FOUR
Every attempt to control her rising panic only increased it, until each breath became a choking gasp. The wharves of Charleston drifted by; the Beauchamp warehouses faded into the distance. The boat skimmed past the merchant ships, headed for a massive black hulk that rode at anchor in Charleston Bay. Maddie could not stop the trembling that shook her from head to foot.
The prow of the enormous warship pointed to the northeast, to England and a journey that her brothers had made every year from the time they were but boys. Education was to be had at the end of the trip, an education like no other she would ever find in Boston. The difference was, she knew Boston well. England was a strange place, ruled by a mad king, governed by corrupt men and wastrels who sat in Parliament and did not have to answer to the will of the people. How would she keep to the ideals her grandfather had instilled?
“Are you cold, my dear?” Mr. Ashford asked.
She inhaled deeply, drew the fresh air down into her body, down to her toes until her shoulders almost stopped heaving. Her reply was a shake of her head. There were no words for her captor.
“Take us around, Mr. Borkless, a grand tour,” he said. He squeezed Maddie’s hand and added, “Stephen has seen my ship many times. When you next write him, you might share your initial impressions with him. He would find that quite interesting. Should you have any questions about anything you see, you may of course ask any of my men.”
The nautical tour moved from stern to bow along the starboard side, with Mr. Ashford pointing out the three gun decks, with an array of firepower sleeping behind the closed ports. On the main deck, the carronades were blanketed by tarpaulins to protect them from the elements. Strung along the ratlines and draped on the yards were men and boys, staring back at Maddie as she stared at them. As the launch rounded the bow, a severe looking man in a scarlet coat looked down at her. He cradled a rifle in his arms, and Maddie took to shaking again. There would be no running away from this.
The ship’s stern was like a wall of glass, with row upon row of windows framed by elegant gold embellishments that softened the otherwise formidable appearance. The center of the carved taffrail featured a gilded sheaf of rice, bound with indigo blue ribbons that twined down the sidepieces. Three enormous lanterns sat under the taffrail, brightening a picture that was warmed by a few lights illuminating the stern like a house with a family in residence. It was more spectacular than Stephen had ever described it.
“We are to inhabit a floating city,” the Admiral said. “A population exceeding eight hundred men and boys. And one well-bred young lady who will not wander from her proscribed boundaries without permission.”
Almost before the boat had tied up alongside the HMS Intrepid, a loud piping called the crew away from their perches in the shrouds. Her head swimming from a rush of emotions, Maddie clambered up the accommodation ladder ahead of the Admiral. Doing her best to be a credit to her beloved mother, a poised representative of American womanhood, she stepped through the sally port with her eyes down so that she did not trip on the coaming. The shriek of the bosun’s whistle was unexpected and her gasp of fright ruined the image she wanted to present. Before she could compose herself, Mr. Ashford took her hand and hastened up another ladder that brought them to another deck and brought Maddie face to face with a gaggle of officers, four men behind the wheel, and another redcoated gentleman with another rifle.
Not wishing to be where she was, she fixed her gaze on her stepfather’s right foot to avoid seeing what she did not wish to see. Clinging to his coat sleeve, she followed where he led, nearly tripping over him as he paused while the lobsterback opened a door and gave Maddie a friendly wink as she walked by. “This will be home for the next several weeks,” the Admiral said.
Before her was a dining table that was a smaller version of the one she knew from Riverside. Beyond that was a sitting area furnished with chairs and a settee upholstered in yellow silk, duplicates from her mother’s morning room. She tested the cushion on the settee, but it did not mold to her bottom like the one at home. Home, but not home. Why had her mother gone and gotten married again? The Admiral dropped into the overstuffed chair next to her and tossed his hat onto a locker installed between the ship’s ribs. “The sleeping cabin is through that door, behind my office. The necessary is to starboard. My officers would like to meet you. Whenever you are ready.”
Under each stern window was a locker, and each locker was cushioned with an indigo blue velvet pillow trimmed with gold braid. The shiny white paint on the walls reflected the light from the lanterns, reminding Maddie of the pier glasses at home in the drawing room when her mother held balls that lasted far into the wee hours. As she sat and studied the carpet, not sure what to do next, she observed two men carry in linen and china, which they set on the table as if a party were about to commence.
The ship groaned under her feet and Maddie felt the changing motion as the Intrepid got under weigh. It was really happening, her departure. Giving free rein to the panic, she climbed onto the locker so that she could reach the window to see Charleston one last time. It was too far to jump, to swim for shore. “Whenever I wanted to feel close to your mother, I would picture her looking up at the same stars I was observing. The distance felt a little smaller,” he said. The Admiral stood at her side, gazing wistfully at the scene, as if he was also sorry to be leaving. A knock at the door erased the fog and his posture grew taller and straighter, the tears that glistened in his eyes sniffed away.
A large group of gentlemen entered the cabin, keeping in groups based on rank, with each cluster sporting the same fashion. The first man who bowed to her, Flag-Captain Thomas, had a smile that was contorted by puzzlement. Maddie feared that she did not measure up to his expectations, but then he grew quite grave. “Your mother saved my life once, and I would gladly give my own to save yours. I am at your disposal, Miss Ashford,” he said. The first, second, third, and fourth lieutenants were equally willing to be of service, and then there followed a string of warrant officers, the ship’s surgeon, the purser, and finally, the midshipmen.
“Delighted to meet you at last,” Edmund Powell said. He knew all about Maddie, not only from his mother’s correspondence with Maddie’s mother, but through her brothers who had been his schoolmates. Someone who knew of her and her family was not a stranger, a thought that eased a little of Maddie’s fright. “My mother, brother and sisters hope that you will pay them a call at your earliest convenience. They spoke of nothing else when I last saw them.”
Glasses of port were distributed and a toast drunk to Miss Ashford’s health, followed by a toast to the King that Maddie refused to join. She sipped at her watered-down cordial, not much enjoying the cherry flavor that she associated with one of Afi’s prescriptions for ague. All the men present had a few words to share with her, their reminders of Mama like a pummeling that left her reeling. Their attempts at pleasantry could not keep her from imaging the growing distance from shore, the sensation that a tie was growing taut and would soon break.
Once the guests left, Maddie was alone with a man who was as foreign to her as an Indian raja or the Bey of Tunis. Not knowing what was expected of her, she stood on the edge of the Turkey carpet while the Admiral stripped off his coat and deposited himself on the settee, with one leg draped over the armrest. She could only guess that it was a sailor’s pose, since Stephen had a habit of sitting in the same way.
“Can you dress yourself?” he asked at last, having taken a long time to formulate the sentence. “As you can see, we are too cramped to fit in a maid.”
The reminder of Afi made her stomach ache. She nodded.
“Bathe yourself?” Another nod. “Clean your own teeth?”
He was trying to be funny, but Maddie was not an infant who could be amused with such nonsense. A reminder of the location of the head and sleeping cabin added to her annoyance. She disliked him from the start and did not like him any better for his ridiculous attempt to be likeable. She pointed to star
board and larboard to show she had been listening earlier.
The ship rocked, catching her off-guard, and she stumbled sideways before finding her balance. Another knock at the door saved her from having to make any reply to the Admiral’s assurance that she would soon find her sea legs. A boy younger than Maddie entered with a bundle of canvas, which he promptly unrolled to reveal a hammock. He attached the ends to hooks in the ceiling beams behind the desk, bowed to Maddie and saluted the Admiral before leaving the cabin, all without saying a word.
“It will be more convenient, I believe, if you lay out your clothes in the evening on a chair. In the event that you have to dress quickly,” he said as he opened the door to his sleeping cabin. “Your trunk is lashed under my cot. Shall we see you settled in?”
The compartment was cast in shadow, but it was easy enough to find the nightgown that Maddie had placed on top to cover up her treasures. After she pulled it over her head, she took a moment to examine the bed curtains and recognized her own crooked stitching. Suddenly she was eight years old and sitting on the piazza with her mother, learning embroidery by helping to make a gift for a special gentleman, Mama humming as she selected a colored silk thread. Her heart cracked open again and Maddie slumped to the deck, her back to the twining vines and flowers. On the bulkhead before her was a portrait of her mother.
The Admiral knocked but Maddie’s throat had closed up and she could not respond. So transfixed was she that she did not hear the door open. She came to her senses when she felt his hands holding hers, so strong and firm and kind. “Would you rather sleep here with her?” he asked. Maddie could only shake her head. To share the room with her mother’s soft green eyes, the smile, the arms that would never again hold her close, was to re-open wounds night after night, until Maddie was bled dry and only her husk would remain, the shadow of a girl to be fashioned into a shadow of a great lady who was empty inside.
The Second War of Rebellion Page 4