Darcy the Admiral

by Harriet Knowles

  “Ready to take the passengers, sir. I also understand we are embarking a ship’s boy as well as your servant.”

  “Indeed. Thank you, Mr. Duncan.”

  The man turned and looked at the ladies. His gaze was strictly business-like, and he glanced back at his admiral. “The boy first?”

  “Perhaps my servant. He is well used to it.” The admiral looked up at the sky. “I don’t think the weather is going to ease.”

  “I’ll proceed, then, sir.” The man saluted and beckoned the boy. “Come and watch, lad.” The boy looked as terrified as Charlotte. Elizabeth squeezed her hand.

  “You can do this, you know you can.”

  7

  Darcy watched, hoping the child wouldn’t lose his grip and terrify the lady any more. His cox’n went forward and held the bosun’s chair steady. Perhaps the boy had taken confidence from his servant’s uneventful crossing.

  “See there, lad. Just you hold on tight. She might spin a little bit, but the boat’s got the other end, so she won’t tip over or bump the side. All right?”

  The boy looked determined. “Aye, sir.”

  Darcy glanced over the side. The Porcupine’s boat was well-crewed, he noticed. Four of the men were hanging onto the lines to hold them close to the side, while two held the oars so she didn’t actually crash into her. Two more were holding the lines controlling the bosun’s chair.

  The boy did well, he noted — he must remember to praise him. And make sure the captain was charged with getting him back to Hibernia safely. But the youngest ship’s boy in current service on the frigate was thirteen, not suitable at all as a servant for the ladies.

  His cox’n swarmed down the ladder to receive the ladies into the boat and the surgeon was tasked with assisting them onto the chair. Darcy looked out to sea, impatient to be gone. It was all taking far too long.

  Finally, he could leave. “Thank you for ensuring Miss Lucas was fit enough, Mr. Newsom.” He nodded at the man, not waiting for an answer, then turned to his flag captain.

  “I have no idea how long I’ll be gone, Mr. Hargreaves. I’ll send the frigate back at once, there’s no point having her swinging at anchor at Chatham. Someone might have an acquisitive eye.”

  Hargreaves smiled appreciatively. “I believe you’re right, sir. Do you want me to send the brig regularly as far as Chatham?”

  “No, they’re too useful to you. I’m sure the French are plotting another breakout soon; they’ve been quiescent too long.” He glanced at the sky. “We may be fortunate with the winds. Seven, maybe ten days to get there; you’ll have Porcupine back in two or three weeks.” He turned to the side. “I’ll probably ride to Portsmouth, take passage on a post brig and rendezvous with the Orestes off Brittany.”

  “Aye, sir.” Hargreaves sounded morose. “That’ll tickle them up a bit.”

  Darcy found himself grinning as he felt for the first rung of the ladder. When he’d been in charge of his own brig as a very young commander, he’d been taken aback when he was ordered by an august post captain to give him passage.

  He felt for his sword and held it clear of his feet as he hastened down the ladder. It would be disastrous to allow it to trip him and send him ignominiously into the sea in front of Miss Bennet — and the men.

  He jumped the last few feet into the boat, and sat on the seat athwart.

  Mr. Duncan was ready. “Cast off!” he roared. “Out oars! Lively, lads.”

  The sailors were all neat and tidy in new-looking striped shirts and white breeches. He hid a smile. He was willing to bet the frigate captain had been polishing his ship to within an inch of its life.

  But there was no getting away from it; she was very small for two ladies and the admiral, not to mention the boy, Darcy’s own servant and his cox’n. He smiled wryly. The crew would not be happy.

  He kept his gaze firmly on the Porcupine as the men rowed steadily towards her. He would not look at the ladies. This next week would be difficult. The captain’s cabin was not large, and they wouldn’t be able to stay down there all the time, not for a full week or more.

  But it was no good feeling sorry for them. Things were as they were, and he ought to be more sorry for himself. He would undoubtedly be given the cot of the first officer. The only advantage was that it had walls so he would have a semblance of privacy.

  But the walls were more like screens; snores and arguments overheard from the wardroom would bedevil him. He watched Porcupine getting closer. He could spend a lot of time on deck. A week, ten days, then it would be over.

  His mind turned to the orders he’d received. He wasn’t sure what they involved, and had spent two days puzzling over them. Terse, and to the point as always, he was unable this time to deduce the unsaid message behind the words.

  A shout from his cox’n diverted him from his thoughts, and the port oarsmen gave one last strong stroke and shipped their oars, as the boat swung round sideways on to the frigate, a perfect distance away.

  “Lovely.” Miss Bennet’s appreciative murmur took his attention for a moment, and he glanced away, irritated at his distraction. Glancing up, he saw the side party waiting to pipe him aboard, together with the officer of the day.

  He was about to stand, but saw the pale young lady rise to her feet, unsteadily. Her face was determined — she looked as if she wanted nothing more than to get off the crazily moving ship’s boat.

  But Mr. Duncan was there. He reached out.

  “Not so fast, Miss.” He supported her arm. “You must sit and wait a moment longer. T’admiral always goes first.”

  Darcy kept his eyes away from the ladies, but as soon as he knew it was safe to rise he reached for the ladder and climbed as fast as he could.

  The pipes shrilled out in respect as he climbed over the side, and the captain and officer of the day saluted. He acknowledged with a return salute, his eyes taking in the scene on deck. His flag broke on the flagstaff the very instant he stepped aboard, and he smiled faintly.

  “Welcome aboard, sir.” The young captain was appropriately deferential.

  “Thank you, Mr. Soames. Smart ship.” Darcy followed him along the line of officers and petty officers ranged along the deck to be introduced. He always took care to listen carefully, and have a few words with some of the men. He thought it made a difference.

  Behind him, shouts and orders at the side heralded the arrival of the rest of the party, and the boat being hoisted aboard. He was determined to keep his gaze and his attention on the men he was inspecting. He liked seeing them straighten up with pride under his attention and approval.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw blowing skirts as the ladies were escorted down to the cabin. He was relieved that all seemed to have gone without a hitch.

  “How long have you been on this blockade patrol, Mr. Hawkins?” he asked the quartermaster.

  “Nearly two years, sir.” The man threw out his chest. “Only two weeks leave in that whole time — when my son was born.”

  “An’ all those times you took to get the son in your wife.” The sotto voce remark wasn’t attributable to anyone identifiable, and the captain looked annoyed.

  Darcy laughed, but otherwise ignored the comment. “So, Mr. Hawkins, what is your view of the weather? Will it be strong enough to blow us to Chatham speedily?”

  The man glanced at the sky. “T’will not be bad, sir. I think she may drop in a day or two, and we might get a day before it picks up again. But if the blockade is strong enough for us to stand out into mid-channel, it’ll be enough for us to beat up against it.”

  “Good man.” Darcy nodded and turned away.

  “A nicely turned-out crew, captain. A credit to your ship.” He made sure his voice was loud enough to carry to the side party, and knew his words would spread to the rest of the crew.

  “Thank you, sir.” The man hesitated. “My cabin has been given over to the ladies, sir; and the first’s cot has been made ready for you as far as possible. It won’t be what you’re use
d to.”

  Darcy laughed. “I came up through the wardroom, too, Mr. Soames. I can remember what it’s like. Although I will no doubt get a sore head against the deck beams before I remember to duck my head!”

  8

  Elizabeth lifted her head. There were hoarse shouts from the deck, and the ship’s motion changed as it turned, creaking, onto the course. They must be getting under way.

  She remembered watching the admiral as he’d gravely been introduced to a line of men drawn up to attention — how they stood so still on the rolling deck, she didn’t know. But she’d been impressed with his courtesy and attention. Perhaps that was part of what the surgeon had said, why the men would rather serve under him than other commanding officers.

  Charlotte was sitting, just staring at the small cabin. Elizabeth felt rather troubled. The cabin wasn’t that small, and there was a full row of stern windows.

  “Isn’t it kind of the captain to give up his cabin for us, Charlotte? Especially as the admiral will take the next best.” She laughed. “I’m expecting the captain to be on a cot in the chartroom — at least, that’s what the surgeon said might happen.”

  “Oh. Yes, it is good of him to give it up,” her friend said sadly.

  “Come on, Charlotte. We have no more than ten days and then we’ll be back in England. I think it will do us good to get back home to our ordinary lives, don’t you?”

  The other sighed. “What am I going to tell Mother, Lizzy? She’s bound to think it is my fault that Father is gone, and that we didn’t save him.”

  “We have at least a week to decide what you’ll say, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said firmly. “And we’ll stay a day or two with my aunt and uncle, I expect, so we can write from there and perhaps intimate the news so it does not come as such a shock.”

  Charlotte looked up at her. “Ought we to have written already? She can’t yet know she’s … she’s lost him.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I did ask about writing, but the surgeon said the admiral has refused at present. It was something about the letters perhaps being intercepted and the enemy finding out the blockade was less because they were rescuing us.”

  “Oh.”

  Elizabeth was ready to jump out of her skin with boredom. They’d been five days on the Hibernia, where she’d not dared to go back on deck after that first time. She’d hoped there would be more freedom on this smaller vessel, but discovering the admiral was also taking passage had dampened that hope somewhat.

  She looked at the door. She would be able to find her way back to this cabin, she was sure, and she knew not to ask one of the ordinary sailors; so there should be no difficulty.

  Listening carefully at the muted sounds drifting from the deck, she deduced the Porcupine had already settled into her seagoing routine. All seemed quiet.

  Suddenly, she could barely wait for the opportunity to go out on deck, feel the wind blowing through her hair as it streamed past to fill the sails.

  She jumped to her feet. “Charlotte, come with me on deck. I want the opportunity to see the horizon and get to know the ship.”

  “But we’ll be in the way.” Her friend didn’t move. “It’ll be better if we let the crew settle into the new routine.”

  “Everything’s calm on deck, the shouting as they changed course has all finished now. I really feel the need for some fresh air.”

  “I do not. This ship is much smaller than the other, and the motion is making me feel a little unwell.”

  “Well, dear friend, I will leave you in peace for a little while, then. Do you want me to call Pember to sit with you?” Elizabeth smiled at Charlotte, who shook her head.

  “No, I’ll be all right. You go and enjoy yourself. But please be careful.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I will.” She wished she had a hat, even the protection of a coat, but she had nothing apart from the little piece of fabric cut from an old coat that Pember had found.

  She’d sewn it into a semblance of a scarf, but it looked very unladylike. Still, it was better than going on deck with no head covering, which was the only other option.

  Soon she was climbing the steep steps up to the deck, smiling as the fresh air whipped about her. She moved quietly to the poop deck, knowing the captain’s cabin was immediately below her feet. No one would be disturbed there, and Charlotte knew she was here. Perhaps she might stay here for a while.

  Holding tightly onto the scarf, she laughed out loud as the wind blew straight into her face, making her blink.

  “I see you have found the best place in the ship.” His voice was loud enough to be heard over the wind, but no more.

  She turned in surprise. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t see you approach. I hope it is all right to come on deck. The cabin is rather small for me to wear out the carpet.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Indeed.” He glanced up. “It is quite all right to come out here, although I will ask that you do not disturb the men as they work.” He turned his gaze to her. “The only difficulty as I see it is that, until we enter the channel, we will spend much time heeling into the wind, with constant changes of direction.” He crossed to the rail and stared at their wake.

  Then he looked at her. “It can be hard to stay on your feet at such times, and I would prefer it if you made your way below when you hear the hands piped aloft.”

  She stared at him. It sounded reasonable. “I understand, sir. I wouldn’t like to cause any more inconvenience than we already have.”

  His face was impassive and distant, and she wondered whether he’d tell her that, if she really felt it to be the case, to stay below.

  He nodded but didn’t speak, and she wondered if she ought to go down now. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He’d dispensed with his coat and hat, and was, once again, dressed in the loose white shirt and tight breeches.

  She took a deep breath. With his dark hair loosely tied at the nape of his neck, in a nod to the naval fashion, he looked like a pirate, his lean body and chiselled features burned into her mind. She turned her head away. She ought not to see too much of him.

  The joint presence of his extremely handsome face and him being the cause of having saved their lives was a potent force indeed.

  A whistle shrilled, and he lifted his head. “That is the call for all hands aloft. We will be changing course. Let me escort you to the companionway, Miss Bennet.”

  She was disappointed by the need to go below, but she didn’t let it sound in her voice.

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  9

  Darcy kept his expression as remote as possible while he walked with her the few paces to the companionway and saw her start to descend the steps. She was still barefoot, none of the ship’s boys having a spare pair of shoes the right size for her. He frowned; something would have to be done about that before they reached Chatham.

  He could charge Duncan with the task, he thought. His cox’n seemed to have magical skills in getting the impossible done.

  But the captain was approaching him, looking concerned at his frown. “Is it in order to reef before changing course, sir?”

  “What?” Darcy was startled. “Yes, of course, Mr. Soames. You’re in charge of your ship, and the journey. I’m merely taking passage with you.”

  He must leave the man to do his job. “I’ll go below.” He turned for the nearest port. The first lieutenant’s bunk was uncomfortable and cramped. There was nowhere he could sit and stretch out his limbs, nowhere to sit and read. He could lie on the cot, but he had never been one to do that.

  There was a table in the wardroom. He would go there, add to the letter to his sister. His servant fetched him the half-finished letter and more sheets of paper and his pen, and he sat at the end of the table to think what he could tell her. The two off-watch officers had been laughing at something together, but had fallen silent at his entrance.

  He nodded shortly at them. “Carry on.”

  He soon forgot them as he tried to think what would amuse his
sister. He couldn’t talk too much of the detail of what he did. He bent to his task, regaling her with the little tales of shipboard life. He couldn’t add much about the Porcupine — if he told her he was taking passage in her, she’d believe him coming to England. If the letter fell into the wrong hands, then the enemy would know it, too.

  He sat back, rereading it to himself. Much was a description of the sunset before the storm of two weeks ago; he wouldn’t describe the wrecks to her, she worried about him enough.

  Perhaps it was time to retire from the navy. He had a fair fortune now, he could buy a small estate and live comfortably enough. Georgiana would appreciate it. She might even want to come and keep house for him. Neither of his older brothers seemed inclined to give her any attention.

  Since Father had passed, five years ago, George was finding it a struggle to manage Pemberley, and Darcy knew he himself could do it better. He scowled. George ought to take another wife — Anna had died in childbirth three years ago — and his brother had a duty to the estate to bear an heir. Certainly, it would be a disaster if Stephen inherited.

  Darcy sighed, laying down his pen. Stephen was two years older than he was, but it seemed he’d never grow up and take life seriously. Bitterness corroded his soul, bitterness that he’d missed being the heir by less than a year.

  Darcy laughed humourlessly. Stephen was lucky to be the second son. He’d received a gentleman’s education, a grand tour — everything needed to take over Pemberley in case something happened to the heir. And everything necessary to woo a lady of fortune. He, Fitzwilliam Darcy, was unnecessary and had merely been sent to sea.

  He wasn’t bitter. He’d learned a lot about himself and had been fortunate to escape injury and death in battles with both weather and enemy fire. He’d be sorry to give it up. But if Georgiana needed him, he must do his duty.