In spite of his best efforts, Alan had to break out into a fit of guffaws, which prompted Caroline to forget her musings and try to cozen the reason for his humor from him, which, naturally, improved her own.
"Do you mock the Good Lord, sir?" she said, pretending to frown.
"No, and I don't mock you, either, but the idea of me being meant for a sailor set me off. Sorry. I'll tell you about it someday, but it wasn't my first choice for a career."
"Ah, second sons get no choice, do they?" She smiled, thinking she understood. "What would you have been otherwise?"
"A man who sleeps late and dines well," Alan told her.
"And a less somber one, I think." She grinned as though they had shared a great secret. "You really must smile more, Mister Lewrie."
"Me?" He laughed gently. "But I'm a merry sort almost all the time. Too much so for some. Ask anyone."
"So serious for… twenty?"
"Almost nineteen, in January. And you," he said, taking liberties with her good humor, "are such a sober thing for eighteen."
"Burgess told you of me?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow and turning her mouth up in a wry expression, as though she was trying to gnaw on her cheek. "He would. What did he say?"
"That you were the prettiest girl in two counties, but too serious by half, and that's an opinion with which I heartily agree."
Caroline made no answer to this, but turned away to savor the compliment from her brother, and the corroboration from a handsome young man at her side, trying to hide her pleased expression.
The bosun's mate of the watch, Weems, took a squint at the half-hour glass by the belfry and put his whistle to his lips. He blew the welcome call "Clear decks and up spirits" while the purser and an acting quartermaster's mate brought up a keg of rum. The hands began to queue up for their predinner rum ration.
"That means the men are to get their rum and water," Alan said. "They can get a tad rowdy, and dinner will be served aft, in half an hour. Best you get below, much as I hate to send you."
"Much as I hate to go," she replied. "Will you be here after we have dined?"
"Yes, but I shall be in the watch today, and I am sure the other officers think I have monopolized you enough." He chuckled. "Though you might wish to come on deck when four bells chime in the late afternoon. We stand to the guns for evening quarters then, and it is interesting to watch."
"They just rang seven."
"One for every half-hour turn of the glass, eight bells for a four-hour watch," he explained, walking her aft to the upper entrance to the great cabins to avoid the milling crowd of seamen on the gun deck. "After dinner there will be eight bells at four in the afternoon, then when you hear four bells again, that will be halfway through the first dogwatch, five in the afternoon."
"Every half hour?" she teased. "I believe you are making this up to make sport with me. More of your nautical cant and humbug."
"That's exactly what I called it for a long time." He laughed. "Enjoy your dinner, and my best regards to your mother and father."
She gave him one last smile and departed the deck for her cabins, leaving Alan shivering on the deck, though warmed by a glow inside at her evident fondness. He had enjoyed talking with her and laughing with her, for she had a merry disposition in her nature that she had to hide most of the time in her dealings with the world. And as the most rational member of her family present, she had her sobering responsibilities to consider first and foremost. But when free of them, she could be a charming and waggish companion, more so than any other female Alan had come across. Others did not pretend to so much wit and shunned repartee that would unsex them and make them a conversational equal to their men.
Alan thought that the Colonies did not regard mental feebleness as a desirable trait in their women, or spent more time and effort educating their daughters and allowing them free participation in discourse, much like what only a peer's daughter could expect. Still, she was not as free with her tongue and wit as a Frenchwoman at a levée, conversing on just any topic at hand in le haute monde salon society he had heard mentioned as the vogue in Paris.
He was looking forward to seeing her in late afternoon, but when she emerged on deck, it was Treghues who escorted her and her mother, and Alan had to stand down to leeward from them and attend to his duties on the watch. Alan felt a pang of… annoyance… (he would not dare to call it jealousy) at that development.
His captain was another new and different man with the Chiswicks, slightly raffish without crudity, jolly and charming, and was even heard to laugh lightly now and then, an event that made hands stop in their tracks and goggle at this unheard of novelty from a naval captain.
The humorless fart's wooing her! Alan glowered inwardly. I swear, there's a pretty picture. Trust the son of a lord to get what he wants, every time. And she's eatin' it up like plum duff, damme if she ain't! Just like a woman to sniff out the boss cock with the most chink and start spoonin' him up. And I thought she was better than that. Now I've got the proper reckoning of her. Let her lick his boots if that's her game. I've had better, anyway. Gawky bitch.
Alan contented himself with the thought that Treghues would not have any ulterior designs on her, at least, thinking his captain too holy a hedge-priest to do more than hold hands and gawp, even if he felt the urge, which Alan doubted as well. Treghues was too moral to even admit to the desires of the flesh. And he had to admit that if the Chiswick family was gone smash and reduced to impoverished misery, then Treghues at least had the blessings of future title, rents, land, and all that prize-money to offer them in exchange for what few lusty demands (if any, Alan thought smugly) he would make on their daughter. He even had to smile at the thought of somber and pious Treghues wed to the get of a bankrupt colonial, too tall and skinny for fashion, and how his aristocratic friends would make sport of them behind their backs every time they took the air or attended some "tasteful and acceptable" entertainment.
Hope you like praying a lot, my dear, he sneered. If you ally yourself with such a one as him, you'll be doing a lot of it.
"Watcher luff, quartermaster," Monk warned, coming to the wheel. "Mister Lewrie, attend yer mind ta duties, would ya please, sir?"
"Aye, Mister Monk," Alan piped, torn from watching the couple as they took the air on the windward rail.
"Han'some piece, she is." Monk grinned as he studied the pair. "Though slimmer'n an eel, an' not a spare ounce o' nothin' to grab hold of. I likes my women bounder."
"So do most, Mister Monk," Alan said, gazing up at the set of the sails, all duty again. "So do I."
"Still, she's got the captain laughin', damme if she ain't. Now there's a thing. Be good fer him. He's not had much joy these last few months. I never heard tell o' him messin' with the ladies much, nor even goin' ashore fer pleasure o' any sort. Holds himself taut as a forestay, he does."
"How much of that is Treghues, and how much of that is demanded of a captain, Mister Monk?" Alan inquired innocently.
"I've had captains'd take a girl to sea right in their cabins." Monk grinned. "Mind ya Augustus Hervey? When he was a young post-captain in the Mediterranean back in the sixties, he musta made sport with over two hundred women in one commission. Duchesses, servin' girls, an' two nuns ta top it off. 'Twas a wonder his weddin' tackle didn't drop off."
"Nuns, Mister Monk?" Alan asked.
"Ya know them breast-beatin' priests an' popes is the randiest pack o' rogues goin', no matter what anyone says. They don't wear them cassocks fer nothin'. Finest garments in the world fer fornicatin' when the humor's strong on ye. Ya think ya seen somethin' when the bum-boats come 'round the fleet when we hit port, ya ain't seen nothing 'til ya put foot ashore in a Catholic land. 'Course, ya could keep Mother Phillips at the Green Canister in silver from all the condoms ya'd wear out, an' come home ta find Half Moon Street richer'n St. James' Place."
The humor was on Alan strongly after this short talk, and he felt an unbearable urge to readjust his privates, but could not, not as
long as the Chiswicks were on deck. She suddenly looked a whole lot more desirable to him, however, after Monk's dissertation.
Dusk grew on the sea as the short early winter day began to end, and the hands were piped to quarters. Treghues's fifers and drummers came on deck in their livery and began to rattle and toot bravely while the marines turned up in their scarlet finery, and the seamen cast off the gun tackle and stood swaying by their pieces. Aft, in Treghues's quarters, the missing artillery had been replaced by short nines, older bronze guns not as reliable or as long as the newer long nines made of iron that were Desperate's original equipment.
For half an hour, until almost full dark, they stood waiting for the appearance of an enemy ship, while Treghues prated on from the nettings overlooking the waist about the ship and what would happen should battle present itself, to which the Chiswick women nodded often.
Finally, the hands were released from quarters, the guns bowsed down once more, and the men gathered up their hammocks from the nets to take them below. The overhead lookouts were stood down, and the men of the duty watch took up vantage points on the gangways and upper decks.
Treghues led the women aft toward the entrance to their cabins, and Alan was in their way. He looked at Caroline and tried to smile politely, but could not find it in him to be that charitable; he doffed his hat in a civil gesture, then turned away to his duties once more and missed the sudden frown that knit Caroline's brows together, hearing only Treghues inviting them to dine with him and share a captain's largesse.
There was a full moon that night that rode through a cold and clear sky. The stars stood out like candle flames, and the sea shone a lambent silver in the moon trough, each wave-top to either side to moonward flecked with sparkling glints. At the cast of the log, Alan found that Desperate was sailing at a fair five and a half knots even with three reefs in courses and tops'ls so that the slower and shorter merchantmen could keep up with her. He was aft, using the night glass to study their charges and count them, when he heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Caroline Chiswick pacing the deck, and he stiffened as much as if Commander Treghues had caught him napping. He could see in the faint light of the taffrail lanterns that she wore her hooded traveling cloak and muff.
"Good evening, Mister Lewrie," she said, hesitant about approaching him.
"Good evening, Mistress Chiswick," he replied civilly.
"I could not sleep," she said. "All the creaking and groaning the ship makes. And footsteps overhead constantly."
"I shall order the quarterdeck people to walk softer," Alan said.
Two bells had already pealed from the fo'c's'le belfry, so it was after one in the morning, he knew. An odd hour for a girl to be up and about, especially without her momma or servant as chaperone. The lack of supervision intrigued him.
"Do not do anything on my account, sir," Caroline said, stepping to the rail for a secure hold on the canted deck. "You must not make any changes in routine for our sakes, I pray."
"Do your parents rest well, miss?" Alan asked.
"They sleep soundly, thank you for asking, Mister Lewrie," she replied. "Um, this afternoon, Mister Lewrie, did I do something to disturb you?"
"I cannot think of anything, Mistress Chiswick." Alan frowned as though sifting his memory.
"When we went below, you answered my smile with such a look of complete… disinterest… that I feared I had inadvertently angered you in some way," she said with a haste that was out of character for the studied girl Alan had learned she was in their short acquaintance.
"I was on watch, after all." Alan shrugged in dismissal. "Our sailing master had already cautioned me to be attentive to my duties, and Captain Treghues was present as well. He's the one made me an acting mate, and I am still on sufferance to keep the rating."
"I see," she said, a slight line still creasing her forehead. "And you can do nothing to hurt your career in the Navy. You must love it, then, in spite of what you said before dinner."
"Actually, I detest it like the Plague," Alan confessed, screwing his mouth into a wry grin. "It was not my idea to enter the Navy, but I have become competent at this life, and it's most likely the only career I shall have."
"I had not gained that impression," she said. "Not the competent part, I assure you. You seemed most competent, in all things, when we sailed today. And competent at organizing our entrance into this ship, in everything. Surely, it's not that awful for you, is it?"
"I have come to accept it," Alan replied stiffly.
"I am sorry, I did not know that they could press-gang people as midshipmen," she said, attempting a smile as wry as his. "I had heard the food was bad and all, but… well, I'll not pry into a private concern of yours if it is bothersome to you to speak of it."
"I suppose you could call it press-ganged," Alan told her. "My family… look, I'm a second son, not in line to inherit, and there wasn't much to go around even then, not enough to keep me as a gentleman at home in London. And I was only an adopted son at that, without the blessing of the family name."
That sounds innocent enough, he decided. If she knew my real background, she'd go screaming for the ladders.
"And what did your father do?"
"Not much of anything." Alan grimaced. "He was knighted for something in the last war on Gibraltar—Sir Hugo St. George Willoughby. We lived in St. James, at the mercy of his creditors, most of the time. Had land and rents in Kent, nothing big, though, far as I know."
"But the Navy is a respectable career for a gentleman," she pressed, shifting a half step towards him. "Your captain was kindly disposed to you when we asked of you at supper. He said you were, how did he say it… shaping quite well as an officer-to-be."
"He did?" Alan marveled. Which only goes to prove that he's as barking mad as a pack of wolves, he thought.
"Oh, yes, he did. Though I am afraid he seemed a little put out that you were such a prominent topic," she whispered hesitantly.
"Oh?" Alan marveled some more, quite happy to hear that Treghues had been put out, and that he had been talked of.
"He said you came aboard after you had fought a duel for a girl's honor, the daughter of an admiral?" Her voice had a shiver of dread.
"The admiral's niece," Alan said, preening a little. "He has not seemed enamored of me, for that and a few other reasons."
"Did you hurt your foe?"
"I killed him," Alan informed her. "That's where I got this," he went on, lightly touching his left cheek which still bore the faint horizontal scar that Lieutenant Wyndham of the Twelfth Foot had administered.
"Because he ruined your beauty?" Caroline chuckled waggishly.
"No, that was a by-blow," Alan said, unable to credit a woman who could jape about something like that. "Excuse me, but I must return to the helmsmen. I have spent too long aft."
"Have I angered you again?" she asked.
"No, you haven't," Alan said. "And if you can stand the wind, I would be delighted to converse with you further, but I cannot skylark back here. I've the ship to run, and don't want the captain to catch me."
"Then I would be delighted to join you," she said, slipping her arm between his for support as they walked forward. "Your captain is a bit stiff, isn't he?"
"Absolutely rigid," Alan snickered softly, leaning his head near her so the hands would not hear him make complaint of a captain.
"Dining with him was like having a traveling evangel making free with your hospitality when he's out riding the circuit in the backcountry," Caroline whispered. "I was quite relieved when we retired."
"I am sorry you had such a poor time."
"Are you?" she wondered aloud, one eyebrow lifted.
"Yes, for your sake," Alan rejoined.
"Ah, now I see why you treated me so coldly," she said, dragging him to a stop before they reached the wheel.
"Nothing of the kind," he assured her, damning himself for looking so obvious. "It was fear of seeming slack on watch."
"From someone my
brothers said fears nothing?" she teased. "From what little I know of you, Mister Lewrie, I could not imagine there is anything in this life you fear."
"I hide it damn well, just like everyone else does."
"Such language in the presence of an impressionable young lady!" she gasped in mock distress. "Where will it all end? Tsk, tsk."
"My ar…"he began to say, but stopped himself before he could utter his favorite expression. Even joshing with a girl had its limits, especially if he truly nettled her and it was reported.
"My arse on a bandbox?" She blushed, as though she had stepped over her own line and was abashed at her own daring. "Remember, Mister Lewrie, I have two rowdy brothers and have lived in the country around ordinary yeomen farmers all of my life. Could I have been allowed to speak freely when vexed, I might use the phrase myself, instead of just thinking it. I hope I have not shocked you, instead."
"Not a bit of it," Alan replied, grinning widely. "Let there be perfect freedom between us, Mistress Chiswick."
"Then please call me Caroline."
"Caroline, I shall. Could you wait here for a moment, though? I really must see to the helm and the ship for a moment."
"Show me what you must see, I pray."
At her injunction he led her down the deck from the weather rail to the binnacle box before the wheel to speak to the quartermaster.
"Evening, Tate."
"Ev'nin', sir. Ev'nin,' miss," the helmsman said, almost swallowing his quid of tobacco at the miraculous appearance of a pretty young lady on the deck. His assisting quartermaster's mate, Weems as bosun of the watch, and one of the ship's boys drifted closer to ogle her, the boy gazing up in snot-nosed wonder, earning a smoothing of his unruly hair from her gloved hand that turned him into an adoring worshiper.
"How's her head?" Alan inquired.
"Sou'-sou'-west, 'alf south, sir," Tate answered.
Three bells chimed from up forward.
"Mister Weems, I'd admire another cast of the log," Alan ordered. "Turn the glass, boy."
"Aye, zur," the boy replied, fumbling with the half-hour glass on the binnacle, never tearing his eyes away from the pretty lady in the faint light from the compass box lanterns.
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