by Carla Kelly
I refuse to think about it, she told herself as she climbed the rigging. He cannot be serious, and I won’t consider it. Numb with some emotion that was strange to her, she sat in the lookout and scanned the horizon, while the ship sailed more slowly toward Europe. She wished herself home in Nantucket and attempted a bargain. “Lord, if I am ever there again, I will not complain if my life is boring,” she said out loud as she searched the ocean. “I promise to be very, very good and never write another list.”
To her great relief, she saw no other sails that day. From her perch far above the deck, she watched as the crew juried a new mast to the stub remaining of the mizzenmast, working efficiently with block and tackle. The sounds of hammer and saw on the deck competed with the clanking of the pumps far below, as the men sweated to empty out an ocean that continued to seep back in through planks damaged by the Bergeron’s direct hits. She trained the telescope on a quarterdeck conference between Spark, Futtrell, and the bosun, which ended with a sail being passed under the bow of the Dissuade, in another attempt to slow down the leaks. Still the pumps poured water over the side.
She remained in her perch until dark, then came down, stiff with sitting immobile for so long. Four more shrouded bodies waited on the deck for tomorrow’s services. She stood by the still forms a moment, Spark’s hat off, then hurried below to the orlop deck, which Andrew Lease had turned into a sick bay. The makeshift operating table of midshipmen’s sea chests was gone, but there were ten men lying on the deck, some fairly quick, and others nearly dead.
Lease was bending over one crew member. He looked up and nodded to Hannah. She came closer, noting the exhaustion on his face. He smiled at her. “And how does our Hannah?” he asked in that drawing room manner of his that only increased her discomfort. He pulled her collar away from her neck. “Sunburned again? I recommend another regimen of salve, if Daniel insists on keeping you aloft.”
“He has no choice,” she said.
“Who of us does?” he asked in turn, then paused, his head cocked to listen to the sound of the pumps. “And now the ocean has turned on us.” He took her arm. “Come sit, and tell me about your day.”
It was all so weird that she backed away. “No, sir,” she said, wishing that she did not sound so breathless. “I am too tired.”
He chuckled. “Oh, you don’t know tired, my dear! You and I get to watch Daniel and Futtrell turn into sleepwalkers.”
“What do you mean?” she asked as she backed toward the gangway.
“With Mr. Lansing dead, and the sailing master, too, it’s watch and watch about until we reach landfall. That’s four hours on and four hours off, unti they drop.” He smiled. “We’ll be lucky if the French don’t find us again.” His smile widened. “I am sure they will be kind to you because you are an American, but the rest of us?” He shrugged. “There are some who worry about things like that, but I am not numbered among them. Good night, Miss Whittier. Come visit again.”
Hannah shuddered and hurried to the gun deck, and down the companionway to her room. The Marine sat outside her door this time, his bandaged leg resting on an overturned bucket. He held out a note to her.
She took it over to the ship’s lantern and read, “Imperative you come to my cabin. We have a matter to discuss. Adam will be there, too. Spark.”
Hannah folded the note and put it in her pocket. In another moment, she stood outside the captain’s door. The Marine there clicked his heels to attention and opened the door for her.
Adam looked up from his contemplation of a handful of papers as she entered, his face grim. Spark stood beside Mr. Futtrell in quiet conversation. Spark motioned her in.
“Come, Miss Whittier,” he said. “Have a seat. There’s something here you must read. Adam, give her that first page.”
He was all business, standing there in his stockinged feet, far removed from the man who could not bring himself to bury his comrades that morning. She didn’t understand his restless energy until she took the paper and began to read.
“Sit, Lady Amber,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. She did as he said, her eyes on the paper, her attention caught.
“We found this document in a tarred shot pouch,” he explained as she looked up, a question in her eyes. “I can only assume that the poor Frog was supposed to throw it overboard and sink it, but our lieutenant of Marines boarded too soon and spoiled his aim.”
“This can’t be what I think it is,” she murmured when she finished.
He took the water-stained page from her. “It is a communiqué from William Darlington, the acting governor of Antigua, to Napoleon himself, damn his traitorous hide.” Spark banged his hand on the table and she jumped. “I have sat at that man’s table and eaten his food! And here he is, a traitor to the crown.” He took the next pages from Adam, who was sitting quietly now and watching the captain. “There’s more, Hannah, too much more.”
She continued reading, distracted at first by Spark, who paced back and forth across the width of the stern, then absorbed and repelled at the same time by the document in her hands. It was pages of information about ship strengths of British commerce raiders and ships of the line that sailed in the Caribbean.
Spark stopped his pacing and stood behind her chair. He jabbed the page with his finger. “And look here! That damned Darlington names Lord Luckingham, another traitor within the government itself! I am astounded what men will do for money.”
She put down the papers and Spark sat beside her. “We have to get this document to England,” he said.
“But isn’t that where we are headed?” She looked at the captain, wondering at his restless energy.
He took her hands. “Hannah, we’re sinking. The pumps can’t keep up, and we’ll never raise Portsmouth. We’re going to settle lower and lower in the water until we have to take to the small boats.”
“Oh.” She let that news soak in, then freed her hands from the captain’s. “You had a chart on the table this morning. The Azores?”
He nodded. “That’s our only hope, Hannah, and the trouble of it is, I don’t know if they remain in Portuguese hands, or if the French have taken over. I think within a very short time, we will be prisoners of the French, even if we make that landfall.”
He took her hand again. “I wanted you to know how bad was our situation, you and Adam. I’m sorry I ever got you two into this mess.”
Hannah did not pull her hand away this time. “All I really wanted to do was get to Charleston,” she reminded him gently.
He winced. “A hit below the waterline, Hannah!”
Adam stirred in his chair. “Thee has something in mind, doesn’t thee?” he asked quietly. “And excuse me if I doubt it is an apology.”
Spark gave Adam a measuring stare, and then a reluctant smile. “There are no flies on Yankees, are there?” he murmured.
“No, sir,” Adam replied. “What do you want from me? I’d prefer thee did not involve Hannah, if it’s to be dangerous. I at least have considerable regard for her welfare, even if thee does not.”
His words, quietly spoken, hung in the air. Mr. Futtrell, who had been listening to this exchange, tugged at his chin and turned away.
“You think I have no regard for Miss Whittier’s welfare?” Spark asked, his voice as quiet as Adam’s.
“I don’t trust thee,” Adam said.
“Adam, what is thee saying!” Hannah cried.
Adam refused to look at her. She wriggled her fingers out of the captain’s grasp and folded her hands in her lap. “Say on, Captain,” she said.
“If we are soon prisoners of the French, you two Americans will likely be freed because you are not belligerents. I want you to get this dispatch to London.”
Adam was silent for a long moment. “Let me think now. Thee raided the Molly Claridge, and took me off. Thee has probably been impressing others like me for years. We ought to be at war with England.”
“Yes, you are quite right.” Spark agreed.
“Thee has
ruined my family’s peace and frightened Hannah.”
“She’s equal to it,” the captain said.
“By God, thee is a cheeky bastard, for someone seeking a favor,” Adam burst out, his face red.
“I certainly am,” Spark agreed, his equanimity unruffled by Adam’s charge. “I am also in serious like with Hannah Whittier, and would never do her any harm.” He bowed to Hannah, who sat dumbfounded. “I don’t know you well enough to be in love yet, Lady Amber, but I fear I am dreadfully close. Is that cheeky enough, Adam?”
Chapter Nine
Adam regarded the captain in profound silence. Numb, Hannah stared at her hands in her lap, unable to look at anyone in the cabin. The captain stood behind her, resting his hands on the chair back. The very air seemed to crackle with tension.
Finally, Adam sighed. “Lord, what a muddle,” he muttered. “Hannah, what should we do?”
She considered the matter. If, by some miracle, they managed to raise the Azores, the French would see to their release. At the least, they could request passage on a vessel to return them to the Caribbean. She could be in Charleston in a month or less. With any luck, this whole adventure would soon wear into a bad dream, and after all, what did they owe the British?
She looked at the dispatch resting in her lap, wishing it would go away. She thought of the men of the Dissuade, many dead, others wounded, and multiplied that number by the twenty British ships named in the dispatch. If Napoleon continued to be fed traitorous information about the Royal Navy in Caribbean waters, he would know how to harry the British there. Heating up the war in the Caribbean would mean Britain would be stretched even thinner in its blockade of the French and Spanish coasts. She could see only more death, more war. It is against everything I believe, she thought as she leaned back in the chair and felt Spark’s fingers against her back.>
Hannah scooted forward quickly and slapped the dispatch on the table. “Adam, we cannot be party to more death, and thee knows that would happen if this dispatch fell into French hands. I say we get the document to London.”
Adam looked up at Captain Spark, who had not moved from his position behind Hannah’s chair, and then back at her. “Hannah, we could be home in a month if we do not,” he reminded her, his thoughts obviously traveling the same lane as hers. “And you think we should risk our lives getting this dispatch to London?”
“I do,” she replied, her voice firm. She noted the skeptical look on his face. “And do not think for one minute it is because I am persuaded by this rascal standing behind my chair.” She paused as Mr. Futtrell turned away again to hide a smile. “I do not feel anything for Captain Spark beyond admiration of his courage. Even you must acknowledge his courage. But I also do not love the idea of more death in the Caribbean. And I do not relish the idea of traitors. What American would?”
Adam was silent a moment more, then he looked at the captain. “Very well, sir, we will do as thee asks. I do not know how, but we can try.”
Captain Spark reached around Hannah and shook Adam’s hand. “We can work out the details as we run for the Azores,” he said. He stuffed the dispatch back in its bag and handed it to Adam. “I think you and Miss Whittier should memorize this document. It may be destroyed, but one of you ought to get through with the message.”
He took it. “Very well, sir. Hannah? Shall I have a go at it first?”
<"29" align="justify">She nodded. Adam looked at Captain Spark. “With thy permission, I will return to the gun deck.” “Granted, lad. And thank you.”
He left the cabin. Mr. Futtrell cleared his throat. “As mine is the first watch, I believe I will go to the quarterdeck.”
“Call me in four hours,” the captain said. He sat down as soon as the door closed. “Well, Hannah?” He shook his head at her expression. “That mulish look on your face tells me that I may have run out my guns prematurely.”
She wished he would sit on the other side of the table, and not practically knee to knee. She squirmed in her chair. Did he have to regard her with those unnerving eyes of his? Why were they so light and memorable? As she returned his unflinching pale stare, she knew that she could go to her grave and years from now and still remember the color of his eyes, and the graceful way he sat watching her. It was enough to try a statue. Thank goodness she did not love him.
“You can’t possibly be in love with me,” she said at last, when he seemed content merely to memorize her face and remain silent.
He wagged a finger at her. “I did not say I was in love, but only in serious like.”
“You are absurd,” she said, smiling in spite of her discomfort. “You just like the way I make coffee”
There, if she made a joke of his aspirations that should stop him. Instead, he leaned closer until she could have reached out and caressed his face, had she been of such inclination, which she was not. “I like the way your hips wiggle when you climb the rigging, and your cheerful way of doing things, even when your whole world is arse over teakettle.”
“There you go!” she said triumphantly. “Your language is vile and you are a notable blasphemer.”
“By God’s wounds, I certainly am. Some things you’ll just have to take. And I will have to get used to constant good cheer, which can be a trial at times. Are you even cheerful when you wake up? I can’t wait to find out, Lady Amber.”
“That is none of your business, and don’t call me that!”
“Well, may I call you Hannah? Seems to me we have progressed to that stage.”
“We have not!” she declared. Then she softened the blow by adding. “But since you have already been doing so, you might as well continue.”
“And it is my desire to hear Daniel on your lips,” he said.
“You want Mr. Futtrell to stand on the quarterdeck and yell ‘Ship’s discipline’?” she asked, unable to keep back the good humor that bubbled up in her. “I do not, sir.”
He laughed. “Very well! Call me Captain Spark.”
She stod up to leave and he rose, too, walking her to the door. “Really, these are paltry objections, my dear. I would have thought someone with your brains could do better.”
“Of course I can,” she said crisply, her hand on the knob. “You are an Englishman and much too old for me.”
He leaned his hand against the door as she tried to turn the handle. “Those are weighty objections, Hannah,” he agreed. “I’ll always be an Englishman, but I assure you that no part of me is decrepit. Let me repeat a previous demonstration and add something more.”
Before she could stop him, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. His lips were as warm as she remembered from their first meeting on the deck of the Molly Claridge. The ship yawed them and she grabbed him around the waist to stay on her feet. He pulled her closer until their bodies touched, murmuring something in her ear that made no sense. As she tried to regain her balance, he took her earlobe in his teeth, then ran his tongue inside her ear. The shivers that raced down her back made her moan a little, but only a very little. She wished he would stop, but when he did, she felt absurd tears tickling her eyelids. She wondered how her fingers could ever dig so into his back, and she hoped she had not scratched him.
He released her then, and turned away to the chart table. “Go to bed, Hannah,” he said, his voice a bit dazed, “and don’t try to improve on perfection.”
She hurried from the cabin, her face flaming, grateful for the darkness of the companionway. The solitude of her cabin was a blessed relief, she decided as she closed the door behind her, and then sighed with exasperation. Captain Spark’s boat cloak was still draped over the hammock. “I will not return it tonight!” she said out loud. “I would have to be crazy!”
She climbed the gun and crawled into her hammock, wrapping the cloak tightly about her, and gradually sinking into sleep. There is so much to worry about, she thought, her eyes hey as she listened to the endless clanking of the pumps forward. We are sinking, the Azores are still so far away, the French are lurking s
omewhere, and I have to memorize a dratted document. She snuggled deeper into the cloak, which smelled of mildew, like everything else on board, and Captain Spark. Thank goodness I do not love him, or this voyage could become a real trial. And thank goodness Mama warned me about sailors.
She brought him coffee at first light, setting it as usual on the quarterdeck and assuming her customary position on the rung of the ladder. He crouched beside her as usual, his eyes weary, and sipped the coffee as he watched her face. “I was wishing you would come on deck sooner,” he said when he finished and handed back the mug.
“I can bring your coffee sooner, if you wish,” she replied.
He smiled. “I am not so sure I want coffee as much as I need conversation. It would keep me awake better, I think.” He looked at the riggings, and then back at the jury-rigged mizzenmast. “Another night has passed, Lady Amber, and we are still afloat and somewhat closer to the Azores.”
“Will we make it, do you think?” she asked.
He shrugged. “If you do not sight any French vessels, if the wind freshens, if the men can keep the pumps going. I don’t hold out an optimistic report.” He touched her shoulder then. “But don’t worry, I’ll see you into one of the little boats.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she said as she got up to leave. “I don’t know why I should trust you, but I do.”
Tan>aptain merely smiled and resumed his position on the quarterdeck, his eyes on the ocean. She went below deck again, retrieved Spark’s boat cloak, and placed it on the quarterdeck before climbing the riggings for another day of watching. He nodded to her and wrapped himself in it. “Smells of almond extract now,” he commented.
