by Téa Cooper
Forgotten Fragrance
Téa Cooper
www.escapepublishing.com.au
Forgotten Fragrance
Book I: From the Ocean to the Outback
Téa Cooper
Only one woman can confirm his innocence, and release him from the torments of his past.
Determined to throw off the shackles of her convict past, Charlotte Oliver accepts her employer’s marriage proposal, even though she does not love him, and together they board a refitted whaling schooner bound for Sydney to begin their new life.
But life has a way of disrupting plans, and during the voyage the Zephyrus undergoes a mutiny. Captain Christian Charity loses his ship, but he also risks losing so much more. Charlotte has in her possession a tiny blue bottle and an Angel coin. On their own, they mean nothing more than a keepsake, but to Christian, they could mean everything – a past remade and a future with love.
About the Author
Téa Cooper is an Australian author of historical and contemporary romance. In a past life she was a teacher, a journalist and a farmer. These days she haunts museums and indulges her passion for storytelling.
Acknowledgements
As always my thanks to my fabulous critique partner Eva Scott and her Grammar Guru for their support and encouragement, and of course to Kate Cuthbert, the Escape team and every one of the Escape Artists.
I would also like to acknowledge the assistance of Gillian Simpson of the Australian National Maritime Museum, Carol Edwards of Eden Whale Museum and the Newcastle Maritime Museum. They put me in touch with a wonderful man, Wayne Patchfield, who knows all about nineteenth-century schooners. Thank you all so much. Making contact with such fascinating people is half the fun of writing historical fiction.
In the immortal words of Rat from The Wind in the Willows:
‘There is nothing — absolutely nothing — half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.’
This story is a ‘thank you’ to everyone who has shared their boat, and their time on the water, with me.
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
Chapter 1
Salamanca Wharf, Hobart Town, 1844
‘Why such a long face, my dear? This voyage will be nothing like your previous experience, I assure you.’
Charlotte forced a tentative smile to her face and thanked her lucky stars for Marcus Wainwright. Grasping his arm she let him lead her along Hunter Street to the new Salamanca wharf. As always, the truth of his words resonated deeply within her. Simply enjoying the sights and sounds of the bustling harbour was a far cry from the last time she’d boarded a ship. From the first day she met Marcus he’d been kindness itself and accepting his proposal would in some way repay him for taking a chance on her.
‘The Captain has been kind enough to forgo his comfort for the duration of the voyage and will bunk down with the crew. We will have his cabin and the first mate’s at our disposal. I’d like you to think of this trip as the beginning of our new life.’ He patted her hand, drawing her into the well-ordered security of his world.
As they rounded the corner onto the wharf the wind picked up and buffeted the crowds milling around the wharves and dockside taverns. The entire area rippled with energy, jam-packed with sailors from all over the world — British merchant seamen, American whalemen, Malays, Polynesians — and not a convict ship in sight.
Relinquishing Marcus’ arm, Charlotte clung to her skirt and her bonnet as a stiff gust of wind whistled around one of the sandstone warehouses and threatened to blow her into the water.
‘There we are.’ Marcus pointed beyond the New Wharf to a small schooner moored offshore, amongst the visiting ships fighting for space with the river barges and all manner of craft. Convinced this was the busiest harbour in the world Charlotte clamped her bonnet firmly on her head and gazed in the direction he indicated.
The two-masted schooner rode the gentle waves of the outer anchorage with unexpected elegance. Its jet black hull and golden stripe accentuated the sleek lines. On the prow the head and torso of a woman with long golden curls arched beneath the long bowsprit and glistened in the sunlight. Every inch of the timber and brass glinted with polished perfection and a flag fluttered atop the massive mainmast, threatening to graze the clouds.
With a relieved sigh Charlotte dropped her shoulders, finally convinced Marcus had spoken the truth. Zephyrus appeared nothing like the dreadful aged transport that had floundered its way around the Cape full of misery and sickness, bringing her to Van Diemen’s Land. Not only was the Zephyrus much, much smaller, she appeared cared for, a treasured possession. Her heart gave a little skip as she scanned the immaculate paintwork and the clean rake of Zephyrus’ masts.
A large rowboat bobbed against the wharf and the barrow boy unloaded their baggage from the green handcart, ready to pass down to the waiting sailors. Her small carpetbag looked a little sad next to Marcus’ assortment of baggage, but considering she’d arrived in Hobart Town with little more than the clothes on her back she couldn’t complain.
‘Let them load our trunks and then you go first, my dear. I shall be right behind you.’
The incongruous pair of sailors dressed in patched trousers and not much more manhandled their baggage into the boat, then the taller of the two offered her a calloused hand. She gripped it and stepped down into the well of the boat, pausing for a moment to allow her body to move with the rhythmic rise and fall of the water.
‘Are you all right, my dear?’
‘Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Just getting my balance.’
The younger of the two sailors settled her onto one of the bench seats. He didn’t even look old enough to have left his mother’s side. She leant back against the shiny timber, studying the Zephyrus, revelling in the clutch of excitement in her stomach and the warmth of the sun on her back.
The boat gave a lurch and Marcus landed, almost losing his balance, beside her. He glared, brushed aside her offer of assistance and collapsed onto the seat. Recognising his disgruntled sigh as the prelude to one of his frequent bursts of temper Charlotte smiled, hoping to soothe him. His erratic moods and self-importance were a small price to pay for all he offered her — a new life and a new start. Despite her initial doubts about him, her life could have been so much worse if Marcus hadn’t come to her aid when she stepped ashore from the Atwich six years ago.
Marcus brushed his hands down his immaculate black frock coat, checked his silver pocket watch and frowned. ‘Will you be able to manage the rope ladder when we get out to the Zephyrus?’
‘I’m sure I shall, I had plenty of practise climbing around a ship. I’m certain I haven’t forgotten, although it seems like a lifetime ago.’
‘Humph!’ Marcus shook his head and glared pointedly at the sailor whose arm muscles bunched as he eased the small boat away from the wharf.
‘I know you’d rather I didn’t refer to my past, Marcus. I did time in Newgate and spent four months aboard a prison ship. I can’t make it disappear.’
Her history weighed far more heavily on his shoulders than her own. He wanted it forgotten, buried. She’d long ago come to terms with Marcus’ sensitivity to the stigma of her convict status. Some of the most prominent citizens of Hoba
rt Town had similar origins proving she shouldn’t be ashamed. In another seven months her full sentence would be completed and she’d be a free woman. ‘I don’t think there will be much aboard the Zephyrus that will surprise me.’
Marcus studied the sailors as they accomplished the pull back to the ship. The glassy water of the harbour rippled and when they entered the shadow cast by the schooner Charlotte pulled her shawl tight. Craning her head back she peered up at the imposing figure standing amidships, arms akimbo, studying their little boat as it bumped alongside the immaculate black hull. A rope snaked down and the young sailor caught it and, as Marcus predicted, a ladder was lowered.
The sailor offered his hand, steadying her while she took a firm grasp on the lower rungs, then averted his eyes as she began her ascent. Before she had time to worry about her modesty a huge pair of roughened hands reached out and reefed her unceremoniously over the rail. She landed on the deck with a thump. Rearranging her skirts she nodded her thanks and moved aside to make way for Marcus.
His head appeared level with the deck rail and they hauled him aboard in a torrent of snorts and grumbles. He smoothed his topcoat, shrugged and eyed the forbidding giant who had watched the entire proceedings with a studied indifference.
‘Captain Charity, I presume.’ Marcus offered his hand and with a degree of reluctance the man unfolded his immense hairless forearms, exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt.
Charlotte bit back the laugh building in her throat. The man looked more like a pirate with his large glittering earring and red neckerchief than the captain of this neat little craft.
‘Nah! Henk, First Mate, Capt’n’s gone ashore. Business to conduct.’ The corpulent pirate withdrew his hand and wiped it down his stained trousers, then resumed his belligerent stance.
Marcus’ Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed his intimidation and pulled his shoulders back. ‘Marcus Wainwright. I’ve arranged passage to Sydney aboard the Zephyrus.’
‘Don’t hold with no passengers, meself. Zephyrus is a working ship, whaler not a bloody transporter.’ The pirate’s flat green eyes raked her. ‘And not a bleeding hen frigate.’
A shudder traced her spine and she stepped closer to Marcus.
‘Capt’n didn’t say nuffink about women.’
Squirming beneath his unwelcome scrutiny Charlotte dropped her gaze from his face and concentrated on the polished deck.
‘The Captain and I discussed our passage and he’s well aware Miss Charlotte is accompanying me. I’m certain he knows full well she is a woman.’ With a disparaging glare Marcus defied the pirate.
‘Certainly no doubting that, is there?’ His thin lips curled in a sneer and Charlotte pulled her shawl tighter, covering her neckline. The incongruity of his green eyes and the oriental cast of his face, so at odds with his accent, made her skin prickle.
Unable to escape she turned and looked up at the masts as they swayed with the swell, almost piercing the gathering clouds. The sneaking suspicion that some problem would arise to prevent her leaving Van Diemen’s Land bubbled to the surface and she fought it down. Marcus carried papers giving her permission to travel to Sydney. She’d been assigned to him since she first set foot in Van Diemen’s Land.
‘Are you going to show us to our cabins or are we going to stand up here discussing your captain’s arrangements until he returns?’ The pirate failed to recognise the tone in Marcus’ voice. It spelt trouble.
‘Women aboard ship’s bad luck. The crew ain’t going to like it.’
Marcus drew himself up, angling his head level with the pirate’s shoulder. ‘Take the matter up with your captain. Now man, show us to our quarters.’ He waved his hand at their baggage on the deck behind him. ‘Bring our belongings and follow.’ He strode off along the deck.
Charlotte’s eyes widened and she lifted her skirts and trotted after him. The nauseous sensation in her stomach caused by the rank odour of the pirate’s unwashed body and the stench of spirits enveloping him was an unpleasant reminder of her last voyage.
As they reached the cabins the pirate elbowed her aside and stood in front of the door to the captain’s quarters. ‘Put it down there.’ He indicated to a vacant space below the deck rail between two tiers of neatly stacked crates and the two sailors lowered the trunks to the deck.
Unintimidated Marcus grunted and peered down his long nose. ‘Open the door.’
His supercilious stare won out and the pirate moved aside. With a twist of his wrist Marcus reached into his pocket, produced a couple of copper coins and flicked them into the sailors’ hands before they sauntered away across the deck. ‘And the cabin for Miss Charlotte?’
‘We’ll see about that.’ The pirate sniffed and hawked his displeasure onto the deck before turning and swinging open the door to the main cabin.
Marcus cleared his throat, shot a look at her, raised his eyebrows and stepped over the threshold. Charlotte followed him into the neat space, not more than six feet by six feet. It housed a fitted bunk bed and a console running the length of the opposite wall.
‘Well, my dear, it looks as though we will be well catered for.’ Marcus lifted the lid of the table to reveal a mirror and a washbasin. He ran his hands over the worn, polished timber. ‘I will have the opportunity to catch up on some of my more pressing paperwork and you can serve my meals here.’ He pulled out the single chair and sat, elbows resting on the tabletop. ‘I’m sure your quarters will be adequate.’
Charlotte gazed through the window yearning for a flash of the horizon as the ship bobbed on the incoming tide. At least this time she would have the opportunity to breathe fresh air and see the sky; even walk freely on the decks and watch the crew sail the Zephyrus out of the Derwent, up the coast and on to Sydney. Nothing like the tiered bunks below decks she’d suffered on her last voyage, no sickness, and none of the crippling misery as she’d mourned Elizabeth and Jamie. Hugging her elbows tightly she smiled; after six years she almost cherished the perpetual ache in her heart, without it she’d be lonely.
Sliding her hand to her neck she searched for the familiar security of the frail chain she wore. Casting a quick glance at Marcus, absorbed in a chart he’d found on the console, she pulled the tiny blue bottle and the worn gold coin free. Every indentation, every line etched in the glass served as a map of the past. Closing her eyes against the sparks of sunlight reflecting from the glass she conjured Jamie’s face.
The wide winning smile, eyes the colour of nutmeg and golden promises. A year at most, he’d insisted, a year working the streets of the city of London and they’d be free to start afresh. Sadly there was one fatal flaw in Jamie’s plan — Elizabeth’s death. Nothing but memories left, trapped in a tiny bottle and the golden Angel — the coin Jamie found buried in the mud on the banks of the Thames. He said it was a lucky coin. Anyone who owned an Angel was promised love, money, and happiness. He’d said it would secure their future.
‘Mr Wainwright, my apologies.’
Distracted by her reminiscence Charlotte jumped and turned from the window. The dark rumbling voice resonated in the small cabin, gruff but warm. Or perhaps it was the memories she’d stirred warming her.
‘Ah! Captain Charity?’ Marcus rose and offered his hand to the tall, sun-streaked man filling the doorway.
A deep fan of lines crinkled from the corners of the Captain’s eyes as he threw Charlotte a lopsided grin and ignored Marcus’ outstretched hand. She tried for a return smile, instead her face flooded with colour and she studied his soft brown boots.
‘I apologise for my absence. I intended to welcome you aboard. Tedious paperwork at Custom House detained me, I’m afraid. I see Henk showed you to my cabin — your cabin, for the duration of this voyage.’ His sun-bleached hair shone silver, contrasting sharply with the weathered tan of his skin.
‘Most adequate,’ Marcus said, dropping his redundant hand. ‘Let me introduce you to my housekeeper, travelling companion, Miss Charlotte Oliver, soon to be my wife.’ He lowere
d his voice a fraction, then raised his bushy eyebrows and gave the Captain a knowing nod.
The heat rose once more to her cheeks as Charlotte stuck out her hand.
‘Miss Charlotte…’ He stepped closer, so close she could see sparks of sunlight reflected in his brown eyes, and grasped her hand. For one foolish moment she thought he would lift it to his lips, instead it disappeared into his large, comforting clasp. So much warmth in his palm and so much strength in his fingers. His hand lingered far longer than necessary before he increased his pressure and winked.
Winked!
Shocked, she pulled back her hand and forced a polite smile to her mouth, all fluttery and breathless and unsure how to respond to the look of rapt attention on his face.
Marcus came to the rescue and broke the charged silence. ‘I believe you have also set aside a cabin for Miss Charlotte.’
‘Has Henk not shown you?’
The memory of the dirty pirate’s thin lips twisting in a lecherous sneer sent a shiver of distaste across her skin.
‘Not as yet,’ Marcus said. ‘There is no mistake, I presume. You have the capacity to take us both as passengers to Sydney.’
The Captain ignored Marcus’ statement and his face broke into a huge grin, like the sun coming out after rain. Her heart skipped a beat, then pitter-pattered against her rib cage. He held her gaze almost as though he could hear the ridiculous thumping in her chest. ‘No mistake. We made a deal and I am a man of my word.’ His tanned brow creased in a frown as though he was trying to remember something. ‘And Henk has agreed to forgo his cabin for Miss Charlotte’s needs.’
‘Hen frigate.’ Charlotte clapped her hand over her mouth.
How had those words escaped?
‘I beg your pardon.’ He leant closer, all his attention focussed on her face.
She bowed her head, seeking refuge behind her hair. ‘It was nothing.’
‘I think perhaps Miss Charlotte is referring to the rather less than encouraging welcome she received from your first mate.’
