Chapter Six
The Contents of the Diary
Tired from an evening spent trying to think of a way around Elvira Grover's outrageous proposal, Carolyn made her excuses before retiring early to bed.
Once settled between the sheets, she propped herself up on the banked pillows so she could read more of her great-great-grandmother's journal along with the first pages of their latest collaboration, 'Love Under Sail.'
She had no idea where Daniel had gone or who he planned to terrorise. He hadn't reappeared from his mysterious mission.
"Good night, Captain…" she whispered to the shadows before she settled deeper into the bed.
She read a few more pages of the journal before turning to the manuscript. She stared at the title page for some time, feeling a deep sense of connection to a woman she had never known except through the enlightenment of her grandmother's fascinating journal.
As she began to read, she couldn't help envying Daniel's unexpected connection to her family. And the unusual way they had met on that long ago, London morning…
"The London morning was fog-bound and bitterly cold. The weak autumnal sun refused to shine. Last night's heavy rain streamed through the narrow, cobbled streets, before finally spilling into the Thames in muddy torrents from the wharf's sodden docks.
The foul weather only served to deepen Serena Marsh's already depressed mood. She'd never felt so miserable in her entire life. Or so alone.
As she worked her way along the dockside through and around the piles of cargo waiting to be shipped, she clutched her reticule close to her body beneath her damp cloak. She was in possession of sufficient funds to purchase her previous night's stay in a respectable inn and for her passage to America. All she had to do now was find the ship.
The night before, when she'd first arrived in the city, she'd sold her wedding ring along with the few, valuable trinkets her jewel box had held. She'd hated to part with her late mother's jewellery but she had no choice.
She felt utterly betrayed by the man she'd married in good faith only a month before. The sooner she could put the width of the Atlantic Ocean between herself and Myron Jackson the better she would feel about the fact that the man she'd taken as her husband was already married!
A week ago, his previous wife had reappeared to reclaim him. Myron had gone with her meekly enough, leaving Serena heartbroken and nearly destitute.
"I never want to see him again for as long as I live…" Serena shook her head.
The eyes of many uncouth and idle men followed her steady progress along the dock. She did her best to ignore their comments and catcalls. With her chin lofted and set with determination she approached the gangplank extending from the side of the good ship Arabella.
She'd been told by the innkeeper's wife that she would find safe passage aboard the ship bound for Boston Harbour on the morning tide. In her desperation, Serena was not about to take no for an answer from anyone.
"May I help you, Miss?" A young man appeared at her side, pulling at his damp forelock beneath the brim of his sea cap.
"I wish to speak with your captain about securing my passage to Boston." Serena set her gloved hand on the gangplank's guide rope.
"So sorry, Miss. But Capt'n Bryant says we're not takin' no more passengers. The last cabin's been taken afore the forenoon bell, yesterday." The young man shifted uncomfortably beneath Serena's disbelieving stare. "It's what he said."
"What is your name, young man?" Serena demanded crossly.
"Pippin, ma'am…" The young man clutched at his forelock again. "Pippin Worthy. And it don't make no difference you aknowin' it. There still ain't no free cabin aboard."
"Well, Master Worthy, I will see your captain and I will secure passage aboard this ship, or it'll be the worse for you," Serena told him roundly, her fraying patience with her current circumstances making her tongue sharper than usual.
She was fighting to keep the tears at bay. She refused to cry or be beaten by circumstances seemingly beyond her control.
"Ah, may I be of some assistance, young lady?"
Serena turned to find a finely dressed, older man standing behind her, touching his fingers to the brim of his stylish hat. He seemed harmless enough. A faint look of amusement shone in his fine green eyes as he looked her over approvingly.
"Thank you, sir…" Serena dropped a small courtesy, more out of habit than necessity. "But I feel I am capable of conducting mine own business."
"I can see that." The man's look of amusement deepened. "But I fear you are making our poor young Pippin here rather uncomfortable." He nodded to the boy. "Run along, Master Worthy. You have performed your duties well."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr Colby, sir," Pippin replied with alacrity, turning to run up the gangplank and make good his escape.
"I'm afraid you have the advantage over me, sirrah." Serena squared her shoulders, frowning at her unwanted accoster.
"Clayton Colby, at your service…" The man swept off his hat and bowed, his finely made lips twitching with barely concealed humour at the forthrightness of her tongue. He appeared to be enjoying himself hugely. "Now who has the advantage?"
"Miss Serena Marsh," Serena replied shortly.
Manners demanded she hold out her kid-gloved hand for him to clasp. He did so and she snatched it back to tuck it among the folds of her skirts.
Colby settled his hat back on his head before extending the crook of his elbow toward her. "May I escort you aboard, Miss Serena Marsh? I believe you spoke of securing a cabin for the voyage ahead. I can be of some service there, I believe."
Serena ignored his proffered arm. "I do not believe I asked for nor do I need the help from you or any man." She cared not that her tone was waspish and dismissive.
"Ah, but you see I am in possession of the last available cabin aboard the Arabella and the captain is a personal friend of mine. I am a merchant, you see, and I have often sailed aboard his ship. Therefore, I have some say in how I am lodged aboard."
Colby extended his elbow further. "Or do you plan to stay on the dock, in the company of those fellows who have been watching you all this time? Their ribald comments upon the neatness of your person and figure are most enlightening."
"You presume, sirrah!" Serena hissed.
"If I presume to point out the precariousness of your situation, then yes, I am guilty as charged." He shrugged. "Does it salve your conscience to know you are right?"
He smiled. "Yours is a most forthright tongue. I find that refreshing in one so young and untried by the world. I wonder if time will dull its sharp edge."
"I…" Serena stared at him, before looking beyond his broad shoulder to the many sets of masculine eyes that were keenly assessing the desperation of her situation.
She swallowed against her drive for independence and sighed. "Very well. I… believe you said you are in possession of a suitable cabin?" She held out her hand.
"Yes, I did. And I will be happy to place it entirely at your disposal, Miss Marsh. I have bunked down with the crew before now." Colby nodded. "We'd better make haste. I believe our good captain will wish to sail on the rising tide. He waits for no man… or woman."
He folded Serena's gloved hand comfortably into the crook of his arm. "There now, was that so hard? To what address shall I despatch our young Mr Worthy to collect your luggage?"
Serena named the inn where her belongings were stored as they climbed the gangplank together. She didn't wish to be beholden to any man ever again. Certainly not this man, with his fine green eyes and easy smile and engaging manner.
She dropped her eyes. The broad gold ring on his wedding finger signalled he was already married.
But what choice did she have? For now, she was entirely at the mercy of his good graces. She couldn't wait until she was safely in her cabin and free of his unwanted attentions.
She had no intention of ever being obliged to another man. From now on she would be in charge of her own life and destiny. Of that much, she was very sure…
As she continued to read, the words slowly began to swim before Carolyn's eyes. The pages of the manuscript drifted from her hands as she lay back and fell asleep. Beyond the house, the moon rose and drifted shafts of light across the floor of the bedroom.
※※※※※
Claymore sat behind his desk, with his eyeshade pulled low over his eyes as he double and triple-checked the daily figures in his account book. Finally satisfied with his totals, he smiled happily, sitting back to tap the end of his pen against his lips.
"Fifty thousand dollars!" he exclaimed, crowing with delight. "Fifty thousand! Who's ya daddy?"
As he spoke, he stretched out a hand toward the thick corned beef sandwich on the plate at his elbow. At the same moment, it vanished before his disbelieving eyes.
"Captain…" he said warningly. "I wish you wouldn't show up at my supper time. Or at any other mealtimes. You always give me a very bad case of dyspepsia." He rubbed at the sudden, burning pain in his abdomen.
"I've told you before, you're getting fat," his great-uncle commented as he materialised before the desk. "You could do with skipping a meal or two. I can show you some good naval exercises to get you back into shape. Maybe a few miles along the beach."
"No, thanks. Now give me back my sandwich and go away!" Claymore huffed. "I was enjoying my evening until you showed up!"
"Adding up your ill-gotten gains again, Claymore? You should be ashamed of yourself."
"It's all come by honestly and by the sweat of my brow. Besides, I don't need to justify myself to you." Claymore held out his open hand. "My sandwich, if you please. It's late and after I've added up my figures one last time, I want to go to bed. You know where the door is, though you never use it."
"There will be no rest for you until we have concluded a matter of rather urgent business." The Captain shook his head. "It's to help Mrs Muir."
"Mrs Muir! Well, why didn't you say so." Claymore brightened. "What can I do to help my favourite tenant?"
The Captain settled one hip on the corner of the desk. "I want your help in distracting Elvira Grover from upsetting Mrs Muir. The harridan has some crazy scheme about writing a romance novel based around her hideous Captain Figg. It's not only utterly implausible it's completely impossible to redeem the unredeemable."
"I can't see how that's any business of mine," Claymore declared. "Besides, it's just impossible. I'd rather eat more of that awful hardtack of yours. Or that fried mackerel. Now give me back my food and leave. I'm hungry."
"Not until you agree to help me in my quest. The Grover woman intends to write a romantic novel about Captain Figg, and she's asked Mrs Muir to help her to do so."
"How can I stop Elvira Grover from doing anything? Even to help out Mrs Muir." Claymore shook his head. He pulled off his eyeshade as he leaned back in his office chair.
He stared helplessly at his terse great-uncle. "Oh no, I don't think so. That woman frightens the seven bells out of me. I can't see how I could be of any use at all. You'll have to give Mrs Muir my apologies."
He frowned. "How about I give her a two per cent reduction on next month's rent? I think that's fair."
"Once again you've proven you are no relative of mine," Daniel replied grimly, folding his arms across his chest. "There's not a woman born who can frighten a true Gregg."
"Well, you've had a hundred and fifty years to get it right," Claymore complained. "I'm still learning."
"All I'm asking is you help me to distract the Grover woman from her stated course. I have come up with a plan that could work."
"How much is it going to cost me?" Claymore demanded darkly, frowning at the open ledger on his desk. "I've been true to my word and kept your little secret about what you and Mrs Muir are doing on the literary scene. From what I can see you've made yourselves quite a nice little earner. Your bank balance should be nice and healthy. I think I deserve some compensation."
"Any monies we earn from our book sales are for Mrs Muir to use as she wills. It pays the bills and keeps chiselling skinflints like you from her door!" Daniel retorted, pointing an accusing finger at him. "How about I promise not to haunt you day and night until you die! Which will be soon!"
"Oh, very well, you win. You out-scare the old bag. But I still can't see why you've chosen me for such an impossible task." Claymore sighed. "Elvira Grover doesn't even give me the time of day."
"I'm asking you because you are the man you are," Daniel replied cryptically. "Devious, underhanded and not above serving your own ends. Just the right mix."
"I'm a man with a very bad headache," Claymore complained as he massaged his temples and then his abdomen. "An empty stomach and dyspepsia."
The Captain threw up his hands. "Will you stop whining about food! This is important!"
"That's easy for you to say, you don't need to eat anymore!" Claymore flared.
The Captain's eyes narrowed. "How would you fare if I made the entire contents of your bank account go up in smoke?"
"You wouldn't dare!" Claymore quailed.
He shuddered. "Please leave me out of your schemes. You're invisible, I'm not. I have a standing to maintain in this town. I'm up for re-election as President of the town council again this month, I'll have you know. I can't afford to get off-side with a woman wielding Elvira Grover's kind of influence. She still has clout with the higher-class voters."
"We need to keep that blasted woman away from Gull Cottage and from annoying Mrs Muir with her crazy ideas about Figg. A romantic hero, indeed! The man was both a spalpeen and a simpleton!"
His great-uncle leaned his fists on the edge of Claymore's desk. "You mentioned the town council. I know you have an opening on it since old man Tubman died last month. You'll be seeking candidates for that seat as a new councilman. You will need someone who would be very grateful for the nomination. Someone who would agree to anything you propose."
"Just exactly who are you suggesting?" Claymore eyed him warily. "And what's in it for you?"
"Just a little quid pro quo. I will leave you to enjoy your ill-gotten gains in peace if you work your magic and get Sam Richards elected to the council. By doing so, he would be forced to give up his role as the president of the historical society. It would serve both our purposes very well."
Claymore's eyebrows rose. "Why would he want to do that? He loves lording it over Elvira."
"Because you will make it very clear to him that he cannot do both." Daniel shrugged. "As a town councillor, he will be far too busy to run the society. All those fact-finding trips abroad and lavish tax-payer-funded dinners. What better remedy than to have an immediate past president of the society step up to take back the reins."
The Captain stroked his beard with delight. "Yes, I think that will serve very well. And all he needs to do is persuade the Grover woman that a work of non-fiction would better serve Figg's accursed memory. It was her original idea."
"I don't like this…" Claymore frowned at his great-uncle. "I don't like it one little bit. You're making me a pawn in your little game."
"You don't have to like it. If you want your bank balance to remain intact you will make it happen. It's in your best interests to keep on my good side. And to keep your favourite tenant safe and happy at Gull Cottage. You will go and see Sam Richards first thing in the morning. Tell him whatever lies you like."
The Captain waved his hand and the sandwich reappeared on the plate at Claymore's elbow. "Eat up, you'll need your strength for the battle ahead." He vanished as he spoke.
"I've suddenly lost my appetite…" Claymore complained morosely as he stared at the meal.
※※※※※
Daniel materialised in Carolyn's bedroom. He looked down at her, sleeping peacefully, with their manuscript and her grandmother's journal strewn across the bedcovers beside her.
"To sleep, perchance to dream…" he quoted softly, before shaking his head.
He advanced to the bed, bending down to collect the scattered pages together. He straightened to place them and the journal on the writing desk. He retired to the window embrace, to swing his telescope around, but he didn't look through it.
He turned to look back at Carolyn, sleeping with her hand tucked beneath her cheek like a child. "I could wish that we could do together some of the things we write about in our novels. Now there would be a true adventure, my dear."
He sighed. "To make you my own, my beloved wife, and then carry you off to sea. On the very night you arrived at Gull Cottage, I said I wanted to show you how beautiful the world could be."
He shook his head. "I was wrong in that. I should have said I would show the world how beautiful you are. In all that you do, in everything you strive to be."
He turned back to the telescope. "There lies the rub. The only thing free in our lives are our dreams…" He smiled softly. "But I would make it the very best of dreams…"
※※※※※
The next morning Sam Richards ushered an unexpected guest into his living room. "Claymore. What are you doing here?" he demanded to know.
"Morning, Richards." Claymore hurried in, removing his hat before taking up a nervous position in front of the fireplace. "I've… um… come on an official mission."
He cleared his throat. "I… ah, we're looking for a suitable town council replacement for old man Tubman. You know he died last month."
"What has any of that got to do with me?" Richards asked suspiciously. "I've already tried, and I wasn't selected. You saw to that."
"Yes, well, I'm here to ask you to consider standing again." Claymore eased the fit of his tie. "I… was wrong last time."
"You want me to stand for the vacant seat on the town council…" Sam Richards took a turn around the room before returning to frown at Claymore as if he'd suddenly lost his mind. "Why now, after all this time?"
"I've come to the conclusion you would be perfect for the job." Claymore crossed his fingers behind his back. "Why? Aren't you interested?"
"Oh, I'm interested, all right," Sam declared. "But I just can't see how you came around to the idea after you opposed me last time. You said I wasn't a good fit."
"Oh, that was then, this is now." Claymore waved a dismissive hand. "I feel you've proven yourself with your efficient running of the historical society. Which you would have to give up, of course."
"Did Elvira put you up to this?" Sam demanded suspiciously. "It would be just like her to work behind the scenes to replace me as president. She hated being deposed. But it was for her own good."
"I haven't spoken to the woman," Claymore replied honestly. "Look, if you don't want the nomination, then just say so."
He walked toward the door. "I can soon find another candidate for our fact-finding missions abroad and the monthly, all-expense-paid meals at Norrie's Lobster House…" He settled his hat on his head.
"Hold on, hold on…" Sam held up a detaining hand. "I didn't say I didn't want it. I'm just trying to figure out your angle."
"No angle, at all. You know me, always trying to do what's best for the town." Claymore managed to look pious as he laid his hand over his heart.
"Well, I have done all I can for the society…" Sam mused. "After five years, I've been looking to take up a fresh challenge. I even considered moving over to Beacon Cove. They have a council vacancy…"
"Then say no more! Your search is over!" Claymore clapped his hands delightedly. "I am sure the society will manage quite well without you."
"Elvira, for one, will be happy to see me go." Sam shrugged. "She's never been happy since she got voted off. No doubt she'll be itching to grab back the reins again the moment word gets out. I heard she plans to write some sort of book about Figg. I'm better off far away from that kind of powder keg. Last time was bad enough."
"Then your future as a valued member of the Schooner Bay town council will be assured." Claymore tapped the side of his nose with one forefinger. "Leave it all to me, I will arrange everything. The society can help Elvira with her coffee table book about Figg. An excellent suggestion."
"I didn't suggest it," Sam stared at Claymore hardly. "But since it seems important to you, I will see to it that the idea is whispered into the right ears."
He frowned. "I wish I knew what your angle is, Claymore. You've never been known to do anything for anyone out of the goodness of your heart in your entire life."
"Let's just say I've decided to turn over a new leaf. I'll see you at the town elections." Claymore assured him blithely, tugging his hat more firmly onto his head and leaving the room before the other man could change his mind.
As Claymore got behind the wheel of his car, Daniel appeared beside the driver's door, making his nephew jump. "Splendidly done, Claymore. You might just pass for a Gregg, after all."
"Let's just say I had some serious motivation," Claymore huffed sourly. "We had a deal, remember?"
"Relax, Claymore." Daniel chuckled. "Your beloved bank account is safe from my interference… for now."
"That's what I'm afraid of…" Claymore started his car and drove away at high speed.
※※※※※
Carolyn gathered her determination as she walked down the stairs, heading to the kitchen and her breakfast. But she wasn't feeling very hungry.
She'd made up her mind to visit Elvira Grover today and politely, but firmly, decline her offer. Her nervousness showed in her strained expression.
Daniel appeared on the bottom step, looking up at her. "Don't look so anxious, my dear. It's all well in hand."
"Oh, dear…" Carolyn frowned. "What did you do last night?"
"Nothing that you wouldn't approve of, Madam." He smiled as he stood aside to allow her to pass. "By the way, you're about to receive a very important phone call."
"From whom?" Carolyn asked, just as the telephone rang. She hurried to answer it. "Carolyn Muir speaking…"
"Oh, Mrs Muir, I'm so glad you're at home…" Elvira cooed down the telephone line.
Carolyn frowned suspiciously. "What can I do for you, Miss Grover?"
"Oh, Elvira, please," the other woman pleaded. "After all, I do feel we have almost become friends."
"Friends… yes…" Carolyn made a face at Daniel when he leaned on the railing beside her head. "I'm sorry, Miss Grover, but I am rather busy and–"
"Oh, but I just had to ring and tell you the most wonderful news, my dear," Elvira carried on talking as if Carolyn hadn't spoken. "I am so happy."
"What news?"
"Sam Richards phoned me an hour ago to say he's decided to step down as president of the historical society to become a town councillor. It's all been arranged. And the society members have begged me to step into the breach and return as president. Isn't it just marvellous?"
"Marvellous," Carolyn echoed dutifully. She breathed a cautious sigh of relief.
"Courage, my dear. It's almost over…" Daniel murmured.
Elvira sighed. "Of course, this means our little collaboration about my beloved Captain Figg must be sacrificed. You do understand, dear? The society needs me and I must step up and do my duty."
"Oh, I understand perfectly," Carolyn assured her. "I'm pleased for you, really pleased."
"I knew you would be." Elvira laughed. "It's all for the best. The society has persuaded me that a better course of action would be for us to publish a non-fiction work about Captain Figg's exploits. Since I have such a vast collection of knowledge on the dear man it can all be put to better use than a mere novel."
"Oh, I think that is the most marvellous news," Carolyn approved.
"The best news you've had all week." Daniel smirked. "I told you I would fix it."
"And I know you won't be at all offended if I inform you that I have already secured the services of a most admirable ghost writer of non-fiction works. He lives in Bangor and is very well thought of in naval circles," Elvira prattled on. "I am obliged to keep his name secret for now, because he values his privacy. But I do feel now that a slightly sordid work of romantic fiction would not have been the best course of action for you to take when writing about my beloved ancestor. After all, as president of the historical society, I do have a certain standard to maintain. I'm sure you understand, dear."
"Of course. It is most certainly the right decision for you," Carolyn reassured her. "Goodbye, Miss Grover and good luck with your new venture."
She quickly returned the receiver to its cradle before the other woman could say anything more. She frowned up at the captain. "I can see your deft hand in all of this, but I can't see just where exactly."
"Oh, I simply persuaded Claymore that Sam Richards would be the best candidate to fill the vacancy that opened up on the town council when Ernie Tubman died last month. Richards had already tried and failed to secure a seat five years ago. In return, he dropped a hint to the society that a non-fiction book about Figg would be much more appropriate than any flights of romantic fancy."
"And you also threatened poor Claymore's life and bank balance, no doubt." Carolyn shook her head, and then she smiled. "Thank you, Captain."
"You are most welcome, Mrs Muir," Daniel acknowledged, as he watched her walk away toward the kitchen.
He stared after her with a look of deep longing in his eyes. "If it were at all possible, I would be here for you in every way a man should be, always…" He shook his head. "But I'm afraid all we can have are our dreams…"
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