Satisfied, Reeves nodded. “You’ll do,” he said before he preceded her out the door.
The first thing that Bess became aware of as she ventured up on deck was a warm blast of fresh air. There was a fine mist over the dark ocean, a light fog that smelled and tasted faintly of salt. The sounds of the night on board ship were soothing. The hushed murmur of conversation between the night watch drifted toward them on the soft breeze. A lone sailor’s foot tread across the empty deck echoed in the late quiet. And there were the ever-present creaking sounds as the ship moved through the water.
Reeves stood silent beside her, still, wary. Would they be safe? Bess wondered. What would happen if the crew discovered her identity?
Worried, Bess reached out slowly, not wanting to alarm Reeves with any quick movements, and tugged lightly on his shirt sleeve. “Where’s the watch?” she whispered.
Reeves didn’t immediately answer, and Bess continued to scan the deck. A man’s distant laugh rent the silence, followed by an answering chorus of deep male chuckles. Tensing, Bess searched the deck for signs of life and saw no one.
“I don’t see anyone,” Reeves said. And she could feel his tension as he checked the deck.
Bess was fascinated with the ship and its riggings, and her sense of uneasiness gradually passed. She inhaled deeply of the salt air, under standing for the first time her late uncle’s wonderful descriptions of life at sea. Above, the wind flapped the vessel’s sails; below the waves lapped gently against the Sea Mistress’s wooden hull.
“There’s someone,” Reeves said, gesturing toward the quarter-deck. “Wait here. I’ll alert him so he pays us no mind.”
Bess nodded and watched, trembling, as Reeves climbed the steps to the quarter-deck.
Was she a fool to believe that she could carry out her masquerade? This first test would be the worst. Would the crew believe her to be a lad?
She envisioned the moment of revelation when Seth became aware of Robert Marlton’s real identity. And later in California when he learned that the man who took over the E. Metcalfe Co. wasn’t Edward’s cousin at all, but his niece . . .
Bess had a sudden gut-wrenching, frightening wish to be back home—safe—in Wilmington.
Why was the night so quiet? A shiver coursed down her spine. The moon was a pale, nebulous orb in a cloud-filled sky; no stars twinkled against the inky backdrop.
She clung to the rail and eyed the horizon. There wasn’t much to see at this hour, only darkness and water. Here and there, she discerned a small whitecap gracing a cresting wave.
Her apprehension passed with the serenity of the night, and she was able to enjoy the freedom of the upper deck. Why, I no longer feel sick. Yet, she noted, the water was still choppy. The salt pork and biscuits must have done the job just like the mate—Mr. Kelley—had told Reeves.
Bess scowled at the thought of returning below deck, but what else could she do? Coming topside for a few minutes had been risky enough. The longer she remained the greater her chance of being discovered . . . the ruination of her plans. Were a few reviving breaths of air worth jeopardizing her moment of vengeance? As long as Garret didn’t suspect that she was Robert Marlton, she held the upper hand.
But Bess was already impatient and wearying of her escapade. Think of San Francisco, the land of gold. There was more at stake than just revenge. There was money to be made in California.
“Marlton.”
She gasped as Reeves’s voice startled her from her thoughts. He had come up silently behind her, and now he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “The sailor won’t bother us—no, don’t look his way!” he whispered urgently, spinning her back toward the rail.
Casually, so as not to appear suspicious, Reeves positioned himself between Bess and the seaman, blocking her from the sailor’s view. “They’re curious about you. Let’s not buy trouble.”
Heart pounding, Bess nodded. “How much time do I have?” she asked. “I hate the thought of going below.”
Reeves grunted. “Not long. Garret will be coming up soon.”
“Garret!” Bess exclaimed, aghast. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, glancing at Reeves out of the corner of her eye. “I promise to be quieter.”
Her gaze returned to the dark sea, her thoughts full of Seth’s image . . . Seth looking at her with adoration . . . Seth’s solemn face the day he’d left her to go to sea. She placed her hand on her abdomen and felt the stark loss of what should have been. “Damn!”
“Marlton,” Reeves whispered in warning. He shot an anxious look toward the sailor, and Bess felt a sudden chill.
“Do you think he heard me?” She resisted the urge to search the ship.
John Reeves walked casually around to Bess’s opposite side, turning her with him as he went. “No. It doesn’t appear so.”
“Thank God,” she breathed, and her relief was mirrored in Reeves’s sigh. Swallowing to moisten her dry throat, Bess caught her employee’s arm. “Maybe I’d better go back.”
The two stared at each another for a long, tense moment. Bess saw fear in Reeves’s expression, the silent message, We’ll have to be more careful. She nodded in agreement and released his arm, preparing to go below.
“Sailor!” a deep voice barked from behind just as they turned, startling them both. Boots clicked against the decking as someone approached.
“Don’t you ’ave work to do?” a gruff voice asked. The stranger clamped his hand on Bess’s shoulder, and she froze in stark terror. Good Lord, he was speaking to her!
“Feather,” John Reeves interceded calmly, apparently familiar with the man, “let him go. He’s not one of yours. It’s Robert Marlton. He works for Metcalfe.”
The heavy hand was loosened immediately. “Marlton, is ’e?” Alf Feather chuckled, and Bess shuddered as the man moved to the rail beside her. Trembling, she kept her glance toward the water, her head bowed so he couldn’t see her face.
“ ’Ear yuv been feeling green, landlubber,” he commented. “Been feeding the fishies, boy?”
Grateful for the night’s darkness which helped shield her from the man’s probing gaze, Bess bobbed her head. A sudden brainstorm prompted Bess to pretend to be sick, and she retched over the side rail. With the threat of discovery close at hand, she was beginning to feel nauseated again; she silently prayed for the feeling to pass.
Chuckling, the sailor slapped her on the back. “You’ll come around, mate, when yuv rid yurself of yer long-shore swash.” His voice dropped to a low-pitched growl. “Mind that ya don’t fall overboard—ya wouldn’t want to ruin a good fish supper!”
The burly man was chuckling coarsely at his own joke when, to Bess’s dismay, they were startled by the appearance of still another seaman.
“ ’aving problems with the whelp here, Alf?” the newcomer queried.
“Naw, Geoff,” Alf replied, grinning. “This here is Marlton, Metcalfe’s man.” The seamen laughed at the jest that Marlton could be a man.
Bess glanced at the man slyly. She suspected that the newcomer was Geoff Conrad, the second mate. He was a young muscular man with a sarcastic tone and unattractive scowl. Of average height, Conrad was a few inches taller than John Reeves but he was a head shorter than the sailor, Feather.
Head down, cap pulled down over her ears to help shield her face, Bess scrutinized both seamen. They were dressed in garments similar to the ones she wore, their arm muscles solid beneath their striped shirt sleeves.
Both men were not only taller but more brawny than John Reeves. Her friend would be no match for either one of them, she realized with a sinking sensation, and she didn’t like the way they were eyeing her, as if sizing her up as an object for sport. Geoff Conrad looked like a man who enjoyed picking on anyone weaker than himself, while the sailor, Feather, would be no help at all, she decided with alarm.
“What are you doing topside, Conrad?” John Reeves asked through tight lips. “I thought this was the mate’s watch.”
Conrad narrowed his eyes.
“So it is. But a man can get a breath of air, can’t he?” His tone was challenging.
John grumbled something unintelligible but apparently in agreement, for Conrad didn’t pursue the issue.
Bess didn’t like Geoff Conrad, and she could see why John was concerned. She knew that the wisest course of action would be to leave now, before something terrible happened.
But how are we going to escape unharmed? Bess didn’t care for the man’s behavior. If Conrad discovered she was a woman, then everyone on board would know, including Seth Garret.
The threat hung in the air like a thick pall, surrounding her, choking her. The outside temperature was warm. Bess felt uncomfortable in her heavy coat and woolen cap. She envied the seamen’s light shirts and loose trousers. They wore black tarpaulin wide-brimmed hats with long lengths of dark ribbon that trailed down their backs and fluttered in the night’s breeze.
Go away and leave us alone, she urged them silently. She was more than ready to return to her cabin now. If only she and Reeves could get away. . .
She was hot. Beneath her coat her shirt was damp with perspiration and clung to her skin. Without thought, she started to unbutton her coat, and then froze, sensing she was being watched. Shocked by her own carelessness, she chanced a peek toward Conrad, and found him eyeing her closely as he spoke with Alf Feather. Conrad’s eyes narrowed on her suspiciously, and she looked away.
“What’s ailing ya, boy?” he taunted.
“Conrad—” Reeves warned.
“Keep your sniveling nose out of this, Reeves. I’m speaking to Robbie Marlton here.” His arm encircled Bess’s slim shoulders, and she shuddered but resisted the urge to withdraw. Her struggles would only incite the bully, so she remained passive, hoping that Conrad would tire of the game and leave.
“Gawd!” the second mate burst out suddenly, removing his arm from about her. “A coat— jeezus—the stripling’s wearing a coat! In this ’eat!”
His grubby thick-fingered hand fastened on Bess’s coat collar. She swallowed and averted her face; she could smell the fetid odor of his breath and feel the heat of his exhalations against her cheek. “Such smooth skin, ya’s got, boy. Don’t ‘e, Alf?” Bess caught her breath fearfully when he caressed and then pinched her cheek. “ ’E don’t even ’ave fuzz like a peach!”
Conrad tugged unexpectedly on Bess’s collar, and she cried out as she jerked away.
“What ya need is some’um to builds up a sweat if yur so cold!” he growled. With a hard yank, he threw Bess to the decking, where she lay, gasping, fury replacing her fear.
“Leave him alone!” Reeves lunged for Conrad, but Feather grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck.
Laughing at the helpless Reeves, Conrad kicked a bucket in Bess’s direction. “Scrub, boy, and y’ull be warm in no time.”
Water sloshed over the sides of the pail, splashing onto the hem of Bess’s trousers. Anger burned in the pit of her stomach as she scrambled to her feet. How dare this ruffian treat her and Reeves this way! She glared at Conrad, her hands clenched into fists, uncaring at that moment if Conrad saw that she was a woman.
“You boorish oaf!” she shouted. She sprang at him, her hands hammering on him wildly, but the man chuckled with delight. He caught hold of her flailing wrists, locked her hands tight to her sides, and pinned Bess solidly against his chest.
“You’d best take care who ya hit, stripling,” he murmured in her ear silkily. “A lad like ya could easily slip and fall overboard if he wurn’t careful.”
“Con-rad!”
Conrad froze. The captain had seen the fracas as he’d come up on deck, and his tone was furious.
Releasing Bess, who hastened toward Reeves’s side, Conrad snapped to attention. Alf Feather freed Reeves.
“Seth,” Bess breathed, clutching hold of Reeves’s arm.
There was a charged moment of silence as the two crew members tensed at their commander’s approach. Garret eyed his men sternly, then his gaze touched briefly on Reeves before settling on Bess with probing intensity.
She swallowed and turned away, checking to make sure her cap remained in place. Did Seth recognize her? Or suspect that something was amiss? If so, he gave no clue. After several long, fearful seconds, during which Bess felt her heart must surely be heard, Seth returned his attention to the sailors.
“I warned you, Conrad,” he muttered.
“Sir—I—”
“Silence!” he thundered, and Bess gasped, stunned to see his hardened expression. There was nothing in the captain’s features at that moment that resembled the gentle young officer whom Bess had loved. The captain’s face was more mature than Bess had remembered—harsh, angular. His steely blue gaze seemed to pierce through to a person’s soul.
He stood, feet apart, hands braced on his sides, a powerful, threatening figure. Garret wore a double-breasted jacket that hung open, revealing his white linen shirt beneath. Fawn-colored breeches gripped his long, muscular legs, disappearing into the tops of polished black calf-length boots. There was something frightening, ruthless, about Captain Garret, as if he carried with him the dark aura of the devil himself.
Bess shivered. She experienced her first niggling of doubt. Could she best this man and win? As she’d dreamed so often in her worst nightmares, she imagined the soft wail of a baby’s cry . . . and the deathly silence that followed.
Damn him! She wasn’t afraid of Seth Garret! After all, he was just a man.
“Feather!” the captain bellowed, “get below. I’ll deal with you later.” He watched as the man left, before he impaled the second mate with his cold, blue gaze. “As for you, Conrad—take the scallops out of the fore top stays’il.”
Conrad’s eyes widened as he looked toward the ship’s stern. “But, c-capt’n,” he sputtered, “ther’ no scal—”
“Are you questioning a direct order, sailor?” Seth’s tone was clipped, annoyed.
“No, sir!”
“Then, get to it, man!” he barked. From beneath lowered lids, the captain watched Conrad hurry to do his bidding. He turned away then, seeming to have forgotten Bess and Reeves’s presence.
As he walked toward the quarter-deck, Garret appeared preoccupied, his hand lifting to tug on his right ear. Bess stared at him in fascination. The younger Seth had done so whenever he’d been dismayed or deep in thought.
She was transported back in time, and her heart softened at the memory. Abruptly, she returned to the present, feeling chilled.
Garret glanced back. “Reeves, Marlton—I take it that it is Marlton—are you all right?”
“We are fine, sir,” Reeves was quick to answer. Satisfied, the captain nodded and moved away.
As Seth went to the rail and stared out to sea, Bess found she was unable to look away. For five years, her only feeling for this man had been an overpowering, blinding, mind-consuming hate. But now, seeing him again after all these years, Bess felt confused, uncertain, and she didn’t like it one bit.
“Bess?” Reeves murmured. “You all right?”
Stirring from her thoughts, she gave him a wan smile. “I’m fine. You?” He nodded. “That other man—” she said. “Not Conrad, but—”
“Alf Feather. He was second mate until a few months ago when he pilfered another man’s food rations.” Reeves hesitated. “The cabin boy’s.”
Bess was appalled. Did all sailors have no morals, no conscience? Had they just made enemies of the most lowly of men?
John grabbed her arm when she started to walk away. “Where are you going?” He scowled at her.
“Back to the cabin.”
His eyes flashed angrily. “Then tell me, damn it! How do you expect me to protect you, if I don’t know your every move!”
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, feeling properly admonished. John was right. As long as she was on board the Sea Mistress, her situation was potentially dangerous. She was a lone woman amidst dangerous men. John knew the way of this ship better than she did; it would behoove her to reme
mber it.
The man’s expression softened. “I don’t want you harmed.” He paused. “Your uncle would never have forgiven me.”
She nodded in understanding. “It won’t happen again,” she promised.
After her first taste of freedom on the upper deck, Bess found it difficult to remain below. It had felt wonderful being out in the fresh air, experiencing the peaceful quiet of the night.
Three days later, her fear of discovery had dissipated, and she’d become heady with the knowledge that thus far, she’d escaped unscathed. She was feeling bored, daring, and her old healthy self again. Emboldened by her earlier success, Bess was anxious to try again. For a time, she thought of confronting Garret with her true identity, envisioning the meeting as one would savor a tasty treat.
Why not? Seth couldn’t turn back to Wilmington at this late date. Time was precious to the sea captain, and the Sea Mistress was now more than several days into her journey.
Bess had been cautious these past three days. But she was tired of playing the coward and being jailed in her cabin like some sentenced criminal. Even as Bess dressed, Reeves’s warnings to stay below came back to haunt her.
“I want to go up,” she’d told him earlier when she’d confessed how restless she felt.
He nodded, his brown eyes softening in understanding. “I believe the mate has the watch toni—”
“I mean now!” she’d interjected.
Reeves had looked shocked. His thin face had turned pale and he’d stared at Bess, his mouth gaping with astonishment. Color infused his features as he vehemently shook his head.
“That would be foolish, Miss, and you know it!” He drew himself up, prepared to do battle.
Bess defiantly raised her chin. “I’m not afraid of Captain Garret.”
“Perhaps you should be.”
A frisson of alarm traced Bess’s spine. “Explain yourself.”
“You are forgetting that Garret is the captain. His word is law on this ship.”
Bess relaxed. “You are forgetting that Garret is under contract with the E. Metcalfe Company, and I am E. Metcalfe.”
Sea Mistress Page 4