“Aye,” he answered her unspoken question. “ ‘Twas Ralston’s idea that he be near the horses, but Hergus and I agreed.” Pitney ignored her outraged gasp. “ ‘Twill avoid much temptation.”
Shanna jerked her shawl tighter about her shoulders with an irritated shrug, and her eyes took on a chilling hue as she glared at him. She left, her lips moving with mumbled words that Pitney was relieved not to hear. Angrily she stamped her way below, and a moment later the large man flinched as he heard a cabin door slam.
It was well into the mid-watch of the afternoon when Shanna was seen out of her cabin again. Most of the seamen were old acquaintances, and she exchanged light greetings when she met an old friend. However, when Pitney or Hergus came near, Shanna’s eyes took on a decidedly flinty hardness, and her lips stiffened slightly.
The day wore on, and even with so many friends and family about, Shanna was completely beset with loneliness. Her gaze was ever drawn to the small, white-sailed schooner that plunged along beside the Hampstead. Night eased her plight, though the bunk was narrow, hard, and cold. Another day followed, and Hergus found herself with nothing to do, for Shanna combed her own hair and would not allow the woman in the cabin. The Tempest was sighted at dawn, hull down on the horizon, only her white sail showing, but as the day lagged by she drew nearer to take up her station abeam again.
The next morning dawned gray and cold. The Tempest was not sighted until noon. The fourth day out, a light, misting rain raked the decks and only a brief time could be spent in the open before a chill cut to one’s bones. The sails were reefed as the wind strengthened and became more easterly. Near evening the course was shifted to a due westerly one. They had sailed northward, taking advantage of the southeasterly winds and passing well east and north of the Bermudas. Now they sailed west to make landfall north of Chesapeake Bay and would let the prevailing northeasterlies blow them down upon it. The schooner would take the advantage more of the quartering tail winds and press ahead, making port a good day ahead of the Hampstead.
In the ensuing days Shanna grew more restive and short of temper. Her days were empty and long. Once the Hampstead turned west, the sun came out, and freshening winds swept her swiftly along toward her goal. Though the weather was warmer, it was still bleak for Shanna, and the poor ship could not travel fast enough to suit her.
It was after the evening meal, and even Sir Gaylord had been unusually gracious. Still it little eased the wintry chill of Shanna’s manner, and she finally took to the deck to escape the fruitless attempts at humor her father and Captain Dundas employed to cheer her. She was huddled against the rail, a fur-trimmed cloak drawn snug about her, hiding her nose in a woolen muffler coiled about her neck, when Pitney came to stand beside her. He leaned his elbows on the rail and watched the fickle waves form frothy caps of white. After a long silence in which Shanna ignored him he spoke.
“You seem in poor temper of late, Madam Beauchamp.”
Shanna tightened her lips and gave him no answer, but Pitney knew only too well what had soured her happiness.
“Ye’re angry and upset because of course ye’ve been dealt a cruel blow by fate.” There was a mocking tone in his voice that lent the words a heavy sarcasm.
“Hardly by fate,” Shanna scoffed. “More by trusted friends.”
“Ah, ye have a voice,” Pitney laughed gently. “Hergus and meself have been wondering about that.”
Shanna grew petulant beneath his prodding. “There has been little enough to say to either of you.”
“Poor lass,” he chided her. “ ‘Tis a sad thing that ye alone suffer against the outrageous whims of fortune.” Pitney paused and rubbed his hands together while he stared at the darkening evening sky. “Shanna child, let me tell ye a story. ‘Tis of a young man whose trials might well rival yer own.”
Shanna braced herself to hear his platitudes.
“He was not a complicated soul, though he had taken his father’s simple smithy and worked it with honesty and sweat into a vast iron trade that hired a round dozen hands. He met a titled lady, the youngest of a wealthy family, alas, all daughters. After a blissful courtship they were discreetly married, and she bore him a son. It gave the family a continuance of heirdom, and they accepted the man into their home.
“The son was coddled by his aunts, and the mother would not tolerate interference by the father who, being common, could not understand the ways of gentlefolk, or so she was convinced to believe by her kinfolk. The father yielded in the matter and let the nanny and tutors rear his son, taking only those rare moments with him when the others did not demand the boy’s time.
“The father became an outsider in his wife’s home, and her bedchamber was soon moved from his to another wing in the house. He saw her at evening meals but only from across the table and surrounded by a flock of haughty dames who looked upon him like a tolerated leper. Out of pride he left. The son once escaped the manor house and visited his father’s shop where the two of them spent joyous hours in comradery before the lad was hunted down by servants headed by the domineering aunt. She wore the bell of the household and warned the father of interfering further with the boy. The man stood upon his rights, but the local magistrate was well impressed with the power of the wife’s family, and the poor man found himself barred from the manor house and enjoined from seeing his own son.
“The boy fled again during a winter storm and journeyed through a blizzard in bare feet and sleeping gown to be with his father. The lad was fetched back, and the father was cast into jail for disobedience. But the son was taken with a chill, and the fever soon found him. He died in a barren manor house crying for his father.
“As it served no further purpose, the man was released and wandered the streets drunk and broken of heart. He returned to the manor once more and begged his wife to leave the frigid, lifeless realm of the dowagers and go away with him. Aye, she promised and took him into her bed again.”
Pitney paused and stared at his large hands for a long moment.
“The next morning she was found at the bottom of the stairs, broken and dead. The dames all agreed the husband had pushed her, and buried beneath their wealth and influence, he was cast into a dungeon. But with the help of friends he escaped and fled to his sister’s house in London. Her husband, a merchant grown wealthy of his own skills, had gained title to a remote island and was soon to take his wife and baby daughter there to live. The condemned man changed his name and garb and went with them where he helped them make their home and found one of his own.”
Pitney’s gaze raised and rested fondly upon the woman beside him, who smiled back tenderly through her tears.
“I have been with ye since ye were a wee babe, Shanna, lass.” His voice was oddly thick. “I rocked ye on me lap and bounced ye on me knee. I’ve always served yer purpose and do so now as much as it may seem otherwise.”
“Uncle Pitney—” Shanna sniffed, wiping away a tear that trickled down her cheek.
“I have seen ye abuse the sensibilities of many men, though most of them deserved it, but this one ye married, this Ruark, has been much afflicted by the world in such ways as few others are. He is a bold man, with a good head on his shoulders, true to what he believes is true. That such a man should be reduced to bondage is odious, but ye, me proud Shanna, have betrayed him at every turn with little care for his honesty or pride. ‘Tis of course no fault of yers that ye are a spoiled brat, and me own hand has been lent to that. I have seen little in yer schooling that would have taught ye to have a fondness for simple folk. It may be counted a credit to yer wisdom that ye have been more than fair with most people. Alas, this cannot hold true for those most near and dear to ye. Ye thought all men were foppish fools and when that one came upon ye who was to be valued above all others, ye had no knowledge of how to care for him.
“Ye would have taken him with ye on this ship and in the closeness of it, would only have been a matter of time before one of ye gave the game away. He had to be separated from Sir
Gaylord, but ye cannot see that. Ralston is suspicious of ye both, as he is of everyone, and has hounded Mister Ruark’s trail for many weeks. I’ve watched him meself. But ye are oblivious to that. This game ye started has been played out far too long and will bring more harm and hurt, yet I can understand that ye cannot give it up.”
Pitney faced his niece and was a trifle bemused at the soft regard she returned to him.
“I would ask two things of ye until the end of it is seen: that ye not hinder the man overly and that ye ask no further favors of me where he is concerned.”
Shanna stared into the roiling sea, considering for the first time the full account of what her Uncle Pitney had said.
The deep blue of the open sea gave way to the greener hues of the shallower water on the tenth day out of Los Camellos, and before the sun had approached its zenith in the sky, the low-lying dunes of a coastline came into view. The lookout gave a shout, and Shanna dragged out her heaviest cloak and, despite the chill wind sweeping the decks of the Hampstead, joined the men on the quarterdeck. After all, this was Ruark’s home, and she was anxious to see for herself what kind of land had borne such a man.
Ralston’s spare frame shivered in his woolens and, moaning for the good soft winters of England, he sought the warmth of his cabin. The heartier Sir Gaylord stayed on the deck a whole minute longer, then with a disparaging snort he, too, retired to the shelter of the decks below. Only Pitney and Trahern stayed to watch the green-capped dunes creep nearer. Shanna wedged her way between the two men and huddled there, taking whatever shelter and warmth they could offer. At the captain’s order, the ship altered course to parallel the shoreline on a southwesterly heading. Small islands were now seen forming a bastion before the main coast as the brigantine stayed well offshore.
“It seems so barren.” Shanna voiced the common opinion in a disappointed tone. “ ‘Tis naught but sand and shrub. Where are the houses and people?” Dejectedly she watched the bleak coast slide by. She turned to find Captain Dundas standing close behind them. He smiled almost gently. “ ‘Twill be a good two or three days up the James River before we reach Richmond.”
Sometime later they left sight of land again, but in the early afternoon a new coastline was sighted. It was near Hampton that a small lugger headed out to intercept them, and soon Captain Beauchamp’s first mate, Edward Bailey, came aboard. “Captain Beauchamp left me here ter see yez safe up the river,” he explained before pulling an oilskin packet from his pocket and handing the captain a sheaf of documents from it. “These be me papers and some charts o’ the river.” He produced a letter from the packet and presented it to Trahern. “A letter from Mister John Ruark ‘tis.”
Mister Bailey gave them no pause as Trahern opened the missive and began to read it. Smiling broadly the mate turned to Shanna.
“The Beauchamps be anxious to see ye, mum. Everyone named the captain a liar when he tried ter say how ye looked. Course, he didn’t come close ter doin’ ye justice.”
Shanna was amused at the roundabout compliment and gave the flatterer her best smile.
“I shall have a talk with Captain Beauchamp at the first opportunity,” she chuckled. “I will not have my reputation so abused.”
“The letter reaffirms that Captain Beauchamp has left transport for us at Richmond. Mister Ruark has gone to see it ready and will meet us there,” Trahern stated and gave Shanna a sidelong regard. “I half expected the lad to leave the Tempest and seek his freedom.” At Shanna’s astounded gasp, he shrugged. “I would have. I’d have signed over the schooner and taken my leave of bondage.” He chuckled in good humor, and his eyes twinkled at her. “I begin to wonder at his wisdom.”
Shanna presented her back angrily and refused to be further baited while Mister Bailey’s face was a study in blankness. He cast a narrowed eye at the sky and tested the wind.
“Mister Ruark impressed me as a man of rare honor. Why, he could be a Beauchamp and not be found wanting.” As Shanna turned her head to look at him over her shoulders, he spoke to Captain Dundas. “Ye can set full sail and steer due westerly. We can make a good distance yet afore dark.”
The river became subtly more wild after they passed Williamsburg, and the banks more sparsely settled. Darkness descended, and the ship was anchored for the night. Fog rolled down the river like a smothering blanket of wool, and soon the Hampstead was like a small universe suspended in time and space. Shanna could not have vouched that a world existed beyond the heavy grayness that swirled lazily against the sides of the ship. The rhythm of the open sea was gone, and small, erratic movements took place as the Hampstead strained against her cables and surged on the errant swirls and currents of the river.
Shanna fought the loneliness of her cabin. A small stove spread some warmth, but the chill of the night soaked in. She missed the nearness of Ruark beside her in bed. Pensively she went to her sea chest and withdrew the music box. He had asked her to bring it along, and it was her closest link with him at the moment. The box was heavy and sturdy, though the exterior gave little hint of it in the wealth of carvings, and it was well weighted to give resonance to the notes.
As she lifted the lid, the tinkling music filled the cabin with Ruark’s presence. The song was one she had so often heard him whistling or singing. She hummed softly and closed her eyes as she remembered strong arms about her, golden eyes gazing down into hers, the smile that could taunt, anger, please or soothe, the warmth of him beside her, the rippling strength of his muscles as he labored in the sun or moved softly above her in the dark.
The last echo of the notes died in the stillness of the cabin. Shanna opened her eyes to find that an odd mistiness clouded her sight. A long sigh slipped from her as she put the music box safely away.
There are fires, and then there are fires. Shanna blew out the lantern and snuggled beneath the down comforter and blankets, and the flame that warmed her was not the one in the stove.
“A day or two, my love,” she whispered in the darkness. “An eternity, yet as nothing.” Her choice of words came to her with full awareness, and tears welled up within her eyes. “Aye, my love! I do love you, Ruark Beauchamp, and you shall never have cause to doubt it again.”
The fog hung low on the water until the onshore breezes awoke to set it astirring. Then it drifted up to leave a pathway open beneath it, but still it clung reluctantly about the mastheads. Mists rose in streamers from the oily surface, and, as the ship began to awaken, Shanna was among the first on deck. Had it not been unseemly of a lady, she would have urged the men to haste as they stumbled up from below and paused to rub sleep from their eyes.
After a light breakfast Shanna returned to the deck with her father, not willing to miss a thing of this new land. Both of them were enchanted with the endless variety of what they saw passing by. Trahern would stare in awe and mutter, “A merchant’s dream. An untouched market.”
Rich black soil lay bare on the river banks, and small, rounded hills began to thrust upward showing occasional sheer bluffs of stone above the thick forest which came to the water’s edge. Houses appeared, some of red brick, large enough to speak of fortunes sheltered within. The river was still more than a mile wide, but the current had stiffened. The morning was not yet gone when the ship rounded a point and the James swept away to the larboard. Henceforth it took a more torturous course, and the crew was worked to their limits. The sails were constantly in need of trimming, letting out, or taking in, and several times it was necessary to tack across the width of the river to make headway.
Shanna was as bright and cheerful as the day was fitful and stormy. She gave herself to waving when persons were sighted along the bank and held her gay spirit even when Gaylord ventured upon the deck in a gloomy mood and bewailed the weather in these climes. But it was much to the relief of all that he shivered in his fox-trimmed cloak and soon took himself back to the nether regions of the ship.
Shanna’s day was only dimmed when the night drew nigh and Mister Bailey ordered the anchors
cast out, though Richmond was but some twenty-odd miles away. The man was insistent.
“ ‘Tis not wise to ply the river at night,” he asserted. “A stray current could send ye fast aground, and snags cannot be seen. Better to wait the darkness out and be sure of arriving.”
The wind keened through the rigging the next morning and drove a stinging spray with it, keeping even Shanna inside. She paced the narrow confines of her cabin, suddenly unsure of her self-control. How could she keep from flinging herself into Ruark’s arms in a rush of joy? She would have to reach deep for whatever strength she could muster. A wrong step now could send him to the gallows.
The door burst open, and a gust of wind swept in, bringing Pitney with it. He rubbed his hands and warmed them at the small pot-bellied stove before he spoke.
“We’re almost there. Only a mile or two more. The wind is nigh dead abeam, and the current is strong, but another half-hour should see us tying up.”
Shanna drew a deep breath as the battle raging in her breast blossomed to a din near to bursting. Taking her emotions in a firm grip, she nodded calmly. After Pitney and her father had left for the upper decks, she followed in their wake, outwardly docile.
Crewmen were swarming in the rigging to secure the wind-wild sails as the Hampstead was warped closer to the landing. No sooner was the gangway opened and the plank lowered than Ruark came leaping aboard, a dripping cloak whipping about his boot tops. Runnels of rain trickled from his broad-brimmed hat as he thrust his hand toward Trahern and laughed ruefully.
“ ‘Tis a poor day for a welcome, but there are places where the rain is considered a good omen.”
“And I trust ‘twill be,” Trahern rumbled and broached what had of late become his favorite subject. “By God, Mister Ruark, this land of yours is a veritable warehouse of treasure. I have never seen such untapped riches just waiting”—he chuckled with anticipating relish—“for the touch of a master merchant to bring them alive.”