Read Online All Through the Night by Connie Brockway - Free Book Online Page B

had spent two years hounding the Admiralty Board for his back pay so that his mother might no longer need to beg. Finally, angry, drunk, and frustrated, he’d stumbled into a rally of disgruntled would-be revolutionaries breaking into a gunsmith’s shop. Too drunk to run, Cashman had been the only one apprehended.
    He had been tried, found guilty of insurrection, and hanged. His last wish had been that his back pay should go to his mother.
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cashman.”
    If John Cashman had not been on Matthew’s ship . . . Pointless. Too bloody many “ifs” crowded her thoughts. If John hadn’t been under Matthew’s command ... If Matthew had married his childhood sweetheart, Julia Knapp . . . If she’d been able to love him as he deserved ... If Jack and she had only met earlier . . .
    The elderly woman nodded bleakly. She was tired and beaten down and ill and she wanted only two things: her son exonerated and her inheritance.
    “He weren’t no traitor, ma’am,” she said quietly. “He ‘ad courage, Johnny did. ’The Gallant Tar‘ them papers called him, and I guess he was.”
    “Mrs. Cashman—”
    “Hush, now, ma’am.” Mrs. Cashman put a grimy finger over her cracked lips. “We won’t rock the boat. Just hold the course a bit longer. All will come right . . .”
    “Yes, Mrs. Cashman.”
    The old lady smiled. “Don’t look so, missus. You have your own worries and frets. Losing a man like Captain Wilder. Johnny said he was the finest, most decent gentleman he ever served under.”
    “Aye, a true gentleman,” a bleary voice behind her announced. “And a bloody awful captain.”
    A man clomped out of the shadows, braced up on a wood peg and supported by a rude crutch. He was missing both an arm and a leg.
    Mary Cashman hissed at him. “What you want to be sayin‘ somethin’ like that for, Frank O’Shea? After all Mrs. Wilder done for you.”
    O’Shea’s lower lip stuck out defiantly. The scent of cheap whiskey blanketed him. “Got me worse than killed, your fine husband did. A gentleman playing at war!”
    Anne had no reply. She stared at the ruin of a poorly severed arm, the peg where a leg should have been. Matthew had not only killed himself but sacrificed an entire crew with his inexperience and wanton courage.
    She could have stopped him; she couldn’t have. Her thoughts twisted together like snakes, venomous and corrupting.
    Abruptly the fight went out of O’Shea. His eyes watered and he blinked. “Don’t throw me out, ma’am. I don’t know wot got into me. I h’aint got no other place to go. I only meant that the captain was too much the gentleman. He ‘adn’t the guts for war, if ye know what I mean.”
    “Yes,” Anne replied faintly.
    “See?” The drunk cast Mary Cashman a righteous glare. “Mrs. Wilder knows ‘er ’usband ‘adn’t no place commanding a ship.” His head bobbed on his thin neck like an overripe apple on a slender branch. “He shoulda been ’ome, pettin’ ’is ‘ounds and takin’ tea with ‘is lady wife.“
    His words fell on her ears like a curse. Anne stared at him as guilt welled and gibbered within her.
    He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. The movement and drink served to unbalance him. His crutch clattered to the floor and he foundered on his one remaining leg.
    Anne reached out to him just as he fell. He gasped, grabbing for her, his eyes widening with panic and embarrassment. She caught him. For a second his face, so near to hers, tightened with self-awareness and fury.
    Why, Anne realized in startled despair, he was a young man. Probably not much older than herself. He’d once had prospects that war and Matthew combined had seen an abrupt end to.
    “I ‘ate being crippled!” O’Shea ground out through clenched teeth, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I ’ate what I ‘ave become.”
    “I know. I know,” Anne murmured, easing him gently to the ground. Mrs. Cashman clucked her tongue and retrieved his crutch.
    He