Even though two of the rooms were situated very nearly under her office, Jonna hadn't started her search there. She had no reason to believe they were anything but empty.
This turned out to be the case with the first one she looked into. She was not right about the second.
Smoke billowed out as soon as she opened the door. The draft from the warehouse swept the small enclosure and fanned the flames, which shot out, licking at her hand and the hem of her gown. She opened her mouth to call for help. Searing heat crawled down her throat and words turned to ashes on her tongue. Acrid smoke burned her eyes. She beat down a spark that singed her hair.
Jonna tried to pull the door shut, but the knob was already too hot to touch. She ran for the warehouse entrance and waved frantically for the attention of a passerby. It was not her wildly flailing arms they noticed but the fact that her silk skirt was burning like a candlewick.
Jonna felt a blow to her midsection that took the last of her breath away. She was thrown to the ground and rolled roughly across it. Frightened and disoriented, she struggled at first, pounding at the person who was beating at her legs. She heard someone yell for a bucket brigade. Then everything around her erupted into jarring footsteps and discordantly raised voices.
The weight on Jonna's legs was lifted as Decker picked up Jeremy Dodd and practically flung him aside. Jack helped the hapless young man to his feet while Decker knelt beside Jonna.
"Quick thinking, lad," Jack told Jeremy. "You probably saved her life. Now get a bucket and get in line. No time to rest on your laurels." He watched Jeremy take off at a run. At his back, he could feel the heat from the fire. "Get her out of here, Decker. We can manage without you."
Jonna was sitting up now, supported by Decker's arm. "No," she said. It was difficult not to choke on the single word. "I want to stay here... I want to—"
Decker stood and pulled Jonna to her feet. The skirt of her gown was mostly gone. What remained were pieces of four singed petticoats. Still, there was enough material to cover her modestly. She wobbled on her feet when he let her go, but she didn't faint. "It's your warehouse," Decker said. "Pick up a bucket."
He strode away and Jack followed. Jonna stared at the flames rising to the ceiling of her building; then she ran after them.
Like worker ants driven by instinct to protect their queen, every man at Remington Shipping rushed to the scene to help Jonna. They were joined in short order by dockhands from all over the harbor. Taverns and warehouses emptied as word of the fire spread. A pumper wagon arrived, but the horses shied away from the intense heat. In short order they were unhitched so men could pull the wagon close enough to the warehouse to hose down the adjoining buildings.
The firefighters did not have the wind in their favor. The breeze off the ocean fanned every flame their buckets missed. Jonna joined the line in the middle and passed the full pails forward. Her cramped and blistered fingers gripped the rope handles, and her shoulders ached with the effort of hefting the heavy buckets. A thin sheet of ice glazed her blackened clothing and frosted her hair. Stubbornly she refused to give way, and there wasn't a man around her who didn't work harder because of it.
Twice the men thought they had it beaten, and twice they were proved wrong. They didn't let themselves hope too much when the flames were finally confined to the small side offices and storerooms again.
Jonna didn't know they had won until she heard the cheer from those closest to the source. Even then she was too tired to fully understand what it meant. Dazed, she looked around her.
With more care than they'd showed for the buckets, Jonna was passed forward along the line until she was handed into Decker's arms at the head of it. "It's done," he said. His arm at her waist was all that was holding her up.
Jonna stared at the charred remains of half of her warehouse. She knew she was fortunate to have any part of it standing, yet she didn't feel particularly lucky right now. "I'd like to go home," she said hoarsely.
Decker shook his head. "Later. Right now I'm taking you to the ship."
Jonna stiffened. "No. I don't want to go aboard."
The brigade had lost its form. Men from the end of the line were moving closer to the warehouse to inspect the success of their efforts. They crowded around and speculated on the cause of the fire. Jonna and Decker were quickly hemmed in by them. Decker saw Jack pushing through and waved him over. "I'm taking her to the ship, Jack," he said. "Can you handle things here?"
Jack raised his hat and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. Soot creased his wrinkled brow. He tried to read Decker's expression. "Aye," he said. "I can. For as long as it takes, I expect."
Decker nodded. "Jonna?" She didn't answer him. Her attention was elsewhere. Decker followed the line of her vision and saw Grant Sheridan moving toward them. Nothing about Grant's sudden appearance was welcome, especially the fact that he was still neatly turned out in a clean coat and creased trousers. His handsome face, though expressing concern and a sense of urgency, showed no trace of sweat or soot.
Grant held out his arms to Jonna. "I'll take her now," he said to Decker. "My carriage is waiting."
"Only if she wants to go. Do you, Miss Remington?"
It was increasingly difficult to think clearly. Jonna shifted unsteadily on her feet and was grateful for Decker's support. Pressing three fingers to her temple, she closed her eyes. The arm around her waist tightened uncomfortably and drawing a full breath became an effort.
She was thinking she should ask Grant where he had been when she felt herself slump into unconsciousness.
Chapter 6
Jonna came awake slowly. She stretched under the thick quilt and raised her eyelids to half-mast. This narrow view of the world was enough to make her bury her face in her pillow.
The roll of the ship cradled but did not comfort. The forward surge was unfamiliar to Jonna, yet completely recognizable. Huntress was out to sea.
Groaning softly, Jonna threw off the covers and sat up. Her fingers curled around the edge of the bunk. She steadied herself as the cabin rocked under her feet and her stomach lurched. Closing her eyes helped marginally, but the humiliating truth was that she was going to be sick. Jonna propelled herself out of the bed in the direction of the commode. She opened the cupboard and removed the basin. Hugging it all the while she was sinking to her knees, Jonna emptied the contents of her stomach.
She was still on the deck in this almost penitent posture when Decker found her. It was no accident that he came upon her then. Anticipating that she might be unsettled and disoriented upon waking, he had positioned a man outside the cabin with orders to get him the moment Jonna stirred.
Decker waited until the last wave of sickness had passed before he took the basin. He poured a glass of water and handed it to her. "Rinse," he said when she simply held it between her palms.
Jonna rinsed.
Decker extended the basin. "Spit."
Closing her eyes, Jonna did as she was told. She leaned weakly against the foot of the bunk while Decker put the basin away. "I want to go home." Even to her own ears, her words were largely unintelligible. She wasn't surprised when Decker ignored her.
"Back to the bunk," he said, kneeling beside her. "You haven't found your sea legs yet."
"Don't have any." Jonna didn't see Decker smile at this small protest. She let him help her to her feet, then ease her onto the bed. She lay down without any prompting from him. "We'll have to turn around," she whispered tiredly.
Decker didn't reply. He sat with her until she fell asleep, knowing all the while there would be no turning back.
* * *
It was dark by the time Jonna woke again. The oil lamp secured to the captain's desk had been lighted, and the stove had been fired. It was evidence that someone had come and gone while she slept, and Jonna wasn't grateful for this invasion of her privacy even if thoughtfulness had been the motive.
Her stomach growled when she sat up, but it didn't turn over. She supposed it was pr
ogress of sorts that she entertained even a moment's awareness of being hungry.
Jonna teetered when she first stood, but the unsteadiness passed quickly. The layout of the cabin was familiar to her, first as a two-dimensional plan, then later as a model. She had toured it once when the ship was being built, but had never seen it furnished.
The cabin was not much larger than her dressing room. The built-in bunk took most of the space on one wall. The commode closet and a trunk were at the foot, bookshelves were at the head. Storage space beneath the bunk was closed off by small louvered doors. The cabin's only chair was pushed far under the desk, and there were more shelves behind that. A wooden bench ran the length of the bow wall directly under two tiers of leaded glass panes.
Jonna moved to the stove and held out her hands in front of it, warming them. She found the cabin oddly sterile. It seemed that Decker had done little in the way of making it his own. There were no mementos of voyages, no figurines or lacquered boxes. The linens and quilts were from Boston, not London, and the books were dry maritime tomes that she suspected belonged to Jack.
The item that was out of place in the cabin was the trunk in the middle of the floor. She knew it hadn't been there when she awoke earlier. Even ill, she would have recognized it for what it was and understood its significance. She doubted she would have been able to sleep so easily or for so long if she had known it was aboard her ship.
The trunk belonged to her.
Jonna looked down at herself. She was still wearing the clothes she had fought the fire in. The bodice and sleeves were all that remained of her gown and her charred and tattered petticoats hung limply around her legs. Smoke clung to the material and to her hair. Every breath she took brought back some memory of the fire.
She didn't open the trunk. Instead, she sat down on it. Burying her face in her hands, Jonna wept.
* * *
Decker dismissed the man outside his cabin. "You won't be needed," he said. "Get some sleep. You have early watch." Decker watched the sailor hurriedly and gratefully leave his post. His footsteps cleared the gangway before Decker knocked softly on the door.
"Come in."
It was with a certain cautious air that Decker opened the door. Jonna's tone did not invite; it granted an audience. He was prepared to duck in the event something was thrown at his head.
She had nothing in her hands, and was sitting on the hard window bench, her eyes turned toward the sea. The night sky was revealed only by a crescent moon's light, and Jonna's face was reflected in the glass. Her features were almost devoid of expression; none of the ravages of her earlier bout with tears were evident now.
In spite of the lateness of the hour, she had not dressed for bed when she changed her clothes. Jonna had not wanted to be at a disadvantage when she saw Decker again. She wore a wine-colored gown, high-necked, severely cut, with tight sleeves and a fitted bodice. Her black hair was loosely braided in a thick plait that fell down the center of her back. It hid the three tiny hooks she had not been able to fasten on her own.
Jonna looked past her own reflection and watched Decker enter the cabin. When he had shut the door behind him and was leaning against it, she swiveled around on the bench and came to her feet. Her arms remained still at her sides; her fingers didn't sift the material of her gown. Her manner was composed and poised and cool, and she spoke with the serene confidence of one who expects to be obeyed.
"You will turn this ship back to Boston," she said. "You will do so immediately and without argument. The matter of whether you had any right to take it out with me aboard will be addressed later. I think you know you acted precipitously and contrary to my wishes. The cost of the delay in reaching London will be levied against your future earnings with Remington Shipping. Once the fine is paid in full you will be relieved of your employment with the company. You may assure Huntress's crew that I do not hold them responsible and will not seek similar reparations." Jonna's head tilted slightly to one side in an attitude of gracious condescension. "Have I been quite clear, Captain Thorne?"
"Quite," he said.
She nodded once, almost regally, and waited for him to go.
Decker pushed away from the door, but didn't open it. He skirted the trunk which still remained in the middle of the room and stepped over the pile of Jonna's discarded clothing. When he reached the desk he kicked out the chair with the toe of his boot and sat down. Lifting the cover, he removed the ship's log along with ink and a quill from the drawer beneath. Decker opened the log and painstakingly recorded his heading and the weather conditions. He took several more minutes to record Jonna's demands.
He turned the book toward her. "Have I set it down accurately?" he asked.
Jonna approached the desk and read what he had written. His script was careful, each letter formed with exactness. There was no flourish in the handwriting, no carelessness, and it was not only what he had just recorded that had such discipline, but all the entries on the page before it. Somehow it was like the cabin, Jonna thought, sterile and without the stamp of his character.
It struck her then how new he was to both things. She raised her head a fraction and stared at him, a question in her own eyes now.
"Have I set it down accurately?" he asked tersely.
Jonna's reply was hushed. "Yes," she said.
"And the spelling?" he pressed almost defensively. "Have I got it right?"
"Yes."
Decker spun the log around and penned another line.
"My reply," he said, pushing the book back in her direction.
Jonna glanced at the entry: Huntress will stay her course. "What? You don't mean that."
Decker blotted the log before he closed the book. "I mean exactly that," he said. He put everything inside the desk. "If there's going to be an argument, it will be from your end. My mind is made up on the matter." He watched Jonna react as if she'd been struck. Her head came up, her jaw clenched, and color flushed her face.
"It wasn't a request," she said.
Some part of Decker admired her restraint, but he wasn't swayed. "It can be nothing else," he said. "Your position here doesn't give you the right to make demands."
There was a cold fire behind Jonna's violet eyes. "I own this ship," she said.
"And I command it." He held up one hand, stopping her. "You don't own me, Jonna. Don't ever think you do."
"The men will—"
"The men respect us both. Don't make them choose sides or divide their loyalty unless you're prepared to take command of this ship yourself." He paused a beat and studied her face. "Are you?"
Jonna's features were pale now, her lips bloodless. The chill she felt went all the way to her marrow. "No," she said. "You know I can't take command."
Decker nodded once, satisfied she understood. He rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Are you hungry?"
She didn't answer him. The certain knowledge that they were not returning to Boston had closed Jonna's throat. Her stomach roiled, not from lack of food or the motion of the ship. It was a deeper panic that twisted her insides.
"Perhaps you should sit down," Decker said. "I'll bring you something from the galley. I haven't had anything myself." He was gone twenty minutes, but he didn't think she had moved in his absence. He placed the tray on the bench beside her. Without asking if she wanted any, Decker poured a mug of tea and passed it to her. "Warm your hands or your insides," he said, as if it were a matter of indifference to him.
Jonna held the mug between her palms and raised it to her lips, but didn't drink. She was grateful Decker didn't urge her to do anything else. Steam rose from the mug and bathed her face in warmth. "Why did you bring me here?" she asked finally.
Decker had uncovered a plate of chicken and biscuits for himself. He carried it over to the desk, away from where the fragrance of something more substantial than tea might offend Jonna, and sat down. Hooking one leg over the arm of the chair, he began to eat. "I couldn't very well look after you ot
herwise," he said simply.
Jonna frowned. "I don't understand. I would have had Dr. Hardy to look after me."
"True, but I wasn't thinking of your physical health. Or at least not in that regard."
Jonna cautiously sipped her tea. Her confidence increased slightly when it settled in her stomach. "You're not my keeper," she said.
"I am now."
"But—"
"Do you really want to argue, Jonna? You're here. You may as well accept it." Decker wasn't fooled into believing her silence signaled agreement. He suspected she was merely marshaling her forces. "Jack is taking care of the business," he said. "He taught you what your father didn't so you know the enterprise will not suffer."
"That's not the point."
He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "Your offices and the warehouse will be rebuilt by the time we return from London. You don't have to be there to oversee every detail. Mrs. Davis has the running of your home in hand and will send around regrets for your social commitments." He didn't add that he knew there were few of those. "She packed your trunk herself. I trust you'll find everything you need."
Jonna's shoulders sagged a little at hearing of this betrayal. She hadn't expected her housekeeper to willingly support her abduction. "And Grant?" She had a vague recollection of him appearing after the fire was put out. Hadn't he offered to take her home? "Didn't he have anything to say about you taking me on board?"
"He had a lot to say. No one listened." Not after Grant had been leveled by Decker's fist. "Should his opinion have carried any special weight? I thought you weren't engaged any longer."
"We were never engaged," she said crisply. When she saw one corner of Decker's mouth lift Jonna knew she was being needled. She wondered if she would ever learn to ignore him. "I suppose I'm your prisoner then."
Decker glanced up from his plate. "Hardly."
"I can't think what else to call it," she said. "I'm not here willingly, and there's nowhere for me to go. You even posted a guard at my door."
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