The Lady and the Captain

by Beverly Adam

  The same, he was certain, would be the judgment concerning the deserter, Jeremy Kaye. That occurrence would be listed by the Royal Admiralty as an act of mutinous treason against king and country. It would have no bearing on how he’d commanded the crew and The Brunswick. It would not reflect poorly upon him.

  He knew his men would testify that the lad had been more than treated fairly by him and the other superior ranking officers. No harsh treatment of the young seaman had occurred. There was no reason for Jeremy to have jumped ship.

  He frowned as his thoughts turned to darker matters.

  The only lingering issue was the matter of the blackguard who tried to kill Captain Jackson. He would not rest until that was resolved. Until then he had to pretend that Captain Jackson had met his maker.

  Robert took a tankard from the tray of one of the cabin boys who were serving the crew, and handed Sarah a glass of sherry. Taking a healthy swallow of the brew, he fortified himself for his ongoing investigation into the murder of Captain Jackson. He was thankful he had Sarah’s input. Her wisdom and intuition about the nefarious plot was invaluable. But he was concerned for her welfare. For all her experiences as a wise woman, she had led a very sheltered life. And he was worried about putting her in harm’s way. Any thoughts of her being hurt caused him to break into a sweat. Nay, he would protect Sarah at all cost. With his very life if he had to. He finished his drink with one final gulp. The spirit was strong, knocking some of the strain out of his weary thoughts of murder and conspiracy.

  Grog, the seamen’s drink of beer or rum mixed with the usually acrid tasting water supply when at sea, was being liberally passed around. Barrels of fresh brewed beer were rolled up the gang-plank from local taverns to be handed out to the celebrating men.

  The hands called for a toast. They stood about on the deck hugging their wives and sweethearts by their sides. Children, dogs, and even a small monkey, joyously ran around chasing each other.

  Suddenly, there was silence.

  Respectfully quiet, they looked up expectantly at the officers and their commander, with whom they had sailed in fair and foul weather for the past two years. During that time they had taken life saving commands from these superior officers, some of whom were as young as their own sons, working and fighting side-by-side for king and country aboard the frigate.

  Lieutenant Litton stepped up to the quarter-deck. He raised his tankard.

  “A toast to one of the best first mates I’ve ever had the privilege to serve under, the man who held us together after Captain Jackson’s demise and brought us safely back home . . .” At the mention of Captain Jackson many took their caps off in proper respect for the deceased. “Let us toast, ladies and gentlemen, our master and commander, First Lieutenant Smythe and his bonnie bride to-be, Mistress Duncan.”

  All the men stood out of respect for the couple, their tankards raised.

  “I feel certain I am speaking for all of us aboard, Lieutenant Smythe, when we wish you and your lovely lady long life and many years of smooth sailing ahead, sir,” said the second in command, raising his tankard in the couple’s direction. “To the happy couple!” he toasted and took a hearty swallow of the brew from his own tankard.

  The men echoed with hardy cheers of “Hear, Hear, and to Lieutenant Smythe!” All followed the example the lieutenant set, drinking heartily from their tankards.

  Robert addressed the crew and their families. “I am a man of few words and so I shall simply say my betrothed and I thank you for your kind thoughts and best wishes.”

  Unable to resist, he kissed Sarah’s hand. He smiled as he watched her cheeks blush becomingly.

  Humbled by the kind words of the second mate, he raised his cup in the air and finished by saying, “To the bravest and best crew I’ve ever had the privilege to serve with. God bless you, gentlemen . . . and God bless the king!”

  “To the king!” came back the replay from those below.

  It was then that Lieutenant Litton nodded to the marine band orchestra and they began to play. Officers set up into sets for a quadrille led by Robert and Sarah. The crew stood back and watched the handsome commander of The Brunswick and his lovely betrothed as they went through the intricate steps of the dance.

  Sarah had danced before at balls held at Brightwood Manor in her home village of Urlingford. She was therefore not afraid to step forth. The quadrille and country dances were familiar to her.

  She glided back and forth with little effort on the smooth planks of the top deck in a pair of light-blue dancing slippers. The crossed silver ribbons peeked out from beneath her gown’s lace as she twirled under the glittering fairy lights.

  Robert, a gleam of admiration in his hazel eyes, took one of her outstretched gloved hands and turned her gently around. She spun gracefully in his guiding arms.

  Caught up in the music and the unwavering attraction of seeking out the young commander in the ritual of dance, she barely remembered to switch partners, much to the delight of those watching. All were attentive to the romantic gestures of the handsome couple before them. Many laughed at the face the young woman made as she left the commander’s side to dance with her next partner.

  When the dance ended, flushed from being the focus of the admiring stares of the handsome officer before her, Sarah finished the quadrille with a gracious curtsey.

  The crew applauded the dancers and musicians. The ladies quickly unfolded their silk-covered fans, fluttering them back and forth, giving overheated faces a quick refreshing wave of air. Already many were red-cheeked and merry from the spirits passed around.

  The second mate appeared at Robert’s side and before she had a moment to straighten, Sarah was claimed for the next dance.

  Was it a flight of fancy on her part or did a look of reluctance on the part of Lieutenant Smythe pass across his face as he permitted his second in command to dance with her? Sarah’s heart did a little trip at the thought.

  Lieutenant Litton noticed his commander’s reaction.

  “Buck up, Commander,” he said cheerfully bowing over her hand. “I just want to dance with your pretty betrothed once. I promise to safely return her to your care when I’m done, sir.” But this was not to be . . . as if recognizing a golden opportunity to needle their usually placid first lieutenant, all the superior officers and masters aboard took turns stepping in front of the first mate.

  Every time Robert tried to claim her hand for another dance, another seaman stepped in front of him. It was clear a joke was being perpetrated upon the couple. One member of the crew after another presented themselves in front of the increasingly frustrated young commander. Smirking, even the unranked crewmembers intercepted the first mate’s advances towards the beautiful Mistress Duncan.

  “Sorry, sir,” a young gunner barely out of short pants rushed up, “but this is my dance, I believe, sir.”

  He bowed and whisked her off for a country dance.

  “I know you’ll be holding her hand for the rest of your life, Lieutenant Smythe, sir. So I thought I best step in and claim one dance now while I can, sir,” said a gangly carpenter, taking his chance.

  And at the exact moment Robert thought he might have an opportunity to steal a step with her, the brawny master gunner placed himself in line.

  Master O’Grady’s grin of delight was barely hidden under his tanned face as the Irish giant stepped down upon one of the commander’s polished boots, bruising his toes.

  “Oh, excuse me, Lieutenant Smythe, sir . . . I did not mean to do ye any harm, sir.” The giant shamelessly smiled. “But this being my favorite dance, and the good wife saying how I ought to ask Mistress Duncan whilst she’s still aboard, sir . . . well, I thought it best that—”

  “That you should dance with my betrothed now while you still have the opportunity,” said Robert, finishing the sentence for him with a small sigh.

  He had heard the same excuse about thirty times before. He bowed, turning the dance over to the shameless giant, who gently clasped Sarah�
�s small hand in one of his large callused ones. She could not help but smile at him.

  The giant bowed to Sarah and over her shoulder gave his wife a knowing wink.

  Robert dared a glance in the direction of Mistress O’ Grady, the gunner’s wife. She openly tittered behind a Japanese painted fan, observing from behind it her husband teasing the good-looking first mate.

  Aye, there’d been many a time in the past when this distinguished English officer had broken a lady’s heart by not asking her to dance. For sure now to some small extent ’twas grand to see the self-assured Englishman having to experience for once what it felt to be in someone else’s less than elegantly polished shoes.

  The matron gently patted her bulging front, a sign of the approaching birth of her fifth child. She had experienced two miscarriages and a stillbirth before this one took. Already she had brokered a promise from Sarah to be in attendance at her next birthing. Her two eldest children, ages thirteen and ten, were already serving aboard The Brunswick, learning their trade. The eldest had been recently rated on the ship’s books as an able-bodied seaman.

  Sarah, during a short breather, asked her if she was nervous about the approaching birth.

  “Nay,” Mistress O’Grady replied with a proud smile, “I’ve already given birth between the cannons of this man-of-war. My lads are true sons-of-a-gun, by virtue of having been born aboard The Brunswick. But faith now, it’d be nice for once to have another woman’s presence at my next birthing. Aye, I was left quite all on m’ own the last time, the men being afraid that I might give birth and up and die.”

  “Do you have any thoughts as to whether the baby is a boy or girl?’’

  “That I do . . . I hope this one will be another son. I detest being parted from m’ lass. Though thank the heavens above, my youngest sister has seen to it she’s got some book learning. Our Mary writes to us often, she does.” She added proudly, “’Tis not every seaman’s daughter who can brag she can read, ye know. But the letters, though they are a wee bit of comfort to us, are no substitute for having her with us.”

  She glanced upwards to the riggings above where her two eldest sons sat in the crow’s nest, a platform situated at a dizzying height at the top of the mast, observing the party below. The mother nodded to the boys as they waved down at her.

  “Aye, it’s grand to have me sons hanging about.”

  It was after Sarah had danced several lively country dances, a sharp pain in her side made her realize she needed to take a rest. With a smile of regret on her face, hugging her side, she turned to the line of gentlemen waiting their turn to dance with her.

  “I’m sorry, but I am afraid I’ve had enough of dancing for tonight. Be assured I’m flattered by your attention, gentlemen. However, I do believe Lieutenant Smythe is about to fetch me some punch and I am going to sit myself down and take a bit of a rest.”

  Robert, a grin of triumph on his handsome face, held out his arm for her to take. They slowly walked over to the table covered with food and drink. The table was in fact two wide planks that had been laid across guns and covered with a white lace cloth borrowed from one of the hands’ wives.

  Sarah had witnessed the seamen make use of the long neck barrels of the guns this way many times before when they were eating. There was no room aboard for any real tables. The gunnery instruments were kept at the ready next to the cannons, every bit of space on the fighting vessel being economically used.

  Plate in hand, she began to sample delicacies that the crew of The Brunswick had not had the pleasure to enjoy while at sea. The fresh fruit, diverse vegetable dishes, and unsalted venison were in particular appreciated by the seamen.

  For the moment lowly potatoes, beans, dried foods, and limes were overlooked in favor of summer fruits. Fresh peaches, strawberries, apricots, berries, and plums were treated as exotic, succulent delights. And to the men’s bored and well-salted taste buds, they were pure ambrosia.

  Companionably, Robert stood next to her as they ate.

  Barrels, crates, and what few chairs aboard the frigate were placed about the top deck to serve as seats for their guests. The seamen stood gallantly about, letting the ladies and children take what few chairs were available.

  The moon shone brightly down upon the frigate as water gently lapped against the hull. One of the marines began to play a romantic sea shanty on his accordion. A member of the crew began to sing, and soon others joined in, and before the next stanza was finished, the entire deck was awash with merry voices.

  The seamen unashamedly held their wives and sweethearts, playing peek-a-boo games with the numerous babies sitting on their mothers’ laps. Many of the children present were becoming acquainted with their fathers for the first time. Some of the babies had been born while the men were away at sea.

  Sarah and Robert sat away from the rest of the party. They looked out over the bulkhead at the romantic moonlit water of the islet in the distance. Their bodies were screened from view of the others. The teasing had ceased. At last they were alone.

  She thought back briefly to her first conversation with the handsome first mate, when he’d told her of his life at sea. She thought it was isolating to be the commander in charge of a naval warship. She’d noticed how he’d had to stand alone—how all the men aboard respected and feared him. And she knew Robert could never be completely open about himself with anyone. She’d discovered that as the commanding first mate, he’d always had to make difficult decisions with an air of certainty, which at times she could tell he was far from feeling.

  Aye, she decided, to be always in command must be a lonely duty. It was one, she noticed, he’d not been able to share with another. Not even with those with whom he might’ve considered to be his closest friends.

  “Have you given any thought as to what you’ll do, Commander, after you capture the murderer?” she asked, biting into a plump strawberry. A little juice dribbled down her chin.

  Robert reached out to dab at the juice with his handkerchief. Their hands touched and as he stared down at her lips, she thought he might kiss the trickle of juice away.

  She handed him back his handkerchief and the moment passed.

  “Oh—um, yes, before all this mayhem started, I had thought to buy myself a place to live somewhere near here. I was going to use my money and buy a cottage with a bit of land to farm,” he said. “I intend one day to have a family.”

  A small wrinkle appeared on her brow, but inside, her heart cracked a little. So, he intended to marry.

  “I suppose you will be in need of a proper English wife to go with this cottage of yours,” she said, trying to keep the sadness from her voice.

  If Lieutenant Smythe wanted to continue up the ranks of the Royal Navy, he would have to have a wife with the proper background and pedigree of respectability. An English lady with a title and a coffer full of shillings would be perfect for such an ambitious young officer.

  Aye, she thought sorrowfully, a proper English wife with connections would be able to aid him, introduce him into the inner circles of polite society and help him advance his career. She would host and attend parties with him . . . and in due time bear his children. This esteemed lady would manage his farm while he was away at sea, ordering around the hired hands, selling the produce on market day, and on occasion be trusted to represent him in his absence. That is unless she decided to go to sea with him during times of peace. Aye, she would be a most respected member of society. Sarah envied this unknown woman.

  She envisioned this proper English lady with her long aristocratic nose and white powdered hair. She would be a lady of decorum who would have undoubtedly all the manners and lofty airs of one of those brought up in the upper levels of society.

  Aye, with his becoming good looks and manner, he could undoubtedly leg-shackle himself to a lady with a rich dowry, she sadly decided. And what would a poor wise woman such as herself have to offer him? Nothing. Not even a shilling. Aye, she could only afford to offer him herself. And no sensibl
e gentleman with any ambition would want only her.

  She looked over at him, her thoughts straying to their lovemaking.

  She’d only had one glorious night with him, but how would it feel to be loved by him night after night as his wife? She could not help but wonder. Would he, like other seamen who were away from their loved ones for a long period of time, take a mistress? Or would he be true to his wife? Perhaps sending for her as often as he was able?

  Maybe he would take an Irish mistress . . . a small voice whispered inside her mind, someone like you . . . maybe he would want an independent lady who would be both his companion as well as his lover?”

  However, would she be willing to be second in his life? Would she be content to let herself be available to him only as a source of momentary amusement?

  Knowing the answer beforehand, she shook her head . . . she could not.

  Robert took her hand in his, distracting her away from her sobering thoughts. He touched the gold ring she wore, moving it around on her finger as if its hidden love charm might rub off on him.

  “But my plans might change,” he said aloud. “Maybe she’ll prefer a grand house in town and not want a country farm. Perhaps she’ll have interests of her own such as cooking . . . or healing . . . and not desire to live here in England while I’m away at sea.”

  He looked down at her.

  “There is a lot I would have to discuss with this lady. Such decisions a gentleman should not make alone.”

  He paused, letting his meaning sink in. “By the by, I’d like it if you’d call me Robert. I think it’s high time that you did. That is, if it’s acceptable to you . . . Sarah. I liked hearing your name on my lips last night, my sweet. I would hear it again.”

  He brought her hand up to his mouth and gently kissed it. Not content with that he peeled back the edges of her gloved hand, gently nibbling on the tender skin of her wrist.