Chapter 14

 

Marianne pushed the rag over the brass candlestick for the thousandth time. Her fingers ached. Her back ached. And the sharp scent of polish stung her nose. Her only consolation lay in the fact that everyone aboard this ship shared her suffering from overwork. Most of the sailors were young boys far from home or older men torn from their families by impressment gangs back in England. Too illiterate to read the posts sent from loved ones, they carried the missives in their pockets if only to make them feel close to those they left behind.

She stopped to steal a glance out the cabin windows, before which the captain stood, tending his plants. Outside, the lantern perched upon the stern showered a haze of golden light over the captain, highlighting the gray in his hair and making him look almost peaceful—almost.

As if to contradict her thought, he cursed and mumbled something she couldn’t make out as he moved from plant to plant with his watering jug.

Then suddenly he swung around. His eyes glazed with the mad look she’d grown accustomed these past few days. “Odds fish, aren’t you done yet?”

Marianne examined the shimmering brass. She thought she’d been done hours ago, but the man saw flaws no human being could ever see. She held the two holders up to him with a questioning look on her face, hoping her annoyance didn’t show on her features.

He set down his jug and grabbed the half-full glass of brandy he’d been nursing all night. “I suppose they will do.” His voice sounded heavy with defeat and something else. . .a hopelessness that seemed to thicken the air around him.

Rising, Marianne set the brass holders atop his desk and tucked the cloth in the pocket of her skirt. “Captain, if I may ask a favor?”

He grunted.

Marianne had come to interpret that as permission to continue, so she took a step forward. “If you would indulge me, Captain, and if your men would approve, I could read their missives from home to them. I mean, for those who are not schooled in their letters.” Though she normally would resist doing anything to help the British, she could not fault these young impressed sailors for being aboard this warship. It was bad enough they’d been forced into naval service, but to not be able to read comforting words from home, or to have to wait for an officer’s good humor to read them… Tragic. If she must remain imprisoned aboard this ship, perhaps she could at least bring some joy to others in the same position.

Captain Milford sipped his brandy and stared at her as if she’d asked permission to sprout wings. “The midshipmen often read their letters to them. But if you wish. It matters not to me.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She turned to go.

“Stay. Sit down for a moment.” He cocked his head toward a chair, and Marianne groaned inwardly. Drat. It had been a long day. Her muscles screamed for rest.

Slipping onto a chair cushion, she stretched her aching back and waited. Only seven days of endless serving and cleaning had passed, yet it seemed like a thousand. And all she saw before her was a multitude of similar days strung together in a muddled line of misery that screamed into eternity. Though she had long ago decided against trying to understand God’s purposes—especially when one tragedy after another had struck her family—she found a need growing within her to know the reason for this current madness. She refused to believe the explanation Daniel had given that her that she had been sent to rescue him. Just the fanciful notions of a young boy.

Drink in hand, Captain Milford dropped into a chair in front of his desk. He released a long sigh and stared at the canvas rug beneath his boots. During their forced time together the past few days, Marianne had caught him staring at her more than once, not in a licentious manner, but more as if he wished to converse with her.

As if he were lonely.

“You remind me a bit of my Elizabeth.” An awkward smile rose on his lips.

“Indeed?” Marianne wondered if he was paying her a compliment or an insult. Though from the wistful expression on his face she guessed it was the former.

“She was a woman I knew once. Many years ago.” He stared off into space as if he were traveling back in time. “Smart, courageous, kind.” His eyes snapped to her. “Though you’re no beauty like she was.”

Marianne lowered her chin. Had he said smart, courageous, and kind? Yet all she heard were the words “no beauty.” Why did the flood of pain caused by such insults always drown out the compliments to her character?

“Blast it all, I’ve hurt your feelings,” he growled in a tone that carried no apology. “Women are far too sensitive.”

Marianne twisted the ring on her finger until the ruby glowed in the lantern light. “What happened to her?” she managed.

“Married the son of an earl, or so I heard.” He gulped the last of his drink and slammed the glass down on his desk. Marianne flinched. Rising, he waved a hand through the air then gripped his side. “Most likely has children and grandchildren by now.”

“I’ll warrant you have a family of your own back in England, Captain.” She realized her error too late as every line on his face tightened and his eyes flitted about the room as if in search of something.

Finally they settled on her in a cold, hard stare. “And why would you think that?”

Marianne had no response save the nervous gurgling of her stomach.

He stormed toward her. “The Royal Navy is my family, Miss Denton. Been my family all my life. Was my father’s family and his father’s family before him.”

Marianne stared down at his boots and concentrated on the exquisite shine, compliments of her hard work that morning. She didn’t want to look up at the intimidating man towering above her. She didn’t want to look into those volatile eyes, serene one minute and explosive the next. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” he bellowed. Thick hands grabbed her shoulders and yanked her to her feet.

She stared straight into twitching, gray eyes. The scent of brandy stung her nose. Gathering her bravado, she tugged from his grasp and took a step back. “It seems a rather lonely existence, Captain.” She kept her voice steady, despite her quivering belly. “And I would appreciate you keeping your hands to yourself. No gentleman would employ such crude manners.”

If he intended to strike her or lock her in irons, she preferred that he simply proceed without delay. For every time she was in the captain’s presence, she felt as though she were walking one of those thin ropes in the top yards, waiting to be shoved off to the deck below.

A tiny vein pulsed in his neck just above his black neckerchief. The hungry sea dashed against the hull and tipped the ship slightly to larboard. Marianne braced her feet against the deck and her soul against another onslaught of this man’s deranged outbursts.

Instead, he broke into a chuckle and swung about.

“The navy’s been good to me,” he continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. Perhaps to him, it hadn’t. “Why, I’ve seen exotic places most people never see. I’ve fought in glorious battles that have changed the course of history.” He rounded his desk and caressed one of the leaves of his plants. His rock-hard expression softened. “Tender precious things, aren’t they? Grew them from seeds. Just one little seed”—he gestured the size with his thumb and forefinger—“and you can grow a tree that will feed a family.”

Marianne released a sigh at the change in his demeanor. He seemed to respect those who took a stand against him, or at the very least, her courage had caused him to shift back to the calm, reasonable captain, not Captain Maniacal, who so often appeared out of nowhere.

“Perhaps you should have been a farmer,” she said.

Captain Maniacal returned. His face reddened. “Begone, Miss Denton. I tire of your company.”

Before she made it to the door, a knock sounded. The captain growled a curse that made her ears burn, then he shouted for the intruder to enter. A man dressed in a marine sergeant’s uniform gave her a cursory glance as he passed. Her heart leapt in her throat as Luke followed on his heels. His brows lifted at the sight of her, and he winked in passing. But it was Noah’s blue eyes that latched upon hers that sent her blood racing. She took a step back and leaned on a nearby chair for support. Instead of anger, she saw relief on his face as he perused her. A faint smile lifted his lips.

Behind him, another marine nudged him forward. Lieutenant Reed brought up the rear.

Noah looked well. They both looked well. She silently thanked God.

“What is this about?” Captain Milford grumbled. “Can’t a man enjoy his evening without interruptions!”

“Sorry to disturb you, Captain.” Lieutenant Reed stepped forward and saluted. “But it appears these Americans have been stirring up trouble with the crew. As well as disrespecting the Royal Navy.”

 

♦♦♦

 

It took all of Noah’s strength to stare straight ahead and not turn for another look at Miss Denton. Although she appeared well, and young Daniel had said as much, Noah longed to hear it from her own lips.

“Causing trouble, you say?” The captain’s sharp tone brought Noah’s focus back on him. A much larger man in person than he appeared from the tops, the captain took a step away from the windows, wobbled, then crossed his arms over his chest.

When the marine had first announced they were to see the captain, Noah’s hopes had lifted. At last he would have an audience with the only man who could set them free. Surely, once he explained the altercation during dinner as well as the circumstances of their impressments, this officer, this man of honor, would see reason. But now as Noah stood before the man, the haughty lift of the captain’s shoulders and the scowl on his face did not bode well for that notion.

“Well, speak up. What happened?” the captain said.

“Captain, nothing but a—” Noah began.

“Not you, deserter!” Captain Milford barked and spittle landed on his desk.

“Captain,” the sergeant said. His voice quavered. “This man started a fight with another crewmen and insulted His Majesty’s Navy.”

Luke skewered him with a glare. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

“We are not deserters, Captain,” Noah said.

“Silence!” the captain shouted. He plopped into his chair as if it took too much strength to keep his bulky frame standing. Black hair, streaked with gray, sprang like the edges of an old broom about his shoulders. He gripped his side then turned to the Lieutenant. “What say you, Lieutenant Reed?”

“I was not present during the altercation, Captain. I have only the marine sergeant’s testimony.”

“Hmm.” Captain Milford’s tired, gray eyes focused on Luke. “A fight you say? What was the cause?”

“An insult to the navy, sir,” the marine stated.

“Did you hear this insult?”

“No sir.”

Luke grimaced. “I made no such slur, Captain.”

The captain rose and adjusted his coat. His angular jaw flexed and gray eyes, alight with cruelty, shifted over the men. Fatigue drew the lines of his tanned face downward.

“Who struck who first?” he demanded.

The sergeant coughed. “I believe it was this man who threw the first blow, sir.” He gestured toward Luke.

“Your crewman insulted our country, Captain,” Noah said, not wanting the lie to go unchallenged. “And my man here merely gave him a little shove.”

“Your country,” the captain mumbled. “You have no country but England.” He snorted and narrowed his eyes at Noah, then shifted them to Luke. He released a sigh, heavy with boredom, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well, I shall take my marine’s word over that of these two deserters.”

Noah shook his head as his hope for justice faded completely before this blustering man.

“You both are in violation of Article 22 of the Articles of War which prohibits all fighting, quarreling and reproachful speech aboard a Royal Navy ship. Since this is your first offense, I’ll spare you the cat.” The captain waved a hand toward Luke. “Lock him in irons below. No food or drink for two days. Perhaps that shall suffice as a lesson to you, sir, that I do not tolerate brawls on my ship.”

Marianne gasped and all eyes shot to her.

“With all due respect, Captain—” Noah stepped forward.

“This is madness,” Luke interrupted. “I did nothing wrong.”

“Hold your tongues or I’ll have you both flogged!” The captain’s left eyelid began to twitch. “You are British sailors now, not crude, undisciplined Americans.”

“We are not British sailors,” Luke spit out through clenched teeth.

“Make that three days,” the captain said. “Shall we go for four?”

Noah elbowed his friend and shook his head. Luke scowled but remained silent.

“Captain, please!” Marianne’s sweet voice flowed over Noah from behind like a refreshing wave. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She stepped forward, her anxious gaze shifted from him to the captain. “Have mercy, I beg you.”

The captain cleared his throat and for a moment—a precious, hopeful moment—the harsh glare in his eyes lessened. “I told you to leave, Miss Denton.” His steely voice softened as he addressed her. She remained firmly in place. Noah blinked. How had the woman worked her charm on such an ill-tempered beast?

The captain snapped his gaze back to Luke. “Take him,” he ordered the marine, who promptly tugged Luke by the elbow and led him toward the door. Noah tried to give his friend a reassuring look before he left, but Luke’s gaze remained on the deck.

The marine sergeant smiled, while his companion Lieutenant Reed stared ahead, his lips set in a stiff line.

Captain Milford turned flashing eyes toward Noah. “And this one? What did he do?”

“He, too, was in the midst of the altercation, sir.” The marine announced proudly.

“You’re the captain of that merchantman we boarded, aren’t you?” Captain Milford studied Noah as one would an insignificant organism beneath a microscope.

“Yes, I am, sir.” Noah searched the captain’s eyes for the honor, the integrity, he had hoped existed in the commander of a British war ship. But instead, he found nothing but an apathetic cruelty that set the hairs on his arms standing straight.

“Ah, but you are no longer a captain of anything.” Milford circled his desk and planted his thick boots in front of Noah.

“Captain, my men and I are not deserters.” Despite the man’s obvious derision toward them, Noah had to convince him of their innocence. He leveled a stern gaze upon Milford, captain to captain. “We are American citizens stolen from my ship without cause. Your man Garrick did not even examine our papers.”

A slow smile lifted one corner of the captain’s mouth. “Tsk tsk. I have no time for woeful tales.” He exchanged a glance of amused annoyance with the marine.

“I have friends in South Hampton, Captain,” Noah went on, “who can vouch for my character and integrity.”

“To the devil with your character and integrity, sir! You and your men are sailors in His Majesty’s Navy. You will forget your past. Forget your ship. Forget your country.” Milford thrust his rigid face toward Noah. The odor of brandy and sweat filled the air between them. “I run a tough ship, and I’ll not stand for insubordination, sir. Do I make myself clear?”

Noah stiffened. The captain swung about and grabbed a glass from his desk, giving Noah a chance to steal a glance at Miss Denton who was behind Lieutenant Reed. Desperation poured from her brown eyes. Desperation for him or for herself, he couldn’t tell. Regardless of her culpability in their dire situation, a war ship was no place for a lady.

He faced forward. Knowing he might not have another opportunity to speak to the captain in person, he must try to win Miss Denton’s freedom. He must risk the captain’s temper once again. “Permission to have a word with you, Captain.”

Giving a disinterested huff, Captain Milford poured himself a drink and waved him on.

“It’s about Miss Denton.”

The topic brought the captain’s cold gaze back to Noah.

“She’s an innocent, captain. She’s not a seafaring woman, sir, and found herself on my ship quite by accident.”

He glanced at Marianne. Shock filled her misty eyes.

The captain sipped his drink. “Nevertheless, she is here now.”

“I appeal to your honor, sir.” Noah took a bold step toward him. Surely an officer in the Royal Navy would do no harm to an innocent woman. “She is a civilian. A proper lady with fortune and status in Baltimore. By the laws of civilized warfare, please return her to her home.”

“You appeal to my honor, do you?” Captain Milford chuckled. “I have been in enough wars to know, sir, that there is nothing honorable about the men who fight them. You ignorant, savage Americans”—he pointed at Noah with his glass—“Ever a source of amusement.” He glanced at Reed but the man remained a statue.

The marine sergeant chuckled.

Anger flared in Noah’s belly. “Yet I do believe it was we ignorant, savage Americans who defeated Britain’s best army and navy and sent you scurrying back to England.” He knew he sailed on dangerous seas, but Noah could not allow the insult to his country, to his countrymen, to go unchallenged.

The captain’s face turned a dark shade of purple. “The presumption, the audacity, sir! I should have you flogged!” He set down his goblet and moved toward Noah.

Marianne gasped.

“Mark my words, young captain”—Milford crammed a finger toward Noah’s face—“should our nations meet at war again, we shall squash your American spirit as well as your pathetic military forces and reclaim the land that belongs to us!”

Noah didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t allow the fury boiling within him to rise to the surface. He had once thought that a country so steeped in traditions of honor and glory, so rich in the history of fighting for their own freedom, would never consider stealing the freedom of others. Now he knew differently. Now he knew better.

Captain Milford’s dark brows arched. “For your insolence, sir, you will scrub the weather deck day and night for as long as your slick-tongued friend is locked below.”

Noah’s breath clogged in his throat.

“And if you are caught sleeping while on the job,” the captain leaned toward him, a greasy smile on his lips. “The penalty is death.”

 

♦♦♦

 

After a sleepless night that left her eyelids as heavy as anchors and her head throbbing, Marianne attended her duties with the mind-numbing routine of a long-time servant. She fetched and served the captain his breakfast and then helped him on with his uniform, brushing off specks of invisible dust. Afterward, she ushered him on deck, promising to have his cabin sparkling by the time he returned.

She’d learned to ignore his insulting quips and constant grumbling and placate him with feigned agreements hidden behind an occasional smile. He was British, after all, and who could argue with a man who believed he came from a master race destined to rule to world. Mad or not, when he straightened to his full commanding height and raised his voice to its most vociferous capacity, her insides melted in fear. But she’d learned that not soon after such an incident, his shoulders would sink and his voice lower and he would speak to her as if he hadn’t just called her every abominable name he possessed in his vast vocabulary.

Leaning on her knees, Marianne scrubbed the wooden planks of the captain’s floor and thought of her mother and Lizzie. Without Marianne’s marriage or a certificate proving her death, her mother would never be able to touch Marianne’s inheritance. Another year and her beloved family would run out of money to live on. And then what would they do? Marianne’s chest grew heavy. If she had not taken matters into her own hands aboard Noah’s ship, and ended up a prisoner on a British frigate, Noah would have returned her home after his voyage. Now, because of her lack of faith, none of them would ever see home again.

Lord, I’m sorry I didn’t trust You. Yet with the utterance of the words came the realization that she still didn’t trust God—that she no longer truly knew how to trust anyone. Please, God, if You’re listening, please help my family. But her prayer seemed to dissipate into the humid air of the cabin.

The scent of linseed oil and lemons burned her nose. Pain shot into her legs and angled over her back. She grew accustomed to the constant aches, welcomed them, in fact, as punishment for bringing such tragedy upon herself, her family, and her friends. Friends? Could she call Noah, Luke, and Mr. Weller friends? Would they consider her as such? And why, lately, did her thoughts center on the one man who had caused her the most grief—Noah Brenin?

She cringed at the thought that he’d been up all night scrubbing the deck above. And poor Luke, locked in irons below. She must do something to lessen their strict punishments. Yet her attempt to bring up the subject with the captain that morning had resulted in yet another outburst of his fury.

Noah had risked punishment on her behalf. She could not shake the thought, nor could she imagine why he would do such a thing, when she was the one who had put them all in this horrible situation. The door squeaked open and in walked Daniel, wearing his usual bright smile, torn shirt and breeches. His hands were tucked behind his back as if he were hiding something from her. His eyes sparked with excitement. “Hello, Miss Marianne!”

Sitting back on her haunches, she returned his smile. “Hello, Daniel.”

“I brought you something.” He swept out his hands and handed her a book.

On closer inspection—a Bible.

Marianne set down the cloth and allowed him to place the holy book on her open palms. She gazed down at it with an affection that surprised her. As a child, she had enjoyed hearing her mother read aloud the wonderful stories it contained. As she grew, she immersed herself in its loving words whenever she needed wisdom or comfort. But, much to her shame, Marianne had not read from the precious book in quite awhile—not since her father died. “Is this yours?”

“Yes, miss. But God told me you needed it more than me right now.”

“Oh, indeed?” Marianne laughed. “But I really can’t accept this.”

“You must. Not forever.” He shrugged. “Just until you help rescue me.”

“Oh, Daniel.” Marianne set the book atop one of the padded chairs and began scrubbing again. “I am not so sure you have heard from God. How am I going to help you escape when I can’t even help myself or Mr. Heaton and Mr. Brenin?”

Yanking a cloth from a pile, he dabbed some oil on it and began scrubbing beside her. “It don’t matter, miss. God’ll help you.”

“God help me?” Marianne concentrated her scouring over a particularly stubborn patch of dried dirt. “He has better things to do.” Much better things or He wouldn’t have allowed her father to die, wouldn’t have allowed her mother to become ill and wouldn’t have allowed their family fortune to blow away in the wind.

Or Marianne to get stuck aboard Noah’s ship.

Or her to become a slave to a mad captain.

Halting, she sat back and gazed at the rays of morning sunlight reflecting off Daniel’s dark hair and surrounding him with light as if he were precious to God.

While she remained in the shadows.

“I fear you have the wrong lady, Daniel, I’m just a plain, ordinary woman. I am nobody special. And I won’t do anything important.” She sighed. “I’m terrified of water. I can’t take care of my mother and sister properly, and I can’t even keep a man’s interest long enough so he’ll marry me.”

Daniel snapped the hair from his face and gazed at her forlornly. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but there ain’t nobody ordinary in God’s Kingdom.”

Marianne held up the Bible. “I’m not like the people in here: Moses, Abraham, Elijah, Paul, all great men that God used.”

“And Daniel.” He stopped scrubbing and smiled. “He was a prophet.”

“Yes, he was.” She wiped a smudge of dirt from his face with her thumb and remembered her Bible lesson to the men on board Noah’s ship. Daniel in the Lion’s den. And that is why we must always have faith, even in the midst of hopeless times. She could still hear her voice so full of feigned conviction—a masquerade of the strong woman she longed to be.

“And I am God’s prophet too. He told me so.” Daniel’s brown eyes sparkled.

Marianne moved to another spot and continued her scrubbing. The boy’s childish innocence warmed her heart. Let him have his dreams, his illusions, his hopes. They were probably the only things keeping him alive on this horrid ship.

“What of Esther?” he asked.

Marianne searched her mind for the story her mother had read to her long ago. Ah, yes the queen. “She was beautiful.” Not like Marianne.

“Rahab?”

The old stories flooded her mind like rays of sunshine on a cloudy day. Rahab was the harlot who hid the spies of Israel so they could defeat Jericho. Definitely not like Marianne. “She was brave.”

“I know what story is like yours.” Daniel’s eyes widened with delight. “How about Gideon? His clan was the weakest in the tribe of Manasseh, and he was the least in his father’s house. Yet God used him to defeat the Midianites with only three hundred men.”

Shaking her head, Marianne grabbed the bottle of oil and shifted to a fresh spot on the deck. “I know you mean well, Daniel. And I’m sure God has great plans for you. But my life has been fraught with tragedy. I can never seem to rise above the struggles, to conquer them like others stronger than I.” She continued her scrubbing. “I fear God will do what He wills in this world and in my life, and I will always be what I am--a plain, ordinary girl.”

She circled the rag over the wooden planks. Round and round like the monotonous circles of her life until her wrists ached and perspiration beaded on her neck. Tears burned behind her eyes. She could not fathom where they came from or why they appeared. Something about Daniel’s words, his enthusiasm, his faith, tugged upon a yearning in her heart—a longing, beneath her bitterness, to be something more.

He touched her hand, stopping her. “You don’t think God loves you, do you?”

Halting, Marianne drew a deep breath and looked away. She’d never truly considered the question.

Daniel shook his head. Strands of hair hung down his cheek. “Even your name means that God loves you. Marianne, taken from Mary, the mother of our Lord. She was an ordinary girl from an ordinary family. And look how important she was in God’s plan.”

She gazed at him, astounded by his wisdom. But she could not allow these fanciful notions to take root. For if she did, if she started to believe God truly loved her, if she believed she was special and that He had a plan for her life, then the next disappointment, the next tragedy would rob her of her will to go on.

And then she would end up face down in the Patapsco River like her father.

“Of course, I know God loves everyone.” She shrugged, hoping to shrug away her tears as well, along with the hope that had ignited them.

“You know it up here.” Daniel pointed to his head. “But not in here.” His hand flew to his heart.

Pouring more oil on her cloth, she leaned over and buffed the wood into a shine. “I believe I’m going to heaven, but I expect nothing else from this life.”

“You’ll see that you’re wrong.” Daniel smiled. “When God tells me something it always comes true. He told me a beautiful woman and three men would come on the ship and save me and my da—save me.”

Beautiful woman? Marianne chuckled. Now she was certain she was not the woman in Daniel’s prophecy. Looking into his hope-filled—no, faith-filled—eyes, she wished with all her heart that she could make his vision come true. But she couldn’t. All she could hope to do was to try to alleviate some of Noah and Luke’s discomfort during their punishments. A glorious thought occurred to her which might be the solution she sought, but she couldn’t do it alone.

She brushed the hair from his face. “Daniel, do you know where Lieutenant Reed is?”

He gave her a perplexed look and glanced out the window. “He may be in the wardroom, miss. He likes to have a cup o’ tea about now. What do you want him for?”

Though Lieutenant Reed’s stiff, portentous exterior would normally dissuade her from seeking him out, the expression on his face last night and the way he shifted his feet uncomfortably when the captain had unleashed his temper led her to believe there may exist a smidgeon of compassion behind his stuffy facade.

“I want to ask his help to lighten the captain’s sentences upon Mr. Brenin and Mr. Heaton.”

Daniel’s exuberance of only a moment ago faded beneath an anxious look. “I doubt he’ll help you, miss. ’Sides, when the captain issues a punishment, it stands. I ain’t never seen”—his eyes snapped to hers—“Oh, I forgot to give you Mr. Noah’s message.”

“Message?” She ignored the tiny leap of her heart. “When did he give it to you?”

“At supper last night before those sailors stirred up trouble. He asked how you were. Seemed real concerned as to your welfare.”

The statement uttered in such innocent sincerity sent warmth down to her toes. She shook it off, had to shake it off, but it stubbornly remained in light of Noah’s brave appeal to the captain.

Daniel laid his cloth aside and stood. “He wants you to keep your ears open for anything you hear about where the ship is heading or any plans the captain has.”

“He wants me to spy?” she whispered, excitement tingling over her skin.

“Aye, miss.” He glanced out the door. “An’ I can deliver messages back and forth between you.”

Marianne’s mind whirled with the possibilities.

The ship bucked, nearly spilling her bottle of oil. She grabbed it and steadied her stomach against a wave of nausea.

“I ’ave to be goin’ now,” Daniel said.

Marianne struggled to her feet. “Thank you for your help, Daniel. And for the Bible.”

“My pleasure, miss.” Then, after a friendly wave, he disappeared out the door.

Tossing the cloth aside in favor of a more important task, Marianne left the captain’s cabin and descended one level for the officer’s wardroom. Air, heavy with the smell of tar and damp wood, filled her nose—a not altogether unpleasant scent. Or perhaps she was just growing accustomed to it. Making her way down the companionway, she kept both hands raised, ready to brace herself against the bulkhead should the ship try to knock her from her feet. She couldn’t help but smile at her growing knowledge of the names assigned to parts of the ship—names she had not known a month ago.

Rap rap rap. She tapped on the open door of the wardroom and put on her best smile for Lieutenant Reed as he glanced up from a steaming cup of tea. His brow furrowed. “Are you lost, Miss Denton?”

“No, sir. May I have a word with you, please?”

He scanned the room, no doubt checking to see if they were alone. Small cabins that were enclosed by little more than stretched canvas on wooden frames, lined either side of the oblong table at which he sat. Officers’ cabins, Marianne surmised. A cupboard at one end held plates, cups and cutlery as well as a variety of swords, muskets, pistols and axes.

“Make it quick, miss. You should not be down here.” Lieutenant Reed stood, scraping his chair over the deck. He adjusted his black coat, the three gold buttons on each of his cuffs and one button on each collar glimmering in the light of a lantern that swayed overhead.

She clasped her hands together and took a timid step within. “It is about Mr. Heaton and Mr. Brenin.”

She detected a flinch on his otherwise staunch demeanor. “And?”

“You know as well as I they do not deserve their punishment.”

“It does not matter what I know or don’t know.” He snorted and plucked his cocked hat from the table. “All that matters on this ship is what the captain says.”

Marianne twisted the ring on her finger. “Even if it is unjust and ruthless?”

“You would do well to curb your tongue, miss. The captain is not above issuing the same punishments for a quarrelsome woman.”

She studied the stiff man for a moment, gauging him. She knew Noah had risked punishment for her. Could she do less for him? Something deep within Mr. Reed’s hazel eyes told her he agreed with her, despite the indifferent shield he attempted to hide behind.

“You know as well as I that the captain is not himself,” she whispered.

A flicker of understanding darted across his eyes before they glanced away. “I know no such thing, miss.” He tugged on his neckerchief. “I could report you for such subversive words.”

“Then do so, Lieutenant.” Marianne no longer cared. If she were to suffer for trying to correct a terrible injustice, then so be it.

Lieutenant Reed shifted his stance. “Order must be maintained on board, miss, or we would be unable to defend our country. There must be a commander aboard this ship just as there must be a king over a country or chaos would ensue.”

“Order, yes, but cruelty, no.” Marianne gripped the back of one of the chairs. “And permit me to correct you, sir, but chaos ensues when leaders wield their power without impunity. As is happening on this ship.”

Lieutenant Reed studied her and for a moment she thought she’d won him to her side. But then he lengthened his stance and settled his bicorn atop his head. “I can do nothing for you.”

“Will you at least allow me to bring some food and water to Mr. Heaton?”

Hazel eyes sparked at her from beneath the pointed edge of his hat. “What you do in the middle of the night is of no concern to me.” One cultured brow rose slightly before he marched out of the room.