The Seafaring Lady’s Guide to Love by Fenna Edgewood

Chapter 12

“I believe you mean‘we’,” Rosalind countered. “For you are certainly not going anywhere alone with pirates on the loose. Certainly not to act as bait for a mad man!”

Gracie looked sulky. “It was the best part of the plan,” she muttered.

“March,” Rosalind ordered, pointing towards the closed door. “In the direction of wherever Cherry and Captain Merriweather are.” She turned to Philip expectantly.

“Duffels and I will find James,” he said quietly. “And when we have sorted all of this out, I will come to you.”

Rosalind colored, knowing her sister was watching with interest.

Philip was still looking at her intently. He seemed to be hesitating.

Then he rose and pulling her towards him, kissed her swiftly on the lips.

“When I see you next...” He began. Then stopped.

“Yes?” she prompted, tilting her head expectantly.

He shook his head and looked away. “It is no matter. Go. I will see you very soon. Give Cherry my love.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently, then stepped back.

“Very well,” Rosalind said, raising her eyebrows.

Gracie pulled the door open slowly, eyeing the corridor carefully through the slit before widening the gap.

“It’s clear,” she whispered back at her sister.

As they stepped into the hall, Rosalind saw Gracie smirking.

“What is it?” she demanded. “Go ahead and say whatever it is you are clearly longing to say.”

“He wants to marry you,” Gracie sang, drawing out the words, and chortling loudly when she saw Rosalind stop dead in her tracks. “Are you truly that surprised? He just kissed you! In front of Duffels!”

“He was simply overcome by the moment. The excitement of the pirates. He...is not himself,” Rosalind said, with dignity, starting forward along the passage once more. Gracie quickly resumed her place in the lead.

They were not far from the women’s cabins—that must be where Cherry was resting.

“Oh, yes,” Gracie chirped. “He was overcome all right. Overcome with passion for you!”

“Hush,” Rosalind hissed. “Do you want someone to hear?”

Gracie waved a hand dismissively. “All of the pirates are back on the Britannia. Didn’t I say that?”

“No, you did not,” Rosalind said, coldly. “And I expect Philip—Mr. Calvert—would have appreciated knowing that.”

“Oh. Well, I expect Duffels will tell him.”

They walked in silence a moment.

“Do you really think so?” Rosalind finally blurted out.

“Think what?” Gracie arched her eyebrows innocently. “That Duffels will tell him?”

“No,” Rosalind hissed furiously. “That Philip... Mr. Calvert... You know...”

“You may stop with the formalities. I saw you kissing in the captain’s cabin.” Gracie grinned wickedly.

“You... You... I am going to murder you!” Rosalind hissed again.

“You can’t murder me,” Gracie replied brightly. “We’re here. What would Captain Merriweather say?”

Rosalind ground her teeth.

Looking inside the little sitting room, she had to admit her little sister had been rather innovative in her absence.

The berths in the small cabins were narrow and hard.

So, Gracie had pulled in benches from other rooms together with the ones already there to make a large wooden square, then piled on all of the thin mattresses she could find from the berths, and finally, finished it all by heaping pillows and blankets on top.

All in all, she had made Cherry a rather cozy nest.

“Cherry, we’re back!” Gracie called. “Did you have the baby yet?”

“No, I did not,” Cherry’s voice came back in a clipped tone.

“Ignore my silly sister,” Rosalind said, brushing past and entering the room. “How are you?”

Cherry was propped up on cushions with her eyes closed. She opened them when Rosalind approached.

“I am wonderful. Every four or five minutes, I am wonderful. Then the pain starts again and I feel like I’m going to die or be ripped in two. Is that customary, do you think?”

“Sadly, it is,” Rosalind answered sympathetically.

“Men have no idea, do they?” Cherry said glumly. “And in my case, truly no idea.” She bit her lip and for the first time since Rosalind had met her, she looked completely miserable.

“Oh, Cherry.” Rosalind sat down on the makeshift bed and took her friend’s hand. “I am so sorry your husband is not here with you. I cannot imagine how you feel.”

“I feel sad and alone,” Cherry said, choking down a sob and letting out a little hiccup. “Alone and in horrible pain. No baby is worth this.”

Rosalind held back a smile. “I promise you, they are. As soon as it is over, you will forget the pain and you will be cradling a new little one in your arms. Charles will be so proud of you when you next see one another,” Rosalind assured.

She knew what she said was true. When she had come along with her mother, she had seen how women were wont to scream in pain—very understandably; but it was a temporary pain. It always amazed Rosalind how, in most cases, the woman was up and walking within a few hours.

In most cases.

She recalled Cherry’s swelling. “May I?” She lifted the blankets and looked at her legs. Swollen but not extremely so.

“Have you had any headaches?”

“Your sister is a headache,” Cherry grumbled.

“A very clever headache,” another voice called feebly from one of the half-open cabins.

“Captain Merriweather!” Rosalind ran over to look inside.

“Good day, my dear,” Captain Merriweather said, from where he lay.

“They thought you were dead,” Gracie called. “And they were kissing!” she added, as if as an afterthought.

Oh, dear Lord.

Rosalind could feel herself turning red from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. From behind her, she heard Cherry laughing weakly.

“Gracie, for once in your life hush,” Rosalind groaned. “If there are truly no pirates about as you say, then why don’t you make yourself useful and get some supplies?”

“Such as?” Gracie prompted.

“Clean, hot water.”

“Already have it.”

“Clean clothes.”

“There on the chair.”

“Clean blankets and clothes for the baby,” Rosalind said lamely, looking at what her sister had already prepared.

“Done and done. ‘Always prepared,’ is Cabin Boy Grayson’s personal motto, cap’n,” Gracie said, winking at her sister.

Rosalind glared.

“Are you upset that I have everything ready?” Gracie asked, wide-eyed.

“Of course not,” Rosalind admitted. “It is very...admirable. Good work, Grayson. Gracie.” The daft name had now gotten into her head as well. “What about Captain Merriweather? Report!”

“Aye, aye,” Gracie said, grinning happily now that Rosalind was getting into the spirit of things. “Bullet wound to the shoulder. There’s a hole on the other side so I think it went in and out.”

“I wonder why he passed out on the deck,” Rosalind said aloud.

Gracie shrugged. “He had lost a lot of blood. Perhaps he was dizzy?”

“They also hit me over the head,” Captain Merriweather called out weakly from his cabin. “And am I to take it you are not a believer in bloodletting? You are not going to bleed me some more?”

“Absolutely not,” Rosalind said, shocked. “For one, we do not have the instruments. But even if we did, my mother believes it is rubbish and weakens the body rather than the other way around.”

“Ah, an intelligent woman, your mother.”

“She is very clever,” Gracie agreed. “Do you think you can deliver a baby, Rosalind?”

If the delivery was very straightforward and there were no complications, then Rosalind believed she could manage it. She did not wish to say that in front of her patient, however, and risk discouraging her.

“Yes,” she said, quietly. “With your help.”

Cherry groaned from the bed and shifted uncomfortably.

“Another pain?” Gracie ran over.

“Why don’t you help her to stand, Gracie?” Rosalind suggested. “Sometimes walking can help. I’ll check on Captain Merriweather.”

An hour passed by, and another began.

Childbirth was not a quick process. Rosalind knew it could take days in some cases.

Hopefully not in Cherry’s. Her pains were so close together that Rosalind suspected the baby was well on the way.

Captain Merriweather was another matter. Rest and care would heal him with time. But whether he would receive those things and remain on board the Witch was another matter.

“Do we have any news?” he asked her quietly, when she went to inspect his shoulder. Gracie had already bandaged it quite well, so she did not remove it in case it began to bleed afresh.

“Philip and Duffels were about to find James when we left them,” she replied, speaking softly. Cherry seemed to have put the pirate affair from her mind—which was easy to understand as constant pain was an all-too-excellent distraction. Rosalind had decided not to mention Philip for now, nor had Cherry asked.

“I see,” he replied, settling back onto the mattress. She wondered if he would have more inquiries but he closed his eyes and soon appeared to be sleeping.

Both of her patients were evidently in no state to be concerning themselves with the state of the ship—nor its defense.

She wondered how the rest of the crew were faring.

If he had been uninjured, she was sure Captain Merriweather would have asked after his men. As he had not, he must be much more fatigued than he had at first appeared.

She was not even sure he knew who James was, so her news had probably meant nothing to him.

With a sigh, she pushed back her hair and went to check on Cherry.

James Rolle would save them all, Philip quickly realized.

The man had a deep and resonant voice, tempered by the soft, pleasant lilt of his rich West Indian accent.

He was shorter than Philip, but a strong, well-built man.

More importantly, he was far more intelligent and rational than his highly-strung and vicious captain.

“I did not even wish to board this ship,” James said quietly, speaking to Philip in the galley as Duffels stood watch. “Nor would I ever countenance the ravishment or enslavement of women—or any other human being, for that matter. If that is what Carew would have us become, it is time to be rid of the man before he makes animals of us all.”

Philip had already confirmed that the Witch’s crew was alive and relatively safe—they were confined to the cargo hold where they had been locked in for now. There were a few injured among them, James admitted, but he did not think any were seriously wounded.

The first concern of both men was not freeing the crew but rather containing Captain Carew before he could incite the Britannia’s men to further violence—or worse, rape, kidnapping and enslavement.

“I have no wish to be aboard a slaver,” James said, spitting in disgust. “When Carew made his claim, he was not speaking of the Britannia but the vessel he served on previously.”

“How did he come to be on the Britannia?” Philip asked. “He mentioned the death of your former captain.”

“The tale would take too long to tell,” James declared, shaking his head. “Suffice to say that Carew came aboard as crew, but within a fortnight Captain Roberts was dead and Carew had acquired enough influence with some of the men that he was able to take his place.”

“Were you first mate then?”

“I was,” James said, quietly. “And if you are asking if I knew what was going to befall Captain Roberts, I did not. Now it is time to cleanse the Britannia of Carew and his filth. It may surprise you but before his arrival, we did not kill or kidnap passengers on ships which we boarded. We had a code.”

“Carew established a very different reputation quite quickly then,” Philip replied. “For the Britannia is now a byword for murder and mayhem in London, I am told.”

James tightened his jaw. “When I am in command, that will change. I have no wish to ever again witness...” He closed his eyes, evidently remembering some atrocity.

Philip wondered if James had tried to intervene before now, on a previous ship. If so, he had apparently been unsuccessful.

“Carew could not be stopped before now,” James said, finally. “With your help, he will be today.”

Philip nodded. “When you are in command, you will leave us in peace and go on your way. We are agreed?”

Philip did not much care what became of the Britannia after the Witch sailed away. Although he hoped James would fare better than his predecessors.

“We are,” James said, shortly. “Now as to the how.”

“Yes, I take it the crew of the Britannia would not take kindly to your delivering the captain to us openly? Nor to the sight of you aiding me in attacking him?” Philip asked. “Not that I would do harm to the man unless there was no other choice. I would much rather see him hang after he rots in a dank jail cell and considers his choices in life.”

“I, too, would enjoy witnessing that,” James agreed. “But no, you are correct. The crew is ready for a change, I believe. Even so, they would not take the overthrow of Carew lightly. Few realize that what happened to Captain Roberts was no mere accident. Those that do—well, those are the men who will support me in Carew’s absence.”

“Your crew are on the Britannia for now. How do we get Carew to return?”

Philip wanted this over and done with as soon as possible.

What was more, he relished the opportunity for a fair fight. No men restraining him. No crew cheering for their mad king.

No, just he and Carew—man to man.

Or, gentleman to pirate, as it were.

“Promise me you will not hold back when you take him,” James asked, looking Philip in the eye. “Know that when he threatened your sister and your wife, he meant every word he said. Their lives would have become a misery in his hands. In capturing him, we save countless lives—of that, I am convinced.”

“Agreed.” It was the easiest promise Philip had ever made.

“Why did the men leave?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. “Why are you the only one left on the Witch?”

“He is stupid and he trusts me,” James said, simply. “And the crew are tired. He has worked us to the bone. When he offered the chance of drink and rest, the men took it. Most are probably lying drunk on the deck now. They will be in no state to deal with whatever happens now.”

He scratched the dark curling stubble on his chin. The man had a fine beard. He was a fine-looking man in all ways, in fact. Not that Philip generally noticed the appearance of many other men. But James made a rather dashing pirate—dark and handsome, with that flash of gleaming gold on either side of his jaw.

The fact that James had a sense of honor and decency was all that really concerned Philip now, however.

Soon the Britannia would be captured. Its men would be caught and imprisoned. James would likely hang—if not for his own crimes than for Carew’s.

But none of that mattered today. It was Cherry, Rosalind, Gracie and the safety of all the others on the Witch that was important.

“Let us go and bring the beast to bay,” James said, pushing back his chair and standing. “I will tell him you have an offer to make which I believe he must hear and will send him to the cabin. When he enters... Well, you will take it from there.”

“And how do we know your men will not simply decide to re-board us?”

“Free your men,” James recommended. “Have them stationed on deck as soon as Carew enters the cabin. Cut the grappling hooks and ropes from your riggings. My men will not protest once I tell them you hold our captain and that he has offered to turn on his men in exchange for a pardon from Britain.”

“Why did your men not fire on us?” Philip asked. “From the look of it, the Britannia is a well-armed vessel.”

“Cannon fire?” James looked as if the idea was distasteful. “We do not sink ships. Although I suspect Carew would enjoy doing so. In your case, however, I believe he was—is—considering switching vessels. As you have said, the Britannia is easy to recognize. While the Witch is not.”

Philip frowned. The idea of Carew captaining the Witch of the Waves was intolerable.

However, James’ plan seemed to be lacking something. What if Carew’s men did not believe him?

“I believe I have a better idea,” Philip said. “What if we...”

“Excuse me, sirs,” Duffels interrupted, peeking in from the hall. He shifted on his feet nervously.

“What is it?” Philip frowned. “We are in the midst of—”

“Yes, sir, I knows—” Duffels interrupted again. “—but I really think, sir...” He hesitated, twisting his hands together.

“Speak up, man!” Philip barked, losing patience.

The old sailor looked miserable—more than that, he looked frightened.

“To get to the point of it, sir, his—” He nodded in James’ direction. “—captain, sir, has just passed by overhead.”

Duffels spoke of the hatch in the hallway. Through the wooden slats, it was fairly easy to get a decent view of anyone walking on the deck above.

“He what?” Philip stared. “Are you saying that Captain Carew is on board the Witch at this very moment?”

“It was either him or his double, sir. And he was treading in the direction of the passenger cabins.” Duffels was sweating like a pig. Philip did not think it was merely the result of the humid tropical air.

James was on his feet instantly. “Your sister...”

“And the baby,” Philip growled. Yes, his sister. And Miss Gardner. And Miss Gardner’s sister. As well as his friend who had already cheated death once.

“Do you have a pistol?” he asked James, shortly.

When the younger man shook his head, he cursed loudly.

“I have one, sir,” Duffels volunteered. “I could run and get it, quick as can be.”

Philip stared. Would Duffels’ weapon prove any more reliable than his own had been?

“Go,” he commanded. “Meet us by the passenger cabins. Go quickly.”

The short, portly man did not need telling twice. He shuffled off down the hall in the direction of the first mate’s cabin.

“It seems this will come to a head more quickly than we could have hoped,” James said, quietly. Philip turned and saw the man checking the leather belt he wore. A beautifully polished sabre was pulled from its sheath then stowed away again. It was a small but deadly-looking weapon.

“Shall we?” James said, calmly. “I would not recommend leaving Captain Carew alone with the women any longer than necessary.”

Philip cursed again. Striding out into the hall, he broke into a run, with James close behind.