Chatter Seventeen
Sara stood against the rail and made her final plans. When the Puritans, the crew and Caleb left the ship, she would slip below and slide the bolt. It wouldn’t matter then, for afterward she would be long gone. Caleb would be busy on land with the funeral service for Aubrey Farrington, and no one would miss her. If she unbolted the door silently, she would not have to make a penance. She had decided hours ago that she couldn’t leave the pair locked in, no matter how she felt about them. After all, Malcolm was the true father of her child, and she simply couldn’t kill him. If he chose to die by not opening the door, then that would be his decision. As long as she left it unlocked, God couldn’t punish her.
The Sea Siren was like a ghost ship. The crew kept to itself, each man suspecting the other and fearful to be caught alone at any time of the day without someone close by. While Sara was amused, Lydia was quiet and withdrawn, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. The small pouch of gemstones she carried between her breasts—Wren’s legacy to her—was becoming worrisome. She would give it to Captain van der Rhys for safekeeping and reclaim the gems when she needed them. She might as well do it now and get it over with. Sara was growing more peculiar by the hour, and that constant humming of hers was about to drive Lydia mad.
She approached the wheelhouse hesitantly, but when she entered, her stance was firm.
“Captain van der Rhys,” she said quietly, “I would like to speak with you for a moment.” She withdrew the pouch from her bodice and handed it to him. “Will you keep this for me till we make port?” Tears gathered in her eyes as she added, “It’s Wren’s legacy to me.”
Caleb was stunned and his back stiffened. “Are these the gems you and Wren won from Aubrey Farrington?”
“Yes, Captain. Wren gave them to me. She said I would need them to make a new life when I got to America. She only played cards with Aubrey Farrington so I could have what she called a stake to make a new life. She did it for me, and I can’t bear it.” She began to sob.
“When did she give them to you?” Caleb asked harshly.
“Right after the card game, Captain. The following day she said she was going to try to figure out a way to get Lord Farrington and Bascom into another game. She said these gems wouldn’t last me too long and that I would need gold and Bascom had gold.”
“Mrs. Stoneham, are you sure of what you’re saying?” Caleb demanded.
“Of course I’m sure, Captain. I’m not a fool, as some people seem to think.” She dried her eyes and glared angrily at Caleb. “It was someone on this ship, and I can’t forgive you for not finding out who it was. And if you think it was my husband, you’re mistaken. He’s a coward, not a murderer.”
Caleb’s eyes were anguished and torn with guilt. Lydia felt sorry the moment she uttered the words, but they were true, she knew that. It was his duty to find the murderer. After all, he was the captain.
Long after Lydia Stoneham had returned to her quarters, Caleb sat hefting the small pouch in the palm of his hands. He was right back where he had started. If Wren and Aubrey hadn’t been killed for the gems, then why had they been killed at all? Had they known something? Had they seen something? As always, his thoughts went to Bascom. According to the preacher’s flock and to the guard on duty, Bascom Stoneham was as pure as an angel’s wing. Caleb would just have to put him from his mind and concentrate somewhere else. The question was where? There was little time left. If the weather held, they would reach America in a few hours.
The Sea Siren straight on her course and secure, Peter herded the crew into Gustave’s galley and motioned for silence. “It’s time we had a few words,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice. “I’m tired of looking at all of you with suspicion, just as you’re tired of looking at me in a like manner. This ship will dock in a few hours, and we’re no closer to finding out who killed Farrington than when we first began searching. Now, I’m not against our captain, because we’ve all done our jobs and haven’t come up with anything better than he has. I’m casting my vote now that I don’t sail the Sea Siren on her return journey until the murderer is caught. Those in favor say aye; those not in favor, nay.”
A chorus of “Ayes” rang in his ears.
“If there’s one among you who has an idea, a clue, something to go on, spit it out and we’ll talk it over, and perhaps we’ll come up with an answer. I’ve sailed with the lot of you, and it’s my opinion none of you is guilty. We’ve crewed together for a long number of years, and this is the first trouble to hit us. Speak up.” to
“Peter is right,” Jacques, a Frenchman, said loudly. “I would have placed my life with the lot of you and never thought twice. I don’t think it’s any of us.”
“The Puritans in the hold, that divine preacher they have—what about him?” a seaman named Claude asked.
“The hold has been under guard at all times by one of us. Religious people like the preacher and his flock don’t lie,” Peter volunteered.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Jacques snapped.
“If what you say is true, that places the blame right square on one of us. Someone bludgeoned the old man and tossed the girl over the side.”
Diego Sanchez stood up, resplendent in his brilliant scarlet shirt, and spoke softly. “It is bad luck to sail a ship with women aboard.” He looked around to see the effect his words would have on the others.
The crew looked at one another and then at Peter, who was frowning.
“Diego is right,” Claude said sourly. “Women are unlucky. Wherever they go there is trouble, and that’s all we’ve had on this bloody ship since we set sail.”
Heads nodded and sharp mutterings were heard as one man jostled another to make his point. All seemed in agreement that somehow a woman was involved. They were also in silent agreement that it couldn’t be Miss van der Rhys, who had met her own untimely end, so therefore, it must be the preacher’s wife.
“I disagree,” Peter declared firmly. “Lydia Stoneham is a timid little thing and wouldn’t have the strength to do Farrington in. It took strength to kill him.” Heads nodded while the men mentally evaluated the only other woman who enjoyed the freedom of the ship—Sara Stoneham. She was tall, well fleshed and had muscular, long arms. Again there were vague mutterings and ominous curses. Only Gustave looked puzzled, out of his depth. How could they say such things about so fine a lady? he wondered. Why, she had been so distraught she had barely been able to walk, and still she had helped in the search. He should say something, make the men shut their filthy mouths. What did they know of fine ladies and how gentle they were? He sighed. Why waste his breath? All they would do was mock him. What did an old cook know?
Below decks, Sara paced the cabin, humming her sad little tune, her eyes burning feverishly. From time to time she cast anxious glances at Lydia, who sat quietly on her bunk, idly flipping Wren’s playing cards.
Lydia watched Sara out of the corner of her eye, feeling her flesh crawl as the girl’s nervous pacings seemed to take on an increased urgency. The humming sounded a triffle shrill, and she didn’t like the way Sara was knotting and unknotting her hands. If only she had the nerve to tell Captain van der Rhys of her suspicions. He would think her dotty and perhaps blame her somehow, or, worse yet, make her go back into the hold with Bascom. Yet the captain seemed a fair man, and he had listened to her before and done what was right. Perhaps he would listen now, but would he understand and believe her? She could only try.
Sara, tiring of her pacing and humming, lay down on her bunk and closed her eyes. Lydia was off her bunk and out the door before Sara had time to open them. She made straight for the wheelhouse and waited for Caleb to motion her forward. Christ, he groaned to himself, now what? He forced a look of interest on his face as Lydia began to speak.
“Captain van der Rhys, I’ve anguished over this second visit today and decided that once I talk with you and tell you what I suspect, I will breathe easier. I may well be wrong, but then again I may be right, and you really should know. I’m saying this badly because . . . I don’t want you to discount what I’m going to say because of Bascom. I’m not like him and the others. It’s just that . . . what I mean is . . .”
Caleb was puzzled. He liked Lydia; she was a sensible woman who had shown great courage in her stand against her husband. He knew she had meant it when she said she would go over the rail if forced to return to her husband. He wouldn’t admit it openly, but he admired her. He gave her his full attention and waited for her to get her thoughts in order.
Lydia squared her shoulders and primly folded her hands in her lap. “It’s my sister-in-law, Sara, Captain. I know that she’s . . . that she . . . is . . . is your lady, and that’s why it is so difficult for me to say what I have to say. She’s been acting very strange of late. She hums to herself, a nonsense tune, and her eyes are . . . are like Bascom’s when he gets carried away, almost as if he’s in some other world. Sara prowls the decks in the middle of the night, and she . . . she paces the cabin like a caged animal. May God have mercy on me, but I think she killed Aubrey Farrington.” She waited breathlessly for Caleb’s eyes to lose their look of shock. “I feel it here,” she said, placing her hand over her heart. “I don’t know why she killed Aubrey Farrington, but I do know that she hated Wren. I see that surprises you. Sara had no love for Wren, and Wren barely tolerated Sara. Women know things like that.” A ring of authority entered her voice. “It’s up to you to find out the why of it all. Oh, one other thing. Sara is pregnant. She never said so, but the signs are unmistakable. I don’t expect you to be aware of such things, and I don’t know if it’s important, but I felt I should mention it. Sometimes a woman will become crazed when she finds herself in that . . . delicate condition and without a husband.”
Caleb almost choked in his attempt to get his words out. He wet his lips before speaking, and his voice sounded far away to his ears. “Tell me, Mrs. Stoneham, when did you notice Sara’s . . . condition?”
Lydia flushed. “In the hold, shortly after coming aboard. She was nauseous every morning, which, of course, could have had something to do with the rocking of the ship, but again, a woman knows these things. Also, she has gotten a . . . little thick around the middle.” The flush ran down to her throat and she closed her eyes. “Please, Captain, forgive me for being so forward and so blunt. I know a lady doesn’t speak like this in front of a man, but I felt you should know. I don’t want to stay in that cabin with her anymore,” she blurted. “She frightens me.”
Caleb felt as if the weight of the world had been removed from his shoulders. “Dear lady, whatever you want on this ship is yours, you have but to ask. You have just saved my life in more ways than one. If it won’t cause you any anguish, you can have Farrington’s quarters. One more thing, Mrs. Stoneham. In your opinion, why do you think Sara did this thing, if indeed she did do it?”
Lydia grimaced. She tapped her head lightly with her fingers and said, “She’s fey, unstable. I don’t like speaking ill of my husband, but he is her brother, and perhaps it’s a trait they were both born with. It happens sometimes,” she insisted defensively, fearful that he didn’t believe her. “Do you think, Captain, that what I said has any merit?”
“More than you know, dear lady. I don’t want you to be afraid. I’ll have the crew keep an eye on you. There’s no cause for you to be alarmed.”
Relief flooded through Lydia. He believed her, she could see it in the grimness of his face and the set of his jaw. Thank God she had had the courage to come and tell him!
Caleb watched her leave the wheelhouse with a lightened heart. How fitting it was that a woman had caused so much havoc and that another woman had set it to rights. He grinned and stared out across the great expanse of water. Very fitting indeed.
A nod of his head and Peter came loping into the wheelhouse. They held a long, low-voiced conversation. Peter’s eyes widened, and then his face also became grim. He nodded several times and left to follow his orders. Perhaps the lady called the Sea Siren wasn’t cursed after all, he thought.
Sara wasn’t surprised when the first mate came to get her. She rose from the bed and followed him docilely to the hatch, where she descended the ladder to the hold. She was conscious of her surroundings, but her eyes were glazed and staring. Nothing mattered anymore. Her family could take care of her; she was too tired to care what became of her.
Settling herself next to her mother, who ignored her completely, she narrowed her eyes and watched the first mate and Bascom carry on a quiet conversation. She would tell Bascom it was all Lydia’s fault that she had been returned to his keeping. That should set his hackles to rising, and perhaps he would leave her alone. All she had to do was ignore him the way her very own mother was ignoring her. Nothing mattered anymore. Not Wren, not Malcolm, not Caleb, and least of all Bascom.
Something niggled at her brain. Wren. It always came back to Wren. Of course, Wren would starve if she didn’t take her food. Malcolm would starve, too.
“I’ll take care of her,” Bascom said curtly to Peter. “You can tell your captain that he’s wrong about my sister. If he thinks she’s acting strange, it’s because of the fever she had. There’s nothing wrong with her mind. She is as sane as I am.” At Peter’s skeptical look, he hastened to continue. “My sister doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘violence.’ Be sure to relay that message to Captain van der Rhys. If he fears for his crew, assure him that she’s safe below with her family. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have a prayer meeting scheduled, and unless you’re ready to become one of us, I suggest you go topside and leave us to our Lord.”
Peter needed no second urging. He was up the ladder and gulping deep breaths of salt air in a matter of moments. Then he bounded into the wheelhouse and gave Bascom’s message to Caleb. Caleb listened, his face granite-hard. He nodded and dismissed Peter and let his eyes drift back to the sea. What he hoped to see, to find, he didn’t know. Before him lay only an endless expanse of blue-green water.
While Caleb scanned the vastness before him and Sara slept, Wren sat huddled in one corner of the locker box. How long have I been here? she wondered. Ever since the lantern had gone out, she had no way of knowing. She couldn’t decide which was worse—staring at Malcolm’s mutilated face in the light or having the rats play around her feet in the darkness. Isn’t anyone ever going to check this damnable hole in which I’m being held a prisoner? What did Sara tell the others about my whereabouts? By now Caleb should have turned this ship upside down looking for me, she thought miserably. And where the devil is Farrington? Malcolm said he usually brought him food late at night and then took him out for an airing. Where is the old man?
After his initial brutal attack on her, Malcolm had left her alone, saying she wasn’t worth what little effort he had to expend. To assure himself that Wren wouldn’t cry out and reveal his hiding place, he had torn his shirt and bound and gagged her.
The bindings cut her wrists, and the foul, linty rag he had stuffed in her objecting mouth was rancid with the smell of him and choked her. She felt a fresh flurry of tremors ripple through her body, tremors of rage and fear, and in her heart she knew she was approaching the edges of despair. She began to pray.