While the ladies gasped and the men groaned, the captain’s cheerful countenance dissolved into caution. “You must forgive us, ladies.” He stood and maneuvered around the table and out of the cabin, with his men in his wake.
“Lord, help us.” Nancy wrung her napkin.
“Shh.” Molly patted her hand. “It’ll be all right.”
“Blimey,” Sally huffed. “I’m not staying down here just to have those ruffians threaten us again.” She hurried out.
After quick apologies, Nancy and Molly followed her.
“We’ll be in our cabin.” Quince took Emma’s hand to lead her out, and Marianne ached to see the concern in their faces.
Only Eleanor remained in her chair, lazily chewing on a biscuit.
Seated near the door, Marianne tried to stifle her rising panic. Lord, is this the time? Show me the way to contact this captain and turn Jamie—Captain Templeton—over to him. The prayer sat like lead on her heart, but she rose from her chair and gazed across the remnants of her fine feast. How inconvenient of this frigate to happen along just when everyone was having such a pleasant time.
Before she could move away from the table, Eleanor stood and, in two long steps, reached the door and barred it. “Where d’you think you’re going?”
Marianne drew in a sharp breath. “What? Why, I am going with the others to—”
“No, you aren’t going anywhere.” Eleanor fisted her hands at her waist. “Just sit yourself down, missy.”
Terror flooded Marianne as she regarded the shorter woman of perhaps four and twenty years, whose muscular arms were visible through her gauze sleeves. Never in her life had Marianne experienced such a threat. She had no idea what this woman might do.
“What do you mean, Eleanor?” She emitted a shaky laugh. “I merely want to be with the other ladies on deck. What if the British sailors come below, as they did before, and no one is here to protect us?”
“What if?” Eleanor snorted, a most unladylike sound. “Won’t be no different from what the Quality men do to my sort when they get the notion.”
Nausea rose up in Marianne’s throat. “I cannot imagine what you mean.” But she could. She had come upon Tobias Pincer kissing an unwilling scullery maid belowstairs in Bennington House. Without her intrusion, the girl might have suffered far more than an unwanted kiss. Her tearful gratitude had assured Marianne that the Lord had sent her downstairs to a hallway she rarely entered. Even rumors of her eldest brother...but she would not think of that.
Again Eleanor snorted. “Your sort never does imagine it.” She leaned toward Marianne, eyes narrowed. “Because you choose not to see.”
Marianne swallowed hard. What would this woman do to her? “But I can see you now, and I would like to see the other ship, and wouldn’t you like to see your husband and be reassured that all is well? In fact, I must go upstairs and ensure that none of our crew are kidnapped...impressed, as I did before.” She felt so breathless, she thought she might faint.
“Ha!” Eleanor did not smile. “Everybody else is all gooey-eyed at your title, Lady Marianne, but I see what you’re about. You got caught unawares the first time, but I don’t believe for a minute you’ll help the cap’n again.” She leaned back against the door and crossed her arms. “You think nobody can see you hate him? You stowed away and followed him, but he rejected you.” Now she laughed, a dreadful cackling sound for one so young. “You’d make us all suffer to settle that score.” She reached out and shoved Marianne’s shoulder. “Set down, girl, before I set you down.”
Marianne dropped back into her chair and gripped its arms. If she braced herself, she could kick Eleanor away and escape. But her legs felt limp, and no stroke of courage coursed through her to strengthen them. She had never struck another person and could not imagine doing so. Lord, help me. What shall I do? What had Eleanor said? What had some “Quality” man done to her to make every aristocrat her enemy?
“Well, then, Eleanor, if we are not going up on deck, come sit with me.” Her voice shook, but she forced a smile. “Let us talk to pass the time.”
Eleanor laughed, again a mirthless, unpleasant sound. “Right. We’ll talk.” She pulled a heavy chair in front of the door and sat. “Tea parties and balls. Fashions and French coiffures.” She spat out her words, but her eyes filled with sadness.
Only halfway mindful of the muted sounds of men shouting above them, Marianne forced her attention to Eleanor and nodded as if listening to one of her dear little orphans at St. Ann’s. “If that is what you would like to discuss. But perhaps first you will help me.”
“Help you? Ha. Not likely.”
“No, I do not mean do something for me. I mean help me understand what you are saying. What is it that my sort chooses not to see?”
Eleanor’s jaw dropped. Then her eyes narrowed. “What do you care?”
Marianne considered her question. “I suppose it is because you and I were becoming friends before you knew who I am. Do you remember during the storm how we all encouraged each other, sharing our ginger tea, singing hymns and telling funny stories? I think those many long hours of suffering together made me realize that women are all alike, no matter what our birth rank might be.”
A cautious smile appeared, but sadness still filled Eleanor’s eyes. “Aye, we did laugh.”
“But now you must tell me...” Warmth spread through Marianne’s chest, a sincere affection for this woman. Of all the ladies, including brave Molly, Eleanor seemed to possess the stoutest heart. Marianne could imagine her fighting off anyone who tried to snatch her husband from the ship. “Why have you come to hate me?”
Eleanor shook her head. “Not you by name, just by class, though to be fair, you never put on airs with us.” She traced a finger along her chair arm. “Awright, then, I’ll tell you.” She inhaled a deep breath. “I was born in a village in Sussex outside Lord de Winter’s manor.” Her lips curled in distaste. “When I was fourteen, I went into service in his lordship’s house. He had a son just two years older than me....”
With growing chagrin and nausea, Marianne listened to her story. Having met Lord de Winter’s heir her first season in society and endured his unwanted notice, she had no doubt Eleanor’s story was true.
“And then they cast me out.” Eleanor gazed toward the porthole. “No money. No references. And my wee babe...” Her voice cracked, and she sniffed. “He lies buried outside the churchyard because his mother was not wed.”
An icy chill swept up Marianne’s arms, and a soft sob escaped her. She tried to recall if any housemaid had been dismissed from her parents’ service when her brothers were of that age, but she had been too young to notice such things. Compassion filled her, and she reached out to grasp the other woman’s hands. “Oh, Eleanor, I am so sorry. And so very sad for you...and your dear son. I do believe every word you said.”
Eleanor gave her a crooked grin. “You’re a good sort, after all, Lady Marianne.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry for scaring you. If you want to go on deck—”
Marianne laughed softly. “No, there’s no need. If someone comes for us, we shall see to it then.” She could not fathom the change now occurring inside her, but knew as surely as she breathed that God had ordained for her to hear this woman’s story. Never before had she fully comprehended the cruelty and hypocrisy of many people in the society in which she had been reared. Perhaps her parents and Grace Kendall were the only sincere Christians Marianne knew.
“Guess they never boarded us.” Eleanor went to the porthole and glanced out. “I never heard a sound of ’em coming below, and I don’t see the frigate.”
Marianne gulped back a sob at this news, and a strange sense of reprieve filled her. She touched her cheek and found it damp. Were these tears of sympathy for Eleanor? Or of relief that she had not been required to speak to the naval captain? For as surely as Eleanor had kept her from leaving this cabin, Marianne knew the Lord had prevented her from exposing the Fair Winds’ captain. Perhaps that made her a traitor, too. Perhaps she now must choose between betraying her country and betraying her heart. For despite his lies, despite the conviction that she would never marry such a scoundrel, she would love Jamie Templeton until the day she died.
The British frigate sailed within twenty-five yards of the Fair Winds and dropped its sails. On its quarterdeck, the captain lifted his bicorne hat and saluted Jamie. “Ahoy, Captain Templeton.”
“Ahoy, Captain Boyd.” Jamie returned the salute as he sent up a prayer of thanks. They had first encountered HMS Margaret last February on their way to England, and had earned the captain’s trust because of their connection to Bennington and because of the crate of oranges Jamie had given him. Jamie prayed the captain would still be as well disposed toward them.
“What’s your heading, sir?” Boyd cupped his hands to help his voice carry.
“East Florida. Will you come with us?” Jamie infused his voice with good humor. “There’ll be another orange harvest in a few months.” A reminder of his gift couldn’t hurt.
“We’d do well to have ’em to stave off the scurvy, sir.” Boyd turned to speak briefly with a sailor. “We spy ladies on your ship, Templeton.”
“Aye, sir.” Jamie must cut off any wayward thoughts in that regard. “Some of my crew married in London, and their wives are eager to help us colonize East Florida.”
“Ah, very good. Building His Majesty’s empire.”
“May I send you a crate of claret, sir?” Although Jamie didn’t expect this captain to try to take any of the Fair Winds crew, a gift should ensure it.
“I say, that would be most kind.” The dark-haired man gave him a slight bow. “We’ve done without for a long time.”
At Jamie’s order, Saunders and two other sailors brought up the wine and lowered a boat to carry it to the Margaret. During the interval, Boyd called out a warning to Jamie to steer wide of the northern colonies, adding that the conflict had already given rise to American pirates who would gladly seize the merchant vessel. That news was not unexpected, although Jamie regarded those pirates as privateers.
When Saunders returned, he handed Jamie an exquisitely carved tomahawk pipe.
“A very fine gift.” Jamie held it high. “I thank you, Captain Boyd.”
“Took it from an obstinate Indian fellow in Nova Scotia. That’s where we’ve been since March, when those confounded rebels drove us out of Boston. Bad show, that. We’re headed back to Plymouth for more weaponry and troops. Then we’ll teach those rebels their place.”
Jamie swallowed a retort, even as a familiar thought nagged at him. How could he go to war with good men like this one? “I’ll heed your warning about the pirates, sir.”
The ships hoisted sails once again and moved in opposite directions. While lifting a prayer of thanks for the uneventful encounter, Jamie also sought the Lord’s wisdom about the privateers, who should be putting their efforts toward the war, not harassing American vessels. For now, Jamie must sail under the Union Jack and Lord Bennington’s flag when encountering British ships. But hidden in a safe place under the floor of his cabin was the Grand Union flag, a design General Washington had approved early that year. Jamie had obtained one before sailing to England, but wondered if privateers would respect the Continental flag. Or would he at last have to fight his way past well-armed ships seeking to keep him from his destination?