"Aye, Captain," Ian said, "and yours?"
"All present and accounted for," Lucky replied.
"Good. I'm ready to get home and stay there a while." Lucky stretched his steps to catch up to his friend. "I've been thinking about buying a house in Mayfair somewhere. My sister's been kind enough to give me a bed under her roof all these years, but it's time I got my own place. I'm thinking something close to the rest of the family."
"Do that, my friend, and all the mamas will think you're ready to take a wife. And if you find the parade of young misses barely tolerable now, just wait till word of you doing
that
hits the gossip pages."
Frustrated at his inability to escape her presence, Lucky sighed. He couldn't tell Ian that he saw Mary everywhere on his boat. Especially his bed. He'd shared that with her before he ever slept a night in it, and now he just needed a break from her memory. Maybe that would help him get over the ache in his heart.
"Well then, perhaps I should move someplace no one knows me," Lucky said.
"Maryland?"
"Never."
Lucky hated how quickly that rolled off his tongue. The truth of the matter was, he would live anywhere Mary lived, if she would have him. And, if Mary wanted to build a life in Maryland, he was sure he could come to love Maryland. But she didn't want him.
Now he understood why that one captain Mary told him about had married his ship. He was almost of the same sentiment, because he knew his
Lady
would never refuse him.
C
hapter
E
ighteen
I
t was on a blustery Friday afternoon in early January, when Mary-Michael learned the grand jury was indicting her on charges of adultery and lascivious behavior. Her heart lurched as Frank Baxter spoke about a possible defense for her. The prosecutor, he said, was going to present the state's case to the circuit judge when he visited their village the following week. She rested back in Mr. Watkins' favorite leather wing chair and caught a whiff of his favorite pipe tobacco. The scent made her wish all the more that he was here to counsel her through this enormous travesty of justice. Suddenly, a tiny, inward burst of frustration hit her. Clenching a fist, she brought it to her lips and did her best to make it sound like a cough. She didn't know why she tried to hide it. All the men in the room with her knew of her temper lately. George, Mr. Baxter, and Father Douglas all knew how angry she was with that no-good Potts for spreading those lies.
And now
this!
She was so spitting mad she could kill the man if he entered the room. That no-good Potts would destroy her happiness because he couldn't have her. For that, she wished him dead. Oh, not just dead, but she wished him to die a horrible, painful death. In fact, she wanted cut his beating heart right out of his chest.
Because he was doing that to her right now by forcing her to go through this ordeal. He was attempting to humiliate her in a most public way. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her religious upbringing taught her that she should never wish ill on another person, and here she was wishing the man dead.
It was but another item on the list for her visit to the confessional this week.
She shook her head in disbelief, as she realized if her husband were here none of this would be happening at all. Mr. Watkins had done everything in his power to protect her legally and financially. She knew he cared deeply for her and wanted her to have this babe, a child to carry on his legacy. She also knew if he could have, he would have lived long enough to see the child through to adulthood, teaching him or her everything about building clippers. Just as he taught her.
Mary-Michael looked first to her brother, then to Father Douglass, to gauge their reactions to the news before returning her disbelieving gaze to Mr. Baxter.
"I cannot believe what I'm hearing," Mary said to no one in particular. "That Potts would claim to be the father of my child is ludicrous. Absolutely ludicrous. I despise him. Always have. What is most bizarre is that he was able to find witnesses to our relationship. These people—I cannot call them men, or women, because I don't know who my accusers are do I?—are all lying. Every single one of them. He must hold something over them to make them swear to a false testimony."
Mary hefted herself out of the chair and began to pace the small stretch of carpet between the chair and the door, rubbing her enormous belly unconsciously. "But I haven't yet figured out who would go to such lengths as to collect a line-up of witness to say something so unbelievable." She mumbled, trying to decipher who was really behind this, because she didn't think Potts had the sense of a goose. No... He was a lackey. Definitely under someone else's command. "If I could figure out who, then I might discover why. Inversely, if I knew why, I could likely say who."
"Do you think it has to do with the money the child inherits as Spenser's heir?" This question came from Father Douglass. "With the child's mother in prison, or dead, what happens to the money and shipyard?"
"The babe inherits it all. And," Frank Baxter continued, "Spenser, God bless him, planned for even that."
"He did that because of what happened with Abigail," Father Douglas said.
George, obviously unaware of the plans her husband made, asked, "What happens to the money if Mary..."
Her brother couldn't finish, but Mr. Baxter understood his question and replied. "My law firm, along with the trustees at Mariner's Bank, will jointly oversee the inheritance until the child reaches his majority. Or, if it is a girl child, until the young lady marries."
Mary was beginning to follow her brother's train of thought, and wanted to go even further into this supposition. She had to find out who was behind this fiasco. "So, what if Potts is successful in getting a jury to believe he is the father of my child? What happens to the child's inheritance? Especially if I am not... alive?" She had to ask this, because a woman charged with adultery in Maryland could still face death by hanging.
"The inheritance remains with the child because she was conceived while you were married to Spenser," Mr. Baxter stated. "And, most importantly, Spenser claimed the child as his in the will."
"Would Potts have access to the funds?" she asked. "Would he have control over the shipyard?"
"No. A quarterly stipend for living expenses goes to the caregiver raising the child. If he is successful in his bid for paternity, then he only sees that quarterly sum."
"Who knows this information?" George asked.
"Just myself, my secretary, and the bank trustees," said Baxter.
Mary-Michael stared out the window to the blustery January afternoon. The sky was threatening snowfall again. As she looked out at the gray day, she saw the neighbor's carriage come around the corner and stop in front of their house across the street. Their servant helped the two elderly women down from the vehicle and they walked slowly toward their front door. Pott's mother and aunt were two bitter old women, with never a smile on their faces. She didn't know or understand their antagonism toward her, but Mary-Michael remembered them telling Mr. Watkins that he should be ashamed of himself to marry someone so young. He immediately snapped back at the two women to mind their own business and to stay out of his.
Watching the women climb the three steps to their porch, Mary-Michael saw them look back toward her house where Mr. Baxter's carriage and driver waited out front. One woman spoke to the other, and the second woman nodded her head. Suddenly Mary-Michael was fairly certain she knew who was behind this accusation now. She turned away from the window, and gave her brother, priest and lawyer a grin.
"I think I know who, and quite possibly why. I just don't know what to do about it."
Her brother gave her a curious stare, as did Father Douglas and Mr. Baxter.
"Did you know that Nicholas Barlowe is the stepson to Mrs. Barlowe from across the street?" When the men didn't say anything, she continued. "In the past year, we have received three offers from Barlowe Marine to purchase my husband's shipyard. Mr. Watkins turned the man down twice. The last offer came when we were at the farm just before Mr. Watkins died. I replied to Mr. Barlowe that I would never give up my husband's legacy and to quit asking. Of course, I was polite about it. And, did you know that Nelson Potts now works security for his cousin's shipyard."
"That's right. I'd forgotten they were related," her brother said. "But, Barlowe is wealthy and established enough, why would he want Spenser's fortune?" George tried to follow Mary-Michael's reasoning.
"Greed," Mary-Michael surmised. "I guess some people never have enough."
Seated at Mr. Watkins' desk, Mr. Baxter flipped through the stack of pages, searching for some bit of information within. "Just as I suspected," he said, raising his gaze to Mary-Michael. "Nicholas Barlowe is one of the trustees at the bank your husband charged to manage your inheritance," her lawyer added.
Baxter was beginning to understand where Mary-Michael was going with her suppositions. She hoped she was right, because it would explain everything.
"Mr. Baxter, if I die, and Potts is given custody of my child, and if my child were to also die, what happens
then
to the inheritance?"
"In the event you and the child should both die, Spenser has arranged for the entire value of the assets, plus the cash, be given to the church."
"As trustees for the assets, would the bank then sell the shipyard?" she asked, praying she was wrong. Just the idea that her unborn child's life was in as much danger as her own was terrifying.
"It is within their rights to dispose of all assets, yes."
"That greedy bas—" The anger simmering under the thin veneer Mary-Michael had been maintaining, was about to burst. She cut herself short of using a horrible name she'd heard from some of the men in the shipyard for Mr. Barlowe, but she truly didn't want to add another item on her list of things to confess.
"So," said Father Douglas, her husband's one-time partner in the shipyard, "someone with knowledge of the industry would come in and place a value on the asset—the main one in this case, Spenser's shipyard—and recommend sale. And isn't it just convenient that the person in this area is Nicholas Barlowe."
Unable to contain her upset any longer, Mary-Michael let forth a muted curse. "That greedy, scallywag bastard. The man was friendly to my husband's face before his death. Now, he thinks to take my husband's shipyard because we would not sell it."
George came over to her and put his arm around her. "We cannot be certain that is the case, but either way you should calm down. Getting upset in this manner cannot possibly be good for the child."
Mary-Michael shook off her brother's arm. "I'm telling you, there is a link from the grand jury back to Barlowe. Potts' lies are the only thing they have. If the witnesses are Potts' two deputies, or the Slocum brothers, then you know for certain what is going on here. Mr. Barlowe is the only person who stands to profit from seeing me imprisoned or worse, hang, for adultery. He will push the investigation by the grand jury and force the judge to take the case. My only hope is to make the judge understand what Nicholas Barlowe is up to."
"I have requested a list of the witnesses the grand jury has questioned in their investigation," Mr. Baxter stated, "but have not heard back from them. I don't expect to until Monday at the earliest. The judge usually comes through Indian Point on Wednesday morning." He gave Mary-Michael a somber look. "I was friends with Spenser from the day we met. He convinced me to open a practice here, fresh out of law school all those many years ago. He was never a difficult client, always planning one step ahead what we should prepare for. But I don't think even Spenser thought this was a possibility, especially since he has legally acknowledged this child as his."
Her lawyer was just as frustrated with the day's revelations as she was. "With the circuit court judge coming next week," he added, "I'm concerned that the grand jury will force the judge to put this case on his docket faster than we can prepare our defense."
"What will her defense be?" her brother asked.
Mary-Michael's back was starting to ache again so she went back to Spenser's chair and lowered herself into the soft brown leather.
Mr. Baxter addressed her. "Mary-Michael, do you have proof that you turned down Barlowe's offer to purchase the shipyard?"
She thought a moment, then said, "Look in the drawer to your right Mr. Baxter. I have left this office untouched since we left for the farm. That drawer has all of Mr. Watkins' personal papers. If he saved the letters, he would have scribbled a note in the margin somewhere as to what his reply was, and dated it. The last letter was sent to the farm, and I wrote the reply. That letter should be in a file in my office there."
"God rest his soul," said Frank Baxter, "but Spenser Watkins saved all manner of correspondence."
Mary-Michael rested deep in the wing-back chair, closed her eyes and sighed, finally feeling a tiny bit of optimism. She thought about Lucky, and wondered how his tea run to China was going. At this point, he should be on his way back to England, somewhere between India and Africa in the Indian Ocean. While Mr. Baxter went through the papers in Mr. Watkins' desk, looking for those two letters from Nicholas Barlowe, Mary-Michael said a quick, silent prayer for Lucky and Ian's safe return to their family.
She felt her babe move inside her, and she rubbed her belly.
One more month, little one. Just one more month.
Soon she would be able to hold Lucky's child in her arms. She added a second prayer, this time for the babe's good health and a safe delivery.
O
n the eighteenth of February, Mary-Michael gave birth to a dark haired, dark-eyed, perfectly beautiful little girl. Within days she began to see the little changes in her daughter's features. Changes that would surely tell everyone who saw her exactly who her father was.