Fair Weather Enemies Page 4

  He narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain?”

  “Of course. I find that familiarity seems a good antidote to hating one’s neighbor.”

  Before Adam could agree, Mr. Barlow appeared. He ignored Adam and Jane to train his attention on Hester.

  “Mrs. Byrd. How goes the labor?”

  Although Barlow affected a nonchalant air, Adam did not miss the question’s undertone of guilt. Perhaps the man possessed empathy after all. Hester lightly touched his arm and smiled warmly.

  “Well enough, Mr. Barlow. Thank you for your kind inquiry. I have experienced worse, although Jane’s stomach is not taking well to sea travel.”

  At the sound of her name, Jane stood from the rail. She looked a bit less green than before. Adam retrieved his handkerchief from his coat and offered it to her. She accepted it and dabbed her mouth.

  “Thank you, Adam. Possibly, you may be less vile than I have always suspected.”

  “You are welcome, Jane. And you may be less of a shrew than I have long believed.”

  “But we shall never be friends.”

  “Of course. Our dearly departed ancestors would never forgive such betrayal.”

  She smiled slightly, as much as her tender stomach seemed to allow. The smile fled her face when she glanced over Adam’s shoulder. He turned to find a red-faced Mr. Pugh looming behind him, the veins of his neck pulsing.

  “I am befuddled,” said the bosun with the clipped cadence of barely restrained anger. “Did I not explain my rules?”

  Adam nodded vigorously. “Yes, Mr. Pugh.”

  “And how many rules do I have?”

  “One?”

  Mr. Pugh grunted acknowledgment. “And what was that rule?”

  Adam swallowed hard. “No idle chatter while on duty.”

  Mr. Pugh spread his hands abruptly to encompass Adam, Jane, and Hester. “And what do you call this?”

  Adam shrugged and lifted his eyebrows. “Idle chatter?”

  The bosun’s chin quivered before the carefully restrained indignation burst forth. “Shut your worthless gullets and return to your labors! I’ll not warn you again!”

  His outburst scattered the group, sending Jane and Hester scurrying below while Barlow became immediately scarce. Adam began retreating to the chain, but Mr. Pugh clamped a meaty hand on his shoulder.

  “Not you, dandy boy. I’ve a new job for you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Go belowdecks to pick oakum and to patch and bail.”

  A knot formed immediately in Adam’s gut. “Bail?”

  “Of course, you lout. This old bucket leaks like a sieve. We must bail continuously to keep her afloat.”

  As Adam followed Mr. Pugh belowdecks, he strongly considered the possibility that he might not live long enough to be miserable for the rest of his life.

  …

  Jane’s empty stomach churned with complaint as she followed Aunt Hester back to the galley. However, its discomfort no longer fully occupied her thoughts.

  “Auntie, I puzzle over Mr. Ashford’s game.”

  “His game? What do you mean, dear?”

  She spread her palms. “His insistence that we use each other’s Christian names. I would have declined such impropriety if he had not surprised me so. Now I must determine what advantage he hopes to gain so I may thwart his efforts.”

  Aunt Hester sighed. “Jane, Jane. Might I provide a gentle reminder that you offered him the use of your Christian name without him asking for the privilege.”

  “I had no choice. I cannot allow him to manipulate me, coerce me, or otherwise outmaneuver me.”

  Her aunt halted in the narrow galley way a few steps shy of the kitchen. She grabbed Jane’s hands. “What if his actions are neither manipulation nor maneuvering? What if they are nothing more than common cordiality?”

  Jane briefly considered the merits of the question. “That seems unlikely, Auntie.”

  “Why?”

  “Because our forced partnership must result in joy for one and sorrow for the other. There can be no charity when one must suffer for another to triumph. In such an equation, cordiality cannot factor.”

  Aunt Hester frowned sadly. “I see. You do not trust him.”

  She shook her head. “Not an iota.”

  Although Adam had surprised her more than once since the meeting at Rutley’s office, he was still an Ashford, a product of four generations of animosity toward her family. To trust him would require letting go of her reciprocal hatred for his family. With some disappointment, she found herself unable to do so. The conflict with the Ashfords had shaped her thoughts and actions for so long, she could not imagine a life beyond it. Worse, she feared that its absence might leave her adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

  Chapter Six

  Adam rubbed his weary back while attempting to recall the memory of sunlight. After each of his watches the past thirty-six hours, he had collapsed into a dark corner of the hull for a few hours of sleep before rousing again for the next watch. He had barely remembered to eat. His swollen fingers and jittery legs bore witness to endless hours of picking oakum, patching seeping seams, and bailing. Bailing proved the worst of the lot. For hours on end, he had slogged through ankle-deep water in the lower recesses of the ship, filling buckets with brine and passing them upward to a shipmate who dwelled in blessed daylight.

  “Do ya’ surrender, now, Ashford?”

  The question came from his bailing partner, a squat Scotsman who had spent the past day and a half trying to kill him through relentless labor. Each time, Adam had responded to the challenge. This time, however, he considered admitting defeat and throwing himself on the mercy of the captain. However, the vision of Jane’s triumphant smile over his failure roused him once again.

  “Never, McPhee. Hand me your bucket.”

  The sailor scrutinized him in a gloom barely dispelled by a pair of pitiful lanterns. Seemingly satisfied with Adam’s response, he flashed a smile nearly devoid of teeth.

  “Your stubbornness will kill you one day.”

  “Almost certainly, McPhee. Almost certainly.”

  The Scot laughed and delivered a good-natured backslap with such force that Adam nearly made acquaintance with the hull beneath him. “Very well. But I’ll not be the one to kill ya’. Go fetch us some tack and tea from the galley. I’ll manage the buckets for a time.”

  Adam shook his head. “That is not necessary. I am perfectly able to continue.”

  “Go,” the sailor said gruffly, “before I reconsider not killing ya’.”

  Adam dipped his head with gratitude and wearily made his way from the bowels of the ship toward the galley, asking for directions only twice along the way. He entered the mess to virtual silence as the hour was late and nearly midway between watches. The sight that met his eyes stopped him short. Jane was seated on a bench with her torso sprawled across a table and her head planted atop folded arms, deeply asleep. A mountain of gleaming pots rose beside her. The array of horsehair brushes just beyond her arms gave mute testimony to her role in scrubbing the pots clean. One open palm, raw and blistered, confirmed it.

  He took a step forward with the intent of waking her to ask about tea. He stopped again, however, when glimpsing her face. Dark eyelashes nestled against milky skin, complementing brows a deeper shade of brown than her lush head of hair. Her back rose and fell rhythmically as soft breaths escaped through parted lips. His eyes lingered on those lips, rosy red to match the flush of her cheeks. Gone was the fierce demeanor and combative glare, replaced by the very picture of tranquility. A wave of pity swept over him. Neither of the journey’s outcomes seemed good for her. At best, she would be debt-free but without prospects. At worst, she would land in debtor’s prison with an unpayable debt. Such a dismal place would eventually steal everything—her tranquility, her beauty, and perhaps her life. E
ven a Hancock did not deserve such a dark fate.

  He stood silently a minute longer, content to watch her, afraid to breathe lest he wake her.

  “Mr. Ashford.”

  He nearly jumped through the ceiling when Hester softly called to him. He whipped his head to find her standing in the opposite galley doorway. How long had she observed him watching Jane? “Yes, Mrs. Byrd.”

  “You appear to be searching for something. May I help you find it?”

  Adam glanced at Jane to find her stirring. She lifted her head and regarded him with bleary, unfocused eyes before recognition set in. Her spine snapped erect.

  “Adam! Why are you lurking about as a menacing bear? Should you not be bailing, or dismantling rope, or some such lowbrow endeavor?”

  The welling pity so poignant seconds earlier vanished without a trace. “Should you not be scrubbing pots, or boiling water, or something else appropriate to a scullery maid?”

  Jane rose to begin collecting pots from the adjacent pile. “If you will pardon me, sir, I must earn my berth.”

  She swept past him with a handful of pots and began loudly restoring them to the appropriate hooks, nooks, and crannies. She spoke not a word during the process.

  “Again, Mr. Ashford, may I assist you in some manner?” said Hester.

  “Tea. I need tea. And a spot of hardtack, if you please.”

  Hester nodded and began to comply with his request. While both women worked, Adam wondered why Jane could not be more amenable like her aunt. He shook away the thought. No sense in considering a lark. Jane was a typical Hancock after all.

  Chapter Seven

  Jane lugged her bag down the gangplank at breakneck pace, anxious to be free of the torture device innocuously called the Wayfarer. The frenetic docklands of Newcastle-on-Tyne at midmorning seemed a veritable paradise compared to the galley where she had spent most of the last fifty-two hours. Those hours did not include, of course, the necessary time spent hanging over the gunwale making offerings to the god of reconstituted food.

  “Wait for me, Jane.” Aunt Hester’s call carried an undertone of exasperation unusual for her. “Don’t leave an old woman behind.”

  “You are not an old woman, Auntie. You are only four and thirty.”

  “Five and thirty next month and widowed for half my life. Too old for consideration is old enough, it seems.”

  Jane laughed as if Aunt Hester was joking, but the truth of the statement pained her. How had an entire generation of men missed the fact that Hester was a rare prize? Her aunt’s poor luck had all but destroyed Jane’s faith in the intelligence of men and bolstered her belief that she would never find a worthy suitor. Debtor’s prison would snuff even flickering hope. While Jane tried in vain to ignore the prospect of losing her future before the age of one and twenty, Hester squeezed her arm.

  “Chin up, my dear. Your scowl will frighten the dockhands.”

  She forced a smile. “Of course, Auntie. I prize above all things the approval of dockhands.”

  A laugh drew Jane’s eyes to the gangplank where she found Adam and Barlow descending alongside a stout sailor. The sailor grinned while in animated conversation with Adam. Jane huffed. Apparently, Adam had managed to charm even the uncharmable. She watched intently as the two men drifted within range of hearing. The sailor slapped Adam roughly but affectionately on the back.

  “If the life of a gentleman ever becomes too onerous, Ashford, you can always scrub chain and swab decks.”

  Adam slapped the man’s back in return. “If my current venture fails, I may have no choice, McPhee.”

  They shared a last laugh and parted. Adam joined Barlow as they came to stand beside Jane and Aunt Hester. Barlow bowed to them before addressing Hester sheepishly.

  “I hope you did not find the arrangements too difficult or demeaning, Mrs. Byrd. I feel rather like a cad for suggesting it, now that I have witnessed the difficulty of it.”

  Aunt Hester flashed a brilliant smile. “Do not fret over it, sir. If a little hard work is good for the soul, then shouldn’t an abundance of hard work make one a saint?”

  Barlow laughed. “Hard work seems to have produced the desired effect on you.”

  “Then you have known precious few saints, Mr. Barlow.”

  “True, until now.”

  Jane’s eyes went wide when her aunt blushed and tucked her chin. Why, she was acting like a witless schoolgirl! She glanced at Adam to find him cutting his eyes at her, apparently as amused as she was. Jane shrugged and waited for Aunt Hester to respond. She never got the chance.

  “You worthless collection of rotting flotsam!”

  She nearly jumped through her skin at the sound of Mr. Pugh’s insult. The iron man waded into their circle of conversation with a scowl that could blister paint. “Every creature, short of the rats infesting the hold, finds it both customary and necessary to request permission of the bosun before leaving the ship.”

  Everyone recoiled from the withering assault. Perhaps due to her exhaustion, Jane bridled with indignation. As she called up a scorching retort, her eyes found Adam. His growing smirk seemed to anticipate her intended response. She became abruptly determined to prove his assumption wrong and instead dropped a curtsy to the bosun.

  “Our deepest apologies, Mr. Pugh. We are indeed worthless as you so rightly noted. As we remain deeply uninformed in these matters, we beg forgiveness and humbly ask your permission to depart the ship.”

  Mr. Pugh’s eyebrows lifted. After a moment, he emitted a low chuckle not unlike the sound of heavy chain scraping over pavement. “Nobody ever apologizes.” He swung his scrutiny to each of them in turn. “I was certain one or most of you would die along the way. Considering your survival and general pathetic ignorance, and in light of the girl’s refusal to cower, I grant you leave.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Pugh,” they all said in some form or another. The bosun turned away but stopped short. He leveled a finger toward a man loading a large wagon drawn by four mules.

  “That there is Mr. Gormley. He makes a run from here to Carlisle every week and is known to accept passengers for no fee other than services rendered. The old man is quite daft but harmless.” He lowered his arm to fish a shilling from his pocket and flipped it toward Jane. She snatched it from the air, much to her surprise. “You’ll know what to do with that when the time comes.”

  Without another word, Mr. Pugh pivoted on his heels and strode away. Jane watched him go, wondering what had just transpired.

  “Very nice, Jane.” She looked aside to find Adam applauding her. “I believe you just made a friend. Or brought home a stray. Difficult to tell.”

  She smiled primly at him. “I am not surprised that you don’t know the difference between a friend and a mongrel. What few friends you possess fit neatly into the latter category.”

  “Jane!” he exclaimed with mock aggrievement, while clutching his heart theatrically. “How can you utter such disparagement of yourself?”

  “Myself? Hah. As I have told you repeatedly, we shall…”

  “Never be friends. I know. I know.”

  “Very well. As long as you know. Now, I suggest we beg a ride from Mr. Gormley before you forget that as well.”

  “After you, Jane.”

  As she began threading her way through the flowing throng toward the wagon, Aunt Hester sidled up beside her and leaned close.

  “You are awful, Jane.”

  “I’m sorry, Auntie. He appears to bring out the worst in me.”

  “Oh, I’m not criticizing you, dear. In fact, I wish I possessed half your gumption. Then perhaps I would be more than just a poor old widow.”

  Jane shook her head gravely. “Careful what you wish for. You see where my reckless words have gotten me.”

  “I certainly have,” said Adam as he stepped past her. She shot him a glare that he could not
see. He raised a hand in greeting. “Mr. Gormley, my good man.”

  The grizzled man heaved a bale into the wagon before scrutinizing them as one might peruse an approaching mob armed with torches.

  “They sent you, didn’t they?”

  Adam cocked his head. “Mr. Pugh?”

  “No. Not Mr. Pugh. Them.”

  Jane stepped before the man. “Who do you mean by ‘them’, Mr. Gormley?”

  The older man beckoned with a finger and bowed his head discreetly. She leaned nearer.

  “You know,” he whispered. “Them. The angels.”

  Adam huffed. “The angels? Why that’s not…”

  “Of course,” Jane interrupted. “The angels sent us, suggesting you might entertain passengers.”

  Mr. Gormley smiled. “Wonderful. I knew it. And, yes, I do entertain passengers as long as they abide by the rules.”

  “The rules, sir?”

  “Yes. One, don’t speak to the pigs about politics or religion. It upsets them.”

  Commotion from inside the wagon suddenly became clear to Jane. The man was hauling swine. He pressed on without apparently noticing her dawning dismay.

  “Two, be prepared to fight off brigands so I might be free to drive the wagon.”

  “Brigands?”

  “Yes, miss. We will not arrive at Carlisle until well past dark. And three, steer clear of the brood sow. She is known to take an ear or a nose when in a mood.”

  Jane grimaced as her eyes fixed on the missing portion of Gormley’s right ear. She began to step away, certain that she’d rather return to the Wayfarer than board this man’s rig. Adam caught her elbow and tipped his hat to the man.

  “Thank you, Mr. Gormley. We happily accept your offer of a ride and agree to your terms.”

  “Wonderful. The angels said I could trust you, regardless of what the devils say.” He smiled cheerfully and boarded the driver’s seat. Jane stared at Adam, sure he would reconsider. Instead, he leaned near.