Chapter Three
Back To The Past
Five weeks later:
Martha opened the front door of Gull Cottage and hurried into the foyer. On the way back from town, she'd collected the mail from the mailbox at the beginning of the road.
"Mrs Muir, I've brought the mail home," she called up the stairs in an excited tone. "And we've got a surprise."
"Have we?" Carolyn appeared at the top of the stairs and started down. "Has it finally arrived?" she asked anxiously.
"I think so…" Martha stopped at the foyer's telephone table to sort through the collection. She plucked out a large manilla envelope and discarded the rest of the mail.
She held it out. "It's their return address, right enough."
"It's about time…" Reaching the bottom step, Carolyn took it from her, keenly scanning the front of the envelope. Then she turned it over to look at the reverse.
"Well, go on then, open it," Martha encouraged. "You've waited long enough. Oh, I'm so excited!"
"It's only their guidelines that I wrote away for last month…" Carolyn ran a fingernail beneath the seal. "And you can't tell anyone about my attempting to write one of their romances. Besides, at the rate we're going, it might never see the light of day."
"Yes, I know. You told me." Martha nodded quickly. "But you and the Captain have been spending a lot of time up in your room. Surely, you've thrashed something out by now. When am I going to get to read it?"
"You may be our only fan." Carolyn grimaced as she took the papers from the envelope and gave them a quick look. "We've reached a stalemate, for now, trying to make the content work for both of us. I never knew working with a ghost writer could be so frustrating. He can be so stubborn."
"Compromise," Martha advised her baldly. "You can do it. I have faith in you two. Don't forget, when you need a third opinion, I'm your woman. I'll go and get lunch started. Candy's staying in town with a friend, but Jonathan will be home from the library soon. And don't worry, it'll all work out." She bustled away into the kitchen.
"Thank you…" Carolyn turned back to the stairs, climbing up to her bedroom.
When she entered the room, she found she was alone. Where the Captain had gone, she had no idea. They'd been working on ironing out some of the thornier points they disagreed on in the manuscript when Martha had called. Her ghostly partner had been refusing to budge on a couple of pivotal points and had finally lost all patience with the discussion.
"There's no point in running away, you know…" Carolyn sighed as she sat at her desk. "You need to face things square on. You've always told me that."
She read through the submission guidelines quickly. They detailed the usual things she was used to dealing with. She was grateful there were no unwelcome surprises. It was all straightforward enough. She could wish the stymied evolution of their troublesome novel was as easy.
"Captain Gregg?" she called tentatively, looking up.
"I am here, Madam…" He appeared beside her, looking less than pleased. "I had retired to my wheelhouse to think. Did Martha bring us any news?"
"We finally have the submission forms here." Carolyn held them up. "We can fill them out today and return them as soon as we've finalised the first three chapters of the manuscript."
"That is all they require for their approval?" He raised his eyebrows.
Carolyn consulted the guidelines again. "All they ask for is a synopsis of the novel and the first three chapters, along with a cover letter about any experience we've had. If they wish to read the rest of our story, then they ask us to mail them the entire manuscript. After that, we cross our fingers and wait for their final approval."
She grimaced. "Or their disapproval…"
"Maybe I should accompany our submission and scare them into their submission," the ghost offered grimly. His hard expression softened. "I'm… sorry we had words this morning. Sometimes I forget this is a collaboration and you have the need for me to moderate my language."
"We can do this. We really can," Carolyn insisted softly. "We have ironed out most of the issues with the first three chapters. If you will allow me to make the changes, we discussed this morning, then we can go ahead, retype a final copy and post it away." She put out a hand toward him, pleadingly.
"The Captain's Forbidden Love…" The Captain stared down at her hand, conflicting emotions tumbling through him.
His own hands flexed at his sides. How he longed to be able to take hers within his grasp and carry her fingers to his lips as he once would have done almost without thought. It was both a simple gesture and a forlorn dream, but one he clung to tenaciously.
He shook his head. "We started this venture as a collaboration, my dear. Collaboration is the action of working with someone to produce something."
He gestured toward the typewriter. "I think we've produced something worthwhile for the world to see. Therefore, I willingly concede on all your points. We cannot go on bickering as we have been. It is unproductive and damaging to our relationship."
His smile was short-lived and poignant. "At times it's been almost like we're an old, married couple." His blue eyes begged for her forgiveness.
"Thank you…" Carolyn leaned back in her chair to look up at him. "But only if you're really sure."
"I'm sure. As sure as I can be." The Captain sat in his chair beside her. "Together, we will bring a solid ring of authenticity to this novel. That pleases me very much, knowing the true source of the tale. Through these novels, Mrs Muir, your readers will come to understand my lost world in a way few ever could."
"You are most welcome, Captain," Carolyn acknowledged, well aware of the cherished ground he was willing to concede for the success of their venture. "Let me know when you're ready to begin."
She readied herself, fingers poised over the keys as she waited for him to find his place and begin the dictation from the first page of their rough draft. Her heart beat a little faster, and she felt suddenly light-headed with anticipation.
She prayed this was all going to work out as they both hoped. So much rested on them achieving a successful debut.
"Very well..." Her writing partner cleared his throat. He settled back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle before he began to read…
※※※※※
The dull and foggy London morning held no promise of sunshine. It had rained heavily overnight. Everything was drenched and heavy with the smell of sea brine. The harsh stench of stewing meats and boiling fish permeated the heavy air. The variant smells of closely packed humanity and their hovels caught in the back of a man's throat.
As he walked out of his cabin and went up on deck, Captain Josiah Wentworth cast a jaundiced eye at the sky, trying to gauge the mood of the changeable weather. He needed to be keenly alert to catch the best of the tide to sail downriver and out into the English Channel. That time would arrive soon enough, and he wanted to be fully prepared.
"But It's a foul day to be setting sail…" Josiah shook his head as he walked along the deck to his more immediate duties, as he'd done countless times before.
He would soon be setting sail for home on his last return voyage of the season. He'd finally gained his Captain's ticket at the beginning of the summer. Many of the older, more experienced, sea captains had scoffed at his youthfulness. But so far, he'd managed to weather the storm of their disbelief and had yet to run aground. He was determined to keep it that way and stymie his many vocal critics.
He rubbed his hand across his bearded chin. "I'll show them all..."
He'd been commissioned to captain the good ship, Rebecca for the DeLacey shipping company. She was being readied for sailing home to Boston with a full cargo of textiles and good chinaware. The fickle tides of the Thames did not make any allowances for those who did not respect her power. Many a good ship had come to grief because her crew were too lazy or her master too foolish.
"Such will not be my fate, God willing," the good captain muttered as he walked along the slippery planking.
He longed for the day when he could afford to set up his own shipping company and become his own master. That day was long in the future, but the dream of it was free.
As he walked, his critical eyes studied all aspects of his sleek and responsive ship. His rough crew were hard at work, making sure everything was in order and well-stowed. Josiah acknowledged their grudging nods of respect as they made way for him to pass.
He was fully aware that his crewmen held his youthful age of twenty-five years against him, and they constantly watched for the smallest of errors in judgement or any signs of weakness. If he was betrayed by an unwary decision or circumstance, the men would fall on him like starving wolves.
They were mostly scoundrels and brigands, men pressed to the sea rather than face the gallows. Their grudging allegiance to their captain was hard-won and by no means guaranteed in the lonely vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. The slightest spark could result in a full-scale mutiny and the ever-present danger of loss of life or his ship. The Rebecca was too good a vessel to be condemned to such a dismal fate in the uncaring arms of Davy Jones.
"God grant me fair seas, a following wind and a safe passage home…" Josiah prayed as he halted beside the last stacked pile of cargo on the deck.
He took the ship's manifest from beneath his arm and began to tally and recheck the totals for one final time. He never left anything to chance or another man's less careful eye. His was the last word and final responsibility.
"Ah, um, excuse me, Captain, Sir…" a familiar voice spoke from behind him, sounding more than a little agitated. "Got a knotty matter needin' your attention, if ya please…"
Josiah turned to see his first mate, Nathan Golightly, crumpling his sea cap in one hand while pulling urgently at his forelock with the other. The man looked ill-at-ease and eager to be elsewhere.
"What is it, Nathan?" Josiah demanded impatiently, unwilling to be pulled from his more important duties before they sailed.
"Ah, someone wants ta see ya, Captain…" Nathan mumbled, gesturing with his jerked thumb over his shoulder toward the head of the gangplank that led down to the quayside. "Sorry, Captain. But it's not my fault. Wouldn't take no for an answer, they wouldn't…"
"What are you babbling about, man?" Josiah demanded to know as he put aside the manifest. "Who wants to talk to me?"
He couldn't see past the broad bulk of the first mate's stout body. It cut off the sight of whoever was waiting to talk to him.
"Got me own duties ta see to…" Golightly saluted smartly before turning to trot away along the rain-washed deck, cramming his cap back onto his head as he hurried out of sight with what appeared to be unseemly haste.
"What in God's name?" Josiah looked after him with anger in his tone.
He turned back to look toward the gangplank, preparing to give whoever was interrupting his important work a good tongue lashing for the delay before sending them on their way. But his words of censure dried in his throat the moment he saw her.
She was standing at the head of the gangplank nervously twisting her small reticule between her gloved fingers. Even dressed as she was, in a severe, black mourning gown and lace-trimmed bonnet to match, the young woman seemed to have brought the sunshine with her on the rain-swept, foggy morning.
Her soft, sea-green eyes met Josiah's, and all the breath rushed from his lungs. He suddenly felt as if he were drowning, but he didn't care a jot as he stepped over and around the last of the cargo to reach her side.
"Good morning, Captain Wentworth," the young woman said in a gentle, breathy voice, giving him a small, neat curtsy.
She held out one black-gloved hand and Josiah reached to clasp it in his roughened palm without thinking. "I… How may I be of assistance, Miss… um, Miss?"
"Annabelle Winters," the young woman supplied readily enough, taking back her hand. "I… I have come to ask for your help. I must secure safe passage to Boston, and I am told yours is the last ship of this season. Therefore, you are my salvation."
She swallowed tightly. "You see, I am all alone in the world and I must find a way to reach the safety of my grandparents' home in America."
"You are?" Josiah stared at her, confounded and at a loss.
He'd never been addressed as anyone's saviour before. It sat uneasily on his mind.
He cleared his throat. "My deepest regrets, Miss Winters, but the Rebecca is not a passenger ship. We carry only cargo, and we have no accommodations suitable for a lady."
He shook his head. "And we sail with the morning tide…" He stared down at her, momentarily lost in her beautiful eyes and the soft pearly whiteness of her skin. Dark smudges beneath her eyes said that she'd been crying, and recently too.
"Oh, but, Sir, I have no need of the usual feminine comforts," Miss Winters replied quickly. "I am quite willing to muck in as required. I am thought to be a fair cook and I travel light. My boxes are few and I have them with me."
She indicated the small, ragged boy standing guard beside a not inconsiderable pile of bandboxes and trunks. Josiah noted that they had all seen better days. As had the young woman's clothing. Her dark garments had been neatly mended but they were of an older style that had passed from fashion more than five years before. He wondered for whom she mourned.
Josiah's lips twisted wryly. Not that he was an expert on the styles of any woman's clothing. And her state of mourning was none of his business.
"I fear you have come aboard my ship on a wasted mission, Madam," he complained in a brusque tone. "I do not allow women aboard my ship."
He tipped two fingers courteously to the brim of his sea cap. "Now, if you will excuse me…" He indicated the gangplank behind her. "I will escort you back to the dock. You may make our way from there to the ship of another captain who may be willing to accommodate you."
The young woman stepped back quickly from his guiding hand. "As we both know, Captain. Yours is the last ship of the season to be leaving London town ahead of the Atlantic storms."
She stiffened her stance. "Your man was good enough to help me come aboard. He said he was sure you would grant my wish for safe passage. All I had to do was ask you nicely."
"Did he, indeed?" Josiah looked after his vanished first mate. "The man takes on a deal more authority than he possesses, Miss Winters. He deserves nothing more than a good flogging; I can assure you of that."
"Oh, please, don't hurt the poor man! It's all my fault. And please don't say no! You can't!" Annabelle cried, tears filling her green eyes. "I have nowhere to go and no one else to turn to. I am obliged to throw myself on your good nature, Sir."
Josiah made a dismissive motion with one hand. "My good nature will not save you from the unwanted attentions of my crew. At best, they are a motley lot of cut-throats and rascals," he told her severely, fully aware of the many eyes fixed on their exchange. "They would take any opportunity to attack your virtue if I were to grant you passage aboard my ship. I might as well lock them all up now and throw away the key, as allow you to sail with us."
His lips thinned. "Or lock you up and throw away the key. The result would be the same. And probably the safer option for all concerned."
"If you will not agree to take me, Sir, then I do not know what will become of me." Annabelle turned to stare fearfully at the dockside taverns, where groups of drunkards and loose women were spilling out onto the quayside in the noisy confusion of the early morning's trade. "Is such as that to become my fate, Sir?"
She moved her slender shoulders. "Far better be it, that I am thrown overboard to drown at sea, than face such a humiliating end."
Josiah inhaled deeply and sighed. "You said you are alone in the world. You paint a very bleak picture. You truly have no one?" he asked grudgingly, looking down at her.
She seemed so small beside him and so young. He wondered at her age, settling on perhaps sixteen or seventeen. Of course, a gentleman never asked.
In her tiny kid boots, she barely reached the height of his shoulder. He was well aware the fate she described would soon destroy her soft gentleness and fair visage. The honey-blond curls that peeked from beneath her bonnet would fetch a high price in the London ale houses. Until her looks faded and her fairness was snuffed out by drink and loose living.
"You look far too young to be alone in the world..." Josiah frowned.
"I have passed my seventeenth birthday a goodly six months gone now…" Annabelle sniffed as she reached into her reticule to retrieve a lace-edged lawn handkerchief.
Josiah grimaced. "A mere babe in arms scarce out of your breeching cloths…"
"And I am all alone…" Annabelle dabbed at her eyes and nose. "My whole family was taken by fever these five months past. I was from home when the dreadful event occurred. I received word, too late."
She sighed. "My only hope of salvation is your consent to carry me away to Boston and my maternal grandparents. They wrote to say they had a room waiting for me and urged me to catch the next available ship. Now it seems, I am too late, once more…"
"Your tale is indeed tragic," Josiah allowed cautiously. "But all I can offer you is my sincerest condolences and an escort ashore. Good morning, Miss Winters, and goodbye." He indicated the gangplank behind her with an outstretched hand once more. He prayed she would take the hint and leave.
"I have money…" Annabelle brightened, patting her reticule. "And my mother's best cameo brooch. I can pay for my passage. If you will consent to furnish me with a suitable cabin with a stout key lock and a bowl of water in which to wash my face, then I shall trouble you no more, this day. I promise."
She raised her right hand. "And I will make every effort to keep well out of the sight of your crew."
"The only suitable cabin aboard the Rebecca that has a stout enough door and a heavy lock is mine own." Josiah grimaced. "And it is already occupied by me. Where do you suggest I may sleep?"
"Then that will suit me perfectly." Miss Winters nodded quickly. She indicated her luggage. "If you will but order these to be conveyed to my new cabin, Captain, I shall follow your lead below. There we can settle on my fare for the voyage, and you may sail your ship for Boston and not give me another thought. I shall be as quiet and unseen as a veritable church mouse…"
"But I…" Josiah stared at his unwanted passenger.
"I believe we have made a contract, sir." Annabelle raised her chin, her fine green eyes filling with a determination she would not be contradicted. She seemed equally determined to stay as he was equally certain she needed to leave his ship.
Josiah was about to open his mouth to send her fleeing back ashore when he felt the ship beginning to move beneath the stout soles of his sea boots, and he knew the tide was starting to rise toward its peak. The Rebecca groaned and creaked as she tugged against her heavy mooring lines, seemingly as eager as he to be gone down the river and out to the embrace of the sea where she truly belonged.
At that perilous moment, Josiah knew he'd lost the argument. He had run out of time and patience. He set his teeth in a moment of frustrated anger.
"Very well, Miss Winters. Despite my deep reservations, you have trumped my hand," he told her grudgingly. "I have no more time to waste on trying to put you ashore because I fear you will not go willingly. I would be forced to carry you. And I do not need a woman's hysterical scene to bring the law down upon us to delay me further."
"Thank you, Captain…" Annabelle heaved a sigh, as she turned to the ragged boy behind her.
She dipped her hand into her purse and pressed a coin into his outstretched palm. "There you go, Samuel. A six-penny piece, as I promised. Now you be sure to look after yourself."
"Aye, Missus! I will!" The boy set his teeth quickly into the coin to test its authenticity before he spun around on his bare heel and ran ashore.
Annabelle picked up her skirts and turned back to her new captain. "Now I promise I will give you no cause to regret your decision."
"You already have, and I already am…" Josiah snatched up the manifest before he seized her pile of trunks and bandboxes.
"Mr Golightly!" he roared. "Get your worthless hide back here and attend to your duties! I will be back on deck directly!"
All around he could feel the hot, leering eyes of his crew fixed on him and his pretty companion. In the rigging and along the deck, the men stared surreptitiously at the Rebecca's unwanted passenger. They muttered and elbowed each other, getting as close as they dared, as their captain escorted the young woman toward the aft hatch.
Josiah glared at them. "Cease your confounded gawping and make ready to sail, you worthless bunch of wretches! I'll catch the tide, or you'll all pay for it with bloody stripes on your confounded hides!" he bellowed, making every man of his crew hurry away to their stations.
First mate, Golightly, reappeared to take charge of the ship's wheel and to order the withdrawal of the gangplank. Watching his captain's actions warily, he began shouting commands for the dock workers to cast off the heavy mooring lines and more men hurried to obey.
Josiah thrust the wooden hatch open and led his passenger below. Miss Winters followed meekly, seeming to have been shocked into silence by his shouted orders and the sudden, rowdy commotion needed to get a ship ready for sailing.
"God save me from the feminine wiles of all confounding women!" Josiah muttered bleakly, as he booted open his cabin door and stood back to usher the determined young woman safely inside…
※※※※※
Four months later:
"I still can't quite believe it's all real…" Carolyn commented in an awed tone. "I mean, we did it, we actually did it."
The last few months had been hectic. After their written receipt of the initial submission of the first three chapters of 'The Captain's Forbidden Love', Hanover Publishing was swift to act. Their finalised offer of acceptance and subsequent publication of Carol Gregg's first romance novel had taken Carolyn's breath away.
"In their acceptance letter, they said it's a rousing sea tale and you brought a brilliant ring of authenticity to your debut novel..." The Captain raised his glass of champagne to her. "That pleases me very much, knowing the true source of your story."
"Yes, I couldn't have done any of it without you…" Carolyn returned his salute with her own champagne glass. "Thank you, Captain."
"I'm just glad I finally got to read it!" Martha declared happily. "I was starting to wonder if it would ever get finished…" She shook her head. "Of course, I do expect a personally signed copy from the reclusive author."
It was late at night, and they were all sitting in the living room with a small pile of six paperbacks on the coffee table. Their titles were all the same. 'The Captain's Forbidden Love' authored by Carol Gregg.
"Who knew that writing with a true ghost writer could work out so well." Carolyn smiled. "Of course, we still can't tell anyone."
"I know, you said." Martha shook her head. "Sad, though. My ladies' reading group would be so proud to know they had a small part in the creation of this novel. I've ordered a dozen copies from Lorrie Hammond for them all to read when we meet for our weekly session tomorrow night. I can't wait to see their reactions."
"Maybe, someday in the future you can tell them the truth," Carolyn allowed cautiously. "When we see how well this new writing venture works out." She glanced at the Captain, seeing he was watching her with a satisfied smile.
"Oh, so we are going to write a sequel, then?" he asked pleasantly. "If so, then we shall have to think of a suitable title."
"Of course, we're going to write another one," Carolyn replied seriously. "You did say you have a fund of such tales just waiting to be told. And Hanover is talking about contracting me to write more. But we need to tread cautiously."
She sipped her champagne. "I would hate to expose all we have here because someone said something out of place. I couldn't bear it if you were revealed to prying eyes and pushy busybodies like that dreadful Paul Wilkie. Or Madame Tibaldi wishing to return to hold another séance. I would rather stop writing now than put you in any kind of danger."
"Thank you, my dear. But we will deal with that situation if and when it arises." The ghost shrugged. "I appreciate your concern. Are you finally ready to admit that my idea of writing such novels as these did have some merit?" He raised an enquiring eyebrow.
"I'll have to plead the fifth on that one…" Carolyn took another long sip of her champagne, trying not to return his widening smile.
"Here's to forbidden love…" The Captain raised his glass again, as he studied the beauty of her lovely face with a look of ineffable longing that he knew he could never act upon. 'Not in this life…'
※※※※※