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  Catherine stood stiffly in her father’s arms a short time then pulled away. With dismay she saw the look of cold contempt on Captain Knight’s face as the little drama played out before him. “Hello, father” she said simply, her voice sounding flat and hollow even to her own ears. William Gibson’s face grew dark at her cold salutation but he wisely kept control of himself. With a pointed look at Captain Knight he turned to his traveling companion and urged him forward. The man, who still had not spoken to this point, stepped in front of Catherine, a wry smile touching the corners of his mouth. “My dear Catherine,” her father enthused, “Allow me to introduce you to my business associate and close friend, Monsieur Philippe duMont.”

  At the sound of this name, a murmur rippled through the crowd of sailors on deck: a Frenchman onboard HMS Triton? M. duMont grinned with obvious delight at their reaction and boldly took Catherine’s hand in his own. He removed his hat with a grand flourish, gave a low, sweeping bow to the beautiful woman before him then raised Catherine’s hand to his lips in salute. Catherine’s cheeks flamed in embarrassment at this unwonted attention. With dismay she saw the sarcastic look that crossed his face as watched her discomfort. He was a handsome man; fair with a lithe figure and careful bearing, but beneath his polished appearance Catherine could sense a dark purpose. “Miss Gibson,” he said in strong accented tones, “I am delighted to make your acquaintance at last. Your father has told me much about you” he finished, his eyes roving over her person appraisingly as he spoke. Catherine felt her anger rise at his callousness: the humiliation of being greeted in this way, at being made a spectacle in front of the crew, but more importantly in front of Captain Knight. She could sense the tension in Captain Knight from where he stood behind her but she refused to look in his direction, knowing the stern visage that would meet her there. Catherine drew her hand away and responded heatedly, “You have the advantage, M. duMont, for my father has told me nothing of you.” Gibson looked angrily at his daughter but duMont was not deterred. With a sly grin he gave Catherine another practiced bow: “Ahh, but there will be much time for such things, Miss Gibson. Much time….” Catherine blushed in anger and embarrassment at duMont’s verbal challenge and stepped away, unspeaking.

  William Gibson stomped toward her impatiently, all pretence at civility now gone. He gave Catherine a low growl of command: “Daughter, you will accompany M. duMont to the carriage. We leave now.” Catherine continued to hold herself stiffly, not moving, but she knew she was beat. She was her father’s possession to command as he wished. The bitterness of the fact stabbed at Catherine’s heart but there was nothing to be done. Catherine’s spirits sank in resignation but she was determined to make a proper farewell. She turned nervously to Captain Knight; the weight of a thousand unspoken things lay heavy on her heart but no words seemed able to express her feelings in this terrible moment. Catherine was startled from her reverie as Gibson’s voice hissed in her ear, “Now!” Catherine flushed and stepped away at her father’s command. M. duMont took her arm possessively, leading her to the gangplank with obvious delight. Before descending, however, Catherine managed to turn round, her beautiful features wreathed in bitterness and regret. “Thank you, Captain, for your kind hospitality” she said in a low, broken voice. Then, before any further protest could be made, Catherine was led down the gangplank and into the awaiting carriage by duMont.

  “We depart;” Gibson sneered from the top of the gang plank: “Matthews, I hope you can at least be counted on to get my daughter’s things delivered” he finished arrogantly. Matthews bristled at the insult and replied angrily; “I will bring Catherine’s things to the house myself. That way I can make sure all is well” he finished contemptuously. Gibson looked at Matthews a moment, and then a broad smile came to his face: “No….” Gibson drawled slowly, “Now that I think of it, that will not do at all. I mustn’t interrupt your work, Matthews. In fact, I withdraw my request. I will send a servant to gather Catherine’s things. You need not have any further contact with my daughter.” Matthews took a quick step forward at Gibson’s threat, balled fist at the ready, but Captain Knight laid a steadying hand on the lieutenant’s arm. Gibson smirked at the reaction he had elicited and tipped his hat to both men with mock civility. As Gibson turned to go, Knight’s low voice sounded once more: “Remember my words, Gibson” he said with pointed meaning. In his arrogant confidence, William Gibson did not even bother to turn around; instead he stepped jauntily down the gangplank speaking casually over his shoulder as he departed; “Rest assured, Captain, my daughter will be well taken care of in her new home.” Captain Knight’s eyes narrowed at the words, his intelligent mind recognizing the hidden meaning in Gibson’s speech. Standing stiffly at attention, Captain Knight watched William Gibson depart the ship. With great show, Gibson joined Catherine and duMont in the awaiting carriage. Then, with a sharp word to the footman, Gibson’s team of horses was whipped into action and the carriage rapidly departed the busy dock.

  As the trio disappeared from sight, all on deck remained at uneasy attention. The captain alone among the men moved from his spot. He stepped up to the ship’s rail and watched in smoldering silence as the black carriage turned and made its way for home. Catherine never once turned round; she never looked back. Knight’s eyes followed every motion of the speeding carriage until it was long out of sight. He stood alone at the rail, the muscle in his jaw working furiously and his knuckles gleaming white in clenched fists. When he at last turned around he found his men – every one of them – rooted to the spot, staring questioningly at their leader. Knight bristled with anger and began barking orders that had all men scrambling. After several unusually sharp words to the hands, Knight called for Matthews. “Yes, sir” the lieutenant answered as he came forward at the summons. “You have the bridge” Knight bit out harshly, and he strode away from the deck. Encountering an abandoned cask in his path, Captain Knight kicked it away with a savagery that left his men in stunned silence. The noise of the barrel as it rolled across deck was the only sound to be heard as their captain descended the ladder, and disappeared into his cabins.

  Chapter XVI

  The carriage ride to the Gibson estate was a trying test of Catherine’s mind and body. While William Gibson and his friend duMont discussed business matters, Catherine looked about blankly: the sandy white coastline, azure skies, and lush forests of palm were stunning but Catherine found little beauty in the scene. The oppressive heat plagued her and she wished for nothing more than to be free once more on the open sea. Catherine’s spirits sank low at the thought – HMS Triton and the freedom it provided could never be hers again. Captain Knight would deliver his French prisoners, the ship would receive final repairs, and then HMS Triton would return to its mission. It was unlikely she would see the ship – or its captain – anytime soon; “If ever” she thought grimly.

  Catherine shuddered involuntarily and the deep tremor broke her free from her unhappy reverie. As awareness of her surroundings returned, she immediately noted the change in tenor of the conversation between her father and his associate. Her father was clearly agitated by some casual remark made by duMont. Listening more closely, Catherine could sense a hidden message underneath their words to one another. “All is well, M. Gibson” duMont said with great calm, “The project has encountered a small problem but there are, as you English say, more fish in the sea. Another… opportunity will present itself very soon.” Gibson clearly was not convinced by his companion’s assurances: “The loss is one thing but what about their discretion regarding the transaction” Gibson returned with annoyance. Catherine’s face must have registered surprise at their words for the astute duMont recognized her sudden attention and carefully steered the talk another way; “We forget ourselves, M. Gibson” Philippe duMont said with exaggerated gallantry, “Mademoiselle is left quite alone in her thoughts while we discuss our boring business details. I beg your forgiveness” he finished with a small bow.

  Catherine watched duMont closely as h
e made his little speech; his fair hair was wavy with flecks of gold throughout, and his green eyes were bright in his intelligent face. He was indeed handsome and she was certain many women would be pleased at his attentions but something in his manner gave Catherine pause. His manner appeared gracious and open but Catherine could not deny the undercurrent of danger she detected in him. There was something too polished, too perfect, in his manner. Added to the unusual conversation with her father, it left her very worried about duMont and his intentions. “Indeed,” Catherine replied curtly, “I welcome the solitude as I try to adapt to my new home.” Gibson scowled in at her discourteous words but before he could reprimand his daughter, duMont smiled brilliantly and replied; “We shall soon arrive, but might I first point out my own home to you?” duMont lifted his arm an made a commanding gesture toward a large plantation house on a slight rise overlooking the sea. The imposing structure was a brilliant white, wrapped round by a wide verandah. Long, low windows reflected the bright sunlight, creating a strange glittering effect that seemed more malevolent than welcoming to Catherine’s mind. The estate was formidable, a symbol of wealth and luxury, but it held little warmth in its polished façade.

  “Most impressive, I am sure” Catherine said with reluctance. “I am glad you approve, Miss Gibson” duMont said, choosing to ignore her lukewarm response: “I hope you will come to see it as your second home” he finished boldly. Catherine’s eyes flew to her father’s face for support but she was aghast to find a look of cruel humor touching his features. “You need not look so prudish, daughter,” Gibson intoned laconically, “on the island society is much more… free than in England. duMont is as often in my home as I am myself. You should prepare to see a great deal of duMont in future.” A wolfish grin crossed duMont’s face that made Catherine blanche with misgiving.

  Desperately Catherine tried to calm the nervous tremors she felt at her father’s casual words. Gibson’s intent was unmistakable; Catherine was a prize to be given to duMont. But when? Catherine had imagined her father’s plan was to tempt duMont with a future marriage to his daughter… but was it possible he intended to arrange such a union right away? The thought was impossibly bleak. Catherine looked around frantically as the carriage hurtled onward, fighting a desperate urge to jump from the speeding carriage that drew her closer to her fate. Catherine’s mind screamed in warning, urging her to find refuge from this unwonted lover and a father who saw her only as property to sell. The horses hooves thundered onward and the carriage rocked violently as it climbed a steep promontory and negotiated a dangerous curve without slowing; to the left was the impenetrable jungle, to the right a jagged rock face and a sheer drop to the sea below. In this frightful moment, precariously balanced between two impossibilities, Catherine knew she could not escape. Just as this treacherous path offered the only passage between two dangers, so too was Catherine held captive between her father’s authority and duMont’s unwonted attentions. The only way forward was between the two.

  A short time later the carriage pulled up at the house of William Gibson. Like that of M. duMont, the Gibson estate was an imposing structure of Colonial style: a wide verandah flanked the house on all sides, its roof held aloft by massive columns; a wealth of windows lined the front wall, taking in the splendor of the sea view; and surrounding all were carefully manicured lawns and gardens that forced their English order on the wild Jamaican landscape. Even at a quick glance, Catherine could see how the great house gave testament to her father’s wealth and determination.

  Catherine alighted from the carriage with undisguised relief and entered the house in advance of William Gibson and M. duMont. The front door opened onto a massive foyer dressed in paneled mahogany and marble tiles, in the center of which sat a round table with an exquisite arrangement of flowers. Catherine stepped forward and touched the petals of one exotic bloom, instinctively leaning forward to catch its scent. To her surprise, the beautiful flower was completely devoid of odor: “All show and no substance” Catherine murmured to herself, thinking that the same could be said of the house that she was to now call home. Every element of the room that met her eye had been chosen solely for its price, not for any reasons of affection or comfort. It was a startlingly beautiful space but it offered its inhabitants little in the way of welcome.

  Feeling a sudden chill run down her spine, Catherine instinctively turned around; inches away stood M. duMont. He removed his top hat, laid it on the table, and then placed one hand against the table near Catherine’s hip. He leaned forward with casual familiarity leaving Catherine no avenue of escape. “You admire the flowers, Miss Gibson” duMont said in a wicked drawl. He reached forward with his free hand as though to touch her cheek. Catherine flinched involuntarily and at the last moment duMont redirected the hand to a scarlet blossom instead. “Might I say that, lovely as they are, they cannot match your own beauty?” At this, duMont’s eyes swept over Catherine’s body in frank appraisal once more before finally returning to meet her gaze. He was so close Catherine could feel his exhalations fanning her cheek. Drawing on her fierce courage Catherine boldly met duMont’s gaze, only to find a mocking response in their glittering depths. Catherine felt naked and vulnerable in the presence of this stranger who felt an obvious right of ownership over her. As her father entered the room, Catherine turned to him desperately seeking some sort of paternal protection: “Father, I beg your forgiveness but I feel I must go to my room at once. I… I am quite tired from my journey and wish to rest before seeing the rest of the house.” William Gibson looked from his trapped daughter to duMont with careless humor. At last he gave a slight grunt of laughter and acceded to her request. “You may go,” he said as though dismissing an errant servant, “But make sure you are down here well in time for lunch. M. duMont and I have business to discuss until then but you are expected to entertain at table.”

  Anger heightened the flame of color in Catherine’s cheeks at this callous dismissal. Her father barked a quick order and a native servant came forward to wait in anxious attendance. Catherine expected duMont to step aside now but he made no effort to move whatsoever. After a long, awkward moment Catherine recognized there was no other option but to slide past his unyielding form. She shuddered at the unwelcome contact as her body necessarily brushed against his. Mortified beyond belief, Catherine retreated without further word to either man, following the servant upstairs in search of her room.

  Chapter XVII

  The bedroom set aside for Catherine was found at the end of a long corridor in the upper storey. The room, like those below, had been impeccably furnished. A well-appointed dressing table sat at-the-ready, an ornate chaise lounge angled under one of the room’s many windows, and a large mahogany four-poster bed commanded much of one wall in the spacious room. With a bitter laugh, Catherine thought how small, in comparison, was her berth onboard the HMS Triton. “Smaller, but much more pleasing” Catherine thought wistfully. Despite the difficulties of the sea-journey, and the volatile encounters with Captain Knight, Catherine found herself longing to be back onboard once more. In a moment of self-pity, Catherine crossed the polished floor and sat at the room’s writing desk in search of paper and pencil. Immediately she began to make a series of quick sketches of the Triton and its crew. In rapid succession the images formed under her talented hand: pictures of Tom and of her uncle, the view through the rigging of the main mast, the carved lines of the rail on the quarter deck. With feverish urgency Catherine sought to recapture familiar scenes and friends, as though drawing them might conjure them into being here at her father’s house. Much later, Catherine finally slowed her frantic drawing. She was astonished at how many pages she had covered. As she looked at each sheet anew, Catherine found a recurring image in some corner of almost every page; Captain John Knight. Here, he stood in command at the ship’s wheel; there he bent his head in earnest conversation with one of the crew; in another, he looked back from the page with his deep penetrating gaze. Catherine’s hands shook as she held the
images. The thought of Knight’s strength and certainty brought Catherine both comfort and dismay. Unsettled by the feelings they evoked, she took a deep breath, then quickly shuffled the papers and stored them in an interior desk drawer. The somber click as Catherine closed the desk echoed with finality in the large space. “He is not here” Catherine said aloud with bitter conviction, “I must take command myself.” Drawing deep on her inner strength, Catherine turned away with composure and left the room to rejoin her father and M. duMont.

  The large grandfather clock began to chime the hour as Catherine reached the bottom of the grand staircase. Moving cautiously forward, she looked with curiosity at the main rooms to get a sense of her new home. Catherine found little that surprised or pleased her in her survey but quelled such feelings with a new-found strength. If this was to be her fate she must make the best of a bad situation – nothing would be gained from wallowing in self-pity. Catherine drew herself up further and moved bravely on to the dining room where she was to meet her father and his associate. As she entered, she was surprised to find the dining room empty. Catherine paused a moment and found she could hear the voices of the two men carrying through the room’s French doors from where they sat on the verandah. Although Catherine could not make out their words, there was something in the tone of the two men that arrested her attention. Stealthily, Catherine moved nearer the open doors, the soft rustle of her cotton gown the only sound as she crossed the room.