by Amelia Smith
“I trust you’re well-provisioned,” Captain Grey said.
“Tolerably well,” Captain Hotham said, “but our supplies of wine are only adequate to half this journey, and we have no spare mid-weight line for the rigging. Of course, we can make do with other line, if need be, but…”
“I took special care with this ship, you understand, but we’re operating under quite a shortage.” Captain Grey sighed. “When I’m back on shore I’ll see if I can requisition another reel for you and a barrel of Madeira for the galley.”
“We would appreciate it,” Captain Hotham said.
As the men discussed provisioning, Hyacinth looked around. The ship was only a frigate, so it had been at the edges of the battle and escaped the worst damage. The passengers' and officers' cabins sat at the rear of the vessel, where the ship’s motion would be smoothest. The guns were tucked away and locked in place, but they could be ready for a skirmish in a moment, if it came to that. Sailors hurried around, checking the lines and sails for wear and giving the brass rails a final polish before setting sail.
“I trust you have breakfasted?” Captain Hotham asked Hyacinth as they walked toward the stern.
“Yes, thank you, very well,” Hyacinth said. Maria hovered at her shoulder, but George was on the far side of the deck, leaning over the rails.
“George!” Captain Grey barked.
George sprang to attention and scurried to join them as they reached their cabins.
“Here is your cabin,” Captain Hotham said, opening a small door. “Your maid and the boy will be in the next one to starboard.”
The cabin was cozy, so small that Hyacinth could touch both walls with her arms outstretched, and neatly furnished in varnished oak. A carefully made berth lay along one side and a small writing desk stood opposite. A high window in the door out to the deck let in a little light.
“That door leads to my wife’s parlor,” Captain Hotham explained, indicating a small door at the side of the cabin. “She is particularly looking forward to having another lady aboard. She is also fond of embroidery.”
“I had no idea that your wife was aboard,” Hyacinth said. “How nice for you.” She wasn't so sure it would be nice for the wife, though, to be surrounded by sailors all the time.
Captain Grey smiled. “I hope that Mrs. Hotham will be able to inform you of all the latest news from England, as well as keeping you company,” he said.
Hyacinth blushed. “Thank you, Father. I'm sure I'll be glad of some company,” she said, although she would have been content with only Maria and George as companions. She wouldn't even know how to gossip about the news from England.
“We dine at three, weather permitting,” the captain said, stepping back from the cabin door. “I hope to see you then.”
“Thank you, Captain Hotham,” Hyacinth said. “I’m sure I will be quite comfortable here.”
Her father inspected the cabin again to assure himself that it was clean and its fixtures secure. He looked askance when he saw the other passenger out on deck again, chatting with the first mate.
“Your mother would have wanted you to have a Season in London, so that you could mingle with society as she never could,” he said to Hyacinth. “I believe that your fellow passenger would think nothing of ruining you before you even arrived.”
Hyacinth eyed her father curiously. He rarely maligned anyone, so he must have had good cause, but what? The man had only recently arrived in Gibraltar; she was sure of it. “What do you know of him?” she asked.
“Enough,” he said. “A black sheep in his family he must be dark indeed. Also, he was dismissed from the East India Company for dueling with a fellow officer, over a matter which caused a scandal even in that permissive territory.”
“I see,” Hyacinth said. “I’ll be careful.” Even as she spoke, she found herself wondering what had prompted the duel, and how this man had gained passage on the ship, in the face of her father's formidable opposition.
#
Thomas watched as Captain Grey escorted the young woman, or lady, to her cabin, then walked off with the Whistler’s captain. For whatever reason, Captain Grey had taken a strong dislike to him, that much he could tell. If it had anything to do with the family connections he'd mentioned, he could hardly blame the man. Also, some officers took an exception to dueling. He didn't think much of it, himself, as a general rule, but there were times when it seemed the only honorable way forward.
In any case, Captain Grey would not be aboard, and Thomas didn’t expect to meet him again. If the young lady had some connection to him, that was no concern of his.
He lay back in his bunk and opened one of the books he’d purchased in Gibraltar, a copy of Aristotle’s Poetics. If the seas were calm, he would have plenty of time to read, and if they were rough, he would make do.
Thomas held the book in front of him, but found that he couldn’t concentrate. Captain Grey’s animosity irked him. From the neighboring cabin, he could hear the young lady chattering to her maid in Spanish while the boy ran in and out, announcing his discoveries. Thomas spoke only a few words of Spanish, though, so he heard nothing but musical babble in the sounds he strained to understand, despite himself.
He opened his Aristotle again and renewed his efforts to read.
#
A bell rang and a shout went out. With a luff of sails and a gurgle of water under the bow, the Whistler was underway. Hyacinth came on deck to watch Gibraltar slip away to the stern. Maria stood beside her, biting back tears. She seemed determined to greet her future in England with a frown on her face.
“You can return any time you like, you know,” Hyacinth said.
“Ah, but then you will be all alone, in England,” Maria replied. “Besides, it will be an adventure for me, too.”
“I will have Aunt Celia and my cousin Sophie,” Hyacinth said, “and of course there’s always George.”
“Yes, George.” Maria sighed. “He has run off already.”
Hyacinth looked up and down the deck. George was nowhere to be seen. She wondered if he had stolen away on the last tender back to Gibraltar, but then a flurry of motion in the rigging caught her attention. A shout sounded from the quarterdeck. There he was, halfway up the mizzen mast, climbing as fast as he could.
“George!” Hyacinth shouted.
“Haloo!” he echoed back. She could barely hear him over the creak of the ropes and rigging. Maria stood agape.
“Dios mio,” she said.
“He’ll get himself killed before we reach England at that rate.” Hyacinth muttered. She hurried over to the foot of the mast while Maria waved her hands ineffectually. The first mate, Mr. Bromley, held the wheel.
“Mr. Bromley?” Hyacinth said, trying to catch his attention.
Bromley smiled at her. “Good afternoon, Miss Grey. It’s a pleasure to have a lady aboard,” he said, as if nothing were amiss.
“George is up in the rigging,” Hyacinth said. “He has no business there, and he’s likely to fall.”
Bromley looked up and considered the situation. “Umm. Very tight grip that boy has. Not likely he’ll fall in this light breeze.”
Hyacinth turned at the sound of a soft chuckle. Her fellow passenger stood just behind her, now clad only in breeches and a light shirt, which revealed a lean, muscled chest underneath. He, too, smiled at her as if all were well.
“It isn’t funny,” Hyacinth said. “I am responsible…”
“You can’t keep a boy like that tied to your apron strings, Miss,” he said.
“Pardon me, but I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Hyacinth said. He had no business telling her how to mind George.
The man was going to say something cutting, she was sure, but Mr. Bromley stepped in first.
“Allow me to rectify that” he said. “Miss Grey, whose beauty needs no introduction, I present Mr. Smithson of...” he knit his brows. “Where was it that you said your family hailed from?”
“I am going to London after we reach Englan
d,” he said, which was no sort of answer at all.
“London, then,” Mr. Bromley said.
“I've spent over a decade in Trivandrum, though,” Mr. Smithson said, “so I suppose that makes me a colonial.”
“Hardly,” Mr. Bromley said. “And where is it you're bound to?” he asked Hyacinth.
“I will be staying with my aunt,” Hyacinth answered.
The man, Mr. Smithson, winked at her and laughed. “That's as bad as saying you're going to London.”
Hyacinth frowned. She should be keeping her distance. He looked striking enough at first glance, with no particular expression on his face, but when he smiled, he looked so charming that she didn't want to remember her father’s warnings.
“And your name is Miss Grey?” he said. “Are you by chance a relation of Captain Grey?”
“I am his daughter,” Hyacinth said.
“I see.” Mr. Smithson's smile evaporated, which made it easier for Hyacinth to step away and look up to the rigging again. “How unfortunate. I never would have guessed that your beauty had such a dour sire.”
Hyacinth stiffened. Before she could think of a retort, Mr. Bromley cut in with a laugh.
“Goodness, Mr. Smithson! You mustn’t insult Captain Grey. Without him we’d have no rum or oakum. He’s one of the most efficient officers in the navy.”
“I’m sure he is,” Mr. Smithson grumbled.
Hyacinth wondered again what quarrel her father had with the man.
“What errand carries you to England, then, Miss Grey?” Mr. Smithson asked.
“It’s no affair of yours.” Hyacinth had no intention of telling him anything about herself. She didn't want to be embroiled in a shipboard romance when she had her whole future ahead of her. Gibraltar, her past, was fading fast in the ship's wake, and the rest of the fleet sailed beside them, bound for that dark, cold land.
She peered up through the rigging, hoping to catch another glimpse of George as he climbed. He had reached the crow’s nest.
“That is far enough, George!” she shouted.
George ignored her. He hadn’t even heard her above the creak of the rigging and the sound of the wind, but Mr. Smithson was laughing at her again.
“You are minding that young boy then?” he asked.
“I am to deliver him to a school in England,” Hyacinth said, blushing. “Preferably in one piece.”
“I’m coming down!” George shouted from the cross-trees. He began a hesitant descent, slower and less graceful than the climb. Hyacinth watched every twitch of his muscles as he reached down from one foothold to the next, praying that he wouldn’t slip, and that he’d have the good sense to stay out of the rigging in the future.
“I can go collect him if you’d like, Miss Grey,” Mr. Smithson offered. She glanced over at him.
“That will be quite all right, Mr. Smithson,” Hyacinth said. “We do not need your assistance.”
She turned away from the men at the wheel and strode back towards her cabin. George was low enough in the ropes now that a fall would most likely take him to the deck in safety. It was going to be impossible to avoid that man. The ship was simply too small to skirt around him.
Maria was still standing in the same place, clutching the rail.
“Come, Maria,” Hyacinth said. “It won’t do us any good to watch. He’ll only be more tempted to show off. Let’s set up the embroidery frame.”
#
Thomas waited until the boy was safely back on deck then took himself off to his cabin. He lay in his bunk, watching the bright light dance across the ceiling above him. With the ship underway to England, he felt that he ought to be thinking ahead, but there was nothing there which bore contemplating – Richard's death, his father's tireless philandering, the net of marital schemes and dynastic responsibilities which would tighten around him the moment he stepped on shore.
India was no better. There, the memories were simply too painful, full of layers of deception and naked ambition, glittering, empty wealth, and his one hope of happiness snuffed out before her time. Brutally, shamelessly.
No, neither the past nor the future held anything worth contemplating. All he had was this ship, this fortnight or so of idleness between one form of hell and another.
#
Hyacinth found a note on her desk from Mrs. Hotham, an invitation to join her for a cup of tea. She asked Maria to help George settle in, then stepped through the inner door to her hostess's cabin.
“Come in!” The voice was light and lilting. Mrs. Hotham lay on a settee, or, rather, a bunk, with a handkerchief in one hand, a bucket by her side, and a swelling belly under her dress. No wonder she hadn't been out on deck. The cabin's tall windows faced the stern of the ship, but with chintz-covered cushions and an embroidery frame hung on one wall, it felt like being in a parlor.
“Mrs. Hotham.” Hyacinth curtsied. Outside, she could see the Belleisle and the frigate Boadicea sailing in their wake. The other frigate, like the Whistler, retained her masts and rigging, but the massive gunship limped along with half its spars patched together.
“Please, Miss Grey, make yourself at home. I'll ring for tea,” said Mrs. Hotham. She rested a hand on her belly and smiled to herself.
“That sounds lovely.” Hyacinth hoped that was the right thing to say. She'd never been out to tea much with other ladies, and knew next to nothing about pregnancy, or babies. She probably should say something about how well Mrs. Hotham looked, but she wasn't sure. Mrs. Hotham appeared to be only a little older than herself, but much more at ease.
“It’s so good to have you aboard, Miss Grey,” Mrs. Hotham said. “I am never quite well on the sea and in this condition…”
“I admire your fortitude,” Hyacinth said. “It must be difficult to make such a long sea journey with such an important...” A baby on the way could only make seasickness worse.
“The journey will pass quickly, I hope,” Mrs. Hotham said. “I must say I look forward to getting back home to my sisters.”
There was an awkward pause.
“Have you been away long?” Hyacinth asked.
“Oh no,” Mrs. Hotham said. “I left only last year, right after marrying Captain Hotham. I had no knowledge of life in the navy, but I didn’t want to be left at home alone before Henry and I had had some time to get to know each other. I’m glad we’ve had this time together, now that the baby is coming so soon. I don't think I can risk going to sea with a little baby.”
The ship heeled, and Mrs. Hotham held her handkerchief up to her face. She clutched the side of her settee.
“Are you all right?” Hyacinth asked, jumping up.
She took a deep breath. “Yes I’m fine. Just a moment. Please, do sit.”
Hyacinth perched on a bench, and when tea arrived, and her hostess had recovered, she made some polite inquiries about life in England. Although Mrs. Hotham protested that she was hardly aware of London fashion, she was much better informed than Hyacinth.
“You are going for the Season, aren’t you?” Mrs. Hotham asked.
“I think I will be there,” Hyacinth said. “My aunt is always in London during the season, and I presume that I will go with her while George is in school.”
“George… Is that the boy who came with you?” Mrs. Hotham asked.
Even Mrs. Hotham, who didn't seem at all high in the instep, would see how unorthodox Hyacinth's situation was; a legitimate daughter being given charge of an illegitimate son. It would seem even more peculiar in England.
“He’s been in our household since he was an infant,” Hyacinth explained. “Our former housekeeper was his mother, and my father has taken charge of George’s upbringing.”
Mrs. Hotham raised an eyebrow. “His natural son. Oh!”
“Father hopes for George to be educated in England, and to become more than just a common sailor. He’s quite an intelligent boy,” Hyacinth said.
Mrs. Hotham covered a yawn.
“I should leave you to rest,” Hyacinth sa
id, getting up. “Will I see you at dinner?”
“I will come tonight, before we reach heavier seas,” Mrs. Hotham said, “but I often take meals here. You must go to the captain's table, though. The officers are delighted to have you on board, and your fellow passenger must be looking forward to a bit of feminine influence after his time in the colonies.”
Hyacinth blushed. “I really don't think that's...”
Mrs. Hotham giggled. “The officers are gentlemanly enough, too. Who knows, maybe we can make a match for you before you even set foot in London!”
“I'm in no hurry,” Hyacinth said.
“Oh, you might say so, but I was in your shoes not much more than a year ago. I remember what it's like. Mother had nearly given up on me, twenty-three and not a single offer!”
“But you did – ”
“I was so fortunate to meet Captain Hotham. I knew right away. I think you might know, too,” she said with a wink.
Hyacinth shook her head more firmly. “I believe I've been introduced to all the officers already. I didn't hear wedding bells.”
“But I heard you were talking with Mr. Smithson?”
Hyacinth looked towards the door of her own cabin, transparently wishing to escape Mrs. Hotham's matchmaking.
“I don't mean to pry,” Mrs. Hotham said, “or prod, or any of that, but...” She trailed off and smiled gently. “I only want to help. Do let me know if I can, in any way, and if all the male company is too much for you, you may dine with me.”
“I appreciate your offer very much, thank you,” Hyacinth said. “But tonight, you say you will dine with the officers?”
“I will, Miss Grey, and so will you.”
#
That evening, Mrs. Hotham sat at the head of the table, for all the world as if they were in a respectable English manor house on shore. Hyacinth sat at her right hand with Mr. Smithson seated immediately across from her, his blue eyes distant. She wondered, again, what had turned her father against him.
“Good evening, Miss Grey,” Mr. Smithson said.
“Good evening, Mr. Smithson,” she replied. She could at least extend simple courtesy to him – that wouldn't strike anyone amiss, or cause a scandal, no matter what her father thought.