All the Tea in China (22 page)

“Listen!” Still panting, Phineas held up his hand. “The cannons have stopped firing.” He turned to the ladies. “Are you all to rights?”

Mrs. Akers could not stop bawling. Mrs. Harrison had nodded off with her head against a stack of barrels. The pirate I had dueled lay sprawled against a spilled sack of grain, completely still.

“I’ll take care of Mrs. Akers and Mrs. Harrison,” Julia said, wiping the tears from her face. “Go above and see what has happened.”

I looked at the still pirate and felt my knees buckle. “I . . . I should stay to help.”

“Go above with Phineas,” Julia said softly. “We will be well.”

Phineas took my hand and led me up the ladder. When we reached the deck, I smelled gunpowder. I tried not to focus on the prone and bloodied men on the deck, some of whom I felt certain were dead.

Smoke clung to the air around us. I could barely discern a much smaller French ship alongside the
Dignity
. The corsair sat so low in the water that its masts aligned with our deck. The pirate crew must have dropped onto our ship from their top masts, for one or two men still attempted to board. One landed right in front of me, knocking Phineas and me to the deck. I held on to my sword and staggered to my feet, breathing hard. The villain grappled with me for a moment then drew back in shock.
“C’est une dame!”
The sight of the fairer sex wielding a sword must have frightened him, for he took another look at me and raced in the opposite direction, only to be caught by one of the
Dignity
seamen.

Indeed, the fighting had ceased. Our crew had rounded up the pirates and now encircled them, taunting with yells and displays of the captured swords and guns. Clutching his bloodied arm, Captain Malfort bellowed, “Throw them into the brig! And while you’re down there, someone let the ladies know all is safe.”

He caught sight of me wielding the sword, and his jaw dropped. “Good heavens! Miss Goodrich!”

Phineas glanced at me sharply. “You are bleeding,” he said, touching my elbow.

I looked down and saw a bloody gash in the sleeve of the gray dress. “Thankfully, it is nothing serious. I should survive with a minimum of care.”

“Which you shall have right now.” He took me by my undamaged arm, the one still holding the sword, and moved me across the deck, bellowing for the ship’s surgeon. “Mortimer!”

“I am all right,” I murmured, unheard as he moved us toward the bow, where Mortimer knelt over a fallen man.

“She is wounded,” Phineas said, thrusting me in front of the doctor.

Mortimer glanced up at Phineas, then me, taking in my wound with a surgeon’s practiced eye before pronouncing, “It is nothing, man. Bind it up and leave me to tend to more serious matters.” He gestured at his patient, who groaned then screamed as Mortimer adjusted the leg bent at a crooked angle.

“Mr. Gilpin!” I cried, clinging to Phineas for support.

“Take her away,” Mortimer said with a sweeping gesture, “and leave me to my work.”

Phineas steered me in the opposite direction, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Come away,” he said gently now. “I have some fresh cloth to bind your wound, Isabella.”

“But I must help!” I said, gesturing at the wounded men. “Mr. Gilpin . . . the others.”

“You have done more than your part. Let us go back to the cabin where I can see to your arm.”

I clung to the sword, in shock, I suppose, only releasing it when Phineas gently removed it from my hand once we were safe in our cabin. When he did, I could not help the rush of emotion that overtook me, and try as I might to prevent it, I wept fiercely. I had fought and won, but there seemed little glory. I had taken a life. A life!

Mindful of my wound, Phineas drew me into his arms. He said nothing, but pressed my face against his shoulder. When my tears dissolved into mere tremors then one undignified hiccup, he drew back, smiling. “Do you feel better?”

I did not, but I nodded, yet unable to speak.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing at the wooden crate. I was happy to leave someone in command, so I complied, numb, watching as he knelt to open the mysterious trunk. I could not see inside, for he shut it quickly, but he approached me with a white silk sash.

He knelt and bound the silk around my arm. “It
is
but a scratch,” he said. “When I saw you wounded, I forgot myself and thought the worst.”

He tied the cloth in place, then gently touched it. His eyes met mine, and my stomach trembled as it had in Cape Town. We looked at each other as though anew, and I felt a pull between us as thrilling but as dangerous as the currents of the ocean.

Phineas leaned forward then seemed to catch himself, rising and helping me to my feet. “Though it is past dawn, you should rest,” he said. “May I bring you some wine?”

I shook my head, suddenly weary to the bone. I made my way to my hammock and crawled in. He drew the blanket around my shoulders then turned away. “Phineas?” I murmured.

He turned back. “Yes?”

“When I awake, will you brew me some green tea? I have yet to partake of any.”

He smiled. “I shall brew you pot after pot.”

“Phineas?”

“Yes?”

“Will you show me how to fight as you did?” I said sleepily.

“A lady with your sword skills wants to fight without one?”

“I will have to return the sword to its rightful owner, and then I shall be without a weapon again.” With my eyes closed, I had no idea where he was, but I smiled anyway. “I am still waiting for my own.”

I heard him raise the canvas, but he made no response.

I did not rise until nearly dinnertime, and I am not certain I would have awakened even then except for the memory of Mr. Gilpin. I wanted to ascertain that he was in good health. I donned the brown dress, since the gray would need to be mended in the sleeve, then I headed for the cuddy. The captain’s cook was there, ordering others about to prepare for dinner. He stopped short when he saw me, clearly appalled for some reason.

“I did not mean to disturb you,” I said. “Is there any news about Mr. Gilpin?”

“He’s still breathing, if that’s your meaning. Check with the doctor, if you like.” He turned away as though he did not want to look at me.

Curious behavior! I headed for the stairs, to the surgeon’s area below deck. I wondered how many other wounded men besides Mr. Gilpin I would find there.

Mr. Calow waited outside the cabin, and he bowed when he saw me, his young eyes twinkling. “Miss Goodrich!”

“Mr. Calow.” I curtsied. “I am delighted to see that you are well.”

He nodded. “Is your arm in need of attention?”

“It was a mere scratch. Phineas should not have troubled Dr. Mortimer.”

Calow’s smile fell. “The doctor is still with Mr. Gilpin.”

“Then he lives?”

“Barely, Doctor says. His leg was broken. He was also wounded in the chest and bled quite a bit, but if he holds during the day, he may survive.”

“Perhaps I can help.” I reached for the doorknob.

Mr. Calow covered it first. “Miss Whipple has helped the doctor with Mr. Gilpin, as well as the other wounded men.”

I turned. “Miss Whipple?”

He nodded. “She has helped Dr. Mortimer all this time.”

“She must be exhausted,” I said. “Perhaps I can relieve her so that she may rest.”

“Did
you
rest well, Miss Goodrich? You must have been exhausted.” Mr. Calow lowered his gaze. “I have never seen a lady fight before.”

“I have not exactly fought before,” I confessed. “Not with real blades, at any rate.”

Smiling shyly at me, Mr. Calow opened the door and admitted me to the surgical area. Several men with various injuries—a bruised head, a sliced arm, a nicked shoulder— lay nursing their wounds. However, all appeared to be conscious and would no doubt be better in a few days, if not sooner.

Mr. Gilpin, lying in the corner bed, did not appear to have that luxury of time. His face was waxy, a contrast to the white bandages bound to the wound on the right side of his chest. He breathed, but scarcely.

Miss Whipple sat on the far side of his bed, applying a wet cloth to his forehead. When she saw me, she looked startled. “Miss Goodrich!”

I took the chair opposite her. “How does he fare? Mr. Calow says that if he lives through the day, the doctor has hope.”

“Yes. The bleeding has lessened, and we can only hope that he improves with rest. There is no longer anything to be done for him, other than prayer.” She wiped his forehead again, and her shoulders drooped.

I felt great pity for her and admiration for her compassion. “You have been here all day?”

“How could I not? Dr. Mortimer admitted that he needed someone to help, and I was available.”

“What of Mrs. Akers and Mrs. Harrison?”

Julia smiled bitterly. “I believe they took to their own beds, promising not to rise until they were fully recovered from being shoved into the ships’s pantry in such an ungracious manner.”

“You should have awakened me,” I said. “I would have been glad to assist. Indeed, I would be glad to take your place now. You have been through a great deal.”

“I have survived worse than being taken below deck for my own safety. Besides, it is you who have endured a great deal. It is all the crew can speak of, how Miss Goodrich and Mr. Snowe fought off many of the frogs and saved the
Dignity
from certain plunder and ruin. If not for you two, we would all be lost.”

“The crew is too modest. They fought like tigers to save their ship. But what of the Frenchmen and their vessel?”

“Captain Malfort ordered one of the superior officers and some of the seamen to sail the vessel and prisoners back to Cape Town.”

“It is a relief to know they are no longer aboard. Were there many wounded . . . and dead?” I suppressed a shudder, thinking of the men I had fought hand to hand.

Julia shrugged. “I did not hear. I only know that Captain Malfort said that the frogs were gone. Some of the crew are mopping the deck, as well as making necessary repairs.”

“Would you like for me to watch Mr. Gilpin while you rest?” I offered again.

She shook her head, adjusting the bandage on his chest a trifle. “I find it good to be of use. Mr. Gilpin does not think highly of me, but he is a countryman. Captain Malfort said that he fought bravely.” She raised her head. “As, I hear, did you.”

“It was mere stupidity,” I said. “I must have been beetle-headed to test my skills. Perhaps it was the element of surprise that gave me an advantage.”

“You are too modest, I’m sure.”

“Miss Whipple!” Captain Malfort’s voice seemed to boom behind me, but when I turned, he was staring at Mr. Gilpin. “How is he?”

“There seems to be no change.”

Captain sighed. “I do not like to lose anyone aboard my ship, particularly my highest officer. He is a man of integrity and courage. I believe he killed several frogs before one of them caught him by surprise. And speaking of surprise . . .” He turned to me. “It appears that you have caught us all off our guard with your swordsmanship display, Miss Goodrich. May I ask where you learned to fight like that?”

“My uncle hired a fencing master for me.”

“You and your brother both possess unusual, er, fighting skills. A most unusual family, I daresay. I do not approve of such activities for ladies, but in light of your help to all aboard the
Dignity
, I thank you.” He bowed stiffly.

I nodded in return. Captain Malfort cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed. “Let me know if there is any change, Miss Whipple.”

He left, and I rose. “If I cannot persuade you to accept my assistance . . .”

She glanced up. “I am happy to be of use,” she said. I thought that she looked remarkably weary, but she seemed content. I left to find Phineas, for we had much to discuss.

I searched the ship high and low. Everywhere I went, sailors tipped their caps or otherwise acknowledged my presence. A few turned their backs as though expressing their disapproval of a lady wielding a sword. It made me realize how Julia Whipple must feel occasionally when she met with outright stares or received a cut direct. She and I had both stepped outside the lines drawn by society, and whether we could ever put both feet back inside remained to be seen.

I had nearly despaired of finding Phineas but found him in the last place I would expect. I had wondered if he had perhaps gone overboard when I retired to our cabin for a place of quiet to pray for Mr. Gilpin. When I opened the door, Phineas glanced up, startled, from where he knelt before his trunk. “Isabella!”

“I have been searching for you,” I said. “I checked on Mr. Gilpin, and you and I must have somehow crossed paths.”

He shut the trunk and rose. “Are you well? Are you recovered?”

“I am. The rest did me good.”

“And your arm?”

“Your bandage still holds,” I said, patting the slight bulk beneath my sleeve. “Thank you for tending to me.”

His eyes searched mine as though for an answer. “Is something wrong?” I said.

“No.” He stepped back, as though putting distance between us. “How is Mr. Gilpin?”

“He is alive, but he has lost a lot of blood, I am told. Julia is still tending him.”

“She was much concerned with his health. The other wounded are not in danger, apparently. We are fortunate that only Mr. Gilpin was wounded badly.”

“Still, it is a pity,” I said.

“Yes.”

We fell into silence, each of us scarcely able to look at the other. What was this awkwardness between us? Since the day we had met, we had always had conversation between us—spirited at best, antagonistic at worst—but always an exchange of words. We seemed as strangers at the moment.

“Isabella.” He cleared his throat. “This seems the appropriate moment.”

I frowned. “For what?”

He knelt before the trunk and lifted the lid, then drew out a long length of supple leather, wrapped tight. He laid it on the closed trunk lid and unwrapped it to reveal a sword. Double bladed and etched with delicate scrollwork, the steel gleamed in the sunlight beaming through the porthole. He placed it carefully in my hands. “It is yours.”

I stared at it with awe. The tip was narrower and not as thick as the base of the blade. The hilt, which protected the hand, had short wings. The handle seemed just long enough for one hand plus a few fingers from the other, so it was primarily a one-handed sword. The grip was covered in some sort of skin, and the pommel—the end of the handle—seemed to hold all the pieces of the sword together. “It is beautiful, Phineas. The blade is quite unique.”