For these assemblies, the men gathered in the ship’s waist, climbing down from above as well as coming up from below decks. Whenever she would see him on the lines, she would stare in awe at the way Pierce could move through the intricate weave of the rigging. The speed in which he climbed the mast was breathtaking.
And on the days that he wasn’t there, Portia was still amazed by the sight. She loved the feel of the sea—to be on the ship. There was something thrilling about the sight of the sailors, their tar-covered britches and shirts whipping against sun-darkened skin, as they climbed high above the decks. She studied their movements as they hauled on and worked the lines and tackle until the desired sails were shifted and set.
For three days now, Helena had been well enough to leave their cabin and come up on deck with her. It was a grand show, and Portia was delighted that she could now watch it with her mother.
“Tell me what they are doing now.”
The question drew Portia’s attention back to her mother. The two of them sat on a bench in the ship’s waist, out of the way of the working sailors. “The sails are being tended. They are huge and filled with the wind. They look like the wings of a bird against the sky. The wind has shifted to the north east, and they are making the adjustments Captain Cameron has handed down to the mate. Thomas said this morning there was a change in the wind. He thinks we may be in for what he called ‘a stiff blow.’”
Portia continued to explain what she could see happening above them and on the decks. She had begun to learn a little by listening to other sailors. Thomas had answered questions for her, too, about the wind and how they would use the sails and ropes to change direction or to increase the speed or slow the ship. She tried to describe for her mother where each man was and how graceful and sure handed they were as the scurried up the ratlines and along the spars.
“Truly fascinating. Men have such interesting lives.”
Portia laughed. “I agree. I would do anything to be able to climb the ratlines to the top of the mainmast…”
…the way Pierce seems to be fond of doing, she finished silently.
“Would you now?” Helena said, smiling.
“I would. I have always been fond of heights. I love cliffs and vistas. I even climbed to the top of the Monument when Lady Primrose took me with her to London once. You can see half the world from there, I think.”
“I have seen it. ‘Tis a glorious sight.”
“But I am curious to know how different it feels to go so high while the rope sways beneath your feet, while you fight the wind as you climb and the motion of the ship as it rides over the waves.” Portia looked wistfully at the men who were trimming the gray-white sails. “’Tis just one of those things that I probably shall never have the opportunity to do.”
“One never knows.” Helena squeezed her hand affectionately. “The world is rapidly changing, is it not?”
“Miss, do ye wish to have this bucket here or in yer cabin?”
Portia rose quickly to her feet. Daniel, a young sailor on his first voyage, held out the bucket of water. He was not taller than Portia, and probably weighed no more than her, either.
“Thank you for fetching it for me. I shall need it down in the cabin for some washing, but I can take it down myself.”
“’Tis no problem, miss. I’ll carry it down for ye.” He grinned. “I’m on my way to the galley, anyway, and old Thomas will ne’er feed me if he finds out I left if fer ye to carry.”
Portia left Helena on deck where she was perfectly content to sit in the sun and the fresh air. Following the young man down to steerage, she chatted with him. It was extremely pleasant to feel the acceptance of those around them. Although she and Helena were the only women on board, Portia had yet to feel awkward because of it. If she could only get Pierce to notice her.
Back in the cabin, Portia attacked with a vengeance the clothes she’d put aside to wash.
The first day that her mother had been well enough to go on deck, Portia had left her for a moment, running down to the cabin for a shawl for her. By the time she returned, she found that Pierce had come over and quite courteously introduced himself to Helena. On the second day, he’d stopped by to ask after her health, only bowing stiffly to Portia without ever looking at her. And yesterday, while Portia had gone down to the galley to bring up their food, Pierce had taken Helena for a short walk around the stern deck.
Her mother was completely taken in by the man’s fine manners. And Portia found herself to be sad and frustrated by her helplessness in mending the past. He wasn’t even giving her a chance to speak to him. She just didn’t know how to get him to forgive her at least, never mind thank him once again for his kindness to them both.
As she scrubbed the clothes, she ke into a sweat in no time, not so much because of the work, but because of her frustration. She hung the dresses and underclothes over a rope she’d strung across the cabin, picked up the bucket of soiled water, and started back up the ladder.
Helena was not where she’d left her. Portia was not surprised to look up and find her mother on the arm of Pierce as they strolled on the stern deck. She wasn’t jealous, she told herself. Her pain didn’t come from Pierce’s efforts at being pleasant to Helena.
No, Portia suffered because she loved him.
****
He watched her whenever she wasn’t aware of him looking. He questioned his people about what she was doing. He worried about her comfort and her health, but it seemed she thrived despite the difficulties of taking care of her mother and staying in the cramped cabin. She was more than just making do with the little she had brought along. They told him that she never complained. In fact, “the Miss,” Thomas told him, “was steady as any foretopman in His Majesty’s whole bloody navy.”
Pierce saw her appear on deck again with a bucket in hand. He had ordered the men to do all her chores, but they told her that she generally refused their offers. She cleaned their own cabin, washed their own clothes, even insisted on going to the galley and getting their own food since her mother was again eating. And that was not the end of it. Pierce had noticed that many on his crew vied for her attention. Even the surliest of the old tars seemed softened by her. They were all quite obvious in their attempts to please her.
In mentioning it to the ship’s master, Pierce heard many reasons for that behavior, and none of them the most obvious. Apparently, she had learned the crew’s names within days. She asked about their families, those that had any. And he’d watched from the stern rail, surprised at how so many of them gathered on the foredeck while Portia read to them as the sun set.
Even from afar, Pierce could tell that the sea agreed with her. She looked vibrant, beautiful, uninhibited, and it pained him to continue keeping his distance.
“Why do you continue to hold a grudge against my daughter, Mr. Pennington?”
Helena’s question scraped the scab off his wound. He saw Portia glance up at them briefly before dumping the water over the side and disappearing again down the stairs to steerage.
“A grudge, ma’am?” he replied, disappointed that she was gone. “I hold no grudge.”
For the past three days, he had hoped that finding her mother with him would give Portia a reason to approach, to say anything to him. But she was being as stubborn as he was.
“I think you are not being entirely truthful.”
“And what makes you say that?” He looked down at the woman on his arm. Helena had already exceeded what Pierce had expected of Admiral Middleton’s daughter. And she continued to surprise him.
“Because I happen to be in my daughter’s confidences. She told me everything that she had to do in order to free me from my father’s house. She told me how badly she wronged you and how betrayed you feel because of her actions.” She stopped, let go of his arm and faced him. “But why do you two allothis barrier to exist between you?”
Pierce tried to think of a diplomatic way to word his answer. After being united with her daughter for t
he first time in twenty-four years, Helena certainly did not need to hear him list Portia’s flaws.
“I’ll tell you something,” she continued. “I think you do not wish to dismiss her from your life, for if you did, I do not think you would be treating her mother with such courtesy and attentiveness.”
Pierce shook his head.
“Tell me the truth, sir,” she said sternly. “What I have lost in vision, I’ve gained in my other senses. I feel your hesitation. Let me assure you that there is nothing you can tell me that would surprise or disappoint me regarding Portia.”
“Miss Middleton, you have only known her for less than a month. And she has, no doubt, seemed perfect in all respects during that time. I do not know what she told you, but I am certain that your feelings might be a little different if you had actually seen the dangers she exposed herself to while she was trying to free you.”
“You are telling me that she takes risks to achieve her goals. Now if she were a man, that would be a quality of greatness. I believe the proverb goes, ‘Fortune favors the brave.’ Do you mean to tell me that you criticize the same virtue in her because she is a woman?”
“Yes and no,” Pierce said. “Yes, because the consequences of her actions could have been much more severe because she is a woman. And no, because I would have found her actions objectionable even if she were man. She went beyond what is reasonable into the realm of stubborn recklessness.”
“Did she? I wonder. I do not hear great conviction in your voice, Mr. Pennington. Still, is that reason enough to stay angry with her considering no trouble befell her or you or me?”
Pierce said nothing for a moment.
“Then what else do you have against her?” Helena pressed.
She wanted honesty, so Pierce decided to give it to her. “Portia is entirely too single-minded. Once she focuses on something, the rest of the world must simply stand aside. She see nothing else but her final goal. She becomes blind to others feelings, insensible of any hardship that she might be inflicting on others. There is no other way but hers—no other path but the one she has chosen. There is no delaying of her plans for the sake of safety. She—”
“And does she do all of these horrible things for her own good?” Helena interrupted. “Is she ambitious? Selfish? Is she after wealth? Is she doing so much damage for her own sake? To improve her place in the world?”
“No,” Pierce said through clenched teeth.
This was the difference, right here, revealed and explained to him by a nearly blind woman who had spent most of her life in some kind of seclusion. This was the difference between Portia and Emma. At the center of Portia’s actions lay the desire to do something for someone else, for her mother. In everything Emma had ever tried to do, her only concern had been for herself.
“Please do not misunderstand,” Helena said, gentling her tone. She placed a hand on his arm. “I am not excusing my daughter’s actions, but I am trying to explain them in the way that I myself understand them. You see, I have been through all of this before. I have beein your position, Mr. Pennington, and I know how difficult ‘tis to understand such behavior. ‘Tis nearly impossible, sometimes, to make sense out of it. But I needed to do that—as you must—for this quality is what makes them special. ‘Tis at the center of who they are. In a way, ‘tis one reason that we feel as we do about them. ‘Tis the reason why we must make our own sacrifices.”
“I do not understand you, Miss Middleton. You have just met her for the first time—”
“Not exactly.” She shook her head. “This is so difficult to explain. But Portia…the way she is—her impulsiveness, her reckless love of danger, her inability to recognize the restraints that keep most of us from enjoying life to the fullest—these things she comes by quite honestly. This is the same way that her father was, and most likely still is. She cannot help herself. She was born with adventure already in her blood. She has to find causes, and then fight them. If ‘tis not one thing, sir, then it will be another. On that you can rely.”
Pierce looked at her curiously. “Did you say Portia’s father is alive?”
Helena reached for the railing and turned her upraised face to the sun. Wisps of golden hair escaped her long braid and danced in the wind. A softness crept into her expression, and he knew she was remembering a different time. For a few long minutes, Pierce remained silent, allowing her to enjoy her memories. Finally, she turned to him.
“I believe he is alive. I have been in seclusion for many years, but news of that importance would have reached me. If he were dead, I would know it.”
He tried to put together in his mind a list of people who could have fathered Portia. A Jacobite. Someone significant enough that news of his death would reach the colonies. The list was very short. “Have you told Portia any of this?”
“Of course not.”
Pierce came to stand beside her by the railing. “Why are you telling me these things before revealing them to your daughter?”
Helena looked up at him. For the first time her eyes looked as if they could see. “Because I know what has happened between you. And I know she is suffering now, the way a woman suffers when her heart has been trodden upon.”
Objections immediately rose in him. She had been the one who’d destroyed what was between them.
Pierce hesitated. But had she? What responsibility was he taking for all that had happened? It was he who had taken her to the Black Pearl. It was he who had not voluntarily helped her when she asked for it. It was he who had made love to her.
And then he had rejected her, hurting himself as much as her in staying away. Perhaps even more.
“But this is still no reason to tell me what Portia should know.”
“I think there is. I need you to understand that, despite her apparent circumstances, Portia is no stableman’s daughter, if that is what motivates your actions.”
“It does not,” he said sharply.
“I am glad to hear that, since there is no way that I can think of to reach her father.” Taking hold of the railing, she edged away from him, finally turning and following it along the deck.
He stayed beside her. “Considering how important Ptia feels ‘tis to have a family—how desperate she was to find you—do you not think she has a right to know the truth.”
“Yes, I do,” Helena said softly. “And I will tell her…when the time is right.”
*****
The storm that Thomas had predicted came on them quickly around sunset, buffeting the ship for several hours before passing. During the night, the sky had gradually cleared, and the sea was again calm by the first light of day.
Portia finished mending the sleeve in the spare shirt that Daniel had loaned her. Before she’d washed it, the fabric had been stiff with tar and salt water, and it still was, to some extent. It had chafed her skin when she’d tried it on, but it was functional, anyway, and that was what mattered. She folded the shirt and put it on top of the gray breeches. The waistline of the breeches was too big, but she thought a piece of rope looped around them would do the trick.
They would have to do. She definitely need them for where she was planning to go.
“Good morning.”
Portia quickly rolled everything up and put them next to their trunk. She turned to her mother. She wondered how long Helena had been awake. “Good morning.”
“What are you doing? I have been listening to you. I thought I could hear the sound of thread being pulled.”
Her mother might not be able to see very well, but she was becoming more and more independent every day.
“Just mending some clothes that belong to Daniel.” She stood up and folded her bedding. “I went up on deck at dawn. It promises to be a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky and a light, steady breeze. I was thinking of getting one of the sailors to show me how they make some of the fancy knots with the ropes. What would you care to do?”
It was fascinating to see Helena spreading her wings. Her diminishing sight
was obviously not going to slow her down at all. Every day, she was insisting more and more that Portia not do things for her that she could do herself.
“After breakfast, Captain Cameron offered to take a stroll with me on deck. And in the afternoon, Mr. Pennington has invited all of us for a cup of tea.”
Portia told herself she would ask either Daniel or Thomas to escort Helena to the captain’s quarters when the time came. She did not even want to come as close as the door of that cabin.
Her mother sat up in the bunk. “Do you have any dresses that might be presentable for the occasion?”
“The gray dress you wore when we left Boston is in the best condition of all of them. You look beautiful in it.”
“I do not mean for me. I was talking about you. Is there anything that you have that you can wear?”
Portia’s traitorous heart began to race. “But I am not coming.”
“You were invited.”
“Was I? Or are you only assuming that the invitation included me?”
Helena gracefully swung her feet over the side of the berth. Her blond hair fell to her waist. Portia saw mischief in her mother’s face…and it was a new look that she hadn’t seen before.
“I think, considering the gentleman’s generosity, it would be quite ill-mannered to ignore the invitation.”
“You did not answer my question. Tell me the truth. What did Mr. Pennington say?”
“He said he hoped I would not be offended if he did not send us a formal invitation, but he hope we would honor him with our presence. He indicated that he would be serving tea in the captain’s quarters at three, that Mr. Cameron would be in attendance, and he hoped we would gratify his request.”
“You meant you.”
“He used the plural you.”
“I think not, Mother. I shall not make a fool of myself attending a tea that I am not expected to attend.”
Helena leaned forward, arching an eyebrow at her. “I believe you are being obstinate now.”
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