01 - Captured Dreams

by May McGoldrick

  Helena tucked her hands under her chin, and Portia found herself enchanted by the serene image before her. She looked so innocent, so content. Already the lines of tension had disappeared from her brow.

  “Is he a handsome man?”

  The butterflies stirred and opened their wings in Portia’s stomach. “I have heard that many consider him handsome.”

  “And young?”

  “I don’t know his exact age, but I believe he might be my age or slightly older.”

  “Such a young man…and he owns this ship. I must assume he is wealthy.”

  “He comes from an excellent family. His brother is an earl, I understand. And although he was brought up to be a gentleman, I believe he has worked hard to make his own fortune.”

  “And is he married or contracted to be married?”

  “He is not married.”

  “He must have many mistresses, then.”

  Portia remembered that first night they met. Images of the room at the Black Pearl Tavern sprang into her mind. He was supposed to meet a woman there. The sharp blade of jealousy cut into her unexpectedly, but she pushed it away.

  “That I would not know, mother.”

  ight="0" width="29"> “But how did you two meet?”

  Portia stepped into the dress. She sat on the edge of the bunk as she laced up the front. “We met the night of King’s Birthday ball, right after I terrified you while trying to break into your room. We met while I was trying to escape your father’s servants.”

  “It sounds so romantic.” Helena smiled and reached for her hand. “Tell me everything.”

  Portia realized suddenly that she didn’t feel the shyness with her mother that she had felt talking to Mary or Bella. She felt free and unafraid to speak openly. She somehow knew that Helena would understand her, that her mother would not condemn her because of her attraction to Pierce. He was the first man in her life, the only one for whom she had ever developed such strong feelings. Portia had been helpless against his charm…and her own treacherous heart still beat for him alone.

  So she told Helena what she would never have dared to admit to anyone else. She told her everything, beginning with the Black Pearl Tavern that first night and how close she’d come to being discovered by Turner. She told Helena about his respect for her views on things of the world such as the politics of Boston and the colonies. And how he made her feel intelligent and even beautiful in a way that no one else ever had. Hesitating only slightly, Portia even divulged how she had gone to him at his home, to see him one last time and thank him. In as few words as possible, she told her mother of her blunder in giving away her innocence.

  “Do you really think you made a mistake, child?” Helena asked in a soft voice. “Do you wish now that you never have gone there?”

  There was a long silence as the two sat in the half light.

  “No. ‘Twas no mistake.” Portia looked down at their joined hands. “If it had happened that first night at the tavern, then I would say, ‘Yes, ’twas a mistake,’ because I did not know him. But now…that last night…” She shook her head. “It changed me. I had no regret then, I have none now, and…and I know I would feel the same if there are consequences that I must deal with because of it.”

  “Oh my!” Helena whispered. “This is far more serious than I could have imagined. You are in love.”

  Portia immediately bristled defensively. “I did not say that.”

  “No need to say it, my child.”

  Helena reached up and touched Portia’s cheek. She had not even realized it, but there were tears on her face. Her mother was right, and she knew it, too.

  “How does he behave toward you now…after what happened?”

  “He is angry, though not because of what we did,” she replied. “He is angry because of the lies I told to bring the two of us—you and me, I mean—together. And he is right to be. His accusations are completely justified. I was blind to his feelings. I did not think of consequences. I did not pay attention to the hurt that my actions could cause him…considering the relationship that we…that we...” Portia wiped the tears off her face. “But in spite of all that, I would not undo what I have done. You are here with me, and I did what needed to be done.”

  ****

  In the end, one’s name, one’s reputation, one’s career are all a man has that is worthwhile.

  Even as Turner thought this, though, the humiliation continued. His career was on the verge of ruin. His life’s work was in tatters. The other members of the Admiral’s staff were laughing behind his back. And it seemed that in every officer’s mess from here to Boston to New York, some story or other was circulating that involved the name of Captain George Turner.

  Some rumored that on the night of the burning of the Gaspee, he was dead drunk in some tavern in Providence. Others claimed he was off buggering some nameless ensign in Newport. They were few who whispered that Turner was afraid to be caught in the midst of any skirmish, so he was hiding while Gaspee was under attack. His stomach churned at the very thought of these lies.

  His anger grew but he endured the sly comments and the looks of disdain. Even the enlisted men were looking at him boldly, treating him with less than the respect he deserved. He tried to weather it and keep his head up, even when the jokes among the other officers became more open and more vicious. It soon became clear he was not to be given an opportunity to set the record straight. Perhaps it was better that no one should know of Portia’s trickery. If it were known that he had been bested by a wisp of a girl, his treatment would not improve. In any case, he could not speak, could not defend himself, because the truth exposed Admiral Middleton, who ordered him to be silent about the events of that night.

  The Admiral had acted immediately. When it was clear that his daughter was gone, he had packed off four serving women who attended to his daughter to Halifax in Nova Scotia on a brig that was sailing with the tide. Mrs. Green was threatened with her job. No one was to know that Miss Middleton was missing. The official story was that the Admiral’s daughter had gone to Nova Scotia for her health.

  And more importantly, it seemed, no one could know that there was any connection between Portia Edwards and Helena Middleton.

  This was the part that perplexed Turner the more he thought of it. He had been shocked to learn of the connection the night the Gaspee burned. And he was not allowed to ask any questions, either. When he had made his report to the Admiral, the blood had drained from his face. Then, he had lashed out at Turner unmercifully, telling him that because he had introduced this imposter into the household, Turner would be held personally responsible for the entire disaster, including the botched operation that left the Gaspee a charred hulk on a sandbar in Narragansett Bay.

  Turner paced impatiently in the hallway. His head had been pounding incessantly for six days. He was not responsible for any of it. He had been tricked and wounded in action. He knew that in remaining silent, with no chance of recovering his reputation, he was making the biggest sacrifice of his life. And still, Middleton treated him no better than a whipped dog.

  Even now, he was being made to wait in the hallway while less competent officers were in a private meeting with the Admiral. It was the same every day. He had been stripped of all responsibilities having to do with the attack on the Gaspee and with the activities of the Sons of Liberty. He had been ordered to look into one thing only, and that was finding out where Portia had taken the Admiral’s daughter. It was a demeaning, nearly impossible task since he was forbidden to interrogate anyone openly for the fear of the truth coming out.

  Turner stopped pacing and his back stiffened as the Admiral’s door finally open and three young officers walked out. He glared down the end of his nose at the puerile trio, silently challenging them even to smirk. None of them were brave enough to meet his gaze. The last through the door, though, announced that Admiral was ready for him now.

  Inside, Middleton’s reception was cool, as it had been since the incident. His
eyes never moved from the papers before him. “You have something to report?”

  Turner was bothered that his superior no longer acknowledged him either by rank or by name. “Indeed, sir. I have succeeded in gathering the answers you wanted.”

  The Admiral looked up, his expression doubtful. “Speak up.”

  “I believe Miss Middleton and Miss Edwards are traveling to Wales, specifically to the home of a Lady Anne Primrose.”

  “In Wrexham.”

  “You know Lady Primrose?”

  “Of course I know her. She’s a treacherous, troublemaking Jacobite whore, but she’s always had too much money and too many connections in high places for us to touch her. And she’s as cunning as a fox.” Middleton looked at him suspiciously. “Why do you say they’re going there.”

  “Miss Edwards spent her childhood there, in a school Lady Primrose funds.”

  “How do you know this? How do you know the villainess is not hiding my daughter somewhere in Rhode Island? In one of these godforsaken towns or villages that plague us? How do you know she did not return to Boston and is hiding her right under our very noses?”

  “To begin, after a week of keeping watch on the residence of Parson Higgins, we know that they are not there, and that there has been no attempt by the family to communicate with Miss Edwards. I know for a fact,” Turner said confidently, “they would have made such an attempt if she were anywhere in the vicinity of Boston.”

  “Of course, being such a trusted and familiar friend of the family, you would know this,” the Admiral said, his sarcasm evident in his tone.

  Turner had no answer to the insinuation. Indeed, he had been a fool to trust that devious young woman, to trust anyone connected with her. He forced himself to continue.

  “Another piece of information that adds weight to my supposition was given to me by the daughter of my cousin, who lives here in Boston. The girl happens to be a good friend of Miss Edwards and—”

  “So bad judgment runs rampant in your family.” Middleton leaned back in his chair and looked at him with open disdain.

  Turner felt his ears redden as his anger burned hotter inside of him. He remained rigidly at attention, though. “If I may continue, sir…”

  “What was this valuable scrap of information that your cousin provided?”

  “My cousin’s daughter was visited by Mrs. Higgins, who told hethat Portia had to leave Boston unexpectedly, for personal reasons. The parson’s wife also told her that the young woman had no immediate plan of returning. In response to my cousin’s insistence that Mrs. Higgins provide her with an address to correspond with her friend, the woman claimed to know nothing more.” Turner continued before the Admiral had a chance to make some other disparaging comment. “My cousin was apparently aware of Miss Edwards’s difficult financial condition, a fact that did not surprise me. In addition, since she has been in Boston less than a year, the young woman lacks friends and connections here. At the same time, my cousin told me that she had heard Miss Edwards speak many times of her benefactor, Lady Primrose. When one considers all this together, it becomes clear that she would take Miss Middleton there, once she was able secure a place on a ship.”

  “And could she secure passage?”

  “Indeed she could, Admiral.” Turner felt his superior’s confidence returning, albeit guardedly. “As you know, Mr. Pennington has departed for England.”

  “His partner notified me of that when he wrote to me about the meeting we had arranged that they would not be attending. What of it? I was told Pennington had to leave suddenly due to a family emergency having to do with his brother, the Earl of Aytoun.”

  “Very convenient, I should think. He left the same day that your daughter was abducted. The same day that the Gaspee was attacked and burned.”

  “What are you saying, Turner?” Middleton asked impatiently.

  “I am saying that Mr. Pennington did not depart from Boston. All of his ships that were in port are still here. He also did not leave on any other ship that we know of.”

  “So how did he go?”

  “I have learned that their ship, the Lothian, is expected any day. There is a report, however, that the ship was seen not a day out of Boston, south of the cape, and on a course that would take her close to the Narragansett Bay.”

  “Where Pennington could meet her.”

  “Along with Miss Edwards and your daughter,” Turner quickly added. “I believe that when I saw them, they were waiting to be picked up in a boat.”

  Turner definitely had his superior’s attention now.

  “But that is not all of it, Admiral. During the two consecutive days prior to the Gaspee’s destruction, we know that Mr. Pennington left Boston on horseback, passing through the checkpoint at the Neck and then returning. He did this twice, sir, and my belief is that he was traveling back and forth to Rhode Island in preparation for the attack on the Gaspee.”

  “That is a strong accusation,” Admiral said thoughtfully.

  “If you would allow me to resume my previous duties, I would be happy bring you the proof. Pennington had to be involved. Why else he would chose that night to depart?” Turner was pleased with his own reasoning. “I have heard the preliminary investigation into the attack has not proven fruitful. I believe the reason for their failure is that those in charge are chasing after nameless and faceless ruffians. If you were to honor me with such a commission, I would find you witnesses who could identify Pennington as one of the rebel leaders. He is not a Rhode Islander, and I believe the base knaves would gladly give him up to save their own n.”

  Admiral Middleton stood up and walked to the carved marble fireplace, stroking his chin as he considered this. Finally, he turned to the captain.

  “This is all speculation…unless you have any specific names of possible witnesses. Is there anything that you have been holding back from those conducting the investigation?”

  “I do not have names as yet, sir. But I shall. With your permission, I can—”

  “You can finish the task you’ve been assigned. You can clear up the mess you have created in my life and in my household before you touch anything else. You must first earn back your place, Captain. Before you resume any of your previous responsibilities, you will return the daughter you have allowed that young woman to steal from me.”

  Turner straightened up, stunned by the reprimand and by the hypocrisy of the Admiral’s words. In all the years he had served Middleton, the man had given far more attention to his hounds and his horses and his gardens than he ever gave to his daughter. So long as she remained quiet and out of the way, he was satisfied. Now, suddenly, she was the most important thing in the world.

  Turner found himself wondering why the sea change. There was no love in the man, of that he was certain. Why did he want her to be back under his thumb? The thought suddenly occurred to Turner that if Portia were indeed the daughter of Helena Middleton, then who was the bloody father?

  If this were the reason for the Admiral’s uncharacteristic concern for his daughter, then it began to make sense. Middleton’s own name, his own career, had always been the most important thing to him. He wanted his daughter back so that no old skeleton would rattle in the family closet. It must be a horrifying skeleton for the Admiral to think it might affect his career.

  “Do we have an understanding, Captain?”

  Name, reputation, career. The only things that really mattered in the end.

  “Indeed we do, sir.”

  Turner would bring back Helena Middleton, and he would punish Portia Edwards in doing so. She would pay for betraying him.

  “I will attach your name to the committee that is going to England to carry the preliminary reports on the Gaspee incident. You will sail on the Beaver. When you arrive in England, though, you have only one duty, and that is to find Helena. Do you understand?”

  “Aye, sir,” Turner said obediently.

  “I have allowed word to circulate that Helena shall be returning from Hali
fax sometime early in the fall. ‘Tis your job, Captain, to bring her back by then.”

  “I shall, sir,” Turner vowed.

  CHAPTER 21

  It had taken six days for Helena to overcome the sleep-inducing effect the medicines that she had been given for so long. And for the next seven days and nights, Portia spent endless hours at her mother’s side while the older woman’s stomach heaved with every pitch and roll of the ship.

  During those days, Portia saw plenty of Thomas, the ship’s cook and surgeon, and the two of them became friends. The wire-thin black man showed up at their door at least three times a day with a meal for Portia and different kinds of brews for Helena. In addition to the food and company he provided, Thomas even succeeded in pushing Portia out of the cabin for a few minutes each day.

  She knew it was because of Thomas that the rest of the crew showed no vestige of hostility against Portia, as the owner of the ship did. Pierce refused to talk to her. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence on board, in even the simplest of gestures, and she cried inside because of it. What she felt for him was the same, and she desperately searched for a way to get him to notice her. During the second week of the journey, a slight hope flickered when Captain Cameron, a fairly young man with pleasantly weathered features, showed up at their cabin door. Quickly, though, Portia realized the ship’s master was there of his own volition. Cameron offered them his cabin—actually the mate’s cabin—which he claimed was somewhat roomier than the one they were staying in. Grateful for the offer, they declined. Both Portia and Helena were happy with their arrangements as they were.

  Still, though she never came face to face with Pierce, she saw him whenever the crew was asked to assemble on deck for a drill or for some talk, which, quite often, he participated in. Portia found those drills the most exciting part of her days. As her mother began to improve, she even found herself waiting for the sound of the bell, so that she could go on deck to watch.