Chapter Eight

Lily awoke to the sharp, echoing clang of a bell. Early morning light filtered through the curtains. The breeze through the open windows infused the cabin in a briny smell. Two plain wooden chairs and a table stood out distinctly in the grayish light. Stacked books sat on a desk jammed in a corner. Griffin’s books.

Her pulse jumped. Rising up, she leaned on her elbows. Tangled bed sheets wrapped around her satin breeches and frilly shirt from yesterday. No strapping body of a male stretched out in the bed or anywhere in the cabin. With great relief, she wondered where the attractive fellow had gone.

Over the back of a chair lay her coat. Black lumps on the floor indicated her shoes, discarded shortly after he departed…sometime late yesterday afternoon. It stunned her to think she’d slept so long.

If Griffin had slept next to her, she would’ve noticed. Such a narrow bed wouldn’t easily accommodate two people, particularly such a tall man. Nevertheless, a flutter of anxiety winged in her stomach. Where had he slept? She tossed aside the bed covers along with her worries and slipped from the bed, anxious to rid herself of the stale clothes she’d worn so long. As she stretched arms overhead and worked out the kinks, a devilish idea sprang to mind.

Excited, she yanked open her trunk which stood alongside Griffin’s. Honeycomb, her stuffed animal from childhood, lay tucked among the folds of her gowns. She loved the worn horse with the ragged mane. As childish as it might seem, he never failed to raise pleasant memories and make her smile. She patted the dear friend on the head and set him aside. When she located the perfect gown, she tugged it out and shook out the wrinkles as best she could. Neither Griffin nor the captain would bully her today. No doubt the ogre would have a snit when he saw her, but what could he do? Throw her to the sharks? Toss her in the hold? He’d said those things to frighten her into submission, but she’d show him. Superstitions aside, he would have to grow accustomed to a lady aboard his ship.

Hah! Her, a lady? Wouldn’t Percy chuckle?

Later, dressed and her hair pinned back from her face, Lily paused in her reading of an essay written by Montaigne she found among Griffin’s books. “Where is he?”

In his absence, she’d searched the room and found nothing to prove him a spy. If he had anything to hide, it would be in his locked trunk. When possible, she’d sneak the key from him.

Her stomach grumbled. The apple she’d eaten earlier hadn’t quelled her hunger. Yesterday’s stale, leftover bread crunched between her teeth when she took a bite. She washed it away with the last of the watered-down wine.

Her fingers drummed restlessly against the tabletop. As promised when he’d made a hasty retreat, Griffin hadn’t returned to trouble her. For this, she could be grateful. Yet many nights remained of their journey. How could she spend the next weeks with him when his charm and his changeable moods left her so unsettled?

“All right,” she announced with determination. “Enough of waiting. I shall simply have to venture out on my own.”

Not until she emerged on the upper deck did she see another soul, though she heard the bump and clatter of men busy at their chores. Chickens clucked in their caged pens. She wrinkled her nose at the foul smell of hogs. When the weathered sailor noticed her, he stopped with his freckled hand on the rigging, and made a quick sign of the cross over his chest.

Goodness. Was a woman such a demon it spurred a man to prayer?

“Where does one go to dine?” She tried to ignore his rude stare and the wisps of oily hair flattened to his shiny pate.

“The captain’s cabin, I reckon.” He spat a glob of nasty sputum into a bucket and pointed to a door.

“Ah.” She suspected this might be his answer given the door’s special embellishments which defined its higher status. If the fellow detected her pained expression, he gave no notice. “Thank you, sir.”

Facing the bulkhead, she studied the scrollwork above the doorway. In her mind, she relived the harsh grilling she received at the hands of the captain yesterday. A sudden worry today’s encounter might prove equally uncomfortable twisted her stomach. With grave misgivings, she took a step forward. Then another. With a gulp of moist sea air to bolster her resolve, she rapped upon the door.

A gruff voice bade her enter.

Swallowing her unease, she turned the decorative brass knob. When she stepped inside, Mulworthy’s fork stopped short of his open mouth. “Salt of the dog!”

“Good morning, Captain.” Despite her ragged nerves, she managed a light, happy tone. A dining table stood in the middle of the room, suspended on stout legs bolted to the floorboards. The detestable monster sat among three men she had yet to meet, breakfast dishes scattered before them, the smell of fresh coffee ripe in the air. Shock, followed quickly by delight, flitted over his companions’ faces. Not so for Mulworthy, who glared at her with such contempt she dropped a hand to her chest, half expecting her heart to seize.

“I’m told this is where passengers take their meals.”

“Faraday,” he snarled. When there was no response, he shouted, “Faraday! What’s this about?”

She heard a muffled grunt. Up from the corner of the room rose a pile of blankets. All at once, the bedding heaved and tumbled to the floor. Her heroic knight appeared and sent a shock wave through her body.

“What?” His hair spilled in a messy tangle over his shoulders. He blinked several times. When he noticed her, his jaw dropped. “What the—”

“Good morning.” She threw as much good cheer into her voice as possible. So far, her perky performance had garnered universal attention.

Griffin flung the blankets off and scrabbled up in his stocking feet. His brows angled and creased his forehead. “What are you doing?”

In spite of his irritation, she felt sorry he’d spent the night on the floor without even a simple pallet to cushion his bones. Poor man.

Befuddled, he clawed a hand through the stubble on his chin, seeming to struggle with the woman before him. “Why are you dressed like that?”

She chose to ignore the gruff questions and graced him with a smile, grateful to have packed sensible garments that laced up the front. “I’ve decided to join you for breakfast. Since I missed supper last night, I’m famished.”

Mulworthy’s face quivered like a steam kettle about to blow.

“May I sit down, Captain?”

His beady eyes bulged with the possibility they might pop out and roll around on the floor. Before he could send her away, a young sailor, with hair as black as pitch, shot to his feet. “Permit me, madam.” Bright with eagerness, he pulled a chair from the table and offered her a seat.

At least someone had manners.

“Thank you.” She slid into place, thankful for a solid chair beneath her quaking knees.

“I’m Mr. Samuel Church,” he gushed, all smiles and graciousness. “And this is Mr. Flint, the ship’s steward.”

A jolly fellow with a grin like a puppet jokester and a paunch as circular as his balding head nodded a welcome.

“Och, get on with it, Church,” grumbled the ogre.

Beast.

Church gestured to the fellow next to him. “This is the ship’s surgeon, Mr. Mead.”

A thin man with straw-colored hair and spectacles nodded respectfully.

Griffin had donned his shoes and strolled toward the table. He settled next to her, smelling of sleep and muslin warmed in the sun. A carefree expression replaced his earlier air of annoyance and confusion. As if all was right with the world and only temperate days stretched before him, he poured a cup of coffee and filled one for her, too.

“Thank you.”

As she sipped the tepid brew, Mulworthy jabbed a finger and sent fear up her spine. The sausage-sized digit wagged menacingly back and forth. “Dinna think ye can ignore me orders without some blowback.”

Stomach curling, she wondered how Griffin managed to consume a biscuit as if Mulworthy didn’t put him off his food.

“Ye won’t get away with this.”

At his veiled threat, the men looked everywhere but at her. Griffin, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed as he shook salt on his eggs.

Brow drawn in curiosity, Mr. Mead cleared his throat. “I daresay, Captain, I’ve missed something here.” When Lily heard his cultured and schooled voice, she dared to hope he might inject some civility into the current tense proceedings, maybe even soften the ogre. “Permit me to welcome you aboard, Miss…”

“Miss Lily Fitzhugh.” She smiled, but her taut face ached with the effort.

Lean, with long-boned arms and a pink flush to his cheeks, Mr. Mead wore his blond hair closely shorn to his head. “I didn’t realize we were to travel with such a charming lady.”

Mulworthy rolled his blood shot gaze heavenward and huffed in exasperation.

“I came aboard at the last minute.”

“A stowaway she is,” Mulworthy grumbled.

Anger raced up her spine. “I presume Tubbs gave you my fare, Captain.”

Mulworthy grunted disagreeably.

“Eat,” Griffin said and dolloped scrambled eggs on her plate.

She faced Mead, taking refuge in his interest. “I spent much of yesterday in my cabin.”

The words my cabin caused Griffin to choke and cough. She glared at him, daring him to contradict.

“Ah. I see.” Mead stared at the pillow and heaped blankets on the floor.

Conversation stalled. Lily picked at her eggs. Mulworthy hunched over his plate, his skin tone similar to raw liver. A muscle in his cheek pulsed with anger.

“Would you care for some ham, madam?” Mead lifted a platter in slender fingers well suited to play the violin or harpsichord. With his pleasant attitude and straight aristocratic nose, she found him likable.

“Thank you.” Several thick slices, along with a biscuit, found a home on her plate. “You’ll want the marmalade.” Griffin shoved the jar closer with his pinky.

Fork grasped in his fist, Mulworthy speared a piece of meat from his plate and jammed it into his craw. His jaw ground the food, and she had an anxious notion he fantasized her as the morsel.

Never had she met such an unlikeable man and all because she dared to sneak aboard his ship. Yet the deed was done. Let the anger go. To her misfortune, he seemed unable to do so, and his intolerant attitude left an aftertaste in her mouth as bitter as the thick coffee. Without doubt, her presence at his table, dressed in a gown rather than a servant’s uniform, struck a blow to his authority—a blow she worried would cause serious repercussions.

Taking their cue from the captain, the men resumed eating. In spite of her jumpy stomach, Lily managed a few nibbles. Griffin, a man of surprising stamina and fully alert after a night upon the floor, devoured every morsel with a hearty appetite. No one spoke, and the slurp of coffee and the clink of silver on the plates drove her nerves to a higher pitch.

Mulworthy continued to scowl even as he downed the last dregs in his cup. With a screech of chairs legs against the floor, he shoved away from the table.

“All of ye. On deck at eight bells.” His derisive gaze sliced into her. “Dinna be late.”

The ominous message sent a ruffled chill over her shoulders. An urge to argue arose, but she knew the danger in challenging him. The man would cling to his resentment like a scar on skin. Doubtless, whatever waited for her on the deck would be unpleasant, perhaps even vile. For her disobedience, it was retribution at eight bells.

He marched from his quarters in a huffy flutter of righteous anger. Only when the door slammed behind him did she breathe again.

A silent message passed between Flint and Church. In unison, they stood.

“We must be off,” stated Flint with forced cheeriness, but his darting, evasive gaze suggested trouble. “I wish to say, madam, how delighted we are to have such a lovely guest among us.”

“Thank you both.” She could scarcely form the words in her anxiety.

When they were gone, she expected some rebuke from Griffin for her blatant disregard of the captain’s orders. I’m a civilian. I deserve respect, she wanted to shout and steeled herself to his certain argument. However, his expression remained a blank mask as he sliced into his ham.

Lily fingered her coffee cup and wished she could will herself to New York as quick as a swallow of the dark brew. Mead offered her the platter of kippers. Nauseated by the smell, she declined.

“Since we are ship acquaintances, Miss Fitzhugh,” the physician said as he set his fork and knife across his empty plate, “you must tell me about yourself.”

At this, Griffin raised his head.

“There isn’t much to tell. I’m on my way to see my father.” She’d begun to tell her story when she heard the clang of bells.

Mead glanced warily at the door. “We are summoned. Our conversation will have to wait for another time.” Without another word, he left the room.

In her head, Lily counted along with the bells. Her nerves ticked up with each toll.

“It’s time.” Griffin stood.

She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t obey. Up to the challenge, Griffin hauled her to her feet. Hand at her back, he prodded her forward on feet heavy as iron anchors. Anne Boleyn, solemn and head bowed, trudging to the chopping block, figured in Lily’s mind. “I wonder what awaits us.”

Griffin replied with an unpleasant growl. “We’ll soon find out.”

There was something telling in his stoic expression. She figured he knew, but for some reason, he declined to enlighten her.

When they stepped into the fresh air, the winds plucked at her hair. Mulworthy presided center stage, on the poop deck, elevated higher than the crew, a commander in supreme charge. Flint and Church flanked each side. Griffin touched her arm, and they joined them.

“Mr. Church, sound the whistle,” the captain ordered.

The shrill whistle pealed three times. Within minutes, the entire crew had assembled on the quarterdeck. Dressed in a motley assortment of stripes, washed-out colors and ragged bandannas, they assembled in rows, like a haphazard army on parade. While they waited for the captain’s address, they whispered among themselves and stared at her as though she were a freak of nature. It appeared they were due for a performance of sorts. With growing certainty, Lily anticipated it would not be a pleasant experience.

Suddenly, the crowd stirred. The men shifted. Their heads swiveled as they cast furtive glances over their shoulders. In the center, some shuffled aside, creating a path through their ranks. The man who’d taken her money and secreted her aboard, the man called Tubbs, stumbled up the makeshift aisle followed by two burly sailors. When the three reached the captain, they stopped. Tubbs lifted his gaze and spotting her, sneered.

Lily reared back. Her heart pummeled her ribs.

Mulworthy’s voice boomed so all could hear over the flutter of the sails. “Mr. Church, read the charges.”

A book propped open in his hands, Church sang out. “Sometime between the hours of…” He read the date and time along with the charges of theft and dereliction of duty. “Twenty lashes.”

Racked with guilt, Lily clasped her fingers in a tight grip. She’d never considered the fallout of her sneaky action. Never imagined someone else might be hurt or punished. If only she hadn’t listened to Cecil Jones. Yet there was no other choice when a father needed you.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed to Tubbs. With his gaze straight ahead and his spine rigid, he refused to grant her forgiveness.

“Captain! You mustn’t do this.”

Mulworthy wrinkled his nose. “Mr. Faraday. See to the lady.”

Instantly, Uncle Percy’s words, you’re no lady came to mind.

Griffin inched closer, and the comfort and reassurance from his steadfast manner gave her a glimmer of hope. “Can’t you make him understand?”

Her soft-spoken plea had no effect on her childhood friend. Face wooden, he remained silent. Anger burned a fast path up her throat and paralyzed her jaw. To do naught made him as much a monster as Mulworthy.

“Tie him to the grating,” directed Mulworthy.

Horrified, she watched as a brawny sailor grabbed Tubbs by the scruff, thrust him face forward against a wooden trellis and bound his wrists above his head. Another sailor stripped the shirt from his back.

“Ye may begin.”

From among the ranks, out stepped a swarthy man, a coil of leather gripped in his hand. No one made a sound as the flogger drew his muscled arm back and unfurled the whip.

Crack!

Tubbs and Lily jerked in unison. The biting slash reverberated in her head.

Crack!

Sickened, she considered fleeing to the cabin but knew Mulworthy would drag her back.

Crack!

Tubbs grunted in pain. Three scarlet gashes glinted across his back.

Crack!

Repeatedly, taut leather lashed against muscle and skin. In its wake, it left a haphazard grid of gaping, ripped flesh. Her hands fisted as blood oozed from the wounds and mixed with the man’s glistening sweat.

On and on, the relentless snap of the whip and the rasp of pain resounded in her head and echoed the length of her body. She cupped a hand over her mouth. Bile stung the back of her throat, bitter and vile. She turned to leave. Just as fast, Mulworthy gripped her forearm. “Stay.”

“I won’t.”

“I insist.”

Jaw clenched, she faced the tethered man. She hated Mulworthy with such intensity she feared it might consume her like a ball of fire. No doubt, he would have taken pleasure had it been her bare back cut to bloody ribbons. In defiance, and because she could no longer watch, she stared across the vast gray ocean, imagining she floated away. Yet the bite of leather and the pained groans juddered in her head, on and on until at last, it ended.

A guard cut Tubbs loose. Bloodied and wan, he sank to his knees. Mead went to him. Bending low, he spoke in his ear.

At Mulworthy’s direction, Church declared the proceedings finished and ordered the men back to work.

“Consider it a lesson,” Mulworthy snarled. “Now get below.” He turned his back on her.

“Come, Lily.” Griffin touched her elbow.

Furious, she wrenched away. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “You’re all barbarians—the whole lot of you.”

Her skirt clutched in a tight fist, she fled and sought peace in the cabin. The men, the relentless sway of the ship, the salty air, everything fell away as she raced into the quiet space and slammed the door. Stumbling the short distance to the bed, she fell across the madras cover and cried.

Moments later, someone knocked.

“Go away.”

Griffin stuck his head inside. After a frank assessment, he came into the cabin and kicked the door closed with a foot. He held a bottle and two tankards.

“I’m not in the mood for visitors.”

As if he were deaf, he crossed the room and set the items on his desk.

She stifled an offensive remark, appalled when he poured the liquid. He offered her one of the pewter cups. “It’s beer. It’ll make you feel better.”

She sat up. Get out hovered on her tongue and she remembered it was his cabin. With some misgiving, she took the beer. The brew tasted warm and yeasty.

Further annoying her, he folded his long limbs into the desk chair, clearly intending to stay. After taking a hearty swig, he said, “The first flogging I witnessed almost made me spill my supper on the foredeck.”

A big manly man like you, she wanted to snort in derision.

“Twenty-five lashes.” He grimaced as though it was his skin lacerated by the whip. “Not a pretty sight.”

She sipped and studied him over the rim of her cup. His admission had a purpose. Implying she wasn’t alone in her agony, he meant to soothe her hurt and anger.

His tone softened. “Flogging is not a sentence anyone likes to see.”

“It was cruel and unnecessary. I shall hate him forever.”

“Mulworthy?” He bared a lopsided grin. “He’ll be heartbroken.”

At the same instant her palm itched to slap him, a weight lifted in her chest.

“Don’t waste your emotions on the man.”

She fingered her cup, curious about Griffin’s sudden kindness when he’d been stiff as granite during the flogging. “Couldn’t you have stopped it?”

“A captain is master of his ship.”

“You must have some influence over Mulworthy.”

“It’s not my decision to make.” He propped an ankle over the opposite knee and hunkered loosely in the chair. “Besides, Tubbs deserves his punishment.”

Outrage stole her breath.

“Tubbs flouted the rules when he allowed you to board.”

“But the punishment is so extreme. Surely kindness…”

“It may seem harsh, but the consequences of ignoring one’s duty could result in the death of the crew, the loss of cargo, or even conscription by an enemy vessel. England is at war. For all anyone realizes, you could be a spy.”

“Spy?” A nervous giggle rippled from her lips. “I’m hardly a threat to the ship.”

In his languid fashion, he studied her with a censorious glint and stirred a wave of discomfort. Surely, he had no reason to suspect her contract with Cecil Jones. When he glanced out the window, she relaxed.

“Rules are rules,” he said. “Tubbs ignored rules when he allowed a stranger to board the ship. His greed did him in.”

“Will Tubbs be all right, do you suppose?” She curled her legs beneath her on the bed.

“He’s a hardy lad.”

“And the other fellow? Twenty-five lashes, you say.”

His smile was grim as he stood. “Mulworthy made you watch so you would appreciate the seriousness of Tubbs’ actions.”

“I won’t deny it made a nasty impression. Still, it all seems so savage.”

“It’s not a world you’re accustomed to. What happened today is not so unusual, given the hardships of a sailor’s life.”

“If what you describe is typical of a sailor’s life, God help them.”

“God help us all.” He downed the last of his beer. “Remember, we aren’t all barbarians.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll avoid Mulworthy.”

“Just as well. He’s confined you to quarters.”