Commanding Heart Page 6

  Catherine felt another wave of shock pass over her as the door clicked firmly closed. She reached out blindly, grabbing the bedpost for support. Trembling in every limb, Catherine settled at the foot of the bed. After a long time, she slowly lay down and drew up the covers. The ship continued to rock in violent motion the remainder of the night, but Catherine scarce noticed. She lay awake until the storm broke near dawn, seeing nothing in the darkness but the black glittering pools of the captain’s eyes, feeling nothing but the touch of the captain’s hands.

  Chapter X

  The morning after the storm, Lieutenant Matthews hurried to Catherine’s cabin to check on his niece. HMS Triton had weathered the storm well and Matthews was anxious to know Catherine had done the same. At his knock, he heard slow movements from inside and after a long time the door finally opened. A pale, wan Catherine stood inside, blue eyes deeply shadowed in an ashen face. She held her left arm carefully and Matthews could tell she was in great discomfort. The lieutenant’s look of good humor was quickly replaced by one of grave concern as he took in the spectacle of his niece. “Catherine!” he exclaimed, “Are you unwell? You look a fright.” Catherine smiled weakly at his words: “I will be fine, uncle. I had a small… mishap last night but I will soon be right as rain.” “What on earth happened?” Matthews cried in distress, moving inside to get a better look at the girl.

  Catherine’s mind raced at his question: What had happened, indeed? She had spent the entire night thinking over the strange scene with the captain; his unexpected actions, and her even more unexpected response. She flushed deeply in remembrance of her wanton behavior and tried to clear her thoughts once more; “I struck my arm, Uncle. I fell and hit the desk but I am quite well this morning.”

  Matthews could clearly see that she was anything but well. He clucked like a mother hen, leading her carefully to the bed and sitting her down. “Stay right there, miss” he ordered. “I am going to fetch the surgeon to take a look at that arm. Damn me for not checking on you sooner. I am so sorry I did not come to you earlier Catherine, to see you were safe…..” “Uncle!” Catherine cut in, wishing desperately to end this interview, “Please, do not trouble yourself, or the surgeon. I am quite well. But I do think that I might spend the day here in my cabin, to… to rest a bit… if that is alright?” She looked at him with such pleading in her eyes that the kind man could not refuse. “Certainly, child, certainly. As you wish,” he said kindly. “But I insist on checking in regularly to see how you get on!” “Of course,” Catherine said as she got to her feet and led her uncle to the door. He gave her a gentle pat on the cheek and left her alone with her thoughts once more. Catherine closed the door firmly behind Matthews and rested her head against its hard surface: After a storm like this, how did one begin again?

  Chapter XI

  For the next two days, Catherine remained alone in her cabin. Lieutenant Matthews was in agony throughout, cursing himself to all and sundry for not better caring for his niece. Word of Matthews’ distress came to Catherine through Tom Foster, who had also taken it upon himself to check on Catherine at regular intervals. Catherine felt deeply ashamed for causing her uncle such distress. If she had only herself to worry about, Catherine would have continued the remainder of the journey in this self-imposed exile. But the sight of Matthews’ anxious, self-recriminating face at each visit was too much for Catherine to bear. She would have to leave the relative peace of her cabin and prepare to encounter the captain once more.

  The next morning, Catherine arose knowing there was no further excuse for staying below. Despite her extreme desire to remain hidden, she knew the only way to conquer disturbing thoughts about Captain Knight was to return to her former occupations. She would resume her sketching, continue her sessions with the officers, and attend the captain’s table for supper as before. The thought sent a chill throughout her body but she knew there was no other course of action. Catherine could not avoid him for the entire journey; the ship was large but not large enough to hide in indefinitely. As she readied for the day, Catherine struggled to meet her own gaze in the mirror, for the face reflected back seemed that of a stranger. Her eyes were wide and wariness lay in their depths. Catherine knew the change was partly due to Knight’s actions, but in larger part it was due to her own reaction to his advances. Her abandonment had been so total it shocked her to the very core – it was as though in his arms she was another person entirely, someone she no longer recognized. Catherine burned once more at the remembrance, her face flushed with guilt. She forced herself to look at the stranger in the mirror as she made a personal vow: she would remain composed; she would carry on as though nothing had happened; and she would avoid all private contact with Captain Knight, no matter what the cost.

  In keeping with her vow, Catherine chose to dress simply in a plain cotton gown and a wide straw bonnet that would attract as little attention as possible. She bravely set forth with her sketchbook and pencils, leaving the security of her cabin to return to the main deck. As soon as she reached the fresh air and sunshine of the morning, Catherine felt better about her decision. She looked around cautiously, however, to ensure the captain was not on deck, before choosing a spot far away from his usual haunts on the quarterdeck. Catherine moved to the front of the Triton and settled in near the foremast to sketch once again. She had not been long at her task when her uncle came up to her with great enthusiasm: “Catherine!” he cried delightedly, “I just went to your cabin and found you were out. How is the arm? Are you feeling yourself again?” Catherine gave him a kind smile and said, “Indeed, uncle, I am quite well this morning” although she still felt anything but herself. “Splendid!” Matthews cried, clapping his hands with delight. “I was beginning to worry about you, as were we all. We talked of little else at supper last night. The captain will be pleased to know you are back on your feet.” Catherine started at his words: “The captain need not trouble himself,” she replied stiffly; “all is well.” Lieutenant Matthews could sense an undercurrent to her words, but in his joy at having her back on her feet he let it pass. He gave Catherine a broad smile, and then excused himself to return to his duty.

  The remainder of the morning and afternoon passed without incident for Catherine. Through careful effort she managed to avoid the captain entirely during her time on deck. The hands had all greeted her warmly; genuinely glad to see her return after a long absence. Catherine thanked them each in turn for their kind wishes and assured all that she was quite well. But her heart remained troubled and she looked forward to the evening meal with great trepidation.

  Alone in her cabin that evening, a worried Catherine stood, awaiting the usual summons to supper. She had dressed for dinner with great care, donning a simple white muslin dress which she then layered over top with an Indian shawl of deep blue silk. Fashion dictated a short-sleeved gown for evening, but the bruise that showed on Catherine’s arm was too vivid a reminder of what had transpired in her cabin during the storm. She removed the shawl from her trunk, wrapping it about her carefully to hide the dark bruise from view. Secreted by the shimmering shawl, the mark and its unwonted reminder were somewhat removed from her tempestuous thoughts.

  That same sense of self-preservation led Catherine to arrange her hair with great care: she tightly coiled her heavy tresses in a bun at the base of her neck, with no stray wisp allowed to escape the security of her pins. In every way Catherine strove to create an impression of control and restraint in her person – an impression completely at odds with the inner thoughts and feelings that tormented her.

  After an agonizing wait, the expected knock came and Catherine stepped to the door in response. Once again, Tom Foster waited to escort her to table. His face lit with great delight as Catherine came forward. “I am glad to see you about, miss” he chatted eagerly; “I heard you were back on deck today, completely yourself again!” Catherine gave a wry smile at the thought, then gave herself a small shake, determined to keep self-pity in check. “Thank you, Tom” she said
with gratitude. “It is due to your kind care that I am on my feet again.” The boy smiled hugely at her words and led her forth with pleasure.

  When she reached the great cabin’s dining room, Catherine took a quick, reassuring breath before walking forward with pretended calm to be seated at the table. The officers all came to their feet at her approach, each caught by the incredible sight of Catherine on this evening. Although her careful efforts in dressing had been to create a controlled, restrained appearance, the end result was very different. Catherine’s tightly wrapped hair served only to further accentuate the planes of her pale face, the smoothness of her brow, the beautiful lines of her cheekbones touched with red. As for the covering shawl, its deep blue color echoed the shade of Catherine’s eyes so completely that the brilliance of her gaze shone like jewels from behind their thick frame of lashes. The effect was completely striking; no man could help but notice, including Captain Knight.

  Once Catherine was settled, the others took their seats as well, each speaking their welcome at Catherine’s return. Catherine thanked them simply, trying desperately with each address to avoid looking in the captain’s direction. It was not to be. Catherine froze as the deep timbre of Captain Knight’s voice came to her directly; “May I add my compliments, Miss Gibson, at your return to our table? I am very pleased to have you rejoin us, and to see you looking … so well” he finished solemnly. Catherine grasped her hands tighter in her lap before looking at the captain. She felt the rush of color in her face as their eyes met and knew she could not speak in reply. Catherine worried at what she would read in his face, but there was no trace of humor or derision as she had feared. Instead, Captain Knight wore his habitual look of calm control. Catherine’s eyes fluttered in relief as she gave a small nod of acknowledgement to the captain. The initial difficulty was over and Catherine began to hope that she might make it through the evening, and indeed the rest of the journey, unscathed.

  The officers filled the evening with talk of the storm, the damages that had occurred and the subsequent work required to repair the sails and rigging. Catherine took small part in the conversation but listened closely to the details in fascination. That HMS Triton could weather such a blow was a testament to the strength of both the ship and its captain. In all of the discussion of actions taken and crises averted, Catherine saw the guiding hand of Captain Knight. She could not help but be impressed by his skill as a leader and his careful management of this vast crew of men. Catherine looked to where the captain sat talking with one of the lieutenants and was struck once more by his physical presence and authority. Unbidden, the image of Captain Knight in her cabin came to mind. Catherine struggled to control her emotions but her face betrayed troubled thoughts. At this same moment, Captain Knight’s attention turned to Catherine and he caught the conflict in her face. She struggled under the intensity of his gaze, the powerful, knowing look that seemed capable of reading her inmost thoughts. Desperately she turned away to reengage in conversation with those immediately around her. Too much had passed between them; Catherine knew that for her own safety, she must keep her distance from Captain Knight.

  As Catherine rejoined the discussion of her tablemates, she found the talk had turned to the effort required to get the ship back on schedule in order to reach their destination without further delay. In the turmoil of the last few days, Catherine had forgotten her former worries about their arrival in Jamaica; her thoughts had been occupied with the more immediate situation with Captain Knight. Now, however, as each man voiced his opinion on the length of their delay, Catherine grew in anxiety. Finally finding her voice, Catherine spoke the question she least wanted answered; “May I ask, gentlemen, how far we are from reaching Jamaica?”

  All conversation around her ceased; every man knew Catherine’s discomfort whenever their final destination was discussed. Lieutenant Matthews gave an uncomfortable cough but could not respond. At length, it was Captain Knight who addressed Catherine’s question in a low voice; “We will complete the necessary repairs by mid-day tomorrow. With that accomplished, Jamaica shall be reached in three days time, given good weather.”

  Catherine felt the words hit her like a physical blow. Three days! It was impossible that the journey was to end so soon, that Jamaica – and her father – could be so near. Catherine blinked, lowering her head in confusion as she struggled to maintain composure. Three days without obligations. Three days to be herself. Three short days of freedom were all that was left. The anguish on her face was evident to all. Catherine felt every eye turned upon her, knew she must speak, but it took a great effort before she could finally raise her lowered head and address the officers of the Triton. “You see my great dismay,” she said shakily; “How loathe am I to part with your good company…..” she trailed off on a whisper. Catherine looked around once more, avoiding the captain as she did so, in a struggle to finish her words. “I shall regret our arrival in Jamaica very much” she said simply, after which she rose, quietly excused herself and left the room.

  In the sanctuary of her own cabin, Catherine threw herself upon the bed and gave in at last to her strong emotions. She wept tears of anger and frustration but relief would not come. As the final tears fell to her pillow, Catherine sighed in sorrow at all that was lost before succumbing at last to a deep, uncomfortable sleep.

  Chapter XII

  The next day passed quickly despite Catherine’s fondest wish for it to slow. From the sun’s rising until its set, she spent her day on the main deck memorizing the sights, sounds and smells of the sea. Walking about the forecastle, Catherine closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, feeling its greater warmth as HMS Triton moved ever closer to the West Indies. Despite the heat of the day, a small shiver passed over Catherine. “It will all be over soon” she murmured aloud.

  As she opened her eyes once more, Catherine’s gaze was arrested by the sight of Captain Knight descending the standing rigging of the foremast. With great agility he moved through the maze of ropes, never taking a moment’s pause. Such a duty was not required of a ship’s captain, but Catherine knew from her uncle’s tales that Captain Knight frequently climbed aloft himself to survey the sea. In his blue jacket the captain made an imposing figure darkly silhouetted against the brilliant white of the ship’s sails. Catherine watched in fascination as he made several quick moves and landed handily on deck. At once he spotted Catherine and moved forward in greeting; “Good day, Miss Gibson” the captain said formally as he gave her a quick bow. Catherine could not help starring at his dark face, flushed with color after his efforts in the ropes. As he settled his bicorn hat, dark hair curled from beneath and Catherine had to suppress a strong desire to reach out and touch the jet black curls. Shocked at her own thoughts, she gave the captain a small curtsey, bowing her head a moment to hide her blush; “Good day to you, Captain Knight” she said. “I trust all is well in your survey of the ship?” A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he responded; “Indeed, I am well pleased by what I see” he replied in a low tone. Catherine reddened at his words, hopping he would think her heightened color a result of the midday heat.

  “I am glad to have found you here, Miss Gibson” the captain continued more seriously; “I was about to seek you out to discuss something of importance.” Catherine stiffened in suspense at Captain Knight’s speech, her mind a tumult as she tried to imagine what he might say. She trembled in fear that he might address their late night encounter but her fears were soon put to rest; “Signs suggest we may be in for a period of calm tomorrow – not unusual after such weather as we experienced” the captain said conversationally. Catherine colored at the reference but Captain Knight seemed not to notice and continued in his controlled voice; “I thought to take advantage of the opportunity to properly exercise the men. We shall drill on sails in the morning and then spend the afternoon at the great guns. This will mean a delay in our journey, however….” He watched Catherine’s expression carefully as he spoke; saw the look of understandin
g come to her face. “Of course, Captain Knight,” Catherine responded, barely suppressing the delight in her voice at this unexpected news. She continued, a bright smile lighting her features: “I understand completely. I should not wish my travel to interfere with the workings of your ship.” At Catherine’s speech, Captain Knight’s face broke into that rare, dazzling smile and he further surprised her with a low, deep laugh. “I am pleased we are in agreement” he said with humor; “Now if you will excuse me, Miss Gibson” and with a quick nod he strode away across the deck. Catherine moved to the side rail, her heart light at the unexpected news. From her position near the bow, Catherine watched the sparkling spray of water as HMS Triton parted the waves with ease. Each drop of spray was a miniature rainbow, glistening with promise. The ship was moving ever closer to Jamaica, but tomorrow belonged to Catherine.

  The following day proved fascinating for a young woman from a sheltered upbringing. Catherine’s keen mind had been readily engaged with ship’s business throughout their journey, but the exercises at the sails and at the guns on this day was unlike anything she had experienced thus far. Catherine felt as though she were given an intimate look at the ship’s life as it truly was. At 8 am, the start of the forenoon watch, Catherine arrived on the poop deck where her uncle had arranged a seat so she could best watch the crew at exercise. From below on the quarterdeck she could hear Captain Knight’s authoritative voice as he relayed a sequence of orders to his men. The initial call saw the men fast at work scrubbing and preparing sails in anticipation of the morning’s exercises. As the men worked the shrill call of the boatswain’s whistle, or the fife and drum of the ship’s marines, were used to mark time and speed the motion of sailors’ hands as they worked. Catherine marveled at the beauty, simplicity and efficiency of their movements. Once the sails were prepared to the captain’s satisfaction, the orders began to fly for the exercise of reefing and furling of sails. At a word, dozens of men scrambled up the ship’s rigging while their mates below bent to rope and tackle. In careful choreography, the men moved to the commands of the captain and his lieutenants. In very little time the enormous sails were loosed from the yardarms, spread wide, and lashed into place as ordered; then just as quickly at the captain’s next command the stays were loosed, the ropes hauled, and the sails were furled once again. The pattern was repeated over and over with small corrections made at the captain’s command on each attempt. Catherine had seen the men at work in the sails and rigging throughout their journey but this complex series of exercises demonstrated how they managed their work with such care and efficiency, even in the worst of weather. Each man knew his task and knew it well and every motion of their work was orchestrated with precision by Captain Knight’s thorough orders.