Chapter 16
16
G ibb kept his expression so hard and stony that his jaw ached from clenching his teeth. The Prosperity had arrived before dawn and been given a mooring at the wharf at the Port of Savannah, allowing his crew time to hoist Miss Harcourt’s trunks from the hold and offload them onto the dock before Mr. Schuyler made an appearance.
He had dressed in his finest—a kilt in the MacGalloway tartan, his dirk, sgian dubh , and sporran as usual. He’d donned a linen shirt with pristine neckcloth tucked into a white silk waistcoat. Over it all he wore a navy-blue sea captain’s coat, lined with gold cording, its brass buttons polished and looking as new as they were on the day it was delivered from his tailor. Though he always wore a naval bicorn hat when on deck, this morning he’d stood in front of his looking glass as he put on the hat he kept for ceremonial purposes.
After the sun rose, Gibb had Duncan take the ladies their breakfast, but he stayed away from the officers’ cabins altogether. He left orders with Archie to find him when the silver miner arrived on the wharf, then proceeded to take Mac below for a surprise inspection of the crew’s quarters as well as an inspection of the hold.
“This place isna fit for a wallowing swine,” he said, looking at the clothing and rubbish strewn across the mizzen deck where the hammocks hung in neat rows, side by side. Damnation, he’d let things slide. “What the devil have you been doing during this cruise?”
The enormous first mate seemed to grow five inches shorter. “Sorry, sir. It wasna this bad when we arrived in Norfolk.”
“Is that so?” Gibb asked, pursing his lips and tapping a discarded wooden bowl with his toe. “I gave you this position because I thought you had the grit to manage this crew, which means the mizzen is neat and tidy at all times, the one exception possibly being when we are in the midst of a hurricane.”
Gibb picked up a discarded shirt, wadded it into a ball, and threw it at a hammock, the thing unfurling as it sailed through the air, landing on the edge of the damned bed and dangling. “I am extremely disappointed.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Have the men tidy this mess forthwith. I want it spotless before we set sail from Savannah or I will have your head.”
“Aye, sir. We’ll have it in shipshape.”
“Not a speck of dirt, mind you, not even on the floor.” Gibb scowled. “The next time I come below, I’ll be wearing a pair of white gloves.”
Things were worse once they got to the hold—at least, Gibb felt they were. The barrels were all lined up and stowed as they ought to be, but the floor was covered with chicken droppings, and he found a ladder with a broken rung. Furthermore, there was a hole in the gate that kept the ship’s flock of chickens from escaping and climbing over the damn barrels.
Gibb was about to launch into another tirade about his expectations for cleanliness when Archie popped his head through the hatch. “Beg your pardon, Cap’n, but a black carriage befitting a duke has arrived.”
Gibb’s throat closed, making him. “Have Duncan fetch Miss Harcourt and Miss Hume.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Gibb pointed to his first mate. “Fix the broken rung and the hole, clean up the chicken shite, and dunna allow the wee beasties out of their coop ever again.”
Mac tossed the broken ladder over his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a feather. “Straight away, Cap’n. We’ll have it tidied within the hour.”
By the time Gibb climbed up to the main deck, Miss Harcourt and Miss Hume were emerging from the officers’ quarters. Unblinking, he strode toward the ladies and bowed. “Good morn. I hope you were able to finish your breakfasts. We had a good wind and arrived a wee bit early.”
“Yes, thank you. Duncan was kind enough to bring us bowls of porridge and a bit of honeyed lemon juice that Cookie brought aboard in Norfolk.”
“Excellent. Did you ken Captain Cook gave his crew lemons to prevent scurvy?”
“I had no idea. Did it work?”
“From the notations in his journal, it appears so.” Gibb offered his elbow as the crew finished lowering the gangway into place. “I believe Mr. Schuyler has arrived.”
Isabella’s face blanched. “Oh.”
Gowan stepped near Miss Hume, took her hand, and kissed it. “Will you promise to write to me?”
“You know I cannot read, but I will if Miss Harcourt is willing to help.”
Isabella paused for a moment. “All you need to do is ask.”
Gibb scowled. “Come, ladies, this is no time to dally. There’s a miner on the wharf who has waited months to meet his bride.”
The lady tightened her grip around his arm while she chuckled nervously. “And thus comes the hour in which my destiny will be revealed.”
Those words were like a knife thrust into Gibb’s gut. Nonetheless, he forced a smile. “At least you willna have to suffer the indignity of being lowered to a skiff on a boatswain’s chair.”
Miss Hume offered a wee titter. “I do like your ability to put a positive spin on things, Captain.”
Allowing him to lead her to the gangway, Isabella sighed. “I rather enjoyed the boatswain’s chair when we boarded.”
Gibb recalled the day. Though he’d been a tad embarrassed by his behavior in the park, the lady’s smiling face as the men swung her onto the deck emphasized her astounding sense of adventure.
By the time they reached the wharf, a well-dressed man wearing a coat, top hat, and white gloves stepped from the carriage. He was nearly as tall as Gibb, though not as broad in the shoulders.
Gibb patted Isabella’s fingers before he straightened his elbow and tugged down the cuffs of his coat. In two strides he faced the dandy and bowed. “Mr. Schuyler, I presume?”
The man’s gaze first shifted to the women before he addressed Gibb with a curt bow. “Yes, sir.”
Gibb made the introductions while he watched the miner, careful to avoid looking into Isabella’s eyes. With an enormous smile, Mr. Schuyler immediately grasped Isabella’s hands. “Welcome to America, my dear. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have arrived at long last.”
The man gallantly removed his hat and applied an appropriate kiss to the back of her hand.
Gibb nodded to the sailors who had come ashore to load Isabella’s trunks and then gestured to the wagon behind the carriage. “Please exercise particular care with the black trunk, lads.” Then he turned to Mr. Schuyler. “Will you be traveling far this day?”
“My packet boat is supplied for the run up the Savannah River. It takes a bit over two days to reach my estate in Lockhart.” The man motioned for the footman to open the carriage door. “My dear, I’ll tell you now, the house is aflutter in anticipation of your arrival.”
Isabella caught Gibb’s eye, her expression wary. “Is it a large house?”
“Oh my, is it large!” Mr. Schuyler’s eyes shone with pride. “I brought in an architect who replicated the Governor’s Palace in Williamsburg.”
“Goodness, that sounds positively colossal,” said Miss Hume.
“Only the best for my bride,” said Mr. Schuyler, leading Isabella to the carriage.
Before her foot reached the first rung, Gibb hastened forward. “I would like to thank you and Miss Hume for joining us on this voyage and to wish you all the best with the translation of your tablets. I hope they lead to a wealth of discovery.”
“Thank you, Captain, and safe travels to you and your crew,” she said as her future husband handed her inside.
Gibb took a step away, his fists clenched so tightly that the fingernails he’d trimmed only this morning bit into his flesh. He didn’t want to like the miner, but the man seemed genuinely excited to meet Isabella at last.
After the two ladies had boarded the coach, Mr. Schuyler gave another bow, offered his thanks, and climbed inside.
His heart squeezing as tightly as his fists, Gibb turned on his heel and headed back up the gangway. He was met at the top by his quartermaster. “Well, that’s that, I reckon.”
“Aye.” Gibb looked to the Prosperity’s furled sails. “Why are we not preparing to weigh anchor?”
“Och, I figured you’d want to give the men a wee bit o’ leave. Replenish supplies as well as allow Gowan’s men to make some needed repairs to the sails.”
“Cookie replenished in Norfolk.” Gibb headed for his cabin. “Tell Gowan he has this day only for his repairs. We sail at dawn on the morrow—after I’ve inspected the mizzen deck.”
With her back erect and her eyes on the man who had made an offer of marriage without ever meeting her, Isabella sat beside Maribel in the coach. Beneath Mr. Schuyler’s top hat, he had grey hair peppering his temples and brown eyes that were weathered with deep furrows etched at the corners.
“How was the voyage?” he asked before coughing into a handkerchief with a pained grimace. “Did you incur much foul weather?”
“There was only one severe storm, but the crew navigated through it well,” Isabella replied.
“Thank heavens,” he said, thumping his chest, then removing a flask from the inside pocket of his coat and taking a sip.
“Are you unwell?” Isabella asked.
“I am perfectly fine.” He made a sour face as he pushed the stopper back into the bottle. “I have a pain in the chest that comes and goes. The doc gave me this tonic, but it tastes vile.”
Maribel glanced at Isabella. “My mother always said the worse it tastes, the more potent the cure.”
Mr. Schuyler replaced the flask. “And that’s exactly why I put up with this…unpleasant tasting concoction.”
“I thought we might be staying in Savannah,” Isabella said. “My father mentioned that you have rooms here.”
“I do, a small town house I use for conducting business, but I felt you would be more at ease if you saw the house first.” He smiled. “Besides, I’ve the vicar waiting—and remaining in Savannah will only draw things out all the more.”
Isabella gulped. “The vicar is at your house?”
“Nearby. Reverend Marshall oversees the services at churches in three townships, but he agreed to remain in Lockhart until your arrival.”
“How very kind of him.” A bead of perspiration slipped from beneath Isabella’s bonnet and trickled down her neck. For some reason, she thought she might be given time to settle in before the wedding—weeks, or a month…a year would have been ideal. “Are you anticipating a hasty wedding?”
“Considering that I have been waiting months for your arrival, I wouldn’t call it hasty, madam. But yes. If it meets with your approval, I hope we’ll be able to recite our vows as soon as we arrive home.”
“Immediately?” asked Maribel, her voice shooting up while Isabella’s head spun.
Mr. Schuyler cleared his throat and thumped his chest. “Perhaps you ought to have a day to settle in, of course.”
All Isabella could manage was a purse-lipped nod. Her heart was in shreds. She’d just said farewell to a man who had opened a Pandora’s box of emotion inside her very soul. With every turn of the carriage wheels, it was less and less likely that she’d ever see Gibb again. With every step made by the team of horses, she was falling into an abyss of the unknown. Yes, Mr. Schuyler appeared to be a gentleman. He was well dressed, well spoken, and he truly seemed to be happy with her arrival, but she didn’t know this man. She hadn’t spent a month sailing across the Atlantic with him.
“I am certain the arrangements you have made will be perfectly fine,” she heard herself say, her body numb. If only she could scream. If only she could tell him she wanted race back to the Prosperity and into Captain MacGalloway’s arms. But Gibb had been so expressionless this morn. Perhaps he was ready to move on. After all, he told her that he was married to the sea. He didn’t want a wife. He didn’t want someone like her ruining his life. Was he not the man who had insisted that every married seaman ended up miserable?
She glanced out the window, noting they were travelling along the river’s edge. “You mentioned we’ll be taking a river packet?”
“We will. My boat is waiting for us at the ferry pier upriver.”
Isabella clasped her hands tightly. “Will there be enough room aboard for my trunks?”
“Indeed. You’ll find we don’t make many things small in Georgia, and my Silver Star is as large as a ferry. We’ll be able to drive the wagon and the carriage straight on board from the dock. I hope you two ladies don’t mind sharing a berth below decks.”
With relief, Isabella nodded her approval. Though Mr. Schuyler might be a Southern gentleman, he was still a stranger, and sharing with her maid brought a modicum of comfort.
“Is the Silver Star a steamer packet?” asked Maribel.
Mr. Schuyler sat a bit straighter. “Interesting you should ask, miss. I’ve been working with a gentleman in Augusta to finance the first steamer on the Savannah. They have made impressive strides, but there have been a few explosions. Needless to say, until they can provide me with a boat that won’t sink, or worse, cause mortal injury, I’m still using sail.”
Isabella nudged her lady’s maid. “We’ve had plenty of experience aboard sailing ships of late, have we not?”
“Indeed,” Mirabel agreed.
Mr. Schuyler smiled while Isabella studied the man to whom she was about to promise to love, honor, and obey for the duration of her life—or his life, considering that he was so much older. Though his face was deeply etched by the years, he appeared to be fit. His visage was attractive, his fingernails immaculately clean.
But would be a good husband?
Only time will tell.