Free The Nine Lives of Charlotte Taylor by Sally Armstrong Page B

pink and the others laugh.
    “At any rate,” Walker says, “the present troubles now cause us to give those shores a wide berth. If this breeze holds, we’ll be nigh past the Carolinas with our supplies but half-consumed.The lesson of the sea, however, is to count on less food and more foul weather.”
    “I think we gentlemen might do better than to try to frighten our guest,” Sullivan interjects and looks convincingly solemn. “This can hardly be what she expects of us.”
    “Do we offend, madam?” Primm inquires.
    “Not at all, sir,” Charlotte looks around the table. “Not at all.”
    “Nonetheless”—Walker lifts his glass—“I think it is in order that we pause to salute the person who has brought the rare gift of beauty to the
Achilles
. Mrs. Willisams, you are a brave woman and an inspiration to your sex. Gentlemen, I give you Mrs. Charlotte Willisams.”
    “Mrs. Willisams, Mrs. Willisams,” intone the others as Charlotte looks to her lap.
    Walker refills her glass.
    “I had occasion to sail to the Carolinas thirty-five years ago with my ship at the time, the
William
. My mission was to defend the settlements from Spanish privateers. It wasn’t rum and molasses in the hold then. We had thirty men, twenty guns, thirty-six small arms and thirty-six cutlasses.”
    It is not difficult for Charlotte to see she provides Walker with a fresh reason for the telling of his tale. And quite apart from the wish to see the conversation veer from the subject of herself, she finds delight in his stories. She could easily set this white-haired salt in the role of the young man he was not that many years before: dapper, determined, undoubtedly courageous.
    “The province of North Carolina paid me ten thousand pounds for the relief of those shores,” he says.
“And
they offered me a large grant of land in thanks.” He stops and takes a pensive sip of wine. “Which I refused.” He takes another sip. “Perhaps wisely in view of the explosion soon to come.”
    “There are plenty who will flock to the King’s banner and many who want it rent asunder,” chimes Rockwell.
    “Indeed,” says Walker. “As we may see at this very table, there is no uniformity of opinion, even among officers of Her Majesty’s merchant navy.”
    A LONE IN HER CABIN, her lightness of spirit evaporates somewhat and the hard truth of her own condition settles upon her once more. Pad, who would have preserved her honour in marriage, is dead. What would happen if the commodore should learn that she is pregnant? And what if he did not? Will she need his help? She takes out her diary and sits wondering how she can compress the events of the day when there is a knock on her door.
    “Who is it.”
    “It’s Will, madam,” comes a soft but urgent voice.
    She opens the door.
    “Will. Come in. What is the matter?”
    He steps in and closes the door.
    “I have come to see that you have all you need.”
    “Thank you, Will. I am well provided for.”
    She sees he holds a bottle in one hand.
    “Have you been drinking, Will?”
    “I am wedded to the rum, madam. Will you join me in a small glass before you retire?”
    “No thank you. I’m not certain that is proper, Will.”
    “Och. I only propose a glass, then I’ll be gone.”
    She can’t help but smile back at him and nod.
    He sets a glass on her writing desk and fills it to the brim.
    “Careful, Will. It is strong drink, I think.”
    “There’s none stronger, madam.”
    “Will you have a chair? I have only one, but I can sit on my bed.”
    He sits.
    “What manner of beast is this?” she pokes at the great black fur that covers the bunk.
    “That would be black bear, madam, but ever so dead.”
    “I’m not sorry. Do they have these at Nepisiguit?”
    “They do. I’ve seen ’em myself, foraging for the berries and such. They can turn against a man, if the mood takes them. And then they won’t just kill him in a moment, but eat him too.”
    “God preserve us. Tell me more