Charity's Cross Read online

  Canvas rumbled, then snapped as the sails caught the wind, and the ship began to glide through the dark waters. Grabbing Sophie, Charity moved out of the light of a lantern into the shadows beside the quarterdeck. But it was too late. Charles marched down the wharf and halted.

  His eyes, like spears, stabbed straight into her.

  Chapter 2

  Eight weeks on a ship at sea felt more like a year in hell. The endless leaping and vaulting, plunging and careening—worse than riding on a country road in a carriage without springs—was bad enough, but add to it the stench of mold, sweat, and something foul that seemed to have died below decks, and Charity doubted she would ever get the odor out of her nose. Or feel cool again in the stifling heat. She spent her days with naught else to do but pace a cabin no bigger than a crawl space. In her haste, she’d brought no books, no pen and parchment, few toiletries, and no ginger or peppermint to ease her stomach—though she knew tossing her accounts into the chamber pot each morning had naught to do with the voyage.

  Sophie was a grand companion. A true friend, indeed. Never failing to cheer Charity up when her mood dipped to the bottom of the sea, nor scold her gently when anger and complaining got the best of her. To help pass the time, she told Charity stories of what went on below stairs with the servants, and they laughed together at the antics Charity had never suspected.

  Neither spoke of Lord Villemont.

  Nor did they speak of what awaited them in Nassau, though Charity thought of it often. Her plan was to charter the first ship to Charles Towne, where her sisters and father had recently moved. Their last post said they’d settled in nicely and were enjoying the fresh wildness of Carolina. If they knew what she had done, would they welcome her home? In her condition? Her sisters perhaps, her father—her stern admiral father—may banish her to the streets without a second thought. Or worse, alert the authorities. Not that she could stay with them long, anyway. If her brother-in-law Charles had seen her board the ship, he would more than likely use his influence and money to send a posse after her.

  And Charles Towne would be the first place they would look.

  However, she hoped her family would lend her money to start her own printing business as she’d always wanted to do. Then she could move north, perhaps Boston, change her name, and live out her days in peace. Lord Villemont had told her that women possessed neither the brains for business nor the ability to take care of themselves without a man’s provision and protection. She intended to prove him wrong on both counts.

  But she wouldn’t think of that now … couldn’t think of that now.

  Though the crew leered at her and Sophie when—unable to tolerate the heat and smell any longer—they went on deck for air, they left them alone. Charity guessed ’twas the captain’s doing, for he wanted the rest of his money when they arrived in Nassau. Twice they dined with him in his cabin, but found the experience so unpleasant in both conversation and manners, that they begged illness and took the rest of their meals alone. A young lad no more than fifteen delivered their food and removed their chamber pot, but offered nary a word to either of them.

  Time ceased to exist in the endless monotony of each day, and Charity began to believe that she’d died and gone to hell for her crime. Only Sophie’s presence convinced her otherwise, for the sweet Godly maid had never done anything to deserve such a fate.

  Finally, shouts from above—different sorts of shouts, excited shouts—snapped Charity’s eyes open as she dozed on her cot in the afternoon heat. An unfamiliar shift of sail, stomp of sailors’ feet, and the softening of water rushing against the hull added to her hope.

  Dragging a chair to the tiny window, Sophie leapt upon it and peered outside. “Milady, I see land!”

  Jumping up, Charity joined her on top of the chair, both ladies hugging and giggling and nearly toppling over as they stared at the lump of green interrupting the endless span of blue that had made up their view for months.

  Within an hour, the Neptune lowered sail and eased into Nassau Harbor. Charity and Sophie bid good riddance to their cabin and ascended to stand on the main deck where wind tore curls from Charity’s bun, bringing with it the smells of smoke, fish, and horses. Pig squeals drew her gaze to an uninhabited strip of land to her left where wild boars grazed without restriction. On her right, the town of Nassau spread out from the docks in rows of brick and wooden structures that rose from sandy streets. Wagons, carriages, horses, and people bustled to and fro, weaving around bands of chickens that strutted like kings through the city. Certainly not as civilized as Portsmouth, but compared to life aboard this ship, it might as well be London itself.

  The sailors aboard the Neptune were less interested in the women as they furled sail and dropped the anchor just a few yards off shore, their gazes seeking the new object of their desire—the pubs and brothels ashore that waited with open hands to rob them of their hard-earned pay.

  The captain approached and offered a clumsy bow. “Ladies. I trust ye enjoyed yer journey.” He doffed his hat and wiped sweat from his shiny scalp with a handkerchief.

  “Thank you, Captain, for delivering us safely to Nassau.”

  “My men are lowering a boat as we speak an’ shall have ye ashore”—he leaned toward Charity and winked—“to yer ill family before ye knows it.” He held out his calloused hand. “Now to the matter of my payment.”

  Forcing a smile, Charity opened her valise, withdrew a pouch, and handed him the remainder of what she owed. His hand closed around the coins like a snake’s mouth around a mouse.

  “’Tis been a pleasure, Miss.”

  Over his shoulder, Charity spotted a small boat shoving off from the longest wharf and heading their way. An odd sense of dread caused a shiver, though the day was hot.

  “Captain, who is that heading toward us?”

  Plunking his hat back atop his head, he turned, hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “More’ en likely some merchant sellin’ his wares.” With that, he ambled away.

  But it wasn’t a merchant, for as the craft drew closer, Charity saw no goods aboard. Just men. The more she stared, the more her heart clambered up her throat.

  “Wha’ is it, milady?” Sophie laid a hand on her arm.

  Charity’s legs turned to mush, and she leaned against the railing. “How did he? How ... How…?” Perspiration trickled down her back as dark clouds drifted in from the sea, swallowing up the sun.

  “Milady?” Alarm blared in Sophie’s tone. “Who is it?”

  “’Tis Charles Gregson,” Charity managed, breathless. “Or should I say the new Lord Villemont.”

  Sophie slapped a hand to her chest and glanced at the boat. “His lordship’s brother?”

  Charity scanned the deck of the Neptune, then gazed over the docks reaching into the turquoise waters from the city like spindly fingers ready to grab her. If only she could leap atop one of them from here.

  The boat was within ten yards now.

  “How is he ’ere, milady?” Sophie continued staring at the boat in disbelief.

  “I saw him in Portsmouth after we boarded the Neptune. He must have seen me, taken a faster ship.” Blood rushed to Charity’s head, and she blinked to clear it, lest she faint. “He’s here to arrest me and bring me back for trial. Or worse, take justice into his own hands.”

  “Come, milady, we’ll hide in the hold.” Sophie’s plump features twisted in panic as she tugged on Charity’s sleeve.

  “Nay. He will find us.”

  Five yards away now. “Ahoy there, Neptune! Permission to board!”

  Think…think…Charity, think. Grabbing the railing she leaned over the side. Water caressed the ship at least twenty feet below.

  The boat struck the hull on the other side, and men called up for a rope ladder. Kneeling, Charity attempted to open her valise, but her trembling hands betrayed her. The king was in his counting house, counting out his money… She closed her eyes momentarily, continuing the song she’d sang when her husband was on his way u
p the stairs to beat her. Finally, she opened the case, gathered a pouch of jewels, then lifted her skirts and stuffed them in the pocket dangling from her waist.

  Sophie began to sob.

  Rising, Charity gripped her shoulders. “Sophie, take what is left of my money and buy passage back to England. You have an aunt in Dover, right?”

  The maid nodded, her lip trembling. “Wha’ are you saying, milady?”

  Charity glanced over the maid’s shoulders where most of the crew was engaged helping the strangers aboard. “When they ask you where I am, tell them I went below. Will you do that?”

  “Aye, milady. But where are you going? I don’t understand.”

  Charity looked over the side again.

  Sophie grabbed her arm. “Nay! You will drown. I could not bear it!”

  “You’ll have to, or else you’ll bear watching me hang. Besides, I can swim. My father taught me when I was young.” She hugged the woman, storing her kindness deep in her soul. “Thank you, Sophie, for everything. Now, do as I say.”

  “But wha’ about you, milady?” Tears streamed down her face.

  Charity didn’t respond. Instead she moved toward the back of the ship away from the commotion, slipped over the railing, and dropped into the bay.

  ♥♥♥

  Elias Dutton leapt onto the dock and stared out over Nassau Harbor. The Caribbean. It was good to be home among the emerald waters and warm breezes, swaying palms and fresh tropical fruit. Though his father’s family originally came from England, and some still resided there, every time Elias returned for a visit, the dreary, cold weather reminded him how blessed he was to call these West Indies home. He drew in a deep breath of the briny air and swept a gaze over the boats at anchor—several fishing trawlers, merchantmen, an East Indiaman, various schooners, brigs, and passenger ships, along with a Royal Navy frigate.

  The dock wobbled as men disembarked behind him. Bells clanged. An egret screeched overhead, and he withdrew his hat and glanced at the dark clouds forming above. His sister would be married now. Yesterday, in fact, if his calculations were correct. He hoped—no, prayed—that the ceremony and celebrations had gone off splendidly. He regretted having to leave early, but the post his parents had received from his other sister, Rose, had them concerned. And with her husband Duncan in London with them and unable to leave, they’d sent Elias to her rescue. He only hoped that his parents, along with Uncle Alex’s influence at court, would be able to procure a letter for Duncan from the King and stop this madness on Barbados. In the meantime, that they trusted him to ensure Rose’s wellbeing meant the world to Elias. Especially after what had happened three years ago to Caleigh. Had it been three years?

  Guilt slammed his shoulders, weighing them down.

  Thank God, the captain of the ship had made the crossing in record time. Now, to procure passage on another ship heading to Barbados. Stay safe, Rose, I’m coming. One more week and he’d be there to protect her, and then he could send word to his mother, or rather his father, that all was well. ’Twas Rowan Dutton who tended to fret over everything, while his mother Morgan trusted God.

  Elias would show them both that—despite his past mistakes—they could trust their eldest to take care of their other seven children.

  He withdrew the wooden cross hanging beneath his shirt and fingered the smooth oak carving. “Never again,” he whispered into the wind. “As God is my witness, never again will I allow tragedy to strike my family.”

  A sailor bumped into him from behind. “Hey, ye gonna stand here all day? We needs t’ offload these goods.”

  Elias nodded and started down the wharf when a flash of rose fabric caught his eye. A woman dangled off the railing of a ship anchored several yards off shore. He stepped to the edge of the dock, heart pinching, praying someone from the ship would come to her aid. But she fell—a parasol of skirts catching the air before she disappeared beneath a bubbling splash. Without hesitation, Elias dove headfirst into the water, his one thought—his only thought—to reach her before she drowned.

  Chapter 3

  Charity realized far too late that it would have been more prudent to have removed her shoes before leaping into the water, in addition to one or two petticoats. Not to mention her stays. Which at the moment felt like an anchor wrapped around her middle, squeezing the life from her. ’Twas said they were made with whale bones, but at the moment this particular whale had forgotten how to swim.

  Water gurgled around her, muting sounds of life above and forcing her down … down … down into the darkness where all was peaceful … serene …happy… But no! She couldn’t die. Not after all she’d endured. Not after her years of suffering. God wouldn’t be that cruel, would He? Or perhaps He would. He had certainly not proven Himself to be anything but a harsh overseer. In truth, she’d lost hope of any happiness in life and would gladly succumb to a watery grave—

  If not for the life growing within her. A reason to go on. The only reason.

  She attempted to untie her stays but couldn’t reach them. She kicked her feet, yet they tangled among her skirts. Anger rose, not fear, not panic, but full-fledged rage at the injustice! It took over every limb and muscle as she shoved her arms through the water and thrashed her legs with all her might. Lungs near to bursting, she broke the surface and sucked in a huge breath.

  A man grabbed her waist.

  “Hold on, Miss. I’ve got you.”

  Wiping water from her eyes, she pushed against him. “I don’t want you to have me!” she heaved out between breaths. “Leave me alone!”

  But the man only strengthened his grip and swam backward with his other arm, drawing her alongside him.

  Charity glanced up at the Neptune, fully expecting to see her brother-in-law pointing over the railing at her, shouting for his men to give chase. But no one was in sight, save for a few sailors handling the rigging.

  What was in sight was her, apparently, as a crowd formed on the closest dock, gasping and pointing in her direction. No, no, no! They would alert Charles to her location! She tried to pry the man’s hands from her waist. “Let me go, you brute!”

  “Never fear, Miss. Try not to panic.” He breathed out in a harried tone. “I won’t let you go.”

  The man’s clumsy efforts forced her head below the surface. Choking on a mouthful of salty water, she struggled as he jerked her upward into the air again, coughing, hacking, and spitting out the sea. “Vapors! You daft loon. You’re going to drown the both of us!”

  Only then did she notice that her struggling and shouting drew more people to the edge of the wharf as well as a few sailors aboard the Neptune. Perhaps ’twas best to keep calm and allow the man to complete his gallant rescue.

  Several hands reached down to her from the dock. She grabbed one and her rescuer pushed her from behind as another man pulled her to stand on the wobbling wood—an aged sailor whose face looked more weathered than the planks he stood on.

  “Miss, are ye all righ’?” He leaned to study her face—so close she could smell his fishy breath.

  “Yes, yes, I’m quite all right. Thank you, kindly.” She attempted a smile as she peered through the mob toward the Neptune where her brother-in-law and several men were now staring over the water. It wouldn’t take them long to figure out where she was.

  Ducking further into the crowd, she laid the back of her hand on her forehead and stumbled as if she were going to faint. “I nearly drowned. How frightening.”

  “If not fer this gentleman, Miss.” Another sailor steadied her with a touch to her elbow, and she turned to see the man who had rescued her—or so he thought—hoist himself onto the wharf with minimal effort. His sodden shirt left nothing to modesty as it clung to a broad chest rippling with muscles and rounded arms, sturdy as table posts. Hair the color of chestnut escaped his queue and dripped onto wide shoulders. A day’s stubble shadowed his chin and jaw, as stark blue eyes assessed her with more clarity and kindness than she’d seen in years. He smiled, a sincere, pleased-to-
meet-you sort of smile that sent her mind spiraling and her body heating.

  If she hadn’t written off men altogether, she would have swooned at his feet.

  But she had written off men. They were not to be trusted. Not even dashing heroes.

  “You gave me quite a scare, Miss,” he said, raking back his wet hair. Which only made him more handsome. “Elias Dutton at your service.”

  Mumbling, the crowd dispersed, and Charity cast a quick glance toward the Neptune. Though it was too far to see clearly, Charles’ gaze was definitely pointed her way. She must hide. She must endure the touch of these men, though everything within her told her to run. Clutching one of the sailors beside her, she reached for her rescuer, moaning, “I feel faint.” Both men gripped her, one by the waist, the other by her elbow, and escorted her down the wharf into town.

  Thankfully some of the crowd followed, then scattered to whatever they were doing before her leap in the bay provided their only excitement of the day. “Thank you, gentlemen, I feel much better now,” she said when they reached the crowded street. Yanking from their grips, she straightened her saturated skirts and proceeded on her way. To where, she had no idea, but at the moment, anywhere where Charles couldn’t see her.

  The sailor ambled away, grumbling. The gallant rescuer followed her. Thunder rumbled in the distance as wind blew the spice of rain past her nose and chilled her sodden gown.

  “Miss …Miss, allow me to aid you in getting back on your ship.”

  Ducking behind a parked wagon, she faced him. “What ship, Sir?”

  “The one you fell from.” His brow wrinkled.

  “Oh, that. Nay. I was to come ashore anyway.” She waved him off and started across the street, weaving around carriages, people, and chickens, while doing her best to avoid attracting attention. An impossible task since she looked like a mermaid risen from the sea. People gaped at her as if she were, indeed, a mermaid, casting glances over their shoulders at her in passing. She attempted to rectify her appearance as best she could, but her skirts swished and rubbed against her legs like sheets of iron, and any effort to pin up her wet hair ended in futility.