Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  “I take full blame for that, Mr. Ballard.” She gave him a tight smile. “I’m a foolish woman at times.”

  “I can hardly credit that, Miss.” Ballard dipped his head toward her with a grin.

  “Ballard’s right.” Elias sat back in his chair. “I should have warned you as well as assigned a man to watch over you.”

  Charity waved a hand through the air. “But it worked out in the end, did it not? Let us move onto happier topics.”

  Gage poured himself more wine but sipped it sparingly.

  While Charity consumed her meal—more famished than she’d been in months—the men spoke of Barbados. More than once, she caught Josiah studying her with curiosity, Ballard with desire, and Nelson with a look akin to greed. But ’twas Elias’ gaze she sought out most of all and in particular, the knowing glances they shared which bespoke of familiarity and mutual admiration. And something else…

  Something that caused warmth to flood her heart. Lord Villemont had never looked at her like that.

  “Of course since you will be busy dealing with this nasty business of your sister’s, Captain,” Ballard said. “I shall be happy to escort Miss Westcott about town. You’d love Bridgetown, Miss. It has a quaint wildness to it that is so different from Portsmouth.”

  Elias frowned. “That is up to Miss Westcott.” He glanced her way. “But she is welcome in my sister’s home.”

  “Where be that home, Cap’n?” Nelson asked, rubbing a sleeve over his long, pointy nose. “Far from town?”

  “Not too far. Which reminds me, Nelson. I don’t expect to be setting sail for at least a fortnight. You might wish to find work on another ship. There’s plenty of labor for a good sailor in Bridgetown.”

  Grunting, Nelson dropped his gaze to his food.

  “May I ask what the pressing business is with your sister?” Charity found herself suddenly curious whether ’twas the same sister who’d lost her leg. Yet, hadn’t he said this sister was with child?

  Elias finished his mouthful and washed it down with a sip of water, his expression tightening. “’Tis a long, complicated story, but suffice it to say that she is being harassed by a few of the more powerful plantation owners on Barbados.”

  “Harassed?” Gage asked.

  “Entire fields of sugarcane burned, workers threatened to the point of leaving her employ, horses and livestock stolen.” Elias released a heavy sigh. “And she is about to give birth to their first child.”

  Beneath the table, Charity laid a hand on her belly. “How terrifying for her. Did her husband not leave a responsible overseer in charge?”

  “He did, yes, but the man was severely injured and sent to hospital.”

  Ballard poured himself more wine. “What do these plantation owners want?”

  “The land, the power. My sister’s estate is quite small compared to the major plantations that occupy Barbados.”

  “Then why do they want it?” Charity asked.

  The ship rose over a swell, shifting platters and cups across the table and sending Gage’s undrunk wine dribbling over the rim of his glass.

  Candlelight flickered over Elias’ grim expression. “They hate our family name. They loathe that we are preachers to pirates, that we are against slavery…” He shrugged. “Many reasons. Oh, and they hate that part of our land is used for an orphanage when it could be put to a more productive use.”

  Charity shook her head at such ridiculous motives for violence. “Can’t you go to the general assembly?”

  “They are the general assembly.” Elias lifted a brow.

  Ballard snorted and lit a cheroot in a candle. “Then how can you possibly fight them?”

  Elias sat back in his chair and fingered his cross through the fabric of his shirt. “Precisely why my brother-in-law left. My Uncle Alex and his wife Juliana are in London, along with my parents, for my sister Emmaline’s wedding. Uncle Alex is the son of Edmund Merrick, Earl of Clarendon, who has powerful ties with the King—a King who is, shall we say, in Merrick’s debt. They hope to procure a Royal Dictum ordering these men to cease their hostilities at once.”

  Charity nearly dropped her fork. She had no idea the earl Elias was related to was the Earl of Clarendon. Everyone in England had heard of the notorious pirate, Edmund Merrick, who eventually reformed and became a missionary to the pirates. Tales of his exploits, both before and after his conversion, along with his romance with Lady Charlisse Bristol, who herself became a pirate of sorts, were the fodder for many fascinating conversations around dinner tables.

  Elias was definitely well-placed in society, yet it seemed of no consequence to him, his only concern was for the safety of his sister, the protection of his family, and the salvation of souls. A sudden longing rose within her to have such a brother, to have been raised with a champion who would have stood up for her and protected her. Come to her aid when Villemont…Vapors! There she went again, dreaming things that could never be.

  “I see why you are in such a hurry to reach your sister,” she remarked, noting Josiah’s eyes locked upon her. Instead of shifting her gaze away, she stared back at the large Negro.

  He smiled. “You do realize, Miss, that the Cap’n’s family gives most o’ their money to the poor.”

  She could only stare at him in confusion. “So I have heard, Josiah,” she replied curtly, as Elias cast his friend a bewildered look.

  Gage loosened his cravat. “So, you expect to run off these villains, Captain?”

  “If need be. I’m hoping my very presence will dissuade them. However, if they see fit to attack again, I will happily engage.”

  “God is taking care o’ her, Cap’n,” Josiah said. “You have nothing to fear.”

  “Indeed Josiah. I believe that too. But the sooner I arrive, the better.”

  Later that evening, unable to sleep, Charity stood at the railing once again. She was growing quite fond of the warm tropical breezes, so different from chilly Portsmouth evenings. She was also growing fond of the ever-changing beauty of the Caribbean. No scene was ever the same. Tonight, with barely a sliver of a moon and the black sky dusted with glittering stars, the sea looked like a giant pool of ink, frosted in dribbles of foamy milk. She drew a deep breath and thought of Elias—no doubt the reason for her sleeplessness. The preacher had escorted her to her cabin after dinner, planted a kiss on her hand, and ran a thumb down her cheek before heading back to his cabin. Such a gentleman. Such a wonderful man. She had two more days to enjoy his company. Then she would leave him forever. ’Twas for the best. She’d rather remember Elias as he was today—looking at her with such affection and admiration—than face his hatred when he discovered the truth.

  She pondered her dinner companions: Josiah’s questions, Nelson’s nervousness, and Ballard’s flirtations. Odd men, all. And Gage. Not drinking as much, yet so sullen. Had Elias finally gotten to him?

  The preacher did have a way about him, a kind, calming and nonjudgmental way. She smiled.

  A breeze swirled about her, tickling her neck, and she closed her eyes and gripped the railing tighter as the brig leapt over a wave.

  “Hello, Miss Westcott.”

  Startled, she opened her eyes, her heart galloping.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Ballard held out a hand, and when she didn’t take it, he gripped the railing instead.

  Charity settled her breath. “Tis so hard to hear someone coming with all the wind and waves.”

  “It is. I should have thought.”

  “’Tis all right, Mr. Ballard. What can I do for you?” She hoped nothing. The man was pleasant enough and in possession of manners, but she longed to be alone.

  “I thought you might enjoy company.” He glanced over the sea. “’Tis beautiful this time of night.”

  “Yes, and peaceful.”

  He leaned one arm on the railing and turned to face her. Lantern light from the mainmast accentuated his thick eyebrows, sharp eyes, and almost regal expression. “You have been thr
ough more harrowing events than most women endure in a lifetime. I admire your courage.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ballard. But I can’t own up to possessing courage through most of it. I am grateful for the captain continually coming to my rescue.” She nearly laughed at her own words, such a contrast from only a few days ago. Yet so much had happened since then.

  “He does have a penchant for women in distress. Do not presume you are the first.” He chuckled. “Why, he sails across the Caribbean rescuing fair maidens all the time.”

  A spire of foolish jealousy took root, even as her reason shook it off. Elias was free to do as he pleased. She’d be out of his life soon enough. “Yet he is unmarried. Odd.”

  “Preachers, missionaries. ’Tis a hard life for any woman. Not many would agree to it.”

  “Why do you dislike him so?”

  His eyes widened. “Dislike? Nay.” Belying his statement, he narrowed his eyes and stared at the horizon. Moments passed in which he seemed conflicted about what to say. Finally he faced her. “I informed you that my parents are dead.”

  She nodded.

  “What I didn’t tell you was that Elias converted them.” His lips tightened. “Converted may not be the right term. They were already church-going, good people. But this change in them.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen them so passionate about God. Mad with their desire to serve Him! Went off to be missionaries in Guiana.” His eyes locked on hers. “They were butchered during a native uprising.” The words spilled from his lips devoid of all emotion, save one.

  Anger.

  “I’m so sorry,” was all Charity could think to say as both sorrow and fear coiled within her. Sorrow for this man’s incredible loss, and fear that he blamed Elias. “A tragedy, Sir. But they made their own choice, did they not?” Even as she said it, her own choices rose to taunt her. “Surely, you cannot fault Elias.”

  He gave a forced smile. “Have you not noticed? He has a way of destroying the lives of anyone close to him.” Without permission, he took her hand in his. “I would hate to see you lured into a life that would make you unhappy.”

  She snagged her hand back. “What, pray tell, makes you think I’m being lured into anything.”

  “Then you have no understanding with the Captain?”

  “Certainly not,” she said before she realized where it would lead… to a huge smile on Mr. Ballard’s face and him inching closer to her.

  “That pleases me more than I can say, Miss Westcott.”

  “I don’t see why.” She looked away, hoping to dissuade him.

  “Do you not? I have much to offer a lady like you. Much you deserve.”

  “You know nothing of what I deserve, Mr. Ballard.”

  “I wish you would call me Matthew.”

  “Yet one’s wishes are not often realized.” She hated to be rude, but there was no way around it. Turning, she started to leave when he grabbed her arm. Tight.

  Chapter 21

  It took every ounce of Elias’ will to keep from revealing himself as he hid among the shadows beneath the foredeck. Especially when Ballard grabbed Charity’s arm so insistently. But he wanted to see how Charity would respond. In the darkness and unable to hear their exchange, Elias couldn’t be sure she hadn’t invited Ballard’s touch. She certainly had allowed him to hold her hand just moments before.

  Relief loosened the knot in his gut as she jerked from the man’s grip. His quartermaster’s interest in Charity could not to be denied. What might possibly be denied was whether she returned it. The man had land, wealth, and a noble bloodline. Everything a woman could want. In truth, Elias wouldn’t blame her for at least considering a courtship with Ballard.

  But he had to know—after all they’d been through, after all they’d shared—were title and wealth more important to her? He could not bring—would not bring—another Rachel into his family’s life. Another liar who would destroy them. Even so, guilt rose. He hated spying on Charity. Yet he couldn’t stop the smile forming on his lips as she backed away from Ballard.

  Sliding along the foredeck, Elias stuck to the shadows, hoping to overhear their conversation, but the wind allowed only a few words to speed past his ears.

  “… apologies, Mr. Ballard. Perhaps… misunderstood … kind gentleman…”

  “Then you prefer the penniless preacher, after all?” Ballard fumed, lifting his chin in the air.

  “How dare you?” Grabbing her skirts, Charity marched across the deck and down the companionway, leaving Ballard to utter a rather foul curse atop an ungentlemanly growl.

  Elias leapt down the companionway, ensured Charity’s door was secure, and then made his way to his cabin. Josiah stood examining the ledger that listed goods in the hold they’d picked up in Kingston to be sold when they reached Barbados.

  “Did you learn what you hoped?” His friend looked up from the documents.

  “I did.”

  “And what exactly be that?”

  “That I’m going to marry Miss Charity Westcott.”

  Growling, Josiah tossed down the quill pen and rounded the desk.

  Elias gaped at his friend. “How now? Why such a reaction?”

  “Cap’n, I don’t like it. This lady, she’s hidin’ somethin’. I feels it.”

  “I know you have the gift of discernment, my friend, but you’re wrong this time.” Elias strode to the windows and gazed upon the dark seas, trying to control his temper. “I just witnessed her rejection of Ballard’s advance, proving she has no desire for fortune, land, or title. Also, have you ever seen a lady who doesn’t complain about poor food, no proper toilet, and only a simple maid’s gown to wear? And she loves her family. You know how important that is to me.”

  He spun to face his friend. “I’ll grant you, her opinion of God is in error, but at least it is an honest opinion—one that can be changed over time. And she’s brave. Traveling across the pond alone, or with one lady’s maid? I’ve not seen such courage among most men I know.” Elias exhaled and gripped the back of his chair. If anything, spouting all of Charity’s good qualities only made him love her more.

  Josiah, however, didn’t seem convinced as he crossed beefy arms over his chest and gave Elias a look of reprimand. “Yet you truly know nothin’ about her, Cap’n. You’ve yet to meet her family.”

  “Aye, good point. I’ll do so when I sail her home after Duncan arrives with the King’s script. But I’ve never been more sure of a lady’s character before, Josiah. You have naught to fear. I’m no longer the foolish lad I used to be.”

  ♥♥♥

  A woman’s laughter jarred Charity awake. Wind fluttered the gauze curtains of her bedchamber window, and she tossed off her quilt, slipped from her bed, and lowered the window pane. Outside, a single street lantern lit the road, shifting golden beams over the cultured gardens of Hemsley House. No one was in sight. No gentlemen and certainly no ladies at this hour. She lit a candle and glanced at the clock atop the mantle. Three in the morning. She was hearing things. “Or mayhap ’twas you, little one, stirring and waking your mother.” She caressed her swollen belly beneath her nightgown and smiled. “Just another five months and you’ll be here.”

  Wait. There it was again. A woman’s flirtatious giggle. Followed by a man’s laughter. Lord Villemont. Flinging on a robe, Charity took the candle and inched down the hallway toward her husband’s bedchamber, knowing what she would find before she pushed open the door.

  A half-naked woman in his bed.

  She should turn around and leave. She should pretend she never saw a thing. She knew he wasn’t faithful. She knew he had mistresses about town. But what she couldn’t tolerate was him bringing them into her home, beneath her roof, especially when she was carrying his child!

  “How dare you bring a whore into our house!” the words escaped her lips, too angry to consider the repercussions.

  Those repercussions came hard and swift. Leaping from atop the trollop, his face a bloated mottle of fury, he shoved into his breeches
and dragged her back to her chamber.

  Pain, pain, so much pain! Strike after strike came down upon her as she cowered on the floor, arms shielding her womb, protecting her babe. The stench of brandy and hatred flooded her, prickling her skin like a thousand needles. Thrusting his face into hers, he pulled her up by her hair. “Never enter my chamber again without my permission! And I will bring whom I wish into my house.” He slapped her face, punched her belly, and tossed her onto the bed before storming out and slamming the door.

  Curling in a ball, Charity sobbed and sobbed until she had no tears left. A sharp pain speared her belly. Then another. And another. Spasms of agony more intense than anything she’d ever felt wracked through her.

  Blood gushed from between her legs. Oh, God. No! No!

  Breath heaving, she leapt from the bunk. Bunk? Thank God! Creaks and groans and splashes met her ears. The brig. Elias’ brig. Safe. She slumped to the deck, arms around her womb and listened to the blood pound in her ears.

  She’d lost her precious Cassia that night. Held the babe who was no bigger than a small teapot in her hand…kissed her…and with Sophie’s help, laid her to rest at dawn at the back end of the estate.

  The next morning, Lord Villemont begged her forgiveness. ’Twas the only time he’d expressed convincing remorse, though he’d oft borne silent shame after a particularly vicious beating.

  Rising, Charity struck flint to steel and lit her lantern, glad when the light chased the shadows, along with the memories, back into the corners. Sleep would not visit her again this night. She rubbed her belly. “But I didn’t let him harm you, little one.”

  Glancing down, she started to smile when a spot of blood blossomed on her chemise.

  ♥♥♥

  “Mr. Ballard, a moment of yer time, if I may?” Nelson sidled up to the pretentious clod on the quarterdeck.

  “What is it, man?”

  The quartermaster’s superior manner and easy dismissal of those beneath him never failed to grate on Nelson. Sure, the man owned land and had wealth, but did that make him any better than Nelson? Besides, Nelson intended to remedy his situation soon. Sooner if he could get Ballard’s help. Nelson was no string-brained fool. He’d not missed the animosity Ballard held toward Captain Dutton, nor the fact—as was the word about the brig—that Miss Westcott chose the Captain over Ballard.