Salting the Wound

by Janet Woods

  Table of Contents

  Recent Titles by Janet Woods from Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Recent Titles by Janet Woods from Severn House

  AMARANTH MOON

  BROKEN JOURNEY

  CINNAMON SKY

  THE COAL GATHERER

  EDGE OF REGRET

  HEARTS OF GOLD

  MORE THAN A PROMISE

  SALTING THE WOUND

  THE STONECUTTER’S DAUGHTER

  WITHOUT REPROACH

  SALTING THE WOUND

  Janet Woods

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain 2009 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9-15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

  First published in the USA 2010 by SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS of 110 East 59th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022

  eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2009 by Janet Woods.

  The right of Janet Woods to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Woods, Janet, 1939-

  Salting the Wound.

  1. Ship captains - Fiction. 2. Revenge - Fiction. 3. Dorset

  (England) - Social conditions - 19th century - Fiction.

  4. Love stories.

  I. Title

  823.9'2-dc22

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7801-0378-5 (epub)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6829-9 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-189-8 (trade paper)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This eBook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  To Jill Lawson and Pat Hornsey.

  With my appreciation and thanks

  for a job well done.

  One

  Poole, Dorset, 1850

  Nicholas Thornton stepped ashore and took a deep breath of his native English air. His hand closed around the pistol under his coat, his glance sought out any danger that might be lying in wait in the shadows. Under his arm was a length of rare exotic silk safely packaged in a satchel made from sailcloth. The silk was a gift for Charlotte Honeyman, from which she could fashion herself a wedding gown.

  It was a fairly quiet night for the quayside town of Poole, except for the faint hum of voices coming from the taverns, the occasional spill of light and noise when a door opened and spat out a drunk or two. A pair of cats exchanged insults in an alley.

  The summer air was as cool and soft as a whisper of satin against his face, the dewed stillness of it broken only by the impatient slap of the rigging against the masts, the creak and squeak of timber against timber and the lap and splash of water against the hull of the Samarand.

  Square-rigged and with a sharp rake to her stern Samarand averaged only twelve knots in the right conditions. She’d been built eight years previously but would be lucky if she lasted till she was fifteen, when she was due to be sold for scrap. Already she was full of worm. Nick hoped he wasn’t on board when the bottom dropped out of her.

  He jumped when the cats’ argument became a full-blooded skirmish and the pair exploded out of the alley into the circle of light left by a gas lamp. Ears flattened, they spit and slashed at each other with ferocious cries and shrill growls. He chuckled when one broke off and ran back into the alley, the other one in hot pursuit.

  Much as he liked life at sea, and much as his uncle wanted him to, Nick had no intention of sailing the world’s oceans forever. There were easier, less dangerous ways of earning a living. He’d also like a bed that didn’t pitch and toss, unless he happened to have a woman under him and the pitching and tossing was of his own creation. If he stayed in the career he’d grown up with he’d end up like his great uncle. No woman wanted a husband who was rarely home.

  In vain he’d argued with his uncle some three months ago, which had been the last time he’d tied up at the company berth in Poole.

  ‘We could warehouse the goods we import, open a shop and sell them ourselves.’

  Erasmus Thornton had scoffed with some disgust at his suggestion. ‘You want to become a shopkeeper? I suppose you intend to settle down with the eldest Honeyman girl, as well? After a few weeks with her you’ll be glad to get to sea again. You’re thinking with your balls.’

  He grinned. Didn’t most men? ‘Being a shopkeeper is nothing to sneer at; I know some damned wealthy ones. Neither is having a wife and children. If Charlotte will have me, and there’s no reason why she shouldn’t, I’ll marry her. I’ve known her all my life.’

  ‘You’ll come to regret it if you do. She hasn’t shown any inclination to wed you so far, though she’s good at keeping you on the hook. You’ll be damned if she agrees, and she’ll be cursed if she doesn’t. Still, if you want to marry and produce a family I’m not against that. God knows, the Thornton family is thin on the ground now and you might as well choose a woman with some looks and backbone to her. But Charlotte Honeyman is as bad-tempered and as stubborn as they come. It will take a special kind of man to handle her. She’ll probably need a stick around her backside now and again to point out to her who’s the boss. But mark my words – it damned well won’t be you!’

  Nick had roared with laughter at the thought of Charlotte marrying anyone else but him.

  Erasmus smiled at him. ‘The younger one is more your style. She has the looks and softness of her mother.’

  ‘More your style, Uncle, since it was your liaison with their mother that caused the split between the families.’

  Nick couldn’t recall the younger girl’s name, or even what she looked like come to that. She’d usually been out on the heath when he’d visited, or helping the maid around the house. Besides, when set against Charlotte, everyone else paled into insignificance for Nick. He’d wanted Charlotte ever since he’d been old enough to introduce lust into his life. Her refusal to cooperate had only added fuel to his fire.

  Erasmus had sighed and passed a hand across his forehead then. ‘It’s a great pity that their mother died. Take my advice, lad. Never fall in love with a married woman, like I did. I’ll be taking possession of the Daisy Jane soon, so you won’t get me working in a warehouse or shop. We’ll work both clippers for a while, and you can have command of the Samarand. She’s still got some l
ife in her. I daresay you’ll enjoy life better without having me breathing down your neck.’

  That fact had improved both his life and his temper. Nick had now completed his first voyage with Samarand under his command. His uncle has been right. He’d enjoyed being out from under his critical gaze, and was proud that his seamanship skills had brought his ship safely back to harbour.

  He took another perfunctory look around. The shadows were still, except for a seaman rolling back to his ship. He respectfully touched his cap as he passed, grunting, ‘Evenin’, Cap’n. She’s a fair one.’

  ‘Indeed she is.’ Nick gazed around. There had been no sight of the Daisy Jane as he’d entered harbour and docked, though his uncle was due in at any time now. Erasmus had named the ship after his sister, who kept house for them.

  ‘It might sweeten her up a bit,’ he’d said. ‘Though anyone who looks less like a daisy I’ve yet to meet.’

  Looking over her glasses at her brother, Daisy had then snorted.

  Nick had been raised by his uncle and aunt from the age of three. He couldn’t remember his parents, but his father had been Dickon Thornton, who’d been an adventurer. His mother was a Greek woman. According to Erasmus, she’d been encouraged by her new husband and her stepsons to lose interest in her bastard child.

  It had been a strict upbringing. Blood was thicker than water with both of them. Aunt Daisy had been fond of using the stick to keep him under control when he misbehaved, but he loved her. Erasmus had always treated him as though he was his own son, instead of the son of his much older half-brother, whom he’d never got along with. Nick had been left in no doubt that Erasmus was proud of him, though. As expected of him, he’d set sail with Erasmus at the age of twelve to learn his trade.

  ‘I imagine the Honeyman girl will have you eventually. She has nobody else to turn to and no money with which to attract a man,’ his uncle had pointed out the last time they’d been in port together, and after Charlotte had turned Nick down once again. ‘I’ll give her an ultimatum. If she doesn’t stop prevaricating I’ll have her out of that house on the next tide. I don’t want the upkeep of it any longer. I’m a seafarer not a builder, and the place is falling down.’

  Nick smiled to himself as he stepped confidently forward. It had been a long time between ports and there was time to find a willing woman for himself before the morning. There was a whore called Nancy who always gave value for money. He’d seek her out. And he’d visit Charlotte in the morning and propose marriage. If Erasmus had delivered his ultimatum to her, this time she’d agree.

  His smile faded as he remembered the last time he’d proposed to her. She’d been in a fine fizz of a temper and had stamped her foot. ‘I’ve told you that I don’t love you and I’ll never marry you. Don’t you listen?’

  ‘My uncle has promised to give us the house if you wed me,’ he’d said, then in a fit of generosity, ‘I intend to put it in your name so you don’t have to worry about not having a roof over your head any more.’

  ‘I loath Erasmus Thornton. I’d rather die than take anything from him, even the house I grew up in. He ruined my mother and impoverished my father.’

  ‘Your mother loved him. As for your father, he was a drunken gambler. Nobody made him wager the house. It was his own idea. Erasmus doesn’t want the upkeep of Harbour House. At the moment he’s of a mind to sell it out from under you. Agree to marry me and it will always be yours.’

  ‘If he attempts to turn me out I’ll burn the place down. As for becoming your wife, you’d make a terrible husband. You’re always away . . . though that would prove to be a plus rather than a minus. You have no manners and you probably have a girl in every port.’

  He’d grinned at the truth in that. ‘I can learn some manners, and I intend to remain ashore in a year or so and open my own emporium.’

  ‘Hah!’ she’d thrown at him. ‘You’re too arrogant to learn any manners now. I want to love and respect the man I marry. And I want him to love and respect me. You’re incapable of either.’

  Anger had risen in him then, because he’d done both and for several years now. ‘You don’t know me if you think I’ve got no feelings, Charlotte. But if you want pretty words and gifts to prove that I care for you, then you won’t get them. To my mind, love is a damned fool notion that weakens a man. But I’ll be faithful to the woman I marry. I’ll be back, and I won’t take no for an answer. Make up your mind to it.’

  She heaved a sigh and told him again, talking slowly, as though he was an idiot. ‘It won’t make any difference, Nick. I won’t marry you.’

  ‘Charlotte, you promised yourself to me in childhood and I’m going to hold you to that.’

  ‘That was before I discovered who caused the death of my mother.’

  He sighed then. ‘You can’t blame me for what somebody else did. Besides, it was only a rumour.’

  He watched her eyes begin to despise him when she quietly said, ‘One you believe yourself. I don’t want you and I won’t marry you. Come here again and I’ll shoot you dead.’

  He’d retreated to lick his wounds, confident she’d come round eventually. Two days later he’d taken the Samarand to Shanghai, but now he was back with a cargo of tea and exotic silk, which he intended to sell at a huge profit. Despite his vow that he wouldn’t prove his regard for her with gifts, he’d set a length of the precious silk aside for Charlotte’s wedding gown and intended to take it to her as a peace offering. By now she would have come to her senses.

  It was the middle of the night. Even if his Aunt Daisy had seen the ship coming into harbour, Nick decided not to rouse her from her bed by going home and letting himself in. Instead, he paid Nancy for the night, for he had a raging need on him.

  As it turned out, if he’d gone straight home he might have saved himself from a wasted journey.

  The next morning Nick went home in time for breakfast. He kissed his aunt. ‘Uncle’s not home yet, then.’

  Aunt Daisy snorted. ‘That’s a damned fool question if ever I heard one. Can you see him? Go and get yourself a bath and shave before you sit down at my table. You smell like a whore’s petticoat.’

  He gave a slightly shocked grin. What did his maiden aunt know about whores, let alone what their petticoats smelled like? Then he realized it was one of his uncle’s expressions.

  The bath was kept in the back room, where the laundry was done. Aunt Daisy already had water heated for the exercise. Soap and his shaving gear were on the marble washstand and his robe hung over a chair.

  He had himself a bath and a shave, then tidied up after his ablutions, because shipboard life had taught him to be tidy. Dressing in his best shore suit he went down to breakfast.

  Aunt Daisy looked him over, then smiled. ‘There’s handsome you are. Are you meeting someone?’

  He avoided her eyes. ‘Could be,’ and he tucked into his breakfast of bacon, eggs and sausages, and two pieces of toast covered with thick yellow butter.

  ‘You’d better take her some flowers,’ Daisy said, just as he was about to leave.

  ‘Take who flowers?’

  ‘You know who.’

  He kissed her cheek. ‘Mind your own business, Aunt Daisy.’

  He bought Charlotte a posy anyway, and hiring a black horse from the stables, he set out towards the heathlands that bordered the harbour. There was a faint flush of dawn in the sky that deepened in colour and reached down into the water as he rode.

  Red sky in the morning sailor’s warning, he said under his breath as the horse stepped out along a path worn through the undergrowth to the chalky soil beneath.

  A man emerged from Harbour House before he reached it and pulled on his jacket. He stood alone as though he was waiting for him. When Nick neared the man he saw that he had a straight, taut bearing while seeming relaxed, grey eyes and light brown hair.

  ‘I’m Seth Hardy,’ he said. ‘Is there something you want with me?’

  Seth Hardy? He’d heard of him. Erasmus had said the man had co
me into a legacy, and had talked about him as being interested in the clay and gravel pits that had belonged to Charlotte’s father. But he’d wanted the house as well. What was he doing here?

  He’d soon find out, Nick thought as he dismounted and held out a hand. ‘I’m Nicholas Thornton.’

  Hardy gave his hand a brief shake. ‘I know who you are. State your business.’

  There was a feeling of dread growing inside Nick. His uncle must have gone ahead and sold the house from under Charlotte. He wondered where was she?

  ‘Is Charlotte Honeyman inside?’

  ‘It’s early. My wife is still in bed.’

  ‘Wife?’ Nick said harshly, and his heart plummeted into his boots. ‘Charlotte is married to you?’

  ‘Two months, since I bought the house.’

  The man was about thirty, five years older than himself, Nick thought. There was a quiet strength about Hardy when he informed him, ‘Charlotte doesn’t wish to see you, Captain Thornton.’

  ‘She married you . . . a man who’s a stranger to her. I don’t believe it. I’ll hear it from her own lips.’

  A shot kicked up a spurt of dust just in front of him, the report making him jump. Automatically he reached for his own pistol.

  ‘There’s no need for that, Charlotte, put the gun away,’ Hardy said.

  Nick’s hand stilled when he heard Charlotte’s laughter come from the upstairs window. ‘Perhaps that will convince you, Nick.’

  She was still in her lacy chemise, and her hair tumbled gloriously around her shoulders. His eyes narrowed. So she was married . . . yet she still had a look of innocence about her. Surely this was a trick to get rid of him.

  ‘I thought you were going to shoot me dead if I came here again,’ he scoffed.

  ‘If that’s what you want.’ The gun came up steady in her hand as she lined it up on his head. He remembered that she was an expert shot.

  ‘Stop this,’ Hardy shouted in alarm, then he shrugged, and relaxed.

  Time slowed as Nick watched her finger tighten on the trigger. His mouth dried and he gazed at the man who’d said he was her husband, but mostly with bravado because his heart was thundering in his chest. ‘I see you are a man who hides behind Charlotte’s petticoat.’