Authors: Madeline Evering
Chapter
VII
Catherine’s life aboard the
HMS
Triton
quickly fell into a regular, and surprisingly enjoyable, pattern.
Each morning she spent a great deal of time on the main deck capturing fresh
sights in her sketchbooks. Her slim figure, settled upon a barrel or a coil of
rope, became a habitual fixture on deck as she sought new and different images
to draw. The inquisitive Catherine soon came to know the public spaces of the
ship in great detail and she also became well acquainted with many of the men
onboard, often addressing them by name as she asked questions about their work.
The men were delighted with their passenger – initially for the novelty of
seeing a beautiful woman each day – but soon they grew to admire this young
woman of keen intellect for her own worth.
Catherine’s afternoons were spent in ‘training’ at the hands of her
uncle or a ship’s officer. They took it upon themselves to teach Catherine
everything from reading the compass, to splicing rope (which they insisted she
do wearing heavy work gloves and a smock), to calculating the ship’s progress
with the sextant. Catherine proved a ready student, and what started as a token
entertainment soon became the highlight of her day and of the officers’ as well.
Catherine felt completely free from the strict rules of society that had long
dictated her life. These intelligent men felt her to be equal to all but the
most strenuous work onboard. She delighted in their instruction and did her
best to meet, if not exceed, their expectations. Lieutenant Matthews was justly
proud of her accomplishments, but none was more impressed than Captain Knight. Each
day he would find Catherine in yet another corner of the ship, head bent to
different tasks, completely engaged in her assignment. At first, when she would
see Captain Knight approaching, Catherine would blush guiltily and offer to
abandon the work and so free the officer for other duties. She feared another
withering comment from him about interrupting the work of the ship. To her
great astonishment, Captain Knight would merely look over her task,
occasionally offering some insight on her progress, and then continue with his
rounds. Catherine was mystified but pleased that a sort of truce had somehow established
between the two of them. At table in the evening, their talk remained civil,
and between them, indeed between all the officers, there developed an unspoken
agreement that when Miss Gibson was present talk of their final destination of Jamaica was strictly forbidden.
One particularly bright morning found
Catherine on deck, sketchbook in hand, as four bells rang to signal the end of
one shift and the start of the next. From her vantage point she could see
Captain Knight by the binnacle, deep in conversation with Tom Foster. The captain
was carefully explaining something to the boy and Catherine was struck by the
picture the two made together. Foster was all youthful attention at his
captain’s words, nodding in eager agreement, while Captain Knight appeared
almost fatherly in his pose towards the boy. Catherine turned her book to a
fresh page and worked quickly to try to capture the scene before her. The captain
was patient, kind, yet firm with the boy, and young Tom responded in kind with
his complete attention. Catherine’s hand flew over the page attempting to preserve
every detail of Tom’s boyish features so strongly contrasted against the
imposing, masculine strength of Captain Knight. Before she could take another
look at the two, a shadow fell across her sketchbook. She looked up to find
Captain Knight before her, smiling quizzically at the image in her book. “May
I?” he asked quietly, extending his hand to Catherine. She paused a moment,
then handed him the sketchbook for his review. “It is a fine sketch” he said at
last, returning the book to her hand while looking at her with his deep,
penetrating gaze. Catherine blinked and looked away uncomfortably: “I have
tried to capture Tom several times,” she replied softly: “He is always such a whir
of motion that I never seem able to commit him to paper. This morning, with
you,” she continued uncertainly, “he seemed….. Well, he seemed to be still and
at home for an instant. I wanted to capture that stillness, that contentment.”
Captain Knight nodded his head
knowingly. “You are right; he is an object in constant motion. Part of that is
due to his youth but I think you also recognize that his position onboard is
neither easy nor idle. Much is expected of a boy of few years onboard a ship
such as this.” Catherine was surprised at the frankness of his words. Captain
Knight made no apology for the work he tasked his men but his words about Tom
Foster seemed to hold something of regret. “May I ask, Captain, how Tom came to
be part of your crew?” Catherine asked boldly: “He cannot be more than eleven
or twelve years of age?” The Captain looked to where Foster darted about the
ship, on yet another errand for one of the officers. “Yes, you are correct”
Knight said quietly. “Tom is only just eleven years of age.” “Then how,”
interjected Catherine, “how can he have come to be onboard a ship of war? He is
but a child to do such work, to see such sights as you must regularly
encounter!” Captain Knight bristled somewhat at her tone but kept his voice
level as he responded to her accusing words; “I will not deny it; you are right,
Miss Gibson. This is not the place for a young boy,” he said flatly, “But
neither was the home in which he lived previously.” Catherine moved a step
closer towards the captain as he spoke, her beautiful features wreathed in an
expression of earnest concern. Captain Knight noted her anxious attitude and
chose his words carefully before continuing his speech: “Before sailing last
year, we were ashore to collect fresh hands. As we enlisted men at a local inn,
Tom was brought before us by his own father. The boy was filthy, dressed in
rags, and covered in bruises. He was cowed and beaten and made no protest as
his father stood before us and offered his son to the services of His Majesty’s
Navy for the sum of ten shillings.” The calm with which Knight began his speech
was lost by the end, his final words spoken with icy coldness. Catherine
listened in horror to the Captain’s words then responded quietly: “And so,” she
began, “You took him on… took him away from that life?” “Yes” the captain
replied simply. “I had no right to do so; it made no sense to bring such a
young boy onboard, but the notion of leaving him there with such a man was
completely offensive. Here, among good men, he can learn the skills necessary
for a life at sea. He can create a future for himself. At least,” Knight
continued with a rueful smile, “that is the thought I content my conscience
with when I see him so hard at work.”
Catherine nodded sadly at the
captain’s words and stood quietly by his side as they watched Tom’s quick
movements about the ship. Captain Knight could sense the conflict within her at
that moment, recognized the same guarded expression that came into her face
whenever she overheard talk of Jamaica. Knight remained patiently beside her,
awaiting a sign, any word that would indicate her willingness to trust him and
speak the thoughts that so clearly gave her distress. After many moments, Catherine
at last turned to the captain, unspoken words hovering about her lips. Before
she could speak, however, there was a sound behind them and both Catherine and Knight
turned to find Lieutenant Matthews approaching. “Such serious faces,” Matthews
teased; “Whatever can you be plotting?” Catherine gave her uncle a quick hug in
greeting and Matthews sensed at once the anxiety within her. “Is all well,
miss?” he asked Catherine directly. Catherine looked from her uncle to the
captain, then back to young Foster once more. She smiled slightly and said;
“All is as well as can be, uncle” and she turned and walked away from the two
men to join Tom Foster on the far deck.
Captain Knight regretted the
interruption, wishing he could have had but a few moments longer with
Catherine, desperate to know what was causing her such distress. Knight turned
to Matthews and explained the discussion with Catherine to his old friend. “I
fear I may have disturbed Miss Gibson,” the captain said directly, carefully
watching Matthews’s reaction to his words. “She seemed to be more than a little
upset by Tom’s history.” The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably from one foot to
the other and could not meet his captain’s look. He struggled privately, not
wanting to disclose the secret he bore for Catherine, but at the same time
longing for some relief by unburdening himself. Matthews trusted Captain Knight
completely as an officer and as his friend. After a moment’s pause Matthews
released his pent up breath and responded at last; “She feels for his situation
overmuch, I fear. Those two share a good deal in common and I can but imagine what
must be in her heart after hearing Tom’s tale.” A look of confusion crossed
Captain Knight’s face; “Miss Gibson and young Foster? What could they possibly
have in common Matthews?” The lieutenant looked away from where his niece sat by
Tom Foster, showing him the pages of her sketchbook. “You know yourself, sir;
Foster did not choose this life at sea. He was abandoned by his father, sold
into the navy. He was a pressed man, for all intents and purposes, only with
the added knowledge that his own father profited from the affair. Taken from
all he knew and loved, all for the sake of a bit of money; just as Catherine
will surely be in her new life in Jamaica.”
“What can you mean?” replied Knight,
dark brows lifting with surprise. He knew young Foster’s situation all too well
and, like Miss Gibson, pitied the young boy’s situation. But he could not see
how Foster’s difficult home and Miss Gibson’s privileged situation in Jamaica could bear any resemblance to one another. “Surely she is anxious to rejoin her
father,” he stated, “to enter society as most young ladies desire? This is a
return to her family, not a removal.”
Matthews looked down a moment before
quietly responding: “I wish it were so, Captain. You are aware, sir, that Catherine’s
mother died when she was but a child.” He paused, and the captain could see Matthews’
fierce internal struggle as he chose his next words: “What you do not know is
that Catherine’s mother died of a broken heart after learning of the coldness, the
immeasurable cruelty of which her husband was capable.” The captain’s eyes
widened in surprise at his lieutenant’s words; Matthews was an honest,
dependable man not given to idle comments, and the captain well knew his sound
judgment when it came to the character of others. Matthews continued: “William
Gibson married Catherine’s mother for her money, and for an heir to his
fortune. When a daughter was born instead of his desired male heir, he blamed
his wife, tortured her endlessly about her failure.” He passed a hand over his
eyes before he could continue: “Catherine’s mother was unable to have further
children and she sank into a deep despair from which she never recovered. She
died, alone and neglected. Catherine herself was but a child of four at the
time.”
The captain’s brows knit together in sudden
anger at the injustice of this tale; Matthews had to pause to recover his
composure before resuming his story: “The same day that my wife learned of her
sister’s death, she found that Gibson had placed his daughter in a boarding
school, miles away from everyone and everything she had ever known. Only a day after
her mother’s death, that brute packed Catherine up like a piece of useless
furniture and sent her away” he ground out between clenched teeth. “When first
this happened, Gibson refused to tell us where Catherine had been sent – said there
was no need for us to know. Her aunt and I frantically searched half the
schools in England until we finally found the child. Catherine was well, but
terrified of her new surroundings, being but a slip of a girl. My wife,
Elizabeth, has done her best to take care of Catherine ever since. She would
visit her at school as often as money would allow. And on every school vacation
Catherine came home to us. Her own father never once visited her and Catherine
was never requested to come to him, even before his removal to Jamaica. My wife, indeed the Matthews’ clan, is the only family Catherine has ever truly known.”
Captain Knight frowned in
concentration at this news. His black polished boots stamped impatiently
against the deck as the details of Catherine’s history sunk in. “Then why,” Knight
questioned, “has her father sent for her now? After such behavior can there be
any good will that seeks to repair the past, to renew his bond with Miss Gibson
after all these years?” Matthews gave a contemptuous laugh; “Her father is not
a man of subtleties, Captain. He is a powerful man who has made a very
comfortable world for himself by discomfiting others. I cannot allow myself to believe
that this summoning of my niece is anything more than an attempt to further his
ambition.”
“What do you believe his motive to be,
Mr. Matthews?” the captain asked quietly, knowing the answer that must come. Matthews
looked at his captain, anguish written all over his face: “Her father has
scarce seen her since she was a child – has never taken any notice of her until
now….. Damn it!” he exploded “She is a beautiful young woman who has just come
out into society. She can represent only one thing to my brother-in-law.” “You
mean,” said the captain quietly, “that he intends to marry her off?” “Yes,”
snapped the lieutenant with bitterness, “he is undoubtedly going to have her married.
By the speed with which this journey was arranged, I am certain he already has
some
acquaintance
lined up and the details of the marriage settled. I will
not be surprised to see such a man waiting beside him at the dock when we
arrive.”
The muscle in Captain Knight’s jaw
worked furiously. He seemed overcome with unusually strong emotion, “No,” he
said quietly. “Even such a man as this would surely consult her first? Allow the
girl some opinion on the matter? He cannot believe a woman of such intelligence
and spirit would be content with such an arrangement?”