Relief swamped her and the tight coil of gathering tension sprang loose.
He sniffed again. ‘But they all said that the captain didn’t care a stink about George once he met you, m’lady. Never even called to see him, or let Mr Belmont treat him once. Right sore they are about that.’ It did not occur to young Sam that a lady might take insult at learning such a rumour regarding both her husband and herself.
Foreboding was a fine thing, especially once you’d let yourself be lulled into a false sense of comfort. ‘Thank you for telling me, Sam.’ She thought quickly. Discontentment below decks was the last thing Nathaniel needed right now. She wetted her lips and offered as best an explanation as she could think of. ‘Captain Hawke couldn’t visit George for fear of bringing the disease back to the Pallas. But I’ve seen with my own eyes his concern for the boy. He sent for word of his condition every day and was greatly worried about him. He didn’t want to cause panic amidst the crew, so was careful not to speak of it.’ Without thinking she pressed her arm around the boy’s thin shoulders, looking down kindly into his face. Poor little lad, he was scarcely older than Prudence and Theo. ‘And now you alone have the truth of it, Sam, and the next time you hear the men discussing the matter, you’ll be able to set them right.’
He nodded sagely, liking the feel of the lady’s soft arm around him. ‘Yes, m’lady,’ he said and saluted.
Georgiana pressed a small kiss to his forehead while he stared up at her with great round eyes. ‘Now I’d best return to my work, Master Wilson.’ And she walked away, leaving young Sam basking in the glory of her rose-scented fragrance and intrigued by the discovery that even the captain’s wife worked.
Seated within the captain’s cabin, Evelina Howard managed a small crooked smile when Georgiana relayed what she had learned from young Sam Wilson. Still pale, she was at least contriving to keep down the breakfast she had eaten. ‘It seems that ship’s boy Robertson made quite an impression with the crew. They must be an unusual lot if they show such concern over the boy.’
Captain Hawke attempted an explanation. ‘It’s not so much that they cared overly for George, rather it’s more a matter of loyalty and of fair treatment, Mrs Howard. The men are as one family when this ship is at sea. The welfare of each depends on the co-operation of all. Each man must do his job and do it well, so that we all survive. The captain is no exception to that truth. His decisions are difficult to make, sometimes requiring the sacrifice of one for the benefit of many. Life at sea is harsh, they all know that. I had thought they’d understand that a boy suffering with what looked to be yellow fever couldn’t possibly take his place aboard the Pallas, even if he were the captain’s nephew. To do so would be to place the entire crew at risk. Besides, Gibraltar is the best place for him as the Rock suffered a pestilence not four months since, and the hospital will know well how to treat him.’ Nathaniel looked stern, unbending.
Georgiana looked up into her husband’s face with its angular dark brows pulled low over the burnt umber of his eyes. It seemed that with each passing day she loved him more. ‘Perhaps their disgruntlement stems not so much from the fact that the boy was left behind, but more from the secretive aura that surrounded the affair. Mr Belmont was never permitted to examine him, and you never spoke with them to inform them of the situation.’
‘To reveal my suspicions that he carried yellow fever would have caused panic on this ship. Mr Belmont, as a surgeon with little training in the skills of a physician, would have been quite unable to treat the boy, and such a visit would only have served to expose him to the possible contagion.’ Captain Hawke’s hands were clasped behind his back, allowing the ladies a full frontal view of the fine white shirt, neatly tied neckcloth and white embroidered ivory waistcoat. ‘I’ll have a subtle word with Anderson, that should do the trick.’
A small laugh emitted from Mrs Howard. ‘I declare that I’ve not had so much entertainment in many a month. You two would do justice to one of Mr Shakespeare’s plays!’
Husband and wife turned to look at her, expressions of puzzlement upon their faces.
‘I merely meant that to hear you converse, one might be mistaken in feeling some element of sympathy for that poor boy left behind on Gibraltar. A boy who does not exist,’ Mrs Howard explained.
‘I feel as if he did,’ said Georgiana. ‘The friends that I made, the way that people treated me…It gave me a glimpse of a life outside my own, of a life that I could never possibly have hoped to understand. It was a valuable experience that I’ll never forget.’
The silver eyes glowed with compassion and Mrs Howard pressed a large hand to Georgiana’s. ‘I didn’t mean to distress you, my dear.’
A smile lit Georgiana’s face. ‘You must think nothing of it, ma’am, as I’m not at all distressed. I’m grateful that I’ve seen life from another’s perspective.’
‘There’s a very good reason why we must continue to refer to George in such terms. It would be too easy to forget ourselves and speak otherwise in the company of the men or the officers. The last thing we need is for an incriminating comment to be carelessly overheard. And there’s always the risk that someone will see a resemblance between Georgiana and George. No, the sooner we reach Portsmouth the easier I’ll rest.’
Captain Hawke’s last comment left the little party feeling somewhat perturbed. The man himself strode off to communicate with his lieutenants. Mrs Howard retired to her cabin with the headache. And Georgiana suppressed the glacial feeling that someone had just walked over her grave.
It was just three days later that Georgiana had very good reason to recall the words of concern that her husband had uttered.
Surprisingly the day was dry, the absence of rain corresponding to a marked decrease in the temperature. The air fairly crackled with cold across a clear blue sky. Although the sun had not yet made an appearance the light was bright, a welcome change from the dismal murky skies that had recently plagued them. Ice had formed upon the rigging and on the casks, rendering the simplest of jobs difficult, not helped by the fact that the cold had forced the men to squeeze their callused feet into shoes that slipped so easily upon the deck. Despite donning as many items of clothing as they could, they were pained by the extreme bite in the air. Fingers and toes burned red raw, and breath caught as smoke shuddered from chilled lungs.
Given that the sea had calmed its white frothed swell a little, Georgiana and Mrs Howard decided to take some fresh air by a short walk along the quarterdeck. Evelina’s demeanour had markedly improved since taking her daily ration of grog—not that she would have admitted to drinking such a thing to any other living person. Indeed, it was only by explaining that the medicinal properties were most probably due to the lime juice rather than the water, the sugar, or, heaven forbid, the rum, that Georgiana had persuaded the lady to continue with her consumption. The cold nipped two patches of pink to her cheeks, endowing her with the most healthy appearance since the Pallas had left Gibraltar. As there had been insufficient time to prepare an entire wardrobe, Georgiana had few warm clothes in her possession. She was dressed, therefore, in a sturdy walking dress of a bottle green with a cashmere shawl wrapped snugly around her shoulders. The cream bonnet, with dark green ribbons, tied firmly to her head, and matching gloves offered little protection against the ferocity of the temperature, but as the ladies did not intend to dally long upon the open deck Lady Hawke was not too disconcerted by the rasping cold.
The view was spectacular, all yawning clear sky above and icy swirling water below. Gulls hovered on air currents unmindful of the chill and the sun emerged to light the pale white blue of the waves. Georgiana and Mrs Howard were just making their way back across the main deck to retreat towards their cabins when they heard the shout.
‘Man overboard!’
Georgiana’s heart set up a patter, the wintry freeze seeping from her skin through to the pit of her stomach. Images of the cold blue ocean leapt in her mind. No man could survive immersion in that. Her eyes met Mrs How
ard’s horrified stare. She stopped, paused for a heartbeat, and then without having exchanged as much as a single word the two women turned and ran to where they could see a small crowd amassing. Nathaniel was there before them, his cheeks ruddy from the bite of the weather.
‘Bare the masts and lower the cutter!’ he yelled.
Beyond the polished outer rail, out amidst the silver blue swell of water, a small figure bobbed, tiny arms flailing, the faint strains of a voice carried away by the wind.
Forward progress halted. The Pallas bobbed on the undulating waves as the boat was lowered to meet the bitter waters. Men had gathered, watching, praying, while Jack Grimly and Billy Todd rowed closer to where the figure had disappeared. Tension tightened, time ticked by, the deck of the Pallas so quiet as to hear a pin drop. Against the silence a roar went up, cheering, men slapping one another on the back. A limp figure pulled from the icy depths, hoisted back aboard.
Georgiana felt Nathaniel close behind her. His strong voice sounded quietly in her ear. ‘Go below, Georgiana. This may not be a pretty sight.’
She turned her head to where he had been, but he was gone, striding across the deck to meet Jack Grimly and his sodden parcel.
Georgiana’s insides turned to ice, her husband’s warning forgotten in an instant. Nausea quickened in her gut, for across the distance she could clearly see the small thin body, the sandy hair flat and dark with water, and the white pinched features.
‘Sam!’ The name erupted loud and distraught from her lips, but she had no notion that she had spoken, running as she was to close the space between them.
He did not move, his face a carved effigy, white, waxen, his mouth edged with a gild of blue. Water trickled down the elfin chin as Nathaniel rolled him to his side and back again, touching his fingers to the stalk of a neck, shaking his own dark head as he did so. He rose and spoke quietly to able seaman Grimly.
‘No! No!’ she whispered. Her frozen fingers tugged at the ivory shawl, wrapped the cloth around the boy. She pulled the chilled wet body to hers, giving her warmth, taking his cold. Against her cheek, where his breath should have been, was stillness. ‘Turn him upside down, quickly!’ She glanced around her for a man large enough to do so. They watched her quietly with pained eyes. ‘What are you waiting for?’ she yelled.
Nathaniel stepped forward and took the body from her tender grasp. He moved to hand the boy to Jack.
‘Nathaniel!’ Her voice was urgent, high-pitched, panicked. ‘Please!’
‘It’s too late, Georgiana. His heart doesn’t beat nor does he breathe.’ His voice was solemn, quiet in tone. He made to take his wife’s arm, but she resisted.
‘Please, Nathaniel,’ she whispered. ‘Please try. I’ve read of a man pulled from beneath an ice sheet who appeared to be dead; within the hour he had recovered enough to speak. What have we to lose?’
The men were watching him, compassion in their eyes. The boy was dead. The captain’s wife grasping at straws, unable to face the fact, her softness serving only to highlight the tragedy of the situation. An ordinary seaman sniffed aloud, the bosun’s mate cleared his throat, and tears trickled from Jack Grimly’s roughened cheeks down on to the bundle within his arms. It heartened them to know that a fine lady could care so much for a dirty ship’s boy whom she barely knew. They waited to see what the captain would do.
‘Turn the boy upside down. Hold him by the ankles,’ instructed Captain Hawke. He then delivered two hearty wallops to the boy’s back. The figure dangled limp and unresponsive. Jack lowered him to the deck.
Mr Belmont raked a path through the crowd, dropped to his knees and examined the boy. Shocked eyes locked with the captain’s. ‘A heartbeat, albeit a faint one, but a heartbeat at that. And he breathes.’
A murmur sounded through the surrounding men.
‘Thank God!’ uttered Georgiana, and promptly knelt beside the surgeon, holding her hands around the thin flaccid shoulders, peering down into the deathly white face. The warmth of her breath whispered against the cold wet skin.
The eyelids flickered, a feeble splutter sounded.
‘Sam, you’re safe now. Mr Belmont will look after you and make you better.’
His clear tawny eyes opened, ‘George.’ The word was weak, gravel upon his injured throat. ‘George,’ he said a little more strongly, unable to move his numbed exhausted body. The curve of a smile played upon his pale lips and his eyes shuttered once more.
Georgiana smiled back and, removing her sodden glove, touched her palm to cup the boy’s cheek. ‘Sleep now, Sam, all will be well.’
It was not until she turned to Mr Belmont and saw the strange expression upon his face that she realised exactly what had just happened. The surgeon said nothing, just stared, eyes fast upon her, looking and looking as if he would peel back her very skin to find what was beneath. A quiver of fear darted in her chest and she raised her gaze to the men surrounding them, eyes scanning faces that for the main showed only relief and joy. But not Jack Grimly. The sailor was regarding her with a combination of disbelief and horror. Silent. Static. All of a sudden she felt chilled to the marrow, a terrible cold that seeped through, freezing, pervasive. She could not move. The breath caught in her throat. Blood pounded in her head. Dear Lord, what had she done? All of her fear and dread welled up, bursting forth in a surge of riotous emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. But the fear was not for herself, and neither was the dread. Only one person mattered. And if she was not very much mistaken she had just thrown that man’s reputation to the wind. She stumbled to her feet, only to find a pair of strong arms engulf her. Deep dark eyes met hers momentarily before he pronounced in a voice that would tolerate no defiance, ‘The lad is babbling. Take him below, Mr Belmont, and see that he gets the best of care. For I had not thought that any man, let alone a boy, could beat the sea today.’
The crowd dispersed, the surgeon directing able seaman Grimly to carry young Sam. Jack looked directly into Georgiana’s eyes and then was gone.
The green velvet of her dress hung heavy with frozen seawater, dragging her down to meet the dark-stained planking. Her head ached, a searing pain. Her eyes closed against it. She heard Mrs Howard’s words, but they made no sense, just sounds buzzing distantly in her ears. It was so cold, so very cold. And to her added mortification she felt her knees buckle before someone somewhere lifted her up and she knew no more.
Captain Hawke touched a hand to the boy’s brow and spoke quietly. ‘Will he live?’
The surgeon wiped his hands upon the cloth and moved to spread another blanket over the small form. ‘No reason why he shouldn’t.’ Mr Belmont’s eyes met the captain’s and looked away again. ‘With his hammock strung close to the galley fire he’s as warm and dry as he’s going to get aboard this ship. He’s young and a hardy little thing.’
‘Good. I don’t want to lose the lad.’ Nathaniel made to walk away.
‘Is Lady Hawke recovered, sir? She seemed to have suffered a little in her bid to help the boy.’ All the while Belmont’s eyes did not leave Sam Wilson.
Nathaniel held himself taut, just waiting for the man to say what he knew he would. From the minute that the boy had uttered George’s name to the sudden realisation dawning in the surgeon’s eyes, he knew. Now he must do what little he could to salvage the situation. Let them say what they would—he was still the captain of the Pallas, and, as his wife, Georgiana still deserved their respect. And so he waited for what was to come.
‘Captain—’ Mr Belmont’s voice sounded clear and loud enough for the men working around them to hear ‘—it’s very common in cases of exposure to extreme temperatures for the patient to become dazed and confused. The boy is likely to confuse names, faces, people, but hopefully the effect will soon be remedied.’ His gaze held Nathaniel’s with a profound intensity. A silent promise, an affirmation of allegiance.
Nathaniel bowed his head in a small gesture of acknowledgement. ‘Thank you, Mr Belmont,’ was all he said, but those few words contain
ed a wealth of gratitude and respect. They looked at one another a moment longer before the captain walked away to be about his business. He almost made it past the long guns with their open ports when a voice stopped him.
‘Captain Hawke, may I speak with you, sir?’ Lieutenant Pensenby appeared by his side.
Nathaniel gritted his teeth and waited for the second lieutenant to say the words.
Pensenby’s voice lowered in volume. ‘In confidence, sir.’
The two men climbed up and headed to the forecastle out of earshot of the crew.
‘I saw what happened over there, heard what the boy said to Lady Hawke.’ Pensenby’s long face was gaunt in its austerity.
Nathaniel watched him carefully. ‘What do you mean to do about it?’
The slight hint of colour rose in Lieutenant Pensenby’s pale thin cheeks.
Seagull cries sounded overhead, the murmur of men below, creak of timber, lap of waves. Pensenby said nothing.
Nathaniel would not ask the question again. The wind ruffled through his hair, nipping at his face, but it was neither the wind nor the falling temperatures that drew the shiver down his spine.
When Pensenby eventually spoke there was an unusual stillness about him and his shrewd sharp gaze rested not on Captain Hawke, but far out to sea. ‘I know what you think of me, sir. That I hold my position only because of who my uncle is.’
‘I choose my own crew, Pensenby, you know that. Whatever Admiral Stanley might have done for you, he didn’t secure your place aboard the Pallas, your own merit did that.’ His gaze shifted to where Pensenby’s lay.
‘For the first time in my career,’ replied the second lieutenant.
‘But not the last.’
‘We shall see.’ The narrow lips pressed firm. ‘It wasn’t me that I came to speak of.’
‘No,’ said Nathaniel quietly.
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