“Sir,” Dr. Morin finally came to Harold. “Please attend to me in the captain's cabin with any officers that are able...”
Harold raised an eyebrow, looking around. Two of the midshipmen were dead, and a third would probably not make it through the night.
“Matheson,” he said, turning to the older man, who had rejoined them. “See if Wesley is able. He and I are the only one's still standing, it appears.”
“Aye, aye sir,” Matheson said, although he wanted to tell Harold there was no way the boy was in his right mind.
“I'll get the news, Aaron,” Harold said, to his unresponsive friend. “And bring it back to you. You just stay here.”
“I'll stay with him,” Annabelle said, softly. “Come back soon.”
“Aye,” Harold said.
Wesley joined him in the hallway to the captain's cabin, although he looked barely able. Harold knew that there were no words that spoke of what he was feeling, so he only nodded.
“There is a chair that the captain keeps by the door,” he said to Wesley, just before they went in. “Perhaps you can make use of it.”
Wesley said nothing to that, his eyes straight ahead as they made their way into the large wardroom.
The captain was lying on his bed, just in view.
“Is he alive?” Harold asked Morin, who nodded.
“Yes,” Morin said, although his next words pained him. “But he is not...in his right mind.”
Harold’s brow furrowed.
“His right mind? Please clarify.”
“The captain...” Morin cleared his throat. “Seems to have lost his surroundings. He does not know me; he does not know the ship or his own name.”
A loud noise came from behind Harold, and he jumped, turning around. He was relieved to see it was just Wesley sitting heavily on the chair. Harold nodded to him and Wesley nodded back, indicating they should continue.
“So...” Harold knew what he was asking. “Dr. Morin. Is he capable of commanding this ship?”
“That's ...difficult to say.”
“I don't think it's difficult,” Harold cleared his throat. “Here is the situation, the way I see it. I have a ship full of nobility and special guests, and a skeleton crew. We have assumed almost enough damage to abandon ship. I have officers dead and dying, and a Captain who does not know his own name. This ship needs a commander, and it needs it now. You are the doctor, you must decide, Dr. Morin.”
Morin clearly hated the position he was in. Nevertheless, he had a duty to do, and his oath came before everything else.
“At present, the captain is not capable of commanding the ship. The command must fall to the most senior officer. Who, I believe, is you, sir.”
“Yes,” Harold said. There were others who would be thrilled to take command of a flagship, even just for a day. He knew he would be promoted to Captain soon enough. However, his promotion was on a different track. He would be a Captain in headquarters, without a ship under him. Wesley was the one who was supposed to be Captain within in a few weeks, with a ship of his own. “I suppose it does.”
“Well,” Morin said. “You have much to do. But rest assured, Mr. Harper, that as soon as the captain is able, I will inform you.”
“Please do so,” Harold replied. He turned. “Wesley?”
“Sir,” Wesley rose with difficulty.
“Have Matheson inform the crew,” Harold said. “I want all able hands working on repair. We may have overcome the Frigates today, but we are dead in the water right now, and unable to take on any more. Our priority is to return to port.”
“Yes, sir,” Wesley said. “Although, with respect sir---”
“Yes?” Harold was all too eager for him to speak. Any insight to the situation would be helpful right now.
“Our priority should be to repair the cannon bay, second only to the places we are taking on water. Just in case...”
“Yes,” Harold agreed. “Although hopefully it will not come to that.”
“Yes, sir,” Wesley said, and left the room with difficulty. Harold turned back to Morin, who paused.
“There is one more thing, sir,” Morin said, and Harold raised an eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“The way the captain fell...” Morin said. “I thought you said he fell backwards?”
“He did,” Harold replied. “He stumbled. Lord Bamber's seizure threw them both backwards. I was able to rescue Lord Bamber, who was in front of him. The captain had a knife to him.”
“I understand,” Morin replied. “But the wound is on the side of his head. As if he...fell sideways. Or was pushed.”
“Pushed?” Harold kept his face neutral. “Why would you think that?”
“A theory,” Morin said, holding his gaze. “And rest assured, Mr. Harper, I will be looking into that theory very closely”
“You may look into that mad theory all you want, Dr. Morin,” Harold said. “So long as it does not distract from your duties. That is an order, do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” Morin said, and Harold turned to leave.
It was only outside, once the door was closed, that he took a deep breath and tried to steady his trembling hands.
Morin must never find out. No one must find out what he did to save Aaron, to save the ship.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
REPLACEMENT
REPLACEMENT
“Mr. Harper, sir,” Matheson approached him carefully. It was early dawn, and Harper had been acting Captain for less than twenty-four hours. In that time, Matheson knew that he must have been asked at least five hundred questions, and most of them didn't need to be asked. “I have good news and I have bad news, sir. Shall I start with the good news?”
“Yes,” Harold said, turning from the top deck desk, where he was bent over a diagram of the ship. Earlier, they had gone over the damage, and he had made it clear what was propriety damage.
“The holes have been plugged, and we are no longer taking on water,” Matheson said. “So we aren't going to sink.”
“Well,” Harold said. It was ironic that he was still awake. The captain's orders obviously did not still stand, he wasn't on continuous watch. However, until all the figurative fires were put out, he couldn't lie still. He had a ship full of navy men, nobles, and dignitaries. He couldn't let anything else happen. “That's good. What's the bad news?”
“Some of the sail is missing,” Matheson said. Harold paused.
“What do you mean missing?” he asked.
“Missing as in when we were hit, the fabric must have plunged with the cannon ball.”
“How much is some?” Harold asked, and Matheson stretched his arms out.
“About this much. Multiplied by ...oh say, at least seven times.”
“WHAT?” he would rather they be taking on water than be dead in it. “Do we not have anything extra?”
“The lads are working on it,” Matheson replied. “Looking for extra cloth, anything. But we are a flagship, sir. We weren't prepared for battle repairs.”
“I'm aware of that,” Harold bit his lip.
“Don't worry about it sir,” Matheson replied. “I'm sure they will find something.”
“Of course,” Harold replied, although he wasn't enthusiastic “Keep me up to date, please.”
“Of course,” Matheson said. “If I may say so, sir...”
“Yes, what is it, Matheson?” he had already gone back to the diagram.
“You should get some sleep, sir. You're no good to us half dead.”
Harold managed a half smile.
“Thank you, Matheson,” he said. “I'll consider it.”
“Good,” Matheson replied. “I'll keep you up to date.”
He headed back down the ladder, and Harold closed his eyes. Anyone who thought being a Captain was easy was delusional.
He wasn't ready to get some sleep, but he did want a warmer jacket and some food.
He made his own way down the ladder, counting himself lucky to sneak off with
out someone asking him yet another question.
There was a plate of stale muffins on the wardroom table, but he was just happy to put something in his mouth. He leaned against the table, and caught sight of Aaron's empty room.
He was so used to Aaron being here when he came down off watch. Even if he was asleep, it was comforting to know that his best friend was just there, in case he needed to rant, or bounce an idea off of him.
He put down the half eaten muffin and grabbed his jacket before heading to the med bay. He was trying not to check very often, but he couldn't stand not knowing what was going on.
In the middle of the night, they had lost eight more souls. Their injuries were just too great to survive. Normally, when men died, they were stitched into a fabric coffin, and put over the side with a Bible verse. However, they didn't have any sail, let alone extra sail.
It was a grim situation.
“Annabelle,” he said, as he neared. She hadn't moved from her brother's side, not willing to sleep or eat until she knew her twin would be well. “How is he?”
“The same,” Annabelle said. “Doctor Morin says it's fine, that he's recovering, considering what he's been through....but, Harold, I've seen the fits he has. This is not normal.”
“I know,” Harold put a hand gently on her shoulder. “We have to have hope, though.”
“It's hard to have hope when you are surrounded by death,” Annabelle said, and he sighed.
“You should get some sleep. Please, use the wardroom if you want privacy.”
“What about you?” she asked. “You've been up all night as well.”
“I have duty to attend to,” he said, and then dropped his walls. “But I would very much like a moment to shut my eyes. Perhaps this afternoon.”
“You can't stay awake forever,” she pointed out. “Eventually, you are going to have to give the watch to someone else.”
“But who?” he asked. “That's the problem. Wesley is the only midshipman alive, and he's in worse shape than I am. Obviously, Aaron is not capable of taking the watch.”
“Can you leave it to Matheson?” she asked.
“I might have to,” Harold sighed “But he's on a task mission of repairing the sail right now.”
“What's wrong with the sail?” she asked him.
“It was destroyed in the attack,” he replied. “And not just ripped, but with pieces missing. We have very little extra sail, so unless Matheson can make it stretch, we will have to use makeshift pieces of fabric. Jackets, doubled shirts...”
“Skirts?”
He paused.
“What?”
“Skirts,” she said. “Both Lola and I have at least two other dresses with us, and the other ladies on board must have at least one. Would our petticoats help?”
Of course, he hadn't thought about that. Then, they didn't exactly tell you in officer school to rely on women's skirts.
“It would,” he stuttered. “But I can't ask you---”
“Pssh, Harold,” she replied. “What's the other solution? We row back to port?”
He considered it for a moment.
“It would help,” he answered, at last. “If you are willing.”
“Yes, I'm willing,” she rolled her eyes. “I'll go find Lola and have them brought up,” she turned back to her brother. “Do you want...do you want to sit with him while I go round up the extras?”
“Yes,” Harold replied, at once. Annabelle gave her brother's hand a kiss, and then rose, a determined look on her face that Harold had come to know and sometimes fear. If Annabelle set her mind out to do something, than there was no doubt in his mind that it was going to be accomplished.
Once she was gone, he sat down at Aaron's side. His soon to be brother-in-law had yet to utter word or even break from the trance he was in. He appeared to be sleeping, but it made Harold uncomfortable. It was deeper than sleep, worse than sleep.
“I could really use your humor, Aaron,” Harold said, softly. “Especially now.”
Of course, there was no answer, but it didn't stop him from speaking.
“I don't really know what I'm doing,” Harold admitted “I'm trying my best...but it'd be better if I could have your guidance. Or at least relief on watch.”
Somehow, his tired brain thought making a joke of his own would break through Aaron's deep sleep. However, there was nothing.
He sat for at least twenty minutes, grateful for the break. He expected Annabelle to come back and retrieve him. Instead, it was Lola who burst into the sick bay.
“Really?” she said, clearly unimpressed with the choice that was being made.
“Lola---” Harold turned to her. He liked her, he did, but sometimes, she was too much.
“I'll do it,” she said. “But I can't believe there's not another solution aboard. Don't you have tablecloths?”
“This is a ship, not a grand dining room,” he replied. “We don't have civilized dining.”
“The captain has a table cloth,” she protested.
“That he does,” Harold replied “It’s not enough, though.”
“I can't wait for us to sail into port, and be greeted by the Admiral,” she replied. “The look on people's faces...”
“It's not the look on their faces I fear,” he replied, as he rose. “Has Annabelle settled everything?”
“She has,” Lola admitted. “I can't watch my dresses being torn up though.”
“Stay with Aaron, then,” he said. “How is Wesley?”
“The only person on this ship actually sleeping,” she replied. “I insisted that he did.”
“Good for you,” Harold said “He needs it.”
“So do we,” she answered. “On the schedule tonight was musical entertainment, by the way. The band has been ...broken, in more ways than one,” she chose her words carefully. “But I could do something if you like?”
“I don't know if anyone is in the mood for entertainment,” Harold said to her.
“That is the best time for it,” she answered. “When everyone's soul is hurting. They need a distraction and that's my job.”
“What did you have in mind?” he questioned.
“I do know musical numbers,” she said. “But I could do a monologue as well. I think just something, anything, to help out. I'll think of a whole program if you need.”
“Thank you,” he accepted her offer. “I would be honored.”
“Excellent,” she grinned. “Don't worry. It will be something comedic. I don't think anyone could take anymore drama after these past few hours.”
“With any luck,” he replied. “By the time you perform something tonight, we will be well on our way back to port.”
“A performance on the top deck, powered by women's petticoats,” Lola answered. “Quite the ship you are running.”
“Please don't remind me,” he glanced to Aaron. “Of course, he would love it.”
“Maybe he'll awake by then,” Lola answered. Her voice waivered at that, but she kept the tears at bay.
“I'll see you then,” Harold bowed out, before emotion got the better of them both.
He decided to take the long way around, which took him past the captain's cabin.
The door was open, and Doctor Morin was there, making notes. Harold almost didn't want to interrupt, but he knew it was his duty to inquire.
“How is the captain?” he asked, knocking gently on the empty door.
Doctor Morin looked up, startled.
“I did not expect you down here.”
“Why not?” Harold’s brow furrowed. “I am acting Captain, and it is my job to make sure all on the ship are well.”
“The captain,” Doctor Morin said, gritting his teeth. “Has still not regained his memory. But I promise you, the moment he does, you will be informed.”
“I wish for nothing more,” Harold kept his head bowed, miming respect. He wouldn't like to hear the captain's reaction to what he was about to do to the ship, though. Perhaps it was best if his memor
y stayed lost until after they docked. “Thank you, Doctor Morin.”
“Of course,” the doctor did not look happy and Harold drifted away.
The sea breeze hit him as he climbed back on deck. Already, there was chaos and pieces of petticoats everywhere. They would have to be doubled over and reinforced, in order to act as a sail, and the men had needle and thread out. The ladies were trying not to look horrified on the side of the ship, and Harold didn't envy them. Nothing on this flagship was going as planned. They would go down in history, already, but it certainly wouldn't be for the right reasons.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ASLEEP
ASLEEP
“Why is it every time I drift off to sleep, something dramatic happens?” Wesley asked, when Lola told him what was happening that afternoon. She smirked, raising an eyebrow.
“Being with me is never going to be boring.”
“Aye, I know that,” he answered. “But on a daily basis is a bit of a shock.”
“It will be like this when we are married,” she said, and he met her eyes.
“When we are married, I imagine it will be a bit quieter,” he said. “And we won't marry until it's time for that.”
“Time to be quiet?” she smirked. “So likely, never.”
“I hope not,” he reached his arms out and she gave him a hug. “What are you going to do?”
“Since it was music promised, I was thinking the Soldiers Widow?” she asked. “Although that could be...a bit close to reality.”
“That is not appropriate,” he agreed with her.
“No one shall govern me,” she answered.
“I'm not trying to govern you!” he protested.
“No, it's a song,” she grinned at him. “And one of my favorites.”
“I wonder why,” he answered.
“It's a cheery song, I think it will brighten the mood,” she said. “And there's a few more that I know.”
“This is so unlike any sail I've been on,” he pulled on his jacket. “Who’s on watch?”
Saving The Lord’s Title (The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles) (A Regency Romance Story) Page 9
