Georgana's Secret

by Arlem Hawks

  Perhaps her final day.

  The deep, agonized furrows slowly cleared from Dominic’s face. She slid her thumb down to brush against his neck. She focused on the caress, trying to still her quavering heart. If today had to be her last, at least she could spend the remaining hours with the two men she loved more than all the world.

  “What about the boy? He isn’t chained.” Georgana shot the gun master a confused look. He nodded toward the windows. “I think you could fit through one of those.”

  Mr. Adams wanted her to climb out? She chewed the corner of her lip.

  “Out of the question,” Papa said. “The boy would fall to his death.”

  The gunner sat back against the wall. “If he doesn’t try, he’ll meet a watery death all the same.”

  “What am I to do?” she whispered.

  “Surely there are still some loyal men on this ship,” one of the masters-at-arms said. “Or some who are not loyal to Jarvis. We need only convince them to take a stand.”

  That didn’t sound so simple since most of the men opposing them were marines with muskets. The guards outside their door spoke loudly, but she still worried they’d hear the plans.

  “Who will side with us?” her father asked. “The surgeon? The carpenter and his crew? The only reason they aren’t here with us is because repairs and treatment are needed. I can think of few who owe me more loyalty than they do Jarvis.”

  “You’re their captain,” the master-at-arms said.

  “I have not been the captain they needed.” Papa lifted the stub of his arm. “This crew wanted leadership. Encouragement. Things I deprived them of. Jarvis gave them a source of strength through the aftermath of battle and disease.”

  Georgana winced at the truth in his words. “Mr. Fitz and Walter are loyal,” she said quietly. “And some of the ship’s boys.” Still, not many. If Jarvis had whipped three hundred men into anger, what could a handful of people do against them?

  “It’s the best chance we have, even if a small one.” The gunner raised his hands. “The longer we sit without acting, the less time we have.”

  “I will do it.” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

  Dominic’s eyes opened and caught hold of hers. How she’d missed looking at him the last two days.

  “I forbid it,” her father said. “She is not risking her life for the rest of ours.”

  Georgana stared, and Papa blanched when he realized what he’d said. The room went still. Everyone’s gaze turned on her.

  “She?” someone whispered.

  Her father sat paralyzed beneath the windows, breathing sharply. Three years at sea. Three years of watered-down spirits. Three years of hiding, scraping, lying. Three years—gone in a moment.

  Georgana let the air in her lungs dissipate slowly. Though her pulse beat and her face burned, her shoulders loosened as the mantle of secrecy slipped away. They would tackle her reputation when they got to shore. For now, she was their last hope.

  Only Dominic moved. He rolled his head to the side to face her father. “She can do this.”

  Georgana squeezed Dominic’s arm, then moved to her father, fueled by the warmth of his confidence. The light in the room was waning further. She needed to leave quickly.

  “Let me try, Papa.” With the secret out, she had nothing to hide. She kissed her father’s cheek, took one last glance at Peyton’s reassuring face, and pulled open one of the windows.

  Chapter 35

  Cold wind ruffled Georgana’s shirt as she clung to the embellishments on the stern. She’d left her coat, shoes, and stockings behind and kept the gunner’s cap pulled low over her eyes. Once on deck, she’d have to move quickly.

  Her toes barely fit on the decorative ledge below the larboard window. Had she not been standing on such a precarious perch, she might have blushed at the thought of all the men staring at her through the glass. She should have worn trousers instead of breeches, which left her lower legs exposed.

  But then, she hadn’t counted on a mutiny when she dressed that morning. Georgana forced her feet to inch along the ledge and her eyes to stay on the side of the ship. Water rose up just under her feet, and though the waves increased, they didn’t touch her.

  Breathe, Georgana, breathe.

  She reached out for the booms, horizontal boards that secured the shrouds to the side of the ship. Once she had a firm grip with her hands, she stretched her leg down to find footing. Her toes dug into a line that ran the length of the ship, but her hands held most of her weight. The gunner said to follow the booms around to the sick berth, where she would have fewer chances of getting caught.

  The sun nearly touched the horizon. In the distance, she could see the tiny schooner commanded by Lieutenant Moyle. Even if she could find a signal to hang from the gun ports, they might not see it in the dimming light.

  She moved her hand forward, then her foot, then brought the other hand and foot to meet them. Her arms already ached from the strain, and she hadn’t yet cleared the captain’s cabin gun ports.

  Halfway across the ship, the boom ended. She had to extend herself to catch hold of a square gun port cut through the hull. This position made her fingers visible to anyone on the upper deck looking down. She pulled herself from gun port to gun port, murmuring a prayer under her breath for stealth. She was nearing the next boom but not fast enough.

  The Deborah pitched toward the starboard bow, and Georgana clawed at the edge of the gun port to keep her grip. A whimper escaped her throat as her stomach leaped. When the ship righted itself, she doggedly pushed on. Everyone chained in the main cabin was counting on her to set them free.

  Keep going. Keep going.

  The next boom came into range. Her arms burned and shook. Only a little farther to get to the sick bay gun ports. She sighed and closed her eyes, gathering her strength to swing her weight down to the boom.

  As she extended her arm toward the ledge, another deep wave sent the ship lolling to port. Water shot up around her, drenching her clothes. She yelped. Her grasp on the boom slipped, and with the momentum her feet skidded off their slender perch.

  With one hand still clinging to the gun port, she tried in vain to get her other hand back up to the boom. Her wrist and fingers screamed as her weight jerked against them. She grabbed for an overhanging line, but it was too far away. The sharp breeze whistled over her, giving her gooseskin. Her teeth chattered, and her muscles refused to move.

  She can do this. Dominic’s sure voice echoed through her head. She’d broken his heart, but he still had faith in her.

  Georgana caught her lip between her teeth and set her sights on the boom. Her shoulder united in the screams of her other joints. She blocked them out, just as she had Grandmother.

  With a grunt, she threw her hand toward the boom and caught hold. Balanced between the two holds, she paused to steady her breath, then grabbed for the boom with her other hand. Her feet glided across the sides of the ship, still dripping from its dive. She paused to find a grip for her toes.

  Only a little farther.

  She spied an open gun port a few feet beyond her reach. It was still in the main area of the gun deck, not quite in the sick bay but close enough. The salty aroma of dinner from the nearby galley wafted through the opening.

  Hand by hand she went, fingers slipping as the pressure on them increased. Her energy was failing, and this was only her first of many tasks.

  Georgana had never been so happy to see a cannon. She clutched the gun’s maw with all the strength she had left and squeezed between it and the hull, pulling herself inside. The cannon’s surface pulled at her wet clothes, but she didn’t care. Deck finally under her, she collapsed in a shivering heap.

  Fitz lay in his hammock on the messdeck, a length of rope in his hands. He twisted it this way and that with a scowl on his face. Georgana stole over to him, keeping her face down.
>
  “Fitz, I need your help.”

  The boy jumped. “What was that, sneaking about all—”

  Georgana cuffed his arm. “Hush!”

  Fitz glanced behind him. A few marines hung about the messdeck, but most had gone above with the crew. “I thought they locked you up with the captain.”

  “They didn’t catch me.” Her arms throbbed. “Is all the crew behind Jarvis?”

  Fitz shook his head. “Maybe half. The other half doesn’t necessarily support Captain Woodall, though. He couldn’t convince them to help when Jarvis’s lot presented their grievances.”

  Georgana wound her fingers through the ends of her hair.

  “Where’s the surgeon? Carpenter?”

  “Below. Jarvis has a dozen marines on them. There’s talk of setting Étienne afloat with the rest of the officers, but Rimmer worries the surgeon’s mates aren’t skilled enough to take the full duties in battle.”

  “Battle?”

  “We’re going after the St. Germain. Jarvis hopes to use it as a peace offering when we get back.”

  Georgana wanted to pound her head against the hull. The doughty privateer had caused enough problems for the Deborah. What’s more, the Admiralty would hardly accept the proffered olive branch after Jarvis practically ordered the deaths of several of its officers. She blew out a sigh. How could the crew get behind such a simpleton? Surely they knew this time of peace wouldn’t last once Jarvis was rid of the other officers. Not to mention anyone found in league with him risked hanging back in England.

  “There’s a gale to the south,” she said. Everyone knew that. They were about to stand by and watch as Jarvis set the officers out in a little boat to die in the storm. “We have to stop them.”

  “How do you suggest we do that? I don’t think the crew will listen to a couple of third-class ship’s boys.” His words whistled through the gap in his teeth. Fitz motioned above with his head. “By the time Jarvis is done with his speech, we’ll be turned around and heading west again.”

  “We have to try to convince the rest of the crew. Where are the boys? Together we might have a chance.” Just the thought of speaking to the men bolted her feet to the deck. For three years she’d tried to escape their notice. Now she had to plead with them for her father’s life.

  “Most are above.”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  The boy reddened. “My father didn’t want me up there if things got out of hand.”

  She understood that. Her father hadn’t wanted her involved, either. “Gather the boys and meet me at the sick berth. Maybe they won’t shoot if there are enough of us.”

  Fitz’s eyes glinted. “They wouldn’t shoot regardless.”

  “What do you mean?” Her brows lowered. The marines were undisciplined, and she didn’t trust Lieutenant Rimmer could keep them from shooting whoever they fancied.

  “They can’t get into the powder room. Magazine’s locked.” He grinned wickedly. “I heard the marine lieutenant muttering about it in the wardroom. The key the captain gave them didn’t fit the lock, and the carpenter won’t take out the door. They plan to break it down themselves once everything is settled.”

  They didn’t have ammunition. Georgana sucked in a breath. Perhaps the boys had a chance.

  “Hurry, Fitz. We don’t have time.”

  She skirted through the hammocks, avoiding the marines who hadn’t gone above. The wardroom stood unguarded, its interior dark. The officers were either on the upper deck or in chains in the captain’s cabin. Georgana darted into Dominic’s cabin, her bare feet silent on the wood floor. She didn’t need to see to find her way around his room.

  Trailing fingers along the aft wall, she found her way to his sea chest. The key still sat in the lock. Praise the heavens.

  The scent of lime wafted up when she raised the lid. The letters and package tucked into the side of the trunk crackled. Her hands brushed over layers of wool and linen. The scratchy dried limes snagged her fingers, begging her to pull them to her nose and lose herself in memories of Antigua. She pushed the lime garland to the other side of the chest. The bittersweet thoughts would turn more painful than she could bear if she didn’t succeed tonight.

  Her hand hit a slender wood box where she’d stowed it weeks ago. She pulled it free of the mess of clothes and books. It slipped from her grip and clattered onto the deck. She tensed, listening for footsteps.

  Hearing nothing, she unhooked the clasp and opened it. The long-barreled pistol fit nicely under Dominic’s coat, but she didn’t have her own coat to try to conceal it. Weeks ago she’d cleaned the weapon while the lieutenant slept. The smooth handle and cold shaft slipped around in her quavering hands. Cleaning pistols didn’t give her any shooting experience, not that she even had any shot to fire. Would Jarvis fall for his own ruse?

  Georgana shoved the gun into the waistband of her breeches and tried to cover the handle with her waistcoat. It bulged horribly. Even in the fading light, anyone could notice it.

  It would be as difficult to smuggle as the next item she had to bring above. She shut the trunk quietly and scurried toward Lieutenant Tytherton’s old cabin. Her heart pounded hard enough to alert every man on deck to the thief in the wardroom.

  Georgana knotted the sleeves of Lieutenant Tytherton’s coat around the muzzle of the eighteen-pounder. She hated disrespecting the dead man’s things, but there would be more dead men if she didn’t.

  “Run it out,” she whispered. She grasped the rope, and all the boys leaned back. For a moment, the cannon didn’t move. The low grumble of the wheels in the tracks grated in her ears. Finally the brilliant red coat dropped out of the gun port and snapped to the side in the strengthening wind. The knot held for now, but she didn’t know how long it would last. Or if the Intelligence would see the signal.

  The sun sank lower on the horizon, cutting off precious light. Around them, occupants of the sick bay turned their heads to watch, but no one spoke.

  “Secure the gun,” Fitz said.

  One of the older boys didn’t crouch to help. “How can a few lads stand against the lieutenant? We don’t even have powder.”

  Georgana’s resolve wavered. “We’re the captain’s only hope.” She said it as much to encourage them as to reassure herself. “The captain will reward you handsomely.”

  “Rewards aren’t much use if Jarvis throws us over the side,” another boy muttered.

  She tried to piece together an answer, a reassurance, but Fitz spoke first.

  “You’d let good men go to their deaths when there was a chance to save them? Whatever you think of the captain, the other officers don’t deserve this fate for sticking to their duty.”

  Fitz’s words stung. The boys only saw a withdrawn captain shirking his responsibilities. “Let’s get Taylor to the quarterdeck. I take it you’ll do the talking?” Fitz turned to her.

  Georgana nodded, her throat closing off. Papa’s face flashed before her eyes, then Dominic’s. Would this pitiful effort do anything to delay the inevitable?

  Fitz put a hand on her shoulder and motioned to the ladder. “We’re their last chance.”

  Georgana rested her hand on the pistol sticking out of her belt. Then she ran for the hatchway, with the boys following behind.

  Chapter 36

  Jarvis traipsed the quarterdeck, looking every bit the captain the crew desired. The southern wind rippled through the feathers of his bicorn as he faced into the gale. Rimmer stood nearby in his red marine’s uniform. The uncertainty in his eyes calmed Georgana’s racing pulse.

  She dodged between seamen, keeping the gunner’s cap pulled low. The boys followed behind, trying to blend in with the crew. On the larboard side, men lowered a boat into the swirling waters.

  “And now I entreat you, my comrades and brothers-in-arms. Let us go and take what is rightfully ours—the prize our captain
denied us.”

  She wiped sweaty palms on her breeches and tried to paste on a confident mask. If Jarvis saw her deceit, she’d get worse than Grandmother’s slap to the face.

  No, she wouldn’t think of Grandmother. Not now.

  Jarvis glanced at Rimmer and nodded. The marine lieutenant left the quarterdeck and headed for the hatch.

  “All those,” Jarvis continued, “who find fault with our plan, please step forward.”

  Two hands shoved Georgana forward. “Go,” Fitz hissed.

  She ran, slipping through the line of marines with their unloaded muskets. Bayonets glimmered on the tips. Even without powder, the marines had some defense. Footsteps pounded onto the quarterdeck, and within moments ship’s boys surrounded Jarvis.

  A chuckle wound through the gathered men.

  “Ah, George, I knew you would turn up,” Jarvis said with a sneer. He addressed the group. “Does anyone have a veritable reason we shouldn’t go after the St. Germain?”

  Georgana whipped out the pistol and aimed it at Jarvis. “I do.” Her chest rattled with each shaky breath.

  Jarvis eyed the gun. “Do you even know how to use that?”

  “Shall we find out?” She prayed he couldn’t hear the tremor in her voice.

  The lieutenant flicked his hand toward the line of marines, who leveled their muskets at Georgana and the boys. Even with the knowledge that the marines lacked ammunition, a few of the boys stumbled back.

  “If you try anything, you will be dead before you hit the ground,” Jarvis growled.

  “So will you.” Her arms already ached from holding the pistol. “Do you think Lieutenant Peyton taught me to fight with only my fists?”

  “What reason do you have against proceeding?” Jarvis eased back. He was frightened.

  Georgana took a step forward. “The officers have done nothing wrong, besides tolerating you in the wardroom.” She sounded like a squeaking mouse instead of a boy. “They don’t deserve to be set adrift in a storm. In doing so, you sentence them to death.”