The Seafaring Lady’s Guide to Love by Fenna Edgewood

Chapter 13

The baby was beautiful.

Golden brown skin that looked as soft as flower petals, with tightly-curled tawny hair, and large, deep brown eyes.

“Oh, Cherry, she’s lovely,” Rosalind whispered, looking down at the infant, who had fallen asleep almost as soon as her lips touched her mother’s breast.

“She is, isn’t she?” Cherry said with a tired smile. “She has Charles’ hair. With my curls, of course.”

“She is rather sweet,” Gracie acknowledged, leaning over from the other side.

“You were very brave, Cherry,” Rosalind said softly. As was sometimes wont to happen, the labor had gone very quickly. The baby had been born with what seemed to Gracie and Rosalind to be only a few pushes. There had been bleeding, but nothing excessive. Mother and child would fare well, Rosalind believed.

“I was not, you liar,” Cherry whispered back wearily, this time with a grin. “I screamed my head off. And with poor Captain Merriweather trying to rest, too. Not that I do not fully expect you to do the same when it is your turn. No one can prepare you for that feeling.” She shook her head with a shudder. “Ah, but the pain is already fading,” she said with wonder. “And when I look at her... Well, I suppose it was worth it.”

She leaned down to kiss her daughter’s forehead tenderly.

“What will you call her?” Gracie asked. “Have you thought of a name?”

Cherry sighed. “I wish that Charles was here. It seems wrong to name our baby without him. And yet, I cannot let her go nameless the rest of the voyage.” She gazed down at her daughter wistfully. “I hope he will approve of the name I have chosen.”

“What is it?” Rosalind asked, curiously.

Cherry met her eyes and gave a small smile. “Philippa Rose.”

“Philippa.” Gracie wrinkled her nose.

“I think it is a perfect name,” Rosalind said loyally, glaring at her sister. “I’m sure Philip will be very flattered.”

“What about you?” Cherry said, her pretty lips turned up. “The Rose is for you, of course.”

“For me!” Rosalind exclaimed. “Well, then I am exceptionally complimented as well.” She leaned down to drop a kiss on the baby’s tiny plump cheek. “My very own namesake, Gracie!”

Gracie looked doubtful. “I suppose—” she began.

But whatever she had started to say was interrupted by the sound of clapping.

Instinctively, Cherry and Rosalind looked towards the cabin where Captain Merriweather lay. He had not spoken since the baby had been born, except to give a weary congratulations to the mother. Rosalind suspected he had dozed off as soon as the excitement—and noise—had subsided.

But Gracie, who stood on the side of the bed facing the entrance leading back out into the corridor, shook her head mutely and gestured with her chin.

“No,” she heard Cherry whisper. “Not now.”

Rosalind straightened her back before turning around.

“Why, Captain Carew,” she said smoothly, as she met the eyes of the man who stood leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. “We weren’t expecting you. I am afraid we have no refreshments prepared.”

“I believe I may do without my tea, love,” Carew said, smiling in a way that made Rosalind shiver unpleasantly. “I see we have added a new crew member to our ranks.”

“She is a passenger of the Witch,” Rosalind corrected, stubbornly. “Hardly a member of your crew.”

“Ah, I think I’ll be the judge of that now, won’t I?” He stepped closer; his smile unfaltering. “Should you like me to bless the babe?”

He held out his arms, and Rosalind heard Cherry give a little outraged gasp from behind her. She recalled what Gracie had told them about Carew having once been a vicar. She imagined his congregation must have been grateful for his departure.

“No, thank you,” Rosalind replied quickly. “The baby has only just fallen asleep, you see,” she said more quietly.

“Ah.” Carew looked strangely disappointed. As if the mad pirate would have liked nothing better than to hold a newborn.

Rosalind would sooner turn Philippa Rose over to a shark than let him touch her—and she was sure Cherry felt the same.

“Strange color hair,” Carew observed, peering behind Rosalind to look at Philippa more closely.

“It is a lovely color,” Rosalind said, coldly. “She is a beautiful little girl.”

“Is she a bastard then?” he asked, looking around with interest. “I see no father here.”

Cherry’s jaw tightened. “My husband is awaiting our arrival in Tortola.”

“Ah, I see, I see,” Captain Carew said. He put his hands behind his back and began walking around the room, humming to himself.

“Was there anything else, Captain? A new mother needs her rest, as I am sure you can understand,” Rosalind said, trying to keep her tone pleasant and light.

“Of course, of course,” he murmured. “She may have plenty of rest.”

He looked over at Cherry and the babe. “On board the Britannia. I’ll have my men come to fetch them up.”

Cherry hissed like a ferocious cat and clutched her baby to her breast more tightly. The infant awoke and began to whimper.

“You’ll do absolutely no such thing!” Rosalind said loudly to be heard over the babe. “Cherry and the baby are not going anywhere.”

“Besides,” she added, frantically. “It is not safe to move them. There could be... further blood loss.”

Carew raised his eyebrows and contemplated her in silence. She wondered if he could see through the lie or was simply assessing her with lascivious intent.

“Yes?” she said, frostily. “Was there something else? You have already woken the baby. Have you not done quite enough?”

A slow smile broke across Carew’s face and he took a step closer.

“Tsk, tsk, a saucy miss!” He scolded. “That’s no way to speak to your captain.”

His hand met her face with a hard slap that sent her reeling back against the wall.

For a moment, she was actually shocked. Then she recalled who this man truly was and what he had already done and threatened to do.

“That will be quite enough, Carew,” a deep male voice said calmly.

“Philip!” Cherry cried. “Thank God!”

“Cherry—” Philip stepped forward as if to cross over to the bed, but quick as a wink, Carew stepped between, grabbing Rosalind’s arm roughly on the way and pulling her in front of him.

“We are back to this again, are we, Carew?” Philip said disdainfully, looking past Rosalind into his foe’s face.

He showed no fear. No weakness.

One might easily think he had the upper hand and that Carew had not just pulled out the pistol which he was now pressing firmly to Rosalind’s temple.

She was proud of Philip.

But she also rather thought she might faint.

She had never fainted before in her life, only read about it in books. Whenever a heroine swooned, it did not endear them to her. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Rosalind had been in dangerous situations before. However, she could honestly say she had never had a gun put to her head until now. It was not a pleasant feeling, and what with the long day, the constant standing over the birthing bed, and the stress and worry over Cherry and the baby, Rosalind thought her knees might actually become liquified given a few minutes more in this unbearable position.

“Philip,” she whispered. She knew she should not distract him but could not help it.

Were these their last few moments together?

He ignored her.

“Threatening innocents again, are we, Carew? Not man enough to face someone who might actually do you harm?” Philip challenged.

“More amusing this way,” Carew said, breezily. “Not to mention, far less hazardous to the captain’s person. As the most valuable member of the crew, I know my duty. Now, I am not sure how recently you have looked into a mirror, my good sir, but you are built like a brick house. I rest my case.”

The light words bounced off Philip, whose scowl deepened.

“Ah! I see very well, Carew. I don’t believe you would face me if I were a foot below you,” Philip countered. “You measly, crawling worm. You pathetic, snivelling excuse for a man.”

Carew tightened his grip on Rosalind, his arm squeezing across her breasts, and she let out a small yelp of pain.

“Do you love your wife?” Carew asked. His casual tone belied his grip; Rosalind knew Philip’s words had struck true.

“Do I what?”

“Do you love your wife?” Carew repeated again slowly. “For you are certainly not acting like a man who cares whether his wife lives or dies.”

Rosalind watched as Philip pressed his lips together in a hard line. She swallowed.

But then, she was not his wife, was she? What could he possibly say?

Even if he answered in the affirmative, she had no doubt it would be a lie to protect her.

She tried to catch Philip’s eye, to communicate wordlessly with her own that it was all right. No matter what he said, it would be all right. She would understand.

But he refused to look at her.

“Do I love her?” Philip echoed. He paused briefly. “For a man who has no conception of love, Carew, I doubt you will be able to fathom this answer but yes, I love her. Deeply and excruciatingly. More than my own life. If you are intent on murdering someone today, why not take me instead? I promise, I will not resist.” He held up his hands.

Despite her knowledge that he was merely play-acting, Rosalind felt her heart give a little lurch. She felt an uncontrollable desire to reply to those words.

But she doubted the gesture would have the intended effect.

Besides, it had already been established that Carew was a lawless coward who preferred his victims weak and vulnerable.

Or, at least weaker and more vulnerable than a man like Philip Calvert, she amended, going easier on herself.

Carew burst into laughter and for a second his grip loosened. She considered trying to bolt, but then the pressure returned.

She felt the cold metal of the barrel shift against her temple and closed her eyes, praying Carew’s finger would not slip on the trigger.

“I think not. No, I rather think not. A grand gesture, however. Yes, grand indeed. Your wife may at least die in the knowledge that you made every attempt.”

Rosalind heard Gracie let out a choked cry from behind them.

Oh, Gracie! Why oh why had her little sister snuck aboard! She might be safe at home right now.

“No,” Carew continued. “If you truly wish to save your wife, you will get out of my way. Perhaps, one day you will find her and see one another again. Albeit a very, very long time from now most likely,” he added, feigning sadness. “And I cannot say what condition she will be in. The slavers in Tangiers can be very rough. Very rough on women indeed.”

“Captain Carew!” A strident male voice called out from behind Philip. “Let the lady go.”

“James! Welcome!” Carew exclaimed heartily. “Step in, step in.”

Rosalind heard rather than saw him frown. “Why are you holding a pistol? If you are going to carry a weapon, James, you might point it in the right direction. Point it at him. At him, James.”

“Captain Carew,” James said slowly, in his soft deep voice. “I assure you, my pistol is pointed in the correct direction, thank you, sir.”

Carew made a disgusted noise.

“You’ve gotten to my first mate, have you?” Carew complained. “You’ve corrupted the boy!”

“He is hardly a boy,” Philip said coldly. “Will you truly speak to me of corruption? From what James tells me, it is you who have corrupted the crew of the Britannia. And as they were already lawless pirates, that is a feat I would truly not have thought possible.”

Carew laughed loudly again. “You flatter me, Your Grace. Though I don’t believe there is a bit of noble blood in your body to spill. But yes, I suppose I have improved them somewhat since coming aboard. They were rather lacking in imagination under my predecessor.”

Rosalind watched Philip narrow his eyes in revulsion and wondered what exactly James had told him about the Britannia’s recent exploits. Clearly nothing good.

And now she was to become a passenger on that ship.

Or, worse, a corpse.

“Why don’t you let the girl go, captain?” James suggested, lazily, stepping up beside Philip. “We can find another.”

From the languidness of his tone and bearing, one would think James had all the time in the world and no doubt at all that the captain would eventually do as he asked.

“Listen to your first mate,” Philip suggested. “Do you really wish to add to the offenses for which you will hang?”

“If I’m hanging, what’s one more little spot of fun or two?” Carew said cheerfully. “I may as well take all the pleasure I can while in this world before I enter the next.”

“The next world will not be pleasurable for you at all,” Philip conceded, coldly.

“Ah, so we are all agreed then?” Carew said. “As my resting place will be hell, I may as well send Mrs. Calvert to heaven.” She felt him shift the pistol against her temple again.

This was it, then. She closed her eyes.

“No!” a childish voice shrieked.

And then many things seemed to happen all at once.

A shot was fired. Something hit Carew hard from behind and Rosalind was shoved forward. She would have stumbled and fallen, but Philip was there, grasping her hand and pulling her quickly behind him.

The pistol had gone off, but somehow, she was still breathing.

Philip seemed to be, too.

She tried to get her bearings. James was still standing. She looked back at Carew.

Gracie was there—hanging around his neck from behind, her skinny little arms trying to choke the life out of the man as he flailed about trying to pry her off.

Working on the ship must have hardened Gracie considerably for, like a leech, she was fastened on so tightly Carew did not seem able to pry her off. Then he found a finger and yanked it up and many things happened all at once.

Gracie screamed. Rosalind shrieked and tried to run forward. A loud resounding bark came and Gracie was falling to the floor. Suddenly, Carew was the one screaming, then falling, shaking his leg as Perita latched on—her teeth sunk into the fleshy tissue of his calf.

“Get off, get off,” the man snarled, as he tried to kick Perita while fumbling about on the floor for the pistol he had dropped.

“Are you looking for this, Captain?” Rosalind turned and saw James holding up the pistol. It was a double-barreled gun, she now saw, which meant it could fire a second shot.

She heard Gracie sobbing from behind Carew and Perita, and Cherry making soft soothing shushing noises to her from the bed.

Perita had not released her grip on her prey, despite the many blows being delivered by Carew’s other booted foot.

“Stop that,” Gracie was crying. “Stop it. Make him stop! Perita!”

When the second shot rang out, it took a moment for Rosalind to understand where it had come from.

James had looked so serene, so composed.

Not at all like the kind of man who would pull the trigger of a gun to save the life of a dog.

But that is exactly what he had done.

A pool of blood was spreading under Carew’s body. Perita unlatched her jaw and slunk over to Gracie, holding one paw in the air gingerly.

For a moment no one spoke.

Then, James said quietly, “That is a good dog, you have there. It would have been a shame to lose him.”

“Her,” Gracie said, choking back tears, while holding her wounded hand to her chest, and wrapping the other around the pup. “Perita is a she.”

“Oh, Gracie.” Rosalind broke Philip’s hold and ran to her sister. She put her arms around her and pulled Gracie’s head to her chest. “Your poor hand, my darling. Let me see.”

Gracie was staring up at James. “You shot him.”

“I did,” James agreed. He was looking down at Carew’s body with an expression of indifference.

“You shot him for a dog?” Gracie repeated, dazedly.

“She is a very brave dog. The same cannot—could not—” James amended. “—be said for Captain Carew.”

He turned to Philip. “I apologize for the bloodshed on your vessel. If you will allow it, I will have my men clean up this... mess.”

Philip was shaking his head. “We will see to it.” He put a hand to his brow. “Duffels?”

A wrinkled face poked out from the doorway. “Sir?”

“Release the men and send the most able here to see to disposing of Carew, will you? As well as to help my sister and these two ladies transfer what they need to the gentlemen passenger cabins.”

“Right away, sir,” Duffels said, and scuttled off.

Rosalind supposed he had been hiding in the corridor. She did not particularly blame him. Poor Duffels. She wondered how many pirates he had encountered in his long career at sea.

There was another spell of silence. Rosalind looked over at Cherry.

Somehow, baby Philippa had managed to fall back asleep. Her tiny rosebud lips were parted. She looked utterly peaceful, beautiful, and innocent.

She was such a contrast to the horror surrounding her that, unexpectedly, Rosalind started to cry.