Page 46 of The Cornish Widow

Chapter Twenty-One

Having watched their two passengers teeter up to the bows and take up residence on the spare sails, Jack retired to the stern, where Will had taken charge of the tiller and sent the early morning watch down to kip in their hammocks.

“That’s her, then, is it?” Will said, without taking his eyes off the horizon. Western Brittany would be coming into view before too long.

“What d’you mean by that?” Jack leaned on the gunnels and squinted up towards the top of the mainmast at the way the topsail was straining in the following wind. That was what he liked to see—a strong wind and a foaming wake trailing behind the ship.

“You know what I mean,” Will said, nudging him in the ribs. “She’s the girl you’ve got your eye on.”

“I have not.” But the moment the words were out of his mouth, Jack knew them to be a lie. He did indeed have his eye on Harriet Penhallow, deny it as he would.

Will, rather annoyingly, just chuckled. The wind blew a few wisps of his grizzled hair out of his pony tail and across his eyes, and he had to put up a hand to brush them away. “Pretty little thing when she’s not covered in vomit.” His gaze rose to a gull that had been following the ship, its back curved like a sickle against the wind. “And she do scrub up well in boys’ clothes, enough to tempt a man. Don’t you go tellin’ my Eliza I said that, mind. She don’t like it if I so much as look at any other woman, even if that woman might chance to be dressed like a lad.”

Jack’s turn to laugh. “Only if you shut up about me having my eye on Mrs. Penhallow.”

Will shot him a sideways glance. “She was Harriet just now.”

Jack folded his arms across his chest. Frequently, his friend didn’t know when to drop a subject, and now felt like one of those times. Mrs. Penhallow… Harriet… Somehow, calling her by her married name and title helped to distance himself from her, whereas calling her by her Christian name had done quite the opposite. He hardly knew her. He’d met her only a few times, been intrigued by the mystery about her, ridden out with her once, and now found her hiding on his ship. None of this served to make her someone for whom he should be nurturing feelings of this kind.

That brought him up short. Feelings of what kind? What did he mean by that? He looked away from Will, who had a smug smile on his face, and stared out across the rolling, white-capped waves, trying very hard not to think about Harriet.

And failed.

At least he now knew why she was so reticent, thanks to Theo’s indiscretions last night. Not that she was being nearly so reticent right now. The look of wary fear in her eyes had vanished, probably chased away by her severe seasickness and her instinct to protect her child. Something he had to admire in her. She’d found herself on board a ship with eight strange men, well, one she knew a little and seven strangers, and she’d stood up for herself and her son, despite her sickness.

He peered down the deck, but the sails were in the way, and he couldn’t see her properly. Hopefully, she and the boy would have a sleep there until they arrived in Roscoff. It was the safest spot on board for them and would keep them out of the men’s way. They must be exhausted after that bit of rough sea and being down in the hold, to boot. The first time he’d been to sea as a green fifteen-year-old he’d been sick as a dog. It had been nothing like the voyages he’d made along the coast in his little crabbing boat, checking his crab pots, and, like Theo, he’d at first decided it would be his one and only trip out of coastal waters.

He needed to stop thinking about Harriet Penhallow before he drove himself mad.

*

After a bit,Will went below to take a nap, and Jack took over at the tiller. The sea was still lumpy, and a strong wind drove The Fly onwards at a good speed. With any luck they’d be in Roscoff by early evening, and it should be high tide. They’d need that to get moored by the jetty. He didn’t want The Fly ending up beached on the sand for hours on end. Far too vulnerable a position.

Occasionally, the sails shifted enough to give him a view up the boat of Harriet and Theo fast asleep on the sails in the bows, Theo nestled in the crook of his mother’s arm. Enough to reassure him that they remained safe, at any rate, and unlikely to be any more of a nuisance right now.

At midday, Uncle Billy, the oldest crew member, his sparse white hair hidden beneath a knitted cap his equally ancient wife had made him, brought out some bread and cheese, and the men who’d been below came up, stretching and yawning, to take over duties on deck. With eight men on board, no one needed to work too hard unless the weather was bad. Worse than it had been overnight which had only been a high wind.

Carrying a tin plate of food and a flask of water, Jack wove his way forward to the bows. Theo had wriggled away from his mother and was now curled into a ball with his knees drawn up almost to his chest, but Harriet lay on her back on the folded sails as though in the most comfortable of feather beds. Her dark hair, that had been confined in a single braid earlier, had come undone, and now fanned out around her in a silky cloud that had Jack’s pulse racing so much he had to tighten his hold on the tin plate and steady himself on the foremast.

The pastiness she’d had when she climbed out of the hold had vanished, and her cheeks had flushed a delicate pink, with her thick dark lashes fanned out across them. A veritable picture of delicate womanhood, and yet incongruously cast in the attire of a scruffy boy. Never had he seen boys’ clothing so attractively worn, with the shirt open enough at the neck for him to see the all-too tempting rise of her breasts. Almost a shame to waken her, but she needed feeding, and so did her son.

Wary of touching her hand, for some reason, instead he poked Harriet’s bare foot with the toe of his own boot.

She stirred and stretched, like a cat, and Jack’s trousers took on a tightness he was becoming familiar with the more he saw of her. In a hurry to disguise his embarrassment, he sat down on the sails a couple of feet away from her, still holding the plate of food.

Her lashes fluttered on her cheeks, making him glad he’d sat down, and her eyes opened. For a moment, confusion reigned as she gazed up at the billowing sails above her head, then realisation dawned. Her eyes focused and she looked up at him. “Oh.” She pushed herself upright. “I was hoping this was all a dream.”

A little of the old wariness had returned to her face. Not so much as when he’d first met her, but nevertheless still lurking. Perhaps she’d decided that if he had been going to do anything nasty to her he’d have taken advantage of her position and done it by now. Likewise his men. Jack smiled at her. “I’ve brought you both some food.”

“Thank you.” She shifted a little as if to get more comfortable. “I think I’ll let Theo sleep a little longer though. He’s not used to midnight sorties.”

He grinned. “I would have thought you weren’t, either.”

A little smile played across her face as he passed her the plate. “You are quite right. Not much call for smuggling in Bath, nor sailing ships.”

“Highwaymen perhaps?”

“None that I ever met.”