Marianne dropped back into her chair and gripped its arms. If she braced herself, she could kick Eleanor away and escape. But her legs felt limp, and no stroke of courage coursed through her to strengthen them. She had never struck another person and could not imagine doing so. Lord, help me. What shall I do? What had Eleanor said? What had some “Quality” man done to her to make every aristocrat her enemy?
“Well, then, Eleanor, if we are not going up on deck, come sit with me.” Her voice shook, but she forced a smile. “Let us talk to pass the time.”
Eleanor laughed, again a mirthless, unpleasant sound. “Right. We’ll talk.” She pulled a heavy chair in front of the door and sat. “Tea parties and balls. Fashions and French coiffures.” She spat out her words, but her eyes filled with sadness.
Only halfway mindful of the muted sounds of men shouting above them, Marianne forced her attention to Eleanor and nodded as if listening to one of her dear little orphans at St. Ann’s. “If that is what you would like to discuss. But perhaps first you will help me.”
“Help you? Ha. Not likely.”
“No, I do not mean do something for me. I mean help me understand what you are saying. What is it that my sort chooses not to see?”
Eleanor’s jaw dropped. Then her eyes narrowed. “What do you care?”
Marianne considered her question. “I suppose it is because you and I were becoming friends before you knew who I am. Do you remember during the storm how we all encouraged each other, sharing our ginger tea, singing hymns and telling funny stories? I think those many long hours of suffering together made me realize that women are all alike, no matter what our birth rank might be.”
A cautious smile appeared, but sadness still filled Eleanor’s eyes. “Aye, we did laugh.”
“But now you must tell me…” Warmth spread through Marianne’s chest, a sincere affection for this woman. Of all the ladies, including brave Molly, Eleanor seemed to possess the stoutest heart. Marianne could imagine her fighting off anyone who tried to snatch her husband from the ship. “Why have you come to hate me?”
Eleanor shook her head. “Not you by name, just by class, though to be fair, you never put on airs with us.” She traced a finger along her chair arm. “Awright, then, I’ll tell you.” She inhaled a deep breath. “I was born in a village in Sussex outside Lord de Winter’s manor.” Her lips curled in distaste. “When I was fourteen, I went into service in his lordship’s house. He had a son just two years older than me….”
With growing chagrin and nausea, Marianne listened to her story. Having met Lord de Winter’s heir her first season in society and endured his unwanted notice, she had no doubt Eleanor’s story was true.
“And then they cast me out.” Eleanor gazed toward the porthole. “No money. No references. And my wee babe…” Her voice cracked, and she sniffed. “He lies buried outside the churchyard because his mother was not wed.”
An icy chill swept up Marianne’s arms, and a soft sob escaped her. She tried to recall if any housemaid had been dismissed from her parents’ service when her brothers were of that age, but she had been too young to notice such things. Compassion filled her, and she reached out to grasp the other woman’s hands. “Oh, Eleanor, I am so sorry. And so very sad for you…and your dear son. I do believe every word you said.”
Eleanor gave her a crooked grin. “You’re a good sort, after all, Lady Marianne.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry for scaring you. If you want to go on deck—”
Marianne laughed softly. “No, there’s no need. If someone comes for us, we shall see to it then.” She could not fathom the change now occurring inside her, but knew as surely as she breathed that God had ordained for her to hear this woman’s story. Never before had she fully comprehended the cruelty and hypocrisy of many people in the society in which she had been reared. Perhaps her parents and Grace Kendall were the only sincere Christians Marianne knew.
“Guess they never boarded us.” Eleanor went to the porthole and glanced out. “I never heard a sound of ’em coming below, and I don’t see the frigate.”
Marianne gulped back a sob at this news, and a strange sense of reprieve filled her. She touched her cheek and found it damp. Were these tears of sympathy for Eleanor? Or of relief that she had not been required to speak to the naval captain? For as surely as Eleanor had kept her from leaving this cabin, Marianne knew the Lord had prevented her from exposing the Fair Winds’ captain. Perhaps that made her a traitor, too. Perhaps she now must choose between betraying her country and betraying her heart. For despite his lies, despite the conviction that she would never marry such a scoundrel, she would love Jamie Templeton until the day she died.
The British frigate sailed within twenty-five yards of the Fair Winds and dropped its sails. On its quarterdeck, the captain lifted his bicorne hat and saluted Jamie. “Ahoy, Captain Templeton.”
“Ahoy, Captain Boyd.” Jamie returned the salute as he sent up a prayer of thanks. They had first encountered HMS Margaret last February on their way to England, and had earned the captain’s trust because of their connection to Bennington and because of the crate of oranges Jamie had given him. Jamie prayed the captain would still be as well disposed toward them.
“What’s your heading, sir?” Boyd cupped his hands to help his voice carry.
“East Florida. Will you come with us?” Jamie infused his voice with good humor. “There’ll be another orange harvest in a few months.” A reminder of his gift couldn’t hurt.
“We’d do well to have ’em to stave off the scurvy, sir.” Boyd turned to speak briefly with a sailor. “We spy ladies on your ship, Templeton.”
“Aye, sir.” Jamie must cut off any wayward thoughts in that regard. “Some of my crew married in London, and their wives are eager to help us colonize East Florida.”
“Ah, very good. Building His Majesty’s empire.”
“May I send you a crate of claret, sir?” Although Jamie didn’t expect this captain to try to take any of the Fair Winds crew, a gift should ensure it.
“I say, that would be most kind.” The dark-haired man gave him a slight bow. “We’ve done without for a long time.”
At Jamie’s order, Saunders and two other sailors brought up the wine and lowered a boat to carry it to the Margaret. During the interval, Boyd called out a warning to Jamie to steer wide of the northern colonies, adding that the conflict had already given rise to American pirates who would gladly seize the merchant vessel. That news was not unexpected, although Jamie regarded those pirates as privateers.
When Saunders returned, he handed Jamie an exquisitely carved tomahawk pipe.
“A very fine gift.” Jamie held it high. “I thank you, Captain Boyd.”
“Took it from an obstinate Indian fellow in Nova Scotia. That’s where we’ve been since March, when those confounded rebels drove us out of Boston. Bad show, that. We’re headed back to Plymouth for more weaponry and troops. Then we’ll teach those rebels their place.”
Jamie swallowed a retort, even as a familiar thought nagged at him. How could he go to war with good men like this one? “I’ll heed your warning about the pirates, sir.”
The ships hoisted sails once again and moved in opposite directions. While lifting a prayer of thanks for the uneventful encounter, Jamie also sought the Lord’s wisdom about the privateers, who should be putting their efforts toward the war, not harassing American vessels. For now, Jamie must sail under the Union Jack and Lord Bennington’s flag when encountering British ships. But hidden in a safe place under the floor of his cabin was the Grand Union flag, a design General Washington had approved early that year. Jamie had obtained one before sailing to England, but wondered if privateers would respect the Continental flag. Or would he at last have to fight his way past well-armed ships seeking to keep him from his destination?
Chapter Thirty-One
“A ship at sea is a very small world.” Marianne walked arm in arm with Molly around the Fair Winds’ deck. Above them, puffy white clouds reminde
d her of the pastries Papa’s chef always made, a far better fare than the weevily hardtack she now ate. “How do these men manage to spend their lives at sea without going mad with boredom?”
Molly chuckled. “Why, ’tis a good thing they do manage it. How else would people and things get from shore to shore across the wide ocean?” She gave Marianne a worried glance. “Meaning no disrespect, my lady.”
“Tut, tut, Molly. Are we not friends? You may say anything to me.” In the past six weeks since Marianne’s ball and supper, she had grown closer to all the women. Like Eleanor, each one had a story of hardship and heartbreak. And, just as she had done by foolishly stowing away aboard this ship, they had risked their lives for a future filled with hope beside the men they loved. At least in East Florida, none of them would face the dangers of the war. Marianne had no doubt her brother Frederick would help them all find occupations in St. Johns Towne, where he served as magistrate and managed Papa’s plantation.
“You’re a true Christian, Lady Marianne.” Molly squeezed her arm, a familiar gesture Marianne no longer found inappropriate.
“And you, as well, Molly.” She lifted her face to the breeze and inhaled a deep, refreshing breath. Then gasped. “Look. A seagull. Two, three.” She released Molly and hurried to the ship’s railing to study the horizon. “Does that mean we are nearing land?”
Molly came up beside her and gave her a teasing grin. “Why not ask the captain?”
Marianne wrinkled her nose. “I would rather…” No, she would not speak ill of a man everyone else on board respected. “…not.”
Others on deck noticed the large white-winged birds, as well, pointing and smiling or laughing. That was proof enough to her that the gulls were harbingers of good things to come. She had no need to speak to Captain Templeton, whom she always managed to avoid despite the small world of the ship.
To be fair, he too had kept his distance, only occasionally retrieving charts or books from the cabin he had charitably surrendered to her. At his knock on the door, she would make herself presentable, then slip past him into the narrow companionway, returning only when he left, leaving his familiar manly scent behind…along with too many bittersweet memories.
The ritual of staying apart was tedious but necessary. For sometimes, when she watched him man the wheel or engage in friendly banter with his crew or ably lead the ship through a storm, her heart threatened to betray her as she recalled the merry times they had spent with Robert and Grace…or when she recalled his tender kisses. And sometimes, she would turn to find him staring at her across the deck, a sorrowful frown on his sun-browned face, an expression he quickly hid with an impudent grin and an overdone bow. She would avert her gaze even as her heart leapt. Clearly, traitor or not, he suffered as she did. Clearly, he did love her as she loved him. Yet they were and must always remain mortal enemies.
Several days later, long after sunset, Eleanor came to Marianne’s cabin. “Come on deck, Lady Marianne. There’s lights in the distance. Boston, my lady. Boston.” The happy glow on her face dimmed. “Forgive me, ma’am. I know this isn’t what you want.”
Seated at the captain’s desk, where she had been reading by lantern light, Marianne bent her head to hide sudden tears. “No, it is not what I want, but we shall all be in East Florida soon enough after the captain concludes his business here.” Whatever that might be.
“But…” A frown darted across Eleanor’s face. “My lady, did you not know? We ladies aren’t going to East Florida. We’re staying here in Boston to help with the Cause.”
Marianne opened her mouth, but no words would come. Indeed, what would she say? More treachery. Why had she ever thought she could sway these women or, even more impossible, their husbands? From the beginning, these Englishwomen planned to join the rebellion. And why would they not, after their tragedies and disappointments suffered in the land of their birth? Yet what hope did they have in these colonies, where the mad uprising would soon be crushed by His Majesty’s navy and army?
“Go watch the lights, Eleanor. Go look to your new home.” Marianne ached to touch land once again. But she would not set one foot in this disloyal colony. In that small way, she could demonstrate her own loyalty to her king and her country, no matter what the other women did.
After a fitful night of sleep, she came on deck to find them moored at the docks. Someone mentioned that these were the very wharves where the infamous Boston Tea Party had taken place back in ’73. While the other women laughed, no doubt giddy because they would soon disembark, Marianne tried to swallow her growing grief. Now she would be alone, for she and Emma would be the only ladies left on board, and Emma spent all her time with Quince.
Someone pointed above to the mainmast, where the Union Jack and Papa’s flag had been removed, replaced by a red-and-white-striped banner with a blue field in one corner behind red and white crosses.
“’Tis the Continental flag, ladies,” Mr. Saunders gleefully announced. “The flag of the Grand Union of the thirteen colonies.”
A cheer went up from the others, while Marianne released a weary sigh and returned to her cabin. Sorrow upon sorrow would overcome these good people soon enough. Let them enjoy their ill-founded moments of joy. All she wanted was to take refuge from the gaiety in sleep.
A light tap sounded on the door before she could lie down. She opened it to find Captain Templeton dressed in one of his finer coats, a gentle smile gracing his lips. Her heart jumped to her throat.
“I thought you might want to go ashore, my lady.” Was that hope in his eyes?
“I thank you, but no.” She looked away, unable to still her trembling brought on by his nearness.
He caught her chin and sought her gaze. “It would do you well, Lady Marianne.”
She stepped back, breaking his touch…and wishing for it again. “I care not for your concerns for my health. I will walk the deck for exercise, but I will not set foot on these traitorous shores.” Her tone lacked conviction, but she could not change it.
Captain Templeton nodded, his gaze still kind. “I go to visit friends. The lady is my cousin and the sister of Frederick’s wife. Would you like to meet her?”
Marianne’s heart skipped. Soon she would meet Rachel. Soon she must face Frederick, who had urged her to renounce her feelings for Jamie. Now she understood why. Did this mean her brother also had chosen the rebel cause? Nausea threatened to overtake her. She swallowed hard.
“You may convey my…” If she said “good wishes,” it would imply approval of their disloyalty. “…my kind sentiments our kinship warrants. Perhaps we shall meet one day under better circumstances.”
Disappointment clouded his dark eyes. Young as he was, sun and wind had weathered his complexion, making him appear older than when they had sailed from Southampton just over two months ago. His dark blond hair was now bleached golden by the sun.
“Very well. As you wish.” His expression now blank, like that of a footman, he backed out of the cabin, pulling the door closed behind him…depriving her of his strong presence.
Marianne rushed to grasp the latch, to chase after him. But her hand stilled on the curved brass. She crumpled to her knees on the hard wooden deck and wept. “Lord, help me. Oh, please help me to stop loving that man.”
“Half of the muskets are to be unloaded here.” Charles Weldon lounged back in an upholstered chair in his home above his mercantile shop. “The rest must be delivered to Colonel William Moultrie in Savannah for the Georgia militia. He’s made one foray into East Florida but was turned back at Sunbury. These muskets might be just what they need for the next attempt.”
“Very good.” Jamie took a drink of the first real coffee he’d had in over a month. “How goes the war?”
“Washington’s in New York and expects to engage the British any day. In late June, our Patriots repulsed a British sea attack in Charleston Harbor. We’re building our navy and have plenty of men willing to join, but we need ships faster than we can construct them.”
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br /> “Too bad we can’t use the Nantucket shipyards.” Jamie’s Fair Winds had been built there.
Charles grimaced. “The islanders’ neutrality prevents it. When the British gave the whalers the choice between English service or being sunk, most chose to survive. With no whaling income, the island is pretty much closed down, and the people suffer. The Quaker leadership insists on remaining neutral, although some younger men want to fight.”
Jamie sat up, his chest clutching. “And Dinah?” If his younger sister was in danger of starvation, he must sail to the island and rescue her.
Charles stared down at his hands. “I wish I could give you a good report.”
Jamie’s caution grew to alarm. “What’s she doing?” In truth, he barely knew Dinah, for their parents’ deaths had forced their separation in childhood. Yet their rare meetings had instilled in him a great love for her, and family loyalty demanded that he help her if he could.
“That’s just it.” Charles shrugged. “We have no idea. We do know she does not favor the Revolution…nor is she anywhere to be found on Nantucket Island.”
“Dear Lord, protect her.” Jamie put his head in his hands. “It’s no surprise that the Quaker elders influenced her attitude toward the war, but where on earth would the child be if not there?”
“She’s not a child anymore, Jamie.” Charles clasped his shoulder. “She’s a strong, feisty and opinionated young woman. She’ll be all right. You already have enough to do.” He stood and walked across the room, retrieving a colorful cloth from a trunk to hand to Jamie. “Look. We have a new flag. Susanna and Eliza have made several, and I’ll be happy to give you one.”
His heart pounding, Jamie unfolded the flag, a white woolen-and-linen pennant with red stripes and a blue field sporting a circle of thirteen white stars. “I like this even more than the Continental flag. Thank you. I’ll fly it with pride.”
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