by Kate Dolan
As they took seats in the small parlor, Josiah noticed the youngest sister was anxious to ask a question but knew her mother or father must begin the conversation. Her impatience made her bounce a little in her seat.
“Mr. Throckmorton tells me he has had a letter from his sister, come in with the Canary,” Carter began.
“We were fortunate enough to receive correspondence from my family in London as well,” Mrs. Carter neatly interrupted, apparently anxious not to be outdone by her future son-in-law.
Conversation then languished as Josiah stared at the small portrait of Carter’s father hanging over the mantel. The portrait was crude, but even so, the painter had captured a determination in his subject’s eyes Josiah found fascinating. And puzzling. This man in the portrait had doubled the size of the Carter plantation, and the added income from his efforts had enabled his son to enlarge the house to its four-room layout. He had driven himself hard, and yet left it for his son to reap the reward. Why?
It was his turn to say something.
“Um, yes.” What had they asked him? Had they asked him anything? What were they talking about?
“Your sister, then, is well?” Mrs. Carter’s curiosity saved him from his carelessness in attention. He had expected questions about his sister.
“Eleanor—Lady Davenport is quite well, thank you. She expects her husband to be assigned to a post on the Continent now that the war has ended. As I told Mr. Carter.”
“I do hope she is finding married life agreeable, if it is not forward of me to say so.” Mrs. Carter smiled a little too broadly.
“Um, yes, most agreeable, madam.” Josiah felt heat rise to his cheeks. References to marriage made him uncomfortable, but they seemed inescapable in this close colonial society.
The tall girl with the handsome face and red hair suddenly burst out with a loud giggle and held her needlework up to her face. Her mother frowned. Josiah tried again to remember her name…Alfreda? It was some boy’s name with an “a” at the end, of that much he was certain. All the daughters after Caroline had been given boys’ names, as if that would ensure the presence of a male heir should something happen to Charles.
Georgiana, that was it!
“Does she send news of your brother?” Mrs. Carter asked, drawing Josiah’s attention back to the conversation.
“A little, madam. He, like the planters here, is looking forward to a reopening of the markets on the Continent.”
Georgiana nudged Edwina, who had stopped poking listlessly at her sampler and now stared out the window at a large tree full of apples. She turned in response to a few whispered words from her sister and snorted with laughter. Josiah sighed. So, he wasn’t to be spared their ridicule on this visit, either.
Mrs. Carter turned a stern eye on her indecorous daughters; and Georgiana, apparently tickled beyond the power of speech, mutely pointed at something near Josiah’s head. He looked up and turned around, seeing nothing but the rough plaster ceiling and walls. Had she been pointing to his head? He touched the back and felt a leaf crunch under his fingertips. How long had he worn that in his hair? Good God—it must have wagged like the tail of a dog every time he’d turned his head!
He looked at Johanna. She, at least, would be too anxious of any news from England to giggle at him.
The girl saw she finally had his attention and, with a quick glance at her mother, began her inquiries. “Have you an order in from London, Mr. Throckmorton?”
Josiah assumed the Carter family had placed an order with their London agent that was far greater than his was likely to be, with his smaller household.
“Yes, Miss Johanna, and all satisfactory.” He didn’t want to admit in front of his future in-laws that he believed his London agent had cheated him horribly, sending inferior goods and charging outrageous prices. The waistcoat he received had been the wrong color and sewn for a man twice his girth. And the French lace—well, though probably not French—had looked fine enough, but he received only half the quantity he had ordered. And now some of that was already ruined. He glanced at his sleeve ruefully.
“Well, I must tell you that our order was most disunsatisfactory.”
Mrs. Carter gave her youngest daughter a sharp look but said nothing.
“My new gown is far too short and not fashionable in the least,” the girl continued. “Georgiana’s gown is cut too low, Mama says, and is simply scandulitious! Georgiana says she doesn’t mind, though, and believes it to be the new fashion and that we simply don’t know here in Maryland. Have you seen the new fashions? I’m most anxious to see what the ladies in London are wearing this season.”
Her questioning at an end, Johanna sat back and looked hopefully at Josiah. However, with no female members in his household save for his servants and slaves, he could no more impart news of ladies’ fashion from London than he could give news from the northern colonies.
“I’m sorry, Miss Johanna, I took no ladies’ gowns with my last order.”
“Were there any ladies on board the Canary?” Johanna was not giving up.
“Did you see the ship land?” Edwina asked, taking an interest in the conversation for the first time.
“I arrived shortly afterward. To inspect my order.” In truth, he had grown a little bored and had welcomed the news of the ship’s arrival as an excuse to leave the cramped house and monotonous work of his plantation.
“Is the Canary a large ship?” the girl continued rapidly. “Does she carry any cannon? Are there any monkeys?”
Josiah was not prepared for the barrage of questions, and he fairly gaped, not knowing which to answer first. In a moment, he forgot them all. “I’m sorry?”
“Monkeys,” she repeated, looking into his face for the first time. “Did you see any monkeys on board?”
“Last year the girls saw the captain of a ship at the Landing walking around with a monkey on his shoulder. Since then, they have assumed monkeys are to be found on most ships, at least those of any importance.” Carter smiled genuinely for the first time that day.
“Alas, no, Miss Edwina, I saw no monkeys.” Her crestfallen face gave Josiah a sudden inspiration. “But, of course, I did not go below deck, so…”
“So, there may be one you have not seen. May we go down to the Landing this afternoon, Father, may we please?”
“Oh, yes, Father, may we?” Georgiana joined in, pausing a moment before chortling in anticipation.
“Further news from London would, I think, be forthcoming from such a venture,” Johanna chimed in, carefully weighing each word.
John Carter had anticipated these requests from the moment he heard of the ship’s landing yesterday. He was frankly surprised it had taken the girls this long to ask. They had been to see another ship only two days’ earlier, so that may have sated their curiosity somewhat. That vessel, however, had disappointed them—a small, undistinguished sloop that had been beating about in colonial waters and had no news or goods from England. There was some story about treasures from the Greek islands, though, which had kept the girls gossiping with the servants all afternoon.
But what should he do? He had planned to take the family out to the Landing, but with Caroline missing, he did not know how to proceed. He looked at the imploring faces of his three younger daughters. They all believed Caroline to be ill and sleeping in her small, closet-like bedchamber upstairs. Her mother, too, believed the story; Carter had persuaded her that Caroline suffered an ailment spread by bad air and that he had survived the same illness as a child and was the only one suited to care for her. His wife’s fear of the tropical diseases of this land, still alien to her after more than a quarter of a century, would keep her away from Caroline’s room for a little while longer, at least.
Should he tell them? He could not until Throckmorton took his leave. Should they make the outing? Well, he could at least say “yes” until Throckmorton was gone. Then he would decide whether to tell the rest of the family that Caroline was not in her bedchamber this morning and ha
d not been seen by any of the servants since last night.
The girls looked at him expectantly. Georgiana had a twinkle in her eye, and Carter knew she was hoping to spot a handsome captain on deck. Johanna, of course, craved a fresh source of news, any news, and Edwina—well, who knew what Edwina was interested in. She wanted to go, that was plain enough.
“Well, Mrs. Carter, what do you think of this proposed outing?” He scarcely turned toward his wife before he began making mental plans to leave. His wife would be just as anxious as the girls, although she would likely be looking for prosperous potential sons-in-law rather than monkeys or Greek trinkets.
All this time, Josiah sat uncertain. Was he included in this outing? He enjoyed visits to the Landing when a ship was docked. The increased activity made the settlement seem so much more civilized, and the ships themselves bore a rough yet graceful beauty. He wouldn’t mind setting out to sea himself, he thought, were it not for the responsibilities of running his plantation. The seasickness that had kept him confined to his berth for the better part of his voyage from London last year flickered only faintly in his memory.
He suddenly found all eyes on him. Was he expected to take his leave? Offer to accompany them? What did they want him to do? What did he want to do? He cleared his throat and looked at the picture of the Carter ancestor. He cleared his throat a second time.
Once again, an interruption saved Josiah from his uncertainty. Hurried footsteps crunched on the walkway in front of the house, and someone pounded on the door with great urgency. He heard Grimble pass from the kitchen through the length of the opposite parlor to the door. Quick words were exchanged, then the servant knocked on the parlor door and entered, followed by a tall, skinny boy of about sixteen who looked ragged and near to overcome with exertion.
“Sir.” The boy paused for breath.
“He says he has urgent news of Miss Caroline,” Grimble broke in.
“I was with Miss Caroline last night.”
“What?” The word fairly exploded out of Carter’s mouth.
“We, Miss Caroline and I, sneaked into the Falls Inn last night, to see the Greek treasures.”
Edwina stirred excitedly on the bench.
“What?” Carter repeated with only a little less fire in his voice.
“And something happened…I don’t know what. I woke up and everyone was gone. And…”
“What, boy?”
“Other people…men…are missing. They say…they say…” The boy looked from one face to another in the room, as if unable to find anyone to whom he could impart his story.
“Come on, out with it!” Carter moved forward, apparently ready to throttle the tongue-tied lad.
“They say it were pirates. They say Caroline was taken by pirates!”
Chapter Four
Caroline’s hands hurt, and a rotten smell seemed to follow her throughout the ship. She had been fighting back tears all day, but now she no longer felt a need to fight. Her life was over.
She still wasn’t sure how she had ended up on a ship, and she hadn’t taken much time to ponder the question. An endless day of pulling on heavy ropes, moving piles of cannon shot, breathing gun powder and being lambasted and ridiculed at every turn had reduced her world to the confines of this stinking mass of wood on water. She would never get out, and she didn’t care. She wanted only to be left alone in the anonymous darkness.
After a few minutes of rest on the deck beneath the hammock that had been assigned to her, Caroline noticed that her stomach hurt. She wanted to eat, but the food they had given her earlier was tough, inedible and smelled as bad as everything else on the ship. She had eagerly drunk the ration of water that was offered. It seemed fresh, though the shared cup was filthy.
After she had drunk the water, someone poured another liquid into the cup, which she downed with the same enthusiasm, only to spit it out immediately with a hoarse cough. The men around her laughed heartily, a reaction that was becoming all too familiar—her every movement seemed to be met with laughter or derision.
The second drink in the cup was grog, it seemed, and others were more than happy to drink her share. She let them—the stuff was almost as bad as the fiery liquid she had drunk at the Falls Inn. That evening’s adventure seemed like another life.
No, this seemed like another life. She was not supposed to be on a ship. She was supposed to be home at Hill Crest, leading her sisters on visits to her Aunt Bennett’s home and choosing dinner menus with her mother. She was supposed to be starting the preparation for married life with Mr. Josiah Throckmorton. She was supposed to be working on the fancy needlework that would trim her trousseau. Mistress of her own plantation, that was her place, directing the servants and placing the orders for goods from England. She would host gatherings and dances and would find suitable husbands for all of her sisters.
Of course, the house on the Throckmorton plantation did seem a bit small for entertaining, but she imagined there might be just enough room for a dance if she did not invite too many couples.
Mr. Throckmorton had named his home Hanset, after an estate of his mother’s family in Kent. The whole property had been known as Langley’s Choice before that and was still known as such to most neighbors. No one blamed Mr. Throckmorton for changing the name of the plantation, though, since Mr. Langley had shown his choice to be a return trip to England.
But now Hanset was so far away. She would never get back. Tears sprang out in force, and Caroline let go, no longer fearing someone might hear her crying and discover she was a girl. They obviously didn’t think she made a very good ship’s boy. Her life could not get worse. She would simply wither away from sadness and lack of food, and they’d have to land on shore to bury her body and then, maybe, someone would learn of her identity and bring the sad story home to her heartbroken family.
What must her family think? They knew she was gone, of course, but did they know what had happened to her? No one knew she and Jimmy had planned to sneak into the Falls Inn. But Jimmy wasn’t here. Throughout the day her eyes had scanned every face in the ship, and he wasn’t here. Why?
“You…” Her mind reviewed all the colorful insults she had heard since her arrival on the ship. “Bastard,” she finally whispered. It wasn’t colorful, but it was coarse and, in Jimmy’s case, probably accurate.
“This is all your fault, and you’re back home safe in your bed.” She reached up and smacked the hammock above her fiercely. She couldn’t sleep in that thing. Curling back up on the deck, she tucked her chin into her chest. Would he tell them what happened? Surely not—he would be whipped.
What had happened to him? It wasn’t fair. This was his idea. He had told her the stories he’d heard about the treasures the sailors would show at the inn—and possibly a monkey, too. He had gotten the clothes for her. It was his fault. And now she was suffering all the punishment.
The ship rolled heavily, and something brushed against Caroline’s back. Rats! Ugh! Then she felt a stream of water trickle along the deck as the pitch changed, and she hastily scrambled up and tried once again to slide into her hammock. Fortunately, the berth above hers was empty at the moment so she had room to maneuver. With relief, she found that this time she was able to stay in the middle of the hammock and could thereby avoid rolling out the other side onto the wet deck. She would be fine as long as she didn’t move.
What could she do? Hill Crest, her father, Edwina—everyone and everything seemed so far away, and they grew more distant each minute. Forgetting the need to stay rigid in the middle of her hammock, Caroline curled her head to her chest and shook with quiet sobs.
On his way through the fo’c’sle, John Hardey heard the crying. It must be the boy, he decided. I’ll let up a bit tomorrow, and the lads’ll do likewise, he promised himself. Seamen expected a lad to grow up far too quickly. A boy needed a bit of comfort now and then until he was full grown, and he wouldn’t get that at sea.
Hardey went over to the hammocks and knelt to give a quick w
ord of cheer to the boy. Regular deep breathing showed he had already cried himself to sleep.
“Good lad!” he whispered. “We’ll make a seaman of you yet.”
Josiah was truly at a loss what to do. Upon hearing the news of Caroline’s abduction, Carter had sent a servant to bring Charles in from the new fields. Charles had then insisted that Josiah accompany him to the landing to question the innkeeper.
When they reached the Falls Inn, a youngish girl, probably the innkeeper’s daughter, answered their questions about his whereabouts with complete diffidence. He would be back “sometime,” she said, and she “was to stay here until he returned.” That was all she knew.
Charles had charged off in search of the proprietor, leaving Josiah to “guard” against his return. Now the innkeeper was back, and Josiah was distressed to realize he did not know what to say to him.
“Ahem,” he finally managed as the man stooped to pick up a small cask near the door.
The proprietor of the Falls Inn rewarded his guest with a sour look. “The public room ain’t open.” Without waiting for a reply, the man hoisted the cask to his shoulder. Brushing past Josiah, he headed for a door at the back of the room.
“Wait, please, Mr., uh, ah…” Though not a frequenter of taverns, Josiah had certainly heard the proprietor’s name; moreover, it was printed in careful letters on the sign outside, a sign which he had just examined for a quarter of an hour while waiting for Charles to return.
But it was no use—the name absolutely escaped him. “Sir, if I, uh, may beg a moment of your time, I would like to ask you some questions. If I may, please, sir. I would be most grateful of, uh, a word with you.”
“In a while. I’ll be back.”
This wasn’t going well at all. Josiah had the vague sense he should be outraged at this man and should demand to know immediately what had happened to Miss Carter. The innkeeper, quivering with fear and perhaps remorse, should beg his forgiveness and swear to help recover Miss Carter at all costs.
