by Arlem Hawks
Most everyone had filtered up from the lower decks. Even the hardened sailors rarely missed a chance to see land one last time before putting out to sea. And with this faint breeze, they’d need everyone’s strength to man the sails.
Dominic turned to retrace his steps but paused when his eyes fell on an unfolded sheet of paper on the table. It wasn’t his concern, whatever it was, but his curiosity got the best of him. What if it was another of Georgana’s drawings? He’d only take a peek.
He stepped to the table and smoothed the paper. Not a drawing—a letter. Before he could turn away, the name Georgana caught his eye. He quickly scanned the previous paragraphs.
Now is the time to put away foolish games. Georgana is already eighteen and has few merits. If we do not act while she is young, she may never find a match. Send to York and have her transported back to Lushill. I have already tried to send for her, but the name of the school is incorrect, as you knew when you gave it to me.
The grandmother. He set his jaw. No, the girl would most certainly not be going back to Lushill. Not that he held any say in the matter. But if he could present her another option, she would at least have the choice for once.
The girl will do whatever you say, Alfred. Stop this ridiculous hiding and put her where she can be of use to the family. Your own love match might have benefited you for a moment, but see where it has brought you. Don’t let the girl make the same mistake.
He swept up the letter, prepared to rip it up and send it the way of Georgana’s cast-off drawings. It took all his reasoning to lower it back to the table. He let go with stiff fingers and took a step away.
Dominic drew in a breath. He was late. He needed to get above to give the signal to haul up the anchor. And he couldn’t let anyone catch him in here, reading Captain Woodall’s private correspondence. He made for the door and ran for the ladder, shoes clicking on the recently cleaned deck. When he cleared the hatch, he snapped his bicorn onto his head and proceeded to the gathering of similar hats with feathery trim rustling in the breeze.
Dominic saluted. Captain Woodall didn’t wait for his apology, but shouted, “Up anchor!”
Dominic relayed the message. Orders echoed across the deck, and men grunted as they hit the upper capstan’s bars to bring in the anchor. Dominic found his place and waited for the report. When the anchor was raised far enough, he sent men aloft to ready the sails.
A small figure stood at the very back of the quarterdeck as the ship began to move. Tiers of sails filled. Men hurried between the lines and along the yards high above. But she paid the chaos no mind. The island drifted away while she watched, unnoticed by all except a lieutenant whose focus should have been fixed on the sea.
Georgana sighed and lowered herself down the ladder to the orlop deck. She headed to the powder room for the evening gun drills, as the captain had assigned her. Joining the powder monkeys again would be willful disobedience.
The belly of the ship didn’t smell as foul as it did toward the end of a voyage. Two days on the ocean hadn’t given the filthy bilge water enough time to collect. She hurried into the magazine, but neither the yeoman nor his mates acknowledged her presence.
“Jarvis is a fool,” the yeoman grunted. “He’ll get expelled from the navy if he isn’t careful.”
One of the young men laughed. “If Captain Woodall doesn’t throw him overboard first. I’ve seen him with the lieutenant. Water and oil, those two.”
Georgana poured black powder into its fabric cartridge.
“It’s the captain’s own fault, not putting the lieutenant in his place,” the other mate said. “The last ship I was on, the captain would’ve flogged him, officer or no.”
She tied off the cartridge and reached for another. Her father’s tactics were more lax than other captains’ in some ways. He never resorted to clobbering his men when they were out of line. Discipline suffered only marginally because of it.
“Captain Woodall doesn’t have the courage to stand up to his own officers,” the yeoman growled.
The young men’s eyes darted to Georgana, who kept her head down and continued filling bags as though she hadn’t heard them. A chill slithered up her arms.
“You can’t talk that way,” one of the young men hissed.
“George won’t squawk, will you?” She didn’t meet the yeoman’s gaze but shook her head. “There’s a good lad.”
The sound of footsteps made the mates jump into action. One of the gun crew captains appeared at the door. “George, we need you with the powder monkeys. With Fitz, Noyse, and Pearce down, we don’t have enough boys.”
“But the captain—”
The man snorted. “You think the captain cares one whit who fuels his guns?”
Yes. She knew well the captain did care if she fueled his guns.
“Go, lad,” the yeoman said with a wave of his hand. “Don’t think you’re better than the rest of the lot.”
Georgana tied off a bag and slid it into the canister offered by the gun captain. She added another, then followed him out.
“What’s wrong with Noyse and Pearce?” She could barely see the man in the darkness of the lowest deck.
“Both had fevers this morning. They’re in the sick bay.”
She hurried to keep up with his long stride. Sickness on the ship meant trouble for all on board. Sometimes it affected only one, like Charlie Byam’s illness. But in such a small living space, illnesses often spread rapidly through the crew.
Another thing for Papa to worry over.
“You’ll take Fitz’s place with the Spitting Devil, Bess, and Victory,” the gun captain said as they climbed the ladder.
Perfect. Jarvis’s new post.
The gun crews snatched up the cartridges the moment she got to the gun deck, and she immediately turned and ran back for the powder room. With three crews counting on her, she would be running more than usual.
On her next trip up to the gun deck, she met with Jarvis’s red face. “What kept you?”
Georgana glanced at the other powder monkeys, who’d gone down and come up at the same speed she had. She ducked her head and scurried to the crews, placing the powder far enough away it wouldn’t get trampled. Best to ignore Jarvis and do what she needed to. And pray her father didn’t catch her on the gun deck.
Minutes later she burst through the hatch with a full canister for her third round. A rough hand grabbed her collar and hauled her up.
“Do you think this a promenade in Hyde Park, Taylor?”
Jarvis sent her careening into one of the gun crews, and she narrowly avoided the gun’s kick as white smoke exploded from its muzzle. Her ears rang from the boom that rattled her bones. A sailor caught her and pushed her out of the way of the men surging forward to clean the cannon.
She distributed her load and went for more. Her lip trembled, and she angrily caught it in her teeth to stop the movement. They weren’t in battle. The crews didn’t need powder as fast for training, especially since the captain frequently stopped them for correction. Too much powder on the deck and an errant spark could blow the ship into the sky.
Her ears throbbed, pushing sound back as though she had a blanket covering them. Boys passed her going the opposite direction. They had to be close to finished. Her father tried not to waste shot on excessive practice.
The yeoman filled her canister, and she turned to make her trek back to the top again. Her stomach churned. Jarvis would be waiting at the hatchway to scream at her again. She shouldn’t find it surprising he would try to retaliate against the captain and first lieutenant by pestering her.
At the top of the ladder, something swung at Georgana’s face. She threw up her arm and deflected the blow, but the force of it sent her rolling to the floor.
Jarvis stood over her, face hard. “You dare to stand against me?” He raised his fist again, and she rolled out of the way. She sprang to her feet and spun to face him, ready for the next blow.
“Lieutenant!”
The
gun master, Mr. Adams, had Jarvis by the arm. His balding head emphasized heavy brows that glared as he restrained the lieutenant, a man much above his rank. “This behavior is not called for, and it is distracting my gun crews.”
Jarvis ripped his arm free. “I am acting within my authority.”
“If you aren’t careful, it won’t be your authority anymore.” The gun master backed off, but footsteps on the ladder cut short Jarvis’s advance.
Georgana didn’t need to see much of the long legs to know who had descended to the gun deck. And while she was happy to see the face at the top of that well-formed frame, she bolted for the ladder on the other side of the ship. She hadn’t been in company with Peyton often since they left Antigua, but she didn’t doubt her father had made his commands clear to the first lieutenant. She was not to be on the gun deck.
Her arm pulsed where Jarvis’s first blow had landed, but the ache didn’t run deep enough to signal that anything was damaged. And her shirt would cover the inevitable bruise. Bringing attention to Jarvis’s unwarranted punishment would only aggravate the strained situation.
She did not want to be responsible for that.
Georgana stood at the edge of the sick bay, a steaming cup of ginger tea in her hands. Lanterns illuminated three occupied hammocks. Most of the men now sat at dinner on the messdeck below, leaving this level quiet and undisturbed.
A figure moved between the two hammocks on the starboard side of the deck. Étienne didn’t look up when she entered. The occupant of the third hammock was sitting upright, head in his hands. She moved to his side and cleared her throat.
“Captain sent this for you.” Or at least the captain wouldn’t be angry if he found out she’d brought it. She held the tin cup out to him. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Fitz moved his hands just enough to stare at the cup, but he didn’t take it.
“It will help your head.”
“Why are you doing this, pretty boy?”
She didn’t know herself. Perhaps because she remembered the shattered boy sitting alone in the messdeck after his friend had been killed. Or because the scene of him struggling under Jarvis’s abuse still haunted her thoughts.
She held the cup closer to him. Fitz was just a boy trying to find his place on this ship, as she was. And like her incessant memories of Grandmother, memories of Fitz’s bullying did not serve her.
“I want to let go of the past,” she whispered.
Fitz watched her, his eyes half covered by his hands, then hesitantly took the cup. “Did you poison it?”
“Only ginger and honey.”
He took a slow drink, eyes narrowing in reaction to the spiciness of the ginger. One hand moved to his forehead as he sipped.
“Captain’s sending food over shortly. He has fresh mango on the table tonight. Have you tried mango?”
The boy gave her a quiet yes.
“I think you’ll enjoy the food. Rest well, Fitz.”
He gave her a nearly inaudible “thank you” as she turned to leave. Perhaps she and Fitz would never be friends, but she hoped they were on the way to not being enemies. Having Jarvis as an enemy on board was difficult enough.
“Mr. Taylor, come here, if you please.” The gravelly voice of the French surgeon stopped her before she left the sick bay. She moved to the other end of the ship, where Étienne’s shadowy face held a grim scowl. He looked from one sick boy to the other. Even in the dim light, their faces shone with sweat.
“I believe they have the same fever young Mr. Byam contracted.”
Georgana’s hand flew to her mouth. It hadn’t been an isolated incident, after all.
“I wish to quarantine them. Walter should be moved as soon as possible. Will you tell this to the captain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you. And find the boy’s father to help him back to the messdeck.”
Georgana ran for the captain’s quarters but crashed into a pair of blue-clad arms and a cream-colored waistcoat halfway across the deck.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Lieutenant Peyton asked.
Georgana touched the brim of her cap in a salute. She didn’t meet his eyes, for fear he’d somehow see the flush of her cheeks, even in the darkness of the deck. “I have a message for the captain.”
“I just finished speaking with him, and he is not in a pleasant mood.” He still held her arms, gently but firmly. “He thought I’d told you to go against his orders and practice with the powder monkeys.”
Her head snapped up. Her father hadn’t said a word about it to her all evening. She thought he hadn’t noticed her disobedience. “A gun captain fetched me up. Noyse and Pearse are down with the same fever Byam had, and the monkeys needed help.”
Peyton’s lips pressed together, and his eyes strayed to the sick bay behind her. “That is unwelcome news. What happened with Jarvis?” Peyton asked.
Georgana sighed and pulled out of his hands, though her arms instantly missed the feel of them. Maybe someday she would let him stay like that, holding on to her.
No, dreams like this were dangerous. She shook her head, responding to her thoughts as well as to Peyton. “What happened with Jarvis was only to be expected.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.” At least no more than her grandmother had on multiple occasions. Her arm didn’t smart anymore. “I’ve been cuffed plenty of times by officers. This isn’t new.”
“You must be careful, George. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Georgana turned her back to him. His kind words were just as perilous as her thoughts. Seeing his face so soft and full of concern made her heart melt like sealing wax over her father’s letters. And Peyton had already stamped his mark into the tender mess.
“I’ll be fine,” she said through a lump in her throat. “Did you tell the captain about Jarvis?”
“No, I wanted to speak with you first.”
Those words gave her some relief. “Don’t say anything.”
Peyton let out a fierce breath. “This isn’t a quarrel between ship’s boys. Jarvis is twice your size and looking for revenge after losing his rank. He would have no qualms doing to you what he did to Walter Fitz.”
Georgana knew he was right. She’d seen the fury in the third lieutenant’s eyes after she blocked his fist. While she didn’t know how far her father would go to teach Jarvis his place, if she were involved, he would throw Jarvis into the sea.
The words of the powder crew sprang to her mind. Water and oil, they’d said. She did not want to be the spark that ignited tensions. She would keep her head down and do her work. “I need to speak to the captain.”
She didn’t want him to leave her, but when she looked over her shoulder before entering the cabin, he had disappeared.
Chapter 19
Dominic lay in his cot, listening to Jarvis grumble to Lieutenant Rimmer, the marine second lieutenant, in the wardroom. Around them the ship was coming to life, though the sun had yet to rise. After taking the middle watch through the early morning hours, Dominic should have been sleeping.
Instead, he lit his lantern and pulled Georgana’s drawing from his coat pocket. His mind drifted back to the sheltered bay and their afternoon alone. She’d seemed so free that day as they built walls against the tide and scoured the bright sand for a token to give his mother. He’d watched her search, following her small footprints across the beach before the jealous waters scampered over them. One corner of his mouth tugged upward. The sea did not like a rival.
Not that Georgana was a rival. He laughed silently at the thought. They were only friends, of course. If she ever suspected he knew her secret, she’d probably retreat behind her walls—walls that wouldn’t come down with the simple touch of a wave.
Dominic traced the curve of the bay with his finger. He didn’t want to lose this friendship. Didn’t want to lose her trust. Their relationship was unlike any he’d formed before, though admittedly he didn’t have very many female acquaintances si
nce he had gone to sea at age twelve. He hadn’t met many people with Georgana’s dry wit and warm heart in those fourteen years.
“Spying for the captain, George?”
Dominic bolted upright at Jarvis’s voice. He folded the paper and shoved it back in his pocket. How had she materialized, just when he was thinking of her?
“No, I’m here with a message for Lieutenant Peyton.”
“Yes, you always are.”
Dominic rammed his feet into his shoes as he rebuttoned his waistcoat. Jarvis had better hold his tongue. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, then threw open his cabin door.
Georgana stood just outside the wardroom’s entrance. The inward pull on the side of her lip belied her otherwise stoic face.
Dominic didn’t acknowledge Jarvis’s glare. He nearly invited her into his room to avoid the third lieutenant, but the words halted on his tongue. Bringing her in felt wrong now that he knew who she was. If she ever found out he was aware of the truth, she could be angry with him for knowingly compromising her reputation.
Best to find a quiet space outside the wardroom. He closed his cabin door and joined her. With his head he motioned toward a secluded spot behind the ladder. She followed him over.
“There’s no secret,” she said.
He blinked. Of course there was a secret. This secret had completely changed their friendship, from that of a boy and mentor to . . . Well, he wasn’t sure what it was now. A friendship truer than any he’d had before, and yet one where both parties kept significant truths from each other.
“The captain just wanted me to tell you there are three more.”
Three more what? Three more women dressed as boys? Dominic’s mind spun, and he put a hand to his head.
“This time it’s men, too, not just boys.” Georgana stared at a spot on the floor, face grave. “And the rash has started. Exactly as with Byam. Étienne still can’t say what it is, but he thinks many more will fall ill before the end.”
