Becoming Lady Lockwood (6 page)

When Amelia emerged from her
cabin the next morning, Corporal Ashworth was waiting for her.

“I’m to take you to the captain’s sitting room this morning, miss. You’ll find your breakfast waiting for you there.”

“And why is that, Corporal?” Amelia wondered if she had done something to offend the officers in the wardroom the day before.

“Friday morning is ship’s discipline. Captain Drake worried you might feel, um . . . uncomfortable, miss.”

He was right. Amelia had heard tales of the corporal punishment that was typical on a ship and was glad the captain didn’t expect her to be present as he meted out the sentences.

She followed the corporal up the companionway to the main deck then to the quarterdeck, where he opened the door to the captain’s cabin and stood aside for her to enter.

“The entire crew’s required to attend discipline, miss, but I’ll remain outside the door here should you have need of me.”

Amelia sighed. The captain’s lack of trust in her was beginning to be exasperating.

“And does Captain Drake truly consider me such a threat to the ship?”

“Miss?”

“It is not necessary for you to pretend, Corporal. Since I came aboard, I’ve remained under constant guard. I only wondered the reason that the captain fears to leave me unattended.”

The corporal tipped his head and squinted his eyes. “Miss Becket, I apologize for giving you such an impression. My orders are to ensure your safety. You are to be permitted to go anywhere you like, and I assure you the captain does not consider you a threat. But you must realize that the only woman on a ship of nearly eight hundred men . . .”

“Oh.” Amelia felt her cheeks redden as she realized how mistaken she had been. And how naïve. “I misunderstood. In that case, thank you, Corporal Ashworth.”

He closed the door behind her, and she heard the sound of his heels snapping together as he stood at attention.

Amelia stepped farther into the room. As with the rest of the ship, the space was used efficiently; however, that was where the resemblance ended. An entire wall of the room at the stern of the ship was windowed, which gave it a bright, warm feel. The ceiling contained skylights between the heavy wooden beams. There was a round table covered in maps and charts, a desk with the top closed, and a comfortable-looking sofa flanked by wingback chairs.

A door stood slightly ajar on one side of the room, and peeking inside, Amelia saw that it led to the captain’s private sleeping cabin. From her brief glance, she saw that everything inside was tidy and orderly. The sheets were stretched tightly across the captain’s berth. A pair of buckled shoes sat on a sea trunk with the name
Drake
painted on the side, and an oilskin coat hung above it. Against one bulkhead was a simple washstand with a basin and a mirror. Shaving implements and a hairbrush lay in an open box that sat next to the basin. A lantern hung on a hook above a small table. Not a thing was out of place.

She turned away, feeling uncomfortable for snooping, and walked around the sitting room. Glass-fronted cabinets lined the far wall, and she spent some time looking at interesting objects that the captain had apparently acquired in his travels, as well as perusing his books. Selecting a book, she walked toward the sideboard table and took a biscuit, some eggs, and a cup of tea. Sitting at the round table, she took care not to get any crumbs on the captain’s maps. She studied the charts and measuring instruments while she ate her breakfast, trying to make sense of the equations and markings. When she had finished, she returned her plate and cup to the sideboard and settled with her book on the bench below the window, but she did not read.

The seat was comfortable, the sun warm, and the view of the sea mesmerizing. Amelia turned and pulled her feet up onto the bench, leaning her back against the wall. This was undoubtedly her favorite spot on the ship, she decided. As she watched the rise and fall of the waves and the way the light played upon them, her mind turned to the man whose quarters she was occupying. It seemed that every time she thought she understood Captain Drake, she found herself surprised by the man. The accounts she had heard from crew members presented his character as kind and thoughtful. She’d even seen evidence of this in the bath he had arranged for her and the fact that he had thought to spare her from the unpleasantness of ship’s discipline by allowing her to wait in his private quarters.

Perhaps it was best to stop assuming the worst when it came to him. But as soon as she had the thought, she remembered these dealings were so unlike her personal encounters with Captain Drake. He had yelled at her, accused her of deceit in her marriage to his brother, and called her character and behavior into question. How could she make sense of it all?

As she pondered on this, a knock sounded at the door, and the man himself entered, leaving the door slightly open behind him. She saw the corporal present his arms.

Amelia stood, and the captain’s gaze moved to linger momentarily upon her bare feet, which were exposed briefly as she swung her legs from the bench.

“Good morning, Captain,” she said, tucking her feet beneath her skirts.

“Good morning, Miss Becket.” He rubbed his eyes, and she saw for a brief moment evidence of the strain of a captain’s responsibilities.

“I thank you for allowing me use of your quarters, sir. They are very comfortable.”

“You are welcome.” He indicated for her to join him in the sitting area before he sank heavily into a chair.

“And I haven’t had a chance to thank you for sending Riley to my cabin with hot water yesterday. It was much appreciated.”

He glanced at her then rubbed his eyes again.

“I should leave.”

“I apologize, Miss Becket, for my lack of conversation this morning. As you can imagine, I am rather unused to company.”

“Why do you not take your meals in the wardroom then, sir? There is plenty of company to be had.”

He turned his head to look at her. “It is not my job to be popular, miss. A captain who tries to be friendly with his crew quickly loses their respect. The wardroom is for the officers.”

“I understand, sir.” She stood and began to walk toward the door. The captain’s life was indeed a lonely one, and she felt a wave of sadness. She knew all too well how it felt to be alone. She stopped and turned back toward him. “Was it so terrible this morning?”

“Discipline is always terrible.” Captain Drake stood and took a breath then schooled his expression into one of polite interest. “And what did you find to occupy yourself?” He nodded toward the seat she had vacated on the window bench and the book lying upon it.

“I examined your charts for a time, but I found to my dismay that no amount of study would help me understand them on my own.”

The captain’s eyebrows rose slightly, and his lips twitched. “Would you like a tutorial?”

Amelia smiled, glad that she had found a way to shake the captain’s melancholy mood. “If you have the time, sir.”

***

After nearly an hour of instruction, Amelia and Captain Drake leaned over the chart, where he had placed the compass. She concentrated, trying to make sense of the equations they had used.

“For this exercise, we shall assume that we’ve remained at a constant rate of ten knots for ease of calculation. And so based upon our starting point and our heading indicated by the compass, we now use the dividers to determine—” Amelia and the captain heard a knock at the open door and looked up from the table as Sidney Fletcher entered.

Sidney paused, blinked, and opened his eyes wide before his face resumed its typical smile. “Please excuse me. I did not intend to interrupt.”

“Mr. Fletcher,” Amelia said. She took a step away from the captain. Sidney’s presence had made her realize just how close they had been standing and made her feel the need to explain herself. “Captain Drake was giving me a lesson in charting a course.”

“And how do you get along then, Miss Becket?” Sidney asked, his smile growing as he looked between them.

“It’s much more difficult than I had imagined.” She set down the dividers she still held. “Perhaps I should have paid more attention to my mathematics in school.”

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Fletcher?” Captain Drake’s voice sounded irritated, and Amelia worried that she had overstayed her welcome.

“If you will excuse me, gentlemen,” Amelia said. “I have occupied enough of the captain’s time this morning.” She hurried past Sidney and out the door to where Corporal Thorne awaited her. She pondered on the captain’s kindness in humoring her in her attempts to study the charts. He undoubtedly considered it a waste of time for both of them but had taken her request seriously. Not once in their time together—as she struggled to understand the complicated equations and asked endless questions—had he become annoyed or spoken to her in a patronizing manner. In fact, he had been quite pleasant, considerate even.

As it was nearly time for the noon meal, she walked to the wardroom, hoping that the soldiers would assume her flushed cheeks were merely a result of the sea wind.

Amelia sat next to Tobias
on the deck. It was the third day she had worked with him, and the two of them had lapsed into a comfortable rhythm as they folded and stitched the seam on a sail.

She paused for a moment to rub some of the blisters that had developed on her hands. “Tell me about your family, Tobias.”

Tobias was quiet for a moment. “My son and his wife both died nearly five years ago. I’ve one granddaughter, Anna. She’ll be about your age, I suspect. If you don’t mind my asking how old you are . . .”

“Certainly not. I shall be one and twenty on the twenty-ninth of this month, though I confess that I’ve quite lost track of how many days we have been at sea and am not exactly sure of today’s date.”

“Ah, September 29, the feast of Michaelmas. You’ve a lucky natal day to be sure.”

Amelia smiled. “When I was young, I believed the feast in the governor’s mansion was held each year to celebrate my birthday.”

Tobias chuckled. “My Anna just turned nineteen this past spring. Bright girl, inquisitive, a hard worker. You remind me of her, you know.”

Amelia was surprised how much such a simple statement touched her. “And tell me, sir. Does Anna live in London?”

“Aye. She works as a chambermaid in a grand house in the West End—for a Miss Regina Foster.”

“She’ll be glad to have you home for a visit, no doubt.”

“This is my last voyage, miss. I’ve not been back to London for over a year. I plan to retire and take care of my Anna. And my old bones.”

Amelia laughed. “You seem quite healthy to me. But returning to your family will be a welcome reprieve after such a long time away, I’m sure.”

“And what of you, Miss Amelia? Do you journey toward family?”

“My father lives in London, and he sent for me to join him.” Even as she said the words, she knew she was not destined for a loving reunion. Her father didn’t desire her company. He would not greet her arrival with open arms. She was a nuisance to him that had to be borne for the sake of a business arrangement with the Lockwood estate. But she had long since finished shedding tears over the lack of affection between them. She could only hope their business would be conducted promptly and she could return home to Jamaica.

Once she had finished the seam she was working on, she decided to stroll around the edges of the deck and enjoy the warm breeze before supper. Thinking about Tobias and his undoubtedly loving relationship with his granddaughter produced an uncomfortable ache that she hadn’t felt for a long time. Since her mother and grandfather had died, she had been quite alone in a house of servants who treated her well but weren’t her family. She stopped and absently held on to a rope of rigging as she looked across the waves.

Perhaps it was being so far from home in an unfamiliar environment that had dredged up old memories and left her feeling off-kilter. She wondered what awaited her in London. Her father would no doubt ignore her most of the time she was there—except for an occasional battery of words when he’d had too much to drink. What would it be like to return home to a father like Tobias, who was warm and loving and whose eyes saw only good in her? Her own father was cold and criticized her at every opportunity. She swallowed against the obstruction in her throat and swiped at the moisture in her eyes.

Turning, she nearly walked into Captain Drake, who had approached without her notice.

“Miss Becket. Pardon me, but are you well?” His brow was furrowed, and the concern she saw in his eyes only served to increase her bout of tears.

“I am well, sir.” She attempted to laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. “Just a spell of homesickness. Please excuse me.” Turning back toward the gunwale, she chided herself and tried to get her emotions under control.

Captain Drake stepped next to her and offered his handkerchief.

She took it and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, Captain. I am behaving ridiculously.” She folded the handkerchief and handed it back to him.

He looked down and took the handkerchief from her. His gaze moved to her face and back to her hand as he lifted it, leaned closer, then reached for her other hand. “Miss Becket, what has happened here?”

She attempted to pull away, but his grip on her wrists was firm as he examined the blistered palms and swelling, punctured fingers, as well as one particularly large slash where her needle had slipped and dug into her skin.

“It’s nothing, Captain, just—”

“Is this a result of mending the sails?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

She saw a muscle working in his jaw and wondered that such a thing would make him so upset.

Captain Drake called for Riley, who hurried over. “Fetch a balm from Dr. Spinner for Miss Becket’s hands.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The captain did not release his grip, even after Riley had scurried away.

“Are you angry with me, Captain Drake?” Amelia asked, more surprised than anything.

“I am angry at myself for letting such a thing happen. It is my duty to be aware of what takes place on this ship. I should have never allowed a lady to participate in this type of activity. The responsibility for your injuries is mine, Miss Becket.”

“No, Captain.” She pulled her hands away with a bit of effort. “I am responsible for myself. I chose to help Mr. Wheeler and intend to continue—”

“Miss Becket, I forbid it.”

Amelia felt her temper begin to rise and struggled to contain it. She took a breath and let it out slowly, contemplating the best strategy to convince the captain to change his mind. A battle of wills would surely be won by the man in control of the ship, and challenging his authority was the quickest way to a permanent refusal.

Riley returned with the jar of salve, which the captain opened and began to spread over Amelia’s hands. She felt instant relief as the ointment covered her abrasions. But the relief was soon replaced by a rather unnerving feeling. Captain Drake’s touch was surprisingly gentle, and Amelia felt her pulse speed up at the intimacy of his ministrations. He moved slowly, making sure to cover each blister and wound with the salve, spreading it carefully. His hands were warm, and she was fascinated by his long fingers and the way they held her own hands so tenderly. She did not dare to glance at his face, sure he would see the blush that she could feel upon her cheeks.

“Dr. Spinner asked me to instruct Miss Becket to apply the salve before bed and to sleep with her gloves on,” Riley said.

“Thank you, Riley,” Captain Drake said. He was still examining Amelia’s hands. “You’re dismissed.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“Thank you, Riley,” Amelia said and smiled at him. He bowed to her and left.

“Captain,” Amelia said, taking her hands from his and folding them in front of her. She knew it wouldn’t do to be stubborn. “Will you please allow me to help the sailmakers? I enjoy the work, and the friendship, and—Please do not forbid it.” She swallowed again, frustrated that her emotions were attempting to make a reappearance and frustrated that she had to ask for permission. She’d never needed to ask for permission to do anything on the plantation.

Captain Drake looked at her for a long moment, and she struggled to hold his gaze and to blink back her tears. The captain needed to be the one to make the decision, and she must wait patiently for his verdict. At last he spoke.

“If I notice that your fingers become more damaged or if you feel any sort of pain, you must discontinue sail mending. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Thank you, Captain.” Her face relaxed, relieved.

“And you must promise to apply the salve often.”

“I promise, sir.”

“Very well, Miss Becket. Carry on.”