Ransome's Quest (33 page)

“What is the treatment?” William asked.

“There are two options. The first is to keep him comfortable and sedated, and see if he recovers on his own.”

“How long would that take?”

“How long ago did the injury happen?”

Ned thought back. The past week stretched like a year. “At least three days ago and no more than five days ago.”

“And he has been acting strangely since?”

“Yes.” Or so Charlotte thought. Ned had not seen the young man much since he’d been returned to
Audacious.

“If his symptoms have changed or if he doesn’t go back to acting normally in a day or two, it means the pressure in his skull is not going down. I will have to perform surgery to relieve it.”

Ned leaned forward, hands pressed on the table. “You are going to cut open his brain?”

Dr. Hawthorne chuckled. “No, Captain. I would drill a hole where the swelling is and drain off the blood that is causing the pressure.”

“But you cannot make this determination if he is kept sedated?” William rubbed the back of his neck. Ned hadn’t noticed until now just how tired—how gaunt—his commanding officer looked.

“That is correct, Commodore. And if he is not kept sedated and moves around too much, he could make the problem worse and die.”

William leaned back in his chair and released a slow breath. “Ned, I know what I would choose were he a member of my crew. But he isn’t. It is your decision to make.”

Subject the boy to a dangerous surgery or let him wake up to see if he would heal on his own—all the while yelling about Charlotte for everyone on
Audacious
to hear. “When are we sailing for the bay, sir?”

“Within the hour.”

Half a day’s sail to return to Shaw’s bay to rendezvous with Michael Witherington.

William closed his eyes a long moment. “We should arrive at the bay by dawn. A few hours there, to finish our business with
Serenity,”
William gave Ned a significant look, “and then we will return to Kingston.”

“I think we should wait to see if Mr. Kent recovers on his own.” Ned turned back to the doctor. “I do not mean to impugn your skills, Dr. Hawthorne, but the surgery sounds dangerous, and if there is a chance he could recover without it, I believe we should err on the side of caution.”

“I agree, Captain Cochrane. But leave the boy in my care. I can put him in my private quarters. That way he will not disturb those in the care of your sick berth.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” William stood. “Captain Cochrane, please return to
Audacious
and prepare to sail. We leave at the end of the first dogwatch.”

Ned stood. “Thank you, Doctor, Commodore. We will be ready.”

Back in the gig Ned silently urged the sailors to row faster. But he kept from giving the order, repeatedly, because he did not want his eagerness to show. But he was eager to get back to
Audacious.
He needed to lecture Charlotte about taking more care, about staying out of danger. And then he might allow himself one kiss. But only one. Until they were married in a proper church, he must stick to his plan of treating Charlotte with decorum.

A kiss could be decorous.

J
ulia snapped awake and then grabbed for something to stabilize her when the floor shifted beneath her.

No, not a floor. Something soft, cradling her. She reached her hands out and they came in contact with the canvas walls of a hammock. The darkness was not the ultimate black of the compartment in the hold.

The hammock was not her large box bed on William’s ship, so he had not rescued her. She lifted her head as much as she dared to peek over the side of the canvas wall.

Moonlight shone through the stern windows, casting its pale glow over a very small cabin. So she was not aboard
Audacious
, either.

A shadow moved. She gasped and then groaned at the twinge of pain in her side.

“Please do not distress yourself, Mrs. Ransome. You are safe.”

She heard the sound of a match being struck and then a candle flamed to life. The man who held it aloft was as dark as the night, with thick, curly black hair. A small man; young too, it appeared, not much older than Charlotte. He approached the hammock.

“I am Suresh, and I am here to assist you with whatever you need. I will have a bath ready for you in minutes.”

She pushed herself up in the hammock, and when the light blanket fell from her shoulders she realized she wore nothing but her undergarments. She clutched the covering to her chest. “Why have I been disrobed?”

“Your dress was ruined, ma’am, too dirty to launder. I burned it. There are fresh garments waiting for you as soon as you have bathed.”

Her head pounded with pain as bad as, yet different from, her sick headaches. She reached up to press her temples and saw the bandages wrapped around her wrists. She looked from them to Suresh.

“I treated your injuries, ma’am. Those I could see. I know you have hurt your side, but I did not try any treatment.”

“I…” The last time she’d mentioned to someone that she thought she’d broken her ribs, Shaw had used it against her. “It is just a little sore, that is all.”

Suresh turned to put the candle down on the table. “Let me help you down, ma’am.”

Getting out of the hammock caused more pain than she would admit to. Until she knew where she was and who held her now, she could not show any more signs of weakness or vulnerability.

Suresh ushered her to a chair before disappearing through a small side door—what was probably the door to the cabin’s sleeping quarters—and returning with a small silver tea service and a delicate china cup. And, to Julia’s stomach’s audible delight, a plate of scones complete with a small jar of what smelled like raspberry preserves.

“I do apologize that there is no cream for the tea or the scones, ma’am. We lost our milking goat and have not found a replacement yet.”

Julia stared at the bounty before her, tears pooling in her eyes. “Why am I here?”

Suresh poured tea in the cup and pressed it into Julia’s hands. “Eat. Drink tea. I will finish preparations for your bath.”

She sipped the tea. The dark bitterness contrasted with something sweet, and she had trouble swallowing it past the tangle of anxiety, relief, pleasure, and pain in her throat. Then, she picked up a scone. She forced herself to break a small piece off one corner. It melted in her mouth with flavors of butter and sugar and spices she could not identify.

Suresh disappeared again and this time reappeared with a large bucket of steaming water, which he poured into the hipbath on the floor opposite the table from the hammock.

“Where are you from, Mr. Suresh?”

“I am from Bombay, in India.” He carried in a large kettle of hot water.

Julia started on her second scone and poured more tea. “How did you come to be on a ship in the Caribbean?”

“I was an orphan. When the East India Trading Company advertised posts as cabin boys on their ships, I signed up. But I did not like that so much. When we arrived at Jamaica, I left to make my own way.” He left again, with the bucket and kettle, and was gone longer this time.

Julia wondered if that was her signal to begin her bath. She set down the teacup.

Suresh came back, this time with a glass jar. He opened it and sprinkled it over the hot water. A delightful spicy aroma filled the air. Cinnamon and…she breathed in deeply but could not identify the other spices. Not over her own odor.

Embarrassment flamed in her cheeks. How could he bear to be in the same room with her?

He replaced the jar’s cork and left it on the table, left, and returned with the bucket and kettle, full of more steaming water. He poured the bucket into the tub, but left the full kettle on the floor beside it.

Moving around behind Julia, he lifted several things off the lid of a trunk. “Here is a towel and a washrag and soap, a sleeping gown, undergarments, and a dress and a comb.” He hung the towel over the back of the chair closest to the tub and set the rag and soap on the seat. The clothes and comb, he set on the table. He indicated the kettle. “For rinsing the hair after washing.”

He crossed to the cabin’s main door and slid a bolt home. “You will want to lock this door behind me when I leave, ma’am. When you are ready for me, simply call my name.” He bowed and exited through the side door.

After one last sip of tea, Julia did lock the door. She stripped out of her filthy, foul-smelling clothes, leaving them in a heap in the corner. Unwinding the bandages, she left them on the table with the clean clothes.

The water smelled so good, with the spices floating on top, that she almost did not want to ruin it by getting into it.

Just like the cabin, the tub was small. She had to keep her knees bent, or put her legs out over the end of it to submerse her torso up to her neck. Bathing her entire body took some work—and generated a lot of pain—but the end result was more than worth it. After lathering her hair and body twice, she stood and poured clean water from the kettle over herself to rinse herself clean.

The rocking motion of the ship changed, and footfalls and voices drifted into the cabin. She glanced at the garments draped across the table. While she would love nothing more than to sleep for days, something was happening, so she’d best be as prepared as she could be.

The underthings included a short corset that laced in the front, making it quite easy to dress herself. The dark blue dress with a white ribband fit well, with the exception of being a couple of inches too long. With no shoes, she set the silk stockings aside, not wanting to ruin them. The extra length of the dress hid her bare feet well.

Taking the towel from around her hair, she combed it and plaited it for the first time in…she wasn’t sure how long it had been since the morning she left Tierra Dulce.

She tore a thin strip from the end of one of the bandages and used it to secure the end of her braid and then crossed the cabin to unbolt the side door.

“Suresh,” she called, a little unsure if calling him back instead of staying behind locked doors was wise.

It did not take long for him to appear. After rebandaging her wrists and then buttoning the sleeves of the dress over them, he lit all of the candles and begin cleaning the cabin—taking away her dirty undergarments, the tub, the kettle, the towel, and the washrag. The soap, he put in a dish beside a washbasin atop a cabinet in the corner.

He even pulled the ticking out of the hammock and turned it over so she would have a clean surface to sleep on. Why was he being so solicitous? What was about to happen to her?

He took the teapot, but a few minutes later, he brought it back, along with a second cup and another plate of scones. “We have arrived at our destination. If you are ready, the captain would like to come in and speak with you.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Suresh disappeared again—this time through the main door, after unbolting it.

Julia alternated between sitting and standing—but when she heard footsteps outside the main door, her legs lost their strength, so she sat.

The door opened and the captain entered. He turned to close the door behind him before she caught more than a glimpse at his face.

A face she felt that she should know.

He did not turn around.

In his cabin on his ship? Why should he be hesitant to face her?

His head, covered with wavy dark hair, almost reached the top of the door, and his shoulders were nearly as wide—or so the epaulettes on his uniform coat made it appear.

The captain’s hesitancy gave Julia courage. She stood. “Who are you? Why have you brought me here?”

He turned and stepped into the dim light. “I am El Salvador de los Esclavos. This is my ship,
Vengeance.”

Julia’s knees gave out on her and she sat again. That voice—though deeper. His face—the jaw squarer now. The deeply set brown eyes. And…“The scar.”

Self-consciously, the pirate touched the scar that ran across his forehead and into his eyebrow.

“He was so proud of that scar. Said it made him look like a true sailor.” Julia could not breathe, could not think clearly. She closed her eyes against the lie standing before her. “My brother is dead.”

At the sound of movement, she opened her eyes. He was kneeling in front of her.

He took her hands in his and pressed the backs of them to his cheek. “I am sorry. I am so sorry, Julia. I can never begin to expect your forgiveness.” He lifted his head, his eyes imploring. “It was wrong of me to stay away so long.”

Michael. Her twin. The other half of her soul—at least as children.

She pulled her hands out of his and slapped him with all her strength. “How dare you! How dare you come back
now.
Say you’re sorry. Tell me how wrong it was to make us believe you were dead for fifteen years. Mama started dying the day we heard your ship had been taken.”

Tears filled her brother’s—no, the pirate’s eyes. “I know. I did not learn about her death until three months after, when I returned from America. I wish I could have been there to say goodbye.”