Forgotten Fragrance by Tea Cooper

‘Sit here, Miss Charlotte.’
    Her hand fell from the flagon and casting a questioning look at Wainwright she sank onto the chair. With a flick of his wrist Christian sent the flagon skittering down the table. ‘Help yourself. There’s plenty more where that came from.’ Ignoring the hooded glance from Wainwright, he said, ‘Cookie, bring another plate for Miss Charlotte. Fill it from the kitchen, the food will be warmer.’
    â€˜So where were we up to, Capt’n?’ Henk said.
    â€˜I think this would be better discussed at a later stage, Henk, when we don’t have company.’ Marcus Wainwright could keep his bony nose out of the Zephyrus’ business. He’d already said more than enough.
    Henk lapsed into a thoughtful silence and picked his teeth with a splinter of chicken bone.
    â€˜No, no, gentlemen. Carry on.’ Wainwright bent to examine his next forkful with a myopic stare.
    Henk’s head came up and a flash of determination crossed his face. ‘We were discussing our cargo — maybe a second opinion wouldn’t be such a bad idea. What d’you think, Capt’n?’
    Christian narrowed his eyes and frowned at Henk. What was he up to? A man of Wainwright’s standing would be horrified at the thought of those poor young women being transported like animals to some dubious establishment servicing a mob of randy sailors.
    â€˜What are your thoughts on human cargoes, sir?’ Henk invested the word with heavy emphasis.
    Wainwright chewed thoughtfully on a piece of cheese, and then ran his tongue around his pale lips. ‘A cargo is a cargo. I’m no more than a cargo for you, except you have to feed me.’
    â€˜You’ve got a good point there.’ Henk patted his belly and rocked back in his chair. ‘So you don’t see anything wrong with us transporting convicts for the government to Port Albert where they’re needed to work on the new wharves?’
    â€˜No, I can’t see much wrong. I presume the government pays you.’ Wainwright’s gaze flashed up at Christian, searching for confirmation.
    Christian had to hand it to Henk. He was doing a pretty good job of lining up his argument; however, once Henk mentioned the words ‘women’ and ‘South Sea Islands’ Wainwright would disagree. Christian smiled at Charlotte and resisted the temptation to cover her small hand as it rested beside his on the table.
    Henk grunted and removed the piece of bone from his teeth before flicking it over his shoulder. ‘Then you wouldn’t see anything wrong with us carrying human cargo for a private party?’
    Wainwright poured another mug of ale and swirled it around. ‘No.’
    Like the ship’s cat with a sewer rat Henk grinned.
    â€˜And what if the cargo were women?’ Christian’s patience exhausted, he spat the words down the table, anger churning in his gut.
    Wainwright pushed his chair back and crossed his long skinny legs, preening with delight at being the centre of attention once more. ‘It depends on…’ he cleared his throat, ‘…the nature of those women. Sometimes women need help and sometimes they are beyond even our good Lord’s assistance. Now take Miss Charlotte. She is my bonded servant and must do as I request.’ His bony fingers reached across the table and patted her arm like some patronising uncle.
    Christian ground his teeth. The sanctimonious prig should keep his hands to himself. Charlotte’s eyes flickered and she withdrew her hand and placed it in her lap.
    â€˜I’m sure she’ll be happy to admit she arrived in Van Diemen’s Land aboard a transport with a group of very dubious characters.’ Wainwright raised his bushy eyebrows.
    Dubious characters? The man should take a good long look at himself before he judged others.
    â€˜I saw it as my God-given duty to rescue her before her soul could be further