Disappearing Food

Two days had gone by. Gregory Smythe went back to his cabin after the noon meal. He did the usual—checking the sea charts again to make sure they were on course and putting his instruments away, before picking up the letters he'd read again and again.

The one lying on top had come in Mr. Picou's writing, with his seal. The next, from Baron St. John, did not say the name of the man whom Arabella was to meet. However, he was certain she had said the name 'Picou' when she talked in her sleep. If his suspicions were correct, something was very wrong here.

He scowled, looking out the row of windows in the stern of the ship. Perhaps there were two men? Brothers? Cousins? He needed to take Arabella aside and speak to her. But was it really any of his business? He scanned the letter again and set it down on the table, clenching his jaw. It would be his business, if he got to New Orleans and there was trouble. It was his experience that situations left unprepared for often turned disastrous. And quickly.

He shook his head. If need be, he'd refuse to leave Arabella there. He'd take her all the way back to England before he'd knowingly let anything sinister happen to her. Yes, she was a bit of a brat. She was determined to do things her own way, on her own terms. And he suspected, even now, she might be down below deck, blatantly disobeying his orders. Perhaps it was time he took her in hand, before she got into too much trouble.

"Damn and blast," he grumbled under his breath. "I knew these women were trouble when they got on." He dropped the second letter down on top of the first and left it there, leaving the cabin.

He heard two bells, then silence, then two bells, silence, then one. It was time to meet the chief-mate for a check below.

He waved toward Earl, who joined him portside, along the outside of the cabins. "Any idea where Miss St. John is?"

"Not a single clue. She's been keeping to herself."

"You must have spoken to her."

Earl raised a brow. "About?"

"Being on time for meals. She's done well, since I sent her back to her cabin after breakfast, two days ago."

"I did notice that," Earl responded, with a grin. "What I don't know is where she really is, when we think she's in her cabin. Perhaps it's better we don't."

Gregory raised an eyebrow, nodding. "I'd rather be aware of it."

"Perhaps she keeps to herself because she's afraid of you."

"I doubt that. She seems fearless."

"Your plans, this afternoon, Captain?"

"Changing the subject, I see. To look over the bill of lading again. I'm still concerned about the amount of food that seems to have gone missing. And not only that. We seem to be missing blankets and hammocks. You noticed the other night there were none in Miss St. John's room. I cannot believe any of my men would have taken any of these things. They have all been part of the crew for the last six voyages, with the exception of Miller. I can't believe he'd take food. They all know it is punishable by flogging. We've never had this problem with them. It's troubling."

Earl nodded, frowning. "And the Charlotte is well known for its good food and the plethora of provisions to each man in the crew. That's why you have men lining up to sail on her. But you're right. The supply of apples and whiskey and beer has, in particular, been depleted."

Gregory nodded. "And we've got to find out where it's going before the crewmen do. They're protective of their whiskey."

They turned, walking along the corridor that ran portside, and turned again. Arabella was seated on the deck chair Gregory had located for her, outside her cabin door. He hoped she hadn't heard them. As quickly as she saw them, she brought down a hand and buried it in her skirts. At first glance it looked as if she had attempted to stuff something inside the pocket of her gown, and he stared down at her.

"Good afternoon, Miss St. John." Earl nodded toward her.

Oddly, she didn't speak. Instead, she raised her hand and waved toward them, watching them go by.

Gregory turned and flashed her a huge smile, watching to see if she would return it. A few seconds passed, and she smiled back, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Earl grinned at the captain. "Strange. If I didn't know better, I'd think she has her mouth full."

The captain threw back his head in laughter and said, "Perhaps, it's the ladies who have been raiding the fruit." When Earl glanced back at him, he grinned. "Females and fruit, you know. They've been the scourge of man since the Garden of Eden."

* * *

Bella watched the two men disappear below deck and rushed to the side of the boat to spit out the apple she had been snacking on moments before. She wiped her mouth across the sleeve of her gown and felt of the remaining apples in her pocket. Smiling at the men had been challenging. She must have resembled the Siberian chipmunks some of her school friends had kept as pets.

She groaned. So much for her dreams of freedom about the ship until arriving in America. Not only would she end up in the brig, but would the captain flog her beforehand?

Should she throw herself on his mercy and explain she did not realize she was breaking the rules? She shook as she pondered her situation carefully. Now, she felt even more miserable than when she was seasick the first night of the voyage. How could she possibly get Smythe to believe she hadn't realized taking the apples was stealing? No. She realized, with a moment of great clarity, she could not confess her transgression to him. She would take this horrible secret to the grave with her.

Forcing herself, she managed to make it to the last meal of the day on time. Eating or anything to do with food was not something she longed to consider after overhearing Earl and the captain's discussion. Bella knew she was a horrible liar. Captain Smythe would no doubt see the guilt written all over her face.

"Would you care to offer the blessing before the meal?" the captain asked, giving her a huge smile. He was mocking her; there was little doubt about that.

She stared up at him. "I…" she said, in little more than a whisper. "No, thank you."

Thankfully, Lily saved her from further torment. "Poor Arabella seems to be feeling poorly again. I would love to lead us in prayer, Captain Smythe." She stood up and proudly gazed around at the men sitting in the hall.

"Dear Lord, we thank you for this delightful meal and for seeing us on this glorious journey. Thank you for protecting us as I travel to my new life. Please keep my wonderful, wealthy, future husband safe. I pray he is in good spirits and health when he greets us in New Orleans."

Earl's discreet cough from her right seemed to remind her she was holding up the meal.

"Amen," she said, sitting down. Even the captain's expression contained a bit of irritation. "Men are so rude and unrefined," she muttered quietly under her breath. Glancing at Arabella across the table, her face was strong with resentment.

But Arabella had heard her comment and glanced up uncertainly at the captain, whose mouth was a flat line now. Earl, when she glanced toward him, was wearing an expression of mirth. But Lily was not through.

"My fiancée owns a fine plantation along the Mississippi River. I expect we will spend most of our time in the city, though."

Arabella frowned briefly. Her fiancée also owned a plantation. Bella should have considered that. Would she be isolated? Alone, to be at the mercy of his every whim? Thoughts of her new life in America were more troubling than she ever imagined. She glanced up at the captain. What would he do if she tried to stowaway on the Charlotte when it set sail back for England? Would he allow her a few apples to hold her over during their return journey? If, that is, there were any left?

"Eat, Miss St. John," he said. His tone was almost gentle, and she looked up in surprise to see his eyes on her.

"Yes, sir," she murmured softly.

* * *

Gregory kept an eye on Arabella during supper, seeing a myriad of expressions cross her face. She was truly disturbed about something. He felt the need to march her up to her cabin and demand to know what was on her mind. When she gazed up at him suddenly, she seemed sad. What was she thinking?

"Are you not hungry?" he asked again, when she had not obeyed his prompt to eat.

"No, sir," she replied, looking down, once again.

He rose. "Then, I'll escort you to your cabin. The wind is picking up. I want to show you how to get in and out of your hammock, in case the sea gets rough." He rose and held her chair, then her arm, and led her from the hall. He rested his hands on her waist, spanning it, when he took her up the ladder to the main deck. She seemed to hesitate when he touched her. The feeling that passed between them was thrilling. He could feel it as she trembled.

But Arabella's, "I can do it myself, sir," left him with an urge to smack the little bottom that was swaying gently as it moved upward, little by little.

"Nevertheless," was his only response.

He knew he sounded harsher than he should have. He heard the little sigh that came from her, and she began to move faster.

He took her toward her cabin but stopped her when she approached the door, turning her by the shoulders to face him.

"Arabella," he stated, tilting her face upward. "I promised to show you how to get into your hammock. Have you ever slept in one before? Aside from the night you were ill and I put you into it?" When she shook her head, he opened her cabin door for her and left it open to the outside. Carefully, he took the blankets in the corner and placed them under the hammock.

"Come here."

Arabella stared down at the blankets he'd placed on the floor and smiled. "So, you were the one who put those down."

"To soften your fall, yes. You can get on it from your bed, too. It's close enough. Here, let me show you. It holds my weight easily enough. It will surely hold yours."

After he had demonstrated and then watched her get into it twice, he lifted her and set her down on her bed. "And, now," he pronounced firmly, going to close her door. "I want to know what's troubling you." He returned, standing over her. When her face fell and she tried to look away, he took hold of her chin.

Her huge green eyes finally met his. "I think," she confessed ruefully. "That I might be responsible for the apples that went missing."

He studied her face for a moment and then sat down next to her on the bed. Her expression was full of guilt. Her shoulders were slumped, and she was trying to avert her gaze rather than look at him. He refused to allow it.

"How many did you take, Arabella?"

She noticed he had called her by her name. "I'm not sure, sir." She began counting. "Four? Five? Possibly six? They were so delicious, and I—" She stared at him blankly. "Please, don't flog me, sir!"

His head was thrown back in laughter. "I don't believe you're in danger of being flogged, young lady. However, it is to stop immediately. If you want an apple, ask for one. I'll make sure you get it. You can even take one or two back with you after meals. But don't go to other areas of the ship and take them without asking. Understand?"

She nodded, her eyes still wide, and he continued. "Do you know what a bill of lading is?"

She shook her head.

"It's a document of the food we have on board. It contains the amounts of everything that's been ordered for the journey, and it's been done carefully, according to the number of individuals on the ship. It also helps us keep track of the food used, so we know how much there is left to finish the voyage. If it disappears too quickly over a period of time, we know it might get scarce before we get to port. Do you understand?"

"You don't want to run out," she whispered.

"That's correct. I'm not worried about the small amount you might eat. In fact, you seem to have existed on nothing so far." He smiled and tugged on a curl, adding, "Except apples."

He was quiet a moment. "However, I will tell you this." His laughter was gone now, and he lifted her chin, leaning forward so his face was only inches above hers. "If you've been taking apples, that tells me you've been below deck without permission. It is not wise for you to be down there. I believe I've already told you that. From now on, if I find you have disobeyed me, I'll demand an explanation. If I'm not satisfied with it, I may well take a strap to your little behind. I'll do it privately, but I will do it. Is that quite clear to you?"

She gasped and gulped. "Yes, sir."

"Don't doubt me, young lady. I have many faults, but one of the things about me you may depend on is this." He held her with his eyes, his expression stern. "I mean what I say."

* * *

Bella watched her captain leave and closed her eyes with a relieved sigh. Being honest with Gregory—she smiled at thinking of him as Gregory—had lessened her burden, not compounded it. So, she was not the culprit causing their food supply to dwindle. But if not her, then, who was it? Gregory was gravely concerned about the issue; that much was obvious.

He took his duties as captain of the ship very seriously. While he had seemed arrogant to her in the beginning, she was starting to realize it was quite endearing to see someone so dedicated to his responsibilities. Thank goodness, he had such good men working under him. Surely, they would get to the bottom of the entire mess. If only she could hasten their progress, she thought as she nibbled on a fingernail.

That was it. She smiled. She could help solve the mystery, putting an end to the missing food and easing the captain's burden. Tomorrow, she would get back to the food storage area and investigate. She would be able to notice if things were off, having visited the area several times during her exploring. Then, again, Bella reminded herself, she had never realized food was being taken until she heard Earl and Gregory speak of it that day.

Bella scolded herself for not being more observant. Aside from her encounters with the rodents, she had been too busy exploring and pilfering apples to pay close attention to her surroundings. Aside from the men who stored the food below deck, she might know that entire level better than anyone else on board, except maybe the captain.

Gnawing on her fingernail again, the captain's lecture came rushing to mind. He had promised painful consequences if she did not heed his warnings. But sitting on a sore backside and having a full plate of food was preferable to doing nothing and going hungry. Would the sailors manning the Charlotte even be able to continue the journey if they were not properly nourished? There was no other option. She would be returning to the lower deck at morning's light. Rodents or not, she would help eliminate this worry for Gregory.