Dunham

Chapter 4

4

“Celia, my love, what troubles you so? You have been out of sorts since we left Sint Eustatius.”

Celia did not want to think about Sint Eustatius and all the things that had happened in the fortnight they had spent there, so she settled on the least concerning thing.

“Having my figurehead stolen by a pirate might be a good enough reason, don’t you think?”

Mary chuckled as she braided Celia’s hair. “What I am thinking is that you are restless over what that pirate didn’t steal.”

Oh, aye, and Celia was still famished, but now she had her mouth set for him. She harrumphed.

“I think it’s a good sign. Especially after the last row between you and that … person.”

“Mama, please. You have made your opinion of Rafael perfectly clear. So has everyone else.”

Mary made no answer.

“’Tis the war,” she burst out. “Rather, my competing tasks, all of which are urgent and none of which I can complete with efficiency. I cannot be in three places at once and time spent on any one of them comes at the cost of the other two. And then Dunham sought to add to my list.”

There was a moment of silence, though her mother never slowed in her task, her hands deft in the weaving of Celia’s hair. It was a ritual they indulged in often, Celia seated on the floor between her mother’s knees, being cherished by the only parent she had never disappointed.

Mary had taken a fancy to use seven strands this time and Celia could only imagine the braid’s intricacy. ’Twas a shame to waste it on a crew intent only on getting to London without dying.

“What did he want?” Mary asked low.

Celia had hoped Dunham had simply missed her, but no. His true purpose for crossing the Atlantic had little enough to do with her and everything to do with him. She swallowed hard and pressed a closed fist to her breast. “’Tis of no matter, as I refused him. In truth, I am weary. Bored. I have more money than I can spend in three lifetimes. I’ve accomplished things I never set out to accomplish. I do not now, nor have I ever had a goal.” She shuddered. “I wish to—”

“Wish to what, love?”

“Sleep!” But then Celia sighed. “Truly, I do not know. Something … anything else. Preferably something I have not yet done. I am … empty.”

“Babes. That is what you lack.”

“I have no wish for babes, Mother,” Celia said wryly. Rather, they had no wish for her.

“Not now,” her mother countered with a jerk of her scalp. “But when ’tis too late, you will, mark my words. And I want grandchildren. You will have them because you do not deny me anything.”

“There are one or two things I would refuse you, Mother.”

The door to Celia’s cabin flew open and banged on the wall. Christopher was out of breath and panting. “Line’s changing, Cap’n.”

Celia had no need to move. It was the very thing they had been awaiting.

“The Mad Hangman?”

“Sent the signal.”

“Aye. The black sails?”

“Ready, Sir.”

“Braziers?”

“Being prepared.”

“Good, Kit. Dismissed.”