One particularly bright morning found Catherine on deck, sketchbook in hand, as four bells rang to signal the end of one shift and the start of the next. From her vantage point she could see Captain Knight by the binnacle, deep in conversation with Tom Foster. The captain was carefully explaining something to the boy and Catherine was struck by the picture the two made together. Foster was all youthful attention at his captain’s words, nodding in eager agreement, while Captain Knight appeared almost fatherly in his pose towards the boy. Catherine turned her book to a fresh page and worked quickly to try to capture the scene before her. The captain was patient, kind, yet firm with the boy, and young Tom responded in kind with his complete attention. Catherine’s hand flew over the page attempting to preserve every detail of Tom’s boyish features so strongly contrasted against the imposing, masculine strength of Captain Knight. Before she could take another look at the two, a shadow fell across her sketchbook. She looked up to find Captain Knight before her, smiling quizzically at the image in her book. “May I?” he asked quietly, extending his hand to Catherine. She paused a moment, then handed him the sketchbook for his review. “It is a fine sketch” he said at last, returning the book to her hand while looking at her with his deep, penetrating gaze. Catherine blinked and looked away uncomfortably: “I have tried to capture Tom several times,” she replied softly: “He is always such a whir of motion that I never seem able to commit him to paper. This morning, with you,” she continued uncertainly, “he seemed….. Well, he seemed to be still and at home for an instant. I wanted to capture that stillness, that contentment.”
Captain Knight nodded his head knowingly. “You are right; he is an object in constant motion. Part of that is due to his youth but I think you also recognize that his position onboard is neither easy nor idle. Much is expected of a boy of few years onboard a ship such as this.” Catherine was surprised at the frankness of his words. Captain Knight made no apology for the work he tasked his men but his words about Tom Foster seemed to hold something of regret. “May I ask, Captain, how Tom came to be part of your crew?” Catherine asked boldly: “He cannot be more than eleven or twelve years of age?” The Captain looked to where Foster darted about the ship, on yet another errand for one of the officers. “Yes, you are correct” Knight said quietly. “Tom is only just eleven years of age.” “Then how,” interjected Catherine, “how can he have come to be onboard a ship of war? He is but a child to do such work, to see such sights as you must regularly encounter!” Captain Knight bristled somewhat at her tone but kept his voice level as he responded to her accusing words; “I will not deny it; you are right, Miss Gibson. This is not the place for a young boy,” he said flatly, “But neither was the home in which he lived previously.” Catherine moved a step closer towards the captain as he spoke, her beautiful features wreathed in an expression of earnest concern. Captain Knight noted her anxious attitude and chose his words carefully before continuing his speech: “Before sailing last year, we were ashore to collect fresh hands. As we enlisted men at a local inn, Tom was brought before us by his own father. The boy was filthy, dressed in rags, and covered in bruises. He was cowed and beaten and made no protest as his father stood before us and offered his son to the services of His Majesty’s Navy for the sum of ten shillings.” The calm with which Knight began his speech was lost by the end, his final words spoken with icy coldness. Catherine listened in horror to the Captain’s words then responded quietly: “And so,” she began, “You took him on… took him away from that life?” “Yes” the captain replied simply. “I had no right to do so; it made no sense to bring such a young boy onboard, but the notion of leaving him there with such a man was completely offensive. Here, among good men, he can learn the skills necessary for a life at sea. He can create a future for himself. At least,” Knight continued with a rueful smile, “that is the thought I content my conscience with when I see him so hard at work.”
Catherine nodded sadly at the captain’s words and stood quietly by his side as they watched Tom’s quick movements about the ship. Captain Knight could sense the conflict within her at that moment, recognized the same guarded expression that came into her face whenever she overheard talk of Jamaica. Knight remained patiently beside her, awaiting a sign, any word that would indicate her willingness to trust him and speak the thoughts that so clearly gave her distress. After many moments, Catherine at last turned to the captain, unspoken words hovering about her lips. Before she could speak, however, there was a sound behind them and both Catherine and Knight turned to find Lieutenant Matthews approaching. “Such serious faces,” Matthews teased; “Whatever can you be plotting?” Catherine gave her uncle a quick hug in greeting and Matthews sensed at once the anxiety within her. “Is all well, miss?” he asked Catherine directly. Catherine looked from her uncle to the captain, then back to young Foster once more. She smiled slightly and said; “All is as well as can be, uncle” and she turned and walked away from the two men to join Tom Foster on the far deck.
Captain Knight regretted the interruption, wishing he could have had but a few moments longer with Catherine, desperate to know what was causing her such distress. Knight turned to Matthews and explained the discussion with Catherine to his old friend. “I fear I may have disturbed Miss Gibson,” the captain said directly, carefully watching Matthews’s reaction to his words. “She seemed to be more than a little upset by Tom’s history.” The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and could not meet his captain’s look. He struggled privately, not wanting to disclose the secret he bore for Catherine, but at the same time longing for some relief by unburdening himself. Matthews trusted Captain Knight completely as an officer and as his friend. After a moment’s pause Matthews released his pent up breath and responded at last; “She feels for his situation overmuch, I fear. Those two share a good deal in common and I can but imagine what must be in her heart after hearing Tom’s tale.” A look of confusion crossed Captain Knight’s face; “Miss Gibson and young Foster? What could they possibly have in common Matthews?” The lieutenant looked away from where his niece sat by Tom Foster, showing him the pages of her sketchbook. “You know yourself, sir; Foster did not choose this life at sea. He was abandoned by his father, sold into the navy. He was a pressed man, for all intents and purposes, only with the added knowledge that his own father profited from the affair. Taken from all he knew and loved, all for the sake of a bit of money; just as Catherine will surely be in her new life in Jamaica.”
“What can you mean?” replied Knight, dark brows lifting with surprise. He knew young Foster’s situation all too well and, like Miss Gibson, pitied the young boy’s situation. But he could not see how Foster’s difficult home and Miss Gibson’s privileged situation in Jamaica could bear any resemblance to one another. “Surely she is anxious to rejoin her father,” he stated, “to enter society as most young ladies desire? This is a return to her family, not a removal.”
Matthews looked down a moment before quietly responding: “I wish it were so, Captain. You are aware, sir, that Catherine’s mother died when she was but a child.” He paused, and the captain could see Matthews’ fierce internal struggle as he chose his next words: “What you do not know is that Catherine’s mother died of a broken heart after learning of the coldness, the immeasurable cruelty of which her husband was capable.” The captain’s eyes widened in surprise at his lieutenant’s words; Matthews was an honest, dependable man not given to idle comments, and the captain well knew his sound judgment when it came to the character of others. Matthews continued: “William Gibson married Catherine’s mother for her money, and for an heir to his fortune. When a daughter was born instead of his desired male heir, he blamed his wife, tortured her endlessly about her failure.” He passed a hand over his eyes before he could continue: “Catherine’s mother was unable to have further children and she sank into a deep despair from which she never recovered. She died, alone and neglected. Catherine herself was but a child of four at the time.”
The captain’s brows knit together in sudden anger at the injustice of this tale; Matthews had to pause to recover his composure before resuming his story: “The same day that my wife learned of her sister’s death, she found that Gibson had placed his daughter in a boarding school, miles away from everyone and everything she had ever known. Only a day after her mother’s death, that brute packed Catherine up like a piece of useless furniture and sent her away” he ground out between clenched teeth. “When first this happened, Gibson refused to tell us where Catherine had been sent – said there was no need for us to know. Her aunt and I frantically searched half the schools in England until we finally found the child. Catherine was well, but terrified of her new surroundings, being but a slip of a girl. My wife, Elizabeth, has done her best to take care of Catherine ever since. She would visit her at school as often as money would allow. And on every school vacation Catherine came home to us. Her own father never once visited her and Catherine was never requested to come to him, even before his removal to Jamaica. My wife, indeed the Matthews’ clan, is the only family Catherine has ever truly known.”
Captain Knight frowned in concentration at this news. His black polished boots stamped impatiently against the deck as the details of Catherine’s history sunk in. “Then why,” Knight questioned, “has her father sent for her now? After such behavior can there be any good will that seeks to repair the past, to renew his bond with Miss Gibson after all these years?” Matthews gave a contemptuous laugh; “Her father is not a man of subtleties, Captain. He is a powerful man who has made a very comfortable world for himself by discomfiting others. I cannot allow myself to believe that this summoning of my niece is anything more than an attempt to further his ambition.”
“What do you believe his motive to be, Mr. Matthews?” the captain asked quietly, knowing the answer that must come. Matthews looked at his captain, anguish written all over his face: “Her father has scarce seen her since she was a child – has never taken any notice of her until now….. Damn it!” he exploded “She is a beautiful young woman who has just come out into society. She can represent only one thing to my brother-in-law.” “You mean,” said the captain quietly, “that he intends to marry her off?” “Yes,” snapped the lieutenant with bitterness, “he is undoubtedly going to have her married. By the speed with which this journey was arranged, I am certain he already has some acquaintance lined up and the details of the marriage settled. I will not be surprised to see such a man waiting beside him at the dock when we arrive.”
The muscle in Captain Knight’s jaw worked furiously. He seemed overcome with unusually strong emotion, “No,” he said quietly. “Even such a man as this would surely consult her first? Allow the girl some opinion on the matter? He cannot believe a woman of such intelligence and spirit would be content with such an arrangement?”
Matthews looked to where his niece moved alone along the forward deck; pity and anger mixed in the lines of his weathered face: “He knows nothing of Catherine… and does not care to know I am sure. She is an asset of his empire and her marriage will no doubt increase his already considerable wealth and power. He will have seen to that most definitely. The rest will be Catherine’s fate to endure alone.”
Their discussion was interrupted by the ringing of the ship’s bell. At the summons, Matthews gave a last, fatherly look at his niece, then squared his shoulders and moved off to his appointed rounds. Captain Knight remained at the rail, his watchful eyes following the graceful figure of Catherine Gibson. She felt his stare and stopped her walk to return his gaze. Sunlight bounced off her golden hair creating a halo of light that framed her features. The sight was incredible, but it was the beauty and simple honesty in her look that caught Knight completely off guard. A dark flush spread over his face at his disquieting thoughts about this young woman. Knight silently cursed himself for probing into her private affairs, and then cursed the father who could so abuse such a woman. A midshipman approached Knight with a question but the captain seemed not to hear; his complete attention was held by Catherine. The young officer cleared his throat loudly and spoke once more, starting Knight from his reverie. The captain felt annoyance at being caught in such distraction. He forced his attention away from thoughts of Catherine, gave her a curt nod in salute and turned away to speak with his man.
Across the deck, Catherine was struck by the raw emotion she’d witnessed on the captain’s face. She blushed and turned away in confusion over what it could mean. Placing a steadying hand on the rail, she took a deep, calming breath and remained staring out to sea until she was quite certain that Captain Knight, with his unfathomable blue eyes, was gone.
Chapter VIII
For several days after, Catherine’s mind raced in concern for Tom Foster. The captain’s bleak story of Tom’s entry into the navy had touched her deeply. But what gave her even greater pause were the details of the Fosters’ home life that Tom himself gradually came to share with Catherine. The young cabin boy was a painfully shy creature, but Catherine had continued to seek him out, and between the two there grew a gentle friendship. After many shared conversations, Tom began to tell Catherine something of his old life back in England. He never spoke directly of his father, and Catherine never pressed him for details, but Tom talked with great warmth about his sister who remained at home. “Martha is the smartest girl you could ever meet,” Tom said during one of their chats: “She taught me how to read and to cipher, and teaches other children around when she has a moment to spare.” Catherine smiled kindly in reply; “She sounds like a generous young woman, Tom, to share her own knowledge so freely with others.” “Yes,” replied Tom quietly. “My mother taught her well, but now…” he trailed off without finishing. “But now?” Catherine prompted gently. “Now,” Tom continued, “she won’t have any chance to do the one thing she loves. My father will see to that. Before my mother died, Father would criticize her for teaching Martha to read and write. He said it ain’t proper. And now that I’m away, all the heavy work has fallen to her.” Catherine felt her heart wrench at his words. “Perhaps there is something that can be done?” she suggested softly to the boy. “I do what I can, miss” Tom replied with pride. “I’ve arranged for a good bit of my pay to go to Martha to help her out. Someday I’ll see that she’s set to rights. Maybe even send her to a proper school where she can become a teacher.” Catherine gave the boy a quick hug and agreed that it was a wonderful plan, but in her heart, she knew the idea was well beyond the capabilities of a child of no means.
A long sleepless night followed this conversation but Catherine arose the next morning with energy, her mind full with a plan of action. She quickly dressed in a simple linen dress of soft lavender, arranged her hair in a plaited braid, and set forth in search of Captain Knight. On the quarter deck she was surprised to find her uncle at the helm, rather than the captain. “Oh!” Catherine said with some disappointment, “It is you uncle.” “Well, now” Matthews rejoined with mock dismay, “And what a greeting for your poor old uncle!” “I am sorry,” Catherine returned with warmth; “It is just that, I was hoping to speak with the captain this morning, Uncle.” She looked down at the ground, hoping the lieutenant would not press her as to the reason for this requested interview. Matthews could easily see that whatever his niece was up to, it was not a matter she wished to share with him. He felt a small sleight but offered his assistance: “Captain Knight has just returned to his day cabin. You will find him there, Catherine if you require a word.” Catherine could sense her uncle’s curiosity at her request but knew he would not ask for information she was not ready to give. And at this point, Catherine’s plan was but the germ of an idea that would rely much on Captain Knight’s assistance.
Catherine moved quickly through the ship’s quarterdeck until she reached the captain’s day cabin. At her knock, she received a brusque, “Come” from the other side. Catherine opened the door without a word and stepped across the threshold. Once inside, Catherine paused uncomfortably. The captain stood
with his back to the door, hands resting on the great table at the room’s center as he peered over a collection of maps. Instead of his usual careful uniformed figure, Knight was but casually dressed in breeches and shirtwaist, his formal coat slung carelessly over the back of a chair. Catherine had never seen John Knight in anything but his full dress uniform. The sight of him in such a relaxed state of dress seemed completely foreign. He still held the same powerful presence but there was something else too – a sensuality that could not be denied. Her eyes moved over his person, taking in at quick glance the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms; the fabric of his shirt pulled taught across his broad shoulders; the strong, taper legs that held him in an unaccustomed casual pose. A rush of color came into Catherine’s cheeks and in a moment of panic she turned, thinking to leave rather than interrupt him. At the sound of her movement, Knight turned around, his own eyes widening in surprise at finding her there: “Miss Gibson,” he spoke, and Catherine turned back around to face him. “I thought you were one of the lieutenants. I was not expecting such fair company” he finished dryly. He gave Catherine a sweeping glance, his eyes taking in her slight frame in the lavender dress, the golden shine of her hair, and the unmistakable embarrassment that stained her cheeks. Catherine was startled anew at the sight of his undone collar, the deep tan of his broad chest showing in the wide vee.
Commanding Heart Page 4
