Cerynise blanched and shuddered. “No, Beau, of course not. You were right to expect me to stay in my cabin, and I was wrong to ignore Billy. But what actual harm did I do?”
Beau lifted his head to stare at the ceiling briefly before he gave her an answer. “You interfered with something that was none of your affair, Cerynise. Sometimes it’s necessary for a captain of a ship to dispense punishment and take actions that a woman might not understand. Without discipline, seamen would feel no obligation to extend respect for officers of any command. Order would be impossible—”
“You don’t have to explain all of that,” Cerynise interrupted, but halted suddenly as she grasped the full import of what he was saying. His distress, masked by an iron will, was evident just the same. “You didn’t want me to see what you had ordered done.”
“That has nothing to do with it,” he protested.
Despite his objections, she was confident that her conclusion had merit, but rather than press him, she asked gently, “Who disarmed Wilson?”
“I did, of course. This is my ship. I’m responsible.”
Exactly what she had thought the previous evening when she had trembled with fear that he would be injured. “Just as you were also responsible for punishing him. Both actions had to be taken to protect others.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Do you expect me to think you’re an ogre for having the strength to carry out justice when it’s needed? Oh no, sir, I do not. I have full confidence in your ability to be fair when it’s deserving and equally harsh when circumstances compel you to be. You’re the captain of this ship, and your responsibility includes everyone aboard this vessel.”
He came near and slipped a knuckle beneath her chin, tilting her head upward until he could search her face. His emerald eyes were gentler than she had ever seen them. “That makes me responsible for you, too.”
Perhaps it was the little imp resting on her shoulder that prompted her to goad, “Only until we reach Charleston, Captain.”
Beau wasn’t sure he liked the reminder. His brow gathering, he drew away and moved to the door. Pausing there, he glanced back at her. “Don’t forget to lock your door.”
This time, Cerynise did precisely what she had been told.
Nine
SKETCHES OF THE crew remained very much in demand in the following weeks, for the sailors were much in awe of Cerynise’s talent. They seemed to enjoy her presence on deck, not only because her drawings drew their interest but also for her friendliness and lively wit. To their relief, they soon discovered that she was no stuffy aristocrat who’d be inclined to look down a condescending nose at them. She was just as ready to talk with them as they were to a woman, yet they were careful to show her the proper respect due a captain’s wife, calling her Mrs. Birmingham or ma’am or mum, seeming almost fearful to step beyond their boundaries. It was Cerynise who put them at ease about their rough manners. She had caught on to their jargon very quickly and used it deftly to mimic their comments or their way of talking, drawing hoots of laughter when she deepened her voice, hooked a thumb in her belt, and strode about with a hitch in her gait or a roguish swagger. She began to know many of the sailors by name, and plied them with such questions as where they were born, did they have any family, how long had they been sailing, and what were their hopes for the future. She talked with many who had no home life other than the sea, preferring to live unfettered by kith or kin, but they didn’t necessarily impress her as entirely happy men. They had just never known another way of life, having signed on at an early age or been impressed in some fashion or another. A few had grown up on farms and, when they were barely old enough, were forced to do service in the English navy. Some had families in the Carolinas or along the seaboard and were anxious to see them, having been away a goodly number of months.
During all of this, Beau remained at a tactful distance, allowing his men the benefit of his wife’s company whenever they were free from duty. He had bade Billy to find a way to stabilize her easel on deck and outfit her with a portable stand for her paints. The results keenly claimed his own close attention, for she vividly captured a mariner’s life on canvas, showing sailors in their rough garb clambering up into the rigging with the wind whipping their hair and, ever beyond them, the sea with its tumultuous waves. She even painted the younger helmsman standing steadfast at the wheel, with brisk breezes raking his tan locks and clothing. Beau never saw any paintings of himself, but now and then, when he would glance up unexpectedly, he’d find her closely studying him while sketching on parchment. But upon his approach, she usually busied herself with shuffling her drawings, and by the time he arrived, he found someone else’s face and form on the paper beneath her hand.
On a cold but gloriously bright day, dolphins were seen cavorting alongside the Audacious, where they remained for several hours. Cerynise was so intent upon getting a closer view and, at the same time, capturing them on paper that at one point her feet were completely off the planking as she balanced precariously over the railing. Spying her, Beau leapt swiftly across the deck and, swooping her off the wooden rampart, set her to her feet with an angry reprimand.
“Kindly refrain from tumbling in, madam,” he barked, scowling at her. The thought of her being caught unawares by a gust of wind or the bucking of the ship had sent piercing shards of cold dread through his heart. “’Tis a long way down, and your skirts would probably drag you under faster than I can swim.”
Cerynise blushed, realizing how foolhardy she had been. “I’m sorry, Beau,” she murmured, humbly contrite. “I didn’t even think about falling in.”
Placated by her soft apology, Beau lowered his tone to a cajoling request. “Please don’t get on the rail again while we’re at sea, Cerynise. It isn’t safe.”
“Yes, sir.” The words were muted, childlike.
He smiled down at her as his hand came up to caress her cheek with what seemed a husbandly display of affection. “Good girl.”
Suddenly Cerynise’s heart lifted, and with a smile, she leaned toward him until she found his arm about her waist. At the moment, she didn’t care one whit that Oaks and several others were watching them. He was her husband after all. “I didn’t mean to anger you.”
“Worry would better describe my feelings, my sweet,” he corrected, amazed that she had openly invited his embrace. “I’d hate to lose you after all my schemes and efforts to bring you with me. Falling off my ship would hardly show your gratitude.”
Although Cerynise suspected where his statement would lead them, she inquired in a guise of sweet innocence, “How would you prefer I show it, Beau?”
He held her curious gaze for a long moment, knowing only too well what she expected him to answer. Then a slow grin stretched across his handsome lips. “We’ll leave that to your imagination, madam,” he murmured. “But staying alive would be primary above all else.”
“I shall endeavor to comply with your wishes, sir.”
“Good.” With that simple reply, he slid his hand away in a slow, provocative caress of her waist, leaving her feeling wonderfully light-headed as he stepped away. It was only later, in the privacy of her cabin, that she was led to wonder if he was wont to observe her as closely as she did him, for she had barely dragged herself onto the railing when he was suddenly there behind her, hauling her off.
In the ensuing days, Cerynise ventured into the galley and coaxed Monsieur Philippe to allow her to sketch him at work. By this time the chef had taken on legendary proportions in her mind, and she wanted something to remember him by. Philippe chortled and fussed a bit but seemed clearly flattered that she would care to draw him. She completed several scenes of him working his wizardry in a space that seemed cramped to her but which, he informed her, was at least twice the size of a normal ship’s galley.
At no time did Cerynise catch even a hint of any ill feeling on the part of the crew for the punishment Wilson had been given. She could only assume that they had accepted it as his prop
er due and had thrust the matter from their minds. As for Wilson himself, he had been confined to the cable tier for a week and then was given rigorous duties befitting his crimes and the task of correcting the damage he had done below deck, all of which he labored at beneath close supervision. In redress of his wounding of Thomas Grover, he was also assigned that seaman’s normal duties and given the chore of waiting on the man until Grover was on his feet again. Whenever the announcement was made that Wilson would be working on deck, Billy cautioned Cerynise to stay in her cabin and, this time, made it evident that it was his captain’s orders. She complied completely.
Three weeks out, Cerynise woke to an unusually red dawn. So vibrant were the colors that she pleaded for Beau to let her come on deck at that early morning hour and set up her easel so she could capture the stirring display. When Stephen Oaks paused beside her later to admire her work, she could hardly contain her enthusiasm.
“Isn’t the sky absolutely beautiful?” she warbled eagerly. “I can’t remember ever seeing so vivid a sunrise.”
Oaks grunted, none too thrilled. “Oh, it’s vivid all right, but just the sort of dawn a sailor would rather not see come along.”
Cerynise looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
Oaks took a long look around. “There’s an old adage sailors have long taken to heart, ma’am. Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. I would venture to guess that we’ll be in for a bit of rough weather ere long.”
Although the sky was void of clouds, Cerynise allowed that the man had far more knowledge about such things than she did. No one seemed affected by this daybreaking harbinger, however. Indeed, the sailors climbed into the rigging with their usual vigor to spread more sail. Even Beau went up, which was a sight that Cerynise could have done without. He seemed well acquainted with making his way along the foot ropes beneath the yard. He even hoisted himself up on top of the spar itself and seemed to stroll leisurely along as he looked off toward the horizon and then, changing direction, inspected the sail that billowed beneath him. Cerynise watched him in trembling disquiet and felt her heart lurch when a sudden gust of wind snatched at him, causing him to thrust out his arms to balance himself. Her fear was too much for her to bear with any semblance of calm in the presence of others. Clasping a shaking hand over her brow to sharply restrict her view, she fled the deck and sought sanctuary in her cabin, where she paced anxiously about, awaiting the dreadful news of her husband’s fall.
Billy Todd brought her breakfast a short time later, and Cerynise feigned a casualness she by no means felt as she asked, “Is the captain having his breakfast, too?”
“Aye, mum. He just came down.”
With tears of relief spilling over her lashes, Cerynise breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving and sank weakly into her chair. Oblivious to her distress, Billy poured her a cup of tea and took his leave.
Cerynise hadn’t calmed to any measurable degree by the time she returned to the deck. Since the weather seemed unseasonably warm, she ventured forth with only a shawl draped over her shoulders. As soon as she moved away from the companionway, her eyes went searching until she espied Beau talking with the quartermaster, a grizzled man with corded muscles and a steely gaze. Both men were standing near the younger helmsman, who had the morning watch at the wheel. For the most part, the helmsman listened intently to his superiors, but he would give comment when spoken to directly. Cerynise couldn’t accurately fathom what they were discussing, but she rather gathered it had something to do with the forecasts of gloom Oaks had predicted. There was, she guessed, always a chance that changing the ship’s bearings a degree or two might enable the Audacious to escape the worst of a storm. Still, how could anyone foresee where the bad weather was centered?
Mr. Oaks was engaged in an activity that had aroused her curiosity ever since she had first become aware of it. Desiring to know more about the instrument that had so absorbed him, Cerynise meandered casually across the deck until she reached his side and then waited patiently until he lowered the device he was using.
“Is that a sextant?” Cerynise asked with a smile, indicating the metal contraption that looked like a triangle with a curved base and several interesting attachments.
“Why yes, it is,” he answered, surprised by her knowledge. He held it out for her to see more clearly. “With this and a chronometer, a sailor could almost plot a course through heaven itself.”
“How is it done, may I ask?”
Smiling at her interest, Mr. Oaks gallantly offered, “Allow me to show you, ma’am. You see, one simply looks through the telescope here”—he tapped that part of the instrument with his forefinger—“and focuses it on an object in the sky, in this case the moon that has obligingly remained in the morning sky.” He stepped behind her, extending his arms beyond hers to make the necessary adjustments, and then leaned close over her shoulder to correct it back a degree. “One then measures the angle between the object and the horizon. With that angle, a sailor can refer back to the appropriate books of tables and, in only a few moments, calculate our latitude.”
Cerynise was thoroughly engaged in studying the moon, for even as pale as it now appeared, she could make out vague shadows across the surface. “This is amazing, Mr. Oaks. I never thought I’d be able to see so much.”
“Aye, ’tis,” Mr. Oaks agreed. “Before the sextant was invented, sailors had to rely on the astrolabe, but that was a bad business in its day, for the instrument had to be sighted on the sun. Navigators who served a goodly number of years regularly went blind.”
Cerynise felt a measure of dismay as she lowered the sextant and stared at him. “You must feel extremely fortunate to have an instrument as fine as a sextant at your disposal.”
“Indeed, madam. Now let me show you how to calculate an angle.”
He was in the process of doing that when a sudden awareness swept over Cerynise. One moment she was thoroughly occupied with learning the operation of the sextant. The next she was oblivious to everything but her heart gathering speed and the certain, inexplicable realization that Beau was close at hand.
That perception was swiftly confirmed with a gruff question. “What are you doing, Mr. Oaks?”
The mate stiffened apprehensively and, dropping his arms to his sides, stepped back away from Cerynise. Blameless he was, for there had been no slightest hint of impropriety, yet in spite of that fact he started stammering. “B-begging your pardon, Captain, but your wife…I mean, Mrs. Birmingham expressed an interest in the workings of a sextant.”
“I see,” Beau replied, his eyes raking them both. The wind ruffled his raven locks as he considered each of them, increasing their discomfiture no small degree.
Cerynise felt a keen regret for having involved the mate in this situation that, although innocent, had apparently nettled her husband’s ire. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have interrupted Mr. Oaks while he was busy, Captain. I shan’t do it again.”
Beau turned his attention upon his first officer. “And were you able to finish with your instructions, Mr. Oaks?”
Stephen Oaks shifted his stance uneasily, folding his arms around the sextant as he clasped it to his chest. “I was just showing Mrs. Birmingham how to calculate an angle, sir, but I wasn’t able to finish.”
“Then carry on, Mr. Oaks,” Beau urged, returning a grin to their gaping stares. “I don’t know of anyone who can tutor her any better.”
“Th-thank you, sir,” the mate stuttered in relief.
Cerynise curbed her amusement as she watched her husband strolling leisurely away. She had the sinking suspicion that Beau Birmingham had deliberately set about to frighten them nigh out of their wits for no other reason than his own puckish enjoyment. Perhaps the boy he had once been, who had relished teasing her long ago, had not entirely vanished after all.
Cerynise hurriedly begged leave of the mate. “Excuse me, Mr. Oaks, but I should like to have a word with my husband.”
Leavi
ng the man, she quickened her steps to catch up with Beau and casually fell in beside him. He glanced askance at her, displaying some surprise at her presence. The coy grin she gave him was quite charming. “I gather you’re feeling rather smug by now, Captain.”
He seemed perplexed by her statement. “Madam? What are you saying?”
“You know very well what I’m saying,” she challenged. “I’ve been acquainted with you far too long not to recognize that devilish wit of yours. You intentionally harassed that poor man, making him think you were jealous.…”
Beau squinted as he lifted his gaze into the shrouds above their heads. “I am jealous.”
His simple acknowledgment baffled Cerynise so completely that she could not find further words with which to accuse him.
“I’m jealous of any man who claims even a moment of your time when that moment is not also spent with me. I could have shown you the sextant and explained the way it works, but since we’ve left London, you’ve been avoiding me as if I carried the plague. The only way you’ll consent to come to my cabin now is if I have other guests. Indeed, madam, you protect your virtue more adroitly than any chastity belt ever could.”
His accusations brought home to her the truth of what he said. She had been evading him. What could she do when every enticing moment she spent with him in private drew her ever closer to his bed? “You know why I can’t chance being with you.”
Beau sighed heavily, wearied by her arguments, and looked out to sea. “A storm is brewing.”
His abrupt change of topics took Cerynise unawares, and yet she was grateful for it. It put them on safe ground again.
“How can you tell?”
Stepping near the rail, he beckoned for her to draw near and pointed toward the gray churning mass curling away from the hull. “Was the water this choppy yesterday?”
Cerynise stared at the deep ripple of foam-capped peaks and the murk beyond before she shook her head.
Elusive Flame Page 22
