by Téa Cooper
Bending down Charlotte placed one hand on his heel and eased his boot off, deposited it on the floor and reached for the other. His hand hovered above her head like a benediction and he hiccupped and swayed over her.
‘My dear, how I long for us to reach Sydney for me to take you as my wife. I have waited so long to…’
The chair rocked as he inclined his long stringy body towards her and a cold shiver ran over her skin. She pulled off his second boot and struggled to her feet, putting the hammock between them. ‘Let me hold the hammock for you. It is a little difficult to get into though very comfortable once you are there.’
Marcus stumbled to the hammock and lowered his bony bottom until he sat like a child on a garden swing.
‘Now, twist your body, swing your feet up and then lie back. You’ll be surprised how comfortable it is,’ Charlotte said, wanting only to be relieved of her responsibilities and return to Christian.
‘I presume this is one of those many talents you honed while aboard the convict transporter,’ Marcus said, dissatisfaction and disappointment etched on his long face. ‘I never imagined I would lower myself to such a level.’
The hammock swung precariously and despite Charlotte’s best efforts to steady it Marcus ended up a crumpled heap in the centre of the rough canvas sling.
‘What a Godforsaken excuse for a bed. That man will be removed from my cabin by tomorrow morning. I shall have words with Henk. I have paid for this passage.’ With a final flourish Marcus punched the small pillow and Charlotte drew the blanket over his body.
‘Sleep well, Marcus,’ she murmured, and by the time she reached the doorway his rum-fuelled snores filled the tiny cabin.
Emitting a sigh of relief Charlotte pulled the door closed and paused, resting her back against the solid timber, relishing the moment of solitude. In the darkness Jamie’s irreverent grin rose before her. Blinking the vision away she stumbled back to her patient.
He hadn’t moved. He lay with his head pillowed on his arms, his face turned to the cabin and his eyes closed once more. He appeared to be sleeping rather than insensible. When his eyes flashed opened she gasped in surprise.
‘I’ll keep you safe,’ he murmured as his eyelashes fluttered and he sank into oblivion once more.
Charlotte’s heartbeat kicked up as her gaze raked the sleeping man searching for Jamie, the pale scrawny youth she’d once known. In his place lay a bronzed muscled man, albeit scarred and battered. His eyes flickered open again to meet hers and he raised a calloused hand, cupping her face. With an achingly familiar gesture he ran the pad of his thumb over her cheek.
‘Jamie,’ she murmured. He’d been so tiny, scrawny enough to slip between the fence railings or through an almost-closed door, bright enough to make sensible judgements yet young enough to dream of something better.
Even then he’d had a certain arrogance, ambitious and full of plans, as Christian was with the Zephyrus, only he’d been cheeky with it — no sign of that now he was a man fighting for his life and his beliefs. They’d promised to marry when she turned sixteen and although Jamie was a thief, a fool, a liar and a cheat — she’d loved him. When Marcus, sick of her continual whining, had checked the prisoner lists and discovered Jamie had been lost overboard, he counselled her to put the past behind her, pay her penance and begin a new life.
Elizabeth, her sister, always maintained Charlotte could make a perfectly good living on her back but Jamie refused to allow her. Her sister’s chosen road was not an option for Charlotte. He would marry her and provide for her.
She bent down and placed her lips against his icy cold cheek. How she wished he’d wake up. She wanted his memory sharp and focussed, not faded and blurred. Tears filled her eyes as she scrambled to her feet. To have come so far, to have endured so much and to have survived against all odds — merciful heavens. She would not allow him to die now!
Chapter 9
Rough hands yanked him into a flickering dawn where the clash of hammers and putrid burning oil enveloped him. An agonising spasm speared his numb body as his spine made contact with solid timber. The stench of stale rum fanned his face and a weathered finger prodded his frozen face.
‘‘E’s still got some life in him, God only knows how.’
One glimpse of a gnarled face, then his stomach churned and he vomited the salty bile of seawater.
‘Turn ‘im. Reckon he’s swallowed the whole goddamn ocean.’
‘Cough it up, lad.’
The agony of petrified muscles forced into use. The effort of each single breath tortured his lungs.
‘Turn ‘im over.’
Dragged onto his back, arms pulled above his head, he coughed and spluttered. Three pairs of staring eyes drifted into focus.
‘Who are you? What you doin’, swimmin’ around on a night like this?’
How the hell did he know? Peace and warmth was all he craved.
‘Leave him be, wrap him up. If God’s willing he’ll survive. If not, it’s back into the drink for the fishes.’
Dry canvas was slung around him and they rubbed him briskly until the pain eased and shivering took its place. He let his chin fall to his chest and his breathing settled.
‘What’s your name, boy?’
Wreathed in smoke and framed by billowing black canvas the weathered face gazed down at him, pale rheumy eyes above a straggly beard heralding his welcome to hell.
‘I’m…I’m…’ The rhythmic beat of the hammers pounded in his skull as the swaying lanterns turned night into day and a smoky blackness shrouded his mind and offered the peace he craved. He shrank into its embrace.
Christian’s chest tightened and the now-familiar burning seared his lungs. He forced in a deep breath and a paroxysm of coughing clutched at his body. The cool, gentle touch of hands on his forehead soothed him and his breathing returned to an almost tolerable gasp.
Confused, he forced his eyes open and saw her face. So familiar, so dear and so…’Angel.’ He eased the word between his swollen lips before his eyes fluttered closed once more.
Her fingers traced his lips, cool drops of fresh water eased into his parched mouth bringing the memory of her touch.
‘Do you think you could manage a sip from the cup if I lift your shoulders?’
He nodded; the promise of more cool water the greatest pleasure imaginable.
‘I will have to roll you over onto your back.’
Her hands reached out and he braced for the pain. Balanced precariously on one hip he lifted his arm and propped his head on his hand. The cool tin mug against his lips seemed a gift from heaven and she leant forward and tipped the cup until the liquid trickled down his parched throat.
‘That’s good, Jamie. Try a little more.’
In his eagerness the second swallow caught in his throat and the coughing began again. He forced it down. What had she called him? Jamie?
He shook his head from side to side and she removed the cup; still he struggled to find the air to fill his lungs sufficiently to speak.
‘Lie back down, you’ll be more comfortable.’ Her warm hand rested on his naked arm and a surge of something other than coughing coursed through his body, heating him and chasing away the last of the cold ocean depths.
‘I’m all right…a moment…’ Clearing his throat he gazed into the storm-cloud depths of her eyes, so familiar, and so unfathomable.
As the ship swung around Charlotte was thrown off balance and disappeared from his vision. An intense pain ripped through him and then subsided once she was closer to him again.
‘I think the ship tacked. I can see land through the glass.’
The dried salt coating his skin added a thick layer of pain to the raw wounds on his back and he grimaced as he struggled to move up the bunk. ‘Look at me,’ he said.
Charlotte leant forward and the chain dangling around her neck swung free, grazing the gentle swell of her breasts. A small round blue bottle swayed tantalisingly in front of him, emitting a scent so familiar
and so evocative. He frowned, trying to place it. The effort of concentration prodded the clouds of confusion filling his head.
Her small hand reached up to tuck the chain back into her neckline.
‘No!’ Pleased by the strength returning to his voice he searched for the words to explain. ‘Show me. The bottle reminds me...’
She unclasped her hand. An opaline bottle and a coin nestled in her palm.
‘What are they?’
‘Do you recognise them?’ The catch in her voice tore at his heart. He did recognise them and he so wanted to tell her but he couldn’t frame the words.
He nodded. ‘Yes. I do. But why?’
‘Oh Jamie!’ Her beautiful face broke into a smile that tugged at his guts.
Jamie? ‘Why Jamie?’
‘I believe it is your name.’
‘No. I am Christian — Christian Charity. Old Jonas named me when he fished me out of the ocean and brought me aboard his hell-ship. I still dream of those black billowing sails and steaming cauldrons.’
‘And have you never wondered how you came to be there?’
Shame surged over Christian. He knew why he’d been found in the sea. Henk had told him more than once. It was a shipboard murderer’s lot — thrown overboard with the corpse of his victim, tossed to the sharks. It was only at the old man’s insistence he’d remained aboard the whaling ship. Jonas said he’d been born again and fishing him out was his only act of Christian charity and there his name had stayed.
Jamie? He rolled the name around in his mouth and like an old glove it slipped on, warm and secure. How did Charlotte know? ‘I have no idea. I don’t remember anything. Cold, cold water. Being hooked and landing aboard the Zephyrus.’ He couldn’t bring himself to look at her when he spoke because it was no longer the truth. Shadows of the past flicked across his mind, random pieces of a puzzle refusing to slot together…and her scent. He inhaled, the fragrance of lily of the valley. He’d smelt it the first time she’d come aboard and it had drawn him before they’d even left the Derwent.
‘You need to sleep. Don’t think of it now.’ She brought the cup to his lips once more. ‘Drink this, it will help you sleep again and when you wake you will be stronger.’
As the bitter taste of the laudanum filled his mouth he dropped his arm and let his head fall to the pillow. Then he covered his eyes, blotting out her face, trying to place the scraps of information and strange emotions. All the while the blue bottle hovered on the edge of his memory.
‘Sleep now. Your breathing is better.’ She leant forward to adjust the pillow. Once more the chain dangled close to his face and beyond it the creamy white skin of her throat and the swell of her breasts. He lifted his hand to her warm cheek and cupped her face.
‘Who are you? You have the face of an angel…’ Her smile encouraged him onward, refusing to allow him to surrender. She had saved him; not Jonas, not Henk, not one of the crew, but her face and her smile. He owed it to her to survive.
Conscious of the fresh warmth of her and the stark pain in her eyes, he lifted his arm and wrapped it loosely around her shoulders. He pulled her sweet face down to his and claimed her soft rosy lips. The warm, familiar touch a benediction and a promise, leading him back to the past. As the laudanum claimed him the crevices of his mind filled with the familiar but forgotten fragrance and her beautiful face.
Satisfied he slept peacefully at last, Charlotte picked up her shawl and left the cabin. The temptation of fresh air and the possibility of some sunshine was more than she could resist. Raiding the tray of food Cookie had left, she tucked a slab of cheese into a hunk of fresh bread, slipped it into her pocket and made for the deck.
The sun started to lighten the eastern sky; in the fresh beauty of the morning she found it difficult to believe that only twenty-four hours ago she’d stood in the same spot, horrified at the sight of the man spread-eagled and strapped to the yardarm.
No. Not the man, not the Captain, not any man. Jamie! Charlotte clutched her arms around her waist and hugged tight. A bubble of happiness rose ready to burst, a physical presence in her body blossoming and growing. Jamie! Her heart soared as she lifted her finger to her mouth where the gentle touch of his lips still hovered. Jamie might be confused. She was not. Captain Christian Charity and James Harrington, Jamie, her childhood friend and sweetheart were one and the same. Despite his wounds, the plight of the poor women in the hold, the danger and mutiny, her heart sang.
All she needed to do was work out how he had come to be aboard the Zephyrus. Who could answer that question? Thinking of confronting Henk made her flesh creep. Could one of the other crew members unravel the complicated threads? Prove her unwavering belief correct — Jamie was alive.
Fired with determination Charlotte gazed around the ship. Catz stood at the wheel, his eyes fixed on the approaching coastline. Jinks hung, as always, off the mainmast and Bristol stood watch. Thankfully Henk was nowhere to be seen. The remainder of the crew made busy until needed to haul in the sails and prepare for their approach to Port Albert.
Taking a deep breath and pulling her shawl tighter around her, more as some sort of physical protection than to ward off the cold, she made her way to the wheel.
‘Excuse me, Catz.’ Her voice sounded pleasingly frail. Despite Henk’s protestations about hen frigates, if Catz saw her as a woman her curiosity may not pose a threat.
‘Humph.’ His black eyes raised and he peered at her from below his heavy forehead. ‘What d’you want?’
‘I thought the Captain, Henk,’ she clarified, ‘would like to know Christian appears to be recovering…’ she cleared her throat ‘…from his misfortune. He is still confused. I think he must have knocked his head when he was under the keel. He’s suffering from strange dreams and memories of the past. It would benefit his recovery if I could set his mind at rest.’
‘Reckon Henk’ll be thrilled to hear he’s recovering. Means he can give him the floggin’ he promised. Might be better if you keep it to yourself for a bit.’ Catz shot her a knowing look from under his bushy eyebrows.
‘Can you help me, Catz?’ She turned her face up, her sweetest smile masking her determination. How long had it been since she tried to manipulate another person? Jamie always called it her pretty-girl-lost-look. Guaranteed to bring even the finest gentlemen to a halt in the streets and allow Jamie to slink in and rifle their pockets while she dabbed at an imaginary spot in her eye. ‘Christian is suffering a torment because he doesn’t know how he came to be aboard the Zephyrus. He’s delirious and he has memories of a hell-ship, of steaming cauldrons and billowing black sails.’
Catz nodded his head in agreement. ‘Not surprised. Reliving that nightmare would be enough to send anyone over the edge. Most men only drown once. It either kills them or they survive and never go near water again. But twice…’
‘Twice? How twice?’
‘Ah well,’ he drew the words out, ‘it was the old man’s act of Christian charity. He reckoned he’d brought him back from the dead and therefore he was destined to take over the ship. It’s why Christian is the captain.’
‘But he’s not the captain anymore, Henk is the captain. Henk says…’
‘Henk says a lot of things and some of ‘em are true and some of ‘em are figments of his bloody Dutch half-caste brain. Difficulty is trying to work out which way’s up. I can tell you the story about how Christian came to be aboard the Zephyrus. I’m not sure I can explain how he got to be in the water in the first place.’
‘If you could maybe then I would be able to help Christian recover.’ Charlotte gave a small shiver.
‘Bit cold for you up here, is it?’
‘No, no I’m not cold.’ The wind was not the source of her shiver, instead the thought of Jamie fighting the icy depths, not once but twice.
Settling in with the ease of a born storyteller, Catz lifted his hands from the wheel and rubbed them briskly together. ‘The weather was foul. We were orf the coast, way past Port Albert. We’d
bagged a big whale a couple of days before and the fires were going full blast, we were stripping the carcass, the deck was awash with blood and…’
Charlotte raised her hand to her mouth and gulped, trying not to dwell on the picture Catz painted.
‘We’d finished flensing the whale carcass and the pots burnt bright. No shortage of oil for the lamps, fires raging. There was a bump, on the side of the ship. Young Windy said he could see something in the water. We didn’t believe him — only a young nipper then but I guess his eyes worked a darn sight better than ours. He grabbed the gaff and hooked it. I helped him pull it aboard. We had no idea it was a body until we landed it.’
‘And the body was Christian?’ Charlotte asked, her eyes wide, her imagination painting a picture from hell. If Catz was right, Christian had been hauled from the water twice and as good as dead both times.
‘We thought he was a goner. He coughed and coughed and Cookie did the thing with his arms and the old man blew air into his mouth. We wrapped him up in canvas and left him for dead. The next morning we expected to be sending him over the side, back to the sharks, but bugger me if the little blighter wasn’t sitting up and drinkin’ a cup of hot rum. The old man looked like he’d found the Spanish Galleons’ treasure. Said it was God’s will, repaying his act of Christian charity.’
Charlotte’s thoughts chased one another across an unimaginable scenario, her mind in turmoil. The ship’s log said Jamie had been lost overboard off the South Australian coast and Catz maintained the South Australian coast was where they had found him. What was the Zephyrus doing in those waters? From all she had learned since boarding, the ship and crew spent their time in the South Seas.
‘When was this, Catz — how long ago?’ Charlotte couldn’t imagine anyone describing the tall handsome man on the berth down below as a little blighter.
‘Oh, let’s see. Five, six, maybe seven years ago. Time gets lost when you’re aboard ship.’