Rebellious Cargo

by Susan Lodge

  Adam’s voice remained calm, but the drumming of his fingertips on the ship’s rail sent out a distinct warning. “If, Mrs. Charlesworth, I wanted to instigate a mutiny, I might consider your request. Until then I suggest – no, command – you leave the running of my ship to me and keep away from my crew.”

  ***

  Adam turned from her abruptly to issue a change of course. Good God! She was the most infuriating women he had ever met, with those big chocolate eyes and insolent mouth. And as for assisting him with his duties – he shuddered as he strolled away.

  He made his way down to his cabin, hoping the wind would increase and he could get to Malta and discharge the wretched woman. She made him feel uncomfortable. His crew were trustworthy in the main but he knew that many pairs of hungry eyes followed the two women at any opportunity.

  She had been frightened by the prospect of coming aboard, yet still managed to court attention with her interference. He really couldn’t make her out. When she looked at him, there was something in her eyes akin to accusation, distrust, aversion even. Certainly not emotions he usually evoked from the fairer sex.

  There had never been any trouble in his ability to attract woman. Even after he had been cast out by his family and relinquished his inheritance to his younger brother. What a foolish idiot he had been all those years ago to be hoodwinked by a pretty face. But he had learnt from the experience and it had made him stronger. His mind wandered back to the grounds of a warm stone building filled with laughter and love. Then Angelique had arrived and all their lives had been ruined and scattered like autumn leaves.

  His steward entered with a new pot of coffee and he gladly accepted the refreshment as he shortly had to attend the Sunday service conducted by the chaplain. He would need something to keep him alert through that damn man’s sermon. That was another problem he was going to have to address. He didn’t like the chaplain or his methods in dealing with those youngsters he was supposed to educate.

  ***

  Jane squirmed on the seat she had occupied for the last thirty minutes listening to Crosby’s sermon, which, like all the ship’s company, she had been obliged to attend. She had never heard such sanctimonious dribble, and being forced to listen was making her very irritable.

  She glanced at Celine sitting beside her and was disturbed by the look on her face. Her eyes were hard and cold and fixed on Crosby. Jane would have expected Celine to deal with characters such as Crosby with indifference or humour.

  Celine suddenly turned and as their eyes met, her friend instantly changed her expression to a conspiratory smile of boredom. Jane felt decidedly uneasy. Her eyes darted about, surveying the rest of the company in her view.

  Everyone sitting and listening with passive expressions; most she guessed lost in their own daydreams, the only way of surviving this ordeal. No one would dare openly show their true boredom, as their name would be taken and that would be their grog ration gone or worse, so they all sat there in mute agony.

  Her gaze turned to the group of four midshipmen. Ben Blackton smiled shyly at her. He was the son of a viscount, his future mapped for a comfortable life of privilege – if he survived the war. He was always polite and treated her with respect, if a certain amount of puzzlement. Alex Kingston sat next to him, a quiet, even tempered seventeen-year-old struggling to hide his yawns. Her eyes shifted to the troublesome twosome of earlier and she noted with interest that they were trying to smother their growing amusement at the chaplain.

  Crosby at last came to the end of his sermon and leaned forward to pick up his hymn book from the lectern, preparing to lead the singing on what everyone prayed was the last hymn. His hand grasped the book, but it refused to move from the wooden surface. He tried again tugging at the pages. Several leaves parted from the cover under the force and fluttered to the deck. Crosby’s face coloured first with embarrassment, then anger, as he realised the back cover had been secured to the surface with a sticky adhesive.

  Jane watched with growing amusement at Crosby’s predicament. A miscreant giggle suddenly erupted inside of her, spilling out of her mouth before she could stifle it. This unfortunately gave a very poor example and she realised she had unintentionally sanctioned the start of a rising ripple of amusement in the congregation.

  Crosby’s eyes shot to her, and he banged his hand down on the lectern in a fury. Unfortunately this action resulted in the lectern collapsing and the chaplain toppling to his knees. The laughter increased and the congregation changed from an ordered company to a cackling rabble. Jane’s amusement, like the rest, was suddenly halted by the roar of the captain’s voice.

  “Silence! The next man’s face on which I even see a glimmer of amusement will be put in irons. Now get about your business. Mr. Forbes, clear these decks immediately and find out who is responsible for this circus.”

  As the men dispersed Jane stood up and left the deck with a sigh, wondering what fate awaited Anderson and Cross, who most certainly were behind the prank, and feeling slightly ashamed at her lack of self-control.

  ***

  Adam dropped into his chair and leaned back with a weary sigh. What a shambles! Like his men, he had been impatiently waiting for Crosby to finish. He had wanted a short service in honour of the crew that died. The sermon delivered was unnecessary long, and unpopular with everyone. Crosby was becoming a liability. As well as his pastoral duties, he was meant to educate the youngsters, but he commanded neither their respect nor interest, and it was obvious his knowledge was limited.

  As he anticipated, Crosby had requested an audience with him and shortly afterward he was obliged to listen, with some distaste, to the red-faced chaplain’s grievances.

  “Captain, the disobedience and irreverence displayed to me by your company is inexcusable. I demand the perpetrators are severely punished.”

  Adam’s response was soft but deadly. “Mr. Crosby, you demand nothing on my ship, is that understood? Nothing happened apart from a childish prank for which Mr. Grant will find who’s responsible and have them dealt with.”

  Crosby shifted uneasily at the captain’s mood and altered his protestations to a self-righteous whine. “I fear disrupting a religious ceremony meant to mourn the dead is more than a prank, sir, not to mention the ruin of one of my most precious books.”

  Adam stared at the chaplain. “You dare to challenge my judgement?”

  The chaplain stepped back and his eyes rounded with fear as Adam continued.

  “The incident would not have occurred had you not taken it upon yourself to deliver a very long and unnecessarily provocative sermon. It also would not have occurred if you had earned some sort of respect from the young charges, who I hoped you could educate.”

  Crosby’s face drained of colour, clearly startled by the captain’s accusations. He had expected his support.

  “But, Captain, I am unable to retain their respect because my discipline is being undermined constantly, as you saw today. The women started the disruption; they are the cause for the crew’s disgraceful behaviour.”

  Adam cleared his throat as he repressed the desire to haul the man out by the scruff of his neck and deposit him overboard.

  “Mr. Crosby, do you dislike all women, or are you just intent on insulting the two in my charge?”

  Crosby, thrown by the question, took his time before he answered. “I am used to women who behave with propriety, those who know their place and show obedience to men.”

  Adam rose to his feet and Crosby took another involuntary step backwards.

  “The two ladies aboard are to be treated with respect from you at all times. I will make sure they return the compliment. In future you will not make sermons. I only require a short service to be held Sunday mornings. Your education of the midshipmen I expect to improve. Perhaps you could attempt to interest their minds. They are, on the whole, a good bunch; however, if you need assistance in controlling them, please consult Mr. Forbes.”

  Crosby looked puzzled but Adam had already t
urned his attention back to his paper work. “That will be all, thank you, Mr. Crosby. I will deal with the incident today.”

  Adam sat back heavily in his chair after Crosby had departed. What the hell was going on here? There was a war he was supposed to be fighting, not sorting out shipboard squabbles.

  His ship had been disrupted enough – discipline was going to prevail.

  The errant boys would be punished. And as for Mrs. Charlesworth… He walked to the door, and on opening it found himself staring at the woman he was about to summon. She looked startled for a moment and then cleared her throat.

  “Captain, may I have a word with you, please?”

  His anger stalled at the strange expression in her eyes. She actually looked embarrassed, humble even. Oh! He hadn’t seen that side of her before.

  He motioned her to a seat and then settled himself back behind his desk.

  She continued. “The business this morning on deck. I just wanted you to know that I…well, I have, um…”

  “You have a juvenile sense of humour,” he finished for her.

  He saw a hint of impatience returning as she caught his eye. Her humbleness was running low.

  “I shouldn’t have made it seem as if I was amused by the situation. The prank was childish and dangerous and…disrespectful.”

  “Boisterous juvenile behaviour from my younger midshipmen is expected. They will be punished, of course. No doubt they will be kissing the gunner’s daughter as we speak.”

  She paled. “Oh! Is that really necessary?”

  “Yes, of course, they would expect nothing less for their disobedience.”

  Her chin shot up. “It seems that oppression is a necessity on this ship. I would have thought they had suffered enough enduring Mr. Crosby’s attempts at education.”

  Another one challenging his opinion – it seemed to be a morning of it. “Discipline, not oppression, Mrs. Charlesworth.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Now, of course, the unresolved question is what am I to do with you?”

  “Do with me?” She frowned.

  “I have similar punishment in mind for impudent women who misbehave. Administered privately and personally, of course.”

  Her eyes rounded and her body stiffened. She knew what sort of punishment kissing the gunner’s daughter entailed and she was now staring at him as if to judge if he really could be considering bending her over a cannon and applying a cane to her backside. It was tempting.

  He heard her breath catch as he stood and circled his desk. Perching on the corner nearest her, he regarded her sternly. Very tempting, indeed.

  As if to read his mind, she jerked to her feet. “I have no doubt, Captain, that you would be gracious enough to accept my apology.”

  She didn’t wait for his agreement but turned quickly towards the door.

  “But I wonder if it is a genuine plea, Mrs. Charlesworth.” He was enjoying making her sweat. She had caused far too much disruption for one day.

  She turned back as her hand went to reach for the handle. “It is, I assure you.”

  He hid a smile as he realised how hard it was for her to maintain her contrite expression, and strolled to her side, effectively blocking her exit.

  “I will consider the matter at leisure. Meanwhile, try to keep your unruly tongue under control.” He turned and opened the door for her. “You may go.”

  She kept her shoulders straight and quickly swept past him. He couldn’t stop his eyes following her, the slight sway of her hips causing a ripple of need to snake through his loins.

  Chapter Six

  An unexpected rendezvous with a ship of the line the next day broke the tediousness of the ship’s journey. Captain Townsend, of the HMS Pamela, comfortably settled his lean body in the chair on the other side of Adam’s desk. They were old comrades, both having served on the same ship in the Baltic, and the initial welcoming banter between them flowed as smoothly as the illicit French brandy they were now sampling.

  “So what is she like – this Boadicea of the sea you have tracked down? I’m damned curious to take a look at this girl who is so important to the Government.”

  Adam’s brows locked in a frown. “I was aware my ship’s orders were strictly confidential. It looks like there has been a serious breach of security.”

  “Relax, my dear boy – I have been sent to shadow you until you reach port. No one knows of Mrs. Charlesworth’s importance amongst my crew, but I have come from Malta, and Cookson the Commissioner is in a cold sweat about her safety – and quite rightly so. Your passenger is the key to unravelling some closely guarded documents. I can hardly believe one woman can cause such a commotion.”

  Adam grimaced. “You haven’t been on the wrong side of her tongue. It cuts like a sabre.”

  His companion cradled his glass thoughtfully. “In my experience, intelligent women are usually all spectacles, frowns, thin-lipped, and have no bosoms.”

  Adam hid a grin at Martin’s misplaced image of Jane Charlesworth, but he did not feel inclined to correct him. “She’s certainly very intelligent, very insubordinate, and alarmingly accomplished in many skills. She virtually saved the ship with her local knowledge of the reefs when we came under attack, which is partly why I haven’t locked her in her cabin. She has a tendency to ignore orders she doesn’t like.”

  Martin raised his eyebrows. “I thought she was just an expert at unravelling the French codes.”

  “That, too. So, why were these vital documents sent to Malta and not to England?”

  Martin lowered his voice. “I have the impression it was done as a precaution. The sender, shall we say, wanted to be sure they landed with someone he trusted implicitly, and not through the usual intelligence chain. Loose tongues have been at work over the last few years. Tongues of treason, Adam. And they fly far higher than a captain’s rank.”

  Adam considered the implications of Martin’s words as he drained his glass.

  “The attack from the French frigates we encountered shortly after we took her aboard may not have been a coincidence,” he murmured. “Do you think they were after her?”

  “Possibly. If she can access information for us, she can do the same for the French. Her skills would make her a great threat to anyone who has anything to hide – whoever they are working for.”

  “Did you know her late husband or her father?” Adam was curious to know more of her past.

  “Yes, I met her father five years ago. A fine, analytical brain which he used equally effectively in his business and in serving the Government. The family historically did well in shipping. But he confined himself to shore, devoting himself to decoding documents with the onset of the war. I understand Andrew Charlesworth was a long-standing family friend and partner in the shipping business.

  “After her father’s death, the depth of her talents as her father’s prodigy were made apparent and she assisted the Admiralty in his place for a short time. Then she married Charlesworth, but she was soon a widow. She asked the Admiralty to be released for a short while to go and sort out his affairs. This was granted and she was given a passage on a frigate out to Gibraltar. She left the ship and never came back, despite several summonses.”

  “Do you think she was mistreated by her husband?”

  “You can never tell. Why do you ask?”

  “There is wariness and sadness about her, underneath the boldness. She has a poor opinion of the Service and of me.”

  Martin shrugged. “I would speculate her wedding was one of convenience. Charlesworth knew the business and she needed a husband to take care of things.”

  Adam frowned. That didn’t sound like her at all. “Why does she think her father was murdered?”

  “I don’t know. He died of a heart attack, as far as I remember.”

  Adam digested this information at length. He remembered the jibes against the establishment and her anger and reluctance of her forced recruitment to his ship. He leaned over and refilled his friend’s glass.

  “Y
ou shall meet the lady at dinner tonight.”

  Martin smiled. “Shall I come armed? I’m rather scared this one might shrivel my manhood with her stare.”

  Adam pictured the chocolate eyes and soft dark hair. That certainly wasn’t the effect she had on his manhood. He decided to keep that thought to himself and simply raised his glass towards his comrade.

  Martin drained his glass and stretched out his legs. “And how do you fare, Adam? Have you heard from your family or been back home?”

  “No. I have the occasional missive; quite formal, like the sort of thing you would word as an announcement in the Times. My presence is invited occasionally to important occasions such as births, marriages, and deaths. But I don’t embarrass them with my presence. My younger brother will now take over the estates – it has all been decreed and documented with my full agreement.”

  “You don’t fool me, Adam. You should rein in that anger and pride. It sounds like you haven’t replied or encouraged any sort of reconciliation. The Peace should have shown you what the absence of family life would be like without a war to hide behind.”

  Adam’s eyes glinted as he shifted in his chair. “I am not hiding. I am getting on with my life. If you recall, I nearly killed my brother.”

  Martin gave a hollow laugh. “Sibling rivalry! It was just unlucky that one of you got hurt. You were both manipulated by a heartless woman. It is not an uncommon occurrence, but seldom does it break up a family such as it did yours.”

  “Can we change the subject?”

  Martin thrust his glass forward. “Fill this up and I might be persuaded.”

  The familiar anguish surged through Adam as he poured more brandy. He did not want to think about his family. Losing them all those years ago felt like a botched amputation. A dead limb which he couldn’t quite shake free.

  ***

  After Martin had gone, Adam sat contemplating Jane Charlesworth and her ill-fated past. She had lost her father and husband, and gained a legacy of responsibility and danger. He felt a pang of remorse that he had been so hard on her. He was about to call for the midshipman to deliver a request for her to attend his table later, when he remembered his last acrimonious words to her the day before. He didn’t want to have to deal with a public rejection. Everyone knew that an invitation to the captain’s table could not be refused and would not contemplate it – except her, of course; she would have no qualms in declining. No – he would not send anyone, he would seek her out himself.