I a criminal?”

“You’re the son of Charles and Dorcas Winslow. They are a well-to-do American couple living in Boston. You have one sister, a girl of sixteen named Anne. Your people are Loyalists, but your father’s brother is an officer in the Continental Army—Major Adam Winslow.”

“A tangled web,” Paul murmured. “And what about me, Mr. Greene? What was I?”

“A drunk, a brawler, and a lecher!” All three turned toward Charity, who, though she had not raised her voice, spoke with such anger that Dan shook his head in silent protest. She went on, “Your uncle Adam and your cousin Nathan, his son, are the finest men in America. But your father allowed his brother to save him from what the rest of the Tories got, and your parents have no more gratitude than a pair of vipers!”

“That’s not quite true, Charity,” Dan argued. “And you are being unfair to Paul as well.”

“You defend him?” Charity scoffed.

“We’re all weak, frail vessels, Charity,” Greene remonstrated. “Thee has lost that quality that makes people love thee. Charity is your name, but thee has lost that quality,” Dan finished softly, lapsing into the Quaker use of “you.”

“How can you babble about love, Dan? Have you forgotten what he did to me? He didn’t care if his own family died in that frozen waste of Valley Forge while he tried to ruin me when I sought his help. And now he’s joined our enemies—and he was one of those who killed my crew—and my father!”

Blanche ignored the tears that gathered in Charity’s eyes and declared hotly, “He is an officer in the King’s service! It’s his duty to fight the enemies of his country!” Then she
said in a different tone, a guarded voice that was devoid of emotion but which all knew held the question most real to her, “What about—Paul Winslow? What did he—do to you? Were you lovers?”

“Lovers? Not likely!” Charity brushed the tears from her eyes and told the story that had led to the scene in the inn, and ended by saying, “I slashed at him with that candle snuffer, and it cut his face! There’s the scar! And I wish it had cut his heart in two instead of his face!”

Dan interrupted her outrage, saying, “I think perhaps it might be better if you didn’t press Charity too hard. She’s not herself. I’ll answer any questions I can, Winslow.”

“I agree—and I’m in your debt, Mr. Greene.” There was an enigmatic look in his eyes, and he added, “As long as we’re on this ship, I will be Lieutenant Hawke. You can understand that.”

“Yes, of course,” Dan nodded.

“We’re in for some bad weather, Greene. If we don’t get this ship rigged and refitted, she may turn belly up. I don’t know that there’s a precedent, but I have an offer for you. If you will give me your parole, I’ll set you and the others free to work the ship—with the understanding that you will still have the status of prisoners. Will you do it?”

“Yes! I’ll do anything to get out into the air—and I think you are right. We’re going to need every hand on board to weather this one. I feel it in my bones!”

“Talk to your men. I’ll take your parole and theirs as well.”

“Aye—Lieutenant Hawke!”

Hawke left the room with Greene, and the two women studied each other. Finally Blanche’s shoulders sagged and she went to sit on her bed. “I know you hate all of us—but what you’ve heard is the truth. I love him, and I know he’s not like you say.”

Charity did not answer for a moment, but when she did, there was an unhappiness in her and she murmured softly, “I’m sorry about all of this, Miss Rommey. It was—it was
such a shock—seeing him! I’ve—I’ve never gotten over that scene! The horrible dreams I’ve had—over and over!”