Smoke & Lies

by Andrea Penrose

  Another knock. For an instant, Arianna felt as if she was back playing a role in some theatrical farce.

  Saybrook caught her eye and then looked away. “I daresay we’ll all get to know each other quite well over the coming days, Count von Wolfram” he replied before adding in a louder voice, “Do come in, Lady Plessy-Moritz.”

  The baroness was as elegantly attired as Wolff, though the damp air had caused her carefully coiffed curls to go limp. Still, she picked her way through the jumbled luggage with a nonchalant laugh.

  “La, how did you know it was me?”

  Arianna refrained from pointing out that no sailor was likely to be wearing a very expensive French perfume.

  Ever a gentleman, her husband simply said, “The tread of your silken shoes is very different from the clomp of sea boots.”

  Jelena batted her lashes as she sat down beside Arianna and fluffed her skirts. “How very clever of you.”

  “Simply observant,” he murmured.

  She regarded him coyly through the smoky light of the single lantern. “What else have you noticed?”

  Saybrook cocked an ear as a cacophony of shouts tangling with the rattle of the rigging suddenly filled the air.

  “That in another few minutes we will be setting sail.”

  “And the wind will then blow us where it may.” Wolff cocked a salute with the bottle and took another drink. “Euch ist bekannt was wir bedürfen, wir wollen starke Getränke schlürfen.

  “Why, Count von Wolfram, you appear very well-versed in the works of Goethe,” exclaimed Jelena.

  “But of course.”

  “What does it mean?” asked Arianna, curious as to how he would respond.

  “It’s from Faust,” replied Wolff without hesitation, “and means, what we need is to gulp down a strong drink.” A sardonic smile curled the corners of his mouth.

  “I have a feeling that it’s a sentiment we’ll all be frequently thinking in the coming days.”

  Chapter 8

  Pale glimmers of pink and gold played on the horizon as the first hints of dawn lightened the iron-gray seas. The wind was strong and steady, and with a full press of canvas unfurled aloft, the frigate was flying across the foam-flecked waves.

  Arianna steadied herself on the railing and watched the scudding clouds overhead, their will-o-wisp shapes tangling and re-tangling against a still-dark sky. Saybrook had stayed below in their cabin to put his scientific papers in order, but she had felt the need to escape the oppressive dankness. The cold salt spray was sharp as daggerpoints against her face, but she didn't turn away, hoping it might clear the muzziness from her head.

  A surfeit of brandy, perhaps, or the fact that she had not yet found her sea legs . . .

  The deck pitched as the hull hit a patch of rough water, sending an unpleasant lurch through her innards.

  Her stomach, she knew, would soon settle. It was the mission that had her feeling oddly unbalanced. Granted, she and Saybrook were no strangers to the nebulous underworld of political intrigue, where lies slithered like shadowy serpents, and yet this one felt different—

  “Your p-pardon, madam.” A midshipman interrupted her musing with a nervous stutter. “B-But with the captain’s compliments, you’re invited to take your p-promenade on the quarterdeck.”

  A surprise. The quarterdeck of a ship was the captain’s private bailiwick. Only the officers of the watch were permitted to set foot there without an invitation.

  “Thank you,” she replied, deciding it would be churlish to refuse.

  * * *

  The lad bobbed a bow. “T-This way.”

  Arianna followed him, dodging around the thick coils of rope and well-secured gun trucks with their nine-pounder cannons. Built for speed, not fighting, the schooner carried only light weaponry. A short ladder led to the raised deck at the rear of the ship.

  Spyglass in hand, Holden turned from observing the sea as she climbed up to the rarified space. He was standing by the starboard rail—by tradition, a spot reserved for the captain only—and for a moment she thought he meant to return to duties without comment.

  However, he snapped the glass shut and moved to meet her. “I trust you your quarters are tolerable, if not comfortable, Lady Saybrook. As you see—” A brusque gesture indicated the rest of the ship. “—space is extremely limited on a vessel of this size.”

  “My husband and I are perfectly comfortable, sir. We’re aware of the sacrifices made by your officers to accommodate us, and are grateful for your hospitality.”

  His jaw tightened. “As to that, please allow me to apologize for my ill-mannered remarks of last night. What with the eddying currents and constant traffic, the river is treacherous to navigate at night, and I fear my mood was on edge.”

  “No apology is necessary. Rather, it is we who regret adding to your worries.”

  Holden let out his breath and nodded stiffly. His features relaxed ever so slightly, but his expression still looked as though he had just caught a whiff of dead fish.

  A martinet, with no sense of humor, she decided.

  But perhaps she was judging him too harshly. As a naval man, he had likely spent most of his life at sea, far from the pleasantries of Polite Society.

  And from women.

  His eyes remained hard and unfriendly, and for an instant, a darker emotion seemed to flicker deep within them.

  But it may have only been her imagination. Overhead, the canvas sails snapped as the wind suddenly shifted, setting off a wild winking of light and shadows from the swaying rigging.

  Reality and illusion. The truth was, admitted Arianna, she had taken an instant dislike to him. She abhorred men like Holden—rigid, narrow-minded pedants who lacked the imagination or curiosity to see beyond the confines of their little worlds.

  “Please don’t let me keep you any longer from your duties, Captain Holden,” she murmured. “I simply came up to stretch my legs and enjoy a breath of fresh air.”

  “Weather permitting, you are welcome to move about certain parts of the ship,” he said primly. “Some areas, however, are too dangerous for those who are unfamiliar with the sea. I’ll have Merriweather escort you around and point them out.”

  Arianna knew her way around a ship better than most sailors, but merely smiled her thanks. Perhaps the lieutenant could prove useful in other ways.

  A signal from Holden brought the young officer hurrying from his spot by the ship’s wheel.

  “The first throw of the log showed we're making eight knots, sir. And the helmsman has altered course two points to the southeast on account of the wind,” he reported to the captain and then acknowledged Arianna with a polite bow. “M'lady.”

  “This is a naval ship, not a drawing room. No need for bowing and prancing like some mincing man-milliner—though that's likely the sort of folderol to which you're accustomed,” snapped Holden. “Our passengers need to understand the myriad dangers that are part of shipboard life. Show the lady around, so she doesn't . . .” A gust swallowed the rest of his words as he turned and stalked away.

  * * *

  “So she doesn’t make mischief,” finished Arianna once he was out of earshot.

  Merriweather compressed his lips to hold back a chuckle.

  “I suppose I’m lucky that naval regulations forbid a sentence of ‘walking the plank’ as punishment for minor transgressions,” she added.

  Another strangled cough.

  “Or do they?”

  “You’re in no danger on that account, milady,” answered the lieutenant, his eyes alight with amusement.

  “What did the captain mean by his comment?” Arianna couldn’t help but be curious. “The one about you being familiar with the drawing room?”

  “Like you and your husband, I was born into the aristocracy,” he answered. “Though I’m merely a younger son—the third of Lord Hightower’s brood.”

  The name was vaguely familiar. A baron with lands in Lincolnshire, if memory served her correctly. The navy was
a common choice for younger sons, though he looked a little old to be a lieutenant . . .

  Merriweather seemed to sense her thoughts for he gave a wry smile. “I chose to attend Cambridge, thinking I would enter the clergy, but concluded that a quiet life in the country wouldn't suit me. I decided the Navy offered more of a chance for meaningful action. I suppose I like to believe that a man can make a difference in shaping the destiny of his country.”

  “Your sense of duty does you credit, sir. No doubt you will advance very quickly through the ranks.” Aristocratic influence would see to that.

  “Yes, another reason for Holden to look disfavorably upon me,” he said dryly. “But please don’t think I’m trying to cloak myself in saintly virtues. That would be disingenuous.” Another quick smile. “It was not just a sense of duty, but also a sense of adventure that shaped my decision. I feared I would be bored to flinders in the world of country balls and vicarage gardens, so decided to try my luck at sea.”

  Merriweather then quickly resumed a more serious expression. “But as to captain’s comments about the working of a warship, he wasn’t exaggerating the perils that might befall an unwary passenger. Please allow me to show you around the ship and give some guidance.”

  He offered his arm. “We’ll start here in the stern and work our way forward. By the time we’ve finished the tour, breakfast will be served in the wardroom.”

  Arianna assumed an air of rapt interest as he began an overview of the ship and the various functions of the masts and sails, but angled her gaze to take in the details around her. It appeared to be a tightly-run ship, everything orderly and well maintained.

  “I would guess Captain Holden is a stern taskmaster,” she ventured to say, as Merriweather led her past the binnacled compass and muscled helmsman handling the ship’s wheel.

  “He has a reputation for being stern, but fair,” he replied. “And word is, he’s a superb seaman, especially in extreme weather conditions.”

  “Admirable qualities . . . no doubt,” she murmured.

  Merriweather didn’t miss the inflection of irony. “I don’t blame you for forming a less-than-favorable impression, Lady Saybrook. Though I do hope you will be kind enough not to judge him too harshly.” The lieutenant waited for a trio of seamen to squeeze past them and—with surprising grace—catch hold of the ratlines and begin climbing up into the rigging.

  Edging back into the lee of the mainmast, he looked around before continuing in a more discreet voice. “Men like Holden, who come from a modest background, have little experience with women, or the social graces that those of our rank learn from an early age. His father, a country curate, was apparently one of those fire-and-brimstone orators . . .”

  Ah, yes, thought Arianna. The type who froth at the mouth about Eve being the root of all evil in the world.

  “The local baron, who admired such exhortations on moral rectitude and duty to God and country, had a connection with the Admiralty and secured a midshipman’s commission for Holden when he was ten,” went on Merriweather.

  “You appear to know a great deal about him for having just arrived to take up your duties,” she remarked.

  “Yes, well . . .” Merriweather cleared his throat. “I have a connection at the Admiralty who asked me if I would consider taking on the mission as a favor. I’m ashore at present because I’m due to take a position on the flagship of the Channel fleet next month. However, after he explained the situation, I was happy to be of service. Given Holden’s excellent reputation, I saw it as an excellent opportunity to observe and learn.”

  In other words, the position was beneath him, but he agreed to help out.

  “My point is, Holden has had precious little contact with the fairer sex. I daresay he sees you as—

  “Deadly hazards to be navigated,” cut in Arianna. “Like the isle of the Sirens or Scylla and Charybdis.”

  Merriweather chuckled. “Tie me to the mast.”

  His easy familiarity with the Greek classics was to be expected, given his education. But his dry, self-deprecating sense of humor was a pleasant surprise.

  She watched as he looked up suddenly in response to a gust of wind catching in the topsails. His features were rather ordinary—pleasant enough, but unlikely to draw fluttery sighs from women. His mouth was a bit too wide, his lips a bit too thin and his nose a trifle too beaky.

  However, Arianna found such flaws eclipsed by his remarkable eyes. Their seafoam color was as changeable as the ocean, dark one moment, sparkling with sunlight the next. A look of keen intelligence seemed to ripple just beneath the surface, while deeper down there stirred a more subtle swirl . . .

  Seemingly satisfied that everything was well aloft, Merriweather turned back to Arianna.

  Their gazes met and held for an instant.

  “You’ve read Homer,” she commented, his eyes bringing to mind the ancient bard’s poetic ‘wine-dark sea.’

  “In Greek, of course,” he murmured. “Even as a boy, I found Odysseus an interesting fellow. Perhaps because I was adventurous, and wished to steer my own course in life.” A pause. “As I said, the Navy offers an excellent opportunity to unfurl my sails and see where the wind will take me.”

  He gave a rueful grimace. “That no doubt sounds odd to you, milady. I imagine for most people, the world of the beau monde offers all that one could possibly wish for—a wealth of pleasurable comforts and activities.”

  “For many it does.” Like him, Arianna allowed a small pause. “And yet for some, a gilded cage is still a cage.”

  Her reply seemed to surprise him. And then, a smile slowly curled on his lips.

  “And no matter what station of life we occupy, there always those who don’t wish to be imprisoned by any restraints,” she added.

  “My sisters would wholeheartedly agree with you. They have read Mary Wollstonecraft.”

  “No wonder I don’t shock you,” replied Arianna dryly, and then shifted her stance. Merriweather was pleasant company—and a possible source of useful information—but much as she was enjoying the conversation, she reminded herself that the captain’s strengths and weaknesses were of more concern to their mission.

  After adjusting the collar of her cloak, she shot a look back at the quarterdeck of the ship, where Holden stood at the starboard rail, hands clasped behind his back, barking orders at the officer on watch to make a minute adjustment to the trim of the topsails.

  “The captain seems a stickler for small details,” she remarked, changing the subject back to the ship.

  “I don’t mean to frighten you, Lady Saybrook,” responded Merriweather. “But here on the high seas, where dangers can arise in the blink of an eye, details can mean the difference between life and death.”

  It takes more than a platitude to frighten me. No matter that it held more than a grain of truth.

  “As does discipline and a well-drilled crew,” went on Merriweather. “The captain excels at both.”

  Which raised some interesting questions. Though aristocratic connections always exerted a powerful influence, the Navy was known as the one branch of the military where a man of no social standing might win advancement through merit.

  “And yet,” observed Arianna, “Captain Holden is assigned to a post ship and not a fighting frigate, where his skills might be put to better use for King and country.”

  Not to speak of earning him a pretty penny. By tradition, the Navy allowed a captain to profit from the capture of enemy warships or merchant vessels. He received prize money, as did his crew. With skill—and luck—one could become a wealthy man.

  “From what you say, he deserves no less.”

  Merriweather shrugged. “What one deserves is a moot point. Life isn’t always inclined to be fair. The Admiralty does reward those who earn victories over the enemy. But to do so, one must be gifted by Fate with the opportunity to prove one’s mettle.”

  As the breeze freshened, he shot a look up at the sky, where a line of clouds was gusting in from the
east. “Sometimes chance and opportunity are more important than talent or skill.”

  A shrewd observation. The lieutenant appeared to share her own sardonic views of the world . . .

  But thoughts of Holden and Merriweather quickly gave way to more pressing concerns as she saw Saybrook emerge from the main hatchway, the baroness right behind him.

  The sun was barely up on the first day of their journey, and already intrigue was afoot.

  Chapter 9

  After breakfast with the junior officers, Arianna and Saybrook left Wolff and the baroness enjoying a game of backgammon in the wardroom and headed to the poop deck, which was perched at the very stern of the ship, overlooking the other decks. It was somewhat removed from the hustle and bustle of working the sails and offered a modicum of privacy.

  “So, did your tour with Merriweather reveal anything useful?” asked Saybrook as they took up a position at the taffrail.

  “Two things that may be of relevance. The first is that Holden is held in high esteem for his seamanship, if not his scintillating personality. The men respect him, but my sense from the lieutenant is they don’t like much him.”

  “Given the dangers of the sea and engagement with enemy ships, it’s only natural that they esteem a man who’s proved he can keep them alive. Sentiment is irrelevant when it comes to survival.”

  Arianna leaned back against the carved wood and watched the men working aloft in the rigging. “Yes, of course. I understand all about survival.” She expelled a gusty sigh. “Just as I understand my personal prejudices. I shall try not to let them color my judgment.”

  “I've met many men like him in the military,” responded the earl. “We should be glad that he's good at what he does.”

  A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Always the pragmatist.”

  “I gladly leave the complications of sorting out intuitive feelings to you, my dear.”

  Though I can hardly lay claim to being an expert in that, she thought.

  The sun was playing hide-and-seek within a thickening mass of clouds. A darker band seemed to hover on the horizon. It was hard to tell whether a squall was in the offing.