Chapter 5
Imust have fallen asleep, though I hadn’t been sure I could. I woke up mid-afternoon at the sound of knocking at my locked door. I let Patrice inside; she had come with a bowl and a pitcher of warm water.
“Just set it down and relax. I can ready myself,” I told her.
It was a struggle to get myself into my dress; it was rare I had do to it myself and the buttons were awkwardly placed on my back. Patrice suppressed a laugh, but the mocking smile on her face did not escape my notice.
“May I please help ye, Miss?” she asked after I let out an annoyed breath.
“I should have brought a dress I could button on my own.” I fiddled with the buttons a bit more and finally was able to get them done up. “There. See? I didn’t need your help after all.”
Patrice tsked. “Ye need not try tae do everythin’ on yer own, Miss. I am yer lady’s maid. Why wouldnae I keep doin’ what I’ve always done?”
I sat by the bowl and pitcher and poured water. “If I admit to feeling guilty for dragging you into this, will you believe me?”
“I’ll nae believe a word ye say.”
“Patrice…” I said with disappointment.
“If ye truly feel guilty, just let me do what gives me peace and purpose.” She handed me a cloth. “But if it will make ye feel better, you can wash yer own face.”
I grinned at her and took the cloth gratefully.
Once I was finished, I packed my own bag and went downstairs with Patrice. We found Mr. Ashby entering the inn. His expression seemed off, like something had happened to put him in a poor mood. I approached him while Patrice found a table for us.
“Did something upset you?” I asked him.
His smile was thin as if forced. “Not in the least. How did you sleep?”
I frowned. “Let’s not do that.”
“What are you referring to? Should I not ask how well you slept?” He looked thoughtful for a moment.
“Perhaps that is too intimate. Would you prefer I ask if your room was comfortable? No, perhaps that is going too far. Shall I wonder if you have decided not to come?” He pulled up a corner of his mouth.
“Not a chance. And, if you must know, I slept much better than I expected. The room was plenty comfortable. You need not worry about asking anything too personal. I am not a private person, in general.” I motioned to the table Patrice had acquired for us.
“Shall we sit? You can tell me all about what is bothering you.”
He sent me a confused look before following me. We ordered food and then I sat back to watch Mr. Ashby. “I’m waiting for you to tell me what has happened. This is now the third time I’m inquiring.”
He shook his head. “Nothing of consequence. I met with Captain Selton. He was briefing me on my position on the Katarina… It seems he has been in a bind for months. He needed someone to replace the man he lost.” His frown told me there was more to the story.
“What happened to his man?”
Mr. Ashby glanced up at the man who brought us our food before leaning in to stir his stew.
“He died, apparently. The strange thing is that his man died over seven months ago. I wonder why he hasn’t replaced him yet.
It’s mildly troubling, that’s all.” He took a bite.
“But he is a respectable man and I cannot find anything amiss with his character. If you wish me to be fully open, I have to admit that the situation is not ideal. It may be best to wait until a better ship comes along…perhaps a passenger ship.”
I sat up straighter. “No, we can’t wait. You heard Sir Ector, we’d have to wait three weeks for the next ship departing for Basseterre.” I tilted my head at him. “If it were just you going, would you take this ship?”
He nodded without pause. “Yes, of course—”
“That’s that, then. We’re going with Captain Selton.”
Mr. Ashby sighed with frustration. “As a gentleman, I must take your safety into consideration.”
“I’ll go without you. I’ll stow away.” I fixed him with a firm gaze.
He looked at the ceiling. “Miss Findlay, you are…” He met my gaze again. “Impossible.”
I gave him a satisfied smile.
Then Patrice spoke up. “Aye. Yer startin’ to ken, Mr. Ashby.”
He glanced at her and they shared a moment of condoling before he met my eyes again, shaking his head.
Having officially agreed that we would take the Katarina to Basseterre, the next day passed slowly, as it always did when one waited for something to happen.
I could only imagine how slowly four weeks might pass on a ship.
More, if we were unlucky and the weather did not cooperate.
While we waited to board the ship, I wondered if my father had sent someone to retrieve us already.
Could we hide in the port long enough to escape without being sighted?
Beyond the worry of being discovered, however, my stomach was in knots when I thought of Graham’s situation and how we had no way of knowing how he fared, where he was, or if he had even survived.
The letters in my carpet bag seemed to call to me, begging to be sent to Graham.
They often did that. I picked up the stack and weighed it in my hands.
Four and twenty pieces of folded parchment told a story of love and longing better than a novel.
If he had read them, he would never have sent Mr. Ashby with that blasted letter. I pulled one out at random.
My dearest Graham,
It has been seven months since your last letter.
I have nowhere to send this note, but I am hoping to give it to you someday when you are found.
Things at Edleroy have been monotonous, with one bright spot.
Little Logan has been growing and learning quickly.
He’s now speaking, and everything he says is a delight.
Sometimes I think of what our children will look like, though it feels as if it will be an eternity before we will be married and starting a family.
I rode into Edleroy village today and was reminded of the time we spent there with Melody and Cameron. The village seemed more exciting back then, as everything did. The sky was bluer, the trees greener. If only you were here so that the colors were vibrant again.
I am trying hard not to curse you for disappearing, but it is difficult. If you do not send me word soon, I might hate you. But then I consider you might be in danger or even gone from this world entirely, and I find I cannot hate you even if I try.
Know you are missed and loved. Please write soon so we know you are safe.
Always,
Elsie
Placing the letter back in the stack, I sighed heavily and wiped a tear. If only Graham knew how much I still longed for him. No matter how much I cursed him, I missed him even more.
When a knock sounded at my door, I thought it may have been Patrice, as she had left to acquire nail scissors. Alas, it was Mr. Ashby. He held his hands behind his back and peeked around me into the room.
“It’s just me here,” I said.
He nodded. “Ah, I see. Well, I came to bring you something. You and Miss Patrice.” He pulled forward what he held behind his back.
It was a box about the width of two handkerchiefs side by side.
There did not seem to be anything exceptional about the box; it was simply wooden and rectangular.
I looked into Mr. Ashby’s face questioningly.
“Come in, then.” I opened the door wider and allowed him entry. We left the door open, for propriety’s sake.
He came in and, with nowhere else to put it, the table being taken by the pitcher and bowl, he set it on the bed. As he opened it, I took in a breath at his side. There, encased in green felt, were two black double-barreled flintlock pistols.
He met my eyes seriously. “Have you ever shot one?”
I blinked at him and shook my head. “I have only ever shot a rifle.”
“Are you a fair shot?”
I shrugged. “I’ve always considered myself to be skilled.”
“It isn’t much different, but it does take some getting used to. I can teach you to load it, but I wished to give them to you before we board the ship. It’s just precautionary. I don’t anticipate you’ll need to use them.”
I watched him pick one up and handle it almost casually, as if he’d done so every day. It was not unusual for men to carry a weapon, certainly. But for some reason, seeing Mr. Ashby use a gun so easily changed the way I saw him, even if only slightly.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely.
He met my eyes, and for a moment I thought he didn’t know how to respond. But he simply smiled and nodded as he handed the gun to me. I held it, weighed it to take in the measure of it. It was lighter than I thought guns could be. “Does it shoot well?”
“Yes, I tried them both before purchasing. I think you’ll find them easy to handle. I’ll let you decide where you will put them. Once you load it, be sure it won’t fire on its own, wherever you keep it.”
“I know that much,” I said, scoffing.
Patrice walked into the room with the nail scissors and asked what we were doing. I showed her our pistols, and she hesitated before picking up the other one.
“She’s never shot a gun before,” I told Mr. Ashby.
“No matter, I will teach you on the ship when we have time. As I told Miss Findlay, you should not need them. But…you never know.”
“Aye,” Patrice answered. “Can never be too careful.” She carefully held the gun up. “Thank ye, Mr. Ashby. Yer verra thoughtful.”
“You are very welcome, Miss Patrice. I’ll let you two ladies finish getting ready for the day and meet you downstairs.” He left us. Patrice and I looked over the pistols for a moment before meeting each other’s eyes.
“I wonder why he did not simply buy us muff pistols?” I said.
“They dinnae kill the person yer shootin’,” Patrice said simply. She held up the pistol. “This will.”
I looked at the small, elegant flourish on the handle.
These were not as ornate as other pistols I’d seen, but they were significantly more powerful and useful than muff pistols.
It was beyond thoughtful on Mr. Ashby’s part.
His gift gave us power over ourselves, over our fate.
The pistol in my hand made me feel that he believed in my capabilities, that he supported my choice in making this journey.
I tried to remember a time when someone had shown this much trust in me, but I could not recall feeling this empowered even once. I lifted my gaze to the closed door, thinking how fortunate we were to have met with Mr. Ashby.
Half an hour later, we continued to prepare for our departure by finding a man to take our horses back to Edleroy Castle.
Melody loved her horse, and I couldn’t bear to part with mine forever.
Mr. Ashby, however, sold his off. He apparently even made a profit off of the sale.
I laughed at his proud expression as he waved to the man he’d sold it to.
“You are a man of business, after all, Mr. Ashby.” I smiled at him.
“Aye, yer startin’ to ken, Miss Findlay,” he responded, mimicking Patrice’s words—and accent—from the day before.