The Saintly Buccaneer (30 page)

Blanche Rommey looked up in surprise, and her features softened. She had not thought for one second that the girl was truthful in her concept of Hawke, but now she intuitively knew that there was no reason why the man she had come to know would have been incapable of such things. She nodded slowly, “I suppose I let myself in for this when I fell in love with him. We always knew his memory might come back, or that we might run into someone who knew him. My worst fear was that he’d have a wife!”

Charity looked at the other perplexed. “Are you still going to marry him? Now that you know who he is?”

“He’s still Hawke, Charity. You can
tell
him that he’s Paul Winslow—but the man that fell in love with me is another man. Don’t you see that?”

Charity replied wearily, “I don’t know. I don’t know—or even care—about anything anymore!”

But neither Charity nor anyone else aboard the
Lady
had any time or emotion to spend over personal grief, for by nightfall the ship was rolling like a chip in a white-water mountain stream. If the prisoners had not been released and allowed to work, the ship would have rolled over during the night. As it was, they managed to get enough sail on her to make a run before the wind, and that was what finally saved them.

All night they fought the raging seas that rose and fell like white-crested mountains, the force of the waves repeatedly striking the battered ship with terrific blows. “It’s like gettin’ hit with the fist of a giant!” Dan exclaimed, wiping the water from his face as he struggled to get a little more sail on the yards.

“Sure if that giant don’t get tired pretty soon,” little Rhys Morgan sputtered as a wave took him square in the face, “we’ll be kindlin’ wood by mornin’!”

While the crew worked around the clock, Charity nursed the wounded men. Thad was recovering, but the rolling of
the ship made him sick, and she had to stay by him for long hours, holding him in the bed and trying to ladle broth down his throat.

When she wasn’t tending the wounded, she was in the galley. Cooking was not a simple thing, for the galley was a constantly tilting platform, so that just to keep a fire going was a feat that called for all her ingenuity! Harrison helped some, but his skill was needed topside to work the ship, so Charity worked long hours to keep hot food and coffee for the crew.

Dan came from time to time to grab a quick bite, but there was a strange wall between them. He said nothing, but thanked her for the food; and on the second day when it seemed that nothing could save them, she was momentarily filled with shame at the way she had treated him. He had eaten a chunk of bread, washed it down with scalding black coffee, and murmured quietly, “That was good, Charity. Thanks.”

That was all, but his steady gaze was a rebuke to her. She tried to shake it off, but the memories came quickly, and she thought of his kindness, and what a true gentleman he had always been. With shame she remembered how he had loved her father. Again she tried to shake off the thoughts, but the shame grew greater. Finally, she grabbed a covered pan, put some hot beef in it and headed for the deck, intending to take it to him. But she never made it.

When she stepped out on deck, the howling wind smote her with a terrific force, filling her with fear. But she saw Dan crouched over, working one of the jibs in the bow, and started toward him. She was halfway there when the ship suddenly nosed down and she lost her balance. A huge wave broke amidships, and she felt herself lifted high and thrown toward the open sea.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the water rushed in, and she knew she was lost. Just as she was even with the rail, staring down into the trough of raging water, a hand caught her wrist, and her entire body seemed to snap as her
progress was checked. She grabbed wildly at the arm that held her, and clung like death to the man who had caught her. He had anchored himself to one of the davits, but the water was sucking with such force that his grip was loosening. She stared at his hand, watching the knuckles grow white—then she saw his fingers straightening out as he was inexorably pulled by the force of the waves.

“You can’t hold me! Let me go—save yourself!” she screamed, but the hand tightened on the wood, splaying out the fingers with effort.

Charity saw another wave sweeping down the deck, headed for them, and knew that he could not hold on. She bent her head back to shout for him to let her go—and found herself looking into the eyes of Paul Winslow! The shock was so great that she was speechless, but he forced his head forward and shouted above the roar of the wind and water: “Hang on, Charity! Don’t give up!”

“No—let me go!”

He shook his head stubbornly, and then in the midst of the storm, with death pulling them into its watery maw, he suddenly grinned. He put his lips against her ear and shouted, “Well, maybe I’m not the fellow you talked about—he sure wouldn’t have done this! Look out—here it comes!”

The world was water, and Charity gagged as the brine went down her throat. She clung to the hand that held her, thinking,
This is death
—but it was not, for the crashing of the water abated, and she heard the moan of the wind again.

“Better get below.” She looked into a pair of somber eyes, and then she felt him lift her onto the deck. She staggered at first, and then he was gone before she could say a word.

Dan had seen the incident, and he came running along the deck. “Is thee all right, Charity?” He grabbed her in a hug and said in a joyful voice, “The good Lord was with thee!”

She waited until he released her; then a tremulous smile touched her lips. “I guess so, Dan—but it looked like Paul Winslow to me.”

She left the deck, and he stood there staring after her. Throwing a glance at the form of the lieutenant, he muttered, “Well, you can’t be
both;
which are you—Paul Winslow, the villain, or Lieutenant Hawke, the hero?” He grinned ruefully, saying softly, “I guess you are like all the rest of us—a little of both!”

****

“I don’t think that’s the same sea, sweet! It’s so calm.”

Hawke and Blanche were standing at the stern rail, looking back over the glistening wake of the
Lady.
Diamond-like flakes of foam were spread out in a large V, catching the light of a moon round and bright as a silver sovereign.

“It’s the same sea—just in a different mood,” he murmured. They both thought of the rolling seas that had nearly sent the ship to the bottom ten days earlier, and the placid, mirror-like surface of the water beneath them was so peaceful it did seem impossible that such waves could have driven them miles off course.

“Listen—that’s Morgan’s fiddle!” she exclaimed, and the plaintive sounds of the music came drifting to them on the slight breeze. The crew were all gathered around the mainmast enjoying the steady progress of the ship and content with the delicious supper they had just indulged in.

“The crew did very well,” Hawke remarked. “Greene and his men saved us, of course.”

Blanche responded instantly, “You would have managed.”

“No. They knew the ship, what she could do. We’d all be feeding the sharks if it weren’t for them. It was a close call. I hope your father’s all right—but then the
Neptune
’s weathered worse storms.”

Blanche stroked his arm, thinking of the events of the past few days. “You’ve spent a lot of time with Greene and Charity since the storm,” she commented, an edge to her voice.

He looked at her in surprise, discerning a sharpness that
he could not explain. “Why, of course. I want to know all I can about my people.”

“They didn’t know them that well.”

“Not my parents—but did you know that Dan and my cousin Nathan were in love with the same woman? She turned Dan down, but he and Nathan are great friends.”

“And now he’s lost another woman,” Blanche laughed. “He’s not lucky in love.”

“Oh, I think Charity will come around. She thought at first that Dan had refused to surrender, but one of her crew—a fellow named Conrad—saw the whole thing. It was actually her own father who gave the order. Conrad told her, and it’s made a difference.”

Blanche was unhappy, but could not explain it to herself or to him. Ever since the name
Paul Winslow
had jumped out at them, she had felt a vague uneasiness that continued to grow. It had bothered her to see the three of them talking so often—probably because she felt left out and wasn’t sure how he would handle the new identity. Now she broached the question. “What will you do? About your family, I mean? Will you go see them?”

“Not likely,” he admitted. “I’m a sailor of the King, and if I left my ship and went to Boston, I could be arrested for treason. That’s if I went in disguise and got caught. If I didn’t conceal who I was, I’d be arrested by the Yankees and thrown in a prison as an enemy of the Colonies.”

She shrugged, saying, “This stupid rebellion will be over soon. My father says it can’t last much longer.”

“Dan thinks it will. He says that if Washington ever cuts the British Army off from the support of the navy, it’ll be over.”

“But that’s exactly what
won’t
happen!” she argued. “You’re an Englishman, Hawke. You can’t even remember America—and your family is loyal to the King.”

“That’s true.”

His admission did nothing to change her feelings of unrest,
and she announced petulantly, “I’m going to bed. It’s getting late.”

“Good night.” He made no attempt to kiss her, so she turned and left, her back rigid with disappointment.

For twenty minutes he remained there, enjoying the music that floated up to him. He was about to retire for the night when he saw Charity leave the small group gathered around Morgan and move toward the stern. She did not see him, and would have gone down the ladder had he not spoken. “Beautiful music, isn’t it?”

She glanced up, hesitated, then came to stand beside him at the rail. There was an uncertainty in her attitude, but her voice was decisive. “We’ve had several chances to talk—but never alone. I—I want to tell you that I’ll never forget what you did during the storm.”

“Anyone would have done the same.”

“No, that’s not right. I wouldn’t have, I don’t think.” Her face was turned to him, and he was struck with the pale beauty of her features. Her eyes were light in the moonlight, and the curves of her cheeks were smooth and chaste. She had, he noted, a chin that was a trifle pronounced, a reflection of her character! But she was a beautiful young woman. She went on quietly. “You almost went over with me, trying to save me. Most men would have let go—but you didn’t, Paul, and I’ll never forget it.”

He stared at her, then said pensively, “
Paul
—it’s odd, but when you say that name it—I don’t know. It tugs at me somehow in a way I can’t understand. It seems—
right
somehow.”

“You remember it!”

“Oh, nothing like that. It’s just a vague thing—like some odor you know you’ve encountered—but when you smell it, you can’t remember just where.” After a pause he laughed, saying, “I’d ask you to tell me more about myself—but it’s all bad.”

She moved along the deck, and the two of them stared out over the wake. She was bothered by the man, and had
been since he had saved her life. Before that night it was easy to hate him. But the following days found her being fretful, uncertain. Now standing by the rail, she spoke what was in her heart.

“I don’t know you, Paul. The man I hated and had nightmares over is dead. You’re not the same at all.”

For a long time they stood there, talking quietly, and finally he blurted out in a voice of bitter resignation, “I’m the nobody man, Charity. I can’t be Hawke—and I can’t be Winslow. I’m a dead man who won’t stay buried!”

Instantly she was filled with a great pity for him. Never before had she known what it was like to be locked in time with no past, and it made her want to reach out to comfort this man she’d hurt so deeply. Without thinking, she put her hand on his arm, and when he turned in surprise to face her, she whispered, “Paul—don’t be bitter! Please don’t!”

Her face was only inches away from his, and he could see that she was weeping. Tears glittered like diamonds on her lashes, and the sudden rush of sympathy shook him as never before. He had no notion of doing such a thing, but impulsively he leaned forward and kissed her. She moved against him, and the salt of her tears was on his lips.

Charity was swept with emotion, and his lips on hers made her shake like the wind that had battered the
Lady!
She seemed to lose all her strength, and she clung to him as she had the night when only his arm kept her from being pulled to a watery grave.

They were both shocked when a voice spoke mockingly, “Well, I see that you two are having another ‘talk’!”

Charity pulled back, confused, and saw Blanche, who had come out of the hatchway and was regarding them with a twisted smile on her lips. She did not say another word, but turned and dashed down the ladder into the darkness.

And before she could answer, he whirled and left her alone on the deck, confused and swept with a painful feeling that she’d not be able to forget the moment—not ever!

CHAPTER NINETEEN

TELL HIM WE LOVE HIM!

The blazing sun of August faded into a pale specter as September brought winds with a taste of fall and a hint of winter.
The Gallant Lady
forged steadily through the gray sea, making for New York with all speed.

Since the night that Paul Winslow had kissed her, Charity had found herself living in a state of restless confusion. Although she had tried her best to apologize to Blanche the following day, there was a strain between the two women. She wanted to talk to Dan—but even after she had asked his forgiveness for unjustly blaming him for her father’s death, she could sense a definite wall when she saw him. She felt isolated, cut off, and the future looked empty, dull, without any hope of pleasure or satisfaction. The
Lady
had been her life, and now that both her father and the ship were gone, her heart was heavy when she tried to plan the next steps in her life.