The captain seemed quite young to have his own ship. He was also well mannered and educated. Where had he come from? And what story did his life tell? He was quite obviously not of the King’s navy and he had admitted earlier to being a privateer but it was strange for someone of good breeding to choose this life, and he was obviously of good breeding by the way he spoke and held himself.
Catherine ate her food in silence unless addressed directly and concentrated very hard on ignoring the overbearing meaty taste of the salted pork. On any normal occasion she wouldn’t have touched it, but Catherine was also raised better than to refuse food and even in the company of a bunch of sailors she would not allow her manners to fall to the wayside.
The captain was jovial with his crew. He laughed and teased and asked their advice on matters. He was by far the youngest man in the room, with the possible exception of the sailing master, Casper.
As dinner drew to a close the men left one by one until the only ones remaining were Captain Foxton and his quarter master, Karl.
“Did you enjoy dinner, Miss Marshall?” asked the captain.
“Very much, thank you.”
“And is there anything we can do for you or get for you before we retire for the evening?”
Catherine glanced at the small windup clock on the wall and was shocked to see it was nearing ten o’clock. “No, thank you. I would like to get some changes of clothes tomorrow if that’s possible. You mentioned you might have some in your cargo.”
“Yes, of course. We’ll take care of that in the morning.”
Catherine smiled and stood up, politely wished them a good night and making her way back to the cabin she was borrowing from the captain.
* * *
“Any news on the boy we took to the doc?” asked Brant after Catherine had left.
Karl shook his head. “No. Doc stitched him up as best he could but only time will tell if he’ll pull through. He needs to wake up.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“If infection don’t set in I think he’ll be fine, but I ain’t no doc.”
Brant nodded. “There aren’t many men I hate and I know some pretty questionable characters, but Old Richard is some low life scum that I wish I could rid the world of.”
“Yer mad about the boy? Tis just the business of things. You’ve killed boys too.”
Brant shook his head. “No. I’m mad about the lady. What would have happened to her if they had found her?”
Karl shrugged. “She was only shaken up a bit. No real harm done in the end. Everything they ruined of hers she can probably afford to replace ten times over. Don’t you go pickin’ fights you shouldn’t be.”
“But you don’t like Old Richard either.”
“No one has a liking for Old Richard but he be a ruthless one. Don’t get involved, Brant.”
“I’m not going to hunt the man, but if he ever happens to cross my path I’m not going to let him run away with his tail between his legs.”
“You best not hunt him,” Karl warned, standing up and leaving the room.
Brant leaned back in his chair balancing it on the back two legs while throwing his booted feet up on the table. Closing his eyes, he listened to the creaking timbers of the ship and the slapping of the waves on the hull. It was a peaceful night. One of the men on watch was playing a harmonica and the haunting tune floated in to greet Brant’s ears. He sighed and sat there for nearly an hour listening to everything and nothing. Finally, resting the chair down on all four legs, Brant got up and snuffed out the lanterns around the dining area before walking back on deck where he climbed up to the crow’s nest.
He came up here when he wanted to be alone and to think. He thought about how his life had progressed in the six years since he had left home. It was hard to believe that he had managed to work his way up from a nothing cabin boy to a captain in five years and now he had his younger brother to raise, which was an enormous responsibility, one that he struggled with every waking moment of every day. Brant often toyed with the idea of leaving this life behind and starting a family of his own while giving James a proper life, but every time he started thinking about it he realized what a hold the ocean had on him. There was no way he could ever leave this life and he couldn’t bring himself to begin a family when he would never be around. He had vowed long ago that he would be a better father than his had been if he ever had the opportunity to have a wife and children. Right now it was completely out of the question. Children aside, where would he ever find a woman who could love him for who he was and what he did? Not that he was overly interested in women right now. His life was complicated enough as it was and a woman only ever succeeded in complicating things more.
Brant casually looked over the edge of the crow’s nest down towards the deck and saw the two men who were on watch casually leaning against the mast and conversing quietly. Brant smiled and looked over towards the steps that led to the hold, crew’s quarters, officer’s quarters, galley and even a small room for the doc. It was a small, cramped ship but it served its purpose well. It carried a crew of about seventy men, all hardy, well trained, and efficient killers. The ship doctor walked out from the stairwell and leaned against the starboard side railing, lighting a pipe. Brant decided it was time to leave his thoughts behind and climbed down to talk to him.
“Hello, Doc.”
“Cap’n.”
“How is the patient doing?”
The doctor puffed on his pipe a few times and then shook his head. “He’s awake but in pain. There isn’t much to be done but keep the wound clean and hope that he’s a fighter. It’s a stomach wound, Cap’n. Those are bad things to get. Infection builds up easily and it’s hard to fight.”
“Is he well enough for me to see him?”
“It can’t do any harm.”
Brant left the doctor alone to smoke his pipe and walked down into the cramped doctor’s quarters that held the man’s bed and belongings as well as an operating table and everything else he would need for his profession.
A groan came from the patient and Brant walked over to him and sat down on the small stool placed next to the bed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like bloody hell. Doc said I got my innards ripped up pretty good.”
Brant smiled slightly. “It looks to be that way, but you aren’t dead yet so you’re a fighter. You’ll make it through. How old are you?”
“Fifteen, sir.”
“And at fifteen what exactly were you doing on a ship belonging to the royal navy? It’s not like you could have completed training.”
“No sir. I’m a civilian. I was apprenticing under the sailing master.”
“Are you a mate yet?”
“No sir. I barely started my training.”
“And what’s your name?”
“Matthew, sir but everyone calls me Matt.”
“Matt, I’m Captain Brant Foxton and you’re aboard the BlackFox. We are currently en route to England to bring a passenger home. You will be looked after as best we can and I assure you our doctor is very good. Please do not fret about anything as we are more than happy to feed you and clothe you. Your only job is to get better.”
The boy smiled and Brant thought he would have laughed a little if he hadn’t been in so much pain.
“Now you rest up. I’ll send someone to visit you tomorrow.”
Chapter Ten
Catherine was a late riser, and when she finally made an appearance on deck the next day it was well into the afternoon. James had knocked on her cabin door with a breakfast tray, but when there had been no answer he’d just slipped it inside and closed the door behind him.
“Good afternoon, m’lady. Nice of you to finally join us,” teased Brant.
Catherine didn’t seem in the least bit phased. “Breakfast was a bit cold. I’d prefer to have it brought at 9 AM.”
Brant raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”
“Now, I believe you mentioned something about cloth
es yesterday.”
Brant nodded then waved James over. “Go visit that sailor, Matthew, in the infirmary. I’m sure he’d enjoy some company.”
Catherine tapped her foot impatiently.
“Yes?”
“Clothes. I’d like something fresh to wear.”
“Right this way, m’lady.”
Brant led her below deck and indicated some trunks she could rifle through. He watched her as she looked through dresses, breeches and shirts. Every one she picked up, inspected, and then put aside. Karl was right; he should drop her off at the nearest British settlement and let the governor deal with her. She was stuck up and arrogant and treated him as if he was beneath her, scum. That didn’t sit well with him. He had been born into a family name just as good as hers and just because he chose to do actual labour for a living did not make him inferior.
“Is there a problem with the clothes?”
“These are all stolen.”
“And here for you to use as you please. You need clothes do you not?”
“I'm wearing clothes right now,” she responded quite matter-of-factly.
Brant smirked and looked at her steadily. “A few minutes ago you were in a hurry to get something clean and fresh on, now you’re content to wear that same get up for the entire two month voyage?”
“If I must.”
“I'll happily keep them as they're worth some money, but I’ll give you one last chance to choose something before I retract my offer.”
Catherine shot Brant a glare and “humphed” quite childishly. Brant had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing and instead looked at her smirking, trying to contain his amusement.
“Very well, I suppose I have little choice in the matter as clothing is a necessity.”
“Well, some of the crew may think that it is optional but I would very much suggest that you don't follow that way of thinking. Also, might I suggest you choose some simple things? A ship really isn't any place to show of your taste in fashion.”
“I'll wear whatever I wish. Thank you, Captain.”
“As you wish, Lady Catherine.”
“That's Lady Marshall to you.” She drew herself up to full height and steadily returned Brant's gaze.
“Of course. Are you done here then?” he asked looking pointedly at the small mound of clothing in her arms.”
“Yes.” Catherine, ever polite, forced a smile and walked with a purpose past Brant and up the steep set of stairs to the main deck.
Brant chuckled in amusement and casually followed his passenger. “You know you should be a little kinder to your rescuers,” he said as he caught up with her.
“I have been perfectly polite.”
“I’m not talking about polite. I’m talking about getting your pretty little nose out of the air and acting as if we’re humans, not the scum of the earth.”
Catherine threw her clothes down on the floor of her cabin, or rather his cabin, and turned to face him angrily. “If I treat you as such it is because you are. You’re nothing more than a criminal that deserves to be hung and the same goes for every man on this ship.”
Brant’s eyes flashed with a fury he hadn’t experienced before. No had ever told him he deserved to die and if it had been anyone other than the high and mighty Catherine Marshall he would have challenged her to a duel to defend his honor which, despite being a privateer, he had plenty of. “You wish me dead then?”
“I wish all men of your profession dead. You give the British a bad name.”
“We fight for our King. We risk our lives so that you can attend all your frivolous parties without worry that harm will befall you. We keep the Spanish, the French, the Dutch or whoever else said the wrong thing at bay. We keep them just poor enough and just weak enough that they wouldn’t dare declare war.”
“You cause aggravation among the countries that are already near the boiling point.”
“And what do you know of politics sitting in your cozy and luxurious parlours sipping tea and doing cross stitch?”
“I resent that comment, Captain.”
“You have your opinions and I have mine. I would like to know where you come off being so high and mighty.”
“High and mighty? I know more about politics than you do, I’m sure. My father is the British ambassador to Spain and quite often I go with him on his trips there. I know more about the volatile state of Spain than you or many other men do, but since I’m a woman I’m brushed aside.”
“I would not discount you due to your gender, but when you come onto my ship and look down your nose at me and my men it gives me the impression that you are horribly naïve.”
“Get out of my cabin.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said get out. You are incredibly rude, Captain Foxton, and I will not stand for that. Get out.”
“This is my cabin which I’m letting you use out of the kindness of my heart.”
“I don’t care. Get out.”
Brant threw up his hands in frustration and stalked out of the cabin, slamming the door loudly behind him. When he stopped to collect his thoughts, he looked around and noticed the stares of his crew members.
“What are you looking at? Back to work!” Brant ordered as he angrily made his way up to the crow’s nest, sitting there for only a few minutes before he was joined by Karl.
“Might there be a good reason yer stompin’ around and slammin’ doors like a child?”
“She infuriates me. She said we all deserve to hang and then she ordered me out of my own cabin.”
Karl chuckled. “And did you provoke her?”
“I asked her to be a little less pretentious towards us.”
“I see. Well that just be women. Ignore her or she’ll think she can get your goat whenever she pleases.”
“Karl… She’s just… Why did I ever take her onto my ship?”
“Because yer a good man. Now stop bein’ childish and start bein’ captain.”
Brant sighed and nodded, following Karl down the mast and to the main deck.
* * *
Later that evening Brant went to visit the injured boy, Matthew. He had allowed James to get out of most of his chores so that he could spend time with Matthew, entertaining and keeping an eye on him. A stomach wound was no small matter and Brant wanted someone watching the boy all the time so that they could catch any infections early on.
When Brant walked in, Matthew was sleeping and James stood over a table, quietly looking over some of the doctor’s tools.
“And what might you be doing?”
James spun around to face his brother, dropping a scalpel in the process, guilt written on his face. “Nothing.”
“You shouldn’t be snooping.”
“I was just looking.”
Brant smiled. “I won’t tell the doc, but you better be careful. He’s likely to carve you up if he catches you playing with his instruments,” joked Brant, which was received with wide eyes of fear from James.
“You can go. I’ll watch him until the doctor takes over for the night.”
“Do I have to do this again tomorrow?”
“Yes, and every other day until he is strong enough to be out of danger.”
James groaned but nodded his assent—not daring to complain.
“I’ll have someone else do latrine duty. Would that make up for this?”
“I’d watch every patient if it meant I never had to carry another latrine pail again!”
Brant laughed. “Well, I hope we don’t have patients that often. Now go have some dinner. Cook is just about to serve the men.”
James ran off at the mention of food and left him alone with the sleeping boy. Brant sat down and sighed. He didn’t know what was going to happen to the boy but he was too young to be walking the thin line between life and death. It was a scary thought, but that could have been him if Captain LaFleur had allowed him to fight before he was ready. And it could be James if Brant ever lost track of what was important. He could never
live with himself if James had to pay for his life choices.
Matthew stirred slightly, and then opened his eyes, looking at Brant through heavily lidded eyes. “Hello.”
Brant smiled. “Hello, Matthew. How’re you doing today?”
“Okay, I suppose. Where’s James?”
“I sent him to get some dinner. The doctor will be bringing you some food shortly. Are you hungry?”
As if in reply Matthew’s stomach growled loudly and he looked up at Brant sheepishly. “A little.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, is it normal for a boy of your age to help defend the ship?”
Matthew nodded. “I ain’t part of the navy but I serve on a British ship; we are all expected to come to the aid of our ship.”
“Are you in much pain?”
“Hurts a bit, yeah. Doc says he ain’t got much for the pain so I mostly try to sleep so that I can forget about it. I’m afraid I’m not very good company for James.”
“That’s fine. James is here for you and he is getting out of a lot of work to sit here. What do you plan on doing after you’re healed, Matthew?”
“I dunno. You say you dock in London in a couple months?”
“Yes. Would you like to get off there?”
“I ain’t got anyone left in England. My mum and dad died a couple years ago so I joined a crew for three square meals a day. I suppose I’ll try to sign onto another ship.”
Brant nodded. “Well you’re more than welcome to continue your training here. Casper doesn’t have a sailing mate as of yet.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“It’s just an option for you. You don’t owe us anything.”
Matthew nodded but looked over towards the door as the doctor walked in. “Guess I gotta work hard at getting better first.”
Brant nodded. “Hello, Doc. I’ll leave you to your patient.”
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