Ransome's Crossing (11 page)

“The carriage is ready.” Creighton’s soft voice drew her out of her reverie.

She turned toward him and imagined that her own face mirrored the stricken expression he wore. “The admiral has promised to come to Jamaica next year. Make sure he brings you with him, Creighton.”

He smiled at her, a rare sight from the former sailor who took his position as butler so seriously. “Not only would I revel at the idea of being at sea again, but it would bring me great pleasure to visit you in your other home, ma’am.”

Julia gulped for air. “I suppose this is farewell, then.” She crossed to the doorway and took his hand and pressed it between hers. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Creighton. My father and I—and Commodore Ransome—will never be able to repay you for your dedication and quick thinking that saved me from an ignominious fate.”

“I am proud—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat before continuing, “I am proud to have been able to serve you and Commodore Ransome, ma’am. And I wish you much joy in the future.”

She squeezed his hand, released it, and then exited past him into the hallway. The few remaining pieces of her baggage had been taken to the dockyard earlier this morning. As far as she could tell, all evidence that she had resided in this house for the twelvemonth past was gone.

She preceded Creighton down the stairs—and stopped short when she reached the landing that overlooked the entry hall. Lining the walls in the wide hall was every single member of the staff—from the
stable boys to the cook, with every maid and man in between. Though she’d been responsible for paying their salaries since Papa had gone to London, seeing them all collected in one room astonished her.

Creighton gave a slight bow and continued on down the stairs and took his place beside the housekeeper. Nancy, Julia’s lady’s maid, held a handkerchief over her face with both hands and wept softly into it.

“Thank you, all of you, for making my time here comfortable and enjoyable. Each of you is vital to the running of this house, and without you, we would be lost. I wish each of you happiness and health, and I pray we will one day all meet again.”

Cook joined Nancy in tears—though the heavyset woman’s flowed freely down her cheeks accompanied by loud snuffling.

A sense of serenity—which could only be God-given—settled over Julia. She made her way down the steps and went to Nancy, who held Julia’s gloves and hat.

Julia waved aside the maid’s attempt to hand her the items and pulled Nancy into an embrace. Though she wouldn’t have thought it possible, Nancy wept even harder. Julia murmured words of comfort, and slowly Nancy calmed enough so that she only sniffled a few times as she pinned Julia’s hat and helped her with the gloves.

Creighton escorted her out to the carriage. Instead of a footman, Elton stood beside the barouche, ready to hand her up. His expression was just as stricken as Creighton’s had been earlier—until Creighton stepped forward as if to assist Julia into the carriage.

To keep them from coming to blows, Julia turned and once again pressed Creighton’s hand in hers. “Farewell, Creighton. I do hope to meet you again someday.”

He bowed, his throat working madly when he came upright again, as if swallowing repeatedly. “Godspeed, ma’am.”

She pulled her hands away and turned to accept Elton’s for assistance to ascend the steps into the barouche.

Most of the household staff assembled on the front steps. Julia raised her hand to wave her farewell as the carriage pulled away from the house.

Leaving Tierra Dulce had not been this difficult. But when she left the only home she’d known since age ten a year ago, she’d known she would be returning, that she would see all of her friends and loved ones in Jamaica again. Once she left England, she would probably never see any of these friends and acquaintances again—because she planned to never return to England.

The now-familiar sights, sounds, and smells of Portsmouth rolled past her, bringing to mind the first time she’d seen them—coming off of an eight-week voyage that had passed in a grief-blurred haze, so soon after her mother’s death.

Mama. What would life at Tierra Dulce be like without her? Considering how Mama’s melancholia had affected them all over the past few years, with a touch of shame Julia suspected life might be a little happier and more joy filled now. And with William there…

But he would not be there—not all the time. Though he would be in command of a group of ships sailing from the Royal Navy’s Jamaica station, he would still be at sea most of the time.

The bustle of the dockyard brought Julia back to the present. Before she could think of and try to make plans for her future with William in her home in Jamaica, she needed to get through the next two months with him in his home on
Alexandra.

J
olly boat coming up, Commodore.” The midshipman of the watch stopped beside William and touched the brim of his hat. “Lieutenant Cochrane and—”

“Very good. Pass word for the purser.” William did not glance away from the cargo currently being lowered through the yawning opening in the deck. Complaints from the sailors about the prices Holt was asking for certain items already had reached William’s ears. They’d gone through this on their last voyage, and William was none too happy to have to revisit the conversation. The purser continued trying to explain his reasoning after the midshipman left them.

“Permission to come aboard, Commodore?”

William spun around at the sound of Julia’s voice. The sunset-orange of her dress set off the russet tones in her hair—at least of the curls peeking out below the straw-brimmed bonnet she wore.

He dismissed Holt, composed himself, clasped his hands behind his back, and regarded her as he might a midshipman asking for a position aboard
Alexandra.
“Have you any qualifications for service aboard a ship of His Majesty’s Royal Navy?”

Julia mimicked his stance, but rocked up onto her toes even as her eyes began to twinkle. “I know all the ships and their ratings, can name all of the sails and rigging, and have even been known to climb to the foremast top to identify French warships.” She rocked to her heels and back to her toes again. “Oh, and my father is a rear admiral of the Blue, and my husband is a commodore under his flag.”

William paused, as if considering her words—all the while simply admiring the figure she presented, standing here on the deck of his ship. “I suppose, for reasons of patronage if nothing else, I must allow you to come aboard, then.”

The dimples appeared in her cheeks even as she curtsied. “My most humble thanks, Commodore Ransome.”

“Welcome to your new—albeit temporary—home, Mrs. Ransome.” The inescapable knowledge that every man on the quarterdeck watched them added starch to William’s spine and made him wipe all expression from his face. “Come, I will show you to your—our quarters.” He motioned Julia to walk beside him.

The young midshipman in the wheelhouse with Master Ingleby gaped open mouthed at Julia as they passed through—until Ingleby elbowed the lad, and he fumbled to remove his hat.

The marine standing guard at the door reached to open it, his eyes never leaving Julia. William sighed. Bringing Julia on board today instead of tomorrow morning before they weighed anchor might have been better for more than matters of time management. The crew would all have a chance to see her and, William hoped, that would put the staring to an end.

Beyond the dining cabin, William stepped into the day cabin, suddenly nervous and self-conscious. What kind of home was this to offer someone accustomed to the grandeur of her father’s house in Portsmouth—or the plantation, which he pictured as something akin to Brampton Park.

“That’s my—” Julia gasped and crossed to the writing desk in the far corner, taking advantage of the light from the stern windows. “My desk and chair. How did you…?” She turned, her hand gripping the back of the carved banana-wood chair. “These were my mother’s. But I did not think we would have room for them. I was fully prepared to leave them behind.”

“But, as you see, there was no reason to leave such a prized possession behind.” He kept his self-satisfied smile to himself, proud that he’d been able to do something to both surprise and please her.

“How did you know?”

“How does anyone know anything in your father’s home?”

“Creighton.” Though a smile coaxed the dimples back into Julia’s cheeks, her eyes glittered as if filling with tears.

“Aye, Creighton. It is easy to see his bad habits of being a busybody steward have remained with him as a butler.”

As hoped, Julia laughed and her eyes cleared. “Yes, he does know more than he should upon occasion, but we owe him so great a debt, I could forgive him almost anything.” She returned to where he stood beside his own desk and then looked past him, toward the sleeping quarters.

William cleared the returning nervousness from his throat. “Dawling stowed your dunnage, that which you indicated you would need, in there.” He fixed his eyes on the ship fifty yards off
Alexandra’s
stern.

“William?” The vulnerability in Julia’s voice tugged at his heart.

He drew his eyes away from the windows and met her gaze. He unclenched his fists from behind his back and rested his hands on her shoulders. Tension ebbed up through his hands.

“I am sorry to be such a disruption. I promise I will do my best to keep to the cabin so my presence does not interfere with the crew.”

His left hand trailed up the side of her neck to touch the curls her bonnet held captive beside her cheek. “The men will perform their duties to the best of their abilities, no matter where you happen to be on the ship. And I shall remind them of that shortly. Though I would ask that you limit your movements to our cabins and the poop deck. A ship—”

“Is no place for a woman.” She grinned up at him, leaning her cheek into his hand. “I well remember your saying that.”

William frowned. “When did I say that?” He had said it many times, but he would never have said it in front of her.

“You said it to Collin shortly after you saved me from being swept overboard during that storm when Mama sent me to fetch the doctor.”

He blinked. “You have remembered that for twenty years?”

A red glow climbed Julia’s face. “I remember almost everything I saw you do or heard you say on that first crossing to Jamaica.” She settled her hands on his waist and leaned closer. “I told you—I fell in love with you then.”

He chuckled, calling upon his own somewhat vague memories of that voyage. The image of Julia dressed as her brother was the only clear picture coming to mind. “I never would have guessed you fancied you fell in love with me on first sight.”

“Oh, no. Do not flatter yourself, sir. It was not on
first
sight. I do believe I hated you the first two times I saw you—both times I climbed to the mast top.”

“Hated me?” He found the pin securing Julia’s bonnet and pulled it out. Julia reached up and untied the ribbons under her chin, and William pulled the thing off her head and tossed it onto his desk.

“Yes, because you knew my secret—and you knew I was caught and punished for sneaking out dressed as a boy. But you showed me the dolphins. And later you saved my life. And I think that’s when I fell in love with you. Had I not been confined to quarters, you would have known. For I would have followed you all over the ship otherwise.”

William had never felt vain—until now. He had written off his curiosity about Julia after that crossing, ascribing it to the fact that Sir Edward had become a surrogate parent in the years following Father’s death. He could now admit to himself, however, he’d harbored the idea—from age fifteen—that he would eventually marry Julia Witherington.

“I always knew you were a woman of impeccable taste and discernment.”

She gasped, but he leaned down to kiss her before she could say anything else. Being on a ship with her again, reminiscing about the past, was making him feel like that much more reckless and carefree midshipman again.

But the sound of a throat clearing snapped him out of it. He pulled away from Julia, set her aside, and turned to fix Dawling with a remonstrative glare.

“Beggin’ pardon, Com’dore. Purser Holt’s compliments and could the Com’dore please meet him below, sir.” The burly sailor shifted from foot to foot, his gaze firmly affixed to the floor.

“Let Holt know I will attend him presently.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“And Dawling?”

“Yes, Com’dore?”

“I know it is customary for you as my steward to be allowed to come and go as you please from these cabins. But so long as Mrs. Ransome is aboard, please knock before entering.”

Julia felt sorry for Dawling, who scurried away as soon as William dismissed him. When William turned back to her, he’d once again retreated behind the mask of command. She’d best accustom herself to it, for she had a feeling it was the side of him she would see the most from now on.

“Do not let me keep you from your duties, William. I have disrupted your schedule enough already.”

He gave a terse nod, turned on his heel, and left.

Julia stood in the middle of the day cabin for a moment, gathering her thoughts. For the first time on a transatlantic crossing, she would not have her own private quarters, cordoned off with makeshift canvas walls in the main cabin itself. She closed her eyes, released the back of William’s desk chair, and widened her stance slightly, letting her knees absorb the gentle motion of the harbor. Staying to their quarters would be no sacrifice the first few days—she’d never succumbed to the slight nausea she always had the first day or so out at sea, but it took her a while to find her sea legs. And she did not want to embarrass William, nor endanger herself or others, by lurching about the deck like an alleyway drunkard. Finding the rhythm of the sea was much like dancing to an unfamiliar tune: If one practiced long enough, one became proficient.

She opened her eyes and, with a determined breath, entered the sleeping cabin.

Though it took up more than half of the tiny space, the box bed, with its rustically embroidered hangings, looked smaller than it had the first time she’d seen it, on the inspection tour with Papa. By naval standards, it might be deemed a bed for two, but by Julia’s standards, it would take some getting used to.

On the opposite side of the small room, over the menacing bulk of the cannon, hung William’s plain canvas hammock. A strange, unfamiliar sensation trickled down into the pit of her stomach. While she did not want to be a distraction to William, she had hoped that in private he would be willing to let his guard down and just be William—her husband—rather than Commodore Ransome.

Lord, please help me be what he wants me to be…

A knock reverberated through the removable bulkheads separating the sleeping quarters from the day and dining cabins. Julia stepped back into what would be, for the next two months, her sitting room and opened the door.

Dawling knuckled his forehead. “Com’dore’s compliments, mum. He sent me to see if there’s aught I can do for you, mum.”

Julia looked around the pristine cabin, her bonnet on William’s desk the only thing out of place. “That wardrobe—is it full, or might there be some room to hang a few of my dresses?”

Dawling’s eyes lit up and he scurried over to the tall cabinet—tall enough it looked securely wedged between the hull and the beam of the floor joist overhead. He opened the doors and turned with a flourish so out of character with his appearance, Julia almost laughed.

William’s dress uniform and a spare coat were all that the wardrobe contained.

“He had this brought on special for you, missus.”

Julia’s cheeks warmed. One more piece of evidence of William’s consideration of her comforts. “Would you please bring my trunk and valise out here so that I can unpack them?”

Dawling saluted again and, with a comical grin and rolling gait, slipped into the sleeping cabin, returning a moment later with the large trunk—and the valise atop it—as if it weighed nothing.

Julia hung her bonnet on one of the hooks on the side of the wardrobe to get it out of the way. She opened the valise first, shaking out the plain cotton and muslin day dresses. In the dampness inherent on a ship, the wrinkles would eventually ease up.

“I’ve a flatiron, mum, and would be happy to take care of anything for you.”

The image of the big sailor with the scarred face and rough hands leaning over a table, ironing one of her dresses, brought a laugh bubbling up. She tried to mask it with a cough. “Thank you, Mr. Dawling, but I shall have plenty of hours that need filling. You already have enough work to do without my adding to it.”

“Mr. Fawkes says ’twill be good for me to learn how to serve a lady as well as the com’dore. Says if I leave the Royal Navy, it’ll help me to be able to get a position on land if I can show a lady I can be more than just a valet.”

“Did you enjoy the time you spent at the Yateses’ home?” Julia asked, as Dawling seemed in no hurry to leave.