Commanding Heart Read online

  At the same moment, a gentle tap sounded on the cabin door. Clutching the bed post and the desk in turn, Catherine groped her way to the door and then gave an enormous effort to pull herself up straight to answer the summons. Outside, a shy, smiling Tom Foster stood waiting with her trunk. “I’m sorry to bother you, miss” he said, “I came by earlier but there was no response.” “Oh, I am sorry to have caused you such trouble” Catherine mumbled feebly, fighting the waves of dizziness she felt. “I…I guess I must have been a bit tired after my long journey.” The boy looked curiously into her face and read the signs of distress that she tried so hard to conceal. He hesitated a moment before he spoke: “I brought your trunk miss, as it is almost time for supper. It’s just… Captain Knight is quite punctual about meals, miss. I thought you would want your things to prepare for supper?” The thought of eating sent another dizzying wave throughout Catherine’s body. She closed her eyes a moment and nodded to the boy, “Yes, just so” she replied, her dark lashes sweeping against her pale face. “Please bring the trunk inside, Tom” and she motioned him into the room. The boy moved quickly and settled the trunk, then took the extra step of opening the lid for her in an effort to help in her moment of distress. He looked at Catherine with compassion as she slowly moved to the writing desk and gingerly settled in the chair. “I’ll leave you now, miss” Tom said but made no movement to go, waiting instead for a sign from her, some request to be excused from supper. But Catherine was made of sterner stuff; she gave the boy another weak smile and said, “I shall be there directly.”

  When the door clicked closed, Catherine moved as fast as her aching head could manage. She would not allow the captain to see her distress or to accuse her of ill manners for not accepting his invitation. She reached into her trunk and retrieved a few toiletries, and a silk chemise of softest pink to change into for dinner. Painstakingly slow, she prepared for the meal, every movement requiring the greatest of effort. When Catherine at last managed to complete her dress, she tried next to arrange her hair into some semblance of order. Several long curls escaped the effort of her hands and she finally gave up on them and allowed them to fall around her face. She looked in the glass and gave a small grimace at the pale face that looked back at her. An urgent rap at the door drew her attention and she went to answer it a second time. The anxious face of Tom Foster met her once more. His eyes were full of apology as he performed his required duty: “I’m sorry, miss, but the captain asked me to fetch you to supper directly. It is well past the hour” he stammered, trying to balance duty to his captain with his great sympathy for Miss Gibson’s obvious discomfort. “Oh, of course, Tom” she replied. “Could I ask you to please lead me there?” The young boy stepped aside as Catherine exited her room. After just a few small steps she paused, swaying on her feet, then reached for his arm in support. The boy flushed to the roots of his hair at the contact but he manfully kept hold of her arm as he led her through the maze of passageways to the captain’s cabin.

  The stateroom of the HMS Triton was an intensely masculine space. The dark paneled walls, heavy oaken furniture, and weighty draperies of dark green were perfectly at home amidst the serious business of a ship of the line. No feminine touch lit any corner of this somber room; nor had any female ever been present inside its forbidding walls. In this room, on this most unusual night, the senior officers of the Triton were nervously shifting about in their accustomed places. Only one chair at the table remained empty – that reserved for Miss Gibson – and upon that chair Captain Knight delivered a withering look of contempt. Dinner was to begin at 8 o’clock; it was now half past the hour.

  “Foster,” the captain had finally called with disgust, “You will please find out Miss Gibson.” The cabin boy had quickly hurried from the room and those who remained fell silent. The gathering had started well enough with the men joking good naturedly about the beautiful woman Matthews had smuggled aboard. Matthews had basked in their compliments to his niece with great pride, and even Captain Knight had shared a slight smile at their words. But as the hour to dine had come then passed, and the celebrated lady did not arrive, the clever talk and good humor began to fade. To men engaged in the efficient handling of a British ship of war, punctuality was an absolute necessity; especially on a day such as this when the business of getting a ship underway had kept most men from eating since morning.

  Into this inhospitable clime, a very ill Catherine entered, clinging to the arm of young Foster in support. The boy led Catherine to her place at table and she gratefully sank into her chair at last. Every man rose at her arrival then resumed their seats as she was settled. Her uncle caught her eye and delivered a firm look of reprimand that was completely alien to his usual jolly manner with the girl. Catherine felt deep remorse for having so embarrassed her uncle by her lateness, but the horrible dizzying sensations in her head kept her from speaking. An uncomfortable hush settled on the room, each man waiting for some word to free them from this nervous tension. Finally, with Herculean effort, Catherine found her voice and addressed the men: “I do beg your pardon, gentlemen, for joining you so late. I am afraid I… I took longer to prepare than I intended….” She trailed off miserably. The officers in their great hospitality were quick to murmur assent, assuring her that all was well. But one look at the captain convinced Catherine otherwise. He made no acknowledgement of her speech and instead called sharply to the porter: “We dine now.”

  At Captain Knight’s command, the places were quickly set with steaming bowls of broth, loaves of bread, and generous quantities of wine. On any other occasion, Catherine would have been delighted at the well prepared meal set before her. The ship’s fare and fine table settings were the equal to any she had shared in a country manor house. However, on this occasion, Catherine could only stare at the bounty before her in utter dismay. Under the table, she fiercely kept grip on the side of her chair with her right hand, willing herself in place. Her left hand rose tremblingly forward and picked up her spoon. As she struggled with the problem of what to do next, a question from her tablemate caught her attention: “Did you have an opportunity to go above decks as we departed?” asked the junior lieutenant opposite her, anxious to engage the lovely young woman before him; “It is always a glorious sight as we get underway” he finished with friendly enthusiasm. “Ah, ….. no…” Catherine responded uncomfortably. She stirred the soup in front of her, unable to even contemplate taking a bite, and tried desperately to think of a proper response to the young man’s question: “I have been in my cabin since coming aboard earlier” she said curtly, with neither the will, nor the clarity of mind to come up with a better, more civil answer. The young man looked somewhat abashed at her unceremonious reply while Captain Knight’s face drew tight with scorn. Knight glared at Catherine as he addressed her coldly: “I know this is not exactly a society ballroom, Miss Gibson. But I would have thought the operation of the ship might hold some interest for you.” Catherine blushed at his criticism, fully aware how badly her behavior must look to the Captain and his men. She raised her head to meet his gaze and replied levelly; “The ship is of great fascination to me, Captain. I am anxious to explore the Triton… I hope I might even be allowed to make some sketches of the ship, of the men at their tasks?” she finished hopefully. Captain Knight looked at her flatly and replied, “As long as you keep out of the men’s way and offer no further disruption of their duties.” His pointed barb was well aimed and Catherine’s head lowered in embarrassment.

  Trying to prevent further offense, Catherine avoided any more attempts at conversation. While the men spoke to each other of the day’s activities, she busily stirred her soup and picked at her bread, giving the impression of eating without ever actually taking a bite. Her body was in agony at the effort, her spinning head made her want nothing more than to lie down and sleep the entire journey to Jamaica. She struggled valiantly to keep herself in order and felt a great sense of relief as the porter finally removed the offending food from in front of her. C
atherine’s relief was short lived, however, for to her great dismay she was presented with an immense second course – a plate loaded with mutton and vegetables. As the men tucked into their food with great relish, Catherine began to tremble, fighting back tears as another dizzying wave passed over her. How on earth could she manage her way through this? Captain Knight chose this inopportune moment to attend his duties as host: “Miss Gibson, you are very quiet” he said, “May I ask how you enjoy our humble ship’s fare? I trust the meal, at least, is to your liking?”

  It was too much. Catherine looked in helpless silence at the captain, her blue eyes watery in her ashen face. She turned to her uncle and gave her head a small shake of resignation, then stood up in a sudden, violent motion that knocked over her wineglass in the process. Lieutenant Matthews, Captain Knight and every man at table watched in startled surprise as she turned on her heel and quickly left the room.

  Captain Knight kept staring at the door a long moment after her departure, his eyes burning with anger at Miss Gibson’s complete incivility. Lieutenant Matthews reddened in embarrassment as he began to offer apologies for his niece: “”This is most unusual, Captain” Matthews mumbled, “Most unusual. She is normally a very sensible child; I cannot imagine what she is thinking. I will go speak to the girl….” he trailed off uncertainly. At these less than charitable words, Tom Foster sprang forward suddenly to Catherine’s defense. “Sir!” the cabin boy cried with great feeling. Each man turned in surprise at Tom’s cry; the boy was painfully shy and such a loud outburst from him was completely out of character. “Sir,….” Tom began again, uncertainly. Tom had been watching Catherine the entire time from his position of duty by the stateroom door, his heart filled with pity as he watched her struggle. At Matthews’ poor defense of the young lady, however, Tom could remain silent no longer: “I believe…,” he stammered, “I believe Miss Gibson might… might want some… some ginger tea….” he stuttered. Captain Knight raised his eyebrows in surprise and a guilty look of realization came to Matthews’ face. “Ginger tea?” the captain enquired: “Miss Gibson is unwell?” Ginger tea was well known as a cure for illness at sea – but it was not an item much in demand on a ship such as this with a well-seasoned crew. “Yes, ginger tea” the boy responded again simply. Lieutenant Matthews cursed himself silently then asked the captain for leave to find his niece. Captain Knight readily agreed to the request, then called to the porter and ordered the calming tea for Miss Gibson’s cabin. As the porter turned to attend his duty, the captain made one further request: “You will also take bread and some of the best fruit from my stores. When Miss Gibson is feeling herself again she will be in need of some refreshment.”

  Catherine, lying ill at ease in her cabin under her uncle’s watchful eye, would never know of this small kindness. When she rose in the morning, refreshed from her sleep and at peace finally with the motion of the ship, she enjoyed the offering of bread and fruit with great relish, never once imagining it was a kindness of the captain’s, not her uncle’s.

  Chapter IV

  The following day dawned bright and clear, golden rays lighting the sky and streaming into the tiny cabin where Catherine lay at rest. She blinked slowly against the growing light, long lashes sweeping across pale cheekbones. As consciousness returned, Catherine was delighted to find she was feeling completely herself once more. The dizzying sickness of the previous day was long past. Catherine stretched languorously in her bed, enjoying her returned sense of well-being. Her relief was tempered, however, by the memory of her ungracious departure from the captain’s table. The events of the previous evening came flooding back to her, filling her with a fresh sense of humiliation. When her uncle had found her in her cabin last night he was all kindness, assuring Catherine none had taken offense at her unusual departure. Catherine had not been convinced by her uncle’s words then and a deep flush came into her face now as she remembered the captain’s stern face as she retreated from table. “He must think me a complete fool” Catherine moaned with dismay. To date, her encounters with Captain John Knight had been nothing short of disastrous. While she held no notion of ever becoming a close acquaintance of the somber, unyielding captain, Catherine did wish to at least have something of his respect. Giving herself a stern shake, she pushed aside troubling ideas of Captain Knight and rose from her bed, determined to make a fresh start.

  Despite the early hour, Catherine felt the need to make up for lost time. She raced to dress so she might finally spend some time on deck. From her trunk she chose a long sleeved dress of pure white muslin, the neck of which was trimmed in embroidery. Over this, Catherine added a soft grey pelisse and a wide-brimmed straw hat which she tied loosely under her chin with a ribbon of blue that matched her eyes. The effect was altogether striking, accentuating the golden shade of her hair and her intensely blue eyes. Catherine, as usual, was oblivious to the image she created. She was too concerned with gathering her sketch pad and pencils, eager to be on deck capturing the many details of the ship she had witnessed when she first arrived.

  As Catherine ascended the ship’s stairs and emerged on the quarterdeck, her breath caught at the spectacle before her. The HMS Triton at rest was an impressive thing; but now, under full sail she was a living, breathing creature of unsurpassed beauty. From all three masts, square-rigged sails flew like birds’ wings, coaxing the ship forward with their strong fluid motion; miles of ropes criss-crossed in complex designs, like elaborate spider webs; and everywhere in the action of the ship’s crew were the precise measured motions of men long experienced in life at sea. Catherine smiled hugely at it all, her every sense awakened by this wondrous sight.

  Catherine moved forward across the deck. At almost every step, a member of the crew would turn in greeting, respectfully touching hand to forehead with a kind, “Good morrow, Miss Gibson” at her approach. Catherine shyly returned their welcome, with only a quick word to each man. She longed to talk with them at length, to ask them so many questions about the ship and their work, but she feared the captain’s wrath if she was found keeping the men from their duties. Instead, she filed the questions away, awaiting the time later in the morning when her uncle would be free to show her around the ship. As Catherine reached the space directly below the main mast she stopped and turned in a slow circle. The early morning sun cast golden rays across the sea, lighting the sails of HMS Triton in brilliant hues of crimson and gold. Catherine longed to paint these vivid colors but would not risk interrupting the work of the ship by setting herself up amidst a jumble of paints and canvas. Instead, Catherine asked one of the men for someplace she might sit out of harm’s way with her sketchbook. The sailor obliged by leading Catherine to an area next to the rail, bringing a small barrel for her to use as a seat. Catherine settled in at once and opened her sketchbook. Her quick eye and faster hand created several small studies of the scenes about her: the network of rigging; the pattern of the ship’s rail; even a rough sketch of the view from her vantage point to the ship’s bow. Catherine was completely engaged in capturing the scenes before her, looking up only to study an object before committing it to paper. Her intelligent mind was completely absorbed with its task, leaving her unaware that she was being watched in turn.

  When Captain Knight left his cabin and entered the quarter deck, his knowing eye had quickly discovered Catherine at her position near the ship’s rail. The captain watched with rapt attention as the young woman sketched. The same bright sun that had drawn Catherine’s artistic eye was making a beautiful study of her as well. Amid the sharp lines and masculine order of the ship’s main deck, Catherine was an oasis of soft, feminine beauty. The sun’s rays played across her fine figure, highlighting the beautiful planes of her face, the gentle curves of her body, and the elegant motion of her hands as they moved across the surface of her sketchbook. Knight could not help but be struck by her beauty. Catherine was undoubtedly one of the handsomest women he had ever encountered, yet she had none of the vain pride so often found in beautiful w
omen. Knight marveled a moment longer at this strange creature then moved across the deck to greet Catherine.

  The captain’s shadow fell across Catherine’s sketchbook and she looked up in startled surprise. After the debacle of last night’s supper party and his repeated warnings against interrupting the work of the ship, Catherine found she was at a loss as to how to greet the captain. She murmured a quiet, “Good morning, Captain Knight.… I hope I am not… intruding…..” blushing as she spoke. She quickly rose to her feet, dropping her sketchbook in the process. She burned in humiliation at her awkwardness around this man and struggled to retain her composure. The captain searched her face a long moment, his unflinching gaze taking in her embarrassment. A slight smile played at the corners of his mouth but he gallantly collected the sketchbook and held it out to Catherine without a word. She took his offering with a trembling hand, all the while cursing herself for her lack of control. She gave her head a small, defiant shake and drew herself up to squarely meet his look, determined not to speak another word until he himself spoke.

  Captain Knight noted the look of determination that came into her face, the stiff pride in her stance as she met his gaze. He gave in to her unspoken challenge, and the whisper of humor that teased the corners of his mouth broke free into a full, dazzling smile. Catherine was completely taken aback by the transformation in his face; his strong, stern features softened, coming alive with humor and good will. He seemed another person entirely as the broad grin lit his handsome eyes. Catherine could not help but smile in return. “You are early to work, Miss Gibson,” Knight said in rich tones. “Despite my earlier comments, you are not required to take a turn at watch during our journey” he finished dryly. Catherine reddened again at the reference to their earlier encounters but she held her ground; “Indeed, Captain, I must admit that I was most eager to start the day today. My uncle has told me much about the HMS Triton but I think nothing could prepare me for the beauty of the ship in person. She is an incredible creature” Catherine finished as she looked about admiringly. Captain Knight regarded Catherine quizzically. It was obvious her comments were genuine, but such sentiments about a naval war ship seemed out of place coming from a young woman of society. In his experience, such women could find little beauty beyond their personal fashions or the trappings of the drawing room. “I am all astonishment at your enthusiasm, Miss Gibson,” replied the Captain: “I would think that to a lady of your background the workings of a ship would seem pedestrian at best.” Catherine stiffened immediately at his reference to her upbringing. She could not help but remember Captain Knight’s initial comments about her father’s connections, and how those connections had forced his hand to bring her aboard. “I am sorry, Captain, that I do not meet your expectations of a lady of society” Catherine replied, her blue eyes sparking with anger. “In future I shall endeavor to better play my part. If you will please excuse me, I will take up no more of your time” she finished sharply and then left for her cabin. Captain Knight’s face tightened into its customary stern look. He watched his strange passenger’s every step as she crossed the deck and entered the hatchway. As Catherine disappeared from view his mouth settled into a firm line of resolve: having this young woman aboard was a great mistake. The best course of action was to complete the journey to Jamaica as quickly as possible. With this in mind, Captain Knight returned to the ship’s wheel and began relaying orders to his men. The HMS Triton was capable of great speed and Captain Knight was determined to use this power to reach Jamaica with all haste.