In the Commodore's Hands

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Pity you didn’t bring a driver too,’ he grumbled as they set off at the pace of a snail. Jay knew he could not hurry; the guards were watching them go and, until they were out of sight, they must continue on the road to Rouen.

  ‘Faster,’ he told the driver when the old guards had disappeared from sight. ‘We will be a month of Sundays getting to Paris at this rate.’

  The driver cracked his whip over the horses’ backs, but they were old and skinny and although they tried, the pace hardly increased. Jay hoped and prayed Georges and the Giradet carriage had waited. It was long past the time they had expected to make the rendezvous.

  Thankfully the sea was calm and the yacht rode easily at anchor. The rowing boat which had brought Lisette on board had gone back to the shore to wait for the rest of the party. She could see it on the beach, rocking on the slight swell.

  ‘Take this, miss.’ Lieutenant Sandford offered his telescope. ‘You will be able to see better.’

  She put the glass to her eye. The two sailors in the boat were resting on their oars. A few people moved up and down the beach, picking up shells and seaweed. There was traffic on the road, horses, carts, an odd carriage or two, but not the longed-for carriage. ‘How long will they wait?’ she asked. She had been standing at the rail, refusing to go below, for what seemed hours.

  ‘The Commodore said two hours after the appointed time, but it has already been longer than that. I shall have to recall the men soon, before they begin to attract unwanted attention. We cannot afford to lose two of our crew, quite apart from causing a diplomatic incident. In the present unsettled situation it could even lead to war between our two countries. At the moment we are supposed to be neutral.’

  ‘I wish I had not allowed myself to be persuaded to come aboard. I feel as though I have abandoned my poor father. I shall be miserable not knowing what has become of him. It would be better to share his fate.’

  ‘I understand, miss, but I have my orders.’

  ‘But you would not leave without the Commodore, surely? How will he get home if you leave him?’

  ‘No doubt he will find a way.’

  She was reminded of his words: if we do not come, then the chances are we have perished in the attempt. It did not bear thinking about. ‘Just five more minutes,’ she said.

  ‘The Commodore will skin me alive if I disobey him. I shall already be in trouble for waiting so long.’ If he, too, thought of the dreadful possibility that they were all lost, he did not voice it. He beckoned to a sailor who was carrying a small flag. ‘Call them back, Sadler.’

  The man raised the flag.

  ‘Wait!’ she shouted, scanning the shore through the telescope. ‘There is a carriage on the road. It looks like ours.’

  The rowers had already taken a few strokes from the shore. She watched in dismay as the coach stopped, two people got down from it and lifted something from the interior. It looked like the Commodore and Mr Roker, but the bundle they were carrying? Surely that was not her father? Was he ill? Wounded?

  They waded out to the boat, which had stopped and waited for them, just as two maréchaussée galloped up and began shooting. With her heart pumping, she watched as the two men with their burden tumbled into the boat with shots spattering all round them. Not until they were out of range did she let her breath go.

  Slowly they approached until they bumped against the hull. By leaning over the rail she could see down into the boat. Surely the bundle at the bottom was not her father?

  ‘Send the chair down.’ Sam Roker was standing up, steadying himself by hanging on to the ship’s ladder hanging over the side. ‘The old man cannot climb and the Commodore is wounded.’

  Lisette was politely ushered to one side as a chair was lowered from a hoist and slowly, inch by inch, it brought her father to the deck. It was her father. This emaciated man, with the snow-white hair and beard and hands like claws, was really Papa. She watched as the chair was set down on the deck and then ran to kneel at his feet, eyes streaming with tears. ‘Papa. Oh, Papa! Thank God you are safe.’

  The seamen were going to send the chair back for Jay, but before they could do so he appeared at The top of the rope ladder, pulling himself up with his right arm. The left hung uselessly at his side. The sleeve was ripped and covered in blood. ‘Set sail before we lose wind and tide,’ he commanded, though it was an effort to speak. ‘I am going below. See to the Comte’s comfort.’ Helped by Sam, who had followed him on board, he staggered away, leaving Lisette to help her father.

  ‘Michel?’ he queried. ‘Is he with us?’

  ‘No, Papa, he is still with the King. I have seen him and he is well.’

  ‘He is a good boy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was always Michel he thought of first, she mused as two sailors carried him down to a cabin set aside for him, not a word about how she had managed in his absence.

  Only when he had been comfortably ensconced in his cabin, had been given a light repast, which she fed him spoonful by spoonful, and he had fallen asleep did she go in search of Jay. By that time the land had disappeared and they were sailing north east with a fair wind.

  Sam let her into the cabin where Jay lay propped up in a bunk that seemed too short for him. The servant had stripped off his coat and shirt and bandaged his upper arm and shoulder. His broad chest was bare. ‘Mademoiselle, you should not be here,’ he said as Sam disappeared. ‘It is hardly proper. I am not dressed.’

  She ignored this objection and, looking round, saw a stool which she pulled to the side of the cot. She realised as soon as she sat on it that it made her even nearer his bare chest. She had never been close to a man in that stage of undress before and became almost mesmerised by the narrow thatch of dark hair that started just below his throat and disappeared into the top of his breeches. It was having a strange effect on her breathing and making her feel hot. She forced herself to look up into his face to meet quizzical blue eyes.

  ‘I had to come to thank you,’ she said, making herself sound calm. ‘There are no words to express my gratitude.’

  ‘Then do not try.’

  ‘I must. Without you, Papa would surely have died, if not at the hands of the court, then of neglect and starvation. I do not know how I shall ever repay you.’

  ‘I want no payment, Miss Giradet. How is your father?’

  ‘He is very weak and confused and I am not sure if he knows where he is, but your men have provided food and drink and I helped him to eat.’

  ‘Good. We must build up his strength.’

  ‘I am hopeful that with careful nursing and good food he will recover and be his old self.’ She paused to look at him, though doing so brought the warmth back to her face and made her tremble. Beneath his tan, his face had a greyish look. ‘But you have been hurt. I would not have had that happen for worlds. According to Monsieur Roker, if you had not been protecting Papa with your own body he would have been killed, which makes me doubly in your debt.’

  ‘It is nothing but a scratch. Sam dug the ball out of me and I think I will live.’ This last was said with a wry smile which turned to a grimace when he tried to move.

  ‘Are you in great pain?’

  ‘No, a little discomfort, that is all.’

  She stood up to reach across him to make his pillow more comfortable and found her face inches from his. It would be so easy to put her lips to his in a kiss. The thought flitted across her brain and vanished, but she saw, by the look in his eyes, that he had read her mind and was amused by it. She sat down again quickly and tried to compose herself. Talk, she admonished herself, say something, distract him, distract yourself.

  ‘If anything I have done has made matters worse for you, then I am truly sorry,’ she said, averting her gaze from his. ‘But tell me what happened. You were so late coming I was afraid everything had gone wrong and you had all perished.’

  He told her about stealing the uniforms and the long wait and the confrontation with the guards and the Comte’s str
uggle when they realised they would have to manhandle him from one coach to the other because he had grown too weak to walk. ‘We were dressed as maréchaussée and he thought we were taking him out to kill him,’ he said. ‘Your coachman calmed him and he consented to being put in his own carriage. We set off for the rendezvous at a fierce lick and for once I hoped my orders had been disobeyed and the boat had waited.’

  ‘It very nearly did not. I was in despair.’ She had calmed herself enough to look at him again. The steely look seemed to have gone from his eyes. Perhaps it was difficult to maintain when you were in pain. But the pain had been there before the coldness, she realised with a sudden flash of insight. She wondered what had caused it and remembered it was not so long since he had lost his wife.

  ‘We were pursued by the owners of the uniforms we were wearing,’ he went on slowly. ‘I had locked them in a room at the inn near the prison, but they must have managed to spit out their gags and raise the alarm. Once they had been let out they would soon have found spare clothes and set off in pursuit. I knew it would happen, but I thought we would have time to effect the rescue and be on our way before they could catch us, but everything took longer than I expected.’ The long speech had been an effort and he stopped to catch his breath. ‘But all’s well that ends well.’

  ‘But it is not at an end, is it?’ she queried. ‘France is still suffering, King Louis and his Queen are still being vilified and my brother is still in the thick of it.’

  ‘I regret I cannot, for the moment, do anything about that.’

  It was meant to be a joke and she dutifully laughed. Was this stiff Englishman capable of humour after all? ‘I think it would take more than one or even two brave Englishmen to remedy the situation in France,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ he said wryly. ‘But perhaps three or four might do it.’

  She stood up, still smiling at his little sallies and wishing she could make him see how very grateful she was. She wished she could heap all her jewels and money on him, but that would leave her and her father impoverished. Besides, she felt sure he would be affronted. ‘I will leave you to rest now and go and see how my father is.’

  His right hand lay on the cover of the bed very close to her hand. On an impulse she picked it up and pressed her lips to the palm. ‘Thank you,’ she said and fled.

  He lay there, looking down at his hand as if it did not belong to him. What, in heaven’s name, had prompted her to do that? He came to the conclusion she was simply overwrought, and who would not be, given the circumstances? She would be able to relax now the danger was past and look after her father. What would the pair of them do when they landed in England? How much money did they have? Could they maintain themselves? Did they have friends they could go to? Or would they throw themselves on the mercy of Earl Wentworth?

  The Earl was not the one who had banished his daughter—he had long gone—but his son and presumably Lisette’s uncle. Jay hoped that if Lisette appealed to him, he would be welcoming. Why was he bothered? He had fulfilled his task and brought them out of France—did they expect anything more? But the fact that she was related to the Wentworths could not be banished from his mind. Did wickedness run in families?

  He was tired of lying idle, in danger of letting the past overwhelm him. He needed a distraction. He shouted for Sam, who appeared almost immediately. ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Get me a clean shirt and coat. I’m getting up.’

  ‘Sir, I don’t think—’

  ‘I did not ask you what you thought, Sam, I bade you find me clothes.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Suitably admonished, Sam did as he was bid.

  Jay sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot and looked at his crumpled nether garments. ‘Breeches, too, I think. These have got blood on them.’

  The breeches were changed for another pair in dark blue and a clean shirt, being loose, was easy to put on, but the coat was another matter. It was tailored to fit and it would not go over the bandage and trying to force it was a painful business.

  ‘I knew you should not try to dress,’ Sam said. ‘Lieutenant Sandford is easily able to sail the ship.’

  ‘Of course he is. It is what he is paid to do,’ he said sharply. ‘I do not mean to take over from him, but I do not like to be below decks when we are under sail. It feels wrong. The weather is warm, I will go without a coat. Pray tidy this cabin while I am away.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Jay went on deck and stood breathing in the salty air. It was like being back in the navy, except the ships he had commanded in the service were considerably bigger than the Lady Amy. His father was not normally extravagant, but in this instance he had been; though small, the yacht was luxuriously appointed for passengers. Lisette and Hortense would be comfortable in the main cabin and the Comte and his grandfather sharing a slightly smaller one.

  He paced the deck, noting the crew were going about their duties cheerfully and efficiently. All sails were set and they were tacking into a wind on their starboard side. Lieutenant Sandford approached him. ‘We should reach the Kent coast by dark, sir. Do you wish to put in at Dover? the tide should be with us at dawn.’

  ‘I think not. Carry on round the coast to Lynn, as long as the wind is fair. We will be home all the sooner.’

  ‘I wondered if the passengers might wish to go to London.’

  ‘The Comte is not fit to go anywhere with only his daughter to help him. If they want to go to the capital, then it will be after the Comte has recovered some of his strength at Highbeck.’

  ‘Miss Giradet might not wish to be so far from London and her compatriots.’

  That had not occurred to him; few people refused an invitation to Blackfen Manor. His mother’s hospitality was legendary. ‘I will speak to her about it.’

  He returned to the lower deck and knocked on the door of the Comte’s cabin, guessing she would be with her father.

  Lisette, who had been sitting beside her father’s bunk watching him sleep, rose and went to the door to find Jay standing there in breeches and a shirt. He wore no coat, cravat or headgear. His injured arm was strapped across his chest underneath the shirt, the empty sleeve of which hung at his side. He was a little more covered than he had been when she had visited him in his cabin, but he still brought the heat rushing to her cheeks at the memory of what she had done. Kissing his hand like that was the act of a wanton, as if she were throwing herself at him, when in truth it was simply that she could not find the words to express her gratitude.

  After rushing from his cabin, she had shut herself in with her father to calm herself and decided she would have to try to avoid Jay Drymore until they landed and parted, but in the confines of a small ship that was going to be difficult unless she stayed in her cabin. Even that would not work, because he could come to her. Here he was, looking at her as if nothing had happened, making her heart beat too fast for comfort.

  ‘Papa is sleeping,’ she whispered.

  ‘Then perhaps it is a convenient time to take a turn on deck.’ He kept his voice low. ‘I wish to speak to you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Was he going to mention it? Had he taken that kiss as an invitation and was here to claim his reward? Or was he going to tell her he was disgusted with her? ‘I do not think I should leave Papa. He might wake…’

  ‘I will ask my grandfather to bear him company and I will not keep you above a few minutes.’

  There was no help for it. She stepped into the passage and closed the door gently behind her. He followed her up the companionway on to the deck where they found Sir John standing at the rail, looking for his first glimpse of England. He readily agreed to go down and sit with his friend.

  ‘Now, shall we take a walk about the deck?’ he said. ‘The sea does not make you feel ill?’

  ‘Not while it is calm.’

  ‘You are comfortable in your cabin?’

  ‘Yes. I had not realised a small vessel such as this could be so well equipped.’

  ‘It was bu
ilt to my father’s design. Have you made many sea voyages?’

  ‘I used to go with my parents when Papa went trading, but not for many years. My mother’s death hit him hard and he would not leave Villarive.’ The conversation was so normal, so unexceptional, an exchange of pleasantries, no more, but it was an effort on her part. She was waiting with trepidation for him to state the true reason for wanting to speak to her. It was not to discuss voyages and trade, she felt sure.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Yes, of course. You have suffered loss yourself.’ Now she was becoming personal and that she had never intended. Since the advent of Jay Drymore in her life, she had started to speak and act without thinking and she did not seem able to cure herself. ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to remind you.’

  ‘Do not keep apologising, mademoiselle, or thanking me. There is no need for either.’

  ‘Oh.’ Now he was referring to that kiss. As a rebuff it could not have been more plain. She wished the deck would open up and cast her into the sea, she felt so mortified.

  ‘I wish to know your intentions,’ he said, apparently impervious to her discomfort. ‘When we reach England, I mean.’

  ‘Intentions?’ Oh, this was dreadful. What did he expect her to say? Did he think she was asking him to…? Oh, no, she could not. Somehow she managed to regain her composure and stiffened her spine. ‘My intentions are my own affair.’

  ‘Of course.’ He bowed stiffly. ‘You do not have to tell me of them, but it has been pointed out to me that you might wish to go to London and in that case, we will need to put in to Dover, or alternately sail round the Kent coast and up the Thames. At least that way, your father would be saved an uncomfortable ride in a public coach, but it would take longer.’ He paused while she wondered what was coming next. ‘I have to tell you I am reluctant to do either because the Comte is so frail. He requires careful nursing and time to recuperate and I am sure my mother would welcome you both at Blackfen Manor. There is ample room and he will be able to regain his strength in the peaceful surroundings of Highbeck.’