The oranges he’d brought back from shore weighed heavily in his coat pockets. He’d planned to give them to her this morning, had wanted to see her face when she took her first bite, guessing she’d probably never had a fresh orange before.

He ought to be on his way. He had a busy day ahead helping Captain Hellyer transport the mutineers ashore to the British government courthouse, where they would be put on trial for their insubordination.

The captain of the Royal Navy warship that was part of the Pacific Squadron and anchored in the bay had boarded the Tynemouth yesterday and addressed the prisoners, reminding them that since they were sailors in the merchant marine, they were allowed to live. If they’d been serving in the Royal Navy, they would have been hung or shot dead for their crimes. The naval captain’s words seemed to have sobered the prisoners.

Rather than face execution, the mutineers would be held in the British garrison prison onshore and given a sentence of imprisonment including hard labor. Captain Hellyer had confided in Joseph that he planned to ask for leniency for the mutineers. He considered their confinement in the brig sufficient punishment for their misdeeds, and he would take them on board again if they promised to carry out their work for the remainder of the voyage without giving any more trouble.

The fact was, sailors were hard to come by, and Captain Hellyer needed skilled crew members for the rest of the trip. His mercy toward the mutineers would likely earn him their loyalty.

Joseph had continued to take his turn in the ship’s engine room during the past couple of weeks as they charted a course southward, particularly on the fair-weather days when they’d needed the coal engines to power the ship. However, he’d gladly hand the task back over to the sailors for the duration of his time aboard the Tynemouth.

While the ship still had many months of voyage before returning to England, only a month remained until they reached Vancouver Island. A month . . .

He pressed a hand against his pocket and the oranges. One month until Mercy disembarked. One month until he said farewell and never saw her again.

With a quick glance to ensure no other passengers were yet on deck, he ducked under the rope and strode toward her cabin door. Even if he was spotted, no one would question his presence or find fault with his delivering the oranges. After all, the fruit was most beneficial to the women’s health.

He knocked firmly, then stood back and waited, straightening his cravat and his hat.

A moment later, the door opened a crack, and Mercy peeked through. At the sight of him, she shoved the door closed again.

He jammed his boot into the gap before she could shut him out. “Mercy, have a care. I beg you, just a word.”