“Ladies! Anyone down there?” a stentorian voice called from the great hole gouged through the deck.
“Yes! I’m here.” Elizabeth shouted back, hoping she’d be heard over the howling gale roaring over the hole. She shivered. “I’m just trying to get my friend.”
She tugged as hard as she could, hoping she wasn’t doing Charlotte any more severe injury. “Can you get down and help me?”
“No, Miss, there isn’t room. But I think you’re both small enough to get past the mast.” The man sounded rough, but capable. There was a grunt. “I’ll try and move it a bit, and cut the trailing rigging.”
The ship lurched, and he cursed. “Hurry, Miss. Quickly!”
Strengthened by fear, Elizabeth dragged the unconscious body of her friend across the slippery, sloping deck. “I’m coming!” She was terrified she’d be left there in the darkness, and the water would claim their lives.
“Is she alive?” The sailor reached down as Elizabeth tried to lift her friend to the gap where a hand reached down. The storm clouds blotted out even the starlight. Darkness was absolute.
“I think so. She was, anyway,” she gasped, and made one final effort.
“Got ’er!” The weight miraculously eased, and she tried to help as he pulled Charlotte through the hole. Elizabeth wasn’t going to wait any longer and put her foot on the edge of the berth she might have died in.
The ship rolled again, and another wave rushed in, soaking her, and she tightened her grip on the splintered mast and wondered if she would be washed down with the force of the water.
As soon as the wave had filled the tiny cabin, the man was back, feeling for her hand. “Are you still there, Miss?”
“Yes, I’m here.” Elizabeth was shivering with cold and shock. The cabin was now full of water; had she banged her head too, both of them would now have drowned, floating lifelessly in the swirling water below her.
The man’s hand reached down. “I have you! Scramble up as best you can, Miss, and then we can get you to the boat.”
“Is my friend all right?” she gasped, as he assisted her through the tangled rigging and broken spars round the fallen mast. “What about her father in the aft cabin?”
“No time, Miss! We need to get you out to the boat!” His voice was rough with urgency. “Quickly, or they won’t wait!”
She didn’t hesitate further, but scrambled through and ended up on the deck in her sodden clothes.
“Hold onto me. I have your friend!” The unnamed sailor began to cross the deck, tipped steeply down at an impossible angle. Elizabeth hung onto the tail of his jacket, and followed closely, picking up her stockinged feet to try and avoid the nails and other things that she knew covered the deck.
As they got to the water level, Elizabeth could just see, in the faint light of the phosphorescence, that there was a lifeboat, crazily lifting and crashing into the side, as several hands held it fearfully, close to the main vessel.
“Quickly, Miss! You get in first. Hurry!” Vaguely seen hands reached out for her, and Elizabeth had to trust them. She tumbled into the boat, watching apprehensively as Charlotte was dragged roughly across.
“Go!” the sailor shouted. “Stand to away from her, and wait for me in the other boat!”
“Aye, sir!” A voice from within the boat. Then he shouted. “Row for your lives, you lot! Directly away from her as best you can.”
Elizabeth received a sharp elbow in her side and discovered that she’d have to crouch down low in the boat to avoid the same treatment with every pull on the oars.
She felt around to try and find Charlotte. A moan from her friend assisted her. “Oh, Charlotte! There you are. Come here, we’re safe in one of the boats now. Everything’s going to be all right.” She pulled her friend closer and tried to cradle her head on her lap. They were both shivering violently, and she stared round, willing the dawn to come and show her what was happening.
3
Darcy was on deck as the sun rose. The storm had blown itself out at seven bells of the middle watch, and he’d remained on deck the whole time.
Now the morning watch was changing to the forenoon watch, and still there was no sign of the schooners. He stood and observed the activity in the wheelhouse; the quartermaster was relieving his junior, and the second lieutenant murmuring to his senior. Several midshipmen whispered over their signal flags, conscious of their admiral’s gaze.
“Good morning, sir.” Hargreaves saluted him. His crisp, shaven appearance contrasted with Darcy’s no-doubt bedraggled appearance.
“Morning,” he said shortly. “No sign of the schooners yet. But it was a much sharper storm than even we expected, so I doubt the crews knew what was arriving.” He stared ahead, barely seeing the still water, and the faint wind whispered past his cheek. “Well, I’ll go down and change. Let me know as soon as anything is sighted.” He knew the longer they took to get there, the less likely they were to see anything. Boats and any flotsam would drift away from the wrecks, assuming they weren’t at the bottom of the sea. “Double up the lookouts, if you please.”
Hurrying aft, down to his cabin, Darcy burst through the door. “Hot water, Mr. Maunder, and dry clothes — seagoing will be good enough. While I’m dressing, you can get my breakfast.”
It was only half an hour before he finished up with coffee. He wondered when he’d be able to replenish his store; this stuff from the officer’s mess was better than nothing but not as good as his personal blend.
He pushed the chair away from the table, dabbing his mouth with his napkin as he heard two bells of the forenoon watch. He frowned, he would give it another two hours. Then they’d have to turn and rejoin the squadron. The French might take advantage if the blockade had been scattered after the storm. No. Three bells. That ought to be enough.
He bounded up to the bridge, sensing the men stiffening in their duties as he appeared. At that very moment, a cry echoed down from the lookout.
“Wreckage off the port bow!”
Darcy ran to the side, reaching back for his telescope. A midshipman was there with it, and he raised his sight to the horizon. Nothing.
He glanced up, waiting for the bearing to be called down.
“Port thirty degrees, sir!”
“Fast as you can, Hargreaves.” Darcy knew he ought not to be wasting time here. If only wreckage was to be seen, then there would be no prize ship. He wondered if he knew any of the families who’d sent their sons on the grand tour. If it had been his brother, he’d have wanted a nearby ship to search for survivors.
The men raced up the yards, speeded by epithets from their petty officers, and shortened the sails as Hibernia swung to head further downwind.
Soon enough, the ship was nosing alongside the upturned keel, two of Hibernia’s boats in the water, as his men searched for any sign of survivors.
“No survivors, sir. One smashed boat in the water.”
“Recall them, Captain.” Darcy felt weary. He knew the names of the schooners were in Lang’s report. It would be down to him to notify the ships’ owners of what he had found.
“Ship’s boat, two miles ahead, sir!” The lookout certainly had sharp eyes — and a good telescope.
“Get a line to the boats and we’ll tow them up there. Then they’ll be in the water, ready to assist.” Darcy ran up to the bridge, barely noticing the ship’s sailmaker and his mate repairing torn sails spread out across the deck. But he couldn’t stay on the bridge, and within a few minutes, he was up in the bow. He nodded at the midshipman shadowing him.
“Get aloft the foremast, lad. Tell me everything you see.”
It was only a few minutes until the reedy voice piped down. “Further wreckage beyond. A lifeboat nearer us, sir. Overloaded and almost awash. Ten, maybe fifteen men.” He peered through the telescope again. His voice cracked with excitement. “Two women there, too, sir!”
Women! Darcy frowned. Like most sailors, he abhorred women on board ship; it changed the whole atmosphere.
He supposed it was the captain’s wife and her maid. He hoped the captain would be able to keep them under control.
He exchanged an expressive glance with Hargreaves. “Send a marine down to my cabin and tell my servant to move my belongings to wherever you think appropriate, Captain. Then he can make the cabin suitable for the ladies.” He sighed; he really needed to be able to sit and stare out of that great stern window. Now the opportunity would be gone. He watched from the bridge as Hibernia’s boats began moving forward to the schooner’s boat. He could see for himself that it was almost awash; all the faces were turned hopefully to their rescuers.
“Get a bosun’s chair ready; we’ll need to hoist them aboard.” He could see one of the women was lying across the lap of the other. “And tell the surgeon he may need to arrange a stretcher with one of his assistants.”
“Aye, sir.” Hargreaves seemed unruffled, even though Darcy knew everything was undoubtedly already ordered.
Eight bells rang out, and he watched a little crowd of midshipmen gather to take the noon sight under the rough tuition of the quartermaster.
The two boats were returning to the ship. A dozen survivors. He wondered how many had been aboard. Sixteen or eighteen crew, the women, and several young gentlemen and their tutors, he supposed. And the same on the other ship.
It had been a terrible toll. He waited up on the bridge while the first lieutenant supervised the recovery of the men, and the boats were swung up and onto their davits. Hargreaves could be proud of his men; their confident movements showed them well rehearsed.
As he watched, the first young woman appeared over the side. Soaked, but fully dressed, she couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, and the way her head was up, her gaze unafraid, proved she could not be a maid. Her figure was outlined as the sodden gown clung to her body, and Darcy turned away hastily.
“Blankets for the lady!” called Hargreaves, his tone as irritated as Darcy’s would have been. These men had been at sea without respite for six months, some of them longer — years, perhaps. Women on board ship were not fair.
“Make sure they get below quickly, Captain,” he murmured. “Call the surgeon to them, and make sure the marine guard is well-prepared.”
“Aye, sir.” Hargreaves sounded as morose as Darcy felt. “I have arranged for your things to be in my cabin. I will take the first’s bunk, and he’ll be all right in the wardroom.”
Darcy nodded and risked a glance at the side. A blanket was over the young woman’s shoulders now, but she was bent over the makeshift litter where the other woman lay. His lips tightened. If the other woman died, she would be unchaperoned. He must get them off this ship.
He was relieved to see the surgeon taking charge. Mr. Newsom was quite competent, although still humane — unlike many of the butcher-type surgeons who would saw off a screaming man’s mangled leg in twenty seconds without it seeming to affect them.
He shuddered; like all sailors, he dreaded the agony; being dragged down to the orlop deck, where the surgeon and his assistants did their grisly work amongst the chaos of battle.
He became aware that she had straightened, upright and unafraid. Her eyes met his, and at once he knew everything would be all right. He had nothing to fear.
He gave an exclamation of annoyance; he had been at sea too long; such feelings were not to be trusted. He gave a brief bow and turned away. He must stay away.
“Hargreaves, get that boat checked and see if it might be useful to any ship of the squadron. Otherwise, cast it off. We need to rendezvous as soon as possible with the Bellona. Or the Orestes might find us first.”
“Aye, sir.” The captain turned and cupped his hand around his mouth. “All hands aloft! Prepare to loose sail and change course!” He crossed to the tiny chartroom to study the chart and set the new course.
Darcy needed to have some privacy. But his cabin was no longer available. He beckoned a junior lieutenant. “Call my servant.” He hoped the captain’s cabin was ready for him.
Half an hour later, he was feeling rather more settled, a dose of rum exploring his empty stomach. But the memory of the soaked gown clinging to the girl’s delicate body was not one to be pushed away.
He heard the marine sentry coming to attention. Perhaps his duty would banish her from his mind.
“Ship’s surgeon, sir!”
No, hearing about the condition of the women would not banish her. He sighed.
“Enter!”
The surgeon nodded at him. “I have come to make my report, sir.”
“Sit down, Mr. Newsom, and tell me what you have discovered.” Darcy would be able to plan, get them sent back to England soon.
“Very well. The ten sailors are all right. They have minor injuries, but they’ll heal well enough. They are resentful that they’ll now be pressed into the Navy.” He chuckled harshly. “I would worry if there was any other reaction. But they’ll settle soon enough.”
Darcy nodded. “We’ll split them up among the other ships. I believe Hibernia has no need of extra men at the moment.”
“It is a good idea. As for the young ladies,” Newsom hesitated, “it appears they are friends, the daughters of gentlemen in Hertfordshire. The father of the injured young woman, Sir William Lucas, appears to have acceded to her urgent request to take a tour. Her friend came with her so she was not a lady alone.” He looked up. “I understand she has been confused and is not aware that her father perished during the storm.” He smiled. “The other young lady, the dark-haired one, has already won the admiration of the crew by her manner and lack of fear.”
“Failing to be afraid during a storm is not always a good thing,” Darcy growled.
“Indeed. But it is prized by seamen, as we know.”
Darcy nodded, gloomily. “How soon can we send them back to England?”
Newsom shook his head. “It might be a week or so, sir, unless Hibernia is recalled. Until Miss Lucas is able to sit up and walk around, she will not be able to go aboard a brig or post ship.”
Darcy nodded. “Thank you. Call on them regularly and check she is improving. Inform me as soon as you think she is well enough to be transferred.” He thought a moment. “Oh, and allocate one of the very youngest ship’s boys to be their servant. That ought to be all right as they will be sharing the cabin.”
The man smiled faintly. “Young Pember is only just eight years old, sir. I think it will be safe enough.”
Darcy felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Yes. Safe enough. But I want them off my hands as soon as possible. We all know it is not fair on the men.”
“Agreed.” The surgeon heaved himself to his feet. “I think there may be difficulties when Miss Lucas realises her father is lost.”
Darcy nodded soberly. “What is the name of the other young woman?”
“Bennet. Miss Bennet.” The surgeon nodded and picked up his bag. “Thank you, sir.”
4
Elizabeth looked critically at Charlotte. It would be all right to leave her, she thought; she was unlikely to wake yet.
She turned to the small boy who’d announced himself as their servant. He was so small as to be safe to leave with her friend with no risk of compromise.
“I’m going up on deck for a little fresh air, Pember. I need you to sit with Miss Lucas. If she wakes, you must send for me, and not leave her.” She looked at him carefully. “Can you do that?”
The boy nodded, his eyes like saucers. Elizabeth resisted the urge to pat him on the head and wrapped a blanket around her. She must address the fact soon that neither of them had any other clothes, or shoes, or a hat to cover their head.
She smiled slightly. This was a warship; it was unlikely to call in at the nearest port merely for them to purchase items of clothing. She climbed nimbly up the companionways, seeing for herself how crowded the ship was. Yet she and Charlotte had been given a beautiful stateroom.
She stood at the rail, looking out at the horizon and breathing deeply. Seve
ral times in the night she had quite thought she would die, that she would never again have the chance to breathe this wild and beautiful air.
Even in the lifeboat, soaked and crowded with men, she’d known that their chances of being rescued were very small.
Yet here she was. Life — any life — was precious.
There was a quiet cough behind her, and she turned, startled. It was the man she had seen this morning as they were pulled aboard. Dark, unruly hair, with a wild, piratical appearance.
His tight white breeches, and his loose-fitting shirt, open at the neck, merely emphasised his wild look. And yet, he had approached her, where no other man had dared. He must be of a high rank, not to fear censure.
But he had no coat, no obvious rank. Her eyebrow lifted. “I have the men of this ship to thank for rescuing us, I understand. But I heard the surgeon say we were hastening to rejoin the squadron.”
He nodded silently.
Goodness! She knew Charlotte’s older brother, John, was taciturn and silent when he was on leave from his ship. Were all sailors tongue-tied?
“I’m afraid I don’t know how to address you, sir, as you bear no rank?” She phrased the statement as a question. He must answer, surely?
He bowed. “Darcy, madam. Fitzwilliam Darcy.” He hesitated, and seemed reluctant to go further. “I am rear admiral of the squadron.”
She knew her eyes widened. “Then it was you that gave the order to search us out, to offer assistance if it was needed?”
He bowed his head. “I have members of my family who have undertaken a grand tour. If it had been one of my brothers, I would have wanted a nearby ship to go to their aid.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know Lady Lucas will be distraught at the loss of her husband, but if she had lost her daughter as well it would have been much worse for her.” She saw him shift uncomfortably. “Do you know how many might have been lost altogether in both ships?”
Darcy the Admiral Page 2