‘Steady, lad!’ the valet exclaimed, reaching out a gnarled old hand and hoisting the boy back by the scruff of the neck.
Three books fell off Nathaniel’s desk and a silver wine goblet rolled across the floor. Bottomley stopped it dead with his toe. Just when Georgiana thought that things could not possibly get any worse, a torrent of rain was released from the heavens to beat the Pallas into submission. A sheet of driving shards lashed the frigate without mercy and a rumble of thunder cracked loud. Somewhere across the deep darkness a tiny flicker lit up the sky, then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Dear Lord, nothing could hope to survive against such ferocity.
Fear twisted at Georgiana’s gut. ‘Where’s the captain?’
‘Up on deck.’ Mr Fraser’s single eye focused upon the boy and softened a little. ‘No need to worry, laddie. The captain knows what he’s doin'. Been through a hundred storms, he has, and never got caught yet.’
‘But shouldn’t we be helpin', sir?’ The thought of any man, let alone Nathaniel Hawke, out facing the wrath of the heavens was worrying in the extreme.
Mr Fraser shook his head. ‘We’d only create more hindrance than help. The captain’ll send for us if he needs us. Best to just stay out the way and look after his cabin.’ The boy’s eyes looked huge in the whitened pallor of his face. Poor lad. ‘It’ll pass soon enough, laddie. Best turn your mind to other things.’
A pile of papers slid off the desk and landed with a thud by her leg. She grabbed them and crawled along the floor to stuff them inside a drawer. Mr Fraser was right. There was nothing any of them could do about it, other than wait for the storm to pass, and pray that the Pallas’ crew remained safe.
The thunder rolled across the sky, masking the muffled knock at the door. A drenched seaman staggered in, dripping water across the polished wooden floor. ‘Man overboard,’ he said through gasping breath.
‘Who?’ Mr Fraser’s single eye widened at the news.
‘Midshipmen Hartley.’
‘Are we needed?’ His ancient tone was clipped, determined.
‘Not yet.’
And the sailor was gone.
Time dragged by. And still the storm showed no sign of abating. Georgiana hoped that Mr Hartley had been saved, but even as she turned her gaze once more to the large sea-battered windows she knew it was unlikely that anyone plunged into such a furore of indomitable wave power could survive. Drowned beneath the towering waves, or smashed like a weightless puppet against the hull. Dear God protect them all, she prayed like she never had done before, protect them all, but especially Nathaniel Hawke. Fear that he might be injured or, God forbid, die, pierced a pain through her heart. Never that, please Lord, never that. Why should she care so much for him? Was it his kindness or his strength, or the way he was just and fair? Maybe it was because he made her laugh, made her want to be with him? She laid her head against the edge of Nathaniel’s desk, clinging tightly to the wooden leg with one hand, worrying at her ear lobe with the other. Whatever the answer, ship’s boy George Robertson had no right to such feelings. Whether Georgiana Raithwaite did was another matter altogether.
Georgiana awoke to the stern tones of Mr Fraser and a vigorous shaking of her shoulder. ‘Robertson, waken yourself now, laddie. There’s plenty work to be done. It’s no time to be nappin'.’
The violent heave of the frigate was no more. No batter of rain, no riot of waves, no screaming darkness. She crawled out from beneath the captain’s desk and made for the windows. A calm leaden sea and colourless sky stretched endlessly ahead.
She turned to the elderly valet. ‘Mr Hartley, sir?’ The question had to be asked.
‘They fished him out alive, if not well.’
‘Thank God!’
Mr Fraser’s eye narrowed. ‘There’ll be no takin’ the Lord’s name in vain on this ship.’
‘And the captain?’
Fraser mellowed slightly at the anxiety-edged voice. ‘In fine mettle as ever. Come on, laddie, you’re gabbin’ like a fishwife. You youngsters would do anythin’ to avoid work. Got to keep my eye on you!’ His single eye stared large and codlike at Georgiana.
‘Yes, Mr Fraser, sir.’ She breathed her relief and watched while the cod eye delivered her a hearty wink.
Nathaniel was exhausted, but he knew that there was still much to be done before he could rest. Jeremiah Hutton and his assistants were already sawing up wooden spars to repair the damage done to the mizzen topgallant mast. Debris strewn across the decks was in the process of being cleared. And midshipman Hartley had apparently survived his ordeal with little more than a scratch to his arm.
Georgiana clambered upon the forecastle and surveyed the damage. ‘Set to it, lad.’ A basin was pressed into her hands. ‘Gather up seaweed and all else, exceptin’ fish, heave it over t’side. Look smart, now.’ She felt a thrust in her back and the voice was gone.
Pieces of wood, shells, dead and dying fish and stinking seaweed covered the floor before her. She scanned up towards the quarterdeck for any sign of Nathaniel. The seaweed squelched cold and slimy beneath her fingers. Sam Wilson’s thin body emerged ahead, gathering up the fish in his basin.
‘Sammy!’ she hailed.
The little lad looked round. ‘George! Place ain’t been the same without you.’
‘It’s good to see you too.’ She embraced the skinny body, glad that the orphaned youngster had survived the storm unscathed. Sam Wilson worried her more than she let anyone know. ‘Have you been helpin’ Jack like I told you to?’
‘Yeah, I’m Jack’s mate. He’s learning me knots for the riggin', and he don’t let no one cuff me, or take me grog.’ Sam gave her a gap-toothed grin.
‘What happened to your teeth?’ Georgiana held the lad at arm’s length and inspected his small grubby face.
He trailed a dirty hand across his runny nose. ‘Fell out when I was eatin’ me biscuit. Jack says more’ll grow.’
Georgiana smiled at the small ragamuffin before her and ruffled his matted hair. Poor little mite, thank goodness Burly Jack was looking out for him.
‘Master Robertson,’ a curt voice sounded. ‘Much as I hate to interrupt your little reunion, there’s work to be done aboard this frigate. And that means for all of us, no matter who we might happen to be.’ The veiled snub hit home, causing Georgiana to blush and resume her debris collection with renewed vigour. Lieutenant Pensenby leaned back against the railing and watched the boy’s progression with shrewd eyes. There was something strange about George Robertson, something very strange indeed. The way that he’d hugged ship’s boy Wilson, the clear, fine-boned face. It smacked of something unnatural, even if he was the captain’s nephew, or at least purported to be. Perhaps Captain Hawke was not quite the hero everyone thought. All was not as it presented itself, of that Cyril Pensenby was sure, and, one way or another, he meant to get to the bottom of the puzzle.
Captain Hawke worked solidly for the next two days, ensuring that every last speck of storm damage on the Pallas was repaired. He had already left the day cabin when Georgiana awoke and slipped through to pass to the station call for drill each morning, not returning until long after she had fallen asleep within the comfort of his cot. On the third day she had entered the captain’s cabin with a pile of freshly pressed neckcloths to find him poring over charts with both his lieutenants. The great stern windows striped pale winter daylight across the three men. Crossing quietly to his great sea chest, that he had had moved from the night cabin, she made to stow the linen safely and retreat without notice. Their voices mumbled in conversation, but she kept her head down and her eyes averted. She had almost reached the door when Nathaniel spoke out.
‘Wait behind, Robertson. I want to speak with you before you continue with your duties.’
She had no choice but to do as she was bid, hovering awkwardly near the exit while the captain finished his business with the lieutenants. Both men’s gazes washed over her, but the weight of Pensenby’s stare drew her attention. She glanced up to
catch his regard, and the look within those small overly-curious eyes made her wary. Captain Hawke had not been wrong in his estimation of Second Lieutenant Pensenby. And the knowledge released in her a small spasm of worry.
The door closed.
‘Sit down, George.’
She glanced once more at the cabin door as if to make sure Pensenby was gone, and moved to one of the chairs positioned beside the captain’s desk.
‘Captain Hawke,’ she said quietly, inclining her head like some great lady, and composedly sat herself down.
Nathaniel watched the graceful figure before him. He cleared his throat and adjusted his neckcloth. ‘I just wanted to be sure that you took no hurts from the storm.’
Georgiana bowed her head to hide the smile that leapt to her lips. Nathaniel Hawke had been worried about her after all, and the thought, inappropriate as it was, brought a gladness to her heart. ‘None at all, thank you for your concern, sir. Mr Fraser looked after me most admirably.’
‘It must have been a frightening experience for you, all the same.’ There was a concern in his eyes that he could not entirely mask.
Georgiana shrugged her shoulders slightly in a dismissive gesture. ‘Yes, but not as fearful as the thought of those of you facing the storm up on the deck. When I heard that Mr Hartley had been washed overboard…’
‘His rope snapped, carrying him over. Fortunately we were able to retrieve him.’
She smiled at him. ‘It seems that on this occasion luck was on your side.’
‘Luck plays her part, but experience, skill, a decent ship and a good crew of men are the foremost defences against a stormy sea.’ He raised his brow, and the corners of his mouth tugged up in a crooked smile. ‘I sound to be singing my own praises, but that isn’t my intention. Your acclaim should be for the men who did their jobs so well in the face of the storm.’
Laughter played on her lips. ‘Captain Hawke, an arrogant man? Who would have thought it?’
His eyes creased with the boyish grin, but beneath it she could see the toll fatigue was taking upon him.
‘There’s a tiredness in your face. You’re bone weary and should rest.’ The thought was spoken aloud. She glanced down in embarrassment, unwilling that he should guess the truth of her feelings for him. ‘Forgive me, Captain, I shouldn’t have spoken.’
One long tanned finger gently tipped her chin up. He was still smiling. ‘Could it be that my nephew has a thought for my welfare?’
Georgiana could not prevent the colour that flooded her cheeks. ‘Yes…no…I …’ then exclaimed, ‘You’re teasing me again, sir. I should be about my duties.’ She made to pull back, but he stopped her.
‘Maybe so, but not before you’ve answered your captain’s question, ship’s boy Robertson.’ Nathaniel’s eyes shone wickedly.
He had not removed his hand from her chin, and in truth had no compulsion to do so. What was it about the dark-haired girl before him that attracted him so? Even during the long hours of work he had found himself desiring her company, to hear her clear voice, watch the rose blush grow in her cheeks when he teased her, witness her enthusiasm for learning anything and everything she could about the ship. She had a good mind, that much was evident. A mind wasted as a third-class ship’s boy. And the marriage mart of today would view it as a mind wasted on a woman. But Nathaniel did not think so.
When she looked at him her eyes were a cool, calm grey blue. ‘I’m concerned for every man upon the Pallas, including her captain.’
‘Even Mr Pensenby?’ It seemed he was willing to say anything to prolong the conversation, anything to prevent her leaving. He had missed her these past days. The realisation hit him with the force of a mid-Atlantic gale.
The light in her face dimmed and a frown crept between her eyes. ‘My concern is about Lieutenant Pensenby rather than for him.’ Her fingers stole to worry at the lobe of her ear. ‘It would seem that the second lieutenant does not quite believe our story. There’s something in the way he looks at me, as if to say he knows something is amiss. Perhaps I’m just being fanciful, but it leaves me uneasy.’
‘Yes.’ Nathaniel looked pensive. ‘My thoughts flow in a similar direction. We had best have a care where Pensenby is concerned. He has a scholar’s mind for analysis and a passion for a puzzle. The sooner that his focus is trained on Bonaparte’s forces, the better.’
They looked at each other, without further speech. And within each breast stirred disquiet and beneath it something else warm and joyous.
He touched his thumb to her cheek with gentle reassurance. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t let him discover our secret, whatever it takes.’
A sense of unity blossomed between them, as if it were just the two of them together, against the world.
The severity of his gaze softened.
A knock at the door revealed Mr Fraser.
‘There you are, laddie. If you’re finished with the boy, I’ll be off with him, Captain.’
Captain Hawke nodded his compliance. ‘Go ahead, Mr Fraser.’ But the dark eyes did not leave Georgiana’s slender frame until she had departed his cabin.
‘Mr Fraser,’ he called as the grizzled head disappeared around the door.
‘Aye, Captain?’
He looked at his valet meaningfully. ‘Keep the boy within your sight at all times.’
Fraser’s lone eye glared unblinkingly back. An unspoken understanding passed between them and he nodded. ‘That I certainly will, sir.’
And he was gone, leaving Nathaniel to contemplate how best to deal with Lieutenant Pensenby.
Chapter Six
It was not long before they arrived in the warmer waters of their destination. Despite it being so late in the year the seas surrounding the Azores were clear and calm and of such a bright coloration that Georgiana never ceased to marvel at their beauty. The cold dark skies of England had been left far behind, replaced instead with a cloudless expanse of blue. Even more incredible was the temperature, for, as those novice members of the Pallas’ crew discovered, it was pleasantly warm. Indeed, such was the sun that an awning was positioned over the quarterdeck each morning to protect the officers about their work. The men did not take such precautions from the heat, preferring instead to divest themselves of their shirts at any excuse. On first sight the exposure of masculine flesh rather shocked Georgiana, who tried to avert her eyes from such indecency. She was thus engaged one morning when she tripped over a large coil of rope, landing face down on the swabbed and holystoned deck. Mr Fraser had hauled her up, dusted her down and given her a good tongue lashing for not watching where she was going. Thereafter, Georgiana had learned to take the seminaked sights in her stride, much to Captain Hawke’s disapproval.
As they travelled further south past Madeira, the sun grew stronger and the smothering heat sapped the strength of them all. Even Nathaniel wilted a little beneath the dark blue wool of his dress coat, perspiration soaking through from his shirt to his waistcoat. And as Mr Fraser put it, with the captain having such a peculiar compulsion for clean clothes and bathing, Georgiana was kept busy with the laundering. Not her most favourite of duties. Indeed, she could steadfastly avow to the truth of Mr Fraser’s earlier prediction concerning the pungency of the stale urine. It was while filling her basin with the well-matured fluid that Georgiana heard the captain’s voice suddenly close behind her.
‘Just what do you think you’re doing, Master Robertson?’ he demanded in a whisper. His annoyance was plain.
Georgiana, who had been daydreaming sweet and pleasant thoughts as a diversion from the rather distasteful task at which she was employed, jumped as if she’d been scalded. This had the unfortunate effect of spilling the aromatic contents of her basin down the length of her, soaking her jacket, waistcoat, shirt and culottes. Even her feet did not escape the frothy brown deluge.
A yell wrought forth. She spun round to see Nathaniel looking at her, an expression of undisguised horror set clearly on his face. ‘Captain,’ she ground out through gri
tted teeth. ‘I didn’t hear your approach, sir.’
‘Evidently not,’ uttered the captain.
If looks could kill, Nathaniel knew without a doubt that he would have lain mortally wounded upon the deck. For Georgiana was eyeing him with an accusing look of ‘it’s all your fault'.
The urine dribbled down the bare flesh of her stomach and was soaking its way through her bindings. She grimaced at Nathaniel. ‘You wanted to know about my actions, sir?’
‘This is not your duty,’ he hissed.
Georgiana opened her eyes wide and stared at him incredulously before muttering drolly, ‘I beg to differ, sir, but it surely is.’
By this stage Mr Fraser was travelling towards them at a fair rate of knots for an elderly retainer, and several of the crew had noticed the boy’s state.
‘I’ll speak to you later,’ was all he managed before the valet was within earshot.
‘Laddie!’ Fraser bellowed. ‘I turn my back for two minutes and you’ve landed yourself in mischief!’ As he stepped closer the stench assailed his nostrils. ‘In the name of …’ He retreated rather quickly, his eyes watering. ‘You’d best stand down wind of us, laddie, the captain’ll not be wanting to smell that.’
Georgiana pressed her lips firmly together and moved to where Mr Fraser was pointing. ‘I wouldn’t want to inflict anythin’ so horrible on the captain, sir.’
Nathaniel did not miss the murderous glint in her eye, even if Mr Fraser remained oblivious.
‘Quite so, laddie, quite so.’
The baking heat of the sun caused steam to rise from Georgiana’s sodden clothes, magnifying the smell acutely.
Nathaniel coughed once and Mr Fraser set about a loud and raucous choking sound.
‘Have someone else finish this job, Mr Fraser, I rather think that Master Robertson is in need of a change of clothes.’ A smile twitched at his face. ‘Either that or we’ve found the perfect weapon to inflict upon our enemies.’
Guffaws sounded all around.
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