Ransome's Honor (31 page)

The time between the bells, although only half an hour, dragged interminably. He prayed for sleep to come, yet each time he nearly drifted off, a new vision of the crew taking the news badly startled him awake. Would the night never end?

When three bells chimed at five thirty, he started out of a restless doze. He lit the lamp at his desk and opened his small, worn leather Bible. Reading in the book of Acts of Paul’s shipwreck did nothing to increase his ease, so he turned to the Psalms instead. Still, he found no solace in the words.

He closed the book and touched it to his forehead. Lord
God, you
have directed
my
path thus
far.
Father, please give me the
appropriate
words to tell the crew,
and grant
me wisdom for the day
ahead.

Feeling calmer than he had all night, William rose, washed his face, and shaved before Dawling appeared at four bells. William ignored the breakfast tray, visions of the crew mutinying still too vivid in his imagination.

He shrugged into the uniform coat Dawling held up for him. The morning ritual lulled him into a moderate sense of normalcy. He closed his eyes. His life would never be normal again.

“Everything all right, sir?” Dawling glanced meaningfully at the tray of untouched eggs, sausages, and black pudding.

“Fine.” William turned away from the sight of the food, stomach churning. “Just not hungry.”

Scowling, Dawling retreated with the tray.

William tucked his prayer book into his pocket and exited the cabin onto the quarterdeck. He climbed the stairs to take his position on the starboard side of the poop deck. As the bells chimed off the remainder of the morning watch, the crew began to fill the quarterdeck and forecastle, and by the time the midshipman of the watch sounded eight bells, eight o’clock and beginning of the forenoon watch, the six lieutenants had joined him.

Hands clasped behind him, William leaned forward, a slight breeze ruffling his hair between hat and collar. “Good morning, crew of the
Alexandra.”

The crew saluted and shouted their good-morning back, and everyone removed his hat.

William quoted from Habakkuk, the beginning of morning prayers as outlined in the prayer book. He paused, and the lapping of the harbor against the ship filled his ears. After praying, he opened his prayer book to read the passage from the Old Testament, a Psalm, and selections from an epistle and one of the Gospels, interspersed with responsive passages calling for the crew to answer. The voices of his men raised in praise to God and the words of the Scripture lifted William, buoying him with the knowledge of God’s presence and ultimate control.

He reached the end of the service, secure in the knowledge all would be well. “Praise ye the Lord.”

“The Lord’s name be praised,” the crew responded.

Returning his hat to his head, William glanced over his crew as they gazed at him expectantly, waiting to be released to duty or breakfast. “Before I dismiss you, I must make an announcement. Lieutenant Cochrane will be arranging accommodations for a guest...for a lady who will travel with us to Jamaica.”

The men who’d just repeated the words from the prayer book now muttered in a manner unfit for Christian society. Cochrane called the crew to attention.

Now came the true test of the men who’d served under him for more than two years. William fisted his hands. “On Tuesday morning, I will marry Miss Julia Witherington who will—”

The crew erupted into cheers. Cochrane stood by, beaming his delight. William could not find his voice to call the men to order. How could he have doubted them?

Chapter Thirty-One

J
ulia, will you will join us in the sitting room?” Lady MacDougall asked as they entered the house after the church service.

Julia set her reticule and her father’s prayer book on a side table and joined her aunts. She returned Lady MacDougall’s smile.

“Augusta and I have been talking about the visit to Marchwood. If you are to go before you are married, that leaves us only tomorrow.”

Her stomach lurched. Day after tomorrow, she would be married. To William.

“I know you have graciously allowed me to stay until your departure from England.” Augusta sat on the edge of the white brocade settee. “But I thought it might be best if I were to leave tomorrow instead. That way, your husband will not think my presence an intrusion.”

Julia opened her mouth to tell them he was now living on his ship, a situation that would not change with their marriage, but bit back the words. The last person she wanted to reveal the true nature of the arrangement to was Augusta Pembroke. “If you feel you must go, I will ask the housekeeper to help you arrange the packing of your belongings.”

“Which brings me to my point, dear.” Hedwig paused to cough into her handkerchief. “Augusta told me she has a few business matters to attend tomorrow morning before she can leave. It is a four-hour drive to Marchwood from Portsmouth. If we do not leave until late morning, that will not give you time enough to properly see the house and grounds.”

Unless they left very early in the morning, Hedwig was correct. There would be no time to see Marchwood and still return to Portsmouth by a reasonable hour. “Then perhaps I’d best not go—or at least postpone my visit until after the wedding.”

Hedwig drew in a deep breath, which sent her into another coughing fit.

“Are you unwell, Aunt?” Julia moved to sit beside her on the chaise. “Shall I ring for the housekeeper to bring you some tea?”

“Oh, I am quite all right. Just a cough that comes when the wind kicks up as it did today” She patted Julia’s hand. “Now, what I was going to suggest is that you and I take the drive out to Marchwood this afternoon. We can stay the night. Then your driver can bring Augusta tomorrow, and he can return you to Portsmouth by the afternoon.”

“I...” Uncertainty grappled with her interest in seeing Marchwood.

“It would give us a chance to know one another better.” Hedwig cocked her head to the side the same way Julia’s mother had when trying to convince Julia of something.

How could she deny her? “Of course, Aunt Hedwig. I shall need time to pack a bag and...see to some other necessities. But I shall go with you this afternoon.”

“There is a reputable inn at Bishop’s Waltham. If you leave within the hour, you would arrive in time to take tea there and have them send a messenger to Marchwood of your arrival.” Augusta directed her smile toward Lady MacDougall, her ready agreement with the plan a bit suspicious.

“Oh, that would be lovely” Hedwig beamed. “Julia, do you think you could be ready to leave in an hour?”

Her heart wrenched, torn between wanting to find out what Augusta was up to and wanting to please Hedwig. “Yes, I believe I can be.”

Hedwig stood, coughing delicately. “Then we’d best begin preparations.”

Julia jogged up the stairs to her room. Tossing the reticule and prayer book onto the bed, she immediately sat down and started a note to Susan, informing her of the change of plans. Of course, she wasn’t certain how she would get it to Susan, with both Creighton and Elton not working today.

She’d have to ask Susan to get word to William so he would not worry about her absence tomorrow.

After stamping the note with the Tierra Dulce seal, she thought for a moment and then wrote another note that she folded and sealed around it—a note to Creighton so he also would not worry and so he would pay careful attention to Lady Pembroke’s actions. Quietly as she could, she sneaked down the hall to the service stairs and climbed the two flights to the servants’ quarters. Creighton’s room was the first and largest. She felt odd entering his private domain, but once inside, she was not surprised to see everything squared away with naval precision.

The floorboards creaked behind Julia. She whirled around, but saw no one. Just the house groaning with the day’s heat.

She left the note for Creighton on the small table that served as his desk and then slipped back down to her room. She packed a few toiletries, undergarments, and a day dress in her small valise and was ready to leave when one of Lady MacDougall’s footmen knocked on her door a few minutes later.

Julia wanted to call him back as soon as he disappeared down the hall with her valise. This was a foolhardy venture. She couldn’t trust Aunt Augusta here on her own, could she? What if Augusta and Drake tried something in her absence?

“But what could they do?” Julia asked her empty room. The strongbox was safe with Susan and Collin. Certainly there were valuables in the house, but they would not be so stupid as to try to outright steal—would they?

Commotion out in the hallway caught her attention—the two footmen with Hedwig’s trunks.

Hedwig stopped at Julia’s open door. “Are you ready to go, dear?”

Go or stay? It was only one night. What harm could come of that? “Yes, I arm.”

“All well with Miss Witherington?” Ned touched the fore-point of his hat.

William returned the salute, watching as the launch carrying Collin back to shore rowed away from
Alexandra.
“Aye. Captain Yates reported she was in good spirits at church this morning.” He looked toward the horizon. “Sunset. Have the drummer beat to quarters for inspection.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Ned relayed the orders. The marine drummer began his tattoo, and the officers and crew sprang into action, converging on their battle stations.

William checked his watch once everyone had gained his place. “Too slow, Mr. Cochrane. We shall have to work on that before we leave harbor.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

William walked about the quarterdeck before descending to the main deck to inspect each gun crew. When convinced each of the men on
Alexandra
remembered his station and position, he returned to the quarterdeck. “Division officers, release your divisions.”

“Dismissed!” resounded throughout the ship. The crew retrieved their hammocks from where they were stuffed into the netting and decamped below deck. William dismissed the midshipmen to their navigation lesson with the ship’s master and the officers to the wardroom.

Dawling met him in the dining cabin, a dinner tray on the table. The weeks at the Yateses’ had improved Dawling’s skills almost miraculously—especially his cooking.

After devouring the beef and potatoes, William withdrew to his desk to take up the stack of applications he had received from those seeking midshipman positions. He would receive many more once they posted the openings tomorrow, and he wanted to ensure he chose the best.

At ten o’clock, two hours into the first watch and eyes gritty and head beginning to ache, William doused the candle and retired for the night. Phantom ships and cannon fire from long-finished battles haunted his dreams, and he climbed out of the hammock well before dawn, still exhausted.

He received the report from the officer of the night watch, then returned to the issue of personnel. Several times, he caught himself nodding off. This was no good. He left the cabin and took a brisk stroll about the ship. The light was not yet full, but the day promised to be a scorcher.

“Cap’n Ransome, sir!”

He spun at the boatswain’s call. “Yes, Matthews?”

The small man’s bare feet pounded the decking as he ran toward William. He paused to gulp in a few breaths. “Sir, a boat come up. There be a man on it who insist to speak to you—he says he needs to see you about Miss Witherington.”

“Show me.” He jogged behind the warrant officer to the other side of the ship, crewmen scurrying to move out of his way.

At the waist entry port, William leaned over to see a jolly boat bearing Creighton. His innards twisted with hurricane force.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” Creighton shouted.

“Permission granted.” William stood stock-still as the admiral’s former steward climbed the accommodation ladder. Creighton snapped to attention and knuckled his forehead as soon as he gained the deck.

“Come with me.” William spun on his heel and hastened to his cabin. He closed the door behind them and circled to the head of the dining table. “Speak.”

“Captain Ransome, sir.” Creighton saluted again. “You told me that should anything happen—” The butler swallowed hard, panic rolling off him in surges. “Sir, Miss Witherington has disappeared.”

Dread knotted around William’s heart. “Explain.”

“When I returned to the house this morning, Miss Witherington was gone.”

William clenched his hands together behind his back, his facade of calm about to shatter. “You are certain she was not still sleeping?”

“No sir. I arrived for duty at five o’clock. I...” He flushed deeply. “Sir, because of your concern, I asked the cook to peek into Miss Witherington’s room, just to make sure all was well. She wasn’t there, sir. Her bed was not slept in.” His voice quavered, and he took a deep breath. “Sir, Lady MacDougall’s carriage is also gone. I fear Miss Witherington may have gone somewhere with the baroness.”

“Marchwood.” William’s mood blackened. He’d kept his concerns over her aunt’s invitation to visit the Pembroke home to himself. He had not thought she would be naive enough to go before she had the protection of his name.

“I do not wish to believe the worst about anyone, sir, but I believe Lady MacDougall might not have the best intentions toward Miss Witherington.”

William nodded. “I believe you are correct, Creighton.” He stepped to the door and opened it. The marine guard saluted. “Pass word for Mr. Cochrane.” He went into his sleeping quarters and strapped on his cutlass and pistol before returning to the dining cabin.

Cochrane entered, surprise overtaking his bleary eyes at the sight of Creighton and of William armed. “You sent for me—”

“Ned, something has happened to Julia. I am going after her. The ship is yours until I return.”