by Beverly Adam
Sagely, she nodded in agreement to his suggestion not to say anything.
Aye, the lieutenant is right. I had best be quiet for now about what had transpired in The Brunswick’s hull between Jeremy and the dead man’s ghost. It would not do the living aboard any good to know what occurred.
“What shall we do next?” she asked. “Do you think that Jeremy’s disappearance is connected with Stafford’s death? It is almost certain the lad played some part in the murder of the captain’s steward. Did not the ghost point its white fingers accusingly at him? And didn’t Jeremy jump ship the following day? Perhaps he was afraid to be caught?”
She shivered. Seeing the apparition’s earthly body had unnerved her.
“I am as certain as you that Jeremy was somehow tied to the steward’s death,” he said. “But what if he was only one of several men involved? What if there remains another murderer aboard? Perhaps other mutineers are quietly planning another act of infamy to spring upon us?”
He shook his head.
“Nay, Mistress Duncan, we are far from finished with this mystery and even further from understanding why this path of destruction was chosen. We have much to learn once we are back aboard. It is now my turn to ask the questions.”
Chapter 8
Upon returning to the ship Robert began to make inquiries as to whom Jeremy had been spending his off-duty time with. As he had surmised before, the lad was not well liked, very few of the hands had been on sociable terms with the sneering topsails man.
“He was a queer lad, Commander,” said one of Jeremy’s berth mates, the old toothless ship’s cook. “Aye, right shy he was . . . about certain things, sir.”
“Such as?”
The old man scratched his balding head and grinned. A devilish smile lit his face.
“He wouldn’t be caught with his knickers down. When we took our monthly baths, he’d shy off by himself. He wouldn’t let any of us come near him. Must’ve thought he would catch his death if he left them breeches of his off. Aye, sir, sometimes it made me wonder what he had hidden beneath them layers. Do ye think he had some gold hid on him, sir? Was that why he jumped ship? He didn’t want anyone else to know and steal it from him, sir?”
“I rather doubt it, Baker,” he replied, with a small smile.
He knew many sailors were on the look-out for hidden treasure, the mythic Aladdin’s cave. Indeed some seamen enlisted hoping to make a quick fortune off of captured enemy cargo and warships.
The truth was that such bounty brought an ordinary seaman little reward. Although recruitment advertisers played up the myth of immense plunder. Usually, the monetary awards received for the capture of a warship went directly into the captain’s pockets and the highest ranking officers. The rest of the crew saw very little of the prize money.
“Most likely the lad suffered from some contagion that he did not wish t’ have bandied about. And being modest, he hid it out of some sense of shame.”
“But, sir, most of us aboard suffer from one kind of condition or ’nother,” said the cook, not understanding how the young seaman could hide such a thing from his fellow shipmates. But then Jeremy had always been rather odd.
“Ye know, sir, the lad told us he was an orphan. He said that he was completely alone in the world . . . aye, that one never trusted his secrets to any of us. More silent than a mummer was he about his past. He wouldn’t share any tales about his life before he came aboard, sir. A strange one that lad was. He never quite fit with the rest of us, Commander.”
“Did he keep a knife about his person, do you know?” asked Robert, changing the subject, thinking of the corpse lying in the undertaker’s parlor in Dingle.
“Aye, a penknife he used to whittle with, sir. Once I caught him practice throwing it at a piece of wood. It was late one night during the second dog watch. I warned him to keep the knife safely hid away in his kit.”
“Did perchance this blade have a whale bone handle?” he asked sharply.
“Aye, it did, Lieutenant. I do remember that the captain’s steward came from below deck and when he saw Jeremy with it, he lit into the lad. He told him he’d take it and have the point broke off by the gunner’s hammer on the hatch band seeing how Captain Jackson liked his ship sweet and clean. Not full of blood baths between shipmates like ye have on some of them other vessels. Aye, Stafford was fair afraid that the lad might hurt somebody with it, sir.”
Robert nodded. So the knife had led them back to the dead steward and whatever his relationship with Jeremy might have been. But had the two men been friends or foes? It was difficult to know now that one was missing, and the other dead.
“Anything else ye be wanting t’ know, Commander?” asked the cook. It was nearing midday and he had yet to prepare the crew’s mess.
“Aye, I’ve just one more question. Before then, did Jeremy and John Stafford ever quarrel or disagree on anything?”
“Nay, not that I know of, sir,” answered the cook, shaking his gray head. “There is something ye might be interested in, though . . .”
The cook hesitated, looking around to see if they were being observed.
His long, gray beard almost touched Robert as he leaned closer. His breath smelled strongly of tobacco and rum. A fact the commander chose to ignore. He needed the man’s loyalty and information more than a clean breath.
“Jeremy left his ditty behind, sir. He didn’t take it with him when he abandoned ship. It be still aboard with the rest of the crew’s. I saw it myself this morning, as I pulled me own kit out for a shave.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baker. You may return to your duties,” Robert said, dismissing the man with a nod.
The cook pulled on his forelock in respect and stepped back into the galley. The young commander turned and walked towards the hatch leading to the lower decks. He had come no closer to discovering the truth.
The evidence concerning the steward’s death lay directly connected with a seaman everyone aboard unanimously labeled as being peculiar. Jeremy had been a young seaman far from home who had managed to alienate himself from his shipmates.
It was more than odd. It begged the question, why had the lad taken to the sea in the first place? Was he running away from something unsavory back home?
Perhaps Jeremy’s ditty bag might tell him more. Perhaps there were letters and other revealing personal paraphernalia in it. Aye, it might tell him more about the missing seaman. He would have to take a look.
He descended to the middle deck in search of the deserter’s ditty. What Baker had told him was true. Jeremy had not taken it with him. The canvas bag, which contained all the possessions of importance to a seaman, was in a pile where the noncommissioned crew kept their belongings. He removed the bag from the pile and brought it to his cabin.
Sarah, who had been taking a nap, sat up. She had been reading one of his books on his berth when she fell asleep. Her reading had become a pleasurable habit. It was one she had taken up since coming aboard. To Robert’s delight he was able to discuss some of his favorite topics with her.
Nodding to her pleasantly, he greeted her. “I hope I haven’t disturbed your slumber, Mistress Duncan.”
“Ye needn’t worry, Lieutenant,” she replied, curious as to why he had decided to visit her at midday. Usually, well occupied by his duties, he did not approach her for idle conversation at this time.
Aye, she thought observing him. There was always a purpose behind what he did.
“It is glad I am that you woke me,” she said. “I promised Mr. Baker I’d give him some of my rosemary oil to use in tonight’s meal. So what brings ye here? Normally, I do not have the pleasure of your company until evening mess.”
He gently closed the cabin door behind him.
“I have need of some privacy and this was the only place I could think of where none of my crew would observe me,” he explained, emptying the contents of the canvas ditty onto the small writing table set against the cabin wall.
Before him were the usu
al items one would expect a sailor to carry, a small handmade mirror set into a wood holder, a brass traveling quill pen, an ink container, a few sheets of paper, a sewing kit with buttons, a deck of cards, a pocket Bible, a wood comb, a tin cup, and eating utensils. An eating knife of some sort usually would be included along with a shaving kit—both were missing from the ditty.
He took the Bible and looked inside. He hoped to find further information. Happily, he was not disappointed. The front page provided some information on the Bible’s original owner.
Turning a page, he read aloud the words written on the inside.
“If found return to Mrs. Jemima Kaye, North Port Street, Portsmouth, England. Most interesting.” he said, looking at the neat slanted handwriting. “Now, that is intriguing.”
“Why?” she asked, peeking over his shoulder to look at the writing.
“Because Jeremy enlisted as a bachelor,” he replied. “Whoever this Mrs. Kaye is, Jeremy must not have given her much thought.”
“And you conclude this because he did not enlist as a married man?” she asked.
“Aye, that and because he never wrote or mentioned her to his shipmates.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “He never mentioned her to any of the hands.”
“He may have decided to keep their relationship a secret.”
Robert shook his head.
“If he had died at sea, she would have deserved the right to a widow’s pension. But this way, keeping her hid from the ship’s list, meant she would not receive a single sixpence of recompense from the Royal Admiralty.”
“Could it be that this lady is not his spouse? Could she be perhaps his mother or sister-in-law? Maybe she is his brother’s wife?”
“Aye, that’s possible . . . but again, why did he not make mention of her to the rest of the men and list her as his surviving kin? Why did he tell all and sundry that he was an orphan, without any relations? Prodigiously intriguing, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps they quarreled and he no longer wished to have his name associated with hers?” she suggested.
“But to alienate her from him to the point where he did not want his name connected to hers even upon death? That seems rather cruel,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. “None of this makes sense.”
Eyeing the address, she asked, “How soon will we be voyaging on to Portsmouth?”
“In about one day’s time. The repairs are almost finished. I can no longer delay our return without receiving a censoring reprimand from the Admiralty for its tardiness. Regrettably, there will be no time to return to Varrik Island to check on your mother and Captain Jackson. But if you wish, I could send out one of my officers to see how they are faring before we voyage on south to England.”
“Nay, there is no need. I know that my godfather, Duncan, will seek me out if there be any further news from my mother,” she said. She thought warmly of the old fisherman who was her godfather.
“He is the one I told you who rescued me from the sea as a baby. He has always watched over us. And if Captain Jackson were doing worse, Mother would have sent us word. No, ’tis time we went on to Portsmouth and found this Mrs. Kaye. Perhaps she will be the one who will be able to tell us something more about Jeremy and his association with the captain’s steward.”
“You are resolved to resume this search?” he asked, wondering if the charade of pretending to be his betrothed had become too much of a burden.
The dangers surrounding them, the captain’s poisoning and the steward’s murder, made clear the real perils facing anyone associated with The Brunswick. She might not want to remain with him.
“Perhaps you should return to the safety of your mother’s island home before you find yourself badly hurt or injured,” he said, frowning as he eyed her delicate features.
He continued, “With a madman on the loose, set upon murdering various members of the crew, regardless of rank, who knows what might happen to you. You are an easy target, vulnerable to attack.”
She looked up at him. She wasn’t willing to abandon the search. This murderer needed to be stopped. And she was willing to help as much as she was able. Nay, she didn’t want to quit. Although he didn’t want to say it, she knew he needed her help.
“I can face all the perils you fear. I’m ready to continue on, Lieutenant Smythe. I want to remain aboard with you,” she said stoutly.
Robert could not explain it, but a sharp pang of relief hit the region of his heart. The protective feelings he had begun to have for her, he did not wish to examine. But the truth was he had begun to grow fond of the wise woman. In the short time she had been aboard, he had become accustomed to having her with him.
He enjoyed their times alone together. Sarah had a lively wit. When they played cards, she made an excellent partner. She was an amiable companion.
He noted with a feeling akin to jealousy that several of the other bachelors aboard, as well as a few of the married officers, were equally captivated by her. He did not blame them. How could he?
The way she cheerfully pitched in to give a hand to everyone, from the cook to the officers’ wives, had earned the respect of the entire crew. It was truly admirable. She may not have been born a titled lady, but she behaved like one.
“I feel myself to be a veritable cad, keeping you involved in this sordid business,” he confessed. “I ought to order you home, to return you to the safekeeping of your mother. It’s wrong of me to continue to keep you. It’s evident I am putting you at peril, risking your life as I blindly pursue a dangerous villain.”
“No,” she said softly. “I want to find this madman as much as you do. If it is Jeremy, then let us track him down together and discover why he felt compelled to do this. Nay, it would be wrong of me to leave.”
She looked at him, her own feelings about leaving him barely hid in her eyes. She had no desire to go home. She wanted to remain with him.
This seaman was one of the most fascinating men she had ever met. Intelligent and attractive, he had proven himself to be both a gentleman and a worthy friend. She now desperately wanted to bring to light all the mystery surrounding the ill fortune concerning the murder and Captain Jackson’s poisoning. She owed it to him and the dead steward.
He mustn’t send me away—he mustn’t, she thought silently, willing him to permit her to stay by his side. She knew, however, better than to argue.
If Lieutenant Smythe decided she was not to remain a minute longer on board the vessel, the hands would obediently carry out his command and she would be, if necessary, forcibly removed. He could send her packing with a mere nod.
Aye, there was no use in arguing, she despaired. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t try and persuade him to let her remain.
“I am as much entangled in the murder of the captain’s steward and all that surrounds it, as you are,” she said, continuing to persuade him.
Her eyes silently pleaded with him to let her stay.
Had she not proven herself? She had handled life aboard the small frigate with great aplomb. By tending the ill and hurt had she not proven herself to be an asset? Silently, her blue cornflower eyes pleaded with him.
“Aye, well then . . . you may stay,” he relented.
Impulsively, joyous over his decision, she threw her arms around his neck. Her lips parted as she looked up at him, tilting her head invitingly as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Bending his head, he responded by kissing her, his arms reaching around her waist, drawing her closer to him as their mouths met. Her lips tingled deliciously, her blood sang with pleasure as she tightened her hold on him.
Heart pounding, he abruptly pulled her out of his arms, before he completely lost control. She was so damnably beautiful.
“Forgive me,” he said, breathing heavily, angry with himself. “That was unforgiveable. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Puzzled by his reaction, she asked, “Why?”
Was kissing her so disagreeable?
He saw the look of
hurt in her eyes. He reached out to touch her, to draw her back into his arms . . . and then caught himself. He wanted to kiss her again, but his conscience dictated his actions. Ah, damn but he wanted her. If he were being honest with himself, he would admit that he’d wanted her from the moment he met her. She completely captivated him in every way. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Deliberately, he stepped away from her.
He had no right to touch her. She was not his. She was here doing him a favor, he reminded himself. God help him if anything should happen to her. He would never be able to forgive himself if one single hair on her beautiful, golden head should be harmed.
He glanced over at the weapon that that been used to kill Stafford, lying next to Jeremy’s Bible. Dark, blood stains remained on the blade. He strengthened his resolve to go forward with their search, while reaffirming his need to protect this courageous and unique woman.
“I have a duty to perform,” he said stiffly, as if that was all the explanation that he needed to give her for his behavior. “We shall head on to Portsmouth and see if we can unravel this tangled mystery involving a frightening ghost, a runaway lad, and a villainous murderer.”
She nodded, understanding. Duty came first. Although hurt by his rejection, she knew better than to question his actions. He was the one in command and she had to obey. Her gaze turned back to the map he was pointing at.
He drew a line from Ireland down to Port Sea Island. There on the southern part of England, the naval harbor of Portsmouth was located. They were to travel there on the morrow.
* * *
That evening as Robert played the mandolin for her, she felt restless, knowing that the next day they would be entering English waters. She was excited that they’d soon be uncovering the mysterious relationship between the runaway seaman and Jemima Kaye, but what occupied her thoughts the most was Robert. She smiled as she usually did, watching him play, but she couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d held back from kissing her earlier that day.
