Threads of Faith Page 3

  “All right.” Daniel guessed at her general dislike or perhaps distrust of men. Standing, he folded his arms and eyed his stowaway carefully. As more of her features were uncovered, he wondered if he’d seen her before. “I attended Mr. Tolbert’s spring charity dinner last month.”

  “Oh, yes. I was there.”

  He tipped his head in contemplation and vaguely recollected the petite housemaid with silvery eyes. “I remember you.”

  “Probably because the master called everyone’s attention to me and introduced me as one of his charity’s many successes.”

  “Ah . . . ” Daniel recalled the incident and remembered her being demure and pretty. Of course now she was a bloodied mess.

  “Please don’t send me back. Please. The young master will ruin me like he did me older sister.”

  Daniel frowned. “Young master?”

  “Tolbert Junior.”

  Daniel folded his arms. He’d had a couple of run-ins with the wannabe sea captain. “He’s not in London.”

  “On the contrary, sir. He returned yesterday afternoon.”

  “Really.” Daniel tapped his chin in thought. “May I ask how old you are, Miss Wayland?” Not that it mattered, but she appeared awfully young.

  She held the cloth against her swollen nose. “I’m nineteen, turning twenty in just three weeks.”

  Younger than his sister, Adeline. “And you say you were running away from . . . the younger Tolbert?”

  “His manservant Horace, actually. But Cook told me the young master requested”—she ducked her chin as if in shame—“me.” A moment’s hesitation. “Please don’t think badly of me, sir.”

  Daniel narrowed his gaze. “Why would I think that?”

  “On account of me sister, Flora.”

  “Do I know her?”

  “You might, if you frequent the Mariner’s Pub. She’s one of the more livelier girls there.”

  “I don’t patronize such establishments, Miss Wayland.”

  “Most seafaring men do.”

  “Well, not this one.” Daniel didn’t mean for the edge in his voice to sound quite so sharp, although protecting his reputation against hearsay and assumption was always a perturbing task.

  “Glad to hear it, sir.”

  Daniel massaged the back of his neck. This was really more information than he cared to know, and yet he had somewhat of a vested interest in her circumstance. Not only did he dislike Olson Tolbert Junior, but he also had priceless artwork on board and needed to fully understand just how and why this woman got onto his ship.

  He sat down on the corner of his desk. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, Miss Wayland.”

  “Well, all right.” She paused in a moment’s thought. “I was born in London, and me mum died the day after I was born.”

  He hadn’t meant that far back.

  “Me older sister Flora and I were raised by me mother’s employer and his wife. They weren’t mean-spirited, and they didn’t beat us, but raising children wasn’t something they relished either. Flora was my primary source of love and affection. I adored her. When she was twelve, she got a job at the shoe factory. I was six, and when I wasn’t in school, I had to help the Potters with laundering and mending. It wasn’t a bad life at all, and I’m not complaining, mind you. But things got worse after the Potters were killed in a freak carriage accident. Flora and I were instantly destitute.”

  “Miss Wayland—”

  “Please allow me to finish, sir. If you understand the whole of me situation, then it helps me defense, doesn’t it?”

  Impatience pecked at him, but Daniel caved to her request and perched himself on the corner of his darkly varnished desk. “Very well. Go on.”

  “Thank you.” She shifted. “When the Potters died, I was nearly fourteen. Flora was twenty and had already gotten herself into all kinds of trouble. She’d gotten let go at the shoe factory as well as other places of employment because she enjoyed imbibing with friends. To their credit, the Potters didn’t throw her out. When they died, however, Flora and I lived at her ne’er-do-well friends’ homes. One by one unfortunate situations arose, and Flora and I were on the move again.

  “At last we found ourselves on the streets of London. We survived by begging for scraps of food from the upper class. At night Flora made sure no harm came to me—even if it meant she took a beating while I ran and hid.”

  He didn’t believe her. “A woeful tale to be sure, but—”

  “Me defense, Captain?”

  Daniel held his tongue. He’d give a few more minutes, but nothing more. “Very well.”

  “Shortly after I had turned sixteen, Mr. Tolbert caught me and Flora rummaging through his garbage.” Miss Wayland held the damp cloth against one swelling eyelid, and a lock of hair, the very color of his cabin’s dark paneling, fell across her forehead. She pushed it to the side. “After a severe scolding he had mercy on us, philanthropist that he is, and he offered us positions as housemaids—Flora too, in spite of her advanced age of twenty-two.”

  Daniel couldn’t help a grin. Advanced age, indeed! He was the decrepit age of twenty-seven.

  “We underwent extensive training and both earned respectable positions, higher than scullery maids. Sometimes I assisted Cook in addition to me regular work and helped serve guests at parties and receptions, like the one you attended.”

  Daniel inclined his head, sensing he heard the truth now.

  “Flora and I were quite content for a while.” She kept her gaze averted. “But then we learned how cruel the young master could be.” Her voice grew soft. “During one of his visits he took advantage of Flora and ruined her. Months later Mr. Tolbert learned of it and turned Flora out.” Miss Wayland’s slender shoulders rose and fell as she paused to breathe. “I tried to help me sister, but couldn’t. The few coins I earned weren’t enough for her to live on, and I only got Sunday afternoons off, so I couldn’t care for her.” Sadness washed over her features. “The babe died at birth, bless him, and poor Flora was forced to find work as a . . . ” Suddenly Miss Wayland seemed at a loss for words.

  “I can fill in the blank.” Daniel easily put the pieces together, and it angered him that Olson Junior was held blameless for the ruin of a young woman. “I’m sorry to hear about your sister.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She met his gaze, and he glimpsed her look of relief. “When Cook told me this morning that the young master had designs on me, I ran for me life. I didn’t want to end up like Flora.” Her breathing accelerated, and she wagged her head. “I just didn’t!”

  “Easy now, Miss Wayland.” Daniel set his hands on her shoulders and felt her muscles tense beneath his palms. She leaned as far back as the chair would allow. He’d only meant to steady her. “Forgive me.” He released her and sat back. “I mean you no harm.”

  After a tenuous smile she pushed to her feet and wandered aimlessly about his office, adjacent to his sleeping quarters—an attempt, perhaps, to put distance between them.

  “Rest assured, Miss Wayland, I am nothing like Olson Tolbert Junior.”

  “It’s a relief to hear you say so.” She passed the small but functional jail, which Daniel hadn’t used in years. In fact, it served as more of a storage room than lockup.

  “Is this a portrait of the ship I’m on?” She’d paused at a small oil on canvas, which George had given him as a gift one year.

  “Yes. You’re aboard the Allegiance.”

  “It’s quite large.”

  “Indeed. She’s an elegant clipper, built in eighteen fifty-three.” A swell of pride filled Daniel’s being. “She’d been around the world three times. In seventy-one, Ramsey Enterprises purchased her, and much of the ship underwent refurbishment. This office area and my sleeping quarters were remodeled to be more spacious. The jail here was installed in case of trouble on the sea and another ship was overtaken. The idea was that officers would find it suitable. Other prisoners are held in the cargo area, where Mr. Griswald will stay.” At Miss Wayland�
��s look of interest, he added a tidbit more. “I’ve served as the Allegiance’s commander ever since her recommissioning ceremony in eighteen seventy-four.”

  “I’m impressed, Captain.” She walked to his framed credentials, hanging near the doorway that led to his private quarters.

  “Can you read?”

  “Yes. I went to school until I was thirteen. But it was the Pigeon Lady who made me practice so that I was any good at it.”

  “Pigeon Lady?”

  “Yes.” Miss Wayland smiled fondly. “That was our nickname for an old woman who lived on the streets. She adored those dirty ol’ pigeons and often fed them instead of herself.”

  “Hmm . . . ” Daniel grew weary of all this chatter. He clasped his hands together. “So, you were trying to escape Captain Tolbert’s lasciviousness and you came aboard my ship?” He dipped one brow. “Did I hear correctly that Griswald found you in a . . . crate?”

  “Yes. I hid there, like I told you. And before I knew it, I was loaded up with all the rest of the cargo.”

  Daniel gnawed gently on the side of his mouth and narrowed his gaze as he mulled over her explanation. Next thoughts of the Old Master paintings stowed onboard ran across his mind. He’d been warned of the lengths to which thieves would go in order to steal those precious works of art. Could be Miss Wayland’s story was just that—some cockamamie tale to get aboard. Perhaps she was in cahoots with Griswald and left her post at the Tolberts in order to steal the priceless artworks. He doubted it, and yet he couldn’t be too careful.

  He cleared his throat. “Miss Wayland, accident or no, stowing away is a crime punishable by incarceration—unless you have the funds for passage.”

  She shook her head slightly and her puffy nose began bleeding again. She quickly retrieved his handkerchief, momentarily forgotten on the arm of the chair in which she’d been sitting.

  “Normally I’d sentence a stowaway to hard labor so he could work off his passage. But seeing as you’re a female, it isn’t wise to mix you with my crew and chance another tragic encounter.”

  “Could you let me off at the next port? Perhaps I can find work in another city.”

  “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. You see, I lost time anchored on the Thames, waiting for the wind to change and a tug, and I cannot make any unplanned stops. I must make New York’s harbor in less than three weeks’ time, which is pushing my luck unless the wind stays at my back.”

  “New York?” Miss Wayland stood stock-still, the color in her bruised face drained away. “You mean . . . ?”

  “That’s right. This ship is bound for America.”

  “America!” Julianna gaped at the captain.

  “Yes. You heard correctly.” His blue eyes darkened with austerity before he turned and walked around his desk. As he lowered himself into the black leather chair, his expression remained grave and pensive. Obviously he wondered what on earth to do with her.

  Julianna returned to the matching armchair and sat down. She watched the captain guardedly. Was he a good man or another devil in disguise?

  She had to admit he was a handsome fellow. Why, Flora would have enjoyed plopping herself into his lap and gulping down a few glasses of ale. Perhaps she’d sing one of her bawdy songs and skoal! with her thick ale mug.

  And yet somehow this man didn’t fit Julianna’s image of the usual drunken sailor—even one sobered up. The captain’s demeanor was calm, sophisticated. And two vertical jags on each side of his mouth indicated the propensity to dimple if only he’d crack a smile.

  A bit of grin crept across her own lips as she continued her surreptitious scrutiny of the man. She’d seen anger in those arresting blue eyes of his when he learned of Griswald’s abuse. And then to offer his shirt . . . why, his reaction had been more than she’d hoped for. So far the captain had been almost kind in his treatment of her. But what would he do next?

  As he bent his auburn head, cogitating about her fate, Julianna perceived his sense of fairness, and her sore muscles relaxed somewhat.

  She straightened his borrowed shirt, buttoned around her torn bodice. It was far too big for her frame but identical to the one the captain wore at present. She couldn’t help noticing that his broad shoulders filled it out quite nicely.

  He lifted his gaze abruptly, and Julianna sat up with a start. She hadn’t meant for him to catch her staring.

  “Miss Wayland . . . ”

  “Yes?” She’d answered a bit too hastily.

  Amusement lit his gaze, and Julianna felt two hot spots rising in her bruised cheeks. Had he figured out she’d been watching him?

  Oh, who was she kidding? She’d been ogling!

  “I believe the thing to do is lock you in the jail here in my office.”

  “Lock me up? But Captain Sundberg, I thought I explained.”

  “Indeed, and at great length, I might add.” He sat back, his gaze fixed on her face. “But it’ll solve all problems, at least temporarily.”

  “And then what?”

  Captain Sundberg stood. “I’m sure I can think up tasks for you to do behind bars once you repair your gown and your bruises heal.”

  “Such as?” She tipped her head, suspicious.

  “I’ll consult with my purser, but if you’re handy with a needle and thread, I guarantee we can keep your hands busy.”

  “Yes, I can sew.” Her mother had been a seamstress in the Potters’ laundering and mending shop. While Flora worked in the shoe factory, Mrs. Potter had taught Julianna the art of washing and repairing garments. “But then what?” Julianna got to her feet as well. “What happens when we dock in America?”

  The captain pursed his lips in momentary thought. “You could gain employment and begin a new life. Or, if you wish, you could indenture yourself for a few years and earn your passage back to London.”

  “A few years?” Julianna wondered what would become of Flora in that time. Who would care for her? Support her?

  “In either case, you’ve got a few weeks to mull over your options.” Captain Sundberg sauntered to the jail cell and removed several crates and a large black leather valise. “I’ll have the purser bring in a blanket for the berth, and I’ll tell Kidwell to bring your meals. As for privacy, you’ll have plenty. I don’t spend a lot of time in my office during voyages.”

  Julianna strode slowly toward the hold. All three walls were brick and mortar, the fourth being the barred entryway. The bed hung from one wall by thick chains, and a set of iron shackles dangled menacingly in the far corner. The chamber pot was positioned beside the shackles.

  Wheeling around on her heel, Julianna nearly collided with Captain Sundberg’s wide chest. She gazed up into his face. “You’re not going to chain me up, are you?”

  “Not unless you give me good reason.”

  “I won’t, sir. I promise I’ll be no trouble.”

  The captain’s features softened. “I believe you.”

  His breath wafted across her cheek as he replied, and Julianna’s heart began to drum in a peculiar beat. And why not? She’d lived through quite the ordeal!

  She took a step backward into the jail. “I shall be a model prisoner.”

  Finally a grin! “All right. Now in you go.”

  After she took another step back, he slid the iron barred doors together until they slammed shut with a finality that gave Julianna a sinking feeling. Her world had suddenly turned upside down.

  She’d left Flora and London behind and was sailing for . . . America!

  America!

  Trepidation gnawed at her every nerve. What fate would befall her in that new land? What if she found an employer just as ruthless as Olson Tolbert?

  Or worse?

  CHAPTER 4

  S O YOU THINK the girl’s in cahoots with Griswald, Cap’n?” Bent gave him a stare from beneath busy arched brows.

  “I said there is a chance she’s Griswald’s accomplice.” In the stately saloon, designated for the Allegiance’s captain and officers only, Daniel
took a bite of his supper of beef and gravy. He hid a grimace and swallowed. “I don’t know anything for sure.”

  “I think yer mistaken, Cap’n.” His first mate shoveled in a bite. “Griswald doesn’t ’ave the sense to steal master paintings.”

  “Maybe, but Miss Wayland lived on the streets of London for a time. There’s no telling what sort of tricks she picked up there.”

  His purser, Jonathan Dinsmore, cleared his throat. “Cap’n, she might be streetwise, but she’s mannerly and even a bit naïve, if you ask me.”

  Daniel had thought so too. He swung his gaze to Dinsmore. The dedicated purser seemed dwarfed sitting between Bent and the second officer, Isaac Cravens. “You spoke with her, then?”

  “Aye.” Dinsmore inclined his head. “I made up her bunk, and she talked the entire while.”

  “Ah, yes. She does tend to ramble on, doesn’t she?” Daniel sent a gaze upward.

  “A reg’lar babbling brook, sir.”

  Daniel snorted his amusement but then narrowed his gaze. “Did you say you made up her bed, Dinsmore?”

  “Used the passenger linens, sir.” The man shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Just didn’t seem right to allow a lady to sleep on a hard mattress with only a rough blanket for cover up. I also found a cake of scented soap, left behind by a former passenger, and I gave Miss Wayland a needle and thread so she could tend to her torn dress. Just seemed fittin’, sir.”

  All the officers nodded in agreement.

  “Fine.” Somehow it bothered Daniel that his men were so taken with the stowaway when he still had a shred of suspicion about her. “But in the future, keep in mind that Miss Wayland is a prisoner on this ship. Not a passenger. I will also add that she was accustomed to sleeping on London’s cold, cobbled lanes.”

  “Well, only for a couple of years,” Dinsmore corrected. “Since then she’s worked at the Tolbert mansion on Bainbury Street.”

  “So she says.” Bent looked at Daniel. “She might be lyin’ about that, sir.”

  “No, I’ve seen her there. Just last month, in fact.” At least Daniel could lay those suspicions to rest.

  “Well, you can’t blame the girl for wantin’ to run away from Cap’n Tolbert.” Dinsmore devoured the last of his supper and pushed his plate forward. He rested his long forearms on the scarred tabletop. “I’ve had me own dealings with the bloke. He swindled me out of a whole day’s pay.”