by Sara Cardon
Captain Hawke wiped his mouth and pushed back his plate. “What has it to do with you?” The man did not meet his eyes as Jack stated the circumstances as succinctly as possible. Jack wasn’t convinced the captain was listening, except that the man’s hands clenched into fists. Captain Hawke reminded Jack of his captain when he was first rated an able seaman. He clearly remembered the captain’s wrath when he overheard Jack mocking his mistress. It had almost ruined Jack’s chance at being an officer.
His palms sweat. “I only ask that you consider the crew’s unenviable circumstances, rather than vote for execution as a matter of course.”
The man pierced him with a glare. “You are a mere pup, wet behind the ears, compared to my experience.” His lip curled. “And a grubby fool to beg a favor. You dare speak to me concerning my integrity?”
Captain Hawke stood and Jack followed suit. The older man was fast, but Jack tightened his muscles a moment before Hawke’s fist rammed into his stomach.
Jack burned hot as he collided with Hawke. The brick of a man blocked Jack’s blow, exposing his gut, and Jack slammed his fist into it. When Hawke bent down, Jack swung his elbow into the man’s throat, and pinned him against the wall.
Hawke choked for air and clawed at Jack’s arm.
Jack heaved in breaths, distantly aware of the onlookers. He had not meant to start a brawl, but he had misjudged the captain. Hawke would likely take his anger at Jack out on the men at the trial. Jack’s anger mounted, but he had to cut his losses.
He released his hold and stepped back. Hawke slumped against the wall, rasping in air.
“Remember your integrity, or others will remember your opium smuggling.” Jack spat out the threat then turned and strode away.
He wiped his hands on his pants but couldn’t remove the sensation of being dirtied. His jacket was ripped and his ribs were beginning to throb. He shook his head at the disaster of a meeting.
Chapter 19
Lucy swatted at a fly as she paced near the entrance to Havencrest. She could not rest until she spoke to Jack, and she was determined to do so the moment he arrived.
The sun was dipping in the sky when a hackney arrived outside the gatehouse. When it pulled away, Jack’s solitary figure strode into view at long last. Lucy brushed off her dress, snatched the newspaper up, and walked to meet him. They stopped in the middle of the crossroads leading to the estate.
“What a pleasant surprise.” He gave her a tired smile that did not reach his eyes. “What are you doing out here? Can I walk you back?”
Did he know already? She forced a smile. “Jack, I need to speak with you in private about the article in the Herald.” She waited, but he showed no hint of recognition. “I want you to hear it from me first. I am mortified.” Her hands began to tremble.
“It cannot be as bad as that,” he reassured.
She thrust out the paper. “Please read it. Then I will explain,” she added softly.
Jack nodded and his eyes skimmed the short article. He paused then reread it, slowing down and staring at one spot. He glanced up and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
The silence became too loud.
She swallowed. “There are accurate pieces mixed in with half-truths.”
“I knew you were an heiress, but I didn’t know about the bank.” He squinted. “But now that I consider it, I did catch snatches of conversation . . .”
“The part about Tilney’s is true. My grandfather bequeathed it to me, and it is struggling with maintaining long-standing patrons. The withdrawals threaten the ability of our bank to operate.” Was she explaining this in a way he would understand? His eyes were focused somewhere over her head. She quaked at the mere mention of her bank dissolving. “Your secretary made it clear you would be withdrawing your funds, which are substantial.” She swallowed, cringing at the mention of money and business. Reuben should have spoken to Jack after all. “I did come here hoping to make your acquaintance and win your faith.” She knew she was rambling but couldn’t seem to stop. “But the Herald distorts my purpose. After I met you, I found myself drawn to you, and I was at cross-purposes with myself. That is why I have not spoken to you about the bank, nor allowed Mr. Hardy, my bank manager, to speak to you. I do not want to lose your friendship.” Or his adoration or love. Tears filled her eyes.
“Please say something, Jack,” she whispered.
He looked at the paper, his brows pulling together. “The Herald makes me out to be a fool. An uncouth bumpkin.”
That was the part he was focused on? Relief washed over her like a spring rain. “It is obviously fabricated. You are nothing of the sort,” she said emphatically. He must believe her.
He laughed bitterly. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. Why would a lady like you seek out an uneducated man like me? The two would never belong.”
Lucy’s heart fluttered hot and fast as his words slowly took effect. Like a poison in her blood, raw pain pulsed with each heartbeat. Lucy wanted to cry out but was tongue-tied.
Jack straightened his posture, taking on his military demeanor, and pulled away from her.
How could she express her feelings to this man without overstepping the bounds of propriety? Hang propriety. She needed to wipe the pain from his eyes. She needed to be clear so he would understand.
“Of course we belong together. How can you doubt your value to me? How can I convince you?”
He placed a hand to his side as if it pained him. “I had thought I meant something to you. But I knew it was too good to be true.”
Had he not heard a word she just declared? Her heart cried out in protest. “You must believe me, Jack.” She reached out, grasping air when he deftly stepped back.
“I can’t do this with you, Lucy. My own mother didn’t choose me,” he said in a detached voice.
She placed a hand to her mouth. “I am terribly sad for your loss, Jack. Doing that to a child makes me want to weep. But her betrayal does not mean I would ever choose to betray your love. That is what I feel for you, Jack. Love. Unlike anything I have felt for another living soul.” She clasped her hands to her chest.
“You have already made your choice.” He lifted the paper. “I leave for Portsmouth with first light tomorrow. Farewell.” With a crisp bow, he turned and walked away.
She had no choice but to watch him go against the backdrop of a red sunset. A sob escaped, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. Her body shook with soundless sobs and hot tears coursed down her face, but she willed her heartbreak to be silent.
Chapter 20
The glaring sunlight gave Lucy a headache as she dragged herself to St. Peter’s Church. Her body ached from a restless night, and her bones bent as if she were ready to be buried in the cemetery she passed. The churchyard’s north wall had a stone coffin built into it. She could curl into a ball on the bench it created among the foxgloves and roses.
Mr. Nicolson touched her arm, and Lucy slowed, allowing Charlotte, Reuben, and Thomas to walk ahead without them. Reuben and Charlotte each held one of Thomas’ hands as he toddled along on his chubby legs. He jabbered in delight, and the two smiled at each other. “Are you unwell, Miss Brook? Perhaps you should be abed today.” He pushed his spectacles into place on his nose.
Lucy shrugged. “I am well enough for services.”
“Is the bank troubling you? Things are not lost, so do not give up yet.”
“No. Well, yes, the bank worries me.” Though she had no energy for business today.
“The newspaper article, then?” he pressed.
Lucy grimaced and glanced around, wondering again how many of the people here knew of its contents.
“They were out of line to print such rubbish, Miss Brook.” He firmed his mouth and shook his head.
She smiled. His concern touched her, and she was pleased she was not completely numb.
“You did not deserve such treatment. What they printed about Captain Sharpe, on the other hand, was in line with my opinion.
”
Lucy winced at the echo of pain radiating from her concealed wound. “He was undeserving of such ill treatment. I cannot countenance speaking ill of the captain.
Mr. Nicolson frowned. “He is beneath you, Miss Brook.”
She shook her head. “I am the one at fault. I used him badly and he discovered it.” The row of gargoyles seemed to accuse her.
Mr. Nicolson drew his head back. “You didn’t grant Mr. Hardy permission to speak to him about his account with Tilney’s. Did you speak with him yourself?”
“No.”
The ocean in the distance was covered with a dense fog that would soon blow away as the day dawned. Wisps of clouds dotted the sky. A seagull high overhead glided in the breeze, seeming to hold still, wings locked in place.
Mr. Nicolson cleared his throat. “Whatever guilt you are piling on yourself is unwarranted.”
“He left because of me. I was beginning to believe . . .” She bit her lip. This was too personal to share with Mr. Nicolson, even if they were good friends. “It is too late,” she said instead. Her head throbbed and tears welled in her eyes. They were not dried up after all.
His eyebrows rose and then fell like gravity. “I am sorry for the pain I have caused you as well. I should not have reacted to seeing you with him the way I did.”
She nodded, accepting his apology.
“But for him to leave you . . .” He exhaled a humorless laugh. “I did not expect our fearless captain to retreat so easily.”
A laugh came unbidden, mixing with her tears.
He took her hand in between his. “He will come to his senses. And if he does not, then he is more bacon-brained than I thought.” He raised an eyebrow. “One poorly written gossip column does not change the facts about you.” Then he sternly said, “Besides, no one but Whigs read the Herald.”
She laughed at his reference to his despised political party.
“Thank you for your efforts on my behalf.”
“That smile is much better.” He gave her a warm smile of his own and led her to St. Peter’s, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm.
Chapter 21
In full dress uniform, Jack stood in readiness with a widened stance as if the earth heaved beneath him. He was adrift among the crowd waiting for the punishment to be carried out. The sea was calm and clear. The docks of Portsmouth were teaming with onlookers. The ships in the squadron were assembled, ordered to witness the punishment once the signal was given. Aboard the vessels, the ships’ crews stood dressed in their best, heads bare and hats in hand.
A yellow flag rippled in the breeze aboard the Fleetwood where the hanging was to take place. Marines were stationed in the bows and sterns, their red uniforms contrasting against the blue jackets of the officers and the white shirts of the sailors. A cannon was at the ready on the platform beneath the foreyard arm.
All twenty men had been found guilty during the court-martial. Only John Caddy was sentenced to be hanged since he was the one who planned and led the mutiny. The other men’s sentences would be transferred to deportation or flogging round the fleet. It was a victory, but still a pall hung over Jack’s triumph at seeing John in irons.
A signal gun was fired from the admiral’s ship. Silence pervaded the company, as if collectively holding their breath. Aboard the Fleetwood, the signal was repeated. And then John Caddy was led from the quarterdeck, the chaplain walking beside him. John’s lips moved as if in silent prayer, and his hands, held together in clamped irons, appeared to plead to heaven. He held fast to the red handkerchief from his mother. Mrs. Caddy was surely in the crowd on shore, nearby for her only son.
As John passed the rigging, some of the ship’s company bowed their heads. He reached the scaffolding under the yardarm. An officer read the court sentence in a loud, crisp voice. When asked if John wished to share final words with the crew, John nodded.
“My sentence is just. I plead with all yeh to do yer utmost to serve yer country, to which yeh owe yer lives.”
The glinting sunlight made Jack’s eyes water as he watched John square his shoulders and mount the scaffolding. The officer drew the cap over John’s face and stood back.
Jack’s mind lost the thread of events, like a fraying rope pulled from his grip. In an instant, the cannon fired, the explosion reverberating down to Jack’s bones. Smoke plumed in an angry cloud. Through the ringing in his ears, Jack knew the nineteen men condemned, but mercifully not sentenced to death, were charged with heaving the rope and ran John up to the yardarm.
Through the smoke, the red handkerchief drifted down over the heads of the men on deck.
Heaviness weighed Jack down and he bowed his head. The crowd began to move, but Jack held still, mourning the death of a fine sailor.
When Ludlow found him, Jack wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He rubbed his eyes and blew out a breath, embarrassed at being caught indulging in a bout of the megrims.
“Walk with me back to the Dolphin,” Ludlow said, ignoring Jack’s show of emotion.
Jack nodded, letting Ludlow set their pace along High Street and ignoring the passersby. The air blowing off the water was fresh.
“You did all you could,” Ludlow said. “No one could have done more.”
“I loved the poor fellow. But it is done.” He cleared his throat though it didn’t lessen the pressure. “Thank you for your help, Ludlow. You stood by me through it all, and I won’t forget that.”
“You have a good heart, Jack. One of the best in the navy. You can admit to yourself, and to others, that you are easily moved to tears. It makes me like you all the more.” Ludlow slapped him on the back. “I’ve never known such a tenderhearted captain—certainly not the ones you and I served under as boys.”
Jack could agree to that.
“Funny that a man who is a romantic by nature should use the characteristic as a strength,” Ludlow mused.
Jack closed his eyes at the mention of the word romantic. Lucy. Pain radiated through his chest. He had been at a low and dark place, and acting in fear had been a mistake. From his current vantage point, with a little time to consider and reflect, he could see he had made a bungle. Lucy wasn’t like his mother. Lucy was sweet, caring, and determined. No one else brought peace and clarity to his soul like she did. They were alike in that they were both levelheaded, independent, and responsible.
It was always after a battle when the wounded were being tended to, that he had time to reflect. And now that his battle in Portsmouth was over, he needed to seek to make amends with Lucy or his heart would slowly bleed to death.
When Ludlow paused, Jack realized he was waiting for a response. He had lost track of what his friend was saying. “I fear I’m lost in my thoughts.”
Ludlow pointed near the Dolphin. “Isn’t that man from the house party? Blast, I cannot recall his name.”
“You only had eyes for Lady Jane,” Jack ribbed with a smile, his mood lightening.
“Lot of good it did me,” Ludlow muttered, his mouth pulling into a half smile, “with her brushing me off for another fellow with a title and wealth.”
Jack could commiserate, though the sting was lessening.
As they neared, recognition hit Jack square in the chest. He halted for a step then set off at a fast clip. Duncan McCrea stood talking with Mr. Nicolson near the edge of the street.
There was a time Jack had wanted to thrust his fist into McCrea’s red face, but now only remorse and pity for the man remained. Ludlow caught up and flanked him, walking in synchrony together. Jack appreciated having a true friend at his side.
“McCrea. Mr. Nicolson.” Jack dipped his head in acknowledgment. What was Mr. Nicolson doing with McCrea?
McCrea held his hand, and it took everything in Jack to reach out and accept him.
“Aye then.” McCrea rubbed a spot above his ear. His ginger hair and round face made him appear as benign as a vicar. “I’ll get right to the point, as I see you’ve had a hard day of it.”
Jack n
odded. He expected McCrea’s experience was similar, but the disgrace surrounding McCrea’s name would add to the injury.
Regret shadowed McCrea’s eyes. “You used your influence for my benefit, and I failed you. You put your trust in the wrong man. I beg your forgiveness, Jack.”
Jack stood immovable. McCrea’s words did not penetrate his heart. But Jack could at least free himself from holding judgment over McCrea and allow the man to be his own judge. The realization lifted a weight from Jack’s shoulders.
“Will you forgive me, Jack?” McCrea asked hopefully. “At least for your sister’s sake. She’s been beside herself after the revolt aboard the Fleetwood. And she worries about you.”
“Of course I care about her. But this isn’t about Betsey.”
“Where does this leave you and me then?” McCrea asked.
“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. He wrestled within himself. More than anything, he realized he wanted a chance for peace. Peace between him and McCrea. The man had been a friend in days agone, and he was his brother-in-law. Forgiveness had been a point on the distance horizon, but perhaps it was not so far out of reach after all.
“You don’t need my forgiveness, but I’ll grant you it just the same.” The pain in his chest changed, shifted into a feeling like a glowing piece of coal. Perhaps it would help purify his heart.
McCrea bowed his head. “You’re a fine man, Jack.”
Jack’s eyes pricked. Even with the deaths on his hands, McCrea had the potential to be a good man. Jack had seen it, or at least he thought he had.
Jack offered McCrea a salute and the man left, a somber expression on his face. Jack said a silent prayer for McCrea and Betsey.
A throat cleared. Mr. Nicolson tugged on his waistcoat then crossed and uncrossed his arms. “I have terrible timing. I was sure you would come to blows with him, though I’m relieved you did not.”
