China Rose

by Marsha Canham

  She was not given time to dwell on it. Justin hustled her out the door, sandwiching her between himself and Ted Bates as they went down the steps and through the crowded tavern.

  ~~

  In the span of an hour, China was rushed from the most pleasurable experience of her young life into the most terrifying. The rain had not let up since her arrival at the Boar's Head Inn, and in the end, this is what saved Justin Cross.

  The sheeting downpour had turned the normally slippery, garbage-strewn street into a muddy bog. Visibility was reduced to a few paces and anyone foolish enough to be out were running bent over under hoods, dashing from door to door, niche to niche. China was hooded in a similar fashion and drew no overt attention. Justin and Ted Bates turned the collars of their coats high and wore flat brimmed hats down low over their foreheads.

  They had just stepped outside and were dashing for the closest alleyway when two dark coaches came clattering up the street and stopped in front of the inn. Black-caped constables erupted from the coaches and ducked into the Boar's Head. One of them happened to glance in the direction Justin and the others had gone, but the rain was so heavy, he dismissed the blurred figures as being too much trouble to follow. Besides, they were looking for one man, not two men and a woman.

  "Shite," Ted Bates grunted. "We didn't get out of there a lick too soon."

  Justin grinned his agreement. Two narrow streets over they hailed a hansom and squeezed inside, dripping rain and smelling of wet wool.

  China's face was shiny wet, her hair, which had lost its combs, hung in straggly wet strands from the hood.

  "Are you all right?" Justin asked. "I apologize if I was a little brusque back there."

  She shook her head. "I am fine. I just wish I knew what was happening."

  "Soon enough," Justin said, touching her cheek. "Soon enough." He then turned to Ted Bates. "Is Mr. East on board?"

  "Aye. It'll be his watch. I sent a runner and he'll have rousted the lads by now unless they're all drunk as a mother's tit--beg pardon ma'am."

  "On board?" China gasped. "You are taking me on board a slaver?"

  "The Reunion is not a slaver," Justin countered evenly, "despite my brother's accusations. She has carried a clean cargo for the past six years. Before that, it was none of my affair, but half the ships currently in the harbor may be said to have once traded in human cargo."

  "Coming up on the wharf," Bates said, peering through the leather curtain. As the hansom rolled to a halt, he jammed his hat down further and leaped out first into the teeming rain. "You and the lady wait here. I'll see about the boat."

  He vanished into the gray rain and the cab driver slid open the window.

  "Ain't got all day to sit."

  The two silver coins Justin passed through the trap were met with a muttered, "Aye, take all day if ye like."

  The trap slid shut again and they were alone with only the sound of the rain drumming steadily on the roof.

  "Your wound is bleeding again," China said softly.

  Justin glanced down at his arm. Rain had soaked through his coat and leaked a dark pink stain onto his wrist. It was the least of his worries.

  "I...suppose I shall be meeting the infamous Captain Savage?" China said, talking to quell her nervousness.

  "I can see no way to avoid it."

  China bit her lip. "Won't he mind you bringing a woman on board his ship? I was under the impression women were bad luck on sailing vessels."

  "A groundless superstition," Justin smiled faintly. "Some of the most famous and dangerous privateers were women. You've heard of the Dantes, I presume?"

  She nodded, recalling childhood stories of the famous family of privateers, the matriarch Isabeau Dante and her daughter, Juliet, both of whom plagued the Spanish shipping lanes for decades.

  Another few moments of silence passed, with Justin obviously eager to be out of the coach and off the wharf.

  "Could we not just go to the magistrate ourselves? If I explain how it happened, how you were only trying to defend me..."

  Justin's eyes narrowed as he stared at her.

  "...surely they will believe the two of us," she finished lamely.

  "Defending you? What the devil are you talking about?"

  "That is what you were doing. I would not call it murder to defend oneself against five ruffians wielding blades and clubs under a dark bridge. You had no choice but to kill the pie man."

  Sudden comprehension cleared the frown from his brow. "You think I am being accused of murdering the pie man?"

  China nodded. "Aren't you?"

  Justin almost laughed. "There isn't a thief the likes of Tim Pitts that the king's men wouldn't gladly pay to be rid of, let alone spare a second thought on. No, my lovely one, I'm being accused of murdering a young woman last night. Of beating her to death."

  China felt every last shred of warmth in her body shiver away. "A young woman? What young woman? When? And why would someone suspect you of murdering her?"

  He exhaled a breath laden with his own confusion. "The why of it, I don't know, but someone visited her late last night. Someone who used my name. She was found this morning and taken to Our Sisters of Diving Mercy Hospital where she died a short time later. Not before managing to whisper my name to the nurse. I must assume, since that is the hospital where Ranulf works, he was informed of the death as well as the name of the assailant."

  China shook her head. "No. No, why would Ranulf think that of you?"

  "After that pretty little scene in the breakfast room this morning, I expect he would be willing...nay, eager...to believe anything. I am certain he is still convinced it was me who tried to rob him again last night."

  "But...you were with me last night. I will explain it to him...to anyone for that matter, that you were with me last night."

  "Valiantly trying to kill the pie man?"

  Her face fell and he instantly regretted the sarcasm. He took her hands into his. "I appreciate your willingness to help, truly I do. But you cannot attest to where I was after I left you. It was barely gone six o'clock. I could have met with the girl and beaten her at my leisure either before or after I attempted to rob Ranulf on Mayberry Bridge."

  "But if you didn't do it--?"

  "If...I didn't do it?"

  "Oh Justin, I'm not doubting you, not for a moment."

  Anger struck a tic high on his cheek. "But you would like to hear me say it anyway? Very well...I did not do it. I did not kill the woman nor did I meet with Ranulf on Mayberry Bridge."

  "Justin, please I did not for an instant think--"

  Her apology was interrupted by the sound of hasty footsteps splashing toward the coach. A moment later the door swung open and Ted Bates' soaked head poked through.

  "Right, sir. The dory is ready and waiting, with six stout lads to row you across to the ship. Mr. East was ashore too, as it happens, ferrying the last of the powder across before it got blow'd away. Hold the lady tight; the wharf is slick from the waves bashing across and you'd not want to see her washed off into the sea."

  Judging by the look on Justin's face, China thought he just might like to see that.

  Justin stepped out into the rain and held his hand out to help her.

  This is it, she thought. If I go with him now, there is no turning back.

  "China?"

  She fit her hand into his and pulled the hood lower on her face to block out the driving rain. Justin's arm circled her waist as they ran for the dock, thankfully bypassing a flock of small, violently bobbing dinghies for a sturdier looking longboat. There were six figures huddled over the oars, two of which she recognized briefly from the men who had been with Justin at the armory yesterday.

  "Oars away, Mr. East," Justin shouted.

  A tall, barrel-chested man touched his forelock and grinned. "Aye, Sar. You'll 'ave the deck underfoot in the time it takes you to fart 'God Save the King'!"

  Justin swung China deftly off the dock and into the boat. East caught a glimpse of a s
lim ankle and long black hair streaming out from under the hood of the cloak and his jaw dropped.

  "Indeed," Justin said. "Perhaps we will just hum a few bars if it's all the same to you."

  "Aye Sar. Up the oars boys, bend yer backs to it."

  The crossing was rough. The waves chopped and slapped at the boat, swamping it with whitecaps and foam. China could see nothing through the opaque curtain of rain. How the bo'sun knew where he was going, she did not know. He leaned over the tiller like a drowning sheepdog, grunting every now and then as he altered their course a point or two.

  Once out into the open water, the boat was tossed from the top of one wave, sliding into the trough of the next, and by the time the ghostly shape of a ship emerged from the haze ahead of them, China was struggling hard to keep her belly from surging up into her throat.

  She was green and near fainting from the nausea by the time the boat bumped into the hull of something solid. Rising out of the water beside them was an enormous tower of weathered planking, masts, and furled sail. The boat was tied off to the base of the ladder that led up and over the side. Justin braced himself with one foot on the lowest rung and one on the side of the longboat, then reached for China.

  She managed to make it to her feet before her stomach lost the battle and a wave lifted the boat, pitching her forward over the side.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  China blinked her eyes into focus slowly. She was in a cabin of some kind. It was dark, filled with a strong scent of the sea and old timbers. A brass lantern hung from a central beam overhead, swaying to and fro even though she had no immediate sensation of moving. The walls, the floor, the boards on the ceiling groaned and creaked softly and it took China several frowning moments to bring the sounds and the smells and the memories together into something recognizable.

  She was on board the Reunion.

  She was in one of the ship's cabins, in a narrow berth on a mattress so thin as to be almost non-existent. She lifted the edge of the patchwork quilt and bit her lip. Someone had removed all of her clothing, right down to her chemise, and dressed her in a large cambric shirt.

  "Justin?"

  Her whisper sounded like a shout. She sat up, gathering the quilt around her shoulders and swung her bare legs over the side of the berth. Her vision swam with a brief flare of nausea and she remembered crossing the harbor in that wretched boat. She remembered standing, reaching for Justin's hand, so thankful to be getting off the heaving vessel.

  She closed her eyes.

  Please God, no. Do not tell me I lost my stomach all down the front of his trousers.

  Her skin burned with mortification and she slipped off the berth, leaving a hand on the wooden edge to steady herself as she examined her surroundings. The cabin was small and cramped. Whatever space there might have been was take up by books and maps, a chart table, more books, two large sea chests, and a cluttered desk. Squeezed into one corner, as if apologizing for the necessity of being there at all, was a washstand and commode.

  She wrapped the quilt around her shoulders like a shawl and padded barefoot to the door. The latch moved easily enough but the door was solid oak and very heavy. The crack she managed to slide open revealed a landing outside, dark and narrow, with steep flights of wooden steps leading up and leading down at either end.

  China pushed the door shut and returned to the middle of the cabin. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of herself in the grimy little square of mirror hung above the washstand. Her hair was a mass of wild black curls spread over her shoulders and halfway down her back. Her face looked as pale as candle wax, her eyes darkened by faint shadows beneath. The shirt she was wearing obviously belonged to a much larger man; it hung almost to her knees and the sleeves, if not shoved up to her elbows, would have covered her hands.

  After quickly...and gingerly...making use of the commode, she rinsed her hands in the washbowl, then used a scrap of toweling to scrub her face and freshen herself. No rose-scented soap here, she noted; the hard white bar was gritty and utilitarian.

  That done, she walked over to the bank of windows that slanted outward across the width of the cabin. She had not noticed them at first because the canvas blinds were lowered and tied at the bottom. Unwinding one of the thongs, she lifted the curtain aside but there was nothing to see. It was pitch dark outside. She presumed the storm had passed since she could see the glow of riding lamps from nearby ships at anchor, as well as the twinkle of lights sprinkled along the shoreline.

  She dropped the canvas back into place. There were charts spread out on top of the desk, but they made little sense to her. They were covered with scribbled notations, marked with lines and numbers, names of landmarks, wavy lines to indicate currents and shoals. Behind the desk was a wire-fronted bookcase filled with leather-bound volumes. Among them she saw Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Hazlitt's Table Talk, essays of Francis Bacon, the plays of Shakespeare, Marlowe, poetry by Shelley and Keats. Sitting on top of the cabinet was the journal China had first seen in Justin's room at Braydon Hall, then again at the Boar's Head Inn.

  She looked around again and smiled to herself. This was Justin's cabin. Casually cluttered and contradictory, just like the man himself.

  She shivered and drew the quilt closer, There was no fire in the iron brazier, no tinder or flint that she could see to light it with even if she could have found some fuel. It was not cold in the cabin, not exactly. But her hair was still damp and she wished she knew what had become of her clothing. She felt awkward and quite heathenish dressed only in one of Justin's shirts.

  Whereas he thought she had never looked more enticing.

  "Good evening," he murmured from the doorway. "I trust you are feeling a little better?"

  China whirled around. She had not heard the door open, but there he was, leaning one shoulder against the jamb, his arms crossed over his chest, a smile on his handsome face. Gone were the finely tailored trousers, the linen shirt, the broadcloth coat of a gentleman. In their place was a practical white merino shirt, leather vest, and tight black moleskin breeches. Tall black boots completed the piratical image, as did the windswept hair and devilish gleam in the gray eyes.

  "H-how long have I been asleep?"

  "A little over five hours," he said. "I've been in three or four times to check on you and each time I found you curled up like a contented kitten. I did notice, however, that you have a troublesome habit of kicking off the blankets, and for that I'm glad I came myself to do the checking."

  She blushed warmly. "You should have wakened me."

  He shrugged and came inside the cabin, swinging the door shut behind him. "You looked as though you needed the rest, and I didn't have the heart to disturb you."

  As he moved closer, under the light, China could see the weariness etched on his own features. She realized with a sudden twinge, that if she had needed sleep so badly, he must surely be close to dropping from exhaustion.

  He smiled again, easily reading the concern on her face. "I was hoping to snatch an hour's sleep. I would appreciate the use of my own berth, but I can as easily sling a hammock in the crew's quarters if you'd rather."

  "Oh, no," she said quickly. "I don't want to be an inconvenience or a burden of any kind. If I had my clothes I could go elsewhere and leave you to sleep in peace for a few hours."

  He brushed a finger across her lips. "You are neither an inconvenience nor a burden. And I don't want you to go elsewhere. I rather like the idea of falling asleep with you here and waking up to find you still here...dressed exactly the way you are dressed."

  He leaned in and kissed her briefly, gently.

  "As for my sleeping a few hours, I'm afraid I cannot afford the luxury." He crossed over to the desk and upended a small hourglass. "Will you wake me when this runs out?"

  "Yes, of course, but--"

  "Thank you." He rolled himself onto the berth, crossed his boots at the ankles and, as far as China could tell, was instantly asleep.

  She s
tood where she was, in the middle of the cabin, listening to the sway and creak of the ship. Somewhere overhead she heard the faint clang of a bell ringing and from the door, suddenly, a faint knocking.

  She tiptoed over, dragging the ends of the quilt behind her, and whispered into the crack. "Yes? Who is it?"

  "Only me, Miss. Ted Bates. I've brung you a spot of tea and biscuits."

  China opened the door a hand's width and he grinned apologetically. "Sorry to disturb, but I heard the Cap'n talking and I thought you might be wanting something solid in your stomach."

  She glanced down at the tray in his hands. Biscuits, a large wedge of yellow cheese, and a pot with steam rising out of the spout. Her belly rumbled at the sight and she moistened her lips.

  "Do you a world of good, Miss. Especially the tea." He craned his neck a moment, looking past her shoulder. He saw Justin asleep on the berth and nodded approvingly. "Don't know how you got him to do that, Miss, but I thank you. He's near worn a hole through the quarterdeck bridge pacing and cursing to the four winds."

  "He told me to wake him in an hour," she whispered. "But if you think this ship can stay afloat without him, I would like to give him two, even three."

  Bates touched the side of his nose with a conspiratory wink. "She'll stay afloat all right, Miss. Mind, I wouldn't give two farthings for the state of your hide when he finds out you've tricked him."

  "I will take my chances, Mr. Bates. I can run fairly fast and he's already seen my right hook."

  Bates chuckled and handed her the tray through the door. "It's not much, Miss, but the best Cook could scrape together without a fire in the galley. He weren't expecting guests on board."

  "It's fine, Mr. Bates. I'm not entirely certain my stomach is ready for food just yet, anyway."

  "The biscuits and tea will help with that, Miss. And just 'Bates' will do fine. Only woman ever called me Mister was me mam and then only when she was chasing me with a switch."