The Bride Ship. Regina Scott
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the very embodiment of the seas he sailed—gray hair, gray eyes, strong body and unyielding disposition.
“Indeed, Mr. Howard,” he intoned. “We are here to make that determination.”
“I’ll spare you the trouble,” Clay said. “I haven’t paid my passage, and I’d like to rectify that matter. Will you take gold certificates?”
Captain Windsor tilted up the cap of his office. “Certainly. But I must ask why you didn’t purchase a ticket beforehand.”
Clay couldn’t lie. “I came here intending to stop my brother’s widow from sailing. Since she is determined to make the trip, I’m coming with her.”
The officers behind the captain exchanged glances, but whether they thought him a tyrant or a fool, he couldn’t tell.
“Very well, Mr. Howard,” the captain said. “Some of the passengers who were supposed to have boarded did not make the sailing, so we should have room for you. Give your money to Mr. Debro when he arrives with our first passenger, and welcome aboard.”
Clay inclined his head. “Would you allow me to stay in the room until I’m certain my sister-in-law’s documents are sufficient?”
Captain Windsor agreed, and Clay went to sit on one of the chairs along the wall, where he could monitor the proceedings.
He thought it would be a simple matter. After all, how many stowaways could have slipped by Mr. Debro’s watchful eye? However, what he saw over the next hour disgusted him.
He knew the story of how Asa Mercer had come by the use of the S.S. Continental, which had seen service as a troop carrier in the war. The so-called emigration agent had written home to Seattle to boast of his accomplishment. None other than former general Ulysses S. Grant had allowed Ben Holladay to purchase the ship at a bargain and refit her for duty as a passenger ship so long as he agreed to carry the Mercer party to Seattle on her first run.
Mercer and Holladay had apparently settled on a price for passage, and Mercer had provided the list that Mr. Debro had used to allow passengers to board. But it was soon apparent that Mr. Debro’s list did not match Captain Windsor’s instructions from Mr. Holladay. Someone had cheated these people, but Clay couldn’t be sure whether it was Asa Mercer or the steamship company.
Everyone claimed to have paid or been told payment was unnecessary, the fare was courtesy of the fine people of Seattle. Mercer must have confessed how he’d accepted money from a number of gentlemen to bring them wives. Clay could only hope Allegra wasn’t one of the women with a husband waiting. The fellow was doomed to disappointment, for Clay still had hopes of discouraging her from settling in the wilderness. Surely over the course of their trip he could find the words to persuade her.
But the other passengers were more discouraged. Two men and their families, disappointment chiseled on every feature, had already been escorted downstairs to identify their belongings, along with a few crying women. One, Mr. Debro reported, had barricaded herself in a stateroom, refusing to leave. Others threatened retribution.
Allegra was different. She must have left Gillian below with friends, for when it was her turn, she glided into the room alone, head high, smile pleasant. Her gaze swept the space, resting briefly on Clay. Her look pressed a weight against his chest. She passed him without comment and went straight to the captain, pulling a piece of paper from the pocket of her cloak and holding it out as if allowing him to kiss her hand.
Captain Windsor didn’t even glance at her offering as Mr. Debro came to stand beside him. “I need a ticket, Mrs. Banks, not your correspondence with Mr. Mercer.”
She was paler than the first Boston snowfall, her profile still. “If you read that correspondence, Captain, you will see that Mr. Mercer acknowledges payment for my passage. I was promised a spot for me and my daughter. I paid Mr. Mercer six hundred dollars.”
Six hundred dollars. A princely sum for most people, but a pittance for his family.
“You may have paid Mr. Mercer,” Captain Windsor replied. “However, there is no record of Mr. Mercer relaying the monies to Mr. Holladay, the owner of this fine vessel. Have you any way to pay for your passage, madam?”
She shifted on her feet, setting the black fringe on her skirts to swinging. “I gave Mr. Mercer all I had. I’ve been washing dishes to pay for our board until the ship sailed.”
Clay stiffened. How was that possible? Frank must have provided for her. Clay hadn’t been surprised to hear that his younger brother had stepped in as soon as Clay had stepped out. Frank had been in love with Allegra for years. Besides, the marriage settlement had been considerable. He’d seen the papers, even if he’d left before signing them.
But if Allegra couldn’t pay her way, did that mean he had an opportunity to return her to Boston, after all?
“We have sufficient help in the kitchens,” Captain Windsor said across from him. “I’m afraid I have no choice but to send you back. Fetch up Ms. Madeleine O’Rourke, Mr. Debro.”
The purser frowned and glanced around Allegra toward Clay. “Mr. Howard? Will you be escorting the lady?”
Because Allegra had used her maiden name, the captain couldn’t know she was Clay’s sister-in-law. Clay rose, but she took a step closer to the captain.
“Please,” she said, voice low. “Don’t let him take me back. I’ll do anything.”
The tremor in her voice shook him. Had Frank’s death made Boston so impossible for her, being reminded of him everywhere she looked? He couldn’t conceive that his mealymouthed cousin Gerald had caused such heartache. The Allegra Banks he remembered would have silenced Gerald with a look.
Whatever its source, her pain propelled him to her side, forcing her gaze to meet his. For a moment, he saw fear looking back at him.
Father, what happened to her?
As if she was determined not to allow him to help, she took a breath, collected herself and became the sophisticated Allegra Banks he remembered.
“I don’t require your escort, Mr. Howard,” she said. “I know my way downstairs.”
“I’m not offering to escort you,” Clay said. “I’m offering to pay your way.” He was taking the biggest risk of his life, disappointing his family once again. Forgive me, Father, if I’ve mistaken Your direction, but I cannot help thinking this is the right thing to do.
As she stared at him, Clay turned to the captain, pulled out his pouch and counted off the last of his certificates. He’d have little to live on the rest of the trip, but if that meant a chance to help Allegra and Gillian, he could make do.
The captain glanced between the two of them. “Under the circumstances, Mrs. Howard,” he said, “I should ask you if you are willing to accept this man’s money for your fare.”
She had to know what accepting such a gift might mean, that she was somehow under Clay’s protection. Once more he could see the calculations behind her blue eyes.
“Have you pen and paper, sir?” she asked the captain. “I would have you draw up a contract between me and Mr. Howard.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Clay started, but she whirled to face him, eyes blazing.
“It is entirely necessary,” she scolded him. “I will not accept money from you without a contract. And I will pay you back every cent, even if I have to work the rest of my life to do so.”
He wanted to argue. Why couldn’t he do her this service? After all, the good citizens of Boston thought he’d been the one to abandon her, when he and Allegra had been promised for ages. But she knew the truth. She’d been the one to send him away.
He nodded. “Very well, Mrs. Howard. Let’s not trouble the good captain now. I’m sure there’s pen and paper belowdecks.”
She drew a deep breath, turned to