Grace on the Horizon by Emma Lombard

Author:Emma Lombard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emma Lombard

A couple of months later, Seamus once again navigated through the Straits of Magellan, documenting new islands and sections of seabed that he had not charted on his last voyage in these waters.

An American private merchant, the Gannet, dropped anchor alongside to exchange news and trade wine, tea, sugar, and tobacco with the Clover. The American captain, Gregory Chittenden, told Seamus he was heading to California to collect a shipment of furs bound for Boston, but not before he ferried the Reverend Walter Laurel to the established mission on the tropical shores of Tahiti.

Would ridding the Clover of the priest guarantee the safety of his ship and his crew? Although it did not prick his conscience one iota to keep Babcock detained in a cabin for the remaining years of the voyage, off-loading the irksome fool now at least meant one less mouth to feed. Would Grace also not be safer once they arrived back in London if Silverton believed his plan foiled and his minion dead? He arranged a passenger transfer for that afternoon.

Below in the gunroom, Seamus ordered Babcock to gather his meagre belongings, shooting down the priest’s objection to being offloaded on a strange ship this far south.

“If you don’t come above for a proper introduction to Reverend Laurel, I’ll dump you ashore to fend for yourself,” Seamus growled.

“Y-you promised you’d see me safely delivered,” said Babcock in a snivelling voice. “You can’t give my real name, or Hamilton will find me.”

Seamus inhaled deeply. “Then how shall I introduce you?”

“Um… as H-Harrington. Father Harrington.”

Seamus sighed. “Very well, Father Harrington. I’m sure that without any papers to prove otherwise, you’ll be able to spin your web of lies.”

Babcock’s belligerent silence was a blessing. Seamus emerged from the main hatch, turning as he heard the priest gasp behind him.

“Dear God in heaven. It reeks of rotting meat!” Babcock’s patchy-lashed eyelids expanded. Not all his lashes had grown back. Seamus swivelled to study the schooner. The white sails were neatly furled. She might stink like carrion begging for a decent burial, but she was a tidy vessel.

Babcock stumbled forward a few steps, his baggy eyelids wrinkling in the sharp light. “Oh, my blessed hat, that smell will send me to an early death.”

Seamus drew alongside Captain Chittenden, who matched his height but not his breadth.

“How long before you make your way back to Boston, Captain Chittenden?” asked Seamus. The man had the snowiest shock of hair that had nothing to do with age. It shone like the glistening back of the white whale Seamus had seen breach a few weeks before. A most peculiar colour indeed.

“’Tis a three-year round trip,” drawled Chittenden, his Bostonian accent dropping the r from the end of year. “But this’ll be my last. I’m selling this old tub for a packet. Going to try my hand at the opium run.”

Seamus nodded. “A lucrative endeavour if you have the contacts.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I appreciate you taking another passenger.”

“What’s another clergyman when I’m already transporting one?” Chittenden chuckled.

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