Thomas’ eyes grew wide and so did Devin’s, both men contained by incomprehension over the Captain’s recollection.
“Good, glad to hear Jordan did not go willingly,” Thomas haughtily stated, stabbing his own knife into the wooden table.
Captain Hummel concentrated on the vertical utensil piercing through his cherished mahogany. “None of yer brothers went willingly, lad. Only yer fathers. Guess they had to appear dignified, even at the very end.”
Thomas closed his eyes and felt a rush of responsibility, the rum rapidly numbing his senses and certitude. “Yes,” he agreed, taking another swallow. “Both gentry were arrogant, proud men.”
“Did yew know lad, that yer mother’s haggled their bodies for the lives of their two youngsters?”
Thomas sat agape. He tried to contemplate what he just heard…he might have been mistaken. “What?”
“Yer death was prevented by a proposition of sorts.”
Captain Hummel could not have said anything more menacing to Thomas, he sat up straight, leaned in towards the man and was about to throttle him. “How dare you tarnish the memory of two respectable women—take that back—or I swear I will use that knife and slit your bloody throat with it!”
Captain Hummel gulped, but sat confident in his chair. “‘Tis the truth lad…Both women, a picture of perfection in their expensive ball gowns and refinement, most of the men had not been wit’ a wench for the past several months, let alone a female as patrician as those two beauties. Captain Porter was infatuated wit’ the redhead and wanted to keep her for himself. The other raven temptress traded herself for the goodwill and safekeeping of her son and his bride. Captain Porter agreed, and decided to keep yew alive and drop yew off on a deserted isle somewhere. He was just about to take the redhead down to the nearest bedding cabin when a wave of green sea rushed over the sheer, lifting and capturing both women to their deaths.”
Thomas and Devin rose from their seats and lunged towards Captain Hummel. Thomas got to the man first and wrapped his hands around his throat, choking, squeezing as hard as he could. Devin came up from behind Captain Hummel and yanked at his hair, exposing his gullet for easier access. The Captain’s eyes began to bug out as he tried to rip away Thomas’ hands from his throat.
“Do you think he is telling the truth, Thomas?” Devin asked, grabbing the knife with his other free hand and holding it to the old man’s throat.
Captain Hummel repeatedly tried to clear his gullet, “I will tell yew what happened,” he strained against Thomas’ grip, “If yew release yer grip and cease from pulling me hair!”
Thomas gazed down at the man; he was ageing, yes, his voice the only powerful asset left in the mature buccaneer. Thomas let loose his strong grip on the man’s craw, but Devin remained steady with the blade still under his chin.
“Haven’t yew ever wondered how yew escaped the assassinations?” He voiced, coughing, heaving air into his lungs. “Yew was a Hollinger. One and all on board were supposed to perish.”
“Gwendolyn and I were left alone,” Thomas replied, gritting his teeth. “I remember coming up deck to find all hands vanished into thin air.”
Thomas nodded to Devin to lower his threat and Devin complied. The two men stood like soaring statues on either side of the Captain however, their long arms across their broad chests, rigid and ready for battle.
“As soon as Captain Porter realized what happened, he ordered the first mate to go down to the Great Cabin to retrieve the newlyweds.”
Thomas’ breath quickened, so far, the only person he saw that morning was…Ralph, the captain’s first mate. “Go on.”
“The first mate went down below to seize the children when another wave came over the bow and washed away a few more men. Captain Porter was distracted by the storm coming on so suddenly, he ordered the sails let down and the rest of the crew below deck.”
So far, Thomas thought, he was accurate about the events that took place that day, “Continue.”
“…Well, Ralph went down below and peeked in through the door. Inside, the children were asleep, resting peacefully wit’ their arms around each other; broke his heart to see them so innocently unaware. He had a child of his own; it pained him to know that they would die. Instead, he closed the door, alerted them, and instructed them to stay in their cabin until he could loosen a rowboat to get them to safety. Ralph went back up deck to report to Captain Porter that the children escaped and the Captain believed him. Captain Porter was not concerned about the children; he was more concentrated on the Junia. The ship was a prized scale and he did not want to lose her. Ralph ran back down to the Great Cabin to find the children disappeared.”
Thomas’ eyes grew wide—he was flabbergasted. How did this man know everything that happened that evening? In such vivid detail, how on earth could he have known? Eyeing Captain Hummel more clearly now, he surveyed his long hair clubbed together, his extensive beard covering most of his face and neck, his clothes clean but worn. He was familiar now…dear God, why hadn’t he seen it before? “It was you?” Thomas managed to ask before turning away from him.
Captain Hummel eyed Thomas gazing out the beveled glass. “Aye lad, me Christian name is Ralph Hobart Hummel; I use my middle name for bootlegging purposes.”
Thomas eerily spoke below his normal tone, “You saved my wife, Ralph.”
Captain Hummel eyed Devin who was still stiff beside him. Devin sneered at the man, but was now more concerned for his friend. “Aye… she was without help, crying and trying to hold onto the ratlines,” he called to mind, turning away from Devin’s intimidation and eyeing Thomas on the other side of the room now. Thomas was gazing out the beveled glass towards the ocean and he tried to solicit his compassion. “The wind was cruel that morn, brushing her easily aside. I came up behind her and grabbed her grip away from the ropes, carrying her off towards the stern ladder. We jumped onto the rowboat that was already hoisted down and quickly rolled away. We were afloat no more than a coupla hours when the waves pushed us into another British vessel.”
“I—I do not know how to thank you.”
“Saving me daughter will do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Two months identical, sixty days of waiting and wondering if Gwendolyn would get stronger but no change, she was still weak, still incoherent, still burning with fever. Gwendolyn would jerk back and forth, to and fro, and then spring from the bed to the washbasin to vomit only to fall back to bed practically unconscious. Phyllis would get excited for a split second then watch in fright as Gwendolyn would fall back to sleep.
Charles too, was very worried about her. Bless his heart; the man was just too kindhearted by far. Between herself and Charles, the two of them would alternate shifts and stand vigil at Gwendolyn’s bedside, Charles in the early morning and Phyllis late at night; coming to her aid when Gwendolyn happened to stir or twitch.
“Dr. Peabody, what is your diagnosis?” Phyllis asked impatiently, pacing out in front of him.
“Some kind of extensive fever, Miss Tallyman, could be yellow fever, comes on so suddenly and consumes a person,” he stated in a cold austere tone.
“Yellow feva!” Charles exclaimed, running his hand through his hair in frustration.
The doctor gave a quick look at Charles kneeling by Gwendolyn’s bedside before continuing, “The fever needs to break, surround her in ice, strip her of her clothing, and make sure she is kept cool without delay. I will return in two days to see if there is any improvement.”
Phyllis huffed at the sight of his departure. Country doctors! Oh what she wouldn’t give to be back in London! She hated Dr. Peabody’s unaffected treatment, only applying his talents to persons who were dying or bloodied. What about Gwendolyn? What is to become of her sweet charge?
“I will take the mornin’ shift again Miss Tallymen.”
Phyllis rushed to Gwendolyn’s other side and with a cold cloth she compressed it to her temple. Surveying her body lying there, she shook her head in fr
ustration. “Nonsense Charles, we will rotate our care, like we done before.”
“Do ya think she will die?”
“Shush your mouth Charles McMillen, no one’s gonna die.” Charles stood over Gwendolyn like a protective parent. He wiped off her forehead with another cloth, before saying, “The child’s very worried ‘bout her mum.”
“Clearly...as well as the both of us.”
Gwendolyn began to stir, but only incoherently. “Thomas…”
Phyllis leaned in over her mouth, “What was that deary? We could not hear you.”
Gwendolyn managed to move her head slightly, but then dissolved back into her condition.
Charles brought the cloth down to her shoulders, then at the top of her chest. “I’m so sorry Gwendolyn, this is all me fault. When ya well and realize what happena I hope ya find it in yar heart tae forgive me.”
The passage towards France was comfortable and yet filled with anxiety. Thomas had never been more restless. Gwendolyn was so close, nevertheless, an ocean away. He could have her now; protect her and his daughter from harm, keep her happy in return for her love for him. Oh how he hungered with anticipation of hearing those three simple words. Her physical mind-set shown clearly that night they made love. She was so attentive to his need of tangible contact, she admitted being his, but it still was not enough. Never in his life had he ached for something so critical. His dream of finally holding her in his arms was realized, however, he longed to hear the authentication. Hanging onto her every whim, he hoped to hear her gush her devotion, but instead listened to her talk about her solitude, share her experiences with his daughter after she was born; she even cried in his arms after confessing she bedded her fiancé. It stung him to hear her admission, but what could he do? He was in no position to judge; after all, the same loneliness ran though his veins as well and shed some tears of his own, releasing his past to her. This was not the end; he felt so in his heart, there was still too much to talk about, too much to share. Gwendolyn Drummond had always been his and all will be rectified from this point forward. He would make sure she was permanently owned—showering her with his love until that woman was drenched head to foot.
Two months into the ascent and they hit rough waters pushing them off course. Thomas could not believe his bad luck! He had never come across such ghastly weather, but he held absolute confidence in the Junia. Although most British clippers were average in the winds, the Junia had held supreme. With bursts of speed ranging from 20 to 22 knots, the Junia had less curvature from bow to stern, and a lower bulwark with a plumper waist. Bent on all canvas, her lean narrow hull would proudly enter the green sea flawlessly and run westward towards Mauritius, heading north to round the Cape of Good Hope. She could make a voyage crossing the Indian Ocean to China in about four months.
Gwendolyn’s eyes finally pop open. Staring out into nowhere she took in a deep breath. Focusing on a rattling sound, she realized it was her teeth. She reached out and grabbed Phyllis who had passed out next to her. Startling her to a degree, Phyllis smiled with relief. “Lord have mercy, you are awake.”
Gwendolyn gazed around her and comprehended where she was. Her bedroom, she realized looking down at her body, and she was naked, with only a thin sheet to cover her torso. She reached down and covered herself up. “What happened?”
“Some kind of fever dear, we have been so worried.”
“We?”
“Charles and I.”
“Oh,” Gwendolyn said, realizing he was not there.
“We have been forcing you to swallow broth but now that you are awake, do you think you can eat something?”
Gwendolyn felt parched, but the thought of food made her queasy. “No, I—” she managed to say, rubbing her tummy, “Perhaps some water?”
Phyllis stood up and hobbled over to the vanity. Pouring Gwendolyn a cup, she marched back over to her side. “Here dear, now drink up, I will send up some food. Perhaps some dry toast, or protein dear, perchance some eggs?”
Gwendolyn thought about her cook’s runny cuisine and darted towards the washbasin vomiting into the bowl. Oh God, she was so weak, so frail, so…nauseous, and felt her legs beginning to tremble. “Phyllis…how long have I been lying in bed?”
Phyllis grabbed Gwendolyn back and aided her to lie down. “Nearly ninety days dear, I have never seen anything like it.”
“Three months?” Gwendolyn shot back up, reaching for her stomach instantly, feeling her inners turn against her. Oh no…Thomas. Thomas was to be married within the week and now it was too late. “Phyllis?” Gwendolyn carefully asked, feeling moisture at the back of her eyes, “Have you heard from the Duke?”
Phyllis nodded her head, “No dear, no word from His Grace. Why?”
Gwendolyn doubled over in bed clutching her abdomen in grief and grasped the inevitable. Thomas married that abominable girl; he made his decision and now so should she. There could be only one solution to her obvious condition…she was with child again. Gwendolyn recalled her horrible fever and nausea from Mary’s expectancy, and she was experiencing similar symptoms. She had no idea if she missed her monthly courses during her unconsciousness, but she did know for certain that when she left Kettlewell, she anticipated her stream. “Did my monthly flow arrive, Phyllis?”
Phyllis arched her brows and looked curiously at her, “Why no dear, just sweat, repeated wetness from your entire body.”
Gwendolyn began to fully weep now, “Why would the Lord grant such gifts if he was not going to give me the man who fathered them?”
Phyllis sat down next to Gwendolyn on the ledge of the mattress, “The man who fathered them? Do you think you are enceinte?”
“Think Phyllis? Oh, I know so! And I have been awarded my departing gift for coming in second.”
Phyllis rubbed her leg and tried to console her, “Do you believe His Grace to follow through with his matrimony?”
Gwendolyn wiped away her tears; “I know Thomas…and he would not abandon me without reason. He knows he took advantage of our vulnerability and is probably afflicted with his remorse. He would never relinquish on a pledge of marriage, he is most likely,” Gwendolyn paused and allowed her tears to surface and run down her cheeks, “On his way back from the West Indies on his honeymoon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Why have you never mentioned her to us before, Thomas?” Devin asked, arriving alongside his friend. “And why is it that no one in London remembers your marriage?”
All morning, Thomas had watched the descent on France with unease. He wanted to get this charade over with so that he could head back to Britain to hold Gwendolyn in his arms. Thomas searched Devin’s eyes for compassion before saying, “Because she was mine,” he paused, “Because I wanted to keep the memory of her sacred, untarnished, with no outside opinions. There were only a handful of acquaintances my father invited to the wedding supper—all quite dead now, then only family on our marriage voyage. The Hollinger’s’ were going to post an announcement in the papers when we returned from sea.”
“Such a tidy little secret,” Devin quipped, eyeing Le Havre coming into cloudless view.
“Did you know Devin, that she had her choice of husbands? That Gwendolyn was betrothed to one of us, meaning any four of us, and she chose me over my elder brother?”
“A titled heir?”
“Jordan, yes. Oh, you should have seen him, Devin; outstanding marksman, unparalleled swordfighter, shrewd, intrepid and witty. He graduated from Pembroke too, and I always wondered why he never married. Why, there were ladies compromising themselves at our door nightly!” He laughed melancholy, “All clamoring to be seen with Jordan in a ruining circumstance.”
“Sounds like a man to be envied.”
Thomas gazed over at the flying, outer and inner jibs. “Yes Devin, he was such a man. He was my hero. Until,” he faded off, looking away into the distance.
Dare To Love Page 20
