The repair work was still going on, and Blanche sensed an urgency in the men as they drove themselves at a frantic pace. Hawke was standing beside the rail on the quarterdeck taking a sight with a sexton, and she hurried to his side. He turned quickly at the sound of her footsteps, his questioning eyes searching hers. Without waiting for him to speak, she began. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” noting the dark circles.
“I got a few winks,” he shrugged. “But you look worn out. I guess you didn’t rest much, either.” He turned his eyes skyward, then back at her. “I almost came to your cabin to question the girl—but she was in a bad state. I thought maybe she’d talk to you.”
“Not a word!” Blanche drew her mouth together in anger. “I told her how you’d lost your memory—but she didn’t believe it! Then I tried to get something out of her, and she just turned her face to the wall.”
“She said nothing at all?”
“Well—she did tell me—”
“What?” He saw that she was uneasy, and understood the reason. “She obviously hates me. What did she say?”
“Oh, only that I’d be sorry if I married you. I thought all night about it, and I think the girl has lost her mind.” There was a defiant stubbornness in Blanche’s chin and she added, “The strain of losing her father has driven her too far.”
Hawke smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s wishful thinking. We can’t ignore this, Blanche.” He looked up quickly, lifting his eyes to the mainsail. It was furled, but a sharp gust of wind caught the loose ropes, causing them to whip around the mast sharply.
Seeing the uneasiness in his face, she asked, “What’s the matter?”
“I think we’re in for a blow—maybe a bad one. And if it hits before we get the rigging repaired, it could wipe us out.” He stared at the sky steadily, shaking his head. “I can’t leave the deck for long, but I’ll get the working crews going. After that we’d better have a talk with the girl.”
She stayed where she was, watching as he moved along the deck, giving orders calmly, answering questions and pointing from time to time at the rigging as he explained. There was an air of quiet command about him, and she’d been around the navy long enough to see that he was a natural leader. Finally he returned and took her arm, “Let’s go below.”
They made their way to the cabin, and Blanche opened the door and entered, followed by Hawke. Charity was standing with her back against the wall, her eyes hard and defiant. Hawke immediately began to speak, his voice quiet and even. “Miss Alden, I’m sorry to intrude on you, but I don’t have much choice....”
As he stood there explaining how he’d come aboard the Neptune, battered and without a trace of memory, Charity searched his face. He was different, tanned and lean, though his face was the same, and the white scar that traced its way along his cheek was like a flag. He’s better looking than ever, she thought briefly, but she was caught in a rush of memories, not only of the terrible scene when she’d slashed his cheek, but of the countless nightmares that had haunted her ever since. Furthermore, there was the knowledge that he was the enemy who had killed her father and stolen her ship—this burned in her as well, and she remained silent, challenging him with cold eyes, her face pale as old ivory.
Finally he finished. “So you see, Miss Alden, it’s been a difficult time.” He bit his lip and the firm gaze wavered slightly. “It’s been an ordeal that you probably can’t understand: not knowing what you are is terrible.”
Charity almost weakened, but once again the hatred that had taken possession of her raged within and she shook her head stubbornly.
“I think she made the whole thing up!” Blanche glared at Charity, adding venomously, “You probably heard of Lieutenant Hawke’s problem and decided to get revenge for the death of your father. I think you’re lying!”
“Do you?” Charity’s eyes flashed in anger, and she lifted her head high. “I can prove what I say easily enough. All you have to do is send for Daniel Greene. I haven’t said a word to him—but he’ll know you as soon as he lays eyes on you!”
Hawke stared at her, then nodded, “Very well, we’ll see.” He stepped to the door and called loudly, “Sergeant! Sergeant!” He waited until a red-coated marine appeared and stood to attention. “Go to the hold and bring the prisoner Daniel Greene to this cabin—immediately!”
“Aye, sir!”
An oppressive silence pervaded the room as Hawke shut the door, and the three stood there stoically. Charity remained against the wall, waiting silently. Blanche bit her lip nervously as she looked at Hawke’s expressionless face. It was a painful time; the only sound that broke the silence was the creaking of timbers as the ship rolled slowly with the swells. Finally they heard footsteps, and soon a knock on the door.
“Bring the prisoner in, Sergeant,” Hawke called out. He walked toward the far bulkhead, pausing deliberately, keeping his back toward the door as it swung open. “Remain outside, Sergeant,” he ordered. He waited until the door closed, then wheeled to face the prisoner.
Dan had been in the darkness of the hold so long that the light of day was painful, and he was forced to squint. As his eyes adjusted, he surveyed the scene quickly: Charity against the wall, the woman across from her who’d come with her to the hold, and an officer in a blue uniform, who now spoke. “Do you know me, Greene?” Captain Hawke asked sharply.
Greene batted his eyes, focused on the man’s face, and as the truth dawned, his eyes widened with shock. “Winslow! Paul Winslow!”
“Does that satisfy you?” Charity snapped. She saw the befuddled look on Dan’s face, and explained hurriedly, “He claims to have lost his memory.”
Greene looked back into the dark eyes that were regarding him intently, and inquired soberly, “Is that true?”
“Yes. I can remember nothing that happened before I was brought aboard the frigate Neptune about two years ago. I was carried there by a press gang,” he added, “and I had an injury to my head. Evidently it did more damage inside than out, because until Miss Alden called my name, I had no idea who I was.”
Dan waited, listening carefully to the words. He glanced at Charity, shifted his gaze back to Winslow, and finally said, “Well, I can tell you that your name is Paul Winslow.” He hesitated slightly before asking, “Don’t you remember me at all?”
“No.”
The monosyllable fell flat, and Dan shrugged. “Well, we were not friends, Winslow. As a matter of fact, we were enemies. I might as well tell you that we were scheduled to meet in an affair of honor.”
“An affair of honor? What was the quarrel?”
Dan shook his head, but Charity spoke up. “I was the cause! You had dishonored me, Winslow.”
He stared at her, his eyes expressionless. She was waiting for him to apologize, but he said nothing for what seemed like an eternity. When he did speak, it was not of her.
“Who am I, Greene? Will you tell me about my family?”
Dan was taken aback. He had never heard of such a thing, and his first thought was that Charity was right: the man was playing a role. He studied the face of the officer, and finally asked quietly, “Are you telling me the truth? You don’t know who you are?”
“I do not.”
Dan Greene was a perceptive man, and he could see nothing in the steady gaze that suggested Winslow was lying—and he had been doing some rapid calculations with dates. “I believe you—”
“Well, I don’t!” Charity broke out.
“But, Charity,” Dan protested, “remember how he disappeared? It was in March when we went to the Winslows’. That was two years ago—and they told us Paul had disappeared.”
“But they said he’d been murdered and his body thrown into the sea! Mr. Winslow said he couldn’t have been pressed—he said he’d had it checked!”
“Obviously, whoever checked was not successful.” Dan shrugged. “Was it in March when you were brought on board?” he questioned, turning to Winslow.
“It was the
third day of March,” Blanche declared. “That was the day my mother and I boarded ship to go to the West Indies—and I was there when Hawke—” She broke off abruptly, an odd look in her eyes. “Or should I say Paul? Anyway, I was there when he came out of his coma. He couldn’t remember a thing about his past. I’ve been with him for these two years—and he’s not lying.”
For a moment the cabin was still, then Dan said in a subdued voice, “Well, I think it’s obvious that you were injured and lost your memory. I’m sorry for it. Would you like to ask questions?”
Paul Winslow’s eyes grew warm at Greene’s willing spirit and he replied hastily, “Well, of course, I still want to know about myself. I mean, am I a criminal?”
“You’re the son of Charles and Dorcas Winslow. They are a well-to-do American couple living in Boston. You have one sister, a girl of sixteen named Anne. Your people are Loyalists, but your father’s brother is an officer in the Continental Army—Major Adam Winslow.”
“A tangled web,” Paul murmured. “And what about me, Mr. Greene? What was I?”
“A drunk, a brawler, and a lecher!” All three turned toward Charity, who, though she had not raised her voice, spoke with such anger that Dan shook his head in silent protest. She went on, “Your uncle Adam and your cousin Nathan, his son, are the finest men in America. But your father allowed his brother to save him from what the rest of the Tories got, and your parents have no more gratitude than a pair of vipers!”
“That’s not quite true, Charity,” Dan argued. “And you are being unfair to Paul as well.”
“You defend him?” Charity scoffed.
“We’re all weak, frail vessels, Charity,” Greene remonstrated. “Thee has lost that quality that makes people love thee. Charity is your name, but thee has lost that quality,” Dan finished softly, lapsing into the Quaker use of “you.”
“How can you babble about love, Dan? Have you forgotten what he did to me? He didn’t care if his own family died in that frozen waste of Valley Forge while he tried to ruin me when I sought his help. And now he’s joined our enemies—and he was one of those who killed my crew—and my father!”
Blanche ignored the tears that gathered in Charity’s eyes and declared hotly, “He is an officer in the King’s service! It’s his duty to fight the enemies of his country!” Then she said in a different tone, a guarded voice that was devoid of emotion but which all knew held the question most real to her, “What about—Paul Winslow? What did he—do to you? Were you lovers?”
“Lovers? Not likely!” Charity brushed the tears from her eyes and told the story that had led to the scene in the inn, and ended by saying, “I slashed at him with that candle snuffer, and it cut his face! There’s the scar! And I wish it had cut his heart in two instead of his face!”
Dan interrupted her outrage, saying, “I think perhaps it might be better if you didn’t press Charity too hard. She’s not herself. I’ll answer any questions I can, Winslow.”
“I agree—and I’m in your debt, Mr. Greene.” There was an enigmatic look in his eyes, and he added, “As long as we’re on this ship, I will be Lieutenant Hawke. You can understand that.”
“Yes, of course,” Dan nodded.
“We’re in for some bad weather, Greene. If we don’t get this ship rigged and refitted, she may turn belly up. I don’t know that there’s a precedent, but I have an offer for you. If you will give me your parole, I’ll set you and the others free to work the ship—with the understanding that you will still have the status of prisoners. Will you do it?”
“Yes! I’ll do anything to get out into the air—and I think you are right. We’re going to need every hand on board to weather this one. I feel it in my bones!”
“Talk to your men. I’ll take your parole and theirs as well.”
“Aye—Lieutenant Hawke!”
Hawke left the room with Greene, and the two women studied each other. Finally Blanche’s shoulders sagged and she went to sit on her bed. “I know you hate all of us—but what you’ve heard is the truth. I love him, and I know he’s not like you say.”
Charity did not answer for a moment, but when she did, there was an unhappiness in her and she murmured softly, “I’m sorry about all of this, Miss Rommey. It was—it was such a shock—seeing him! I’ve—I’ve never gotten over that scene! The horrible dreams I’ve had—over and over!”
Blanche Rommey looked up in surprise, and her features softened. She had not thought for one second that the girl was truthful in her concept of Hawke, but now she intuitively knew that there was no reason why the man she had come to know would have been incapable of such things. She nodded slowly, “I suppose I let myself in for this when I fell in love with him. We always knew his memory might come back, or that we might run into someone who knew him. My worst fear was that he’d have a wife!”
Charity looked at the other perplexed. “Are you still going to marry him? Now that you know who he is?”
“He’s still Hawke, Charity. You can tell him that he’s Paul Winslow—but the man that fell in love with me is another man. Don’t you see that?”
Charity replied wearily, “I don’t know. I don’t know—or even care—about anything anymore!”
But neither Charity nor anyone else aboard the Lady had any time or emotion to spend over personal grief, for by nightfall the ship was rolling like a chip in a white-water mountain stream. If the prisoners had not been released and allowed to work, the ship would have rolled over during the night. As it was, they managed to get enough sail on her to make a run before the wind, and that was what finally saved them.
All night they fought the raging seas that rose and fell like white-crested mountains, the force of the waves repeatedly striking the battered ship with terrific blows. “It’s like gettin’ hit with the fist of a giant!” Dan exclaimed, wiping the water from his face as he struggled to get a little more sail on the yards.
“Sure if that giant don’t get tired pretty soon,” little Rhys Morgan sputtered as a wave took him square in the face, “we’ll be kindlin’ wood by mornin’!”
While the crew worked around the clock, Charity nursed the wounded men. Thad was recovering, but the rolling of the ship made him sick, and she had to stay by him for long hours, holding him in the bed and trying to ladle broth down his throat.
When she wasn’t tending the wounded, she was in the galley. Cooking was not a simple thing, for the galley was a constantly tilting platform, so that just to keep a fire going was a feat that called for all her ingenuity! Harrison helped some, but his skill was needed topside to work the ship, so Charity worked long hours to keep hot food and coffee for the crew.
Dan came from time to time to grab a quick bite, but there was a strange wall between them. He said nothing, but thanked her for the food; and on the second day when it seemed that nothing could save them, she was momentarily filled with shame at the way she had treated him. He had eaten a chunk of bread, washed it down with scalding black coffee, and murmured quietly, “That was good, Charity. Thanks.”
That was all, but his steady gaze was a rebuke to her. She tried to shake it off, but the memories came quickly, and she thought of his kindness, and what a true gentleman he had always been. With shame she remembered how he had loved her father. Again she tried to shake off the thoughts, but the shame grew greater. Finally, she grabbed a covered pan, put some hot beef in it and headed for the deck, intending to take it to him. But she never made it.
When she stepped out on deck, the howling wind smote her with a terrific force, filling her with fear. But she saw Dan crouched over, working one of the jibs in the bow, and started toward him. She was halfway there when the ship suddenly nosed down and she lost her balance. A huge wave broke amidships, and she felt herself lifted high and thrown toward the open sea.
She opened her mouth to scream, but the water rushed in, and she knew she was lost. Just as she was even with the rail, staring down into the trough of raging water, a hand caught her wrist, and her entire b
ody seemed to snap as her progress was checked. She grabbed wildly at the arm that held her, and clung like death to the man who had caught her. He had anchored himself to one of the davits, but the water was sucking with such force that his grip was loosening. She stared at his hand, watching the knuckles grow white—then she saw his fingers straightening out as he was inexorably pulled by the force of the waves.
“You can’t hold me! Let me go—save yourself!” she screamed, but the hand tightened on the wood, splaying out the fingers with effort.
Charity saw another wave sweeping down the deck, headed for them, and knew that he could not hold on. She bent her head back to shout for him to let her go—and found herself looking into the eyes of Paul Winslow! The shock was so great that she was speechless, but he forced his head forward and shouted above the roar of the wind and water: “Hang on, Charity! Don’t give up!”
“No—let me go!”
He shook his head stubbornly, and then in the midst of the storm, with death pulling them into its watery maw, he suddenly grinned. He put his lips against her ear and shouted, “Well, maybe I’m not the fellow you talked about—he sure wouldn’t have done this! Look out—here it comes!”
The world was water, and Charity gagged as the brine went down her throat. She clung to the hand that held her, thinking, This is death—but it was not, for the crashing of the water abated, and she heard the moan of the wind again.
“Better get below.” She looked into a pair of somber eyes, and then she felt him lift her onto the deck. She staggered at first, and then he was gone before she could say a word.
Dan had seen the incident, and he came running along the deck. “Is thee all right, Charity?” He grabbed her in a hug and said in a joyful voice, “The good Lord was with thee!”
She waited until he released her; then a tremulous smile touched her lips. “I guess so, Dan—but it looked like Paul Winslow to me.”
The Saintly Buccaneer Page 23