by Susan Lodge
Yes, it was him! Dan Dickens!
As his lithe body gracefully swung down from the tops, she smiled in amazement at the familiar face of the blacksmith’s son from her village. He had gone to sea two years ago, and she knew from his family that he loved the life. Forgetting all the rules, she hurried down the steps to the waist of the ship and kept her eyes lowered as she passed down the vessel to speak to him. The crew on the deck parted to let her through.
“Dan Dickens! It is you.” She held her hand out to greet him then remembered where she was and pulled it back by her side
“Miss Avebury.” The young man gaped as if she had just dropped from the sky. “What are you doing on board?”
“It is a long story, I am afraid,” she said with a sigh.
“You shouldn’t be down here, Miss Avebury. It ain’t safe.” He glanced around then looked back at her with a grin. “I ’eard we had a pretty woman on board, but I didn’t realise it was you. We ain’t supposed to even look your way when you’re on deck. You’re going to be in hot water when they get you back home.”
“I have no intention of going home. I was running away from Lord Stark. He has an awful desire to marry me.”
Dan’s smile turned into a scowl. “You can’t marry that toad, Miss Avebury.”
“Precisely,” Hetty said. “Doctor Withington is in charge of me, but he keeps me hidden most of the time as I seem to be a bit of an inconvenience.”
Dan’s smile returned. “I thought he was looking out of sorts. He’s a good man, though. I’ve sailed with him before. Don’t smile much, but knows his stuff. He nursed me through a nasty bout of fever a year ago. Stayed with me all night – as if I was an admiral.”
“Really?” She had always been under the impression physicians did not spend much time with patients who could not afford fat fees.
“And he can fight as well,” Dan continued. “He’s normally stationed below during action, being a physician. But once, when we were boarded by a heavier-gunned Frenchie, he came up top and fought alongside us. He’d splayed a good few with his blade before they retreated. Then he returned to the sick bay as cool as a cucumber and went about sewing the crew back together.”
“He certainly keeps a close eye on me,” Hetty muttered. Dan’s tale of the doctor’s exploits was indeed quite heroic.
“Lord Stark, now, he’s different.” His brows drew together. “Always been a nasty bugger, bleeds his tenants dry. You definitely can’t marry him, Miss Avebury.”
“I don’t intend to, Dan, but my plans for escape seem doomed to failure. I had intended to go to the Isle of Wight.”
He grinned. “We passed that seven days ago.”
Hetty gave him a scolding look. She had known Dan Dickens since she was a small girl, and although their circumstances were miles apart, they still had that childhood bond which had been made years ago.
Dan had saved her life when she was seven. She had fallen in the river after trying to retrieve the bonnet that had been whisked away by a gust of wind as she had walked with her nurse. The current had quickly pulled her downstream, and she would have surely drowned if it hadn’t been for Dan. A slight eight-year-old at the time, he had struggled to keep them both afloat. He had risked his life that day, and despite their very different backgrounds, their friendship had never wavered.
Hetty had, of course, not been permitted to associate with Dan as they grew older, but privately the special friendship still remained.
Dan knew about Hetty’s gambling skills and her clandestine visits to the Four Feathers at Wartham. The inn hosted card games for anyone with the required stake, and it had become a regular venue for gentlemen who did not want their gambling vices scrutinised. Hetty had sought Dan’s assistance when she had ventured to the Four Feathers the first time. Not being a gentleman, Dan did not attend the card games, but he often kept a watchful eye outside. Since going to sea, she had missed him. Knowing she could trust Dan, Hetty told him about her missing gambling winnings, hoping he might know who the thief could be.
He scowled but did not seem surprised. “I’ll keep an eye out for signs of anyone with a new stash of blunt. There’s a game below tonight. I’ll see if anyone is playing higher stakes than usual.”
The idea that someone gambled with her money caused her to bristle until… Could she?
She’d done it several times before and succeeded. This would be a different challenge and not the usual group of players that she was accustomed to – but Hetty was used to challenge in her life. She looked at Dan from below her eyelashes. All she needed was the assistance of someone who knew the ship and the players.
It did not take long to secure Dan’s help, but Hetty felt a little guilty about his troubled expression as they walked back toward the quarterdeck. She was taking advantage of his good nature. Still, gambling was the only way to restore her funds. She was certain they would not get caught.
Dan suddenly stopped, touched his forelock, and quickly turned back the way he had come. Hetty swallowed hard at the sight of a very irate Doctor Withington who blocked her way.
“A word with you, Miss Avebury, if you please.”
He gestured for her to precede him to the quarterdeck. Censorious eyes bored into her. This was going to be a very disagreeable interview.
The cabin door shut behind them, and that familiar feeling of injustice returned. What was the matter with the man? She had done nothing wrong. And what did he think he was doing, enclosing them in such an intimate space?
“It is highly inappropriate for us to be in here, Doctor.” Hetty tried to keep her voice steady, but the sentence ended in a high-pitched squeak. The Doctor folded his arms across his chest, and the crease in his forehead again looked in danger of slicing him in two.
“I think, as your elected guardian, it is perfectly in order, Miss Avebury. And appropriate behaviour does not seem to concern you overmuch. Now perhaps you would like to explain why you are unable to fulfil even the simplest instructions?”
Hetty sighed wearily. Why on earth was he so angry?
“I wandered down the ship not thinking. How am I supposed to know where the decks end and begin?”
“I thought I had explained that quite clearly days ago.”
She fought for the words. She could usually talk her way out of most things, but this man had her tongue-tied. It wasn’t that she was frightened of him. Gracious! Stark was much more frightening. Who was he anyway, to be so commanding? He was only a physician and certainly no higher in social status than she was.
“I want your word it will not happen again,” he said.
Hetty frowned. Dash it. She did not want to give her word. She had to divert him somehow. Changing her approach, she put on what she considered to be her most innocent expression.
“I apologise, Doctor. I recognised an old acquaintance of mine. I have known Mr. Dickens since childhood, and I thought it only polite to walk over and greet him. If I crossed your boundary lines, I do beg your pardon.”
His anger seemed to abate at her explanation, but he did not appear entirely convinced as he gave a rather impatient sigh.
“I cannot impress upon you how much you are in danger on this ship. The men, the threatened attacks by the French – you cannot just wander around. Please keep to my requests in future and, hopefully, we will get you back to England safely. You must not confer with the men on the lower decks.”
She nodded, not wanting to reignite his anger.
“We will say no more about it then. I do not expect to have to remind you on the subject again.”
To Hetty’s relief he turned toward the door. Heavens, the man was behaving like a tyrant. But at least she hadn’t given her word about not going below.
***
Robert stood on the deck enjoying a cheroot, his thoughts on finances and Longwood. Preliminary repairs had begun to the east wing of his family home, and he was going over the advice he had received from his overseer. The East India investments had paid
off, and his holdings had trebled in the last few months. He no longer needed employment as a physician, although he felt compelled to practise. He enjoyed being a doctor and was proud of the fact he had risen to the top of his profession.
After his family ruin, he’d had nowhere to call home for many years, except the ships he had sailed on. Even more distressing – no Rose waited for him. He needed to be part of this war, and of course, he had a duty to be. A life at sea where his medical skills could be put to use seemed a good choice.
His thoughts moved to Miss Avebury. She had a home that would no longer be hers after she married Stark. Her future husband would no doubt keep her in good style. The dandy would probably dictate exactly what she wore and where she went. The image of that man controlling Miss Avebury’s life made him ball his fists in frustration.
She was far too impulsive in her actions, but he enjoyed her company immensely. He found he wanted to protect her, he wanted to win her approval, but more than that, he wanted to prevent her marrying Stark.
Last night, Miss Avebury had invaded his dreams. He had dreamt of Rose, as he did frequently, but her features had altered and hair had changed from blond to copper. He had awoken with a start and sleep had been impossible for several hours.
***
Henry Avebury had spent an uncomfortable morning with his son, going over the sorry state of the family estates. The look on Anthony’s face when he snapped shut the accounts ledger had made Henry shiver, and he was almost relieved when the subject moved on to Hetty’s betrothal.
He drained his second glass of brandy. Just how much should he tell Anthony about his arrangement with Stark?
Anthony leaned forward and replenished their empty glasses. “So, Father, why is it so important for Hetty to marry Stark?”
Henry was cautious. “Stark has agreed to take her without a dowry.”
“Has he indeed? I realise that we cannot afford much of a dowry for her,” he said sourly. “So why does Stark want her? Surely he can’t be in love with the little carrot top.”
“Hetty has grown into an attractive young woman since you left,” Henry replied.
Anthony frowned. “Even so, the Stark I knew would only marry someone who could increase his wealth and lands.”
Henry took out his handkerchief and wiped the beads of sweat away from his forehead. His hands shook as he straightened the ink stand and avoided his son’s eyes.
“I want the truth, Father! I am not an idiot.” Anthony’s voice held a distinct threat, and Henry was reminded he had been obliged to buy a hasty commission for him six years ago. Trouble and Anthony were never far apart, and God knows, he had enough trouble at the moment.
Then again, Anthony had always had a ruthless strength that he might make use of. Maybe he needed his son right now.
“It’s time you knew the facts, Anthony, and then you might understand just how important this marriage of Hetty’s is.” He rubbed his palms over his face, rested his elbows on the desk, and took a deep breath. Then he said, “Hetty is not my daughter.”
Anthony’s body jerked and he stared blankly at his father.
“I married Hetty’s mother on agreement that the girl would be brought up as my own until she was old enough to be told the truth.”
“Hetty! Illegitimate? You took in someone’s by-blow and passed her off as my sister?”
Henry flinched at the anger in Anthony’s voice and took another steadying breath. “After your mother died, I needed a wife – partly to take care of you. I was approached with a proposition from Hetty’s grandmother, Lady Somerton. Take her daughter with her illegitimate child in exchange for certain monetary agreements.”
“So you married her for money.” He shrugged. “A good enough reason. I hope you got a fair price for covering up the scandal.”
“The child was only a few weeks old when we married. It was a private wedding, after which we took an extended tour of the Continent. When we returned, it was not difficult to pass off the infant as our own.”
Anthony was silent for a few minutes while he digested his father’s revelation. When he spoke again his voice was thoughtful. “Well, well! Hetty is not an Avebury. Then I am not related to her at all. I agree; it’s time to marry her off.”
Henry nodded. “I certainly need her to help replenish the funds of Avebury Hall by making a suitable marriage.”
“Is Stark wealthier than I imagined then?” Anthony asked.
“No, but he will accept her. He knows of Hetty’s history and her inheritance. Hetty’s natural father provided well for her. Very well.”
“An inheritance?” Anthony leaned forward, his eyes full of curiosity.
“One tied up until she is married,” Henry replied.
“I see. But that’s not a lot of help to the Avebury coffers, as the money will fall to her husband’s control.”
“Quite so! That is why I have struck a bargain with Stark. He takes Hetty for half her inheritance. The other half comes straight back to me.”
Anthony’s laugh was harsh. “You are selling her for half of her own inheritance. Well, Father, I am surprised. I did not think you were capable of such scheming practices. Pity you couldn’t find a way of keeping her whole inheritance in the care of the Aveburys as she has had the protection of our name all these years. Was Stark the best match you could find?”
“Stark has status. It is a good match.”
“What happens if she does not marry?”
“The money would automatically pass to her control if she is unwed at five and twenty. Any marriage before that time has to be approved by her guardians. That is why she cannot wed without my consent,” Henry replied.
Anthony leaned back in his chair and fixed him with a cold stare. “Why the hell wasn’t I told this before? In fact, why haven’t you told her?’
“We were going to tell Hetty when she reached marriageable age. Then her mother died, and I didn’t think it wise.”
“She knows nothing of the inheritance, then?”
“No.” Henry shook his head, troubled by the calculating gleam in his son’s eyes.
“Good. I think it’s best that it stays that way. Hetty’s money is needed here. All of it. Stark can go to hell.”
“But I have agreed. I cannot go back on my word.”
“Leave Stark to me, Father.”
Anthony’s crocodile smile made Henry’s stomach churn. He knew what his son was capable of.
“I do not want any further trouble, Anthony. I remember how the people who got in your way used to fare.”
“Don’t worry, Father. I think it's time I got to know Hetty. She will be very grateful, I’m sure, when I rescue her from a life with Stark. Very grateful indeed. And as we are not related, who knows? She may even form an attachment to me.”
Henry Avebury's face turned white at his son’s words.
“Never fear, Father. Now I am back, I am ready to take over – before you destroy it all.”
Chapter Seven
Hetty opened her cabin door and crept out onto the deck. She had often donned male clothing, but this time she had swapped breeches and topcoat for the coarse trousers and a shirt that Dan had provided. She had studied the clothes with some distaste, not so much for the style but because of the putrid smell that wafted from them. She avoided thinking about the origin of the stains. With her hair secured under a wide-brimmed hat and her face with the right amount of grime, she looked boyish if not manly. She would keep her mouth shut as much as possible and let Dan do the talking, just as they had discussed.
She jumped when Dan grasped her elbow and propelled her from the safety of the stern to the unknown territory of the lower decks. Strands of fog had begun to creep over the deck, and she felt her bones chill as the horizon disappeared. The weather seemed to be sending her an ominous warning.
Dan released her and whispered as he escorted her, “Keep walking and keep your head down. When we get there, don’t prattle or look them in the eye. Darn it, M
iss Avebury, if we pull it off it’ll be a miracle. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
She was far from sure but nodded bravely and even managed a forced grin of confidence. Prattle indeed. She lowered her eyes and hunched her shoulders to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
The sourness in the air intensified as she followed Dan through the throng of men below deck. They didn’t give her a second glance in her disguise, but her heart pounded and she nearly turned and ran as they approached a table where a game was in progress. Four of the crew sat under the light of a lantern studying their cards. Farther down the deck men sat in groups drinking grog and a few boys were busy racing small creatures that looked suspiciously like rats.
She glanced away as the men looked up from their game. A small-eyed, moon-faced man spoke first.
“Who the ’ell is this scrub? Bit short on inches, ain’t he?”
“Henry ’ere may be short of inches, but he knows how to play,” Dan replied.
“Where did he come from? Whose watch?”
“He’s from the orlop. I can vouch for him.”
“I don’t hold to involving strangers. If we get caught, we’re in line for a flogging. You know the rules.”
Hetty’s insides tumbled. Floggings!
She had heard awful stories from Anthony about such punishments. He used to describe them with relish when he wanted to upset her, which was most of the time. The thought of being stripped to the waist and whipped with a cat-o’-nine-tails nearly made her turn and bolt, except she now seemed to be hemmed in by bodies.
“He won’t squawk, and we need another player,” Dan replied. Hetty was impressed. Dan seemed to have some influence with the rest. They grunted and muttered for a few moments then made room. A man with heavy jowls leaned toward her.
“High stakes, young un, and not a word to anyone, or you’ll find your gizzards cut out and feeding the fishes by dawn.”