Forgotten Fragrance (3 page)

‘Not yet. I'm a bonded convict, assigned to Mr Wainwright. He carries my papers. I've worked for him for the last six years, ever since I arrived in Van Diemen's Land. We're to be married in Sydney once my sentence is over. A fresh start for me while he searches out new business ventures.'

The flat acceptance in her voice piqued his curiosity. It didn't belong to a woman embarking on a new beginning with her husband-to-be. And why hadn't the man married her already? It was common practise. She didn't need to serve out her sentence if she married. He shrugged his shoulders. None of his business. ‘We're on our way to your new start. Say goodbye to Hobart Town. And be prepared for it to get rough.'

The sun shone on the golden yellow of the acacia trees growing in profusion on the riverbank and accentuated the myriad of colours in her hair. She stifled another pretty laugh and shook her head. ‘I won't be ill, I promise you.'

‘I'll hold you to it. I think I should find you somewhere a little safer. I don't want my paying passengers washed overboard. Come with me and I'll show you how we sail the
Zephyrus
.'

Christian's pulse quickened as he fought down the desire to reach out and touch her. Her smile lit her face with such an unexpected radiance and her eyes, the dark grey-blue of thunderclouds, danced in delight.

‘This is where the Derwent River meets the Southern Ocean. There's Iron Pot.' He pointed to the craggy island ahead. ‘Once we round the light we will truly test your stomach.'

‘Iron Pot?' She raised an eyebrow as if she thought he might be teasing her.

‘Yes. Iron Pot light. You must have passed it when you arrived. There's been a lamp here for a few years now. A couple of poor blighters man it and live in tents. Three ships went down in as many years so they set it up; one had three hundred free women settlers aboard.'

Charlotte gasped and raised her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with distress. ‘How terrible.'

He could have kicked himself. Too used to being aboard ship with a bunch of rough and ready men he'd forgotten women took things harder, and besides, she would be remembering her own arrival on a transport, stuck below decks not watching the sights. ‘I'm sorry. It was inconsiderate of me.'

A smile transformed her quivering lips. ‘It was a long time ago. I'm not ashamed of my past, only sorry for the poor women who never had a chance.' She waved his remark away then stretched up on her toes to get a better view. ‘Iron Pot is a funny name for a lighthouse.'

‘No one rightly knows how it got its name. Some say it's because the original light was a whale oil beacon in an old try pot, the iron cauldrons the whalemen use for oil. Old Jonas used to say the bay whalers dumped their pots there. Who knows?'

From the wheel the panorama of the open ocean spread out as far as the eye could see. Snowy white clouds scudded across the brilliant cobalt sky above the dark streak of the horizon. A deep feeling of peace settled on his shoulders. A man could ask for little more than this.

‘Who's Old Jonas? He sounds like something out of the bible.' Her laugh flew away on the breeze and added to his enjoyment.

Jonas had been a bit of a biblical figure with his flowing beard and weathered face, and he'd certainly given him a second chance. ‘Jonas used to own the
Zephyrus.
I inherited it from him.'

Charlotte reached out to the smooth polished timber of the wheel, and traced her long fingers over the spokes. With her hair streaming free behind her she might have been the inspiration for the carving on the
Zephyrus'
bow. Covering her hand with his he turned the wheel hard to starboard, relishing the movement of the ship as it responded and threw Charlotte closer. ‘By the time we reach Sydney you'll be vying for the position of first mate.
Zephyrus
responds to a woman's touch.' And so it seemed did he.

Laughing, Charlotte withdrew her hand and folded her arms, balancing easily as the deck swayed with the motion of the open sea. ‘There's Mr Wainwright.'

Christian eyed Wainwright as he strode along the deck, his hands behind his back, pacing with a measured, proprietorial step. Obviously the man possessed a sharp intelligence, he'd picked it in his hawk-like gaze; however, something less savoury lurked beneath the surface. The lecherous gleam when he eyed Charlotte spoke of long-awaited desires. Maybe Marcus wasn't the paragon of virtue he'd have the good people of Hobart Town believe. Possibly it accounted for his need to start life anew in Sydney — why else would a man give up what must have been a comfortable existence?

Shaking his head Christian pushed aside his thoughts. If he intended to operate the
Zephyrus
as a passenger and cargo ship he'd have to learn to pay less attention to his customers. Six years of dubious characters and shady ports had taught him to read men and he'd learnt the hard way. It was safer not to delve into complex relationships. He had enough to keep him occupied managing the combustible nature of the crew. Seamen had a reputation for fighting change and with Henk stirring up trouble he'd have his hands full until he proved to them Jonas' decisions were the right ones.

‘Finding your sea legs, Mr Wainwright?' he asked as the crow of a man clambered up the three timber steps to the wheel.

Wainwright rearranged his cloak and pulled it tighter to his chest. ‘Thank you, Captain. I am, though the breeze is very brisk.' He turned to Charlotte and frowned. ‘I don't think this is the spot for you. Apart from the suitability of mixing with the crew it is far too cold up on deck.'

‘But Mr Wainwright, I…'

‘Go to your cabin. I am certain you have matters to attend to and if you haven't my papers are in an appalling state of disarray.'

Christian caught the discreet flash of irritation crossing Charlotte's face and the tiny sigh escaping her reddened lips. He kept his peace while she nodded her head in submission and made her way back along the deck.

‘So, Captain, we're your only passengers?' Marcus asked.

‘Correct. We are not carrying any other passengers.'

‘And the cargo?'

Christian resisted the temptation to tell the fool to mind his own business. He irritated him and he regretted his impulse to tell him of his plans for the
Zephyrus
. If he hadn't been so taken with Charlotte he might have been more circumspect. Swallowing his displeasure he made an effort to be civil. ‘At the moment, potatoes, some timber and whale oil, and a dozen or so convicts. We were hoping to carry one of the first shipments of beer to Sydney, unfortunately it didn't eventuate.'

‘Beer? Do you not think the colony has seen sufficient problems with a surfeit of alcohol? Encouraging its use is hardly a responsible way to conduct your business.'

Christian loosened his fingers from the wheel and gazed up at Windy perched at the top of the mainsail in the crow's nest before answering the pompous fool. ‘As captain of this vessel it's my decision as to the cargo and the passengers I carry, Mr Wainwright. I'll thank you not to interfere.'

‘My dear young man, there is no need to react so aggressively.' Marcus pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and thankfully turned his back, studying the rapidly diminishing coastline of Van Diemen's Land.

Charlotte truly believed Marcus had her best interests at heart. She would never forget he'd saved her from all sorts of horrors when she arrived in Van Diemen's Land and for that reason alone she owed him her obedience and her allegiance. He'd rescued her as surely as any knight on a white charger, and now he was taking her away to begin a new life. She had to keep that foremost in her mind. Transitioning from servant to wife was bound to be trying. Marcus' intentions and concern for her welfare were simply proof of his regard. As yet he'd never professed any affection for her, never so much as touched her other than to guide her; that part of their relationship would come in time.

Caught in a sudden blow the sails filled and the ship lurched. Lost in her thoughts, Charlotte's foot slipped and she fell to one side. Reaching out to regain her balance she sank onto one of the hatches. With a giggle she swung her legs clear of the deck and latched her fingers through the open timber frets, swaying with the movement of the ship.

Well out of sight of Marcus and the Captain she settled back to enjoy the sensation of skimming the waves. A fine dark line on the horizon was all that remained of Van Diemen's Land and the past six years. What Jamie would have given to be part of this adventure!

No matter how many times she read the surgeon's report and no matter how often she'd demanded the story recounted, she couldn't believe the nimble-footed, agile youth had fallen to his death. She studied the swaying mast. Climbing the ratlines or the mainmast would have been a game to him. The boy who had shimmied his way up the spire of St Martins-in-the-Fields for a dare and clung to the cross in a parody of the crucifixion wouldn't have fallen. If only they had travelled together…if only.

Marcus' investigations on her behalf had been more than thorough. He'd even spoken with the captain and surgeon of the
Lord Petre
. There was no doubt Jamie had fallen to his death. As Charlotte looked out at the darkening ocean the terror of being swallowed by the waves and carried down into their swirling depths churned her stomach.

Pushing her morbid thoughts aside, back into the hidey-hole of the past somewhere beneath her heart, she clenched her fingers tightly around the timber frets and let out a huge sigh — a final farewell to Jamie and all that might have been.

As the
Zephyrus
rounded the lofty cliffs and basalt columns of Cape Raoul, grouped like crumbling Roman ruins, the shadows lengthened and an eerie stillness descended. The drop in the wind silenced the snapping canvas and a mournful wail hung in the air. She shuddered; reliving the memories of the despondent women cramped below decks on the
Atwich
.

In a matter of moments the cries from the deckhands chased away the remnants of the past as a fresh southerly squall filled the sails, and casting one last glance at the Derwent Estuary she pulled herself to her feet to walk to her cabin.

As she stood a pitiful moan reverberated through the ship, twisting her heartstrings, a ghostly reminder of the past. She peered down through the latticed hatch to the hold. The fetid stench of bodies filled her nostrils and a wave of heat lashed her as she relived the hell of her first nightmare voyage. The moan echoed again, louder. She shook her head.

What nonsense!

Charlotte shivered and crossed her arms over her chest then rubbed her palms up and down her arms before she made her way to her cabin, determined to escape her overactive imagination. All these macabre thoughts of Jamie and the past were flights of fantasy. Marcus was her future and his words earlier were nothing more than attentiveness and concern for her wellbeing. She must count herself lucky he cared for her and look to the future.

Having tidied her meagre possessions and unpacked her cloak Charlotte threw it over her shoulders and made her way to Marcus' cabin. She laughed aloud as the ship rolled and bucked against the open ocean and she lurched from one side to the other. A delicious odour wafted past and her stomach rumbled in anticipation. It had been a long time since breakfast.

Once inside Marcus' cabin Charlotte chased the papers strewn across the desk by the waves. Her stomach rumbled again. Marcus had said he would take his meals in his cabin but she'd rather eat with the crew if invited. It sounded like a fine idea. She intended to make the most of this trip and she wanted to experience as much of life at sea as possible.

With a thundering crash the cabin door flew open. Marcus staggered in and collapsed face down onto the bunk. ‘Bucket! Get a bucket, woman.'

As he heaved his words made sense. Hurriedly pulling the timber pail from below the bunk Charlotte deposited it next to him. He levered himself up on one arm and hung his head over the side, vomiting loudly and expansively.

Marcus' skin resembled cold porridge and a slick of sweat covered his crumpled face making his malady more than obvious.

‘Oh! I fear you are suffering from seasickness.'

‘What rubbish woman! I have been poisoned.'

Charlotte mopped at his brow with her handkerchief and then leapt aside as he once again stuck his head over the edge of the bunk and gave a watery groan. ‘I don't believe you have been poisoned. We both ate the same food for breakfast, the bread and…

‘Don't even mention food.' He heaved again. ‘I will be called to meet my maker before we reach Sydney.' The stench from the open bucket churned her stomach and Charlotte tried to breathe through her mouth as she took Marcus' cloak from his shoulders and replaced it blanket-like across his prostrate, whimpering form.

‘I doubt you'll die. It's simply seasickness. Believe me, it will pass. Let me fetch you some water.'

He belched and leant over the bucket again. Clamping her lips together Charlotte slipped through the door and made her way into the darkened passageway.

‘Whoa! Where d'you think you're goin'?' Thick, meaty hands clasped her upper arms and the stench of unwashed flesh enveloped her.

A long shiver of revulsion shook her from head to toe. ‘Henk! You scared me.' Her heart pounded, ready to leap right out of her chest. ‘I need water. Marcus…Mr Wainwright is unwell and…

‘Cookie!' Henk's voice bellowed in the confined space and a blast of rum laden breath wafted into her face. ‘Cookie! Bring water to the Capt'n's cabin.'

Henk pressed closer forcing Charlotte back against the cabin door.

‘Now. Not yesterday,' he bellowed, his fetid breath fanning her face.

Somewhere to her right banging and clattering heralded the arrival of a small man with a flagon in one hand and a pewter mug in the other. He slithered to a halt and stood shuffling from one foot to the other as though unsure which direction to take.