‘I suppose not,’ he said, wondering what manner of man Sarah Ellison had been married to.
‘So that was how we came to see Mr Taverner pushing Aunt Sarah against the wall and hear him shouting that the gossip was a lie—that he hadn’t kissed another lady—’ she added as an aside.
‘Oh, the louse more than kissed her, sir,’ said the maid, puffing up her chest in righteous indignation.
‘He said that if Aunt Sarah did not marry him he would tell everyone...’ Imelda screwed up her face in confusion. ‘I didn’t really understand what it was he was going to tell everyone, only that it would ruin Aunt Sarah’s reputation.’
Daniel looked at Fanny for further explanation.
The maid’s lips tightened. She cast a sideways glance at her charge before bringing her eyes back to his and saying diplomatically, ‘Mrs Ellison is the height of respectability, but he was going to tell them otherwise, that she had succumbed to his...’ she raised her eyebrows ‘...charm.’
So the bastard was blackmailing her.
‘He said that Aunt Sarah had until Christmas to give him her answer. The next day my aunt decided we should go home to England for the holidays.’ Imelda narrowed her eyes. ‘So you see now why it would be a good thing if someone else was to marry Aunt Sarah before she goes back to New York. Someone who could run Mr Taverner through with his cutlass.’
‘I see perfectly.’ Little wonder that Sarah Ellison was thinking of moving to England for good.
‘You do have a cutlass, don’t you?’
‘I have a sword that is much better than a cutlass for running villains through, Miss Bowden.’
‘Good.’ Imelda gave a sigh of relief. ‘You will not speak of what I have told you to anyone else will you, especially not Aunt Sarah.’
‘My lips are sealed, lass.’
‘Shake hands on it.’ Imelda looked very serious.
She had forgotten to put on her gloves and her small hand was both cold and sticky beneath his, but the bairn loved her aunt and she had told him something of what he wanted to know, and he was grateful for both.
‘I knew I could trust you, Mr Alexander.’
* * *
There was a curious dearth of wind. Through the porthole in the cabin that Imelda shared with Fanny, Sarah watched the sky change. It was the third day she had kept to her cabin and even now, even watching what she was, and even knowing what she did, there was a part of her that wanted to be up there on deck, to see the sky overhead, and feel the wind on her cheeks...and be with him. She pressed her lips firm and concentrated on the view.
Great clouds, dark and thick, belched across the sky, drawing with them a deep dull grey curtain tinged faint with yellow hue. She watched it close until only a peek of brightness remained in one small corner. And then that, too, was gone. The wind picked up, cracking the canvas stretched tight against the strain. From up on deck came shouts as the Angel’s sailors raced to lower the sails.
A knock sounded at the cabin door and Fanny answered it.
‘I wish to speak to Mrs Ellison.’
Sarah’s heart stumbled at the deep Scottish voice that sent delicious shivers chasing across her skin, and then kicked to a gallop. She stood where she was and did not look round.
‘Mr Alexander is here to see you, ma’am. Are you in to visitors?’ Fanny stood by her side, saying the ridiculous words. The door gaped wide. He stood so close he could have reached across and touched her shoulder.
She wanted so much to turn and look into those steady blue eyes.
‘No visitors today, Fanny,’ she said and knew that, however wrong it felt, she was doing the right thing.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Fanny dipped a curtsy.
Sarah kept her gaze fixed on the darkening sky and held her breath. The click of the closing door never came.
‘Mrs Ellison, you may be avoiding me, but...’
She turned and saw Daniel Alexander with his hand splayed firm against the door.
‘How dare you, sir?’
‘There is a storm coming,’ he said calmly, ignoring both her protestation and her wishes, which fuelled her outrage all the more.
‘You overestimate your importance, sir! I have not been avoiding you.’
He crooked an eyebrow. ‘Three days without a foot on deck. Taking the ginger, are you?’
Her cheeks burned. ‘If you would be so kind as to leave now.’
He made no move. ‘As I said, ma’am, there is a storm brewing.’
‘I can see the sky, Mr Alexander. I am quite well aware there is a storm brewing.’
‘Good. You’ll be ready to be secured to the mast then.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
He produced a coiled length of rope.
She looked at the rope and then at him. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’
‘It is no joke, Mrs Ellison.’ But it was the look in his eyes, more than the grave sincerity of his words, that made her realise he was in earnest.
‘We are not dogs to be tethered, sir!’
‘It is clear, madam, that you underestimate the ferocity of a storm at sea.’ His voice was soft but determined.
‘Sir, I will have you know that we suffered a storm two days after leaving New York.’
‘That was not a storm.’
‘How do you know?’ she demanded. ‘You were not here to see it.’
‘I know because you are arguing with me rather than begging to be tied to the mast.’ He gestured towards the great thick wooden mast passed through the deck, but his eyes held hers with a strength that made it impossible to look away.
‘But I do not want to be tied up!’ Imelda protested.
‘And neither you will be,’ said Sarah.
‘Mrs Ellison, perhaps I am not making myself clear—’
But she cut him off with a fury. ‘We will be fine in our cabins, Mr Alexander. As we were before. I bid you good day, sir!’ She moved to close the door.
But Daniel took a step forwards to meet her. He stood there, so tall and imposing that she had never been more aware of his strength or masculinity.
‘I must insist, Mr Alexander.’ They were standing so close that she had to tip her head back to see his face.
‘So must I, Mrs Ellison.’
‘You cannot seriously mean to tie us to the mast?’ Her eyes flicked to the rope coiled in his hand.
‘You’ll thank me afterwards.’
There was a heartbeat of horrified silence as she raised her gaze to his once more.
‘No!’ Imelda dodged round him and ran.
‘Imelda! Stop!’ But Sarah’s shouts went unheeded.
At the far end of the deck the Angel’s crew were busy securing the cargo.
Imelda did not stop. She ran straight for the hatch ladder that would give her escape to the upper deck.
Sarah chased after her niece, but Daniel was faster, reaching the bottom of the ladder and climbing just as Imelda stepped off the top.
‘Stay below, Mrs Ellison. I’ll fetch her.’
But Sarah knew, with Imelda so frightened, that if anyone had a hope of fetching her it was Sarah herself. She took the rungs two at a time, desperate to reach her niece, but what she saw when she emerged on deck was a place she did not recognise.
Sarah stood there and stared around her in horror. It was like a scene from hell except there was no fire, no colour, only wildness and darkness and rain that was not rain. It was a deluge, heavy, icy, stinging as a vertical sheet of hail, deafening as Thor’s fingers, drumming against the wooden deck. Furious. Ruthless. Relentless. It felt like it was flaying the skin from her bones. And through the horror there was no sign of either Imelda or Daniel Alexander.
‘Imelda!’ she screamed. ‘Imelda!’
So loud as to scrape her throat raw, but it was as nothing against the onslaught.
Shadow figures rippled through the dark curtain of water and Sarah stumbled towards them, shouting Imelda’s name for all she was worth. Her heavy, cold skirts wrapped themselves around her legs, impeding her all the more. Her hair was plastered against her face. Blinded by the rain, she felt her way.
And then running out of the hell scene came Daniel with Imelda in his arms.
He grabbed Sarah’s hand and dragged her with him as they sprinted towards the open hatch.
He took no notice of the ladder, just swung Sarah round and lowered her into the hole. She jumped the rest of the small distance to the deck below, turning just in time to see Daniel slide with his feet alone down the edges of the ladder, as if he had done such a thing a thousand times before.
From up above the wind screamed a war cry against the ocean’s roar and the Angel began to reel.
‘To the foremast. Now!’ he commanded.
And this time, not one of them disobeyed.
The rope was where he had dropped it halfway along the deck. He caught it up as they ran. And when they reached the foremast he stood Sarah, Imelda and Fanny around it and bound them in place.
‘Where are you going?’ Sarah asked.
‘The main mast.’ He gestured to the aft of the ship. ‘Just there. No further.’
She nodded, took a breath and felt the rain run from her sodden hair to drip down her face.
‘Are you all right, Imelda?’ She glanced down at her niece.
‘I’m frightened, Aunt Sarah.’
‘Everything is going to be fine. It is just a storm and storms pass.’ She squeezed Imelda’s little hand within her own and forced a smile. ‘Is that not so, Mr Alexander?’ She met his gaze, afraid that it was not going to be fine at all.
‘It is, Mrs Ellison.’ His voice was calm and reassuring, his eyes steady upon hers.
I’m sorry, she wanted to say. What is coming? she wanted to ask. But she knew she could utter not one word of it before Imelda.
‘Let go of the fear, lass.’ He touched his fingers lightly to her cheek, in what was almost a caress, and she had the feeling that it was not only fear of the coming storm he was talking about. The moment stretched as they stared into one another’s eyes. Then it was gone and he was bending down to Imelda and chucking her under the chin. ‘Your aunt is right. All storms eventually pass. Everything is going to be fine.’
‘Do you promise?’ The tremble in Imelda’s voice touched Sarah’s heart.
‘I promise, Miss Bowden.’
Fanny’s gaze met Sarah’s across the small distance. Sarah gave a nod and a smile of reassurance she did not feel.
‘But it will get worse before it gets better again. And as a pirate’s friend you will have to be brave. Can you be brave for me?’
‘Have you been through many storms, Mr Alexander?’
‘Very many.’
‘And it has always worked out fine?’
‘Always.’
‘Are you the captain of your pirate ship or just an ordinary pirate?’
‘I am the captain.’
‘Then I will be brave, Captain Alexander.’
‘Good lass.’ He smiled at her.
The wind had returned with a vengeance and the Angel was already rocking and swaying in the swell of the sea as Daniel secured himself to Angel’s aft mast.
* * *
The howl of the wind grew louder, the heave beneath their feet stronger. The nausea was in Sarah’s stomach again, worse than it had ever been, but this time she did not know if it was seasickness or fear, or a combination of the two. The ship pitched so steeply that it seemed that it would tumble right over. Almost everything had been tied down or chained into place. The few small items that had not were launched like rag dolls into the air. Fanny and Imelda screamed. Sarah held her breath, and then, at the very last minute when it seemed that the ship were about to capsize, the Angel was buoyed back up from the depths again. The items in the air smashed against the deck. From the cargo hold came the dreadful sound of splintering wood, and from the cabins a violent crash and clatter. Sarah listened in horror, knowing that she would have kept Imelda and Fanny in there with her had not Daniel Alexander insisted otherwise.
Imelda and Fanny’s screams ebbed to cries and sobs. Sarah could do nothing more than hold both their hands and whisper words of reassurance they would not hear.
Please God, help us!
But the tiny lull was over and the Angel bucked again and dived down as the waves swept to cover her and there was terror and screaming and the enormous crushing power of the wind and the waves, and the gaping mouth of the ocean sucking them down, swallowing them whole, then spitting them out again. It was violence like nothing Sarah had ever known. They were helpless before its furore, could do nothing other than hold on, endure, wait.
All storms pass eventually. His words whispered again in her ear. He had to be right. He had been right about the rest of it.
But the storm was not done with them yet. A flicker of light forked in the sky, illuminating the whole of the lower deck, the whiteness of the crew’s faces that she only now saw were lashed around it and the water that poured through the closed hatch. A rumble of thunder crashed in the distance.
Time ceased. The terror stretched to an eternity of icy darkness and roaring while the Angel was thrown and dropped and shaken like a hare in the jaws of a great hound. The lightning flashed again and again, and up above the skies were being ripped apart and down below the ocean was trying his best to pull the ship apart.
All storms pass eventually.
But still the rain lashed and still the waves crashed high and all the ocean was deep and wild and snarling, until, at last, it began to soften and the rain became once again just rain and the wind eased, so that the waves only battered, but did not tear at the Angel. Until, at last, the thunder passed into the distance and there was only the thrum of the rain and the rhythmic splash of waves thudding against the ship. Until, eventually, there was only the beat of her heart and the grip of Imelda’s and Fanny’s fingers against hers.
None of them moved. None of them spoke. They stood stunned.
‘It is over,’ she heard her own voice say. ‘We are safe now.’
And then Daniel was there, unfastening the rope, catching Fanny up before the maid hit the ground. Imelda was sobbing as she threw herself into his one available arm and wrapped her arms around his waist.
‘Well done, brave lass,’ he said.
And then Imelda was in her arms. ‘Oh, Aunt Sarah!’ Imelda sobbed.
Sarah held her niece and stroked her hair and made shushing sounds. ‘The storm has passed.’ She gently wiped away the tears from Imelda’s face and hugged her tighter. ‘And we are fine’, the words were no more than a whisper, barely believable to herself.
Daniel’s arm encircled her and she let herself lean against the strength and warmth of his body. The relief made her legs weak, made her head spin, made her cling to him.
‘Brave lass,’ his lips murmured against her ear.
Chapter Four
The sun shone from a beautiful blue sky the next morning. The ocean stretched endlessly smooth and calm. As if the storm had never been—save for the Angel.
Daniel stood on deck and surveyed her damage.
The rigging had been devastated. The bowsprit and jibs were gone. The fore topgallant had snapped off, taking out a great section of the bulwarks and ripping a hole in the deck, before being claimed by the waves. The flags were missing. Ropes dangled limp and useless. Canvas shreds fluttered, the only remnants of great sails that had been taken, lowered or not. The rudder had been torn off and the hull was leaking. The Angel was the ghost of the ship she had been. But that was not why the
pit of Daniel’s stomach felt cold and tight.
Sarah Ellison’s niece had woken up with a fever.
* * *
Imelda’s cheeks were flushed bright, her head burning and sweaty, yet the child shivered and moaned beneath the covers of the cot.
‘I’m so cold, Aunt Sarah.’
Sarah soothed Imelda’s sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. ‘Take another little sip of ale.’ The fresh-water supplies had been lost in the storm.
Imelda did as she was bid. ‘I don’t feel well.’
‘I know, little honeybun. You have caught a chill from being soaked in the rain yesterday.’
‘I’m sorry that I ran away, but I did not want to be tied to the mast.’
‘None of us wanted to be tied to the mast.’
‘But I’m glad we were. Captain Alexander was right, wasn’t he?’
‘He was.’ Sarah did not want to think what would have happened had he not been there.
Imelda’s eyes fluttered shut. She fought to open them. ‘You do like him, don’t you? Even though you were angry with him.’
‘Yes, I like him,’ said Sarah quietly, admitting it openly for the first time.
Imelda’s eyelids were already closed, but she smiled at the answer.
‘Now rest.’ Sarah dropped a kiss to Imelda’s forehead. ‘Rest and you will be better by the end of the day,’ she hoped, not letting her mind follow down other dark paths.
But Imelda was not better by the end of the day. With every hour that passed the fever grew worse until, by nightfall, it racked her, tormenting her rest, making her thrash and moan, burning her hot in the chill of the cabin. And nothing that Sarah did, not compresses or cool icy air, not cold weak beer dripped into her niece’s mouth or stripping the covers from the bed, made any difference. And the relief that she had felt from surviving the storm was a distant memory and in its place was a fear that squeezed the breath from her lungs.
* * *
When Daniel entered the tiny cabin, the wee lassie was dressed in her nightdress and lying uncovered in her cot. Even in the dim flickering light of the lantern he could see the scarlet flush of her cheeks and the glisten of sweat upon her skin. Sarah sat by the bed on a small wooden chair, watching over the bairn.
A Magical Regency Christmas Page 22
