Leaving Norway: Book 1: Martin & Dagny (The Hansen Series - Martin & Dagny and Reidar & Kirsten)

by Kris Tualla

  “Good day, Hansen. Mistress Hansen.” He rounded his desk and sat behind it, his torso nearly obscured by maps and star charts. “I trust this isn’t about your marriage?”

  “No, Captain.” Martin gripped Dagny’s hand. “That has taken well. We are here to provide further evidence regarding the jewelry thefts.”

  Gilsen’s brows lifted. “Tell me.”

  Martin sat up straighter in his chair. “I believe that the man aboard this ship, who has used both Torvald Haugen and Torvald Heimlich as aliases, is in actuality Tor Valdheim, a Christiania jewel thief.”

  The captain’s confusion displayed a sharp and angry edge as he addressed Dagny, “I believed him to be your brother. Wouldn’t you know his name?”

  Her face ruddied violently. She looked at Martin as if she were a deer caught in unexpected lamplight.

  “Tell him the truth,” he urged. He turned his gaze to Gilsen’s. “I assume we can rely on your professional discretion, sir?”

  Gilsen nodded, but his expression remained harsh.

  Dagny laced her fingers in her lap, so tightly her knuckles turned white. “The man courted me quite aggressively in Christiania. He asked me to marry him and accompany him to America. He promised the wedding would take place as soon as the ship set sail, which of course it did not. I was unaware of his claim we were siblings until the day you married me to Martin.”

  “Hmph.” Gilsen rubbed his forefinger over his upper lip and considered Martin with a piercing stare. “Tell me about the aliases.”

  Martin deferred to Dagny with a wave of invitation to continue. The captain’s eyes shifted back to her. She cleared her throat.

  “When I met him about three months ago, he introduced himself to me as Torvald Heimlich,” she began. “But after we boarded the ship, he told me that we were beginning new lives and could be anyone we wanted.”

  The captain cocked one brow and his consideration sliced over to Martin.

  “She is telling you the truth,” Martin confirmed. “Lord and Lady Haugen was how he introduced himself and my wife to the other passengers.”

  “Of Trondheim,” she interjected. When Martin gave her a blank look, she slumped back in her chair, pinched her lips between her teeth, and glared at him.

  “Do either of you happen to know the man’s real name?” the captain pressed.

  Martin returned his attention to Gilsen. “As I said, I believe he is Tor Valdheim, in actuality a jewel thief who was being pursued in Christiania. He convinced my wife to accompany him, not for the purpose of marriage, but in order to have someone to transfer guilt upon, should his shipboard crimes be discovered.”

  The captain’s entire demeanor transformed. Though he had clearly been hostile when Martin began talking, he now appeared intrigued. It was evident that the man was making an allowance for the possibility.

  “And how could you know all of this, Mister Hansen?” he demanded.

  “Because my Uncle Brander investigates crimes in Christiania. Through him, I am familiar with the name Tor Valdheim,” Martin replied.

  “Brander?” Captain Gilsen’s gaze dropped to his desk. His eyes narrowed. His head tilted. “Brander Hansen?” he asked without looking up.

  “Yes, sir.” Martin glanced at Dagny, who appeared as confused as he was.

  Gilsen pinned Martin again with his intense regard. “Is he deaf?”

  Martin bobbed a nod. “Yes, sir he is. Do you know him?”

  Captain Gilsen covered his face with both hands as if to block out the cabin and everyone in it. After a moment, his hands fell to his desk. Gilsen stared at nothing.

  “I was perhaps fifteen, sixteen. I was a cabin boy, working for an unsavory character, when we took a man on board for a short voyage out of Christiania. He was deaf, and everyone believed him to be stupid as well. I always wondered what became of him.”

  “My uncle is quite well, I assure you,” Martin said. “I saw him the day before we sailed.”

  Gilsen mentally returned to the room, his distant memories pushed aside. “He is married?”

  “Yes. Happily so.”

  “Children?” Gilsen probed.

  “Two foster sons who are in their forties, plus three more birthed by my aunt. They are all younger than I,” Martin reported.

  “But he is well?” Gilsen pushed. The answer seemed inordinately important to the captain; perhaps there was much more to the story than was visible on the surface.

  “He is the most hale and hearty sixty-year-old I know of,” Martin chuckled. “He promised his foster sons that once Tor Valdheim was caught, he would stop meddling in their discoveries.”

  Gilsen nodded. “I am glad to hear that. Very glad.”

  “So now will you search his trunk?” Dagny blurted.

  Gilsen turned as if only now realizing she was still in the cabin. “We already did so,” he dismissed.

  “I beg your patience, sir. I believe you looked in his trunk after the missing jewels were discovered,” Martin pointed out. “Isn’t that true?”

  Gilsen’s gaze swept over Martin. “It is. Why do you mention it?”

  Martin gave him a casual shrug. “Because you didn’t find the secret compartment.”

  The captain’s tone shivered with skepticism. “How do you know there’s a secret compartment?”

  Martin rapped his knuckles on Gilsen’s desktop. “Because he is a jewel thief making off with his plunder.”

  “And the thefts on the ship?” the captain challenged.

  “He is a greedy man. For what reason, I cannot say. But whatever he has brought with him isn’t enough,” Martin stated with finality.

  He needed the captain to believe him, but if the man refused, Martin would tear the trunk apart himself.

  “Perhaps he has a partner,” Dagny spoke up. “One with red hair and plenty of selfish demands.”

  Martin’s regard circled to his wife. He hadn’t considered that possibility. He gave her an approving nod and watched her cheeks pinken with pleasure.

  A sharp knock on the door preceded the brisk entrance of the first mate. He spoke in the captain’s ear in a tone too soft for Martin to overhear. Gilsen nodded.

  “We’ll continue this later,” he said to Martin as he stood. Martin and Dagny did likewise. “I have pressing business at the moment. But rest assured, I won’t forget our interview. That task you requested will be seen to—and privately.”

  Gilsen’s addendum stopped Martin’s interjection before it left his lips.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said instead. Taking Dagny by the elbow, he led his wife out of the open cabin door. Someone shut it solidly behind them.

  “I wonder what that was about,” she murmured.

  “Ship’s business no doubt.”

  Martin’s thoughts were wound up with whom, if anyone, might have heard his exchange with Captain Gilsen. And if someone had, might they warn Tor to remove his contraband from his trunk? Martin had no doubt that he was right in his conclusions concerning the man’s true identity; the parts fit too perfectly.

  He was surprised, however, to find that Gilsen was acquainted with Brander. At times he found the world too small to be believed, and yet these connections could not be planned. That happy coincidence worked in his favor today, giving credence to his accusation.

  He became aware that Dagny had spoken.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking into her eyes. “What did you say?”

  “I said, may I take your book to the deck and read for a while?”

  “Yes. Of course.” He kissed her briefly on the lips. “I have something else to attend to.”

  ***

  Dagny lost all track of time on the deck. Filmy ribbons of vapor striated the sky, dimming the sun and refracting its light in all directions. The hours blurred in their passage. Under a canopy of sails, with her bottom tucked in a coil of rope, Dagny applied her efforts to deciphering the English text in Martin’s book.

  Happily, she was beginning to understand the
novel’s story. When she saw the words in print she found it easier to connect them with words she knew. Pronunciation was a bit of disguise, she realized, since any letter might represent a different sound in another language. But when the spelling was similar, the word’s meaning was revealed.

  Unhappily, the book’s hero was a man who was the lone survivor of a shipwreck and lived for twenty-eight years on an island by himself. Dagny wondered what possessed Martin to carry such a story with him on a voyage across that same ocean.

  “At least this Mister Crusoe was imaginary,” she muttered.

  She set the book aside and stretched lazily. The afternoon’s diversion had kept her from wondering about when Torvald’s luggage might be examined, and whether she would be allowed to watch. She leaned back and watched the other passengers from under her lashes. In the entire time she sat there, not one person had walked past her.

  Dagny sighed. Martin was right. If no one spoke to either of them again for the rest of their journey, they would still have each other’s company.

  As her thoughts turned toward her husband, he appeared beside her. Just as if she had charmed him into existence by the power of her thoughts. He sat on the deck, stretched out his long legs, and leaned against her rope chair.

  “I see you have claimed my favorite reading spot.”

  Dagny held up his book. “And I see you have an odd sensibility where reading material is concerned.”

  He quirked a brow. “You are not enjoying Robinson Crusoe?”

  Dagny spoke slowly, as if speaking to an imbecile. “It’s the story of a man whose sailing voyages either end in shipwrecks, or by being attacked by pirates.”

  Martin looked around the deck which dropped like a cliff into the endless, undulating water. “Oh. I see your point.”

  She set the book in her lap. “What have you been doing?”

  “I was in my nest,” he answered cryptically.

  “Keeping watch, then,” she said. “Did you see anything?”

  Martin shook his head.

  She leaned over and whispered, “And how long did you sleep?”

  “How did you know?” he demanded.

  Dagny traced the mark on his cheek. “Your skin still bears the imprint of your fingers. Unless you were recently slapped by a man, then you used your hand as a pillow.”

  “That tickles.” Martin grabbed her hand and held it. “But your observation skills might make you useful in this investigation.” He turned it over and kissed her palm.

  “May I ask you a question, Martin?” she ventured.

  He looked up at her, the indistinct light of the day somehow enhancing the color of his eyes. She realized that she was a lucky woman in more ways than simply being saved from imprisonment or hanging. Her salvation had come in the form of a stunningly handsome Norseman. For that blessing she was extremely grateful.

  “You know you may, Dagny. You’re my wife,” he said.

  For an instant, her meandering thoughts made her forget what she wanted to say. She shifted her position to stall for time and regained her question before she appeared moony.

  “Where will we live? In America, I mean,” she clarified. “I know we’ll arrive in Boston, but is that where we’ll stay?”

  ***

  And there it was, the question that was plaguing him as well.

  Martin let go of her hand and crossed his arms. He must choose his words with care. “I had originally planned to travel through the colonies until I found a place that suited me, but I don’t see that I can do that now.”

  “Because of me?” she asked in a very small voice.

  “To be honest, Dagny, it’s because of money. I wasn’t able to come away from Arendal with anything resembling a fortune,” he admitted. “And while I have enough for one body to explore for a few months, I don’t have enough for two.”

  Dagny appeared stricken. Her voice grew smaller still. “I’m so sorry, Martin.”

  He leaned his head against her arm and laced his fingers through hers. He wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t look at her, lest she see the disappointment he couldn’t deny.

  “Boston, by all accounts, is a thriving city. I should be able to find work with an architectural firm. Or possibly set up my own business with the money I’ll save by staying put in one place.”

  “I hate that I’m the reason for you giving up your dream,” she whispered.

  That shook Martin’s cognizance. He had no right to wallow in self-pity when he made this decision completely on his own—and with full understanding of what impact it would have on his life. He considered that gaining a wife like Dagny was worth the price. Now he needed to convince her.

  He sat up and tipped her chin toward him. “Listen to me, Dagny. I’m not giving up my dream. I am still going to America to pursue what makes me happy. Only I’m no longer doing it alone.”

  “I feel guilty, just the same,” she confessed.

  “You are not guilty,” he declared. “That is the point.”

  She bobbed a small nod. “May I ask you something else?”

  He felt his mood sink a notch. “Yes.”

  “If, um, that man has what you think he does, what will happen to him?” she asked, phrasing her question in a way to confuse any curious listeners who might be lurking nearby.

  “He’ll be arrested and either hung on the ship—” Dagny’s eyes widened with alarm “—or he will be turned over to the authorities in Boston after we arrive.”

  “Have you ever seen a man hung?” she asked.

  “I have. Once,” he admitted. “Outside the Tower of London.”

  “Is it absolutely horrible?”

  Martin thought about how to answer her, deciding that the truth was best. “If the hangman is skilled, then the man’s neck will break when he drops from the scaffold. He dies quickly. With no pain.”

  Dagny’s eyes moved upward and swept over the masts and yardarms. Martin assumed she was searching for a likely spot to bring Torvald’s life to that quick end.

  Her pale gaze returned to his. “How do you know it doesn’t hurt?”

  That was a legitimate question; but anyone who witnessed a botched hanging knew the difference. “Because the men don’t struggle.”

  “And if the hangman is not skilled?” she pressed. “What then?”

  Martin hesitated, afraid of offending his wife’s gentle soul.

  “Martin?” Her tone was insistent. “I need to know.”

  “Then he slowly chokes to death. And he can’t help but fight it.”

  Dagny inhaled and held her breath. Her lips pressed together until they were nothing but a colorless line. She nodded and exhaled.

  “What will happen to the jewels?”

  Another logical question, coming in logical succession from this beautiful woman. Martin loved the way her mind worked. He knew he would never grow bored with her companionship. Not all marriages could claim the same, even if they were founded in promises of undying passion.

  “I’ll ask the captain to return them to Onkel Brander in Christiania. He can see that they are returned to the rightful owners.”

  “And what if someone on the ship simply keeps them or sells them?”

  Martin pulled a deep breath and blew it out through his rounded lips. He was about to concoct an answer when the obvious thought dawned.

  “Do you have a suggestion?” he asked.

  Dagny nodded. “Write up a list, describing in detail all of the pieces you find. You sign it, and the captain signs it, and you put the date on it. Only you don’t give the paper to the captain, you send it to Brander on a different ship.”

  Martin saw the sense of her plan instantly. “When the trunk arrives in Christiania, if the contents don’t match the ledger, then the captain and his crew will be held responsible.”

  She flashed a satisfied smile. “Exactly.”

  Martin looked askance at his wife. “Are you certain you aren’t a master criminal?’ he teased.

  Sh
e hit him with his book.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Dagny laid on her back in bed waiting for Martin to finish changing, turn down the lamp, and join her. Hope warred with apprehension, leaving her emotions strewn in tatters across the mattress. She hoped he would touch her again. Yet she was afraid of what sensations those touches might arouse. The physical frustration, whose meaning was still a mystery to her, was growing worse each day since Martin made her his wife.

  The cabin darkened. Dagny scooted over to make room for her husband. And then she waited.

  “You impressed me today,” he murmured as he stroked her cheek.

  “How?” she whispered.

  His finger moved down her neck and traced her collarbone. “You have a quick and logical mind, and you always seem to see problems before they occur.”

  She closed her eyes and concentrated on his touch. “You mean the letter.”

  “Yes.” His palm flattened and began a path over and around the swells of her bosom. “And you did it before with the idea for the races.”

  Dagny fought the urge to arch her back and press herself against his hands. “Do you think there will be any more races?”

  “I’m not sure…” Martin’s voice faded. He concentrated on making the tips of her breasts pucker and harden, fondling them through the silk gown.

  Dagny felt like she should say something or do something, but she had no ideas for this particular problem. Logic seemed to abandon her.

  Martin’s hand slid downward, over her belly, and to her thigh. “You can tell me to stop.”

  Dagny was caught between the nun’s constant harping and her husband’s entrancing touch. She didn’t want to behave in a way that might be inappropriate for a respectable wife, and yet had no idea what actions were acceptable and which would brand her a harlot, albeit an inexperienced one.

  “I—”

  She gasped as his hand slid up the inside of her thigh to its apex.

  Martin halted when she did so, the blade of his hand poised against her. “Shall I stop, Dagny?”

  “I—” Words failed her. There was only one way to answer his question.