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 theKatarina…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 theKatarinato 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 consideryou 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?”
