by Jody Hedlund
He released a low groan, and his thick arms came about her, drawing her against his body even as his lips consumed hers again.
“Polly Catlett!” came a sharp cry from a distant land. Her mother’s voice penetrated her desire. But it was John who broke off their passionate kiss. He scrambled away, fell off the bench, and landed on the floor with a painful-sounding thud.
For an instant Polly could only sit in dazed confusion as John jumped nimbly to his feet and stood to face what appeared to be a roomful of inquisitors.
Her mother stood at the forefront. Behind her stood Eliza and several of her siblings. And for some reason, Billy Baldock was there. Polly was too dazed to understand where he’d come from and why he was there.
“Polly Catlett,” Mother said again. Her face was pale and her eyes wide with shock. She stood unmoving, her hands outstretched in a silent plea.
Billy, however, was not immovable. With the fierce guttural growl of an attacking boar, he charged toward John. His dark hair was unkempt, and his thick brows came together in a menacing scowl above eyes that flashed with deadly anger.
Before Polly could think to object, Billy knocked into John, sending the two of them backward. They slammed against the wall with such force that a small picture crashed to the floor, the gilded frame cracking into several pieces. One of Billy’s fists flew into John’s gut and the other into his face.
At the reverberating smack and ensuing grunt, Eliza screamed. The terror in her voice must have awakened Mother out of her stupor, for she cried out too. “Please, Billy. Please, John! Don’t fight in front of the children.”
Billy’s fingers had found their way around John’s neck, and he was cutting off John’s air. A dot of blood pooled at the base of John’s nose, but he’d clenched his fists at his sides in a clear effort not to strike back at Billy. Polly’s chest tightened at the realization that John was letting Billy thrash him. She wanted to scream at him to defend himself, but she could only cup her hand over her mouth, her mortification paralyzing her.
“Billy,” Mother pleaded.
Billy held John’s neck in a deathly grip a moment longer before he finally shoved him hard and took a step away.
John sucked in a strangled wheezing breath.
Mother wavered and then quickly lowered herself into the nearest chair. Eliza rushed to Mother’s side and took her hand in a comforting gesture.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” Polly’s voice came out much shakier than she wanted.
“Don’t apologize for anything, Polly.” John tentatively touched fingers to the bloody spot at his nose. “It’s entirely my fault. I took advantage of the situation—”
“You’re blasted right, you did,” Billy interrupted, lifting a fist as though he would slam it into John’s face again.
John didn’t flinch. He didn’t look at Billy but instead addressed Mother. “I beg your forgiveness, Mrs. Catlett. You entrusted me to keep Polly safe from smugglers, but it appears as though she’s in more danger from my ardor.”
“Oh John.” Mother’s face seemed to age with weariness and defeat.
“I beg your forgiveness as well, Polly,” John said without looking at her. “I shouldn’t have enticed you the way I did.” She wanted him to turn and face her so that she could read the truth in his eyes and know that he didn’t really mean his apology. She didn’t want him to be sorry for kissing her. She didn’t want him to have any regrets, although she knew they both should.
For a long moment the room was silent. Her younger siblings stood unmoving in the doorway, their expressions wide with all that they’d witnessed, filling Polly with renewed chagrin that she’d been such a poor role model to them.
Finally, her mother lifted a shaking hand to her chest. “I wish Mr. Catlett were home to advise me on what to do. But since he’s not here, I must make the decision that I think is in everyone’s best interest.” She smiled at John sadly, a smile that sent worry pulsing through Polly. She wanted to stand up and protest what she knew was coming next, but what could she say? They were guilty.
“It’s time for you to be on your way.”
John nodded resignedly.
“A young man with too much idle time on his hands will only get into trouble eventually,” she continued. “Whether you return to your sailing or something else entirely new, I believe that it’s in your best interest to show yourself to be responsible, diligent, hardworking, and godly.”
Like Billy. No one had to say the words, but she was sure everyone was thinking them. She glanced at Billy and had to give him credit for the fact that he wasn’t gloating.
“Such qualities will hold you in good stead,” Mother said, “and prepare you to take on greater responsibilities in the future.”
“Aye, ma’am.” John stiffened his shoulders. “You’ve been kind to me, kinder than I deserve. I thank you for your generous hospitality. Once again, I ask you to forgive me for taking advantage of the situation.”
“I hold you no ill will, my child. I want you to know I will always have an affectionate place for you in my heart.” Mother was offering him pardon, but not an invitation to stay with them or even to return in the future.
As though sensing the same, John let his head hang. Finally, he managed a grin and spoke with forced cheer. “Then I guess this is good-bye. I’ll be on my way.”
Billy stood back and crossed his arms, and Mother merely nodded.
John started toward the door, and the younger siblings scattered, their footsteps echoing in the hallway.
A strange sense of panic pooled in Polly’s chest. She couldn’t just let John walk out of her life without knowing when or if she’d see him again. And he certainly wouldn’t leave without telling her good-bye, would he?
When he reached the door, the panic swelled and she rose from the bench. “John. Wait.”
He stopped. He didn’t turn right away but instead seemed to be fighting a personal battle to compose himself. When he finally shifted to look at her, the gut-wrenching agony in his eyes took her breath away.
She had a sudden overwhelming need to cross the room, fling her arms about him, and reassure him that everything would be all right. But would it be all right ever again?
“Good-bye, Polly.” The words were soft and anguished as if he’d torn them from his soul.
Tears clouded her eyes, and she dropped her gaze before anyone could see them. Her sights landed upon the hymnal that had once belonged to his mother. She picked it up and closed it reverently. “Don’t forget this.” She held it out to him and couldn’t contain the tremble in her hand.
He stared at it for a long moment and then finally met her gaze. “Keep it for me?”
Her throat ached. She knew how much the hymnal meant to him.
He didn’t wait for her reply. Instead he spun and strode out of the room. After a few seconds the front door of the house closed with a resounding thud.
Polly collapsed to the pianoforte bench, overwhelmed with the need to weep. Instead, she sat silently and clutched the small hymnal to her heart. Or at least what remained of her heart.
Newton wandered down the road that would take him into Chatham. Each step felt as though his shoes and stockings were drenched and weighted down with half the ocean. He didn’t really care where he was going. He could get lost in the woodland for all he cared. Not even the brief thought that Charlie’s men might be lying in wait for him bothered him. They could capture and beat him if they wanted.
One moment he’d been on the very brink of heaven itself, holding Polly and kissing her the way he’d wanted to since the day they met. Then the next moment she was ripped away from him and he’d become an outcast. If he’d ever harbored hope that the Catletts might consider letting him court Polly, that hope was dashed.
“You’re a fool,” he said kicking a loose stone in the road. “You’re a stupid, stupid fool.”
At the clop of horse hooves advancing behind him, he knew he should move to the side of the road to let t
he traveler pass by. But he stiffened his shoulders and stubbornly kept to the middle of the road. Whoever it was could go around him or try to force him aside. He’d relish a fight right about now.
“You’re so pathetic you don’t even have your own horse.” John recognized Billy Baldock’s contemptuous voice.
Newton’s muscles tensed, but he forced his heavy feet to keep walking and didn’t give the donkey the satisfaction of a response.
“Do you really think a sailor with nothing but the shirt on his back could ever be good enough for a woman like Polly Catlett?”
Aye, he had nothing, not even his father’s horse this time. He had only the clothes he wore and the wages he’d earned from his months at sea. The leather pouch was tied beneath his pocket. But even that was only a small purse that wouldn’t last long.
“I’ll soon be in a position to offer her a lifestyle that she’s accustomed to,” Billy said louder. “And that’s something you won’t be able to do no matter how hard you try.”
Newton’s hands twitched. He’d like nothing better than to smash a fist into Billy’s face. But he guessed that’s exactly what Billy wanted. He was baiting Newton to attack him. He wanted the chance to finish what he started in the Catletts’ drawing room. As much as Newton wanted a fight, he didn’t want to kill Billy, and he was afraid that might happen if he lashed out right now in his current state of mind.
He walked a few more steps before finally shrugging his shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. “It doesn’t really matter how much status or wealth either of us has. Polly’s already chosen which one of us she wants. And it clearly isn’t you, mate.”
Billy’s horse slowed and then stopped.
Newton spun to face Billy. At the raw disappointment and hurt on Billy’s face, Newton inwardly smiled. He’d hit his mark and hit it hard. Even if all else failed, Newton could take some satisfaction in the fact that Polly had kissed him, had really kissed him back, not just to be polite and not just to experiment. Nay, he’d felt her passion. And he had no doubt Billy had seen it.
Just the mere thought of it fanned a low fire in his gut. It was the kind of kiss that could fill a man’s dreams. It was the kind of kiss that a man could never forget, no matter how hard he tried. And he, for one, had no intention of ever trying.
“You’ve had months—nay years—to try to win her heart.” Newton couldn’t resist another low hit. “But obviously she doesn’t want to be in your arms.”
The hurt in Billy’s expression darkened, and his brows came together over dangerously sharp eyes. “You coerced her into yours. That’s the only way she would have fallen there. Soon enough she’ll see you for what you really are. Ship scum.”
Billy’s declaration rang too close to the truth. Newton knew he wasn’t good for much. Even though Mr. Catlett had taken the responsibility for his demotion, Newton still blamed himself. Now the Catletts, including Polly, would suffer as a result. He’d seen the disappointment in Polly’s eyes. If her dream of going to school had been remote before, it was now impossible. And it was his fault.
If only he could find a way to turn it around for her. He considered asking his father for a loan. But if he returned to London, his father would discover he’d missed the ship officer’s job and lecture him about how he’d thrown away another job opportunity. He’d remind him how hard it had been to find the position on a merchant ship now that hostilities with France were escalating and merchant vessels were leery of getting caught in the fray. His father would tell him how stupid he’d been, how he needed to grow up and become a man.
He could hear his father say, “After all the work I went to lining up the position, how could you do this to me? What will my friends think of my son? That he’s lazy? Irresponsible? Good for nothing?”
His father wouldn’t understand that he’d felt responsible to stay and help the Catletts since they’d had to let most of their servants go. He’d also decided that if he found work in Chatham perhaps he could give part of his income to the Catletts to make up for what Mr. Catlett had lost. More than that, he’d wanted to ensure that Polly was safe from any danger.
“You might have been able to charm Polly this time,” Billy said, his voice laced with scorn, “but she’ll grow up soon enough and see which of us is the real man.”
“I think she can already tell.”
Billy nudged his horse toward Newton, unhooking his foot from his stirrup as though he wanted to kick Newton in the stomach. Newton hardened his abdomen in readiness for the blow. But just as Billy drew up, several men stumbled out of a nearby tavern, laughing and cursing. Billy reined his horse with a rough jerk.
Newton used the distraction to start toward the tavern. The sign above the door had the picture of a sea god and the words Old Neptune painted in small letters. The tavern would be as good a place as any to spend the afternoon. He’d have time to nurse his wounds, think of what he would do next, and keep himself from thrashing Billy.
“Go away and stay away,” Billy said after him. “We don’t want you here.”
“You can rest assured,” Newton said over his shoulder, “I won’t be leaving until I’m good and ready.”
“Your days here are numbered. I’ll make sure of it.”
What was he planning to do, send his uncle’s thugs after him? Newton stopped in front of the tavern door and hesitated. Mayhap he was unwise to make an enemy of Billy Baldock. Sure, they’d never liked each other, not since the moment they’d met and both known they were vying for the affection of the same woman. But Billy had tolerated him because they were both trying to keep the Catletts safe.
Newton shrugged and opened the door. The waft of tobacco smoke and sweet rum made his mouth water. It had been about a month since he’d indulged himself. Truthfully, around Polly he hadn’t missed the drinking, gambling, and other coarser activities of tavern life. But now, with the clink of mugs and coins and the rumbling of voices and laughter, his tongue felt heavy and dry.
He stepped inside the dimly lit interior and let the door close heavily behind him, shutting out Billy Baldock. The torture in his heart came back tenfold. For all his brave words and thoughts about not letting Polly go, about Polly having chosen him instead of Billy, all his insecurities charged at him, began to shout reminders about how he wasn’t good enough, that he’d never amount to anything, that he was a failure, that a woman as kind and sweet as Polly would never be able to truly love a man like him.
He gripped his head to stop the noise. But the clamoring only grew louder, calling him names: fool, good-for-nothing, ship scum. He could think of only one way to stop the noise and names, the only way that had worked in the past. He would drown them out with drink. And mayhap he could drown the pain too, at least for a while.
—
Newton emptied his mug. The bitter liquid burned his throat. He slammed the mug down onto the table and fought back a dizzying wave. The air around him had grown stuffy. The voices and laughter from the men at his table had risen to almost unbearable levels. And his stomach gurgled with a sickening nausea.
He’d lost track of how much he’d had to drink. But it had been far over his limit of tolerance. By now, he wasn’t sure if he remembered his name, much less why he’d come into the pub to begin with. Had he been there hours or days? He couldn’t remember.
The door of the tavern suddenly opened with a bang that reverberated against the walls. Light from outside poured into the dank hovel. “Everyone leave!” someone yelled breathlessly. “A platoon is headed this way!”
Immediately chaos erupted around Newton. Men cursed. Benches and tables crashed to the floor. And people everywhere scrambled toward the exits.
Newton rose but swayed on his feet. He tried to grasp the table in front of him, but for some reason it had disappeared. He fumbled for something to hold but there was nothing. The room tipped and he found himself falling to his knees.
Why was everyone leaving? And where were they going in such a hurry?
“Don’t go yet,” he called, his voice slurred and heavy. “I know I can beat you in the next game if you give me another chance.”
He patted his pocket to the spot where he kept his pouch. The leather bag was there, but it was much lighter than it should have been. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost come to the conclusion that it was empty. Surely he hadn’t spent all of his earnings. Someone must have stolen from him.
“Who took my money?” he yelled, but again his voice was oddly thick. “I’ll kill anyone who stole from me.”
“You spent every last penny,” said the tavern owner’s wife as she rushed past with flushed cheeks, hurrying her two children to a set of steps that led to the living quarters above. “Now get on out of here before you get yourself impressed.”
Impressed?
The one word was enough to clear his head for just a moment and fill him with alarm. He stood again and took a wobbly step forward. He had to get out of the tavern.
Harsh shouts and barked commands suddenly came from the door. Men wielding clubs barged inside. They shoved aside the women and went directly to the men who remained. The swaggering steps, loose pantaloons, and tarred cocked hats identified them as sailors. But it was the painted red crowns that sent panic slithering through every muscle.
These sailors were from the Royal Navy. A press gang. And they had only one job. To find men—willing or not—to serve on the king’s ships.
Newton bolted forward, frantic to reach a door or a window. But his footsteps swerved, and he found himself tripping over an upside-down bench. He crashed to the floor. Before he could get up, a stout, pockmark-faced man stood above him.
“Where ye think you’re running off to, lad?” The man reached out a ruddy hand and grabbed Newton by the back of his waistcoat.
“Just heading out to relieve myself,” Newton replied, the fog in his brain clearing enough for him to know he had to escape. “You wouldn’t want me wetting my pants, now would you?”
The man cracked a grin that revealed a browned top front tooth next to several gaps where he’d lost other teeth—likely to scurvy. “Ye can come with me nice and easy, lad,” the man said. “Or we can do this the hard way. It’s your choice.”