Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga

by Andrea Jones

  “It would seem that, like Captain Hook, you are concerned with my honor only until it no longer suits your purpose. The captain has chosen his physician well! As I observed once before, Mister Hanover, we are all pirates here aboard the Roger.”

  “Perhaps I deserve that. I admit I am becoming reckless where you are concerned.”

  “You deserve it, Doctor. But since you admit the truth, I won’t hold it against you.”

  “Your own set of standards, again?”

  “Yes. You see it works to your advantage, as well. And I will be honest with you once more. If Captain Hook allows you to visit L’Ormonde, it may be a concession to win you to his side. But I know he genuinely wishes to appease you. He has merely ordered shackles, where he might have condemned you to much worse. The fact that he shows you such leniency should convince you how sincerely he hopes you will join us…as do I.”

  “I will never join a pirate company!”

  “Would it be so bad? To be free of your rules, the restrictions of your ‘decent society?’ Whatever it is you hide from me, you would no longer have to hide from anyone, as a buccaneer.”

  The girl on the bunk kept perfectly still. Jill proved as canny as she had supposed. The woman’s instincts concerning the brilliant Doctor Hanover were accurate. Almost.

  Hanover protested, “It is not in my nature to avoid moral restriction, or my responsibilities. I have important work to do—”

  “Whatever that work is, you can do it as well or better aboard the Jolly Roger than you did on the Julianne. Think again, Johann. Consider our offer. You have seen today how clever Captain Hook is, how he is three steps ahead of you. I told you the first time we spoke— if you open your mind to him as you have opened to me, you will come, in time, to admire him.”

  Hanover closed in on her. “Do you think I could bring myself to serve the man— the criminal— who is three steps ahead of me in possessing you?” His scarred jaw tightened. “When I think of the arrogance of that man, how he takes what I want, how he owns you—” He seized his watch, as if he wanted to throttle it. “How he owns me.”

  Jill’s tone turned to ice. “Look about you, Mister Hanover. What you’ll see is not slavery, but loyalty. No one, including Hook, owns me. If you look for ownership, I am hardly the woman for you.”

  “No indeed. I seek instead to release you. I watched your face last night, when I told you of my desire—” Hanover stopped, tossing a glance toward his daughter. He stepped nearer to Jill and mastered his voice. “I am learning this about you. You are a strong woman. As such, your ardor will be all the more rewarding, in the end, to unleash. I will bring you to heights of sensation, ecstasies, which you have never imagined.”

  The lady arched her eyebrows. “You think to do more than Hook?”

  “I think of it, and little else.” Standing close, almost touching her, he gazed down into her eyes. “And so do you.”

  She pulled in her breath and stepped back, bumping into the door. She hadn’t realized he’d backed her nearly against it. Catching her balance, she forced herself to speak evenly once more. “Sir, let us go back to the deck now. We can walk again, the exercise will calm you, clear your head. And then, I think, you will be in a better temper to begin Liza’s lesson.”

  “Yes. It is unbearable here, with those iron reminders of my helplessness.”

  Conscious of the medicine bag on the desk, Jill said, “You are anything but helpless, Doctor.” She turned to leave, then halted before the doorway. “As I can see by your weapons. But these are beautiful swords, Sir.”

  Hanging on hooks in the wood of the wall were a foil, a rapier, and the doctor’s walking stick. Made of fine workmanship, they swayed with the ship’s movement.

  “My old friends.” Hanover took down the foil and stepped into the gunnery. Jill followed, and shortly after, Liza emerged from the bunk.

  The surgeon strode to the center of the deck, where no shackles and no walls restricted his movement. He stood erect, holding the sword up straight, then waved it in a circle and thrust it, his left arm poised, his right foot plunging suddenly forward to bear his weight. He stopped then, and his pose sagged. Alone in the midsection of the gun deck, he sighed and shook his head.

  This attitude of defeat seemed so foreign to the surgeon that Jill was drawn to him. Standing before him, she searched his eyes. She reached out with her scarlet hand to tuck his watch into its pocket. Her fingers lingered on its golden chain, then she placed her hands on his arm. The doctor studied her, puzzled. With gentle insistence, she turned him, and taking hold of his collar, she slid his coat from his shoulders.

  “Now.” She backed away, his coat in her arms.

  He turned to face her, and regaining his stiff smile, cut a bow. He corrected his grip on the foil. Free of his outer layer of dignity, the surgeon made another stab, and then another, and he began in earnest to exercise his anger. In fluid, practiced motions, he waltzed with his sword, up and down in the open space between the guns of his enemy. He feinted and parried, pushed himself forward and pulled himself back, turning, slashing elegantly, and whipping the glinting foil until it sang a song of satisfaction.

  Jill followed the movements of his white sleeves. She listened to the shuffle of his shoe leather on the boards, and she understood now, without a doubt, that the surgeon with the sword would never reconcile to become one with this ship’s company. She watched with every outward sign of fascination and her heart sinking like a stone as the gentleman’s smile opened up, and his sand-colored hair fell loosely down at last, over his ears.

  This, she believed, is how the gentleman would look after a bout of love-making. Handsome, slightly disheveled…and aggressive. She raised her fingers to stroke the scar at her throat.

  The doctor fenced with his imaginary foe for some minutes, and then Jill leaned toward Liza. Her eyes never left the swordsman.

  “Liza. You may hunt up your thread. Your father and I will meet you in my quarters.”

  The girl dodged away toward the narrow stairs to the deck. The fowl in their cage fluttered at her approach, stirring up their dry, sour smell, and eyeing her in suspicion. Hearing the fencing foil slicing the air, she didn’t pause to look behind her until the sound stopped and she was nearly up the steps. Then she beheld the lady and the gentleman.

  She saw that the coat was folded and hanging over a cannon. Her father stood still now, his face aglow from the release of his fury, his shoulders heaving with his breathing. The lady beckoned to him, and then her fingers were pushing his hair back over his temples. Liza saw that he didn’t touch the woman. He stood with his sword lowered, arms at his sides. But she saw that the two of them saw nothing but each other.

  Liza was gone then, in search of Mr. Smee, allowing the clipped voice the privacy to ask a question she didn’t need to hear.

  He was still breathing heavily.

  “Is it today, Madam?”

  Only the doctor— and the poultry— heard her reply.

  Chapter 10

  Pains and Needles

  Hook had gone about his business, allowing time for Jill to conduct her own. The gunnery was clear now, and his boots tapped down the stairs. Closely followed by his bo’sun, he headed toward the spare cabin, shrugging off his coat as he walked, and appreciating the light, exotic scent that lingered in the air. The captain shoved the door wide with his hook, threw his coat over a chair, and eased himself down to sit on the bunk, propping a pillow against the wall behind him. In the light of two aft windows he examined a smudge on the toe of his boot, then crossed it over the other and reclined. His hook came to rest on the blanket.

  Smee took note of his captain’s expression, then looked out at the gun deck and half closed the door. “It’s a mite musty in here.” He moved to a window and lifted it open, hooking it to a ring on the ceiling. “I’ll speak to Starkey about that botched blacking. Tom Tootles is usually doing a better job. Polishing boots was the first thing he volunteered for when he joined up.”


  “No need, Mr. Smee. I believe our two young sailors are merely over-eager about their upcoming task.” Hook untied his shirt and tucked his hand into his collar. “Let it go.” He ran his fingers under the leather straps of his brace, massaging.

  “Aye, Sir. It won’t be long before they’re showing us what they’re made of.”

  “I also intend to discover what constitutes our doctor.”

  “How so?”

  “I and my cutlass shall take our exercise with Starkey’s charges.”

  “Do you say, now? A rare treat for the lads! Are they ready for you?”

  “I shall employ caution, of course. I’ll alert you beforehand. It will be your responsibility to see that Hanover is on deck then.”

  “And will the lady be joining you?”

  “She will observe, so that I may obtain a true reading of Hanover’s swordsmanship.”

  “Hanover’s? What of the lads?”

  Hook’s fingers ceased massaging and loosely gestured Smee nearer. He lifted his chin to one side as the bo’sun tied his shirt closed again. “Mr. Nibs and Mr. Tootles are only the pretext. It is the surgeon whom I wish to test.”

  “And the lady’s job?”

  “Her presence is vital to ensure his best efforts, but she’ll not participate until I have authorized another examination by the surgeon.”

  Smee snorted, but declined comment.

  “Now, Mr. Smee. No need for concern. I intend to chaperone this time. As you are well aware, I can be a generous man. But I do have my limits.”

  “So I’ve heard the lady say, in regard to your swag. But I’m that glad you’re taking my warning to heart, Sir.”

  “There was never any question of it. Your instincts have often proven invaluable. And while I have every confidence in Jill, I make it a habit not to gamble more than I can afford to lose.”

  “As my old mum used to advise before packing my brothers and me off to the horse fair.”

  “You are becoming sentimental before your time, Mr. Smee. It must be the presence of a woman on board. I observe that the entire crew is somewhat addled.”

  “It’s the truth, Sir, but nothing we’ll not learn to live with.”

  Unnoticed, a shadow flitted over the floor by the half open door.

  “All is well, I assume, concerning my prohibitions on the girl?”

  The shadow froze, then drew itself against the wall.

  “Aye, Captain. There’s looks, but no trouble. It helps that she’s a haughty little thing and mostly keeps to herself.”

  Liza crept closer, pressing herself thin. Pulled unresisting toward the voice of her captain, she stopped just before the tip of her nose passed the door-jamb.

  “Good. But be on guard. Such an attitude on her part can encourage rather than discourage the men’s attention. Except for the episode regarding my shirt this morning— about which, incidentally, I have now satisfied myself— Jill is contented with the girl, and I shouldn’t care to burden you with double duty again, serving both of us.”

  “Not that I’d mind it. But it’s more fitting this way, of course.”

  “There is certainly more ‘fitting’ of her clothing! Jill wears more of it now, and it is a trend which I find disagreeable.”

  Neglecting the errand for which her mistress had interrupted her first reading lesson, the girl in the gunnery didn’t absorb the details, nor Smee’s heavy footfalls pacing between the walls. She was listening to the captain’s silken speech.

  The Irish lilt answered him, “All part of her play-acting for Hanover. It took a tight corset to make that fainty-feint look plausible.”

  “And the man considers himself civilized! It was most fortunate that you and your lacing talents were on the spot, Mr. Smee. That offensive garment was the linchpin of the evening’s events. I suppose it also afforded some protection. Matronly armor you might call it. Wherever did you find the ghastly piece? I order you to burn it at the next opportunity.” Hook closed his eyes. “Have the courtesy to sit down, Smee. You weary me.”

  “Sorry, Sir. Will you be resting for a spell?”

  The girl heard a shushing of cloth, and imagined his long body shifting on the bunk.

  “Not without my lady. There is no point.”

  “Aye. You’d not be able to sleep unless she did. And she’d best not be dreaming this morning! She’s got to be sharp as long as Hanover’s about.”

  “A brilliant scheme, is it not? Stolen moments, shared while guiding a young mind toward its potential. Only Jill would think of that.”

  Liza’s ears feasted at last. This was what she craved, the bounty she had missed in the dark of the captain’s quarters last night— a tryst with the sound of him.

  Smee was agreeing with his captain. “You’d think she’d have had enough of guiding young minds, wouldn’t you, what with all those boys she raised? But I think she likes the girl. Shocked, she was, to learn the little thing couldn’t read.”

  “Barbarous...”

  Liza heard his sneer, and eagerly snatched it up.

  “…Unable to speak, unable to write. Whatever the ‘little thing’ knows of her father is safely locked inside. Not only is he clever. He is cold.”

  “Tell it to the lady, Sir. I can see it plain as day, but he managed to get her warm enough last night. You should have heard him!”

  With no warning, the velvet turned to ice. “I have heard, and I have heard enough.” The bunk creaked.

  Smee cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, Cap’n. I was meaning no disrespect.”

  Liza’s ears endured the silence until at last, Hook breathed deeply.

  “We will allow the lesson another half an hour. The doctor should have gotten from A to L by then.”

  She sensed a sly soupçon of a smile.

  “We won’t permit him to move all the way…to Z.”

  They laughed together, and underlying Smee’s rollicking chortle was the deep, rich, black-gold laugh of which Liza had longed to partake. Closing her eyes, she indulged in it, memorizing the sound, already drunk with it. The potency of his laughter frightened her, but she liked to feel frightened, overpowered, as she had been overpowered earlier that morning. It made her feel alive.

  After the laughter, postponing the moment when she must open her eyes, Liza felt her way dizzily along the wall to her cabin, pushed open the door, and stole inside. Forgetting why she had come there, she simply stood and waited. Her legs began to ache again, and then her senses sobered enough to inform her of her mistress’ errand. She scooped up her sewing basket with its crop of needles and yarns. Still off balance, she spun back toward the door. In the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of her father’s black leather bag, upright and clamped tight shut. It couldn’t look more proper, Liza thought, but it couldn’t be more deceptive.

  That bag held secrets— cold, hard, glittering secrets, and slippery liquid ones. Hidden deep inside the bag, deep inside of Liza, were the tools and rewards of her father’s genius.

  Again, she felt the ring around her finger. It had slid off her mother’s hand so easily that night. That last night, after all the horrid noises died with her. And he had just lain there in the spitting candlelight, panting like a spent bull, his hair unkempt, his own arm dangling off the bed, alongside hers. Her mother’s, white as a ghost.

  Liza’s lip curled. She might have stolen his signet ring, too, for all he noticed her. He never even knew Liza had seen. He’d paid her no attention. Not then.

  But the diamonds, and the liquids, they would both fetch Jill’s attention, if they hadn’t already. Liza wondered. Would those gems capture— could they fail to capture— Captain Hook’s? Her gray eyes, misty now, shifted toward the door. She had another moment or two to think, her father wouldn’t be eager for her to return. He’d want all the time with the mistress he could squeeze out of his new role as schoolmaster. Jill had been right. The doctor’s principles were stretching to fit his purpose, to press his advantage. And it was worki
ng out just as Liza anticipated. She and her father were helping each other, whether he realized it or not.

  Liza began to shape her thoughts into workable implements. Any pirate would want what was in that bag! If he used the spare cabin again, it would be easy. She would have to watch and see. Why and when did he come here? And who would be with him, and how often? Liza’s blood was already so thick with the ideas taking form in her head that she couldn’t hear the talk in the next room any longer.

  With her whole body numb, she crept to the doorway and leaned against it, unable to feel the rough wooden jamb jutting into her shoulder. She anchored her gaze to a square of sunshine on the gun deck. One hand clutched her sewing basket to her bodice. One hand trifled under her skirts.

  It didn’t matter that he never spoke to her. It didn’t matter what he said about her. She had gotten more than she hoped for— the master thought about her. He had thought about her this morning, too, because she had made his shirt disappear. And now his voice had spoken, ever so silkily, of her! The blood in her skull moved quickly downward, and her ears attended him again, ecstatic under the strokes of his speech. Her hands moved along with it, until she was able to feel her fingers and she recognized the piercing pain to be a needle wedged into the flesh between her finger and thumb.

  She drew a quiet breath, and then she smoothed her too-short skirt to saunter over the threshold and traverse the sunny squares, up the open aisle between the guns. As she mounted the steps, she relished her torment. She had listened to her nurse in the past, she had picked out segments of coarse sailor-talk. She knew without his telling her exactly what that Tom Tootles was after. It would hurt just like this, the first time. The first prick! She smiled. She knew men loved to be the first, it was a special thrill, one most sailors never experienced, to make a girl bleed.

  She would bleed when she pulled the needle out, outside the master’s door.

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