Georgana's Secret

by Arlem Hawks

  “I spent my childhood near Winchester, then moved to Portsmouth with my mother after my father died. Then I went to sea.” He held up his hands. “That is the whole of it.”

  She watched him with narrowed eyes but didn’t ask anything more. Dominic pushed himself up and reached for his satchel. He pulled out a green, strawberry-shaped fruit as large as his fist which he’d bought from one of the stalls at the market.

  “What is that?”

  He retrieved his knife and cut the scaly skinned fruit into quarters, then offered her a slice. “It’s a cherimoya. I take it you’ve never tried one.”

  George stared at the slice in her hand. Its white, pearlike flesh dripped juice over her fingers. “How do you eat it?”

  Dominic took a bite and smiled through the bright sweetness that burst in his mouth.

  Then he spit two seeds the size of almonds into the sand before he finished chewing. “Don’t swallow the seeds,” he said with a wink.

  George considered the fruit for several more moments, then picked as many of the seeds out as she could with her fingers. Juice squeezed all over her hands before she finally took a bite. She moaned her delight as liquid trickled down her face. He reached for his pocket to get her a handkerchief, but she wiped her face with her sleeve before he could find it.

  Boy. Right.

  After they finished their sticky treat, Dominic peeled off his shoes and stockings. Sand stuck to his fingers, sticky with cherimoya juice.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Enjoying the sea in the second-best way to do it.” He pushed himself to his feet. “You may join me if you like.”

  He jogged toward the gentle waves, rolling up his sleeves as he went. His feet squished into wet sand, and then the water came up to meet them. “Good day, friend.” He kept his voice low enough so she couldn’t hear.

  He walked into the water a few steps and bent over. His fingers found the rippling surface. Water licked away the sand and juice. George stayed under the tree. Dominic couldn’t see her face in the shadow, but just as well, since he might have laughed at what he imagined was a very stern expression.

  Dominic swept off his hat, then cupped water in his hand and threw it over his hair. The mild water ran down the sides of his face and neck. He would never do this in the frigid waters of England’s beaches. A few more scoops, and his hair and shirt were thoroughly drenched.

  A soft splash brought his head around. George stood without her shoes and stockings at the place where the waves and shore met. She dragged a foot through the wet sand and waited as the water pulled away the trench she’d created.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had never been to the seaside before,” Dominic said, coming back to stand beside her. Surely a captain’s daughter had been to the ocean on many occasions.

  She drew a second deep line in the sand, creating a small wall for the waves to find. “I haven’t. Not like this.”

  Dominic made his own wall in the sand that met hers. It took several waves to wash his clear. She tried another one, this time extending hers farther to the side. He followed suit, hobbling along on one foot as he dragged his line several paces before the water ruined it. Soon they grinned and laughed as they raced the water to build little walls as long as they could.

  How strange to see that smile on her face. He rarely saw it on the ship.

  George stopped their game and stared out to the open sea beyond their little bay. “It feels like a dream, doesn’t it? Soon it will be gone, and we’ll be back to life as usual.”

  “That’s the wonderful thing about memories,” Dominic said. The water broke down the last piece of wall at his feet and smoothed the sand, as though it had never been disturbed. “We can relive it again and again, as many times as we wish to.”

  “Should we return?”

  The afternoon sun still sat high in the sky, but if they didn’t find a cart for transport, they would have a long walk back. “Yes, but there is something I must do first.” His mother’s loving face came to his mind. “I need to find a rock.”

  George’s eyebrow rose. “A rock?”

  “Or a shell or a bit of sea glass. Something.” He crouched to sift through the sand.

  “For what?”

  Dominic pulled out a bit of shell, broken in half. He tossed it away. “As a present for someone dear to me.”

  She didn’t respond, but when he glanced up, she was scouring the beach, lips pursed. Her feet left small prints in the wet sand. Dominic shook his head. How he’d ever thought those feet belonged to a boy, he wasn’t certain.

  “What is this?” She held up what looked like a translucent green stone. He held out his hand, and she set it in his palm, her fingers grazing his skin.

  “That is sea glass,” he said, turning it over. It was a lovely shade, far prettier than most of the murkier pieces he’d seen around ports. “It’s made from bottles thrown into the water. Over time they get worn down and become like this.”

  “Beautiful,” she breathed. “Whomever you are giving it to will love it.”

  He didn’t mention that his mother already had several pieces of sea glass on her shelves. He enjoyed the awe on George’s face. “You may keep it if you like.”

  “I have no need for something as fine as that.”

  She went for her shoes, and Dominic followed her. He’d have to show her how to get the sand off her feet, or she’d get blisters on the walk.

  George stopped before she got to their things and cocked her head. “You said that was the second-best way to enjoy the sea. What is the best?”

  Dominic pocketed the sea glass and caught up his shoes. “Standing on the bowsprit of a frigate in the open ocean.”

  George frowned. “In the middle of a gale?”

  His lips twitched at her exasperation. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Chapter 16

  The sun was drifting down to the hills when they arrived in town. Georgana panted from the pace and gave a valiant effort to keep the corners of her lips from rising. She would always remember this afternoon, walking along a beach with a friend. Except she wasn’t sure friend was the right word. She did not know if one could be so attracted to a friend.

  As dark began to set in, the lieutenant increased his stride. They hurried past the empty market and closed shops. “The captain will have my head. I lost track of the sun,” Lieutenant Peyton muttered, checking his pistol, which he had loaded before they left the beach. One couldn’t trust the safety of port towns after dusk.

  Twice they’d gone to fetch their shoes but had somehow wound up back at the shoreline with their feet in the waves. Georgana hadn’t minded. She’d noticed the shadows getting longer while on the beach but didn’t remind him. In less than two weeks they would be back at sea, sailing for England. Two more months with the lieutenant. Two more months as George Taylor.

  Someone yelled from the shadows outside a public house, and Lieutenant Peyton nudged her toward the other side of the road.

  “Best to stay away from that.”

  The shouting ceased, replaced by a cry. Georgana paused and stared into the blackness behind the alehouse. The arm of one large form swung down again and again, striking a person on the ground.

  “Come away, George.” The lieutenant took her elbow, but she stayed rooted to the dirt.

  “He needs help.”

  Peyton followed her gaze and pressed his lips together. “I’ll be in a worse mess after the captain . . . Stay behind me.” Then he bounded across the road.

  Georgana scurried after him, watching as he felt for the pistol under his coat. Her pulse raced.

  “Leave him alone,” Peyton growled as he moved behind the attacker. He seized the man’s arm with both hands and jerked him away. The man stumbled to the side, then whipped around, snarling.

  “Stay
out of this, Peyton.” The familiar snarl sent a chill down Georgana’s arms.

  The person on the ground tried to get away with a staggering crawl. He seemed thin, but Georgana couldn’t make out his features in the dark.

  “What is the meaning of this, Jarvis?”

  “The boy was trying to rob me.”

  “I wasn’t robbing him,” came a strained call from the ground.

  She knew that voice, too. “Fitz?”

  “He asked me—”

  “Silence, boy,” Jarvis said. He jumped for his victim again, but Peyton hurled himself between them and stopped Jarvis with a hand to the chest.

  Georgana’s stomach lurched. They’d all seen Jarvis intoxicated. Even without coordination, the man could cause hefty damage. Though Peyton had the advantage in height, Jarvis was thicker.

  “This is not your concern.” Jarvis tried to bat Peyton’s hand away, but the first lieutenant grabbed his wrist.

  “It is my concern. This boy is in my division.” Peyton leaned out of the way of Jarvis’s fist and shoved the second lieutenant backward. Jarvis tripped and bumped into the neighboring building. “George, help Walter back to the ship. I’ll bring Jarvis.”

  Georgana slipped along the wall to where Fitz huddled on hands and knees. He cradled his head, breath shaking.

  Jarvis snorted. “You train that whelp to beat the boy but won’t stand for anyone else beating him? How noble.”

  “Come on, Fitz,” Georgana whispered. She took his arms and tried to pull him up. He swayed, his weight nearly knocking them both to the ground. Fitz groaned at the movement.

  “That was an even fight,” Peyton said. “You are his superior.”

  “Can you walk?” Georgana put Fitz’s arm over her shoulder and braced her legs against the burden.

  “Yes.” An odd whistling touched his faint voice.

  They wobbled toward the street. The boy blocked her view of Peyton and Jarvis. Her throat tightened.

  Focus. She needed to focus on Fitz.

  They limped along, painfully slow. As they stepped into the waning light, she could see his mouth and chin covered in a dark stain, dripping onto his shirt. His head lolled from side to side, and his eyes kept closing.

  Grunts and shuffling sounded behind them, and Georgana trained her ears on her footsteps to shut out the noise. An image of Peyton lying broken and lifeless on the ground filled her head. She blinked rapidly, trying to wipe the thought from her mind before it could cause tears.

  Jarvis’s chuckle, cold and deep, rang through the alley. “You have no right to force me anywhere, Peyton. I’m a lieutenant, same as you.”

  Georgana and Fitz turned onto the road, and she chanced a look back. Peyton ducked out of the way of Jarvis’s blow but not far enough. The second lieutenant’s fist hit Peyton’s jaw. He careened back.

  She halted and steadied Fitz. Her head screamed to keep going, but her eyes stayed locked on the struggle. Jarvis landed on the ground, but she couldn’t tell if he’d tripped or Peyton had knocked him over. She prayed it was the latter.

  Fitz sagged against her, and they nearly went down again. She had to get him to Étienne. But Peyton . . .

  If Jarvis broke away, he’d come straight for them. Georgana reluctantly plodded on. The dock was still far, and if there wasn’t a boat they’d have to wait. Please let there be a boat.

  A faint click stopped her midstep. Everything went still. She turned them around, but a building blocked the alley from view. Her heart stuck in her throat.

  “You can’t do this.” Jarvis’s voice. It had to be.

  “But I have the gun.”

  Georgana let out a breath. Peyton was all right.

  “Now,” he said, “we are going back to the Deborah. And we will go quietly. I have a feeling Captain Woodall wishes to see us all.”

  Lieutenant Peyton’s words were meant to strike fear in Jarvis, but Georgana felt blood drain from her face.

  They had to answer to her father.

  Dominic steeled himself for the captain’s reaction when he saw him, not just with the man’s very late daughter, but also with a raging, drunk lieutenant and a half-conscious, bloodied boy. The marine standing watch knocked quickly as they approached the captain’s cabin. In moments, the door swung open.

  Captain Woodall’s lips compressed, and he stared from one face to another, eyes lingering on George. “Inside. Now.” He turned to the marine. “Fetch Étienne immediately.”

  Dominic had put away his pistol on the boat ride back to the Deborah. Jarvis had calmed down enough to submit to Dominic holding his arm, but he still glared at everyone in the room. George set Fitz in a chair. Her narrow shoulders drooped.

  “Explain,” the captain growled.

  Dominic opened his mouth, but to his surprise George spoke first. “Fitz said Lieutenant Jarvis was to pay him thruppence for coming to get him at the alehouse when it was time for his watch. But when Fitz came, Jarvis got angry and beat him.”

  “How were you involved?”

  “The lieutenant and I saw the beating as we passed by the alehouse,” she said. “Lieutenant Peyton stopped it.”

  “All lies,” Jarvis mumbled.

  Captain Woodall clasped his hands behind his back, chewing on the corner of his lip. His brows pulled down so low they nearly covered his eyes as he paced on the other side of the table. “We are men and officers of His Majesty’s navy. This is not acceptable.” He turned, eyes boring into Jarvis. The second lieutenant didn’t flinch. “Jarvis, as a gentleman and an officer, this behavior is beneath you.”

  “I acted within the realm of my authority.”

  Captain Woodall pounded his fist into the table, rattling a carafe perched on top. “You most certainly did not, and you can count on a court-martial when we return to England for abuse of rank.”

  Dominic bit his tongue to keep from showing his satisfaction. Served the scoundrel right.

  The surgeon knocked on the open door. When his dark eyes fell on Walter’s purple, splotchy face, he hurried to the boy’s side.

  “George, would you get the father of the boy?” Étienne asked.

  “Send the marine,” Captain Woodall snapped. “George isn’t leaving this cabin again tonight.”

  George shrank into the corner, eyes on the floor. Dominic’s hand clenched tighter around Jarvis’s arm. Seeing her submissive posture made his heart ache.

  “Jarvis, I will stand no more. I am demoting you to third lieutenant.”

  “What?” Jarvis’s sleeve wrenched out of Dominic’s hand as he threw his arms in the air. “You can’t do that.”

  “I am the captain of this ship.” Captain Woodall’s cool tone cut through the protests. “You would do well to learn it.”

  Jarvis squared his shoulders as much as he could in his in­ebriated state.

  “You will also be confined to the Deborah until we sail,” the captain continued. “If you are caught using corporal punishment on any member of my crew, justified or not, I will find one of the midshipmen to take your place in the wardroom, and you can return to life in the cockpit. Is that understood?”

  Hatred burned in Jarvis’s eyes. The cockpit, the orlop deck chamber where midshipmen and mates set their hammocks, was dark and dank. Dominic winced. No officer wished to return to those living quarters.

  Jarvis didn’t respond to the captain but burst from the room. His unsteady stomping echoed through the gun deck and down the ladder.

  Dominic let out a breath. Living with Jarvis would not be pleasant for the foreseeable future. His eyes flicked to George. He’d have to keep watch on her in case Jarvis decided to retaliate.

  “How is the boy?” the captain asked.

  Étienne sighed as he dabbed a cloth across Walter’s mouth. “He is missing a tooth and very dazed. I hope he will recover quickly, but h
e should not work for some time.”

  Captain Woodall nodded. “Peyton, you are dismissed.” The stern set of his face showed he had reserved plenty of anger for his first lieutenant.

  Dominic bowed his head. “I am very sorry, sir.”

  “You should be. I will not allow an excursion like that again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dominic trudged wearily from the room. He rubbed his jaw where Jarvis had landed a hit. He hoped he’d be able to sleep through the aching.

  Moyle came down from the top deck. “Have you seen Jarvis?”

  Dominic motioned below. “He’s in his cabin. He won’t be able to take watch tonight.”

  The third—now second—lieutenant pursed his lips. “Then shall I send for Mr. Jordan?”

  “No, I’ll go.” The sailing master had taken Dominic’s watches earlier that day.

  Moyle clapped him on the shoulder, awakening new soreness Dominic hadn’t discovered yet. The younger man’s cheery smile did nothing to brighten Dominic’s mood. “Thank you. I could use a little rest.”

  Dominic didn’t bother mentioning Moyle’s de facto promotion. He let the young man descend to the messdeck. The captain could tell him in the morning. Or Jarvis could. Dominic almost cracked a smile.

  He took one last look at the doors to the captain’s cabin. Would Georgana stay in that corner all night? He hoped not.

  The next watch had started, and he needed to get back to his duties. Dominic hoisted his taxed body up the ladder. The captain would keep her away from him now, wouldn’t he? The thought made Dominic sigh. He’d enjoyed this day with Georgana, more than he anticipated.

  Georgana. He mouthed the name. He liked the way it spun from his lips. He mouthed it again as he found his way to the forecastle to continue his already tiring night.

  Dr. Étienne and Mr. Fitz eased the boy to his feet. Georgana wanted to help, but they didn’t need her.