The Lady and the Captain

by Beverly Adam

  “Is your mother from Claddagh?” he asked, familiar with the ring’s origins. They were heirlooms given as love tokens from that western part of Ireland near Galway.

  She shook her head.

  “I was once betrothed to a man who was,” she sadly explained, remembering her dead fiancé. “John Maxwell was his name. And for a time he was a blacksmith in our village. A friend talked him into joining the service. He worked as an armorer aboard a third-rated warship. He died quite suddenly from typhus brought aboard by men pressed into service. I was sent word several months ago. It was about the same time when my mother fell ill.”

  She recalled how the dark news of her mother’s illness had reached her at Brightwood Manor, her friend Lady Beatrice O’Brien’s home. Bea’ insisted on ordering a carriage to drive her south. She embraced her friend warmly when she left, not knowing when she would return to see her again. From there she hopped on a fishing boat to convey her to the island. Upon her arrival, news was delivered by her godfather concerning her fiancé’s death.

  Worried half-to-death over her mother, who’d been struck down with lung fever, and sick at heart over the loss of her fiancé, she’d been utterly alone. Gnawing fear and grief filled her days. It was one of the darkest times in her life.

  “Having no daughters of her own, John’s mother asked me to take the ring as a keepsake to remember him by—” she could not finish what she was about to say. It hurt too much.

  She would have been married and perhaps already with child if he’d lived. He’d always been good to her. Despite being a large man with a rough and ready-to-fight exterior, John had had a tender heart underneath. Now he was gone and so too that promising future.

  The ring’s symbols in which the hands represented friendship, the crown, loyalty, and the heart, love, had lived up to its motto of ‘let love and friendship reign supreme.’ John had been good to her, protective and kind.

  His mother had refused to take the ring back.

  John’s mother had said, closing her fingers around the ring, “Keep it, Sarah. He loved you so. It will be a good way to remember him by. I think you ought to know a charm was put upon the ring the day it was made. It’s supposed to help the wearer find true happiness and love. I hope it will help ease some of your pain.”

  The grieving mother had smiled sadly, patting Sarah’s hand. “One day ye’ll wed and have a child of your own. When that day comes, write and let me know.”

  Out of respect to her deceased betrothed’s mother, she continued to wear the ring. But she didn’t believe any charm would help her find love again. There was no fairy-tale ending waiting for her. The ring only reminded her of how well she’d been cherished. In that manner, she’d been more blessed than most. Those who had suddenly lost loved ones at sea often had no such comforting knowledge.

  “My condolences, ma’am,” Robert said, breaking into her thoughts.

  He knew many loyal men who had died. The war had taken its toll on the male population of the entire Union. No country had been spared.

  He knew it was not action in battle that killed most sailors serving under the Union Jack. Deadly diseases, which quickly spread aboard the crowded quarters of the naval ships, did the greatest harm. They killed entire crews more effectively than any enemy cannon possibly could.

  “Tell me of your family, Lieutenant Smythe,” she said, not wishing to speak any further of her loss. “Are you from the titled gentry?”

  “Nay,” he answered with a dismissive shrug.

  Titles meant nothing to him, except when backed by a superior officer’s rank. Thankfully, the Royal Navy, unlike the army, did not permit the buying of commissions. To be made a superior officer, a seaman had to earn the title. Happily, there were very few pampered, silver spoon fed aristocrats to contend with on a naval vessel.

  “The Smythe family tree is that of the middle branches of respectable society. It consists of mostly merchant seafarers. My father was master of his own ship and my uncle was a captain in the Royal Navy,” he explained. “As to my mother’s family, she was a master rope maker’s daughter.” He paused, thinking of the good-tempered lady who’d been his mother.

  “My father doted on her. For what woman would cheerfully accept her husband being gone months at a time away at sea and bear him seven children without any thoughts of desertion? Not many, I’d wager.”

  His thoughts about the past darkened. “When my father was captured by the French and died in prison, I was almost a lad of twelve. My mother’s brother took pity on us. He was a first lieutenant aboard a third-rated warship at the time and arranged for my older brother and myself to join the crew as midshipmen. So it was I who took to sea and the naval profession to earn my keep.”

  “Has it been a good trade?”

  This was the first time she’d ever spoken at length with an English naval officer. Most of the other seamen she met from the Royal Navy were non-commissioned sailors in need of her help. Officers never spoke directly to her, especially the English ones.

  Being an Irish woman meant she was far beneath their superior regard. She didn’t even merit a courteous tip of the hat or a ‘beg your pardon’ when accidentally brushed up against on a crowded street. The English, everyone agreed, were an imperiously rude lot.

  “The navy has been the very best of occupations,” he answered proudly. “I’ve only had a few regrets concerning my choice. Aye, a man is never bored traveling the open seas. There are always new challenges to overcome, adventures aplenty to be caught up in. Although I must admit there have been times I’d have liked to have had someone to share my life with . . .”

  He stopped his confession, astonished that he’d almost told her the pangs of loneliness he sometimes felt upon witnessing the happy reunions of other officers with their loved ones. Those poignant moments of returning home were when he almost wished he’d spent more time ashore to find himself a wife.

  “You’re a son of Neptune, Smythe. Your life belongs to the sea,” interrupted Captain Jackson, barely croaking out the words.

  He was fully conscious now, having revived in the sweat hut. The poison slowly loosened some of its deathly grip on him. He leaned weakly against his first mate, a smile on his cracked lips. He nodded his graying head in Robert’s direction.

  “This man has served under me as my first mate for the last two years, ma’am. He is one of the finest officers in his majesty’s navy. And now I consider him to be my most loyal and true friend.”

  Droplets of sweat poured down his face. Looking over at the comely woman seated next to him, his light blue eyes shone with an appreciative manly twinkle.

  “Don’t be bashful, lad—come now, introduce me properly to the lovely lady,” the ill officer said. “I find her company to be most agreeable.”

  The first mate nodded and smiled. He could well understand why the older seaman would be eager to meet the half-clad lady. Despite the sweat and dampness, the wise woman looked alluringly beautiful.

  “Captain Jackson, I have the pleasure of presenting to you Mistress Sarah Duncan, adopted daughter of Gladys Clogheen of Varrik-on-Suir, one of Ireland’s most renowned healers. She has just rescued you from an untimely demise.”

  The ill officer saluted her with trembling fingers, touching his sweating forehead.

  “Sink me then, are you a bewitching temptress or an angel fallen from the heavens above, ma’am, for coaxing my poor body back to life?” the captain asked in a hoarse, yet merry voice. “For ’tis certain that without your help, I would have been launched into my watery grave by now.”

  “I am neither, sir. I’m simply a wise enough woman to have taken heaven’s part in the matter and tried to secure your life solidly to earth as God so intended,” she answered back unabashedly, passing a dipper of water to him.

  His hand shook as he took it.

  Water trickled down his chin as he lifted it to his mouth. He smiled at her. “Aye, ’tis a pleasure, ma’am, to make your acquaintance. I would stand,
but in my present condition, I think it best I salute you from here on this solid bench. Lest I be mistaken, my two bandy legs have lost their strength.”

  “There is no need for you to make so grand a gesture, Captain Jackson. You are excused, sir. I am certain we will become better acquainted in due time while you recuperate here on my mother’s island.”

  She stood and wrapped the long comfy shawl about her, preparing to depart the hut. The storm had diminished to a light breeze, the gale having abated.

  “You will excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll go now to prepare us some tea. It will help with the cleansing of the impurities attacking Captain Jackson’s spleen.”

  Directing her attention to Robert, she added one final parting instruction, “Captain Jackson should remain just a little longer, Lieutenant. At the cottage, I will massage him with a special ointment. Drink plenty of water, Captain Jackson. It will help with your recovery.”

  Nodding a pleasant goodbye, she exited, leaving Robert to explain how they’d come to be in Ireland and on this small island.

  Chapter 3

  Upon her return to the cottage, Sarah was surprised to see her mother up and about, tidying the small main room with a reed broom. Gladys was dressed in a red wool skirt, dyed from the juice of elderberries and worn with a loose knitted tunic.

  “Mother,” she said, hurrying to her side, “are you certain you’re well enough to be up in your condition and working?”

  “I think I am, daughter,” replied the wise woman, putting a copper kettle over the open hearth fire. “’Tis certain that I’ll not lie comfortable while you deal with those English officers on your own. Nay, ’tis high time I was up and about. A bit of work will not do me any harm. I can feel my lungs becoming pure again. They no longer trouble me as much as they did, though I gasp like a fish on dry land. Aye, you did a splendid job of helping me come back to my former self. ’Tis proud I am of your healing skills.”

  “High praise indeed from the one who taught me,” she said, giving her mother a warm, affectionate hug. She noted the expression on her mother’s face change from that of soft tenderness to concern.

  “What’s the matter? It cannot be the strangers. The English captain appears to be warding off the shadow of death on his own and grabbing hold to life. As for the lieutenant, he’s behaved like a proper gentleman, causing us no worries, but your face shows a lack of peace over something. What is it?”

  “Aye, you’ve the right of it. It’s this sorry business of Captain Jackson being poisoned, which is troubling me,” confessed Gladys, looking her daughter over, feeling a pang of concern for their guests.

  “I think the lieutenant will have his hands full. And not just with that poor sick man he brought here, but with the more dangerous concern of who did this to him. If I mistake not the determined gleam in his eyes, I would say that as soon as Captain Jackson is well enough, he’ll be off trying to discover who did this evil deed.”

  “And that concerns ye?”

  “Aye.” Gladys nodded. “It was an evil person who dared to poison the captain of a royal naval frigate on his own vessel. He would have to be someone quite devious and villainously reckless to do so.”

  “Do you think that we might be of help to Lieutenant Smythe?”

  Her mother looked her directly in the eye.

  “Aye.” She nodded solemnly. “When the time comes, you must go with them, Sarah. You’re young and more capable than I. They need someone to tell them from whence the poison originally came. You could be the one to discover the evil person who did this to Captain Jackson.”

  “Me?”

  “For sure, you would know what to look for. That is if it should be tried again. The taste, the texture, the smell of it when mixed in food and strong drink. ’Tis certain the lieutenant is a fine seafaring man, but he does not know how to discern poison in food. However, you do.”

  Gladys gave her daughter a significant look and slowly shook her head.

  “Musha, musha, this troubles me to no end . . . the assassin may try again. If he should learn his failure is due to us, he might very well come looking for revenge. Then we’ll be caught good and tight in a noose of our own making, won’t we?”

  “Why?”

  “We’re vulnerable. Out here, alone, I can only protect myself but a little. As for you, even in that friendly village of yours, they can’t protect you from the evil plans of a murderous madman.”

  The older wise woman looked darkly at her. Her face reflected her unease.

  “Once it is known Captain Jackson didn’t die and why he’s still alive, we’ll need to be more protective of our own lives. The assassin will assuredly be after us for foiling his plans. He’ll be fearful and angry because of his failure.”

  “She’s right, Mistress Duncan,” Robert said as he helped Captain Jackson inside. “You and your mother will become the next targets on this villain’s list. Once word gets out that you saved the commander’s life, you’ll have to be cautious. You won’t know whom to trust.”

  “They must both come with us,” said Captain Jackson in agreement.

  “I have given it some thought and I have a better plan, Commander,” replied the first mate. “You and Mistress Gladys will remain here. Thus enabling you to fully recover, purging the poison that has laid siege to you. Then when you’ve regained your full vigor, you’ll join us in Portsmouth. In the meanwhile, I’ll bandy about the lamentable news of your untimely death and try to uncover the evildoer.”

  “Are you mad?” protested Captain Jackson, alarmed.

  He tried to stand up, but failed.

  There was no strength in his legs. The limbs and muscles had been inactive for too long. “The Admiralty must be told the truth about my condition, Smythe. I cannot just up and disappear. This villain must be found!”

  “Demme, Captain, I do not know who did this to you. It may very well be one of our own men,” the first mate said gravely, his face taut with the earnest desire to sniff out the traitor. “He must be exposed and brought to justice before he does any further harm. Who knows who he may try to eliminate next?”

  “You’re in no state to take command of any ship, Captain,” said Gladys firmly, seconding Robert’s suggestion. The experienced wise woman contemplated the ill sea captain knowingly, assessing the state of his weakened body.

  “You’d be putting yourself and your crew in grave danger if ye tried.”

  “What do you know of the matter, ma’am?” asked the offended officer, huffily. He coolly looked at the healer with all the frigid contempt his superior station granted him.

  She obviously did not fully comprehend the complexity of the situation. She couldn’t possibly grasp the importance. He had to get back to his command. His men needed him. He had to return to The Brunswick.

  “My mother understands a great deal, sir,” said Sarah, as if she could read his thoughts. “It was through her advice and training that I was able to save your life. I heartily agree with her and Lieutenant Smythe. Ye would do better to remain here, sir, continuing your cleansing. We Irish have a saying, ‘’Tis better to have fifty enemies outside the house than one hiding within.’ And you have one aboard your ship with a nasty habit of trying to kill you, Captain.”

  She frowned and added, “Lieutenant Smythe cannot be expected to protect you, run a warship, and chase down an assassin all in the same breath. For who knows if the next time this devil won’t succeed? And then where will the blessed Admiralty be minus one of its valuable naval captains?”

  Giving the sick officer time to think over what they said, she quietly passed him a fired clay cup containing the hot sage brew she had prepared.

  She poured one for herself and the others. They all sat in glum silence. She drank her tea. It tasted slightly bitter with a lingering smoky peat flavor from the hearth’s turf fire.

  “’Tis good,” said Captain Jackson in a conciliatory manner. He owed these women his life. He checked his temper and frustration.

  Be
ing a man of strategy, he quietly considered his options. He was gravely ill and as weak as a new born lamb. That fact settled poorly on his manly pride. He wanted action.

  “Sage has been used for hundreds of years for healing, Captain Jackson. It was often said, ‘How can a man die who grows sage in his garden?’” commented Gladys, bringing him tactfully back into the conversation. “In due time, you’ll regain your full strength and resume your command. Then your time here will be but a brief, unpleasant memory.”

  “That is if the Admiralty hasn’t taken me off the lists,” said the officer with a tinge of bitterness. “If it had been any other man but Smythe here—well I’d have called him out as a mutinous traitor and his action of taking command a hanging offense. But as he has just saved my life, the noose, it would appear is around my neck.”

  He looked over at the young officer and shook his head. He had come to his senses. If Smythe had truly wanted to get rid of him, he could have simply left his sorry body aboard The Brunswick to slowly worsen and eventually die. Nay, he could not put the blame on his stalwart first mate.

  “There are other posts, Captain Jackson. But there are no other commanders like you, sir. The Admiralty will want you back once you’re again in full charge of your health,” said Robert, knowing the full value of seasoned leadership and experience.

  The ships and lucrative cargo Captain Jackson had managed to capture from the enemies of the United Kingdom made the commander of The Brunswick much respected by his fellow officers. Any man of his reputation was not readily put aside. He had influential friends in power. They would see to it he was not easily dismissed.

  “You need not fear. Quick, able-minded captains who can provide the victories at sea that you’ve handed the navy are highly valued,” he commented.

  “Aye.” Captain Jackson nodded slowly, seeing reason. “I suppose, ’tis true . . . but how I long to get my hands upon the villain who did this to me! I’d like to string him up from the highest topsail for all to see and let him die a lingering death.”