Beloved Castaway (8 page)

For a moment, her question seemed to disarm him, giving her pause to search the room for a second exit. A cursory examination led her to believe she was well and truly trapped. Where, then, had her fear gone?

“I’ve been swindled, mademoiselle,” he said, enunciating every word carefully. “Would you have me dance a jig in response to your duplicity?”

Duplicity? What sort of merriment did the man think to have with her? It was she who had been swindled, for the gold had obviously been spirited away before she arrived in the room. This charade must be Captain Carter’s way of ascertaining the size of her fortune and her willingness to add more than the original amount to his coffers.

Well, she would have none of it.

“Captain Carter, you have been paid,” she heard herself say as she held the box at arm’s length. “This chest contained the amount you requested. There is no more.”

“So your story remains unchanged.” The rage on his countenance darkened. “And you saw to the disposal of this payment?”

Isabelle pointed to the largest of the trunks now lying opened on the floor. “I placed the traveling case inside that locked chest.”
 

“And that is where I found it,” the captain said. “It was empty.”

“Empty?” She shook her head. “Impossible.”

But was it? Looking into his angry eyes, she began to wonder. In a backward progression, she walked through the events of the afternoon.

Behind the kitchen at the rear of the house was a traveling trunk, a farewell gift from Emilie. Inside, Emilie had placed a few items of clothing and the deed to a home and a bit of acreage near Clapham.
 

Just enough room had been left to insert a small traveling case, the sort generally used to hold personal and toilet items but now used to hold gold pieces, before administering the lock that would prevent theft. An identical case had been left inside the bedchamber so it would appear that Isabelle had brought a new set of personal items to the house in anticipation of tomorrow’s assignation.
 

The proper case, identified with a wax seal on its underside, had gone into the trunk in the designated spot. As a final insurance against theft, the trunk had been locked and sealed with the same wax used to mark the case. Evidence of the broken seal showed on the lock now lying in pieces at the edge of the pile of luggage. This meant the trunk had not been opened since it left Isabelle’s sight.
 

At sunset, Emilie’s messenger must have arrived to load the trunk onto the cart and deliver it to the dock. Obviously all these things had happened just as planned, for the luggage now stood before her, and the case sat in her hands. Surely the captain could prove nothing to support his assertion that he had not yet received payment for passage from her.
 

Once she showed him the proof, as evidenced by the red wax mark on the bottom of the box she now held, Captain Carter would most certainly have to apologize and release her. To that end, she explained the course of the afternoon’s events, ending with the promise that the red wax seal on the underside of the case would prove beyond a doubt the story she told was true.

Through it all, Captain Carter listened impassively. Finally, at her conclusion, he nodded. “Show me this proof, mademoiselle,” he said, “and perhaps I will believe.”

Slowly Isabelle turned the case over and stared in horror. No mark showed on its surface.

It was the wrong trunk.

Chapter 8

T
 
he captain regarded Isabelle curiously. “Have you some concern with the case, Mademoiselle Gayarre? Perhaps you’d prefer an-other of these.” He gestured in the direction of the spilled trunks. “But I assure you each has been searched with equal care.”

Isabelle stared at the item in her hands, willing the crimson mark to appear, begging for time to fall backward and resume anew. Perhaps then she could form some sensible answer.
 

“But, I don’t understand, I—”

A rip of thunder tore through the cabin, followed in short order by the flash of lightning. Outside, the squall had begun to blow in earnest; inside, the situation looked just as stormy.
 

The Lord hath his way. . .in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet.

Silently she prayed for the Creator to lead her to the solution, to give her knowledge to solve this current dilemma. Then, realization dawned.

To her knowledge only three keys existed to the house on Burgundy Street. The first was in the hands of her sister, Emilie; Isabelle carried the second; and the third belonged to. . .
 

Isabelle allowed the trunk to fall to the floor, losing the splintering sound of it breaking as another peal of thunder echoed in the chamber. The captain added a string of curses, blending the noise of the storm outside with the one brewing inside.

“Mama Dell,” she whispered when the captain finally fell silent. “She’s swindled us both. Seek your information there.”
 

“You speak nonsense,” he announced. “Be plain with your answer, or say nothing more.”

Isabelle lifted her gaze to meet his. “The woman Delilah has your answers.”

Captain Carter seemed to consider her statement, leaving Isabelle to wonder whether he would take any action at all. Just when she’d given up hope, he turned and stalked to the edge of the dark passage.

“Harrigan,” he shouted into the blackness.
 

When the elderly sailor arrived, the captain gave him instructions and sent him on his way. Slowly rotating to face her, the captain wore an expression that offered nothing of his thoughts.
 

His eyes narrowed. “If this is yet another deception, I’ll hear of it now rather than later. Do you understand?”

“Sir, I’ve offered no deception save the decision to allow you to believe a man had purchased passage on your vessel. Beyond this, I have been nothing but honest with you.”
 

Animosity radiated from his eyes, reduced to bare slits yet still visible
in their silvery depths. Quickly, she averted her eyes, studying the toes of her slippers and the broken pieces of wood lying between them.
 

Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.

This verse from Romans had given her much cause to think and offered many opportunities for spirited discussion with the mademoiselle. While offering her heart and soul to the Lord had been relatively easy, agreeing to follow in the Christ’s footsteps had been a battle of another sort, one where a clear victor had not yet been established.

Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.

Although the man’s heart wore a blackness she could feel, it was a heart created by God, knit in his mother’s womb for a better purpose than frightening women and carrying on like a banshee.
 

Isabelle stared past the captain and began to pray, allowing the Gospel of Luke to be her guide. Rather than ask God to save her, she asked the almighty Father to save Josiah Carter.
 

As if the captain sensed her purpose, he made a show of stalking to the table to pound his fist once more on its dark surface.

“Women shall be the death of me,” he shouted as he kicked a broken piece of chair in her direction, narrowly missing her feet.

And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other. . . .

Isabelle refused to flinch. Rather, she offered him a bland expression.
 

As if bored by her lack of response, Captain Carter settled one hip on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. The ship rolled quietly beneath their feet while the sounds of the storm blew louder.
 

The occasional shout of a deckhand and the clank of the chains split the silence. The Virginian seemed to notice none of this while each sound was magnified a thousandfold to Isabelle.

Finally, the sailor returned with a silent and sullen Mama Dell. The captain stared at the woman, starting at the brightly colored
tignon
tied about her head and proceeding to its end at the glove-leather slippers adorning her diminutive feet.
 

As if he knew of Mama Dell’s penchant for making others bow to her will by intimidation, Josiah Carter applied the same tactic to her. Had the situation not been so dire, Isabelle might have considered feeling a bit of satisfaction at the turn of events.

“Woman,” the captain said slowly, an edge of menace in his voice, “what say you on the matter of Mademoiselle Gayarre’s recent financial loss?”

In a rush of words, most of them unintelligible, the old woman professed ignorance to the situation at hand. “No traveling case has touched my hand this day,” she vowed passionately, “and no gold has been found or taken.”
 

“Interesting,” the captain said slowly as he looked from Mama Dell to the old sailor. “Heard you the mention of a traveling case or missing gold pass my lips, Harrigan?”

“I did not, Cap’n,” Harrigan answered with a shake of his head.
 

“He did not,” Captain Carter repeated.
 

The captain approached Mama Dell like a panther stalking his prey, using his height to intimidate. To her credit, Mama Dell neither flinched nor shirked away.

“Save your skin, woman, and save me wasted time, as well. Speak what you know of this.”
 

Ending the ruse, he centered his concentration on the older woman. Harrigan snickered, then silenced when the captain glared in his direction.

“I demand a response,” Captain Carter said through clenched jaw.

Mama Dell stood motionless, defeated, and then suddenly defiant. An irrational fear crept up Isabelle’s spine as she recognized the look for what it had meant to her.
 

None dare take a stance against Mama Dell; the threat of the monsieur’s wrath always carried warning enough. Dare she now believe the monsieur still stood behind the woman, even as the woman seemed bound to flee?

Mama Dell’s features smoothed into a near smile. For what seemed like an eternity, only the heavy thud of rain against the wood boards above them broke the silence.
 

Isabelle gathered her cloak about her, knowing each second that ticked by brought her closer to either liberty or bondage. Either fate seemed preferable to the endless torture of waiting.

This she believed until Mama Dell looked at her. The collision rocked her to her toes. Hiding behind false bravado, she stared back at her former tutor, willing the veneer not to crack and the tears not to flow.

“From her birth I was charged with the care of this child. That care continues now, whether she realizes it or not.”

“And the money she makes claim of?”

Mama Dell clamped her lips shut and refused to meet his gaze.
 

“I tire of this,” the captain snapped. “Harrigan, fetch Banks to remove her; then see to our safety in the coming storm.”

“Aye, sir.” Harrigan strode out, and a moment later, another man wandered in.

“Banks, take her away,” the captain said.

The old sailor wrapped bony fingers around Mama Dell’s ample arm and gave her a tug. Isabelle stood in awe as the most contrary woman she knew followed the ill-garbed man out of the room like a lamb on a string. Had she not witnessed it herself, the image would have refused to form.

“Ye’d best tell ’im what ye know, if’n ye wanna save your hide,” he said.
 

Mama Dell mumbled something and shook her head.

“Cap’n Carter’s a fair man for the most part, but he ain’t patient by any stretch o’ thought.” Banks cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the subject of his discussion. “Beggin’ the captain’s pardon, sir,” he added hastily.

Captain Carter gave Banks a curt nod as he watched the sailor and Mama Dell disappear into the stairwell. Down below, a door opened, and the sound of a scuffle ensued.
 

“The girl will never be free,” Mama Dell shouted over the sound of Banks’s protests. “
He
will see to it.”
 

A second later the struggle ended. “All’s well, Cap’n,” Banks called. “Quite the tart, this one.”

The door slammed, leaving Isabelle to consider the words she feared were true.
The girl will never be free.
She took a deep breath of the thick, musty air and held it inside until her lungs threatened to burst.
He will see to it.

Something inside cracked open, spilling bitterness into her soul as she released the breath and quickly took another. Isabelle knelt to rest her forehead on her knees, a curtain of hair covering her face.
 

Softly the tears began to fall, wetting the skirt of lace that had been intended as a bridal gown for the most unholiest of alliances—the union of a stupid girl born of the wrong parentage and an arrogant man born of the right one. What sins had her forefathers committed to have such afflictions visited upon her?

Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.

The words of Deuteronomy 31, especially verse 6, had given her the courage to endure, then exit, her life of servitude. How like God that He would remind her of them now.
 

She let the words soak in, like the tears from her eyes, seeping beneath the skin to dry and leave no mark. Yet the mark of the Lord still felt new and fresh.

Her tears vanished and her heart less heavy, Isabelle lifted her head and peered from behind a curtain of curls to brave a look in the captain’s direction. Without regard to her attention, he stared past her, obviously lost in his own thoughts.
 

His gaze swung to meet hers. Somehow words of assurance seemed necessary, and she made the attempt while brushing away the strands of hair blocking her vision.

“Before God, I promise you shall be paid for this voyage,” she said quickly, grasping her knees tighter, “whether it is in coins recovered from my trunks or in bank vouchers delivered upon our arrival in England.”