Secrets of the Realm

by Bev Stout

  The next morning when she poured herself out of the canvas, the steady rocking of the Realm sent her back with the dry heaves.

  * * *

  Keeping his voice low, Christopher stood in the doorway. "The captain wants to know—any improvement with the boy?"

  "A little. Andrés drank some of the broth you brought earlier."

  "Shouldn't he be well by now? It has been two days."

  Doc sighed. "It is one of the worst cases of seasickness I have seen."

  One eye peered over the edge of Doc's hammock. "I'm not deaf, nor am I dead. I can hear you."

  Christopher walked through the doorway. "You need to get better, Andrés. I am doing your work as well as my own"

  "I am trying to get better," Annie said. "Is that another book from the captain?"

  Christopher placed Daniel Defoe's Captain Singleton on top of the growing pile of books on Doc's desk. He then handed Doc Annie's clean clothes. They still had a lingering odor to them.

  "Christopher, can you get me some water?"

  "Who do you think I am, Andrés, your cabin boy?" Christopher feigned indignation as he took a mug off Doc's desk. He helped Annie take a sip.

  "How is the rest of the crew, Christopher?" Doc asked.

  "A few are still sick. Nothing like Andrés, though." He looked over at Annie. "But you're a strong one. I don't care what Symington says."

  "What is that old blow-hard saying this time?" Annie said.

  "You don't want to know."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The next morning, being careful not to wake Doc, Annie opened the door. Weak, but grateful her headache was gone, she leaned against the bulkhead every few steps. She slowly made her way to the mess deck.

  Finishing their morning meal, sailors sat at one of two long tables. Except for a few glances in her direction, they barely acknowledged Annie's presence.

  She settled for the empty table. Like the benches, it too was secured to the deck. Annie ran her hand along the table's raised edge that kept the tin dishes from sliding off. Doubtful she would be able to eat, Annie was about to leave when Barrette got up from the other table, bringing with him a plate of food.

  He looked at her gaunt face and sunken eyes. "You are as gray as Mr. Waverly's socks. Sit." He handed her a bruised pear. "You need this more than I do."

  She stared at the pear for a moment before taking it. Annie took a bite of the partially eaten fruit. She chewed until the pulverized piece slid easily down her throat.

  "Are you mad at me, mate?" he asked.

  "Why would I be mad at you?"

  "Taking the bucket from you."

  "Oh, that. All is forgiven."

  "Forgiven, am I? Saved your miserable life, I did."

  "And how, pray tell, did you save my life?" Annie asked.

  "You landed on top of me instead of on the hard deck."

  Annie rolled her eyes at him.

  "You won't tell the captain I took the bucket from you. Will you?" Barrette asked.

  "Why would I?"

  "To get me in trouble."

  "I wouldn't do that. Besides, I think we are even. I threw up all over you."

  Barrette laughed. "You're right. Shake on it?"

  Annie reluctantly took his hand. He quickly turned hers palm-side up.

  "Mighty smooth hand for a fisherman."

  She pulled her hand away. "How did you know I was a fisherman?"

  "Christopher told me," Barrette said before he grabbed her hand back, giving it a crushing shake. "How long were you a fisherman…a day?"

  "None of your business."

  Barrette turned his attention back to the food on the table. "Try the hardtack," he said. "It will be easy on your stomach. Careful, you don't break a tooth on it."

  Annie cautiously bit down on the unsalted biscuit. "When did you get your sea legs, Barrette?" she asked.

  "The next morning after the storm."

  "Have you gotten to climb the mast yet?"

  "Aye, but first, Mr. Allan put me to work mending sails. Then I had to listen to his boring speech on the importance of properly tying knots."

  "Knots?"

  "Mr. Allan takes his knot tying very seriously." Barrette flashed Annie a grin. "I, on the other hand, take nothing seriously."

  Annie continued talking to the charming sailor when Smitty wandered into the mess deck. Taking one look at her, he broke into a jig and danced his way across the room.

  "I won!" he yelled to the group of sailors sitting at the table. The lean sailor proceeded to collect a prized star knot from one of the men and an irritated look from another tar who grudgingly handed over a ring to him.

  "What's going on?" Annie asked.

  Barrette laughed. "He must have won the bet."

  She took another bite of the hardtack. "What bet?" she mumbled.

  "Some of the sailors made bets on when you would get your sea legs…or die." Barrette replied.

  "Die? Were there many bets made on that one?"

  "Only one."

  "Let me guess," Annie said as she looked across the room. "Symington must be very disappointed that I am still alive."

  "Watch out for him."

  "I have been told that before. I can take care of myself," Annie said. "Did you bet?"

  "I don't make sport of someone else's suffering, unless he has a bucket in his hands and I need it." Barrette again smiled, then strode out of the mess deck.

  Annie sighed. She hated seeing Barrette leave.

  Samuel Baggott came up behind her. He stared at the half-eaten fruit sitting by her hand. "Are you going to eat that?"

  "You can have it." It was the first time she had seen Baggott up close without his cap. She stared at his tight red curls.

  "No one else in my family has red hair," Baggott said before popping the rest of the pear into his mouth. "That is what you are staring at, isn't it?"

  "I was just thinking about my sister, Sarah. She had red hair just like yours." Annie could not remember the last time she had spoken Sarah's name out loud. Just saying it stabbed at her heart.

  Baggott smiled. "Welcome aboard sailor," he said as he walked off.

  She could not believe the pleasure the word sailor brought her.

  Annie downed the rest of the hardtack and was about to leave when Symington confronted her. He gripped her arm so tightly; the blood stopped flowing to her fingertips.

  "Ye owe me, boy. I lost me 'ard earned wages because of ye."

  "That is too bad, Symington, but perhaps you should not have bet on me dying. It is my understanding that Captain Hawke frowns on gambling on his ship." Annie hoped Symington didn't see the beads of sweat dotting her forehead. "Speaking of the captain, he is expecting me," Annie said.

  Symington let go of Annie's arm. Baring his teeth, he sneered. "Don't want to keep the cap'n waiting, now do we."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "About time you got your sea legs, Andrés. Report to Mr. Allan," Captain Hawke said in a curt tone.

  Receiving no compassion for being seasick from the captain, Annie replied back just as curtly, "Aye, Aye, Captain." His slightly raised eyebrow was enough to satisfy her.

  Annie found Mr. Allan at the foot of the foremast. Of medium height, the trim bosun had strong shoulders and wavy brown hair.

  When Mr. Allan saw Annie, he began his speech. "The rigging relies on the mastery of knot tying. The operation of the sails determines the direction and speed the ship travels."

  As he droned on, Annie was convinced he had given the same speech for years to all inexperienced sailors.

  Out of Mr. Allan's field of vision, Barrette crossed and uncrossed his arms each time Mr. Allan did. Annie found it no small feat not to laugh, which she was certain was Barrette's goal. Apparently, she thought, he was not joking when he said he took nothing seriously.

  "Any questions?"

  Annie shook her head. "No, sir."

  Mr. Allan looked over his shoulder at Barrette. "Demonstrate for the lad how
to tie a bowline and a square knot."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  Now with his back to Mr. Allan, Barrette made faces at Annie, all the while showing her how to tie the two knots. She chuckled while her nimble fingers copied his.

  "This is serious business, Andrés. Do you find it amusing?" Mr. Allan asked.

  "No, sir, not at all." As she continued tying the knots, Annie ignored Barrette.

  Mr. Allan went on with his talk. "The brail is a smaller line that draws a sail in or out. While we have pulleys to do some of the work, you will be expected to go aloft to adjust lines and sails as well. Climbing a mast while we are docked is quite different from climbing one at sea. The wind will whip right through you and a sail can knock the best sailor off if he loses his concentration. Are you up to the task, Andrés?"

  "I most certainly am, sir."

  "If you feel you are not up to it, you can tell me. You don't want to put yourself or your fellow shipmates in danger." Mr. Allan gazed up at the topsail and looked back at Annie. "Again I ask you, are you positive you are up to the task?"

  Barrette broke in, "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but Andrés had been seasick for several days. He might not be strong enough to climb the mast."

  His jaw taut, Mr. Allan asked Annie, "What do you say to that, Andrés?"

  "I am fine, Mr. Allan—never felt better." Annie turned to Barrette and whispered, "I thought you said you didn't take anything seriously."

  When she turned back to Mr. Allan, he was shaking his head.

  "It is no secret you have been seasick, Andrés. I did not intend to send you aloft today. I hoped you would make the right decision. Unfortunately, you didn't. I will send you aloft when you can show better judgment and not before."

  Captain Hawke had been eavesdropping on the conversation. "Andrés! You are working in the galley today," he shouted.

  "The galley?"

  The captain's dark eyes narrowed. "Aye, the galley, or perhaps you would prefer spending the rest of this voyage in irons."

  With each of his steps toward her, Annie dragged her feet two steps backward.

  "What will it be? Irons or the galley," he said.

  "The galley, Captain."

  "At least you have made one wise decision today," he replied.

  * * *

  Annie found refuge on the lower deck. "Barrette needs to mind his own business. First the bucket, now this! I'm glad I threw up all over him," she said. "I couldn't have done worse than if I were on a bloody pirate ship!"

  Consumed by anger, Annie didn't hear Symington coming behind her. Without warning, he picked her up and pinned her against the bulkhead.

  "Are ye daft, boy? It is cursed to talk about such matters on a ship, 'specially this one!"

  Annie slid down the wall. Dazed, she rubbed her neck and head. "Why this ship?"

  Symington pointed up at the overhead. "Cause 'e was one," he said as he spat on the deck, barely missing Annie's foot.

  "Who?" she whispered.

  "Who da ye think? The cap'n, of course."

  "The captain was a pi…?"

  Seizing Annie's right arm, Symington lifted her off her feet and slapped his other hand across her mouth. "Yer a slow learner. Aren't ye?"

  "Symington!"

  The sailor dropped Annie as he reeled around. His hefty body was more agile than Annie thought possible.

  "Cap'n 'awke!"

  "What is going on here?"

  "Nothing, Cap'n. I was only 'elping the lad after 'e took a nasty fall," Symington said while he dusted off Annie's shirt and trousers.

  "Is that what happened, Andrés?"

  She pushed Symington's hands away. "Aye, Captain, he was helping me."

  "You're dismissed, Symington." Captain Hawke said.

  Symington sauntered off saying under his breath. "Remember what I said, boy."

  Captain Hawke turned to Annie. "Would you care to tell me what really happened?"

  "I fell, Captain. Just like Symington said I did. I am a bit clumsy at times."

  "Symington is a great storyteller. You, on the other hand, are not." Captain Hawke frowned while he studied her face. "What did you think of his fable about Barrette's rescue?"

  "Was any of it true?"

  The captain shrugged. "With Symington's stories, there is always an element of truth in them."

  "Always?" she asked.

  The captain folded his arms. "I thought I assigned you to the galley."

  "I was heading that way when…" Annie hesitated.

  "When you tripped?" Captain Hawke said. "Make sure you don't trip again. Next time, you might not be so lucky."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  With flour caked under her fingernails from a day's work in the galley, Annie skimmed the pages of Captain Singleton. Unable to concentrate, she read the same words over and over again. Finally, she gave up and laid the book down.

  "Your first day as a sailor did not go well, did it?" Doc said.

  "Who told you?"

  "No one had to. If it had gone well, you would be chattering away like a magpie. Do you want to talk about it?"

  She took a deep breath. "Barrette told Mr. Allan I should not go aloft today."

  "After having been seasick, you were actually going to climb the mast? It sounds like this Barrette fellow has more good sense than you do."

  "I was a good climber before we went out to sea," she said through clenched teeth.

  "Yes, before you went out to sea and before you had taken ill."

  Annie bit her lip. "I want to be accepted by the other sailors. I want them to like me."

  "Getting yourself or someone else killed is not the way to do it."

  Annie frowned. "Let's change the subject."

  "What do you want to talk about?" Doc asked.

  "I have an excellent idea. Let's talk about you." Annie rolled over and rested her chin on the back of her hands. "What did you do before you came on the Realm?"

  "I am not an interesting subject," he said.

  "Please." Annie puckered up her lower lip making Doc smile.

  "How can I resist that sad face?" He took a deep breath. "I studied at Edinburgh University before becoming a surgeon at St. Thomas's Hospital in London."

  There was a long pause that Annie realized was going to be permanent. "Don't stop there," she said.

  Doc took a swig from his flask. "That is where I met Roger Moon. We became best friends. He had a little sister." Softly, almost prayerfully, he said her name, "Emily."

  "Were you in love with her?"

  "I still am."

  "Is she pretty?"

  "Not pretty, beautiful. Have you ever seen storm clouds open up to reveal the sky when you peer into the heavens? That glorious blue was the same color as her eyes. You are a lot like her. She always spoke her mind. Her father said it was unladylike to discuss politics or religion, but that never stopped Emily."

  "Did you court her?"

  "You are so much like her, full of questions." Doc peeked above his spectacles. "Over the years, I watched her grow from a lovely girl to a beautiful young woman. I married Emily when she was eighteen. I was thirty-two. When I proposed to her, I never thought she would say yes. I will never forget her words. 'Arthur Cromwell, I have loved you forever. Yes, I will marry you.'"

  Doc went to the medicine cabinet. Moving aside a bottle, he pulled out an object wrapped in velvet, the same one Annie had seen the day before the Realm set sail. He solemnly uncovered it to reveal a miniature portrait painted on ivory. He ran his finger ever so carefully across its smooth surface. He handed it to Annie.

  "This must be Emily. Oh, Doc, she is absolutely beautiful," Annie said as she gave it back to him.

  For a moment, the portrait brought life to Doc's sad eyes. Again, he ran his finger across her likeness before returning the tiny portrait to the cabinet with his trembling hands.

  "Where is she now?" Annie asked.

  "She died in 1733."

  Annie shuddered. "That is the sam
e year…."

  "I know, the same year you lost your family," Doc said. "I lost everyone I loved in that epidemic. Me, a doctor, could not save my own…" His voice faltered.

  Barely above a whisper, Annie said, "You told me you had a son named Andrew."

  His eyes downcast, Doc said, "Yes, I had a son named Andrew and a sweet daughter as well, Beatrice."

  "I am so sorry, Doc," Annie said. She wished she could say more, but couldn't. Kind words hadn't helped her when she stood behind a stone church watching her father, mother and baby sister being lowered into their graves. She knew no well-intentioned words could take away the pain.

  Silently, Doc extinguished the candle.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Three days' worth of grease clung to Annie's clothes. Delivering meals to the captain's cabin had been her only break from working in the galley.

  "Good evening, Captain Hawke." Annie kicked the door shut with her foot as she balanced the cumbersome dinner tray in her hands. "Good evening Mr. Montgomery."

  Sitting at the gate-leg table, the first mate touched the tip of his nose with his finger. "Flour," he said.

  "Oh." Annie put the plates down with a clatter before wiping off the smudge with her sleeve. "Is it gone?"

  Mr. Montgomery nodded.

  "Andrés did you cook these chickens?" Captain Hawke asked.

  Annie forced a smile. "No, but I plucked them."

  The captain leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Waverly is quite pleased with your work in the galley. In fact, he wants you to work there for the remainder of our voyage."

  "Captain, I beg of you, I would rather die than pluck another chicken as long as I live."

  "And to think, I thought you had found your life's work."

  "Jonathan," Mr. Montgomery interrupted. "Don't tease the lad. Tell him."

  Annie placed the back of her hands on her hips, then realizing how she must look, put her arms by her sides and shifted her weight onto one leg. "Tell me what?"

  "While 'tis true Mr. Waverly is pleased with your work, Mr. Allan is even more impressed with your knot-tying skills. Tomorrow, after you have tidied up my cabin, you will report to the bosun." He shook his finger at her. "Don't do anything rash this time."