“What was that book you mentioned bringing aboard?” Coffin asked him.
“A General History of the Pyratesby Captain Charles Johnson.” Leith managed a tight smile. “Not the best reading on a cruise, mayhap.”
“Hopefully not an omen.” Coffin grimaced. “Reminds me of the pirate carcass in chains at the mouth of the harbor in Port Royal, Jamaica.”
“The Pirates’ Republic, aye,” Leith replied, setting his knife and fork aside. “I remember those bleached bones.”
“What brought you there?”
“My father sent me to clerk his mercantile firm in Port Royal—rum and sugar—when I graduated university in Glasgow.”
“An ambitious undertaking. And you sailed home without incident?”
“You be the judge. On my return our brig was rammed by a whale then chased by French privateers.” Leith could hardly believe it in hindsight. It rivaled the book he was reading. “I doubt this cruise will be as entertaining.”
“I’d rather weather a gale than a whale,” the captain said with a chuckle. “Though privateers are wretched enough.”
In his cabin that night, Leith resumed reading Johnson’s book, a whistle of wind riffling the pages through the open doorway. Sunk in the story, he’d failed to note the weather’s shift till his stomach roiled with the ship’s next heave. He eyed a water bucket near the cabin door, wondering if he’d soon be retching in it instead of drinking from it. Tossing the book aside, he rummaged for the vial of peppermint oil Lyrica had insisted he bring as the ship gave another lurch.
Hurricane season. What had he been thinking?
Storm sails were aboard, though they often took hours, even a day, to raise. At the very least, Coffin would furl the sails till the wind died down. The hold was full of convictsas well as cargo—mostly Irish linens and portable goods—that steadied the ship lest it toss upon the waves like a cork.
But rough weather was the least of his concerns. Hemmed in like a convict aboard his own vessel, he found little to distract him, and now the pirates on the page didn’t hold him. The darkness was edging in again, worse than the nausea, and no tonic could relieve it. He fixed his gaze on the hanging lantern, willing the flame to hold as if his very soul depended on it. Images of Havilah and the bridge and her fear at his following amassed in the cabin’s shadows with cold, stark clarity. The darkness seemed to be widening, a pit ready for him to fall into, capable of extinguishing the sole flickering light—
God, help me.
The plea came unbidden, as did the sudden urge to retrieve the miniature. He gave in to the impulse and pulled it from his waistcoat pocket. Odd how the lantern light fell across it, pushing back a fragment of the darkness. The woman staring back at him was no conventional beauty—not the pale, porcelain-featured kind he found dull. This lass, if Copley’s brush hadn’t lied, was as ruddy-complected as a Scotswoman, her hair black as Newgate’s knocker though she’d likely not favor that description. And her eyes? An unquestionable gooseberry green. Mayhap she was tart as one too.
Yet Nathaniel Ravenal had sung her praises in a letter. And Colonel Catesby had sent him miniatures of both his daughters.
Something in Leith stirred to life, some feeling he couldn’t define. Could he be half in love with the indigo heiress though he’d not yet met her?
Mayhap she’d not want to be met.
7
Had my mistress been more kind to me,
I should have thought less of liberty.
Louis Hughes
ROYALVALEPLANTATION
With Father’s courting curtailed because of gout, and her and Loveday’s own foray to town delayed, Juliet sat by her father’s bedside as he barked commands as if he’d not left his military service in the French and Indian War behind him. Pain always sharpened his temper. Or was he worried that his absence might mean another gentleman would press his suit with the English widow?
Studying him with sympathy, Juliet still couldn’t help but tease, “Please, Colonel Catesby, one order at a time.”
“Zounds!” The epithet resounded through the room like buckshot. “Dr. Blair is overdue. Where can he be? Send Loveday to the stillroom for one of her remedies while I wait.”
“I’ve already done so, Father.”
“The sheriff should be here any minute. I’ve instructed Hosea to tell you immediately so you can oversee the matter.Two of the tobacco hands have been caught—I don’t know which two—and will be confined till Riggs confers with me about their punishment. Till then they’ll be kept in irons in the bellhouse.”
Schooling her reaction, she looked toward an open window, thinking she heard a wagon as the hall clock tolled seven. Dawn promised another sweltering day, and a final indigo harvest was underway. The year’s previous harvests had been fair, a great many indigo cakes ready for export, and the bounty promised from shipping solely to England was forthcoming.
“After you manage the runaways, you’ll need to accompany the slaves’ physic, Dr. Cartwright, to the quarters. Last visit he dosed the sickest with draughts of aqua mirabilis and ginseng tea, which failed to ease them. Pay particular attention to Mercy, who is near her time and unable to attend to her spinning house duties. Once Cartwright leaves, go to the weaving house and ask the itinerant weaver how long he will take to make the needed coverlets before the cold sets in. Also inquire as to when he expects to depart, as I must settle accounts with him first.”
