by Arlem Hawks
His mother shook her head. “Her only relation is the captain’s mother, who still lives at his house near London.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed. Very strange, indeed.
“I thought, while under his command, you might ask about the girl.” She wrung her hands. “Not in a forward manner, of course. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your relationship with the captain. But surely someone on that ship knows something.”
He covered her hands with his. “I will ask, and I will write as soon as I can.” Would she consider inviting the Woodall girl to stay? It would be nice for his mother to have a companion while he was away, and he didn’t think it would take much convincing, seeing as the girl had little family to speak of.
As the carriage pulled away, he pressed his forehead against the window, watching as his mother vigorously waved a handkerchief from the steps of her little house. His little house, legally, but he never thought of it that way. She had originally let the house on her meager annuity from his father’s will, and Dominic had bought it a few years ago with prize money accrued from conquests at sea. He wished he could give her more than a few bedrooms and a cramped living area, but even saving so much of his earnings, he couldn’t afford better. That was why, when the promotion had come, he’d turned it down.
Dominic kneaded his temples, trying to push down his lingering doubts about his refusal. He had made the right decision. A working lieutenant’s salary was better than the half pay a post-captain received while waiting for a ship. And with so many new captains hoping for a command, he did not know when he’d be back at sea. Better to stay a lieutenant and keep his mother in that tiny home than deplete his funds.
Dominic breathed deeply, anxious to leave behind the stale air of the carriage in favor of the sharp brine of an ocean breeze. Just the thought stirred his heart, but his joy was doused by that ever-present tinge of regret.
He insisted to himself that he had turned down the promotion for his mother, which was true. Yet a small part of him whispered that wasn’t the whole truth.
Dominic scooted to the opposite side of the coach to look out the other window. The docks grew closer, and beyond them, the vast ocean. Tiny specks of birds circled the stately masts that rose above the city. He could almost hear the gulls calling as they wove through the maze of ropes. Bound-up sails clung to the yards, begging for the captain’s cry to unfurl so they could catch the wind.
This was why he could never marry. His heart belonged to the sea. He both feared and hoped it always would. Waiting for a position as captain would keep him aground for months. Better to serve another man and keep the freedom of the sea than be his own master in the prison they called land.
Georgana brushed at her father’s hat once more, then set it and the brush on the desk. It was time for Papa to leave his quarters, but he stood motionless at one of the windows. He’d started doing this in the mornings when they docked a few weeks ago. She didn’t know how to pull him out of his meditation. Her hand found the back of her neck, and her fingers twisted into the cropped ends of dark hair. Three years, and the missing tresses still unnerved her.
“Are you ready, sir?” she asked. He didn’t move.
Georgana lifted the sapphire coat from the back of a chair and crossed the cabin. She held it out, waiting for him to put his arms into the sleeves.
“Sir?”
He whirled around, and the raw pain in his eyes made her step back. What had she said? His usual stoicism was gone.
“Why are you here, George?”
“I . . .” She ducked her head. He had heard her come in with breakfast, hadn’t he? The tray sat untouched on the table except for the roll she had eaten.
“You should be in London,” he whispered, his red-rimmed eyes never leaving her face. “Making your debut in Society, receiving gentlemen callers, dancing and laughing to your heart’s content. Not waiting on a sorry old captain aboard a dank ship.”
Georgana glanced behind her at the door. The marine usually on duty while at sea was not at his post now that they were in port. Still, her heart pounded at the thought of someone overhearing.
She mouthed the word, Papa. No sound came out. The word hadn’t crossed her lips since they boarded HMS Deborah. “You brought me here to protect me.” She spoke quietly. She moved closer, unsure if he could hear what she said. Her arms came up to offer him the coat again, and he finally shrugged into it. “I want to be with you.”
“If only I had . . .” He shook his head. Since taking command of the Deborah, streaks of silver had tinted his light brown hair at the temples. She wondered if it was life at sea or their secret that had taken more of a toll on him. Gone were the days of playing ship in the kitchen garden. She hadn’t seen the playful, carefree side of her father since before Mama’s illness. “George, will you fetch me some tea? I need a moment to compose myself.”
The image of Grandmother screeching those words at Mama’s crumpling face filled Georgana’s mind. Compose yourself, Susan! Ridiculous outbursts have no place in this house. Georgana wiped sweaty palms on her breeches and pulled her knitted Monmouth cap onto her head.
“And if you see the new lieutenant, instruct him to meet me in my quarters.”
She nodded. “I assume Lieutenant Jarvis will be showing him around?”
“Yes, though Lieutenant Peyton will be his superior as first lieutenant. I need to speak with Peyton before Jarvis gets his hands on him.”
Georgana paused at the door. “You didn’t promote Jarvis to second-in-command?”
“I wouldn’t make that man first lieutenant if he were the last man on this ship,” her father muttered, turning back to the windows.
“Does Jarvis know?”
“I informed him yesterday evening.”
She shuffled silently from the room, her stomach sinking. Jarvis had already taken to strutting about the upper deck as though he were the first lieutenant. He would not receive this seeming demotion calmly. Indeed, she was shocked there hadn’t already been an outburst. His anger must be boiling beneath the surface, waiting to break free.
That did not bode well for anyone on this voyage.
A ruddy-faced lieutenant was waiting for Dominic when he stepped onto the quarterdeck of the Deborah. The man’s narrow eyes took him in from hat to boots before offering his hand. They shook, and the strength of the lieutenant’s grip surprised Dominic.
“I am Jarvis,” the young man said. Dominic guessed him to be a few years younger than himself, perhaps three or four and twenty.
“Peyton. I am pleased to meet you,” he returned.
“It’s a sorry ship you’ve come to.”
Dominic glanced around. It didn’t seem in bad condition. The decks were clean, the rigging sound. “I just came from another Leda-class frigate. I did not mind it so much.” The Deborah was older than his last assignment, to be sure, but most ships in the class hadn’t seen more than ten years of service.
Jarvis laughed. “She’s terrible in a storm. We lose half the crew to seasickness.”
“Ah, I see.” Dominic couldn’t remember the last time he’d been seasick, even in a gale. “But the Leda class flies like the wind.” Which was really all one needed in a ship.
“I suppose that is a benefit,” Jarvis said, though he didn’t look convinced. He glanced toward the hatchway. “Have you met Captain Woodall?”
“I have not, though I hear nothing but praise.” That might have been a stretch. Captain Woodall had the reputation of being a good but safe captain, which was unusual for the commander of a frigate. As was his age. The Admiralty liked appointing young and daring men to captain their frigates.
Jarvis grunted as a boy scurried up the ladder and onto the deck.
The boy raised a hand to the brim of his tan cap and bowed his head. “What is it, George?” Jarvis asked brusquely.
“The captain wishe
s to see Lieutenant Peyton in his quarters immediately.” The boy kept his eyes on the deck at their feet. His jacket overlapped his thin form. Though clean, his clothes showed signs of wear. A ship’s boy, and not one destined for commission.
“Thank you, tell him I will be down directly,” Dominic said.
The boy saluted again and fled down the stairs without another word.
“That is George Taylor.” Jarvis folded his arms across his chest. “A third-class boy. Or so the muster book says.”
Something in his sour tone made Dominic pause. “What do you mean by that?”
“He tends to the captain, helps the steward, carries on the duties of a personal servant. But he rooms with the captain and eats food from his table. And he never takes watches.”
“That is strange.” Third-class boys weren’t supposed to be coddled. It didn’t prepare them for life as seamen. “Is he a relation to the captain?”
“A distant relation. The boy’s father was master and commander of the sloop Caroline that went down in the Mediterranean a few years ago. The previous first lieutenant,” Jarvis swallowed, blinking rapidly, “said the boy joined soon after, since he didn’t have any other family to speak of.” The man cleared his throat and looked up toward the yards.
Dominic pretended not to see the show of emotion at the mention of Lieutenant Hargood, the officer he replaced.
“I had best find the captain. Thank you, Jarvis.” Dominic left the man staring aloft and followed the boy—George—down the ladder to the gun deck. Dominic didn’t know where the second lieutenant’s aura of bitterness came from, but he sensed something stewing behind the lowered brows and hard-set jaw.
Chapter 2
Georgana balanced a tray with tea things in her arms and waited for the steward to ready her father’s dinner tray. She could almost hear Grandmother’s shrill disapproval at the now-tepid water in the teapot. Preparing and serving tea had been the subject of many lessons with Grandmother, instructions that still echoed in Georgana’s head after three years apart. But Grandmother never had to navigate the gun deck of a swaying ship in the middle of a watch change without upending the tea tray.
Georgana stood at the galley until the steward passed with the captain’s dinner. Hanging lanterns swung gently about the deck, sending shadows running behind the cannons. The steward cut through the group of men milling about the deck. She followed on his heels, head down. If the crew didn’t see her, they wouldn’t talk to her. And while the men didn’t notice her much, the boys . . .
“Hoy, George!” A hand grasped the back of her coat, forcing her to a halt. In the noise of the group, the steward didn’t realize she’d stopped.
Georgana tried to breathe. She knew who held her coat. Most of the other boys tripped her or shoved her, then went back to their tasks, but Walter Fitz never let her go quickly.
She turned and tried to pull the coat free, but his grip held. The teapot sloshed water over the tray, and the other boys snickered. Georgana cringed as warm water splashed her dry, cracked hands.
“You going to walk right by without greeting your betters?”
She did not point out he was far from her superior. Though he might be stronger than she, they were both third-class boys. “I must bring the captain his tea.” She used the gruff voice she’d tried so hard to master, but even her deepest tone sounded pitifully small.
“You’re bringing the captain his tea?” Fitz smiled darkly. “You do that a little too well for a man.”
Georgana’s hands shook, rattling the tea things. Fitz had joined up in Portsmouth with his father, the new coxswain. He couldn’t have guessed her secret in so short a time. “Let go of me.” She pulled again, but he didn’t release her.
Instead, he whipped her to the side, and she crashed into one of the eighteen-pounder guns that lined the deck. The silver teapot clattered over, knocking the lid off. Water surged over the tray. Then he jerked her back toward his messmates.
“Stop, please!” she cried, still clinging to the tray.
“What was that, Prince George? Couldn’t hear you.” He sent her swinging the other way again.
A stitch in her jacket popped and reverberated up the seam. She fought to keep anything else from tipping to the floor. Eyes from around the deck fell on her, but no one stepped in to help. Not even the marines, tasked with keeping the peace on board.
“Too good to eat with us, are you? Having your dinner with the captain again?”
Georgana tried to wrench herself away and tripped, her knee pounding into the floor. The tray fell from her grasp, its contents clanging across the deck. She gasped at the pain that shot up her leg. Fitz tried to yank her back to her feet.
“That is enough.” No one could mistake the authority in the voice.
Her knee hit the deck again as her coat went slack. She almost fell flat but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. Her head stayed lowered as the hand grasped her under the arm and helped her up. Heat rose to her face at the silence filling the gun deck. Men who had been climbing the ladder froze. All within view saluted the newcomer.
“Your name?” Lieutenant Peyton asked.
Georgana chanced a peek. The taller boy stood at attention, widened eyes his only sign of fear.
“Walt Fitz, sir.”
“You will respect your shipmates, Mr. Fitz. Do not let me see this happen again.”
Fitz nodded eagerly. No one was sure how to act around the new officer yet.
“Go fetch more water, George,” the lieutenant said in a kinder tone. He picked up the fallen silver and set the tea things on her tray.
Georgana hurried back to the galley. How humiliating! As though being under the protection of the captain didn’t give her enough unwanted attention. She didn’t need Lieutenant Peyton making her more of a target.
The cook grumbled when she asked for more water but refilled the pot from his kettle nonetheless. To her dismay, the first lieutenant was waiting at the ladder. The men had finished changing watch, leaving the gun deck mostly clear.
“Are you all right, George?”
She touched the brim of her cap and mumbled a yes. He was supposed to be on deck with his men.
“Don’t let them treat you that way.” The lanterns painted his face a dull yellow. But even in the poor light, she could tell he was handsome. The crew might have called him a “pretty boy” if he weren’t ranked so high above them. She would know—that was what they called her, though in a jeering manner. The juvenile softness of her face didn’t compare to his high cheekbones and angular jaw.
“Stand up to them,” he said. “Don’t let them toss you around. They will not give you respect otherwise.”
Defend herself? That would not go well. Though in age she had them all beat by three years at least, Fitz could down her in a matter of moments, she was sure. He was skinny as a bowsprit but neared the lieutenant’s height at only fifteen years old. She turned to go without responding to the lieutenant’s suggestion.
“I could teach you, if you like.”
Georgana paused. No one had offered to help her with anything since she stepped onto the ship. She lifted her eyes to meet his, but the earnestness of his gaze made her look quickly back to the floor.
“No, sir.” She bowed her head. “But thank you all the same.”
The lieutenant nodded, then bounded up the ladder like he’d been called to dinner instead of to stand on a damp deck late into the night. Georgana watched him go, then walked into the glow of the captain’s quarters, lit with several tallow candles in glass-paned lanterns. Her father scribbled notes at his table, several maps lying before him. He didn’t look up when she entered and shut the door.
Georgana could do with a few more people like Lieutenant Peyton on the crew. Perhaps this latest addition to the wardroom was worth angering the second lieutenant after all.
Jarvis slammed his empty glass on the table. “Escorting a convoy. Ridiculous! This is a job for a brig, not a frigate.”
Sitting at the head of the wardroom table, Dominic glanced around at the men. None of the other officers paid the drunk lieutenant any mind. Not even Moyle, whose cheerful and easy demeanor made him a natural listener—a good trait in a third lieutenant. Most of the senior officers had sailed with this crew before. They must have learned to ignore Jarvis when he tried to empty his stash of liquor in one evening.
“It’s the captain’s fault,” Jarvis grumbled. “I’d wager he asks for the cowardly assignments.”
Dominic returned his attention to his plate. Once full of pork and potatoes, it now sat empty. All too soon their fresh stores would be gone—eaten or rotten. He had to remember to enjoy the fresh food while he could. But even after they resorted to lackluster rations, there was always Antigua to look forward to. Not that Dominic enjoyed English Harbour, the Royal Navy’s home in Antigua. He disliked the rank port city. But outside the harbor he could find many an oasis.
Dominic closed his eyes, trying to remember the fruits brought into Antigua’s markets from all over the Caribbean islands. He hadn’t sailed to that part of the world in years. The promise of exotic fruit sweetened the mundane task of escorting a fleet of merchantmen to the island.
Jarvis tilted his glass toward Dominic. “We won’t have a single prize this mission. Just you wait and see. Captain doesn’t care for taking ships and earning money for his crew.”
Dominic drew in a breath. As first lieutenant it was his duty to defend the captain. “And here I thought we sailed for glory of God and country.”
“Why sail on a frigate, if not for prizes?” The slur of Jarvis’s voice made him nearly impossible to understand.
A middle-aged man with dark, curly hair entered the wardroom with his wooden plate of food. He nodded a greeting to Dominic but didn’t acknowledge the rest of the officers as he passed them and entered his cabin.