Georgana's Secret

by Arlem Hawks

  The French surgeon did not take his meals with the rest of the officers. Dominic couldn’t tell if this was his choice or the rest of the wardroom’s. The crew didn’t seem to know much about Gilles Étienne, except his French heritage and experience as a surgeon. Dominic couldn’t imagine being pressed into serving the enemy of his country, but Étienne seemed to endure it without protest.

  Moyle leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. His plate sat empty before him. “Captain Woodall was not always like this. I was a midshipman under his command. Always cautious, mind you, but he had a keen mind. He knew his strengths and never entered an engagement he couldn’t win.” Moyle tended to stay quiet as the others talked, but a full belly must have loosened his tongue. “He had a spotless record and boasted plenty of prizes.”

  “And then his wife had to go and die,” Jarvis mumbled into the empty glass he still tried to drink from. “Ruined a good captain.”

  The callousness of Jarvis’s grumblings struck something within Dominic. “You can hardly fault a man for that.” He fought to keep the steam out of his voice.

  “Three years, Peyton. How long does a man need?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Dominic caught a movement through the bars of the flimsy wood partition between the officers’ quarters and the rest of the messdeck. George dipped through the doorway and froze in a silent salute.

  “What is it, George?” He gave the boy what he hoped came across as an encouraging smile. The lad didn’t acknowledge it, keeping his eyes on the ground.

  “The captain wishes to speak to Mr. Jordan, sir.”

  The sailing master rose from his seat. “Perfect timing.” He set his napkin over his chair before following the boy’s hurried retreat.

  Dominic watched them go. Poor boy. George didn’t seem cut out for naval life. An apprenticeship on land would suit him better. Dominic would bring up the idea the next time he spoke with the captain. He had few connections on land, but surely the captain had acquaintances who could secure the boy an apprenticeship as a clerk or shopkeeper. Better yet, a place at school.

  His mother’s parting request nudged Dominic’s mind once more. The captain’s daughter. He had put off his inquiries as he settled into his position on the new crew, but several shared meals with this group had brought enough familiarity. They clearly weren’t afraid of talking about the captain on his own ship.

  “Does the captain have any family?” he asked. An innocent enough question.

  “A daughter,” Moyle said. He was slight compared to Jarvis’s stocky form. Dominic had a few inches on both of them, and deep down he itched to discover if that would give him an advantage in a scuffle against the second lieutenant.

  Jarvis continued to stare at his glass as though confused why it was empty. “A pity.”

  Dominic pushed his plate away and threaded his fingers together on the table. “Does she live with relatives?”

  “Why? Are you looking for a wife, Peyton?” Jarvis gave up on his glass and slumped back.

  Dominic snorted. “Hardly.”

  “I thought I heard him say she was at a school in York.” Moyle shrugged. “She should be in Society by now.”

  The purser spoke up from Dominic’s left. “They can’t have much of a relationship, I should think. I’ve never seen a letter arrive from York.”

  The captain was a man alone in the world. If not for his mother, Dominic would be in the same situation.

  The conversation lulled after the purser’s comment. Jarvis dozed off, and Moyle went back to the upper deck for his watch. Dominic declined a game of cards with the other officers and sought the limited privacy of his cabin. Seeing the timid George and discussing the lonely situation of the captain had put him in a strange mood that he wanted to sleep off before he was needed on deck.

  Georgana sat at one of the windows, letting the light of the full moon flood the paper in her lap. The ship’s creaking seemed louder in the stillness of night, interrupting her father’s quiet snores. He’d drawn the curtains around his hanging cot to block out the soft light. It was a rare moment of solitude.

  She skimmed her pencil across the blank page, outlining the crest of a wave.

  Grandmother had never let her draw the sea. Or people. She said it kept them wallowing in their past. Now Georgana drew only the sea. Wave after wave washed over pages in her sketchbook. Something about the sea compelled her to draw it night after night. Was it the delicate foam that adorned a gentle crest, or the strength of a surge as it crashed against the hull? The sea could be whatever it wanted. It never had to ask permission.

  She sketched so many pictures, she’d started discarding them out the window when her father wasn’t looking. The drawings weren’t particularly beautiful, so it wasn’t a loss to watch them melt into the sea. Grandmother had never let her forget what a poor artist she was, and Georgana still heard the woman’s critiques hissing in her ear as she drew.

  Georgana set down her pencil and placed her hand against a cool windowpane. Moonlight skipped across the ocean’s black surface. Lanterns, tiny dots poking through the darkness, twinkled to mark the position of the merchant ships.

  A laugh drifted down from the quarterdeck, disrupting the quiet. Georgana grasped the handle on the window and cracked it open. The laugh sounded too jovial for Jarvis and too deep to be Moyle. Must be Lieutenant Peyton.

  She listened as she continued her drawing. She couldn’t make out words, but the cheerful hum of conversation soothed her.

  The lieutenant hadn’t stopped giving her attention, something Fitz and the other ship’s boys added to their list of grievances against her. Though they kept quiet in his presence, they harassed her more frequently now. She rubbed her knee, still sore from the confrontation a week ago. Lieutenant Peyton was harming more than helping, but he didn’t see that. Just like her father hadn’t.

  Georgana squeezed her eyes shut and tugged at the back of her hair. Father had done what he thought was best, stealing her away to be a cabin boy. On board, Grandmother couldn’t reach her. She couldn’t even find her.

  Flashes of memory shot through Georgana’s mind. Blood on her hands. Tears rushing from her swollen eyes. Grand­mother standing over her with the poker.

  The scar running across her palm had faded, but a little ridge that ran from wrist to fingertip still pressed against her pencil as she drew. Her grandmother’s anger over Georgana’s mourning for her mother had come to a blazing head that night. Perhaps Georgana’s display of emotions had run her patience too thin. The beating that ensued had been the worst of Georgana’s life.

  And Papa, nearly mad with grief, stole her away that very night. They told Grandmother she’d gone to a school in York. A lie. In the heat of her pain and his outrage, the deception had seemed the best plan. With Georgana on board, Papa would know she was safe.

  But sailing the seas with her father had not been what she’d imagined. Though she insisted he not fret his decision, after three years, she worried as much as he did of the damage to her reputation should she be discovered. Grandmother might have let her out in Society by now. She could be married and settled far away from the woman. Many girls were by eighteen.

  Lieutenant Peyton laughed again, and Georgana leaned in toward the window. Her ear rested against the crack, reaching for the carefree joy of the sound. For all the trouble he was causing, she wasn’t sorry he’d joined the crew, if only because of the sound of his laughter and his easy smile.

  Her eyelids grew heavy, and her head sank against the window­sill. She dozed, ears filled with the gentle lapping of waves and the new lieutenant’s pleasant voice.

  Chapter 3

  Dominic never tired of the sea breeze. The sails snapped in each gust that carried them closer to Antigua. With two weeks behind them, they still had at least a month to go. And that was if good weather held. The merchant ships moved much slower th
an a frigate would on its own.

  Jarvis paced behind him on the forecastle, every so often scanning the horizon. Dominic hid a smirk. Their slow pace had begun to wear on Jarvis.

  Dominic stood beside the boatswain, Mr. Byam, who arranged lengths of new line to replace a damaged halyard. The portly man worked nimbly while giving instructions to his son, Charlie. The young man nodded, then hurried to the shroud to climb the mast.

  Dominic watched Charlie ascend to the yardarm. He was quiet like George but with more confidence. “He’s a good lad.”

  The boatswain beamed. “It’s our first voyage with him as my mate.” The smile slackened. “Would have brought his mother along as well but for the captain. He forbids women from being on board, in line with the Admiralty’s order.” The man shielded his eyes from the sun as he watched his boy aloft.

  Dominic had noticed the absence of women on the Deborah. Despite the Admiralty’s orders, many captains allowed carpenters’ and boatswains’ wives aboard to help with the work. But Captain Woodall was notorious in navy circles for keeping the rules.

  “That would have been something, a whole family sailing together,” Dominic said.

  The boatswain sighed. “That it would have.”

  And something to consider. If Dominic were captain, he could certainly bring his mother with him. And wife, even. He played with the buttons on his coat sleeve as he pondered. It was a tempting idea.

  But how would a woman fare in the harsh conditions of a warship? Or in battle? She surely wouldn’t enjoy the cramped quarters and lack of privacy. Though he’d heard of several women who had braved battle and discomfort to be with their husbands, he could not see any lady of high society appreciating life on a frigate as he did.

  Dominic turned his face to the wind and closed his eyes. Even if their finances were enough to make it through the waiting period to receive a command, he didn’t see his advancement improving his mother’s situation. Dominic removed his bicorn and brushed at an invisible spot on its surface. Besides, if he married, he’d have two people to leave. More, if children ever came. All those people to worry about while he was at sea living the life he was destined for.

  He shook his head, clearing his mind. Too much deep thinking for one afternoon.

  The bell erupted in eight clear rings, signaling the end of his watch. Dominic nodded farewell to the boatswain and headed for the main hatch. Moyle enjoyed backgammon, didn’t he? Dominic needed something to take his mind off the future.

  The boys from Dominic’s division circled the entrance but didn’t go down. A few yards away from them, he couldn’t hear what they said, but he saw Walter Fitz’s lips moving. A head appeared through the hatch, and Dominic groaned.

  George.

  Before Dominic could shout, Walter kicked George, who lost his grip and vanished down the hatch. Dominic’s stomach leaped. Every seaman slipped down the hatch at least once during his career, but he could only imagine what the force of a kick would add to such a fall.

  The boys’ roaring laughter dissolved under the click of Dominic’s shoes. The group cowered back, except for Walter. Dominic wanted to slap the defiant look from the boy’s face. He settled for grabbing a fistful of shirt and pulling the boy to him.

  “Are you all right, George?” he called down the hatch, holding Walter tight as he strained to free himself.

  “Yes, sir.” He could hardly hear the shaking voice over the crash of waves.

  The coxswain, Walter’s father, hurried over from his place at the helm. “Something the matter, Lieutenant?”

  Inside, Dominic seethed, but he tried to keep his voice even. “There is, Mr. Fitz. Your son will not respect his shipmates and has earned himself another watch because of it.”

  The boy squirmed. “I just finished my watch.”

  Dominic shouted to Jarvis over his shoulder. “See this lad gets a hearty share of duties this watch.”

  The second lieutenant shrugged and motioned for the boy to join him on the forecastle deck. Dominic let go, and Walter slunk away.

  “They’re only boys, sir,” the coxswain said. “They didn’t mean to hurt anything.” Hurt anything? It wasn’t things Dominic worried about.

  “Get control of your son, Mr. Fitz, or I will. Actions such as that can endanger more than just the boys he torments.” He scowled at the other boys, who backed up even farther. Then he hurried down the ladder to the gun deck.

  George held on to the capstan, balancing his weight on one foot. The cylindrical capstan, waist-high to most men and riddled with notches to insert handles for hoisting and hauling, came nearly to his chest.

  “Are you all right?” Dominic asked.

  The boy nodded, scooting toward Captain Woodall’s quarters. He lowered his other foot but groaned the moment he put pressure on it.

  Dominic took hold of his arm before he could try another step. Most likely he twisted the ankle when he landed from the fall. “Let us get you to the surgeon.”

  The boy shook his head sharply. “I need to get back to the captain.” He squinted at Dominic, little droplets wetting the corners of his eyes.

  “You won’t be much use to the captain if that foot doesn’t heal properly. Come, I’ll help you.”

  Georgana winced as the surgeon removed her shoe, then stocking, pulling at the tender flesh beneath. Lieutenant Peyton put a hand on her shoulder. She couldn’t meet his eyes. His kindness was just one more reason for the boys to tease her.

  “Now, what have you done to your foot, Mr. Taylor?” the surgeon asked. He spoke English with ease but could not hide his thick French accent. She didn’t like the amused look in his dark, glittering eyes.

  The lieutenant spoke up. “The boys—”

  “I tripped going up the ladder,” Georgana said quickly.

  Étienne glanced at Lieutenant Peyton but said nothing. Her insides writhed as the man took her foot in his hands. She’d stayed away from Étienne and the previous surgeon for fear they would see through her disguise. He prodded the purpling skin with his fingers, pain lancing up her leg.

  She twisted her head away, teeth clenched. Her face met the soft scratch of wool, and she tried to focus on the sensation. It took all her strength to not let the tears escape as he felt along her ankle. Finally Étienne released her foot.

  A hand tousled her cap, and only then did she realize she was leaning into Lieutenant Peyton’s arm. She sat up quickly, grateful for the dim lighting of the surgeon’s room to hide her flushed face. Leaning into him like a young lady swooning in a ballroom would do nothing to convince him she didn’t need his help.

  “It is not broken, Dieu merci.” Étienne went to a chest and retrieved a bottle of amber liquid. He pulled the stopper off the bottle, and an acrid smell permeated the room. “I will apply a compress of vinaigre for the swelling. It should not hurt so much in a few days.”

  Georgana’s shoulders fell. A few days? She wasn’t going to be able to keep this from her father.

  Étienne soaked strips of cloth in a vinegar paste and wound the strips snuggly around her injured foot. She fought to keep her face stoic. The lieutenant pitied her enough. No need to make it worse.

  “Eh voilà,” the surgeon said. He moved away to return his supplies to their places. “I will need to replace the compress when it dries.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She wobbled as she stood, and Lieutenant Peyton grasped her upper arm to steady her. The throbbing in her foot stopped her from shaking off his hand. If she were dressed as befitted her gender, he would not have dared take her arm in such a manner.

  But she wasn’t. She was a pathetic ship’s boy who couldn’t stay out of trouble despite her greatest efforts to remain unseen.

  A strange homesickness for England soured her stomach. She’d never been homesick for that place before. England had always meant Grandmother. But she couldn’t decide which b
ully she would rather face—Grandmother or Fitz and his gang.

  The lieutenant thanked Étienne, who raised his hand to his forehead in a lazy salute. Lieutenant Peyton slowly led her out of the room and into the darkness of the orlop deck, the belly of the ship she only went to during battle.

  They worked their way up to the messdeck, where Fitz’s comrades gave them wary looks over their game of cards, then onto the gun deck. After the dank air of the orlop deck, the fresh air coming through the hatchway felt wonderful against her warm face. Her arms shook from the strain of pulling herself up the ladder without the use of her injured foot.

  “Will you lie to the captain?” Lieutenant Peyton asked, his voice low. He took her arm again. “I think he ought to know what happened.”

  Georgana’s head snapped up. He was going to say something. She could only imagine what new regulations Papa would create, further alienating her from the other boys and raising more suspicions. And they’d never leave her alone if Fitz were disciplined.

  The lieutenant watched her, brows knit. Late afternoon light filtering through the hatchway caught the vibrant brown and green that swirled in his eyes.

  “You can’t tell him,” she blurted.

  Lieutenant Peyton sighed. “I will not say anything for now. But if this keeps happening, I will go to the captain.”

  Georgana saluted. She needed to stay clear of Fitz and his gang, for everyone’s sake. “Thank you for your help, sir.” She removed his strong fingers from her arm, and he didn’t protest. Then she hobbled into the captain’s quarters, one shoe and one empty stocking dangling from her fingers.

  Chapter 4

  Dominic didn’t expect to see Captain Woodall on the quarter­deck. He usually didn’t show himself above deck prior to the forenoon watch. Dominic seized the opportunity, walking quickly aft. George’s plight had not left his mind since the incident with the other boys more than a week ago. He would keep his promise of not telling the captain everything, but something had to be done.