Too smart, his Blaike.
Jaw unhinged at her comparison, Hawkins swung a desperate glance to Oliver.
Rubbing his temple, Oliver shrugged. “She’ll know soon enough. Give over. What has you wearing such a Friday face?”
“She’s pacing us, and she’s not flying any colors, Cap’n.”
When deciding whether to disclose a secret, a far-sighted
woman considers who might most benefit and who will be most harmed.
~Scruples and Scandals-The Genteel Lady’s Guide to Practical Living
Friend or foe?
Blaike peered at the horizon, striving to catch a glimpse of the ship Hawkins said was out there, somewhere off the Sea Gypsy’s starboard side. Though she trusted Oliver completely, trepidation nevertheless padded across her shoulders.
If friendly, why hadn’t the vessel struck her colors?
Maybe ships only did so under certain circumstances.
What type of vessel pursued them?
A pirate ship?
Captain Abraham?
Could the Sea Gypsy outrun her if need be?
She was a sleek clipper, but could a larger ship overtake her? Blaike’s knowledge of mariner protocol wouldn’t fill an infant’s shoe.
At the helm, Oliver conversed in low tones with Mr. Grover, Mr. Hawkins, and a couple of other officers. None appeared particularly harrowed or concerned. No doubt, these situations were common enough and seasoned seamen took the occurrences in their stride.
She wasn’t altogether sure she ever could.
Swinging her attention the port side, she pinched her lips together.
Sullen charcoal-colored clouds billowed low over the rolling, white-capped waves. Possible danger lurked on either side of the grayish-green waters as night enshrouded the vessel.
Even the air smelled and felt different: a sweet, pungent scent that tickled her nostrils and heightened her awareness whilst making her prickly all over.
Oliver had directed the helmsmen to stay the course, right between the two potential threats. He’d even ordered the galley stove extinguished, and at this moment, the crew was stowing away or lashing down anything that might be tossed about in rough seas.
Or in a battle?
The Sea Gypsy had but one gun deck as well as a chase gun on the bow and stern. She wasn’t designed for lengthy fighting.
Cold sweat dampened Blaike’s underarms, and a peculiar metallic taste filled her mouth. She’d been afraid before, had been terrified when Captain Abraham said he intended to sell her into sexual slavery. But she’d never tasted this kind of fear. Nor smelled it before either, yet she kept catching whiffs of an unsettling, acerbic aroma.
“Blaike, why has Captain Whitehouse cancelled tonight’s celebration? And why is the crew scurrying about like squirrels preparing for winter?”
Blaire touched Blaike’s forearm, two neat rows wrinkling her forehead.
What to say to not worry her further?
Might as well tell her the whole truth. Intelligent as she was, she’d soon figure it out for herself.
“A storm brews, and another ship’s sails were sighted earlier. We don’t know if the vessel is friendly.” Blaike summoned a cheery smile, which quickly slid into a compassionate curve of her mouth at her twin’s distraught sound.
“I confess, I’m not made for seafaring.” Features strained, Blaire hunched deeper into her cloak. “I rather dislike everything about it.”
No doubt the prospect of angry, roiling seas caused her distress, making Blaike all the more grateful she didn’t suffer from seasickness. She’d seen the havoc the condition wreaked upon her twin and worried for her health.
“Don’t fret, dearest. Oliver says he thinks we’ll stay ahead of the storm, but he’s taking precautions just in case.”
“Doodle sack.”
The wind carried M’Lady Lottie’s latest crudity to where Blaike stood, one hand resting on the smooth rail.
Locked in her cage, she voiced her annoyance at being confined.
Would Oliver secure her below until the threats had passed?
“Blaike! Look.” Her voice thick with dread, Blaire shook Blaike’s shoulder.
Twisting to look where her twin pointed, Blaike’s lungs constricted as her heart seemed to swell to twice its normal size behind her breastbone.
The ship she’d strained to see had emerged from twilight’s nebulous glow, a large black silhouette on the seascape.
How had she gained on them so quickly?
Why would she if she meant the Sea Gypsy no harm?
What if the occupants needed help, though?
Wouldn’t they have given a distress signal then?
A fat raindrop splattered onto her nose as she threw a glance over her shoulder.
Oliver, his strong legs spread, held a brass spyglass to his eye, as did Mr. Hawkins, both directed at the looming vessel. Even from where she stood, the grim line of his mouth and the harsh planes of his face were visible.
If her stomach hadn’t already been a gnarled knot of anxiety, it would’ve turned to stone.
Her worry wasn’t for herself.
As captain, Oliver was at greatest risk if an unfriendly vessel overtook and boarded them.
The eyeglass still held in place, he said something to his first mate, and with a sharp nod, Mr. Hawkins sprinted into action.
“All hands on deck,” he bellowed. For such a small man, he possessed an impressive shout.
Foe then.
Fright’s sharp claws scraped along Blaike’s nerves.
The Sea Gypsy swung to port, facing into the gale.
“Oh, this isn’t good, is it?” Blaire grasped Blaike’s hand. “I may cast up my accounts right here.”
“Take deep breaths, and try to stay calm. Look at the horizon” Sound advice if a potential enemy’s ship didn’t hover there. Even Blaike’s robust constitution wobbled a mite. “I trust Oliver. He knows what he’s about.”
She did trust him, but sailing directly into a tempest meant that tactic was less dangerous than engaging the ship swooping down upon them.
Cold, heavy pellets fell faster from the sky, even as the wind tore Blaike’s hood off.
“Misses, you’ll need to go below now.”
Mr. Grover touched his hat, his countenance taut with tension.
“Cap’n’s orders. And there’ll be no hot meals served until further notice. Someone will deliver hardtack, water, dried apples, and cheese to your quarters when they’re able. The Cap’n also doesn’t want any unnecessary lamps burning. Once you’re in your cabin, you must remain inside until advised otherwise. The passageways won’t be lit, and with the ship bobbing about, it’d be dangerous not to stay put. ”
Bobbing? This was dashed more than bobbing.
“We understand.” Blaike cast a fretful glance toward the wicked clouds.
They’d be stuck in the ship’s bowels with no light and roiling on the mountainous waves.
For how long? Hours? Days?
Blaike looped arms with Blaire, now as pale as the sheets billowing from the masts above.
“I vow, after this, I’m never setting foot on a ship again.” A hand pressed to her throat, Blaire swallowed.
Sailors scrambled up the rigging and rat lines, hollering to one another. Howling wind and crashing waves muted their call. Brave and daring at any time, in this weather, their actions were positively heroic. Likely an absolute necessity, too.
“At once, if you please, Misses.”
Probably a dozen things requiring his attention, Mr. Grover hurried away.
Even as Blaike and her sister cautiously made their way across the deck, the wind whipped into a frenzy, lashing her face with icy, bean-sized drops. The raw force of nature was something to behold. At once glorious and terrifying. Candescent purplish-white lightening branches rent the distant sky, followed by muffled explosions of thunder.
“A moment, please.” Striding to the companionway, M’Lady Lottie clin
ging to his hand, Oliver addressed them both, but looked at Blaike. “Can I impose upon you to take her to my quarters, and put her in her cage? She has food and water enough to last a couple of days. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get below again.”
Extending her arm, Blaike nodded. “Of course.”
“Bedded and buggered,” the cockatoo said, except she lacked her usual ornery attitude.
“Are we actually sailing into that?” Blaike tilted her head at the ominous mass as he transferred the disgruntled bird to her.
“No.” The wind had torn his hair free, and it hung in saturated tendrils to his shoulders. “That would be suicide. I’m using the squall’s perimeter as a shield. Night will be fully upon us within the hour. I intend to use them both to mask us from the other vessel, which I’m sure you’ve seen.”
“Do you know who the other ship is?” She accepted the cockatoo, surprised at how heavy the bird was.
He nodded, shoving a hank of hair from his eyes.
“I do, and we don’t wish to encounter them. Which is why I’ve chosen this course. The Sea Gypsy’s cargo will act as a ballast, and I’m veering her into an area with the shallowest waves and lowest winds. I’ve also given the order to periodically dump a gallon or two of oil to calm the waves for us. Not too much though, else the other ship will spot us or benefit from the oil.”
Blaike couldn’t form the words burning on the tip of her tongue. Perchance, she didn’t really want to know what he so obviously withheld.
Just who was pursuing them?
Maybe the gallivanting around the high seas with Oliver wasn’t such a cheery prospect after all. There was something to be said for boring and safe.
And solid, unmoving land.
Without pirates or other scallywags.
“Blaike, I’m not feeling at all well. If you don’t mind, I’ll go to our cabin straightaway and lie down.”
If Blaire felt this miserable already, Blaike dreaded what the next few hours would bring. Her twin truly might very well never sail again. Even Blaike’s tummy protested the merest bit at the ship’s increased churning.
“Yes, go along, dear. I’ll be there just a soon as I’ve dealt with M’Lady Lottie.”
Summoning a weak, closed-mouth smile, Blaire descended the ladder.
Blaike touched Oliver’s wound, then searched his eyes. “You will be careful, won’t you? Promise me? I’ll fret until I see you safe again.”
Bold of her, but what if something happened to him?
She wanted him to know she cared, even if now wasn’t the time to declare her affection.
Angling his back, partially sheltering her from the furious elements, and likely the crew’s regard as well, he grazed her cheek with his rough thumb.
“I promise. But you must make me the same promise, cara. Sei tutto per me.”
The ship heeled violently to starboard, and he stumbled into her.
M’Lady Lottie screeched her outrage, digging her claws into Blaike’s fingers. “Bawdy baskets.”
Blaike didn’t even want to guess what bawdy baskets were.
For certain, something that would turn her cheeks pink.
“I must go. Get below, cara.”
Oliver kissed her forehead, the act so endearing and natural, she couldn’t object.
Had no inclination to.
She clutched his soggy shirtfront with her free hand.
“Wait, Oliver. What does it mean? What you just said to me in Italian?”
He winked, a roguish twinkle in his eye and looking every bit the rakish pirate she’d likened him to be those many months ago. “That’s my secret.”
“Oliver. That’s not—”
The Sea Gypsy crested another gigantic wave, hurtling them into the companionway.
Pain ratcheted from shoulder to hip, and she gasped. Still, he wasn’t getting off so easily. Clutching his sodden shirt, she shook it.
“What does it mean, you stubborn man?”
“Cap’n!” Such urgency filled Hawkins’ voice, her blood congealed in her veins.
“It means, you are everything to me, amore mia.” After casting a grim look behind him, Oliver gave her a firm push. “Go. Now. I cannot have you distracting me, and if you’re up here, I shan’t be able to concentrate on anything but your safety. Pray we survive the next few hours and lose the other vessel.”
What fool would try to overtake a ship on the cusp of a gale?
Over his shoulder, the outline of sails obstructed the angry horizon.
That one, whoever the lunatic captain might be.
Stifling another gasp, Blaike clambered down the ladder, no easy feat, wearing long skirts and with a frightened bird bobbing and swaying.
And swearing.
Thrice, M’Lady Lottie’s wings battered her face.
A single lamp hanging near the ladder lit the passageway. How soon before it was extinguished?
Minutes likely.
She must hurry, not at all certain she could find her way to her cabin in a pitch black passageway.
“Lottie scared. Hurry. Hurry.” Her agitation growing, M’Lady Lottie chattered non-stop. “Hurry. Dunnock doxy. Bushel bubby. I’m scared. Petey? Hell’s bells. Limp as lace.”
“Shh, Lottie. I cannot think with you blathering.”
Had Blaire made it to their cabin all right?
She’d looked positively green around her mouth, and panic had glinted in her eyes. Probably afraid she was about to cast her crumpets in view of all. Mayhap another slop bucket would be a good idea. But where to get one amidst this chaos?
If they’d been permitted light, Blaike would borrow the medical journal and research how to treat seasickness other than ginger tea. Though Fairnly had prepared several cups a day for her sister, the brew didn’t help appease her nausea.
Why she was so afflicted, yet Blaike barely so didn’t make any sense at all. They were so similar—identical—in almost every other way.
“Petey? Ol-eeve? Lottie afraid.”
Poor Lottie. She wanted her owner to comfort her.
“I know, Lottie. It’s all right. I’ll take care of you.”
Holding the terrified bird close to her midriff, Blaike ran a soothing hand down the cockatoo’s back.
As Blaike jostled down the ever increasing dimmer passageway to Oliver’s quarters, bouncing from bulkhead to bulkhead as she trundled along, M’Lady Lottie tottered on her fingers. Amazing the sheer strength of the bird’s feet.
She bustled into the great cabin. Mindful of the rows of windows and what Mr. Grover had said about lighting lamps, she left the door open. The dim passageway light barely sufficed to illuminate the chamber.
Nonetheless, Blaike had been inside so many times, she easily made her way to M’Lady Lottie’s cage, only banging her shin once on the trunk usually situated at the foot of Oliver’s bed.
She squinted round the cabin. Most furnishings were fixed to the deck, but those that weren’t had shifted. Like the chest, now in the middle of the cabin, as well as any unsecured items from atop his desk.
“There you are.” She rested her hand against the wooded dowel, and the cockatoo shimmied onto her perch. “I know you don’t like your cage, but it’s for your own safety.”
“Randy rantallion,” the bird muttered peevishly as Blaike latched the door.
“I’m positive I don’t want to know what that is.”
Shaking her head, she shivered, soaked to the skin. She didn’t relish trying to change into a dry gown and chemise in the dark.
“From your lively discourses, Lottie, I’m beginning to presume women of low virtue also have tetchy dispositions.”
A monstrous wave battered the sturdy vessel, rattling the windows and banging the door shut. Blaike stumbled sideways, crashing into the washstand. A moment later, the ship pitched hard to port, and she was thrown to the deck. Her right knee, hip, and shoulder collided with the unforgiving wood, and she yelped as piercing pain speared her.
M�
�Lady screamed in alarm, flying around her cage in terror. “Hell’s bells. Devil’s at the door.”
An occasional shout could be heard above the furor and the vessel’s anguished creaks and groans as the gale pummeled the ship.
A book skidded across the floor and thunked into the bulkhead.
This was the squall’s fringe?
The Sea Gypsy bobbled about like an acorn below a waterwheel.
Blaike rolled over, and breathing heavily, assessed her injuries. Cautious and tentative, she flexed and stretched. Nothing appeared broken, but her knee and shoulder ached something awful. If these were the shallowest waves, she never wanted to experience anything worse.
That notion of sailing round the world could bugger itself.
Pray God Blaire had wedged herself in her berth. She was likely terrified.
All the more reason why Blaike must get to her twin.
Eyes squeezed shut, and jaw clenched against an unladylike oath, she sat up. With a groan, she shoved to her feet, then hands held before her, shuffled toward where she thought the door ought to be.
The Sea Gypsy rolled again, diving into a trough between the towering walls of water.
The abrupt motion launched Blaike forward into the trunk. She cried out as her knees connected with the unyielding chest, and again as she toppled to the side, smashing her head against the bed.
’Tis a simple, but profound secret,
and one a charitable woman heeds: Everything worth doing,
is what is done for others without regard or expectation of recompense.
~Scruples and Scandals-The Genteel Lady’s Guide to Practical Living
Two days later, the first metallic traces of dawn feathered the sky as Oliver trained his spyglass across the gold, copper, and bronze seascape. No more worrying about being sent arse over chin into the fitful ocean now that the wind had abated to a peevish breeze.
The worrisome Bay of Biscay lay behind them and England ahead.
A modicum of tension eased from his shoulders, and he rubbed his nape. His gamble, the riskiest and with the highest stakes he’d ever wagered, had paid off.
With a practiced eye, he scrutinized the ocean one final time.
Blaike: Secrets Gone Askew (Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper Book 4) Page 12