As he swung out of the cabin, Alex rose and opened the cabinet that held the ship’s medicine chest. On a merchant ship the captain usually acted as physician and surgeon, and Gavin was well supplied. Barely able to lift the chest, she grabbed the handle on one end and dragged it across the floor toward the door. “Katie, stay here. Don’t for any reason go above deck unless the captain or I say it’s all right.”
Following her down the passage, Katie said, “Let me help!”
For a moment Alex hesitated before remembering that she hadn’t been much older when she’d helped her mother tend casualties from the Battle of Quatre-Bras as the soldiers staggered through the streets of Brussels. “Very well, but if it’s too frightening or you feel ill, come back here. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”
Katie’s jaw set pugnaciously. “I won’t be scared.” For an uncanny instant, Alex saw herself as a child. The nursing instinct ran strong in the women of her family.
They reached steerage and found two injured men already lying there. Alex opened the medicine chest and took swift inventory. Instruments, bandages, plasters, ointments, opium. “Katie, bring a pitcher of clear water and a glass. Offer water to the wounded men, then bring more for cleaning wounds.”
The nearest man, an American who usually had an infectious smile for Katie, lay beside a barrel of lemons carried to prevent scurvy. The bright citrus scent clashed with the metallic odor of the blood pouring from lacerations made by splintered timber. As she knelt beside him, he gasped, “I’m not so bad, ma’am. Take a look at Ollie there.”
Seeing that his condition wasn’t critical, she moved to the other man, a Cockney. His lower leg had been smashed by a cannonball and would need amputation later. But the bleeding must be stopped now, or he’d be dead in half an hour.
Calm descended over her as she remembered the field hospitals of the Peninsula, and the later years when she’d helped her mother nurse tenants on their estate. Alex was no surgeon, but she had plenty of nursing experience, wasn’t afraid of blood, and had learned that common sense and basic care could do much to preserve life.
After applying a tourniquet to Ollie’s shattered leg, she gave him a dose of opium and returned to the American, picking out jagged splinters and fabric scraps with painstaking care before cleaning and bandaging. When she was done, he lurched to his feet and limped off to rejoin his gun crew. She wanted to protest, but held her tongue. A merchant ship’s crew was much smaller than that of a naval vessel. Every man was needed on the deck or at the guns.
Already two more walking wounded had appeared for a quick bandaging that would allow them to return to the battle raging overhead. Time blurred into cleaning wounds, pouring on raw whiskey, a favorite treatment of her mother’s, and bandaging. Luckily few men were grievously wounded, but there were many lesser injuries. Katie worked silently beside her, offering water, bringing bandages and instruments, and functioning as an extra pair of hands as needed. What a wonder she was.
Intent on her work, Alex blocked out smoke, fatigue, nausea, and painful cramping caused by kneeling for too long. She barely noticed when the guns stopped firing. Only that the stream of injured sailors slowed, and finally stopped.
She was bandaging her final patient when her shoulder was touched lightly. “Alex?”
She tied off the bandage before glancing up at Gavin. Though weary and smudged, he was intact. Lightheaded with fatigue, she asked, “It’s over?”
“The pirate ship sank. No survivors.” His eyes were the icy gray of a winter sea. “Madagascar used to be a notorious nest of pirates. A mixed Asian and European crew apparently decided to revive the tradition with a captured ship.”
She nodded, not surprised that enterprising pirates would try the rich shipping lanes between India and Europe. “May they all rot in hell.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
If Alex hadn’t known Gavin, his expression would have frightened her. Reminded that weak men did not build merchant empires, she asked, “How much damage has the Helena suffered?”
His expression eased. “We were lucky. Half the sails and lines must be replaced and two masts are damaged, but if we don’t carry much sail in heavy weather, they’ll make it to England.” He scanned the steerage space, where four of the most severely injured men rested under the influence of opium. “No lives have been lost, either. I think two or three of the men would have died if you hadn’t been able to treat their wounds quickly. Now…well, at least they have a chance. You’ve done an amazing job—you and Katie both.” His smile made Katie beam.
Infection was always a danger, but these were strong men. She had hopes they’d survive. “Ollie’s lower leg will have to be amputated.” Wearily she got to her feet. “I’ve never done one, but I’ve seen it done. I…I’ll do my best.”
“You’ve done enough.” He grimaced. “I’ve performed amputations a couple of times, so I’ll do this one. They take a fair amount of brute strength, and you look done in. You’ve been working here for hours.”
Now that her work was finished, she realized how weak and ill she felt. In fact, the cramping that had dogged her for hours was so acute that she pressed a hand to her belly to ease the pain. “I could use some rest.”
She took a step, and found that her knees wouldn’t support her. As she sagged to the floor, Gavin caught her. “You’re bleeding!”
Just before she fainted, she saw the pool of blood on the floor.
She awoke slowly, rocked by the ship, feeling as gray and empty as an autumn husk. It was night, but a lamp burned somewhere to her left. Vaguely she recognized that she was in her own bed in the captain’s cabin.
She turned her head a fraction to the left and found Gavin dozing in his heavy captain’s chair a yard away, his face gray with exhaustion and his long legs stretched in front of him. She tried to speak but produced no sound. Moistening her lips, she managed a thin whisper. “Where is Katie?”
His eyes opened. “Sleeping in my cabin. Suryo is with her in case she has bad dreams, but she’s been a real trooper.” He poured a glass of water and raised Alex’s head from the pillows so she could drink.
“Thank you.” She took small sips until the glass was half empty, then shook her head that she’d had enough. As Gavin lowered her to the bed, she whispered, “I lost the baby, didn’t I?”
He nodded. “Yes, along with a lot of blood. It’s been over twenty-four hours since you collapsed.”
“I suppose I should be glad, yet I feel so…so empty.” She closed her eyes, trying unsuccessfully to keep tears from running down her cheeks. “Was it possible to tell who fathered it?”
“No. It was too early.”
“I killed it with my hatred. Dear God, when will it all end?” She began to sob helplessly.
He took her hand, offering comfort through touch. “This wasn’t truly a child, just the chance of a child. As ill as you’ve been, my guess is that you would have miscarried anyhow.” After a heavy silence, he added, “Helena miscarried twice before she…she carried a child to term.”
The child whose birth had killed Helena. Alex rolled over, pressing her cheek to his hand as she cried uncontrollably. She hated herself for her physical weakness, and for feeling both sorrow and relief at her body’s loss. When she had no more tears left, she asked in a raw whisper, “What about you? You must be relieved that you won’t have to raise a rapist’s child.”
“I don’t know how I feel. This will be easier, yet I’m also…disappointed. I kept hoping the child would be mine. And if not—well, every baby is a new hope. This one would have been our child no matter who the father was.” His free hand stroked her back comfortingly. “The worst was the hours when I was terrified of losing you. But you survived, Alexandra. You must be the strongest woman on God’s earth.”
“The reason for our marriage is gone,” she said, infinitely weary. “It’s not a real marriage yet—maybe there’s a way to end it.”
“Alex, don’t.” His hand tig
htened on hers. “Marriage is more than intimate relations and the lost chance of a child. Our marriage is real. There’s no turning back.”
She closed her eyes, shamed by the pain in his voice, too drained to talk rationally. She whispered, “Will you lie down and hold me?”
He released his breath in a long sigh. “I’d like that.”
She inched back to the bulkhead, leaving as much room as possible. He was already in shirtsleeves and stockinged feet, so he lay down on top of the covers, careful not to jar her. Though he took up far more space than Katie, his warmth and strength were soothing. Taking his hand, she rested her head against his shoulder, and once more slept.
Her sleep was haunted by dreams of a child with dark almond eyes. As awareness slowly returned the next morning, she recognized that Gavin was right—her chronic unwellness had probably been a sign that the pregnancy was doomed from the start.
Yet if that possible child had been strong and healthy enough to be born, she would have learned to love it, forgetting the pain of its conception. As Gavin had said, every baby was a new hope. Now that hope was gone. No wonder her body mourned.
In the distance she heard four bells striking. Six o’clock in the morning. She opened her eyes, and found that Gavin was lying on his side with one arm around her. In relaxation his face was surprisingly youthful despite subtle marks of strain and fatigue. What a sore trial she’d been to him from the beginning.
She recognized how easy it would be to sink into melancholy after all the pain and loss she’d suffered, starting with Edmund’s death. The night of St. Elmo’s fire, when she’d been mesmerized by the depths of the sea, she’d come perilously close to giving up. Yet surrender was a coward’s way. She was standing at a crossroads—and it was up to her to choose life. Katie deserved a healthy, loving mother, and Gavin deserved a wife who gave as much as she received.
She touched Gavin’s jaw, feeling the prickle of whiskers though his fair coloring made them almost invisible. He had also suffered great losses in his life: his native land, his parents, his wife and child. Yet he survived with warmth and generosity in his soul, and he’d made a commitment to her and Katie that only death would end. She could do no less.
His eyes opened and he regarded her warily. “How are you feeling?”
“A little better. And tomorrow I’ll be a little better yet.” She took a deep breath. “I said a lot of nonsense last night. I’m sorry.”
He relaxed visibly. “No need to apologize. The circumstances were extreme.”
“How is Ollie?” she asked. “Have you done the amputation?”
Gavin made a face. “Yes. It’s the sort of thing best done quickly. He came through the operation well. He’s saying now that he always fancied becoming a cook because he’d get first choice of the food, and now he has a proper excuse.”
“What courage,” she said softly.
“The men are celebrating the fact that they defeated a larger ship with heavier guns.” He toyed with the unkempt braid that trailed over her shoulder. “They’re calling you St. Alexandra for your heroic labors.”
She felt an unexpected smile. “Like my mother was St. Catherine. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Though my mother is far more saintly than I.”
He smiled back. “Maybe you only thought that because she tried very hard to be good in front of her impressionable daughter, just like you are in front of Katie. I presume she was named for your mother?”
She nodded. “I can’t wait for them to finally meet.”
“It won’t be long now, Alex. Only a few more weeks.”
“A few more weeks.” She linked her fingers through his and let her eyes drift shut. It was hard to imagine that normal life was so near.
Normal life. She craved it. Once she was safe in England, she would never, ever have another adventure.
BOOK II
The Price of a Man’s Life
Chapter 17
London, England, Summer 1835
THE THAMES was a crowded highway after the vast tranquility of the oceans. Gavin enjoyed pointing out landmarks to his ladies. Alex was as eager as Katie to look at the Greenwich Observatory on a hill above the river, and as intrigued to learn that all the world’s longitude was measured from the invisible meridian that ran through it.
Other sights were equally impressive, though Gavin made sure they were belowdecks when the Helena passed Gibbet Island, where the dry bones of four convicted pirates rattled in iron cages. Alex might have found grim satisfaction at seeing justice done, but it was no sight for a child.
The closer they came to the city, the more crowded the waters. By the time they reached the lock that would admit them to London Dock, the river was a raucous, noisy brawl of ships, large and small—one of the world’s great trade centers going about its business at maximum speed and volume.
As Katie hung enthralled over the ship’s railing, Gavin asked, “What is it like to see your homeland for the first time at the age of nine?”
Katie laughed, her cheeks pink with excitement. “It’s wonderful! There’s so much happening.” Her glance went to her mother, who was quieter but just as excited. “Mama has told me so much about England that it already feels like home.”
“You’re lucky to arrive on a warm, sunny afternoon. If this was a gray, wet day in winter, you might wish yourself back in Sydney.”
She shook her head. “I’ve had three summers in a row—in Sydney, in the Islands, and now here. I shall be ready for winter when it comes.”
“What a wise young lady you are.” He sometimes had trouble believing his amazing good fortune in acquiring this wonderful daughter as well as Alex. All this, and London—the goal he’d been working toward for half a lifetime. Though as captain he must look collected, underneath he was as tense as Katie and Alex. Worse, perhaps. He’d waited a long time to prepare himself. The scales must be balanced so he could finally move on.
Alex asked, “What is it like to be so close to the end of your sea captain days?”
He distilled his tangled feelings into a simple answer. “I’m ready for a life ashore, but I’ll miss the sea.”
“When we find that home by the ocean, you’ll get a boat, of course.” She smiled, tendrils of dark hair blowing enticingly around her face. “A nice little sloop that you can name the Helena II.”
“Or the Katybird.” He smiled back, thinking how much healthier she looked after the last long, blessedly uneventful leg of the voyage. Seasickness had ended with her miscarriage, and despite lingering weakness from blood loss, she began Katie’s lessons again a mere three days after the pirate attack. The evening after that, she resumed reading aloud to him and Katie after supper. They’d gone through all of Robinson Crusoe, one of his favorite books. Never had it been more enjoyable than when she read the story in her rich, brandy-smooth voice.
He hoped she would continue reading aloud once they were ashore. It brought back warm memories of his childhood, when his father was at sea with the navy and his mother read to him in the evenings. And not always books her father, the vicar, would have approved of, even though they were living in the old man’s house. There was a lot his grandfather didn’t approve of, though he was kind in his own crusty way.
Katie gasped with amazement as the gates of the lock swung majestically open, permitting the Helena to sail into the basin at the center of the giant dock complex. “The London Docks are big as all Sydney!”
“Probably not that big, but large enough, and that’s not counting the new St. Katharine’s Dock west of here. Much of Britain’s tobacco, alcohol, and wool come through the London Docks, as well as tea and spices and rice and a thousand other things.” Gavin pointed out a great smoking chimney. “That’s a kiln where unclaimed goods are burned after a year has passed. Everything except tea, which burns so fiercely it might set the warehouses ablaze. That’s disposed of elsewhere.”
“What a great waste,” Alex commented.
“It would certa
inly be more sensible to have Customs auction the goods. The worst waste is the wines and spirits. There are acres and acres of bonded vaults under the docks, and if the duties and expenses aren’t paid, the drink is just poured into the river.”
“That must make the fish very happy.” Alex’s voice was demure but her eyes danced. In fact, all of her looked ready to dance now that she was finally home.
“Do you have a preference for any particular hotel, Alex?” he asked. “I’ve stayed in a couple that were good, but you may know a better one.”
She looked surprised. “We don’t need a hotel—we must stay at my Uncle Stephen’s house.”
“Without advance notice? What if your uncle is out of town?”
“His house is the family headquarters—we all stay with them when in London,” she explained. “He should be in town now, and even if he isn’t, he and Aunt Rosalind would be hurt if we didn’t stay there.”
“Very well—to your Uncle Stephen’s we shall go.” Anything to keep that glowing expression on Alex’s face. Though she’d done her best to appear cheerful over the last months, he sensed that her smile concealed sadness and grief. The spirit healed more slowly than the body.
But today, she was truly happy. He wanted that to last.
“This is your uncle’s house?” Gavin exchanged a stunned glance with Katie as their carriage pulled up in front of a vast, sprawling Grosvenor Square mansion.
Alex laughed. “He’s only an uncle by marriage—my side of the family is poverty-stricken by comparison. But he still welcomes me, even though I’m a mere connection.”
When Gavin helped Alex from the carriage, she tumbled out like an impatient child before composing herself and taking his arm to walk to the house. Katie grasped her other hand as they climbed the broad steps. Liking that they were moving together as a family, Gavin wielded the huge knocker.
The Bartered Bride Page 15