by DeVa Gantt
He was already in his thirties when he married Elizabeth Blackford, a young Englishwoman fifteen years his junior. She left her family—a mother, father, brother, and sister—and traveled from Liverpool to the islands where she began her life with her new husband. But she died in childbirth less than a year later, leaving behind an embittered husband.
“The island has grown over the years,” Jonah went on to say. “The sugarcane operation led to the building of a harbor where ships could unload supplies and take on raw sugar for transport. From there a town emerged, built by the freed bondsmen. Having served their time, Frederic encouraged the better men to continue on in his employ for set wages. These were the first men to truly settle Charmantes, some sending for families. Frederic’s close associates maintained he was mad, his idea sheer folly; in Europe, these men were criminals. But many had been punished for petty crimes. Poverty can make a man do foolhardy things. On Charmantes, they had an opportunity to start over, and most were happy to take it. They are rough around the edges, but there is little crime on the island. In a manner of speaking, they keep the peace. As the population multiplied, Frederic sponsored other businesses. First Thompson’s mercantile was built, supplying the islanders with the staples. After that, a cooper opened up shop, crafting all the watertight casks necessary for sugar transport. Of course, Dulcie’s was next.”
“Dulcie’s?” Loretta asked.
“The saloon,” Jonah explained, stopping to take a sip of his black coffee. “Then a livery went up, and next a meetinghouse which serves as a church on Sundays. That was constructed about ten years ago. Miss Colette is a devout Catholic and insisted on it for the townspeople.”
“Do they truly have a reverend to conduct services?” Loretta queried, astonished. “I thought my sister exaggerated when she mentioned Sunday Mass in one letter.”
“No exaggeration there. The man is a Roman Catholic priest and has resided on Charmantes for years now.”
“Isn’t that a bit strange?” Joshua asked. “It seems to me the Church wouldn’t be sending priests to small, distant islands.”
“You underestimate the size and scope of Charmantes,” Jonah replied. “They even have a bank. It’s run by one of Frederic’s friends from Virginia. Many influential men have invested in Duvoisin enterprises, primarily the shipping end of his business, while a good many islanders are purchasing land on the outskirts of town, an option open to them as long as they build a house or business on it. The Duvoisin wealth intrigues them, whets their appetite. They feel they can grasp Frederic’s good fortune just by owning a parcel of his land.”
“And have they?” Joshua asked.
“In a day or two you’ll set foot on Charmantes and see her people. Then you can decide if they live the good life or not.”
Loretta leaned forward. “I know my sister and her husband are pleased with their move to the Caribbean. And I must admit, after your description, Captain, I’m looking forward to arriving. It sounds wonderful, doesn’t it, Charmaine?”
But the girl was pensive, deaf to their conversation.
“Charmaine?”
“I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“Les Charmantes sounds like a lovely place to call home,” Loretta prompted. “But you seemed awfully far away.”
Charmaine rubbed her brow. “No,” she murmured, “I’m listening.”
Loretta knew better. The girl had lamented Colette and Frederic Duvoisin’s courtship throughout the afternoon, imagining the most wretched scenarios, refusing to consider other possibilities. Loretta was determined to ascertain the truth before Caroline had a chance to bend their ears.
“Captain Wilkinson,” she began, “if I’m not being too presumptuous, could you tell us a bit more about Colette Duvoisin?”
Jonah responded with a frown, and Loretta diplomatically digressed. “My sister loves to prattle, but hates to write. Her short letters are few and far between. Charmaine may soon be working for Mr. and Mrs. Duvoisin. Surely you can appreciate her eagerness to become acquainted with them.”
“What would you like to know?” he relented, realizing there was no point in trying to avoid what they’d eventually find out.
“Charmaine seems to think Miss Colette is young enough to be Mr. Duvoisin’s daughter.”
“She is. Younger than his two sons, in fact.”
Charmaine gave Loretta an “I told you so” look.
Jonah read it, too. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “Miss Colette’s family was suffering from financial difficulties. Frederic saw them through all of that. There was also a brother, who was quite ill. Frederic’s wealth defrayed the expenses from his prolonged malady. Now, some might call such an arrangement ‘bondage,’ but I’m sure it’s not the word Miss Colette would use.”
Charmaine ignored Jonah’s final assertion, horrified. Her mother’s life had been deplorable, but at least that had been Marie’s choice. Colette Duvoisin, on the other hand, had been married off for monetary reasons, like chattel. Charmaine felt terribly sad for the woman.
Jonah leaned back in his chair. “Miss Colette is not as unhappy as you imagine her to be, Miss Ryan.”
“That is something I will have to decide for myself, Captain,” she replied.
Loretta patted Charmaine’s hand, certain the captain was right. “At least the mistress of the manor will be someone closer to your own age,” she placated. “You may become friends.”
Charmaine hadn’t thought of this and hoped that might come true.
Monday, September 12, 1836
She awoke early the morning of her fourth day at sea. Captain Wilkinson expected to sight the islands with the break of dawn, and she wanted to be above deck as they came into view. She dressed quickly, choosing her best Sunday dress of pale green, and was brushing out the last tangles in her thick, unruly hair when the awaited shout resounded from above. “Land ho!”
Indecisive for only a moment, she threw the dark brown locks over her shoulder, where a cascade of curls fell to her waist. No bun today, lest she forfeit the coveted sight. Let the wind take the tresses where it would; they’d not spoil this glorious day, which promised the start of a new life. Stealing a final peek in her hand mirror, she smiled in satisfaction, then hastened from the cabin.
Captain Wilkinson took no notice of her when she reached the upper deck, his eyes raised to the rigging and the crew that prepared the Raven for docking, some climbing the ratlines to adjust the sails. Surmising Joshua was still abed, Charmaine moved out of harm’s way to a vacant spot at the port railing.
The tarrying men began to ogle her, and she bowed her head to their crude comments. Although she’d turned their heads a number of times during the voyage, their perusal had never come close to a leer. She glanced down at her dress wondering if her attire was somehow indiscreet, but finding nothing there, she focused on the great expanse of ocean, hoping to catch sight of land. They were forging into a stiff headwind, and the gales swirled round her, capturing her unbound hair one moment and molding her skirts against her legs the next.
When one man whistled, Jonah’s attention was snared. He chuckled. By all outward signs, the girl was trying to ignore his surly crew. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he walked over to her. “Good morning, Miss Ryan.”
Relieved, Charmaine faced him.
Jonah took in her ebullient smile, the sparkling eyes alight with anticipation, and the wild tresses that framed her delicate face, evincing a comeliness thus far obscured. No wonder his men were behaving this way.
“I heard the heralding of land, but I can’t see it,” she complained. “Are the islands still so far away I need a spyglass?”
“No, my dear, but you are searching the wrong part of the sea.”
Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze, but he took her elbow and led her to the opposite railing, pointing to the southeast. There, on the horizon, was land.
He returned to his work, but she remained starboard side, watching the dark smudge grow larger
until the whitest of beaches came into view, a great expanse that seemed tremendous for a mere island. Beyond the shore, she detected shrubs and long grasses that meandered into shaded areas cast by huge, bowing palm trees, willows, and silk cottons. She marveled at its untouched beauty, suddenly realizing she had yet to see any human habitation. There were no docks, no houses, and no people. She looked over her shoulder to question the captain about this, but he was nowhere to be found, so her curiosity would have to wait. They were now riding parallel to the seemingly deserted island. She felt much like Jean Duvoisin II, discovering his paradise for the first time—untamed, yet free. There couldn’t be a more serene place on earth, she thought, concluding that this couldn’t be the main island, but rather one of the smaller two that had not been settled.
By and by, the beaches turned rocky, and cliffs dominated the coastline, jutting ever higher as they trekked east. Huge waves sent sea spray spiraling upward as they bombarded the palisades, showering a mist that reached as far as the decks. They closed in on a lighthouse that marked the northernmost point. Once they passed it, her eyes fell back to the bluffs, which curved to the right far into the distance.
The hour lengthened, and Captain Wilkinson returned, Joshua Harrington at his side. “We’re circling Charmantes,” he said, “and should reach the cove shortly.”
“The cove?” she asked.
“That is where the dock is built, on the eastern coast. Most Caribbean islands have a leeward or western port. During hurricane season, they are safe from those storms. But Charmantes boasts an almost landlocked harbor, a bay that is protected by a peninsula. Because he was able to construct his harbor in the east, Jean II chose the safer western side of the island to erect his mansion, where the beaches are sandy and beautiful. When we enter the inlet, this untouched beauty will be replaced by the bustling town I spoke of the other evening.”
He pointed to the eastern horizon. “If you look carefully, you’ll see the other two islands that comprise Les Charmantes.” Shielding their eyes, Charmaine and Joshua were able to discern two tiny landmasses.
Shortly thereafter, the main island curved sharply away, and the Raven tacked south, hugging the peninsula now. Charmaine was once again left alone as Joshua accompanied the captain. Seabirds appeared from nowhere, darting between the towering masts, swooping low and hovering over the water, squawking loudly as if welcoming their approach.
They reached the cape’s tip, and Charmaine’s eyes returned to the spider-web rigging. Ropes groaned as the triangular sails were trimmed. Instantly, they billowed taut, harnessing the wind. The stern veered out, and the vessel pivoted right, completing a wide one-hundred-eighty-degree loop starboard side. “Wearing ship,” the captain called it, and Charmaine marveled at how the huge merchantman was navigated north and into Charmantes’ estuary. She gasped when the deserted land gave way to a busy wharf and thriving community.
As the captain skillfully maneuvered the Raven closer to port, angling the packet against the largest of three docks, Charmaine ran hungry eyes over every visible portion of the island, buildings everywhere. When she had her fill, her gaze turned toward the people, ordinary people she quickly assessed. Why had she thought they’d be different?
The crowd was increasing; the merchantman’s arrival of paramount interest, the pier a sea of faces now—white, black, and every shade in between—all modestly garbed, though far from impoverished. There were women among them, some clutching infants to their breasts as they waved to their sailor husbands. These crewmen were not the wanderers Charmaine had supposed them to be, but had families waiting for them here.
The Raven was secured in a frenzy, as scores of men labored with the massive vessel. At last, the gangplank was lowered, and those on the quay scurried to her decks. Friends slapped callused hands across the backs of those they had not seen for many months. Plans were already being made for a night at the town’s saloon. Husbands rushed to the wharf to hug their wives and children. For the moment, all thoughts of labor were suspended as handshakes, embraces, and stories were exchanged.
A hush came over the throng as a tall, dark man boarded the vessel and came to stand in their midst. He radiated a magnetism that commanded everyone’s attention, and Charmaine’s eyes were riveted, admiring him in a way she had never admired a man before. His face was swarthy, testifying to many hours spent under the tropical sun, his jaw, sharp. Intense eyes hinted of a keen mind. Chestnut-brown locks fell on a sweaty brow, and his straight nose plunged down to a dark moustache and full lips. His stance was easy, yet his bearing was self-assured, proud—aristocratic. “Let’s go men!” he bellowed, white teeth flashing against his bronzed skin. “The sooner we get this ship unloaded, the sooner the drinks are on me at Dulcie’s!”
Loud cheers went up, and all was in chaos as the men fell into their work. The tall stranger stood his ground, feet planted apart, issuing a spate of orders to all quarters of the deck. The main hatch was thrown open, equipment was rolled forward, and a pulley and boom were quickly assembled. He smiled broadly as he surveyed the enthusiastic laborers before him.
Charmaine could not tear her eyes away, pleased she’d gone unnoticed.
With a sweep of his forearm, he mopped the sweat from his brow. Then, in imitation of the seamen and longshoremen, he ripped off his own white shirt, revealing a broad, furry chest and wide shoulders. He flung the garment over the railing and threw himself into unloading the vessel.
Charmaine’s heart took up an unsteady beat. In Richmond, gentlemen never doffed their shirts, and astounded, she gaped at the play of muscles across his tanned back and arms. Obviously, he was not afraid to work; rather, he enjoyed it. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks as her eyes traveled down his back, which glistened with sweat, to his muscular legs, sculpted against his form-fitting trousers. She turned away, overwhelmed. She couldn’t breathe. He was, by far, the most handsome man she had ever beheld.
“Charmaine!” Joshua called, pushing his way through the commotion to reach her. “I’ve located Harold and Caroline Browning.”
“They’re here?”
“Waiting on the wharf,” he answered, taking hold of her arm and leading her to the stern of the ship. “Apparently, they expected us to be on the Raven once they realized it was coming from Richmond.”
Charmaine nodded, though her regard rested on the captivating stranger. He and three other men were rolling the first casks across the deck, one to the other.
“Who is that man?” she asked.
“Paul Duvoisin,” Joshua replied gruffly, noting the blush on Charmaine’s cheeks. “We’ve already been introduced.”
“When?”
“Just a few moments ago on the wharf. But come, Charmaine, we must hurry. The ocean breezes are all but gone, and I do not care to spend the remainder of the day in this heat. It’s only going to get worse as the sun rises higher.”
They neared the gangplank, and Joshua gestured over the side of the ship to a pleasant-looking couple waving up at them. “I have to fetch Loretta. Why don’t you make your way down to her sister?”
“But I have to get my belongings,” she replied. “They’re still in my cabin.”
“Not to worry. I’ll fetch them for you.”
“Don’t be silly! You go ahead and help Mrs. Harrington, and I’ll meet you on the pier with the Brownings in ten minutes.”
Joshua departed, taking the stairs of the companionway quickly down. But Charmaine’s steps were halted as her gaze fell once again upon Paul Duvoisin. Her heart raced, awed by the realization that a fortune rested in the hands of someone so young and handsome. Best not to dwell on it. With that thought, she descended to the deck below and collected her baggage.
When she once again stepped into the midday sun, Joshua was nowhere in sight. Certain she had finished her packing before him, she began her search for Captain Wilkinson. It would be impolite to leave without thanking him.
She learned from one of the seamen that he was in his cabi
n. Crossing to the quarterdeck, she knocked on his door and was invited in. He was seated at his desk, with Paul Duvoisin leaning over his right shoulder. Neither man looked up from the sheets spread before them, but the captain motioned toward her with a brusque command, “Don’t dally boy! Bring them here!”
Charmaine was stunned and didn’t answer.
He looked up. “Oh, Miss Ryan, I apologize,” he said. “I thought you were Wagner. He was fetching some documents for me.”
With the mention of the unfamiliar name, Paul straightened, his attention instantly snared. This is unusual—a comely lass: wavy hair, pretty face, and curvaceous figure. Why is she on the Raven? He inhaled. He had never seen her before. “Is this a beautiful niece you’ve kept hidden from us, Jonah?”
“You know I have no kin, Paul.”
“So you’ve said,” Paul mused, dissatisfied with the response.
His eyes remained fixed on the young woman, but before he could pose another question that might reveal her identity, the cabin boy rushed in. Paul snatched the documents from him, sat down, and began reading them.
Dismissed, Charmaine’s heart sank, but she thanked Jonah Wilkinson for his hospitality. He, in turn, kissed her hand and wished her well. Glancing toward the desk, she quietly left his cabin.
Above deck, the heat had intensified. She retrieved her trunk and lumbered toward the gangway, certain the Harringtons were waiting for her.
Joshua spotted her and boarded the vessel, taking her luggage in one hand and her elbow with the other. In no time, she was standing on the solid dock, though her unsteady feet reacted as if she were still on the rocking ship.
“So, you are Charmaine,” Caroline said as introductions were made, her husband smiling pleasantly. “You’re as lovely as my sister wrote.”
“I’m afraid Mrs. Harrington is too kind.”
“Nonsense,” the plump woman replied. “You are nearly as pretty as my Gwendolyn.”
Her husband cleared his throat, but she silenced him with a cold glare.