by Arlem Hawks
They didn’t speak again that night. She drew until her father lay on his cot and let down the curtains. When his exhales deepened, she stopped her work on his likeness and turned to a fresh sheet.
Georgana drew lines for the bulwark, then outlined a head and shoulders. Arms resting against the rail. Hair flying back. Eyes closed. Ends of his lips lifted. She held the book back to examine her work. The picture did not look like the lieutenant.
Grandmother cried out in her head. Mistake! Mistake!
Her fingers slowly, quietly tore the page from her book. She eased the window open enough to stick her hand through and released the page into the night air. It drifted this way and that until coming to rest on the surface of the water. The paper tarried a moment, then faded into the deep.
Chapter 7
Georgana stared at the ceiling of the captain’s cabin for a moment before realizing the hour. Bright light reflected off the white paint, making her squint. From the deck above, the bell rang three times. Half past nine.
She jolted up and tripped out of her blankets to the floor. Her father was not in the room. She hadn’t even heard him get up.
Georgana rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. How could she have slept so long? The last two weeks she’d stayed up late every night drawing, but she never overslept. With bells every half hour, how could anyone?
She ducked behind the changing screen to pull on breeches and tuck her loose shirt in. Quickly she ran a hand over the bindings around her chest, her most important article of clothing. Not that she had much to hide in that regard, but she couldn’t be too careful. Then stockings, shoes, and a neckcloth. As she fumbled with the buttons on the waistcoat, she wished for a moment she could wear fewer layers, as the other boys did. That would make dressing much faster on days like this. Last came her coat. Only the first-class boys, those awaiting a promotion to midshipman, wore so many articles of clothing. But they didn’t have something to hide.
This was what she got for letting her pride get the best of her, as Grandmother always said. Georgana had started to grasp the basics of drawing people. Well, of drawing two specific people. She pulled her cap on and raced for the door. If she had been more humble about the drawings, she would not have stayed up so late.
Georgana headed for the galley, not stopping to wonder if her father had already eaten his breakfast. The ship bustled with seamen performing their morning tasks—cleaning guns from yesterday’s drills, scrubbing the floors. In her haste, she smacked into one of the boys mingling on the gun deck.
Her throat tightened as Fitz’s smirking face met her. “Sleep well, Prince George?” The boy put his hands on his hips. “Captain is above if you need to make your excuses.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. She had managed to avoid him and his lot for several weeks, but she hadn’t been thinking of them when she barreled out of the cabin.
“If you will excuse me,” she muttered, taking a step toward the galley.
She anticipated Fitz’s shove before his hand hit her shoulder and threw her weight into it to keep herself upright. She pivoted, facing her attacker. Out of habit from her lessons with Lieutenant Peyton, her hands clenched at her sides, ready.
“You think you’re better than us, don’t you, Georgie?” Before she could step back, Fitz lashed out and grabbed the front of her shirt with his soot-covered hand. She tried to pull away, but the action only tugged her collar out from under her loosely fastened necktie.
He leaned in, his face inches from hers. His breath reeked of grog. Georgana gagged. “You’re no better than us, you little orphaned rat.”
The button on her collar strained. Georgana yanked at his fingers to loosen his grip. “I never said I was.” Her legs shook. The waistcoat covered most everything, but if the button popped free and the shirt fell open, the top of her bindings would be visible. Three years of secrets, gone in a moment.
Sound English cannon, the lieutenant’s voice whispered in her mind. Georgana took a breath. Then she drove her fist into Fitz’s face.
The blow glanced off his cheekbone instead of connecting with his nose as she had intended, but it accomplished her aim. He released her shirt and stumbled back, cursing. She stared at the hunched over Fitz. The boys stared at her.
What had she done?
The lads’ leader raised his head. The skin under his right eye was pink and puffing up. There was murder in his eyes.
He didn’t speak. Georgana widened her stance, heart racing. Peyton said if she defended herself, the boys would leave her alone. She prayed he was right.
With a cry, Fitz lunged.
Sails covered the deck for cleaning. Dominic walked among them, encouraging dawdling workers and chatting with the boatswain. Behind him, Captain Woodall paced the quarterdeck alone.
Jarvis and the captain had continued their quarrels since the schooner sighting. Dominic couldn’t say if Jarvis simply needed to release pent-up frustrations for not getting promoted or if he was still stewing over the schooner they had let go.
Dominic hadn’t seen George this morning. Odd. He usually attended the captain in the mornings, except on the days he washed clothes. He hoped the boy hadn’t taken ill.
George had seemed fine the day before when they practiced in the wardroom. He was getting quite good, and Dominic couldn’t help but feel a bit of fatherly pride—or what he imagined such pride would feel like, since he had never observed it from his own father. George had flipped Dominic flat onto his back yesterday. A real, if not painful, sign of progress.
He made his way toward the quarterdeck to give the captain a report. More encouraging than George’s fighting skills, the lad had softened his reserved manner. A smile here. A joke there, so quiet and dry one might miss it.
Dominic passed the main hatchway as one of the men came through. Shouts echoed up from the gun deck. He stopped the man and pointed below. “What is all that?”
The sailor chuckled as he saluted. “Just a couple of the boys having a row, sir.”
Walter Fitz, no doubt. That boy would plague him this entire voyage. “Who is involved?” The fight needed to be stopped immediately.
“Fitz and Taylor, sir. And Taylor’s holding his own. Lad won’t give up.”
Blast! Dominic spun around and practically threw himself down the hatchway. Boys’ voices whooped and groaned all about him as his eyes struggled to adjust to the dimness of the lower deck.
It wasn’t supposed to come to this.
“First the captain’s pet, now the lieutenant’s,” Fitz growled. “How’d you manage that, pretty boy?” Blood dribbled down his chin from a cut on his lip.
Georgana hadn’t landed a better punch than the first one, but she’d managed to stay out of the way of his swings. That cut had come from pushing at his face when he had tried to wrestle her to the ground. She hadn’t let him, and she even tried to run for the captain’s cabin, but he kept her in the fight by sweeping her feet out from under her.
“I don’t want to fight anymore, Fitz,” she said through clenched teeth. “Just let me go.”
He and the other boys blocked her escape. A few of the men came to watch, but no one stepped in to help.
“Don’t want to fight?” Fitz breathed heavily, hands on his knees. He straightened and swept a hand to the side. “Well, we wouldn’t want to keep a yellow-livered landsman in a fight, would we?” He moved aside as if to let her pass.
Georgana watched him, looking for a sign of deceit. He wouldn’t let her just walk away. She edged toward the cabin, but the line of boys tightened, preventing her from passing through.
“Should have guessed a girl like you wouldn’t stay to finish the fight.”
Georgana spun, stomach leaping into her throat. “What did you say?”
Fitz grinned wickedly. “Where did the captain pick you up, Georgie? At a girl’s school? Are you nothing more than a lass in breeches?” Fitz brushed off his hands. Georgana stood frozen to the deck. He didn’t know. He couldn’t k
now.
Fitz crossed his arms. “Handsome cabin boy, indeed. More like ugly cabin girl.”
Something within her snapped. “Stop!” She threw herself at him, knocking him to the ground.
“Girl!” he shouted. “You’re a—”
Georgana clapped her hand over his mouth. He shook his head, and she had to scramble to keep his mouth covered. Every time he wiggled away, he shouted, “Girl!” How long until his suggestion stuck in the crew’s minds, until they started guessing the truth?
Fitz tore at her coat, her cap, her hair, trying to get her off him. He tried to roll over, but she threw her weight to the other side. Louder, deeper voices called, but she didn’t make them out.
She couldn’t hold on much longer. Her arms shook, and her legs felt wooden and clumsy. Fitz, despite his bruises, wasn’t tiring as fast.
Time for another sound English cannon. To end this. To protect her secret. Georgana pushed herself up, fist cocked to deliver the blow.
Arms clamped around her middle and dragged her away. She pushed and slapped, trying to break free. If they held her and let Fitz get the last hit . . .
But the iron arms holding her were covered in wool. Dark blue wool with brass buttons. Georgana relaxed just as Lieutenant Peyton hissed, “Settle down, George.” She let him pull her back.
He released her several paces from Fitz, who wearily got to his feet. The lieutenant stood between them, glancing from one to the other with brows pulled low. He looked furious, but she spotted a little twitch at the corner of his lips.
Fitz’s finger jutted at Georgana. “He threw the first blow.”
“George did?”
“He wouldn’t let me go,” she mumbled. Her gaze sank to the floor. What a half-wit she was. She always made the wrong decision, and this time it would ruin everything. Her father would have to punish them both or risk making the crew suspicious.
Lieutenant Peyton didn’t say anything for a minute. Movement and conversation from the upper deck sounded loud and clear in the silence. “I do not want to see either of you within ten feet of each other. I do not want you to speak. I do not want you to look at each other. Is that understood?”
Georgana’s head moved up and down submissively.
“Walter?”
“Yes, sir,” came the grumble.
“Very good. Mr. Fitz, go to the surgeon for that eye. Mr. Taylor, come with me.”
He took Georgana’s arm and marched her back to the captain’s empty cabin. Once inside, he closed the door. “What happened?” He placed his hands on her shoulders, but she couldn’t look at him.
“I already explained, sir.” Her voice faltered. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea.” Her heart still pounded, but whether from the fight or from having Lieutenant Peyton’s arms around her, she could not tell.
His hands fell to his sides. What would he tell her father? She wanted to crumple to the deck at the thought of Papa.
A moment later he slipped her cap, which she hadn’t realized she’d lost, over her hair. The slight brush of his fingers against the short locks sent a peculiar tingle along her scalp. The sensation stilled the commotion inside her. When was the last time someone had gently touched her hair? Surely it had been Mama.
She lifted her head. His grin that had threatened earlier made a brief appearance. He tousled her cap and mouthed, Good work. “I’ll have Étienne come up to look at those knuckles when he’s done with Walter,” he said. And then he left.
Georgana’s shoulders sagged in relief. She was still in the lieutenant’s good favor. She held up her hands. Despite her attempts to soften her skin with tallow, they had cracked and bled in the fight. She wondered if any of the blood was from Walter’s lip. The thought made her flesh prickle. Disgusting.
Dominic didn’t relish the task of reporting George’s fight to the captain. Best to get it done with quickly. He leaped up the steps to the quarterdeck and nearly ran the captain over.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” Captain Woodall asked.
Dominic straightened his shoulders and touched his fingers to his bicorn. “There has been an incident, sir. With George and Walter.”
The captain blanched. “What is it? What has happened?” Dominic was surprised by just how agitated the captain was. Of course, George was his relation and he was tasked in the boy’s safety. But this was the navy, after all.
“I am not certain how it started, but I venture to guess that Walter provoked George, and George stood up for himself.” Dominic bit the inside of his cheek to keep his expression in check. George had finally taken a stand. “After George’s facer, he won’t be able to open his eye for a week.”
“George is hurt?” Captain Woodall hurried for the stairs.
Dominic held up a hand. “No, I apologize, Captain. Walter is the one with the swollen eye. George landed the facer.”
The captain stopped in his tracks. His head slowly came around. “George did?”
Dominic drew in a breath. “Yes, sir, and before you take disciplinary action, I wish you to know I consider myself partly to blame.” His words rushed out like water from a cracked barrel. “I taught George to fight, so he could defend himself from the other boys’ heckling. I didn’t think it would go this far, but George did only what I told him to do.”
Captain Woodall tilted his head. His hands clasped behind his back. “You taught him? When?”
“In the wardroom, sir, whenever our schedules allowed.”
The captain paced toward the end of the deck. He stroked his chin. Dominic waited at attention for a response.
“He has been harassed by the other boys?” The man’s voice lowered. “I didn’t know.”
“Forgive me, but there are many boys on this ship. You cannot protect them all.” Which was why Dominic had tried to protect this one friendless lad.
“Gave him a shiner, you say?” An odd glimmer appeared in Captain Woodall’s eyes.
Was he pleased? Dominic hoped so, for George’s sake.
“Yes, sir. Quite thoroughly.” He cleared his throat. “If I may be so bold, I would recommend not taking disciplinary action against either young man. I don’t think it will happen again.” Surely Walter had learned his lesson. George certainly had.
The captain waved a hand. “Oh, no. Of course not. After all, they were just being . . .” That strange expression returned. “Boys.”
Georgana sat with hands clasped in her lap. The captain’s meal was spread out on the table. Her father had stayed above decks nearly all day, and though she’d taken her turn helping clean the sails, he’d never come over to speak with her. He acted as though nothing had happened.
She looked down at her cracked knuckles, now smeared with lard. This time the surgeon had given the fat to her. The pungent scent of pig wafted up from her hands, mixing foully with the aroma of dinner. She preferred the less-fetid smell of candle tallow.
The door opened, and she jumped to her feet with a salute for the sake of the men who might see inside. Her father strode in, sweeping his bicorn from his head.
When the door closed, she waited for him to speak. He didn’t.
Her father sat and helped himself to the sea biscuits and pork stew before them. Not once did he look at her. She remained standing, watching him dish up the food. Their looming discussion hung heavy in the silence.
He tapped the weevils out of his biscuit, then set it to soak at the bottom of his stew. The little larvae wriggled across the table, seeking their vanished food and shelter. Georgana used to shudder at the sight. Now she rarely glanced at them, except at this moment, to avoid her father’s eyes.
A carafe of lemonade and a pitcher of grog sat between the dishes. Her father ignored the former and filled his glass with the watered-down rum. Cook thought the captain enjoyed lemonade, but it was a lie. The lemonade was for Georgana.
A lump formed in Georgana’s throat. Everything was a lie. Her entire life these three years. Her interactions with the crew. Her friendship with Lieu
tenant Peyton. Lies, lies, and more lies.
The captain took a drink, then looked up. “Sit, George. Eat.”
Georgana sank into the chair and slipped a biscuit from the plate. Her stomach cinched tight, but she took a bite.
Her father leaned across the table. “Why did you not tell me the boys were harassing you?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.” The same reason Mama had told her not to tell him about how Grandmother acted.
His jaw clenched. Would he shout like Grandmother? He hadn’t shouted at her in anger before, but she deserved to be scolded after what she’d done today. “You did not think I would find out?” he asked, voice still low.
“Boys have teased me ever since I boarded the Deborah.” Her wet eyes burned.
He covered his face with a hand. His chin dropped to his chest. “Why did you not come to me?”
“I didn’t want you to be upset. If you favor me too much, the crew gets suspicious.” And the boys’ teasing would get worse.
Georgana stared at her food. If she ever left this ship, she wouldn’t eat pork again. Or these biscuits. That day might be very soon if anyone thought too much about Fitz’s jeers. She’d reacted too strongly to his calling her a girl.
“I’ve ruined you, George.” The words came out hoarse, pained.
Georgana usually refuted such statements. She didn’t like to consider the possibility they were true. After all, he had tried hard to do what was best. But tonight she couldn’t deny them. She didn’t have the strength.
Chapter 8
Dominic didn’t expect to find George huddled behind a cannon on the gun deck following afternoon watch. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and his Monmouth cap hung over his eyes. No one on the deck paid him any mind. Most probably couldn’t see him.
Captain Woodall had kept the boy in the captain’s quarters most of the day following the fight—Dominic assumed to help ease tensions. Word of the fight passed quickly and faded, as it always did. No doubt the only one who remembered now was Fitz, who could still hardly see out of one eye.
