As he watched, Merial bowed her head. “Christopher, what if my memory never comes back?”
“Do not think that,” he told her, wishing he could touch her to bring her comfort, if only to hold her hand. “Remain positive, for you will remember everything. And everyone.”
She lifted her gaze to his and smiled. “With your help, I will stay positive and continue to believe I will regain what I have lost.”
Movement caught Christopher’s eye, and he glanced aside to see Henry trot into his cabin with a large rat in his mouth. He groaned, half fearing Merial would be upset at the sight of the dead creature. Before he could rise and stop him, Henry laid the corpse at Merial’s feet and meowed.
She glanced down, then laughed. “Henry, did you bring me a gift? Why, thank you, but surely you need that more than I. Go, eat it at your pleasure.”
“I fear he will not devour the ones he brings as presents,” Christopher said, standing. “I will get rid of it.”
Picking the rat up by the tail, Christopher took it to one of the windows, opened it, and threw the dead thing into the sea. Closing the window again, he set his hands on his hips as Henry took a bath. “No bacon for you,” he said sternly. “You are becoming spoiled.”
“He is still killing them,” Merial pointed out. “There is one less rodent to trouble us, even if he gifted it to us.”
Christopher sat down, and picked up his cup of wine. “Perhaps. He should still eat his own food, and not expect us to feed him.”
“Would you care to wager on you succumbing to his charms and giving him bacon come breakfast?” she asked with a sly grin.
“No. That is one wager I daresay I will lose.”
* * *
The following morning brought no pirates, no sharks, and also no wind. With Mayhew beside him, Christopher gazed up at the slack sails, drooping without the slightest breeze to fill them. The Valkyrie sat dead in the water with only the tide to move her. “Now this is unfortunate,” he murmured.
From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Mayhew watching Merial as she emerged from below decks garbed in her shirt and trousers, her dark braid over her shoulder to hang nearly to her waist. Christopher ground his teeth, as no doubt his first mate thought she was responsible for bringing them to this.
“We have not needed a woman on board to experience a lack of wind, Mr. Mayhew,” he snapped, irritated. “This has occurred on nearly every voyage we have taken.”
Mayhew stiffened his back and knuckled his brow. “O’ course, M’lord,” he replied hastily. “I do not think she be the cause, but the crew may.”
Christopher turned to face him fully, glaring. “And you will see to it every man knows the penalty for speaking against Lady Hanrahan, Mr. Mayhew. A flogging will be the least of their worries.”
“Aye, M’lord.”
Merial obviously heard this last part of the conversation, for she gazed up at him as she approached, her expression concerned. “The men are blaming my presence for the calm?”
Mayhew knuckled his brow at her. “Not at this time, M’lady,” he replied before Christopher could. “I will see to it they do not.”
“It is that time of year, Merial,” Christopher added, trying to ease her worries. “Bright sunshine and good weather also bring on no wind at times. It will merely put us behind schedule, that is all.”
She gazed up at the sagging sails. “Is this a common enough occurrence?”
“Yes. I cannot remember a voyage that we did not encounter such calm. Mr. Mayhew will keep the men occupied with cleaning, making repairs as needed, as well as fishing. This is an excellent time for all those occupations.”
“I will see to it now, M’lord.”
Mayhew paid his respects, then strode away barking orders. Merial continued to gaze up at the empty canvas, then out at the quiet sea. “The men will still blame me for this,” she remarked.
“Then they will answer to me,” Christopher replied firmly. “I will brook no maligning of your name, nor any disobedience.”
She finally glanced at him sidelong. “What will you do?”
“Any disobedience merits a flogging.”
She turned to face him fully, her fine brows furrowed. “You will have a man beaten for his superstitions?”
“If they interfere with his work, if it means he disobeys my direct command, or if he lays the blame at your feet, then yes.”
Christopher knew his answer upset her, but he could not unsay the truth, even for her. Absolute obedience and discipline was crucial for any ship at sea, and the consequences for any malfeasance on board must be dealt with harshly.
“I understand this troubles you,” he said, standing with his hands behind his back. “If I must punish a man, please realize it is not your fault.”
Merial stared at the nearly unmoving sea without speaking for a long time. Christopher, too, remained silent, hoping she came to the conclusion that in truth nothing that happened on board was her fault.
“I suppose that if a man chooses to be foolish, and believe my presence is to blame for every misadventure, great or small, then I must not also fall into that method of thinking.”
“Exactly, Merial,” Christopher replied, relieved. “The dolphins would have come whether you were here or not, as would the storm, the sharks, and the fish. Good and bad events have nothing to do with you, or your presence. We will deal with the crew’s superstition with reason and sense.”
Merial offered him a quirky smile. “I suppose I should be quite grateful that as a sea captain, you are not given to believing all these superstitions of women being on board. For if you were, I have little doubt such a captain would have left me to die on that dinghy.”
Chapter 9
Sitting at his desk in his study, he tried to focus his attention on the reports he needed to read. His predecessor, he reluctantly forced himself to admit, ran the estates with a firm and intelligent hand. From what he saw, the profits were far higher than he had expected. “At least that bugger knew what he was doing,” he muttered, flicking through the sheets of paper and the long columns of figures.
A knock at the door interrupted his perusal, and he scowled. He had given orders he was not to be troubled when he was behind the study door, as this portion of being an Earl with vast estates required all his attention. Still, he called for his visitor to enter.
When he saw who is was, he forgot all about profits, the reports, and running the many estates. “What did you find?” he asked, eager.
The man bowed. “My Lord,” he said, his voice clipped, formal. “I fear my news is not good.”
He sat back in his chair, his stomach now in knots. “You found her?”
“Quite the opposite, My Lord,” the inspector he had hired replied, his hat in his hand. “I have scoured the length and breadth of London, and she is nowhere to be found. She is no longer in the city, or I would have found her by now.”
Rising from his chair, he paced his study, his head down, thinking, worrying. “I must find her,” he growled under his breath. “She can undo everything I have worked so hard for with just a few words in the right ears.”
“There are only a handful of places a young woman of noble birth can go,” his man replied. “I checked those, as well as places she should not go. Carriages for hire have not taken a young woman of that description anywhere within or out of London. Could she have taken one of yours, My Lord?”
He shook his head. “They are all accounted for. Perhaps the servants she was with stole a carriage, but if they did, where would they have taken her?”
“Perhaps to relatives in other parts of the country,” the inspector offered, his tone prim.
“If she had,” he replied sharply, “I would be in gaol by now, waiting for the hangman.”
He did not worry overmuch about speaking so frankly with the hunting dog he had hired to find the girl. The inspector had few scruples, and never balked at murder. Should he go to the authorities with what he knew, his neck would stretch alongs
ide his master’s.
“Perhaps she is keeping her silence, My Lord,” the inspector suggested, examining his fingernails as he continued to pace. “Out of terror of what you will do to her should she talk.”
He paused to consider that idea, then shook his head. “I do not dare presume that,” he said. “Even if she is too frightened now, there will come a day when she loses that terror. Come, think, where else might she have gone? Where else do fugitives go when they are on the run?”
He paid this unscrupulous inspector a great deal of money to find this girl, and over the last week of searching, he had come up with nothing. The Earl grew angrier and more impatient with every passing day she had not been found, yet he dare not release that anger on his hunting dog.
He knows too much about me. Yet, sometimes men in his line of work have fatal accidents. Perhaps it is time I engineered one. Once I find the girl, she will no longer be a danger to me, but he will continue to be so. I will never be safe until they both are gone.
He watched the inspector think, frowning slightly, and he waited with ill-disguised impatience. Suddenly the inspector lifted his face with an expression of astonishment, and snapped his fingers.
“A ship,” he exclaimed, “perhaps she took a ship to escape you.”
Sitting back in his chair, he stared blankly into space. “A ship to where?”
“France, perhaps,” the man replied. “Ireland. If France is not safe, then perhaps Denmark, or even further north to Scandinavia.”
“But she knows no one in any of those countries,” he replied, impatient. “A young woman on her own with no name and no money cannot survive. Unless she trades her virtue for her bread, which I cannot see her doing.”
“Let me ask questions at the wharves, My Lord,” the inspector said, almost drooling at the prospect. “A noble woman getting on board a ship with nothing save two servants will be remembered.”
He shrugged. “Very well. While I believe the possibility she left the realm on a ship is remote, we must know for certain. Report to me as soon as you can.”
The inspector bowed. “Yes, My Lord.”
* * *
He was entertaining guests for tea when the inspector returned. His butler entered the parlor to whisper the news that the man wished to speak to him urgently, and he nodded.
“Have him meet me in my study.”
“Very good, My Lord.”
Setting his tea cup on the table beside him, he stood. “Forgive me, My Lords, My Ladies, but I have an urgent matter that calls me away. I will return directly, however.”
Under the interested gazes, and the few speculative eyes, he departed the parlor, wondering if he was wise to be entertaining guests at this particular time. It does not matter. Nothing does save finding the girl and silencing her forever.
The inspector, who had been pacing the study when he opened the door, ceased his steps to turn to him and bow. “She took a ship, My Lord,” he stated without preamble.
Shock shook him to the core. “You are certain?”
“Absolutely,” the man replied with a tiny grin. “A young woman with a pair of servants and no luggage boarded a ship named the Atlantica the night in question. It was bound for America.”
“America.”
Forced to sit before his knees gave way, he sat in his chair, and folded his trembling hands together on the desktop. “This is terrible,” he muttered. “Oh, my God.”
“Terrible?” the inspector asked, his head tilted slightly like the hunting dog he was. “I should think the news is wonderful, My Lord, for she can hardly cause you trouble there.”
“Yes. She certainly can. She has an aunt there, in Philadelphia. She would have the support she needs to bide her time, then return to see me hang. Letters are conveyed between England and America all the time since our two lands are now at peace.”
Oh, why was she not killed that night?
“I cannot say, My Lord,” the man replied. “However, many perils lie at sea. Anything can happen between here and those distant shores.”
“Yes,” he replied slowly. He glanced at his hunting dog. “Keep your ears and eyes on the wharves. I want to know everything that goes on there.”
The man bowed. “Yes, My Lord.”
Chapter 10
For three days, the Valkyrie sat without wind, drifting on the calm waters while the sharks circled the ship as though anticipating a fine meal of her and her crew. Merial alternated between assisting Maurice in the galley, and sitting with Christopher on the expansive poop deck. He had ordered a sun shade fashioned for her so she could enjoy the hours outside without the risk of the sun burning her tender flesh.
Shouts and cries drew her attention away from Christopher and their conversation. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” Christopher laughed. “Look. They caught a huge sailfish.”
Turning, Merial watched as the half dozen or so men dragged the huge fish, still fighting, over the gunwale and onto the deck. They cheered and laughed as Mr. Mayhew brandished a club, then killed the creature.
“I do not think I have ever eaten sailfish,” she remarked, turning back to Christopher.
“It is quite delicious,” he answered, still ginning as he watched his crew. “Gauthier will no doubt cook us a feast this night.”
Merial observed Henry trot over to the sailors as they cleaned and gutted the big fish, no doubt hoping for a morsel or two, his tail high in the air. “The sharks stole much of what the crew have caught before now,” she commented. “How is it they did not steal this fish?”
Christopher shrugged. “They have not stolen all the fish the men caught,” he replied. “They brought in much, and the extra will assist our stores to last longer. Perhaps our luck is turning for the better.”
“I hope so.” Merial sighed. “How is it you know where we are? We are just drifting aimlessly.”
“Experience,” he answered, his eyes still on the happy crew. “My instruments and charts. True, we have gone further south than I would have liked, but once the wind returns, we will point our bow east to England, and regain lost time.”
“What has been the longest time you have endured no wind such as this?” she asked, her curiosity about the sea and sailing it growing day by day.
Christopher chuckled. “Once we sat off the coast of Africa for almost two weeks before finally catching a wind.”
“Two weeks?” Merial felt horrified. “How did you manage food and the boredom?”
“We ate all our stores by then,” he answered. “We had no luck fishing, but once we reached land, we were able to resupply quickly. As for the boredom, well, I should not speak of it, but I was forced to have several men flogged for their conduct.”
“Will that happen to us? Now?” Merial felt her fears clutch her heart.
The crew will surely slay me if we are adrift for two weeks.
“In that part of the world,” Christopher went on, “it is common for the wind to fail. They call it the doldrums. And no, we will not be without the wind for much longer.”
Merial wanted to demand more assurances from him that they would not drift at sea for weeks on end, that the crew would not turn on her, then cannibalize one another as they slowly starved to death. Instead, she gazed at the men who happily cleaned the great sailfish while those unlucky enough to still be working eyed them with envy.
As they had little to do, the crew had been set to painting and tarring the ship, patching any weaknesses in the hull. The sails were closely inspected for excessive wear, the ropes for potential breakage. Men hung on the outside of the Valkyrie on small seats as they painted, tarred and repaired.
To her astonishment, Merial discovered few sailors could swim. “How can that be?” she asked Christopher when he told her.
“They deliberately refuse to learn,” he had explained as he watched the men outside the ship keep a wary eye on the sharks as they worked on the hull’s exterior. “Should they find themselves overboard, they wou
ld rather drown quickly than extend their suffering by trying to survive in the sea without the possibility of being rescued.”
Merial gazed at the grey dorsal fins and tails swimming a distance away from the Valkyrie. “Or die quickly in the jaws of those beasts,” she murmured.
“Very true,” Christopher agreed. “Swimming only prolongs the inevitable.”
Merial gazed out at the vast expanse of the sea, its endlessness, and pictured herself trying to stay alive out there while swimming.
What a dreadful way to die, keeping one’s head above water while praying for someone, anyone, to save you, and knowing no one ever would.
The Lost Countess That Counted Stars (Historical Regency Romance) Page 9