James nodded. “Ben was in need of an assistant, and he found a young man wandering on the harbor, looking for work. He seemed like a nice enough fellow. Quiet, no trouble.”
“I hope this assistant is not too costly?”
“Not at all.”
Simon smiled. “Good.”
“Shall we, then?” James nodded at the ship.
“No time like the present.” Simon tucked his hands into his pockets, to keep out the biting cold, as he walked along the wharf and up the gangway to the Evening Star’s top deck. There, he noticed the new recruit lingering awkwardly beside Ben, fidgeting with the peak of his cap. He looked much too fresh to be a seasoned sailor, but that did not worry Simon greatly. Everyone had to start somewhere.
And yet, there was something about this new arrival that perturbed him. He could not put his finger on the reason for his discomfort. There was nothing too strange about him—he was tall and slim, and seemed to be dressed in decent clothes. No, it was something in the way he moved. The young man seemed rather effeminate, as if he were not quite at home in his body.
A runaway, perhaps?
Simon eyed him closer. As if sensing a gaze upon him, the new arrival turned and met Simon’s stare, before quickly lowering his eyes again. In the dim light, Simon had only caught a glimpse of the young man’s features, but he had seen enough. They looked much too fresh for a man who was about to enter into hard labor.
Well, he will find that freshness abandoning him soon enough.
Life at sea was difficult, even for someone like him, who did not have to endure the same hardships as his men. It either broke a man or built him up, and Simon was curious to find out what it might do to this recruit.
With that, he bid a farewell to James and headed towards his private quarters, at the stern of the deck. As he walked, he could not rid himself of the young man’s face. Nor could he figure out what was troubling him so deeply.
Who are you? How have you come to be here, with your smooth hands and innocent face? He was almost certain that this young man had never worked a day in his life, so what on earth had brought him to the Evening Star?
As he entered his quarters, he reasoned that he would have three months at sea to find out.
Chapter 8
Three days had passed upon the Evening Star, and Jemima’s hands were raw from the endless peeling of carrots and turnips, and the salty water that everything seemed to be steeped in. Her palms were blistered from gripping the handle of the knife, endlessly drawing it up and down the vegetables that Ben has instructed her to prepare.
Ben himself was kind enough, his bark far worse than his bite. He liked to sing whilst he cooked, and he had a charming voice that soothed Jemima, reminding her of Sunday church services with her family. She’d had to come up with an excuse about the tears in her eyes, when Ben had caught her becoming emotional at the fond memory. The onions had ended up taking the blame, and Ben appeared to have understood.
Life in the kitchen was just as difficult as Ben had warned her it would be, but there was a peace and quietude to the location that she felt grateful for. It was tucked away below decks, and nobody bothered her or Ben there, whilst they were at work. Now and again, one of the sailors would come in, begging for something to eat, but otherwise, they were left to their own devices.
Her accommodation was also something of a godsend. Being a last-minute addition to the crew, there had been nowhere in the main cabins for her to sleep. And so, Ben had told her that she could make a bed for herself in one of the empty cabinets at the far end of the galley.
Here, she did not have to worry about anyone discovering her true identity, for it was almost entirely private. She just had to be careful how she would behave in the mornings, before Ben arrived to continue his duties. She would have to make sure that her chest was bound and her clothes were properly arranged before he entered the room.
However, sleep had proven impossible that evening. Restless with all of the thoughts that raced through her mind—of home, of her parents, of their distress at finding her gone—she had given up on drifting off and found her way up to the top deck. There, she gazed out on the calm waters of the ocean as they sailed towards the coast of Spain for their first stop on the voyage.
As the icy wind whipped at her face, nipping her cheeks, she felt the tears come. She had suppressed them for so long, but they would not be ignored anymore. She glanced around her, to make sure nobody was watching her, before she reached up and brushed the tears from her cheeks.
There was no way back now. She had taken this step, and now she had to endure it, no matter what happened.
Forgive me.
Upon leaving Cowden Manor, she had given very little thought to the impact her departure would have upon her family. She had known they would be disappointed, but she had entirely neglected the idea that they might be sad, too. They would have discovered her absence by now, and she knew there would be some guilt on her father’s part. He was not a bad man, by any means. He had simply made a bad choice.
And now you have lost me.
“Penny for yer thoughts.”
Jemima turned to find Harry approaching. He had a blanket about his shoulders, to keep out the chill of the evening. Jemima wished she had thought to do the same, for her body was already trembling against the cold, her teeth beginning to chatter. It was beautiful out here, but the winds were brutal. She realized she still had much to learn about life at sea.
“I was merely taking a walk,” she replied, putting on her husky voice.
“Are ye havin’ trouble sleepin’?”
“A little.”
“Yer ain’t used to harsh conditions, are ye?” Harry smirked, as if he knew something she did not. It troubled her, for she was unaccustomed to being so informal with men of any kind. She knew she had to continue to play up to the role of Andrew Barton, but that did not make it any easier. A lifetime of behaving a certain way was difficult to shake off.
“It will just take me some time to settle, that is all.” She kept her gaze on the horizon, determined to keep some semblance of distance between them. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to have other ideas. He stood closer to her, his shoulder almost touching hers.
“Where did ye say ye was from again?” That smirk lingered on his lips.
“Yorkshire.”
“Whereabouts? I’ve family from there.”
Jemima cleared her throat. “Close to York.”
“Ye don’t sound as if yer are.”
“I already explained. I spent a great deal of time with the children of a Duke, which is why I speak in the manner that I do,” she said, a grip of anxiety clamping down on her chest.
“See, I don’t think that’s true.” Harry chuckled with menace. “I’ve been watchin’ ye, Andrew. And I’ve seen a couple of things that are makin’ me wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
“Whether yer are what yer appear to be,” he replied, leaning closer.
She tried not to show her nerves. “I do not follow?”
“Ye don’t talk like a man, and ye don’t behave like a man. And yer face is as smooth as a newborn babe. Them hands of yours certainly don’t belong to any man I’ve ever seen, neither. They’re much too soft and slender.” Jemima could feel his eyes upon her. “So, why don’t ye tell me who ye really are?”
Jemima gripped the bulwark. “I am Andrew Barton, as I have said. My hands are soft because I used to work in a dairy. I am not used to hard labor, but I will learn. And, in time, I am sure my hands will become as coarse as yours. Now, if you will excuse me, I may attempt to sleep again.” She turned and walked away from Harry, terrified that he might try to follow her.
To her surprise, he did not. All he did was lean up against the bulwark and watch her, smirking to himself.
As soon as she was back below decks, Jemima broke into a sprint, racing back towards the kitchen in case Harry did pursue her. Their encounter had set her nerves on edge, for she did no
t know just how much he thought he knew. With them being only a day’s voyage from the cliffs of England, she was still too close to home. She could not risk being sent back, if it was discovered that she was, in fact, a woman.
Closing the galley door behind her, she gasped for breath. Lurching forward, she pulled the bolt across, just to be sure that Harry could not gain entry. She realized how naïve she had been, thinking she could wander the ship as she pleased. This was no place for a lady of any sort, least of all one of her standing.
How could I have been so foolish?
Sailors were not known for their honorable behavior, and she had heard enough gossip from the scullery maids and chamber maids about the terrible behavior of such men. She had thought it to be nothing but scandalous hearsay, but now she was not so sure. The way Harry had looked at her had given her chills, as though he meant to do her some harm.
I must be vigilant.
Trying to push away the unpleasant feeling that trickled through her veins like syrup, she walked over to her makeshift bed beneath the kitchen cabinets and lay down on the blankets. Removing her cap, she pulled one of the blankets over her shivering body and stared up at the moldering roof of the recess.
Despite knowing that England was but a day’s journey away, she had never felt so far away from home. This was her only chance for freedom, she knew that, but Harry had unnerved her and cast her into an unexpected turmoil of emotion. A nauseating ache twisted in her stomach.
Is this what it feels like to be homesick?
She did not know, for she had never experienced it before.
“You must collect yourself,” she said aloud, balling her hands into fists. This was no time to give into cowardice. Yes, Harry had scared her, but it simply meant that she would have to be more cautious, going forward. All she had to do was keep to herself and stay out of the way of the other sailors, and she would be fine. Given her position here, in the galley, that would not be too difficult. At least, she hoped it would not be.
As she continued to stare up at the patches of damp mold that had begun to grow on the underside of the cabinet, she felt the gentle roll and pitch of the ship beneath her. It ought to have been soothing, like a mother rocking a child to sleep. However, all Jemima could focus on were the sounds that permeated the creak and strain of the warped wood: the thud of boots overhead, the call of the night watch, the rumbling snores of distant sleepers.
Her blood ran cold as she heard a much clearer sound, getting closer to the kitchen door. A solitary set of boots on the wooden planks, creeping along with slow stealth. She held her breath as they came to a stop right outside the door. If she turned her head, she could even see the shadows of a figure being cast through the crack in the bottom of the doorway. Someone was standing there, listening as she was.
A soft rap echoed into the room. “I know yer in there.”
Jemima pulled the edge of the blanket closer to her chin. If Harry managed to get inside the room, there would be nowhere for her to run. He would be blocking the only exit she had. She had never been so terrified in all her life. Her body felt like a lead weight, unable to move a muscle, while her limbs trembled in violent spasms. In that moment, she wondered if she had been the one to make a terrible mistake.
What difference was there between Lord Beaurgant’s unwanted advances and the coarse behavior of this sailor? At least, back on dry land, her honor would have been protected by those closest to her, until she was forced to wed that vile specimen. Here, her innocence and her maidenhood were vulnerable—more vulnerable than she had realized, in deciding to escape this way.
You fool. You silly, silly fool.
If she cried out for help, would anyone even come to her aid? Would they put it down to a sailor’s hijinks, and leave her to her fate? They did not share the same suspicions as Harry, as far as she knew. They would not know that a young lady’s honor was at stake.
A second knock echoed through the kitchen, pounding to the rapid beat of her heart. “I know you’re in there. Why don’t you let me in?” A harsh chuckle hissed in afterwards. She did not know if Harry would leave until she did as he asked, not that she planned on doing something so stupid.
Pulling the blanket right over her face, she tried to focus on something else. Letting his frightening presence melt away, she homed in on the rushing sound of the ocean beneath the body of the ship, splashing up against the sides as they cut through the waves. She thought of Lord Beaurgant, and his obnoxious demeanor, and tried to convince herself that she had made the right decision.
She would not allow herself to be sullied by any man. Even if she had to fight for her life, tooth and nail, she would do so to protect herself. Edging the blanket down over her face, she let her eyes fall upon the glinting kitchen knives that were lined up along the far workbench. Creeping out of her hiding place, she wandered over to the blades and picked up a medium-sized knife—the one she had been using all day to peel vegetables.
Glowering at the door, she took the knife and carried it back to her bed, holding it at her side beneath several layers of thick blanket. There, if anyone tried to attack her, they would get a blade to the throat. The very idea made her shudder in disgust, but only she could defend her honor now. If she had to use the knife to do so, she would.
She lay still in her bed and listened out for the sound of Harry, her hand resting on the handle of the blade. A few moments later, she heard him sigh and begin to walk away, his footsteps fading into the cacophony of the vessel. With every second that passed, she expected to hear his knock again. When it did not come, the tension in her body began to relax.
Harry had gone, for now, but that did not mean that he would not return. In order to keep herself safe, she would have to stay in this room as much as possible, leaving only when it was absolutely necessary. There could be no more midnight walks, no more casual excursions through the belly of the ship, and no more naïve steps that might end in disaster.
She had asked for this, and now she had to endure the consequences of her actions.
Indeed, she wondered if this was what her father had meant by learning the meaning of responsibility. Now that responsibility was solely towards herself, and keeping her dignity intact throughout this voyage. Perhaps, when they reached a pleasant port town, she might disembark without anyone seeing, and start her new life in some foreign land. But, until then, she had to be bold and keep her wits about her.
From now on, she would have to sleep with one eye open.
Chapter 9
Jemima kept her promise as three days turned into seven.
She remained within the kitchen, leaving only to attend to her necessary ablutions. At night, when Ben retired to his cabin, she locked the door to the kitchen and hid away in her private recess beneath the cabinets. Each night, she expected to hear Harry return, but he did not.
And yet, she refused to let her guard down. She would not make that mistake again.
Having passed a week in the galley without further trouble, she started to feel the first niggles of claustrophobia. She could feel the ship rock, and hear the rushing waves, but she longed to feel the cool air on her face and drink in the salty tang that danced off the frothing teeth of the churning ocean.
“When is the ship due to reach Spain?” Jemima asked, on the morning of their seventh day at sea. She was working her way through a fresh barrel of parsnips, the blisters on her palms beginning to harden into calluses. It still stung to grip the knife handle, but she had learned to ignore it.
“Sometime today, by all accounts,” Ben replied. “Ye startin’ te get sick of this galley?”
“I could do with some fresh air, that is all.” She had been waiting for the day that they would come into port once again, for she knew that the sailors would mostly spend that time on land, exploring the local amusements, Harry included. Without so many sailors on board, it would give her the opportunity to wander the ship at her leisure, with no fear of being approached.
“Wh
y don’t ye go up on deck now, then? Them parsnips can wait. I’ve hardly seen yer leave this place since ye came on board.” Ben smiled at her with a paternal kindness. “Ye frightened o’ the lads, or somethin’?”
Jemima shrugged. “I do not think they care for me.”
“That’s because they don’t know ye, and they won’t know ye if ye carry on bein’ a hermit down ‘ere, with me,” Ben replied. “Go on up, if yer want?”
Jemima shook her head. “I think I will wait until we have docked in Spain. If we are due to sail into port today, then I can endure a while longer.”
“Has someone said ought to you?” There was a hard edge to Ben’s voice that had not been there a moment ago.
“No.”
“Don’t you lie te me, Barton.”
A Ravishing Night With The Mysterious Earl (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 6
