Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle

by CHERYL COOPER

  “You mean those naval ruffians who scour the countryside, forcing men of all ages to work on their ships?”

  Morgan nodded. “It seems someone had tipped them off that I had some skill with a hammer and nails. They asked me the name of my ship, and when I told them I wasn’t connected with any ship at all and never had been, they beat me about the head and carried me off to the docks, where they threw me into the hold of a large frigate. Well, you see, I’m almost twenty-one, ma’am. That was seven years ago and I don’t think my sisters know whatever became of me. Most likely they believe I was spirited away.”

  “You haven’t been home at all since you were fourteen?”

  “No, ma’am.” He glanced shyly up at Emily.

  “And this favour you have come to ask of me?”

  He cleared his throat and straightened himself up as if trying to summon up courage.

  “I was wondering if you could write a letter to my sisters for me, Brangwen and Glyn they are, informing them of my whereabouts these past several years.”

  Seeing his hopeful expression, Emily felt a sudden constriction around her heart.

  “I would … I would be delighted, Mr. Evans.”

  2:00 p.m.

  (Afternoon Watch, Four Bells)

  THE FIRST SHOT ERUPTED from the Serendipity like a steaming volcano blowing its top.

  Clinging to the lower mizzenmast platform, Gus could smell its cold metal, feel its shiver, and hear its ominous drone as it fell, short of its mark, into the empty ocean behind the Isabelle’s stern. Its shocking suddenness caused him to drop the captain’s telescope, and a young sailor working above him to lose his foothold on the topsail yard. As fate answered, the sailor was able to grasp onto the shrouds before falling to a certain death on the unforgiving deck below. The telescope did not fare quite as well; with an unsettling crash, it landed at Captain Moreland’s feet, its glass shattering and the shards cast spinning across the poop deck planks. Without a flinch, James kept his composure to address his anxious gun crews hunched over their cannons, itching to light their guns in reply.

  “Hold your fire, men,” he cried. “For God’s sake, hold your fire.” His command was repeated again and again around the ship, and when the guns stayed silent, he muttered a word of thanks, for he was not certain what action to take. His men, with their hearts in their mouths, stared at him, waiting for the word. Beneath the fluttering British flag on the poop deck, James, Fly, Mr. Harding, and Leander stood in a semi-circle, consulting navigational charts and closely watching the movements of the enemy ships – the Serendipity, a second frigate, and an accompanying brig – that now loomed, three abreast, a mile off the Isabelle’s stern.

  Realizing that James was undecided in his tactics, Fly spoke up. “Sir, if we turn the ship broadside, we’re prepared to fire four successive rounds. With a little luck, we may rip open one of their hulls.”

  “But we are too heavy to out-manoeuvre those three ships,” said a jittery Mr. Harding, bouncing back and forth from foot to stump. “Why, by the time we swing her round, they’ll have raked our stern, or worse still, shot our own hull full of holes.”

  In mute silence, James calmly flicked away the glass bits of his broken telescope with his boot.

  “With respect gentlemen,” said Leander hesitantly, “do we not have greater gun power, having more and heavier guns than either of those two frigates or that brig?”

  “We do, Doctor,” said Fly, “but despite bolstering our numbers with the men taken from the Liberty, we are still seriously short on skilled sailors, and therefore, not all of our seventy-four guns will see action. In comparison, those ships possess one hundred guns between them.”

  Mr. Harding shook his head sadly. “And with these light winds, we can’t hope to match their speeds.”

  “But surely this Trevelyan is not interested in just sinking us here in the Atlantic?”

  “Nay, Doctor,” said Fly. “He would more likely be wont to humiliate us by taking us a prize and leading us triumphantly into one of his nearby ports, an American flag hoisted over ours.”

  James gazed around the Isabelle with affection. “It is not my intent to send my men to certain death today, nor to humiliate them; however, the simple truth of the matter is that Trevelyan knows the Isabelle well. He is fully aware of her capabilities and encumbrances.”

  “What about trying negotiations, sir?” asked Mr. Harding, his round, red face lighting up hopefully. “We – we could return the sailors we took from the Liberty, and sweeten the deal with the return of the girl.”

  James pulled his eyes from his ship’s standing rigging and proud sails to glance past his sailing master at Leander, who had turned very pale. “Where is Emily, Doctor?”

  “In the hospital,” Leander answered slowly.

  “Think of it, sir,” said Mr. Harding, a bit too quickly. “They may bite at the prize money she will bring, and agree to leave us be.”

  Leander stared at James in disbelief. “Surely you don’t – you don’t mean to offer Emily up to Trevelyan?”

  “What are our chances here, Doctor?” cried Mr. Harding. “Would you have us all perish for the sake of one woman? She may be our only hope.”

  “You surprise me, Mr. Harding,” said James in a cold, reproachful voice. “A seasoned warrior such as yourself.” He took several paces from his companions and wavered alone on the Isabelle’s stern with his back to them, staring unseeing at the Serendipity.

  Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to drift across the Atlantic to England. For several wonderful minutes he dwelled in a pleasant reverie filled with light and beauty and the love of family and friends until the cries and calls from the enemy ships intruded upon his consciousness, yanking him back to the terrible reality of the moment. Quietly and privately, James tucked away in his heart the precious memories of the Yorkshire moors, his wife’s dear smile, and the loveliest sound in the world, the laughter of his six children. “I will give Trevelyan nothing,” he said to the wind, blinking away a solitary tear. “Besides, it is me he wants, and for nine long years he has waited for just such an opportunity.” He swung around to face his waiting officers.

  “Lee, find Emily and take her down to the orlop. In the event Trevelyan has heard of our admiral’s reward for her, hide her there, wherever you think appropriate.”

  Leander looked dazed and uncertain.

  “Go! Now!”

  Fly leaned into him and gave him an encouraging smile. “But don’t linger too long, Doctor. We may soon need you to wield a sword.” Leander snapped his mouth shut, cleared his throat, grinned self-consciously, and hurried off.

  When he was gone, James removed two letters from the inside breast pocket of his uniform coat and held them out to Fly. “Should the outcome be … I would rest easier knowing …” He stopped, and began again. “There is one addressed to my wife and another to you. I have attempted to answer all your questions regarding Trevelyan. Just know that he was connected with the ugliest episode of my life.”

  Fly accepted the letters with a comprehending nod. Silent seconds passed away before he was aware again of the vigilant eyes surrounding them. “Sir, the men … they are prepared to fight. They understand nothing of handing over prisoners in order to be left alone.”

  James sighed. “I know that, son.” He raised his head to yell at Gus sitting up high on his platform. “Mr. Walby!”

  “Aye, sir?”

  “Get down from there this instant and get yourself below.” He turned to Fly again. “How far off is Gosport Yard, where our friends are set up in blockade?”

  “We are not far off now, sir.”

  “Let us pray they hear our guns.”

  “Sir?”

  With restored conviction and resolve, James settled his blue bicorne upon his head, and in a voice robust enough for all to hear cried, “Shall we give it a try, Mr. Austen? Shall we have a go at them?”

  Understanding his captain’s meaning, Fly beamed. “Aye, sir!”
>
  “Broadside!”

  “Broadside it is, sir!”

  “Turn her round, Mr. McGilp,” James bellowed to the coxswain, as he climbed sprightly down the ladder to the quarterdeck, “and let her fly.”

  A roar of approval swept the Isabelle fore and aft as the energized men, seeing Captain Moreland striding with purpose down the deck towards the bow, high colour in his sunken cheeks and a glowing smile upon his lips, realized that he meant to fight. Fly followed, desperately trying to keep up to his revitalized leader, and was cheered to see the sailors’ reactions to the news. Mr. Crump gripped the larboard rail and showed his joy by dancing around on his one leg while Biscuit swiped the air several times with his cutlass. Bun Brodie released a guttural sound not unlike a foghorn and lifted a laughing Magpie high over his copper-coloured head. Bailey Beck clapped Morgan Evans on the back, almost knocking him off his feet, then pumped his arm in an enthusiastic handshake. The scarlet-jacketed marines all raised their muskets to their eyes, and the sweating gun crews rallied round their cannons and carronades on the larboard side of the ship, waving their rammers and fists in the air, ready to pour the gunpowder into the firing holes.

  And the Isabelle turned her head slowly into the wind.

  Within minutes, a second blast ripped from the Serendipity. This time it hit its mark, smashing into the mizzen topmast, snapping it in half and sheering away the lower platform, catching Gus Walby unawares on the ropes below and cruelly slinging him into the sea.

  3:00 p.m.

  (Afternoon Watch, Six Bells)

  LEANDER SAID NOT A WORD throughout their journey from the hospital to his private cabin, located between the captain’s storeroom and the spirits room on the orlop deck. When finally he spoke, his tone was detached and formal, as if he were seeing Emily as a patient for the first time. “You’re to stay here.” He unlocked the low, thin door, held high the lantern he carried, and stood back to let her pass into the room. “I am sorry for the dampness and the strong smell of fish.”

  Emily glanced miserably around his cramped quarters, which contained nothing more than a shabby hammock, a small bookshelf, and two wooden pegs on which he had hung a few articles of clothing. It was obvious to her why Leander preferred to sleep in the hospital. She stole a glance at him and her heart sank. He stared back at her, his features rigid, his eyes blank, as if she was not there at all, and solemnly he said, “I will not pretend that our situation is not serious. There are three of them to our one.”

  “The Amethyst – ?”

  “Our signals to her for assistance went unanswered.”

  “Will you not allow me to stay in the hospital, Doctor?”

  “It is Captain Moreland’s wishes – his orders – that you ride out the battle down here.”

  “Would I not be put to better use helping you with your patients?”

  “I – the men would only be anxious for your safety. You’ll be better off down here.”

  Hearing the misstep in his speech, she scanned his handsome face, willing him to gaze upon her with adoring eyes as he once had, only to be disappointed when he blinked several times and looked away. A brooding silence fell between them. Emily’s arms dropped to her sides in defeat. She bit back her stinging tears in an effort to conceal her hurt and fear from him. Long, awkward moments passed before she broke their silence.

  “Would you leave me the lantern? I do not like the darkness.”

  “Of course,” he said, placing it on his bookshelf next to a slim volume of Robbie Burns’s poems. He gestured towards a small purple bottle slipped in amongst his books. “Should things get … intolerable, you might find a sip of that will help.” He frowned and started as if suddenly remembering something. Reaching into the pocket of his brown frock coat, he pulled from it a folded slip of parchment and held it out to her.

  “Is it another letter to Jane you would have me read?” Emily asked.

  “This one is for you.”

  Emily glanced up sharply, daring to hope.

  “There – there is information that has recently come to light,” he continued, his eyes full of sadness, “information gleaned from Captain Prickett and Lord Bridlington of the Amethyst with whom I had the privilege to dine last evening. It is the very best of news. Read my letter and take comfort in it, and know that you do have a life worth living.”

  Emily looked puzzled. “You tell me this, Doctor, yet I hear no joy in your voice. What of that?”

  From the far reaches of the orlop, a voice suddenly called out, shattering the unsettling stillness around them. “Dr. Braden? Are ya down here, sir?”

  “I am, Mr. Brockley.”

  “And will ya be along, then? The hospital – I’m worried it’ll soon be full, sir.”

  “I am coming straightaway.”

  Emily snapped in exasperation. “You are always needed somewhere! Why, I can hardly complete a sentence let alone a conversation in your company without someone listening in or pulling you away or beating to quarters or drowning or needing you to stitch up their bloody head! And now … you are needed again.” With a sharp intake of breath, she caught herself, regretting her words.

  Leander lifted his chin. “There are many things I cannot change and that is one of them.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Doctor, will you not stay a moment? I should like to hear this good news from your own lips.”

  “I should go.” He bent his tall frame to pass through the low door. Out in the darkness of the deck, he paused, briefly, before setting off, firm resignation evident in his stride.

  A forlorn emptiness pressed down on Emily as she watched him go, disappearing bit by bit into the obscurity like an elusive dream. He was nothing more than a grey shape in the black shadows when a thunderous explosion ripped through the air and the Isabelle pitched and groaned with a hit. Panic arose in her breast as she listened to the crew’s suppressed but distinct outpouring of horrified anger in the distance. In the furore, she was certain she discerned the chilling words, “man overboard.” Her pulse accelerated with anxiety for the Isabelle’s crew. They were no longer faceless, nameless sailors; they were her friends, companions, brothers she had never before known, cherished substitutes for her lost parents. Her family.

  “Who is it that has fallen now?”

  Cold dread coursed through her veins as she realized, with a battle looming, a rescue of the poor soul would be impossible. The Isabelle shuddered as her larboard guns boomed and jumped in answer to the enemy blasts. Emily imagined the men falling dead, bloodied and torn apart by grapeshot, or worse still, alone and injured on the deck, pleading piteously for help that would be a long time in coming, if ever. Her mind raced to Morgan Evans, who only minutes before had said good-bye to her in the hospital after he had haltingly dictated a touching letter home to his Welsh sisters. She thought of Fly Austen and Captain Moreland running steadfastly about, assuring, assisting, and encouraging their men while standing in the direct line of enemy fire, and of little Magpie, his head still in bandages, and dear Gus Walby, proudly wearing his bicorne, both of them heady with adrenaline as they carried out orders and fought alongside the older men. Wild-eyed, she peered into the spreading gloom for a final glimpse of the one man she cared for above all others, and hysterically she cried out, “Leander!”

  For a moment, there was a haunting silence, as if the battle had ended and all hands were lost, then at last she heard the welcoming echo of his returning footsteps. He soon appeared in the dim illumination of her lamplight, an expression of expectation on his face, staring at her with wide eyes as her own filled with tears.

  “I cannot bear this coldness between us any longer,” she choked out. “I – I have relied so completely on your friendship these past weeks. I am well aware that I may not see you again. Will you – could you not at least shake hands with me?” She extended her trembling right hand as the tears started down her face and whispered, “Would you leave me thus?”

  He stood stock-still, his aubu
rn brow etched in sorrow, and for the longest time said nothing. Only when the pervasive wails of war intensified did his words at last tumble out. “If I had not heard the name of Mrs. Seaton and learned of your background and parentage and understood the reason for your unhappiness and nightmares; if everything was different, if everything was put right in the world – had we been born in the same circles – not opposite ends of the earth – and I wasn’t simply a ship’s doctor – then – then – I would never leave you.”

  It was Emily’s turn to be rendered speechless. She gave him a tentative smile and her eyes never wavered from his face.

  He nodded towards the letter she held to her breast and gently said, “I cannot stay long, but I shall stay here while you read it.”

  Tearing it open, she hungrily swept its contents.

  Dear Madam;

  Should we not have an opportunity to speak again in private I feel compelled to inform you that I am now aware that you are the granddaughter of King George and will henceforth address you as the Princess Emeline Louisa. I can only speculate what unfortunate circumstances resulted in you being taken prisoner on the Serendipity and now understand why it was you were travelling across the ocean under the name of Mrs. Seaton. But know this – it has been my pleasure and an honour to care for your wounds these past weeks. You have proven to be a most affable and courageous patient.

  Rejoice in the knowledge that your lady-in-waiting and your husband, Frederick Seaton, were rescued from the wreck of the Amelia and are safely home in England under the care of your Uncle William, the Duke of Clarence. It is my hope that this news will safeguard you from your blackest hours.