Why Mermaids Sing

Chapter 39

FRIDAY, 20 SEPTEMBER 1811

The next day, Sebastian was reading the Morning Post while consuming a light breakfast in his morning room when he suddenly let out a crude oath.

“Is something wrong with the eggs, my lord?” asked his majordomo, starting forward.

“What?” Sebastian looked up, puzzled. “Oh. No, the eggs are fine, Morey. Thank you.”

Shoving the plate aside, Sebastian turned his attention to the news article on page three: RETIRED GREENWICH SEA CAPTAIN FOUND DEAD IN RIVER.

The church bells were tolling a death knell when Sebastian drove into the outskirts of Greenwich.

Leaving the chestnuts in Tom’s care, Sebastian let himself in the garden gate at the end of the long walk. He glanced up at the spreading limbs of the old oak, but the child Francesca was not there today.

With an oddly troubled heart, he mounted the steps to the house. He half expected the Captain’s young widow to decline to see him. But he sent up the name he’d given her before, Mr. Simon Taylor, and after a few moments, the little housemaid Gilly returned to tell him Mrs. Bellamy would receive him.

She half sat, half lay upon a sofa drawn up so she could look out over the gleaming expanse of the river sliding past the house. At Sebastian’s appearance, she tucked the black-edged handkerchief she’d been clutching up her sleeve. The ravages left by her tears were obvious.

“My apologies for intruding upon you at such a time,” said Sebastian, bowing over her hand. “Please accept my condolences for your newest loss.”

She did not seem to notice the subtle differences in his appearance and attire. She simply nodded, swallowing as if unable to speak for a moment, then gestured to a nearby chair. “Plees have a seat, Mr. Taylor. What may I do for you?”

Sebastian hesitated. According to the article in the Post, Bellamy was believed to have fallen into the water and drowned after suffering some sort of seizure while walking along the river. To Sebastian, it seemed improbable. But how do you ask a woman if her husband committed suicide?

He said instead, “What can you tell me about your husband’s last voyage, on the Harmony?”

The question did not seem to surprise her. She brought up one fist to press her knuckles against her lips, and Sebastian found himself wondering how much of the truth the Captain had confided to his wife. “It preyed upon him always, that voyage,” she said in a strained voice. “Not simply the loss of the ship, but the mutiny of the crew and those long, horrible days without food. He never got over it.”

“It ruined his career,” said Sebastian.

“Yes. But I often thought there was more to it than that. Such terrible dreams he would have. He’d wake up screaming, as if he’d looked into the very jaws of hell, calling that poor boy’s name.”

“What boy?” Sebastian asked sharply.

“Gideon, the cabin boy.” She hesitated, then shook her head. “If I ever knew his last name, I’ve forgotten it. He died, you see, before they were rescued.”

“What about the other young man who died? David Jarvis. Did your husband ever mention him?”

“Sometimes. But not nearly so often. I believe Gideon reminded my husband of Adrian at that age. I often thought my husband blamed himself for the boy’s death.”

“Why is that?”

She looked confused. “Because he failed to keep the boy out of harm’s way, I suppose.”

She pleated the skirt of her mourning gown with shaking fingers. “He’d been particularly obsessed about the cabin boy’s death these past few months.” She hesitated, then added softly, “He began drinking far more heavily than before.”

“Was he drinking heavily last night?”

She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. Sebastian watched her swing her head away to stare out over the river. He supposed it was possible the old Captain had staggered into the river and been too drunk to haul himself out. But Sebastian doubted it.

“What will you do now?” he asked her. “Return to Brazil?”

She shook her head. “My father disowned me when I married Bellamy and followed him here to England. Besides, this is the only home Francesca has ever known.”

“How is she taking it?”

The widow sighed. “Badly. First Adrian, now her father. It’s too much.”

Rising, Sebastian slipped one of his cards from his pocket and laid it on the table. “If there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to contact me.” Of course, the name on the card—his own name and title—did not match the name he had given her. But now was not the time to explain it to her.

“I’ll see myself out,” he said, and left her still staring silently out the window.

At the gate, he glanced back at the house’s crepe-draped facade. He saw a flash at one of the third-story nursery windows—a child’s pale face pressed for an instant against the panes. Then it was gone.