Marrying Christopher (24 page)

“Here, here.” Captain Gower tapped the side of his glass with his spoon. “I know at the start of our voyage I said there was to be none of the fancy and formal found aboard my ship, but tonight I’m breaking my own rules. Why, you may ask. Because today the
Amanda May
clocked a record nine knots per hour— for
six consecutive
hours. We have now shaved an additional day off this voyage and will be arriving in New York one day earlier than planned, though we left England a day late.” He glanced at Lady Cosgrove. “Most of you should be very pleased to hear this.”

Most. But not me.
Marsali turned her head from the captain and caught Mr. Thatcher watching her once more. His brows rose in question, as if to ask if she was all right. Instead of sending him a reassuring smile, Marsali gave a slight nod and directed her attention elsewhere, not trusting herself to contain her emotions.

She was
not
all right, and the reason had very little to do with their imminent arrival in New York and everything to do with the way Mr. Thatcher had been avoiding her. It was as if he could tolerate her company no more than Miss Cosgrove’s. Marsali didn’t understand this change in him, and it pained her. And when, occasionally— as at breakfast the other morning and again just now— he glanced at her in his old friendly and concerned manner, she experienced an unsteady swell of feelings she did not know what to do about.

Mr. Thatcher had seemed so sympathetic at the beginning of their voyage. Indeed, his concern had so touched her that she’d confided in him as she had to no one before. But something had changed during the week of Lydia’s sickness. And when Marsali had at last felt she might take strolls around the deck once more or join Mr. Thatcher in a lively conversation about a book each had read, he was nowhere to be found. Instead, it had become apparent that he did not wish to see or converse with her. More than a time or two she had caught him hurrying to his room or up on deck the moment she appeared in the saloon.

And though she had purposely lingered on deck— under Mr. Murphy’s watchful eye— for the past few nights, Mr. Thatcher had not resumed his nighttime habit of observing the stars with her.

It is probably for the best
,
she told herself.
We will be parting ways in less than two weeks.
Perhaps several days less, if Captain Gower’s ship continued to exceed expectations.

The captain raised his wineglass, and the others at the table followed suit. Even the flustered Mr. Jones lifted his water cup.

“To the
Amanda May
and our safe and speedy voyage to America,” Captain Gower said.

“To the
Amanda May
.”
Glasses clinked together as everyone joined in the toast.

Marsali took a sip of champagne and felt a tickle as it hit her throat. She placed her glass on the table, thinking she would do well to follow Mr. Jones’s example.

Two of the kitchen crew entered the saloon, arms laden with platters and bowls. As they started service at the head of the table, Marsali turned her attention to Mr. Luke. Painful though he was to converse with, he did not dredge up any feelings of uncertainty or loss as simply glancing at Mr. Thatcher did.

“Making the crossing quickly as we are, this is one of the most exciting voyages you’ve made,” she said.

Mr. Luke gave a polite laugh, giving Marsali the impression that her statement had offended him.

“Not quite,” he said. “The
Amanda May
has speed, but our route has been most ordinary. This voyage lacks the excitement that comes with trying to outrun a pirate ship.”

“Something we should all be grateful for,” Lady Cosgrove said.

“True enough,” Captain Gower agreed, raising his glass once more. Lady Cosgrove did

the same, finishing what was left of her drink.

“Have you had many encounters with pirates?” Marsali asked Mr. Luke, more for a good tale to share with Lydia later than out of real interest. No doubt he had enjoyed several grand adventures, and it seemed likely he would be quite animated in telling them.

“I have had more altercations with pirates than I have fingers and toes on which to count.”

Marsali worked to keep her smile from growing too stiff. From the corner of her eye, she caught Mr. Thatcher watching them, an almost bored expression upon his face.

“Just last year, before I had the good fortune to make acquaintance with Captain Gower, I was sailing with the East India Company. We had a shipment of costly rugs, and rolled inside these rugs we’d hidden even more valuable goods.” Mr. Luke placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward, warming to his topic and frustrating the kitchen crew member attempting to ladle soup into his bowl.

“What sort of goods were you transporting?” Lady Cosgrove asked.

“The usual— tea and silks, porcelain. And, of course, opium.”

“Of course,” Captain Gower muttered. “Dastardly business, that trading company. Be glad you got out when you did.”

“I am,” Mr. Luke said. “Though, as you’ve sailed with them as well, you must admit there was a bit more excitement to a trading voyage than there is in transporting passengers across the Atlantic.”

“I am happy to leave the
excitement
behind,” Captain Gower said, sounding rather exasperated with the direction of their conversation. “I prefer remaining in possession of all my limbs and, most particularly, my
life
.”

“As do I,” Officer Luke said, taking up a roll and preparing to butter it. “And on that particular voyage, with the rugs, I came as close to losing mine as I ever have— ever care to.”

“Do tell us what happened,” Marsali said when it appeared he would not but had transferred his interest to the food in front of him.

“We were boarded, of course. Several men were cut down at once. Other pirates went straight to the hold and began searching out the treasure and bringing it up. We offered very little resistance— or so it appeared. But three other officers and myself were barricaded in a room below, with two hidden cannons, primed and aimed at the other ship. One of the officers was killed when the pirates shot through our door. But I held my position, and we fended them off, silencing those who had found us and remaining hidden until most of the blackguards were back on their ship. Then we took aim and fired langrage— bits of scrap iron, nails, bolts and the like— at their deck.”

“Most often such a move is intended to tear a ship’s sails, disabling it,” Captain Gower added.

“But it is equally as effective at clearing a deck of the men upon it,” Officer Luke said. “As was the circumstance that day. Those of us left on board were able to fight with and defeat the pirates who hadn’t yet returned to their ship, and those who had— and were laboring under the weight of the rugs— were caught unaware and dispatched through our cannon fire.”

“Brilliant.” Lady Cosgrove clapped her hands, or attempted to, though they weren’t meeting up quite as well as they had a few moments earlier. Marsali caught the captain’s nod and saw the cabin boy fill Lady Cosgrove’s glass once more, though this time only halfway. It was becoming apparent she couldn’t hold her liquor any better than Mr. Jones.

“It was dangerous but also exciting. Nine times out of ten the company could best a pirate ship,” Mr. Luke boasted.

“Really?” Mr. Thatcher asked. “The odds were that good? Must be a lot of inept pirates at sea these days.”

Marsali had been thinking the same thing but still found it somewhat audacious of Mr. Thatcher to question the first officer that way.

“The odds were never
that
good,” Captain Gower said, answering before Mr. Luke could. “Particularly with one pirate.”

“Sir Edmund Crayton?” Mr. Thatcher suggested to Marsali’s surprise, and it appeared everyone else’s as well.

“You know of him?” Captain Gower asked.

“Yes. You could say that.” A troubled expression flickered briefly over Mr. Thatcher’s face.

“You may have heard of Crayton,” Mr. Luke said. “But meeting him is something else entirely.”

“You don’t say.” Mr. Thatcher flexed one of his hands and held it in front of him, studying it almost as if reminiscing. Marsali followed his gaze and noticed for the first time that his index finger was bent unnaturally, as if something had happened to it and it hadn’t healed entirely right.

“When Crayton and his men boarded a ship, few would return to tell about it,” Mr. Luke said. “But there was one time when he intercepted an East India ship en route from China. Her hold was full of pepper, and when the men saw it was apparent they were going to be boarded, the crew went into hiding below, each reaching into a barrel of pepper and grabbing a fistful before they hid.”

“Pepper?” Lady Cosgrove asked as she hiccupped, then brought a hand to her mouth.

“They had guns and knives, too,” Mr. Luke said. “But Crayton and his men weren’t expecting the pepper. Many got a face full when they went below looking to take men and treasure. In the time it took for them to recover, the East India men were able to gain the advantage. I was not personally aboard that ship, but I have heard tell of it many times.”

“Indeed,” Captain Gower said, appraising his first officer skeptically.

“Have you ever met a pirate, Mr. Thatcher?” Marsali asked, giving in to the desire she’d had all evening to engage in conversation with him.

“Just one,” he said. “That I know of anyway. Though with the company my father kept, that is questionable.”

“Do tell us.” Lady Cosgrove placed her hand on his arm and leaned far closer than was appropriate.

“Perhaps another time,” Mr. Thatcher said. His lips pressed together as if to suggest to all that he would not be speaking on the topic.

Marsali felt disappointed and wished he would tell the story. But then, she wished he would say anything, that he would simply talk to her as he had at the start of their voyage.

It would have been most pleasant to spend the days she had left as she wished to spend them— with Mr. Thatcher.

Christopher brooded as he stared out at the ocean and began his second turn about the deck. His hands were clasped behind him, and his brow furrowed at the two warring thoughts running through his mind.
I’ve done all I can to assist Miss Abbott, and now I must forget about her. Only a coward walks away.
At the moment he felt the part of a coward all too well, yet he did not see what more he could do with regard to Miss Abbott’s perilous situation.

“And how is the young Mr. Thatcher this morning?” Captain Gower took up pace beside him.

“Young. And that is about all I am,” Christopher said, wishing not for the first time that he were a bit older. He’d yearned for that increase in age— to be older than Grace and better able to protect both her and Helen— for most of his growing-up years. To find himself with a similar desire now, when, at the start of this journey he’d had thoughts only of his youth and the time on his side for adventures, seemed almost a cruel trick of nature.

“Do not wish such a gift away,” Captain Gower advised. “The years will be upon you soon enough. Happens to all of us.”

“It was not age, precisely, that I was wishing for,” Christopher said. “Rather, I am in need of either means— which often come with age and a lifetime of work— or wisdom regarding a solution for this vexing problem with Miss Abbott.”

“Vexing now, is she?” Captain Gower’s grin further annoyed Christopher.

“Not she, precisely, but this bloody business with Thomas.”

“We don’t know for certain yet that it will be bloody,” the captain gently reminded him.

“Neither do we know that it will
not
,” Christopher said. “And given the facts and circumstances…” He didn’t bother finishing his sentence. It was the thought— Miss Abbott at the mercy of a cruel man— that had haunted him beyond distraction the past several nights.

“I take it your interview with Lady Cosgrove did not go well,” Captain Gower said.

“Not in the least.” Christopher sighed wearily. “She is not in a position to hire Miss Abbott or to pay for her passage. And even if she were, I am not certain there is enough… substance… in that woman to do something so charitable.”

“Ah.” Captain Gower clasped his hands behind his back in a manner similar to Christopher’s as they reached the stern and changed direction.

“It seems Lady Cosgrove is also at the mercy of a man,” Christopher said. “Her last monies were spent securing this passage, and she and Miss Cosgrove are now reliant upon the good graces of Mr. William Vancer, Miss Cosgrove’s intended, for their future well-being.”

“I suppose that explains, in part at least, why she was so eager to imbibe at dinner last night,” the captain said. “More often than not, the temptation of drink is the temptation of forgetting one’s troubles for a while.”

“I have seen it often enough myself.” Christopher recalled that the evenings his father had come home most drunk were often the evenings he had done poorly at the tables and when the debt collectors were most insistent.

“Let us pray— for Lady Cosgrove’s sake and her daughter’s— that Mr. Vancer has many good graces indeed,” Captain Gower said.

Christopher nodded. “The greatest of which had best be patience.”