Relief washed over Timothy’s face as he scooted forward and took the oars. “I don’t mind coming with you, sir.”
Ben had enough trouble on his hands without the worry of a green lad traipsing about a dying vessel. “Stay put and keep the dory steady.”
Waves crashed into the side of the rowboat. Cold rain drizzled. Timothy didn’t offer an argument.
Ben wiped the rain from his face. He grabbed a rope dangling from the side of the ship. He tugged on it to make sure it was secure.
“Ben, do you really have to board her? The ship looks abandoned. It’s like the ghost tales I’ve heard the seamen tell.”
Superstition was as much a part of this region and the wind and sea, but Ben had little patience for talk of ghosts and curses. It had been his experience that trouble was caused by the living not the dead. “There’re no ghosts aboard this vessel.”
Timothy stared up at the shadowy vessel. “Yeah, but what if there are ghosts and they are watching us now? Sends a shiver down my spine.”
A slight smile tipped the edge of Ben’s mouth. “That’s the icy waters, lad, not ghosts.”
Ben gripped the rope and, using it as balance, scaled up the side of the ship. He swung his leg over the ship’s railing and landed on the deck. It listed beneath his weight.
The center mast had cracked two thirds of the way up and fallen into the ocean. The other sails were torn and flapping wildly in the storm. Wind scattered the ropes and crates over the deck.
“Can you see anything?” Timothy shouted.
The rain blew sideways, stinging Ben’s face as he started his search. “No. Not yet. Hand me up the lantern.”
Timothy moved to the edge of the dory and on wobbly legs handed the lantern up to Ben.
Ben cursed the wind that made the light flicker and spit. Protecting the flame with his body, he turned up the wick.
The lantern light cast an eerie glow on the ship. A quick survey revealed that Timothy had been right. All the lifeboats were gone. A closer inspection of the top deck confirmed there wasn’t a sign of any soul. Likely, the men had fled the vessel when the main mast had started to go.
No doubt the sailors would turn up somewhere along the outer banks, either dead or alive. The chances of finding any survivors on the Anna St. Claire looked slim.
But Ben was thorough.
He’d learned that perception and fact didn’t always agree. So he would search this vessel, and only when he’d confirmed with his own two eyes that she had been abandoned, would he leave.
He moved to the ship’s railing and called down to Timothy. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, leave.”
“Where are you going?” Timothy shouted over the wind. He huddled in the boat, his hands wrapped around his body.
“Belowdecks.”
“The lifeboats are gone, Ben. The sailors have all abandoned ship. Give up the search.”
“I’ll make a quick check belowdecks before I write this ship off.” His tenacity served him well. It had also led to his court-martial. What made you great was your undoing, the admiral had said to him. “Remember, if I’m not back in ten, leave.”
Timothy wiped water from his face. “I won’t leave without you.”
“You just celebrated your twentieth birthday and you and Callie are to wed in less than a week. Ten minutes, Tim, and I expect you to start rowing.”
Just then the freighter shifted, pitching Ben forward. He nearly dropped the lantern. Wood splintered and cracked somewhere on the vessel. He gripped the railing, his muscles bunching under his thick cable-knit sweater and dark jacket. His iron grip kept him from falling headfirst into the ocean. The lantern light nearly went out.
Timothy’s face was pale and panicked in the lantern light. “Please, sir, give it up. The ship is going to break up.”
Water dripped from his nose as Ben glared down at his assistant. “Ten minutes.”
Without another word, he strode across the badly sloping deck. By the time he reached the hatchway that led below, rainwater had drenched his black pea coat. Turning the knob, he shoved open the hatch.
He held up the light. Three feet of black ocean water lapped against the third rung of the ladder. Outside the wind howled.
“Hello down there!” he called. Silence.
Debris floated past three doorways that fed into the hallway. Two on the left and one on the right.
Seconds passed as he strained to hear. “Hello!” he shouted again. Nothing.
Perhaps Timothy was right.
Everyone was gone or dead.
Ben turned on the ladder ready to climb above deck when he heard the muffled scream. At first he thought it was a trick of the wind.
But he stopped and listened. The wail returned, sounding more human—and more feminine—than before. But a woman aboard a freighter didn’t make sense.
“Hello down there,” he shouted.
The screaming stopped and for a moment there was only silence. Then he heard, “Is someone out there?”
The woman’s voice was unmistakable.
“Yes! I’m here,” he shouted.
“Thank God! Please help me.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the cabin on the right.” Her voice sounded broken, as if she’d been sobbing. “They locked me in.”
Ben raised the lantern and looked around for something he could use to break the door. He spotted an ax hanging on a wall by the stairs.
Ben grabbed the ax off its peg, hung the lantern in its place and climbed down the ladder. Raising the ax high over his head, he started to wade into the hallway. The eerie creaks and sways of the dying ship echoed around him. “I’m coming for you.”
The woman began to pound her door harder. “Hurry, the cabin is filling with water.”
Ben pushed past the floating debris. His limbs tingled from the cold. He tried the knob on the door. It was indeed locked.
“Please don’t leave me.” The woman’s desperation punctuated every syllable.
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Step back,” Ben shouted. “I’ll have to cut my way through the door.
He heard the splash of water. “I’m away
