Marrying Christopher

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Christopher nodded. “I believe it is.” They walked to the edge of the ship and began to follow the rail around to the stern. “How well do you know Mr. Thomas?”

  The captain shrugged. “How well does one know any man? I know Thomas for my purposes. He is wealthy, and he is often right in the business risks he assumes— two requirements I sought in my investors.”

  “But on a personal level?” Christopher asked. “Have you any knowledge of him or his family? Have you ever been to his home?”

  The captain shook his head. “Our meetings have taken place elsewhere— at shipyards, mostly, as we discussed what materials were to be used and who was to manufacture the various parts of our ship.”

  Christopher had never heard Captain Gower refer to the Amanda May in terms of “our” before. She was named after his wife, and he often spoke of the ship as if he were married to her. But though he might be the one behind her wheel, it was Thomas who had paid for that wheel, Thomas who owned nearly the entire ship, from bow to stern.

  The captain is in no position to help Miss Abbott, Christopher realized. But he also saw no harm in telling him what awaited her.

  “The last three lady’s maids employed in the Thomas household have all suffered untimely deaths— shortly before their terms of indenture were to be over.”

  “An odd coincidence, surely,” Captain Gower said, puffing away on his pipe.

  “So Miss Abbott’s sister also believed, until she and her husband undertook an investigation and discovered that the deaths were not the only ones among servants at the Thomas household. In addition to this, Mr. Thomas is known for his cruelty and ill treatment of those in his employ.”

  Captain Gower made no immediate response to this but appeared thoughtful as they continued to walk the ship’s perimeter.

  A long minute passed before he spoke again. “I would like to say that this surprises me and that I am sure you must be mistaken.”

  “But you are not— and cannot?” Christopher prodded.

  The captain shook his head. “There was an occasion when Thomas and I were to meet, and he had purchased a slave that same morning shortly before I arrived at the agreed-upon location. The slave was still with Thomas, chained to his wagon like an animal. He happened to fall asleep sitting beside the wheel while we had our meeting. When Thomas discovered this, he beat the man for it.” Captain Gower shook his head as if to rid himself of the memory, or possibly the guilt he felt for having done nothing.

  “Of course I could not say anything. Slavery is allowed in Virginia, and I was there to gain Mr. Thomas’s favor, to procure the funds for this ship. And so I did my best to dismiss the memory— until now.”

  “He beat a male slave in front of you?” Christopher asked.

  “Myself and several others,” Gower said. “And if Thomas is able to treat a man as I saw him treat one that day, I shudder to think how he must handle his female slaves— and servants.”

  “I am even more worried for Miss Abbott’s safety now.” Christopher waited for the captain to ascend the short flight of stairs ahead of him.

  The captain looked back. “You have grown fond of her,” he observed.

  “I have,” Christopher admitted. Too fond. He still wasn’t exactly certain how that fondness had developed in such a short period of time, but knew he had only himself to blame. Because I was homesick and sought out her company for solace. He stomped up the stairs behind the captain, his frustration showing in his heavy steps.

  “Would it be possible for you to purchase her term of indenture?” the captain asked. “To buy out her contract from Mr. Thomas?”

  “No, unfortunately.” Christopher had considered that option at length. He would not be able to do so anytime soon given what was left of the limited funds from his small inheritance. The only options available to him were selling his grandfather’s ring— and breaking a promise in the process—or writing to his sisters and securing a loan from one of his brothers-in-law. No doubt they would give it to him, but with the time it took a letter to travel across the Atlantic, to Yorkshire, then back again, it could easily be months before he could secure those funds. He was loath to make such a request but would do so for Miss Abbott, though it would not solve the immediate problem of her being at Mr. Thomas’s mercy as soon as they reached New York.

  “I would happily contribute all of my savings to her cause,” Christopher said, “but the amount would still fall short. I’ve only two pounds to my name with which to begin in America, and as this passage was nearly four pounds, I would still owe half to Mr. Thomas.”

  “You would owe more than that,” Captain Gower said. “Thomas values passage on the Amanda May at eight pounds. I offered the reduced fare hoping to entice passengers. But he will hold Miss Abbott to the contract she signed— for the full amount.”

  “That is quite a bit more than the other lines are charging to cross,” Christopher said, his hopes dashed even more.

  “Because this ship is far more sophisticated. In addition to a faster crossing, passengers enjoy individual cabins instead of crammed berths below deck in steerage. The meals are provided and the food far better. The coal must be purchased to run the engine, and—” he paused at the stern and stared out across the sea before them before thumping the book in Christopher’s hand— “passengers even have a library at their disposal.”

  “In that light, the price is more than fair,” Christopher agreed, taking a place at the rail beside the captain. “And I was most fortuitous in securing passage.”

  “That you were.” Captain Gower bit down on his pipe with a thoughtful expression. “Please make certain to spread the tale of your delightful excursion on the Amanda May far and wide once we reach New York.”

  “I shall indeed,” Christopher promised. “Though that will not solve the problem of Miss Abbott’s indenture.”

  “Have you considered asking Lady Cosgrove if she might be willing to help?” the captain asked. “After all, she has benefitted greatly from Miss Abbott’s service throughout this voyage. Perhaps she might even consider taking the girl on permanently. I understand that well-to-do women residing in New York employ lady’s maids as well.”

  “A sound idea,” Christopher said. Annoying though Lady Cosgrove was, she posed no real threat— that he could tell— to Miss Abbott. And Lady Cosgrove was certainly in Miss Abbott’s debt. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

  “You realize that if she agrees,” Captain Gower began walking once more, up the opposite side of the ship, “it will put me in a bit of pickle with Mr. Thomas.”

  “I do,” Christopher said, following him and only just considering the repercussions and remembering how the captain had been willing to delay their departure for Miss Abbott. All so he could keep his promise and deliver her to Mr. Thomas. “Will it cause you great difficulty, do you think?”

  Captain Gower shrugged. “You’ll have noticed that Mr. Jones and the other men working in the engine room each have a turn on deck throughout the day?”

  Christopher nodded.

  “And you’ll have seen how I regard each of the crew? That I show them respect and rarely have to stoop to threatening behavior to get them to do their jobs.”

  “You’re a fair man, Captain.”

  “Because I’ve been on the other side of fair— of mistreatment. And I don’t hold with it. Servant or no, there’s no reason to abuse another human being. If what you’ve told me about Thomas is true— and based on what I’ve seen, I have to believe that it is— then I’ve a lot more difficulties ahead of me than the situation with Miss Abbott.”

  “I’m sorry,” Christopher said. “I don’t want to do something that brings you trouble.”

  Captain Gower extinguished his pipe, and Christopher could see that his good mood was gone.

  “I have no intention of letting Thomas bully me— or anyone else, particularly the most delightful passenger I have ever transported. No.” Captain Gower shook his head. “That day with the sla
ve, I ignored what I should have stood up against, and I cannot continue to do that, not if I profess to be someone else. I was weak that day— and selfish. I wanted this ship so badly, and Thomas was one of my last hopes, you see.”

  “And what now?” Christopher asked. “What will he do when you arrive with only a handful of passengers and you fail to deliver the one he paid for?”

  A grim smile lit the captain’s face. “Negotiation.”

  “Pardon?” Christopher didn’t see what there would be to negotiate. Captain Gower seemed a good captain, but no doubt Mr. Thomas could hire another to pilot his ship easily enough.

  “Simply because I sail without a full docket of passengers, it does not signify that this voyage will not be profitable.” The corners of the captain’s eyes crinkled, and an almost merry twinkle came to them. “I may be a bit soft when it comes to some things, but that doesn’t make me stupid.”

  “What else are we carrying?” Christopher asked, recalling the vast hold below and the way the captain had been vague about its cargo.

  Captain Gower answered his question with one of his own. “Have you ever heard of the Black Ball Line?”

  “Your competitor?” Christopher said. “You mentioned it in connection with that scoundrel, Littleton, though I profess to being unfamiliar with ships and seagoing in general before undertaking this voyage.”

  Captain Gower nodded as if he had expected as much. “The Black Ball runs a group of packet ships to and from America. They are known for keeping a tight schedule— and costing a sailor or two his life each voyage in the process. Mr. Murphy’s sailed with them before— says the seamen call the Black Ball packets “blood boats.” You’ll not find a captain among them who’ll allow those working below a rotation on deck— or much of anything else, including basic food and rest. But the pay is good, so desperate men continue to sign on.”

  “What has that to do with your ship?” Christopher asked, not certain how any of it stood to help the Amanda May turn a profit.

  “The Black Ball Line owns the right to mail delivery between Liverpool and New York— or it did until last month.” Captain Gower rubbed his hands together almost gleefully. “I negotiated a new contract. It’s temporary for now, but if we make land in twenty-five days or better, we’ll be the ones delivering the mail between America and England, and that’s a cargo that never runs out. Neither does it require an initial investment or purchase.”

  “Ingenious,” Christopher said, feeling a sudden urge to applaud the captain’s ingenuity. “But even at her faster speeds, how can the Amanda May possibly compete with an entire fleet of packet ships?”

  “She can’t,” the captain said. “But the Amanda May is only the beginning. When Mr. Thomas learns of her potential with this contract, I am certain he will be interested in funding additional steamships. They’re the way of the future, I tell you.”

  “And this Mr. Littleton, whom you believed might have sold the tonic to Lady Cosgrove, what does he have to do with all this?” Christopher asked.

  Captain Gower scowled. “Littleton runs the Liverpool office for the Black Ball Line. No doubt he feels I cheated him, swooping in and securing at least a portion of his business.”

  “Offering a better product or service is not cheating. It’s competition,” Christopher said. He, if anyone, should know the difference. Cheating had been what his father did best— from using a trick deck of cards when playing poker with drunk men to lying to good, honest men, taking their money for business ventures that didn’t exist.

  “It’s basic economics, is what it is,” Captain Gower said. “Supply and demand. There is an endless supply of mail needing to be delivered between the continents and the demand for it to do so as quickly as possible. I’ve found a faster, better way. Nothing illegal about that.”

  “Not at all,” Christopher concurred once more, appreciating the captain’s good business sense. He would do well to listen to Captain Gower and glean as much information and knowledge as he could from him during the remainder of their voyage. Christopher knew he’d be on his own soon enough, in a foreign land and with little real-world experience.

  Though growing up with Father at least taught me what to be wary of.

  But time spent with Captain Gower might replace the time he had spent with Miss Abbott, and perhaps the days would not seem so long and tedious as they had the past week without her company. And if I am assured of her safety when we reach America, I can cease thinking of her at all.

  The latter was easier said than done, he suspected.

  “I thank you for your good advice, sir.” Christopher paused as they reached midship once more. “As it seems you have sufficient leverage with Mr. Thomas, I will seek an audience with Lady Cosgrove immediately.”

  “Good luck to you.” Captain Gower said. “I’ll look forward to hearing the results of your conversation at dinner, if not sooner. I, too, have grown somewhat fond of Miss Abbott and encourage you to do what you can to procure a different situation for her.”

  “I intend to,” Christopher assured him, feeling the first real hope since reading Miss Abbott’s letter.

  Marsali set a bowl of broth on Lady Cosgrove’s bedside table and began picking up the clothing strewn about the cabin. For one supposedly still so ill, Lady Cosgrove managed to make quite a mess each day. Over the past week, as she’d left her bed for longer periods each day, her temper and discontent seemed to have increased as well.

  “What have you brought me to eat?” she asked in a falsely feeble voice as she made a show of trying to lift her head from the pillow.

  With her back to Lady Cosgrove, Marsali rolled her eyes at the woman’s dramatics. She would have done well on stage. “I’ve some fine chicken stock and a few crackers to go with it.” Marsali withdrew the crackers from her apron pocket. Mr. Tenney had loaned her the apron the previous week, and Marsali had scarcely taken it off since.

  “Broth again?” Lady Cosgrove’s tone changed to whining.

  “It is best while your stomach heals.” Marsali set the crackers beside the bowl and took a used cloth from the basin and began ringing it out.

  “Aren’t you going to help me eat it?” Lady Cosgrove asked.

  “I think not,” Marsali said pleasantly. No more of that, at least. Sitting by Lady Cosgrove’s side for hours, helping her to eat, had been perhaps the worst of the tasks associated with their care. Marsali tossed the cloth in a basket near the door. “But I’m happy to help you sit up.” She returned to Lady Cosgrove’s bedside and helped her lean forward, then plumped the pillows behind her.

  “There. That’s better.” Marsali smiled as she held out the bowl.

  “Must you always be so cheerful?” Lady Cosgrove said, snatching the bowl so quickly that some of the broth spilled onto the quilt. “Clumsy girl.”

  “That was not my doing, and you know it.” Marsali turned away without offering to assist in cleaning up the mess. “And I do prefer being cheerful to being sour, as some people on this voyage seem wont to be.”

  The second the words were out of her mouth, she realized she’d gone too far in standing up to Lady Cosgrove. I am not her servant, Marsali reminded herself as she cringed, waiting for the stinging rebuke that was sure to come yet wondering at the same time why she cared— why she continued to help the woman at all.

  “You think yourself so clever.” Lady Cosgrove’s voice held none of the feebleness that had been there but a moment ago. Instead Marsali sensed a bitterness and a dislike that surely bordered on hatred.

  Marsali turned to face her once more. “I apologize. I should not have said what I did. Feeling ill as you have been is reason enough for behaving poorly.”

  Lady Cosgrove gasped but did not further disagree with Marsali’s assessment.

  It is true enough. Marsali well remembered those few occasions she had been allowed to visit her mother before she’d died. Instead of the sweet-tempered and loving woman she had grown up with, Marsali had found her shriveled and
bitter, short of temper and disinterested in her own daughter. Because she was in such agony.

  Pain, she had learned through unfortunate experience, changed people’s behavior. Even those with usually good dispositions could be made cruel when enough misery was inflicted upon them.

  “And I do not think myself overly clever,” Marsali continued. “But this morning I am feeling particularly grateful. Lydia’s color is better, and her breathing has improved as well. I have hope that she may yet fully return to us.”

  “Do not try to soften me with a reminder of what you have done for my daughter.”

  “I wasn’t.” Marsali held her head high but chose her words more carefully this time. “I am not so foolish as to expect gratitude from someone who hasn’t experience with such— both giving and accepting, if I am correct.” Another insult, but certainly a true one. “I am grateful Lydia is improving because I genuinely care for your daughter, and I want her to be well.”

  “As do I,” Lady Cosgrove said, a bit of softening to her tone. “And I… thank you. For your part in it.”

  “You are most welcome,” Marsali said, recognizing the difficulty it had to have caused Lady Cosgrove to say such words.

  One does not thank a servant, Aunt Ada had instructed her children shortly after Marsali had come to live with them. One uses her as one might a plaything or a piece of furniture. A servant is for your benefit, for you to avail yourself of whenever you need her— not the other way around. And if she does anything amiss, she is to be punished— severely. It is the only way she will learn.

  “If Lydia does not come round, I am not certain what will become of us,” Lady Cosgrove admitted, sounding frightened now.

  “She will be whole again.” She must. Marsali could not imagine a young life with so much promise being snuffed out. And yet she has wavered on the brink of death these many days.

  “So you say,” Lady Cosgrove said. “But you have youth on your side, and ignorance. It is a blissful combination that has provided you, for the time being, with an optimistic outlook and a rash independence. I rather envy you that.”