Kit had not made an appearance at breakfast, nor had she seen him at the bridge. Perhaps, he was perched high up in the shroud, but where she sat with the ship under sail, she could not see him. After last night, it was for the best. The memory of his kiss still lingered, she’d even dreamed of it.
Jonathan Afua had been their companion today. At Laura’s insistence, the navigator stood with the ship’s telescope while she made preliminary sketches for a watercolor. Between sittings, Mr. Afua pointed out the different styles of ships; a majestic, three-masted corvette, its square sail puffed out like a proud man’s chest, was most likely American. A small merchant ship from Holland, which Mr. Afua called a bilander, was swiftly overtaken by a three triangular-sailed boat called a xebec, its deck bristling with guns, and a galiot propelled by sail and oarsmen.
Eight bells tolled, indicating the end of another watch. Mr. Afua excused himself to change for duty. The cabin boy, Marco, arrived as Afua departed, bringing with him a tray of cured meats, fruit, a selection of cheeses, and olives. He set the table, and Sophia tidied away her morning’s work.
She couldn’t resist peeking at Laura’s canvas. Her own skill as an artist only went as far as sketching the inanimate – a description of “workmanlike” was the kindest their drawing master had been. It was Laura who had genuine talent and it showed with her portrait of Mr. Afua. She had captured the rich color of his skin, the tight black curl of his hair, the crisp cream and navy of his formal dress, the heroic pose with an extending brass telescope held in both hands across his body.
“This is truly exceptional, Laura,” she said.
“It will be when I’ve finished,” Laura agreed as she started to clean her brushes.
Marco emerged with a jug of water and chilled white wine, a bianco.
“You really must send work from this trip to the Royal Academy; these deserve an exhibition.”
“Do you really think so?” There was no surprise, no false modesty in her actions. Nor was there any need for false flattery. Her talent spoke for itself and they both knew it.
“It means plucking up the courage to try. There is always a risk of rejection, I suppose…” Laura’s voice trailed off as she cocked her head slightly for a critical evaluation of her work.
“You know, I think I will. Perhaps, Uncle Jonas might know of someone who will sponsor me, because I’m sure Samuel will think it’s such a silly notion. He’ll put me off until I marry, then it will be my husband’s decision whether or not to allow me.”
Sophia tapped the professor on the shoulder to remind him luncheon was served before pouring wine for them all.
“Here’s to finding you an indulgent husband,” she said, raising her glass.
Laura giggled and did likewise. Uncle Jonas looked puzzled having missed all of the conversation.
“Husband? What? Who’s getting married?” he asked.
Sophia and Laura laughed some more.
Chapter Ten
Kit had been warned of the young lady’s desire to paint all the officers of the Calliope before the end of their journey. The rest of his crew – no doubt considering themselves fortunate to be spared – did their best to distract the subject at the sitting as they passed.
Jonathan gave Kit a grin as he passed the captain on his way to the bridge. Kit returned the expression with a scowl.
“Is something wrong, Captain?”
He plastered a smile on his face and turned to the feminine inquirer.
“Not at all Miss Laura,” he assured her with forced politeness.
“Then do keep still.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sophia lift a hand to her mouth to suppress a smile of her own, no doubt.
The pose made him feel more than simply foolish. Being placed on display harbored memories – stripped naked, standing on a stage… the man who had taken him from the Pendragon prodding him on the buttocks to propel him forward, the handle of the cat-o-nine-tails used to lift his chin. The fetid smell of the man’s breath through missing teeth had made his stomach roil. The man with the scraggly beard yelled loudly in a language he didn’t understand, and the crowd of men looking on erupted in noise, raising their hands and calling over the top of one another.
Kit had been only ten years old. It wasn’t until a sharp crack of the whip brought the room to silence and he’d been pointed to a portly man with a white-grey beard and a close-cropped white cap, that he realized he had been sold.
“Don’t scrunch up your face, Captain. I’m nearly finished,” Miss Laura called.
He hadn’t been aware he’d done it. Memories of his enslavement were triggered by the strangest, almost random things. A particular sound or a particular smell could hurtle him back more than twenty years.
He kept his eyes open and his chin raised as Miss Laura had instructed, a polished black boot rested on the gleaming barrel of the six-pound cannon which she insisted for her prop. He listened to the steady scratch of a pen across paper while Sophia worked also, and he attempted to distract himself by watching the large, bright clouds cross the sky in front of him, their bottoms heavy and grey.
The truth of the matter was he was only doing this to be in Sophia’s company. She said nothing about last night – in fact, had said nothing at all apart from commonplace small talk. If anything, some of the spark had left her eyes and the expression that remained was one of caution. He wanted to see a different expression. He wanted to see the one last night that looked at him with wonder, surprise – and genuine passion.
There was a charge in the air, a storm brewed. He sensed it, as he knew all his men did. Risking Miss Laura’s displeasure, he turned his head away to watch four of his men adjust the running rigging on the sails to capture the change of breeze.
In the early hours of this morning, knowing sleep would be elusive, Kit almost gave in. He’d gone to the locked medical chest holding the ship’s supply of laudanum. He stared at the brass lock while he did battle with the demons in his head.
Surely, after three months, the lure shouldn’t still be this strong? He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for a tremor caused by the yearnings to desist. Kit breathed in deep and started a mental count from one to one hundred. If Laura didn’t finish her damned painting by the end, it would damned-well remain unfinished.
“…there, you may relax.”
Kit lowered his right leg and resisted the urge to rub the ache out of it. Posing nearly immobile for an hour was more taxing than he imagined. He signaled one of the crew, a man by the name of Gus, to return the cannon and cannon balls to their rightful location.
“Very ’eroic, Cap’n,” Gus muttered. Kit clipped him across the back of his head as he pushed the cannon along the deck. The man turned back, pipe still in his mouth, and smirked.
A sharp whistle caught his attention, followed by a yell from a man in one of the crosstrees. “Ship ahoy!”
Kit walked until he was under the center mast and called up. “What is she?”
“Too far to see yet.”
“Then keep your eyes peeled, Mr. Grace.”
“Aye, Captain!”
Elias caught up with him when he returned to his passengers.
“Weather watch, Captain,” he informed him, handing over the log.
Kit glanced at the changing barometer reading on the page before him. It was thirty this morning, now it was twenty-nine and falling. The instruments proved what experience had taught him.
Elias pointed to the sky to their north. “That looks to be a nasty squall, but if we stay on our present course, we should skirt around it.”
“Agreed. Maintain present course. What’s our speed?”
“Five knots.”
“Maintain speed if you can. Keep us southeast for smooth sailing. We still don’t know what kind of sailors our passengers are yet.”
Elias nodded in agreement and handed the log to him. Kit walked over to the table where Sophia sat.
“May I?” he asked, indicating her
writing slope and pen.
Sophia turned it towards him. Kit dipped the nib in her ink, filled in the log, and initialed it before returning it to Elias. He lowered himself on a chair at right angles to Sophia. He couldn’t be certain whether it was simply a touch of sun or something else that colored her cheeks.
He found he wanted to touch them and feel the smoothness of her skin beneath his fingers. Perhaps his desire was etched on his features because her eyes widened a moment before she rapidly blinked and looked away.
“We made a promise to be friends,” he said, making sure his voice carried only far enough for his remark to be for her ears alone.
“So we did,” she answered curtly then adding more softly, “Kit.”
He offered the pen back. She reached out. He took her fingers and wrapped them finger by finger around the nib holder.
“So tell me, what has occupied your day today?”
“Do you really want to know?”
He nodded. “I’m interested. Because that’s what friends do,” he said lightly. “They take an interest in the things which are important to the other. Did you finish your map of Syracuse and the coastal ruins of Sicily?”
Kit watched Sophia consider him for a moment, apparently trying to second-guess his motivations. Her hand hesitated on a large, red leather-bound compendium.
“Last chance before I bore you to death with the arcane and the profane,” she said with unforced levity.
“I sit before you prepared to be spellbound, Miss Bluestocking.”
And, to his surprise, he was. Sicily was as near to home as he had ever known, but he had never truly considered its place in history. Of course, he knew of its fertile soil and how its position in the Mediterranean marked it a capital of commerce from the East, from Africa and from Europe.
For instance, he learned the city of Enna was said to be the home to Demeter, Greek goddess of grain. Her daughter, Persephone, was abducted in a valley nearby and the locals believed one particular well was where Hades had taken her into the underworld. Yet, it was the city of Syracuse and the real possibility of finding forgotten antiquities that truly inspired her.
“When Uncle Jonas wakes from his afternoon rest, I will ask him to review the work before I copy it in triplicate and make it ready for presentation to the English Ambassador and the Minister for the Interior about our expedition.”
Kit basked in the animation of her face as she recounted the history. Her unselfconscious beauty and honesty of her passion enlivened her with a vitality he had never before seen in any woman. She was utterly mesmerizing.
“Does it bother you that when the professor returns to England with his great discoveries and publishes his book, your name won’t be alongside his?”
“Not as Sophia Green, but he has promised me S Green will receive a research credit. For now, it’s enough.”
Kit nodded, considering her answer. She shouldn’t have to settle for second best, not in her work – in fact, not in anything. He was surprised how strongly he felt about it. The small measure of contempt he had for Samuel Cappleman grew. He watched her pack up. Pens neatly placed in a box, the art folios in a leather satchel. A strange urgency poured into him. He may only have her company for a few more days. Kit wanted to learn everything about her, to create memories to hold on to.
“If you could go anywhere and do anything, what would you do?”
“What an odd question.”
“Indulge me.”
He watched her ponder it. A little furrow appeared between her brows as she thought. The longer she took, the more powerful became his desire to know the answer.
“Captain!”
The urgency in the call focused Kit to the exclusion of everything else. One of his men pointed starboard.
“The ship is a galiot. She’s changed direction and she’s gaining.”
“Marco! Telescope!”
Kit shaded his eyes and looked across the expanse of sea separating the two ships. Whoever it was, it was not Kaddouri. If that devil were within ten nautical miles, he would feel it through to his bones.
His telescope arrived and he put it to his eye. He found the vessel and examined it from stem to stern. There could be no mistaking it – three lateen sails, their color brown, eight long oars amidships that he could see. From experience, Kit knew it could carry at least eighteen guns, perhaps more… but what it didn’t carry concerned him more. It bore no flag of country.
It was a Barbary Coast pirate ship.
“Report, Mr. Nash,” he said.
“We spotted the vessel off our rear starboard half an hour ago. She’s travelling eight knots and is on an interception course. She’s rowing strongly,” Elias observed.
Kit looked up and watched the Calliope’s sails gather as much breeze as they could muster. The galiot contained one hundred men or more. It was a ship such as this one which overwhelmed the Pendragon. Wave after wave of heavily-armed men swarmed the decks, remorselessly killing every man who showed resistance and many who did not. Kit would scuttle the Calliope with all hands and passengers rather than let them be taken. Death by drowning would be a kinder fate than being enslaved by the Corsairs. The unspeakable things they would do with Sophia and Laura…
Kit handed back the telescope. Across the deck, everyone was on alert; even his passengers felt the tension in the crew. Sophia looked at him for a moment before helping Miss Laura pack her paints. Professor Fenton had woken, only now becoming aware of the newly charged atmosphere. Although Kit could not hear, he saw Sophia turn in response to a question from her uncle.
If it were just his men alone, he would consider launching an attack of his own to test out his ship’s new cannon and other surprise countermeasures. But such a move was completely out of the question.
“Call all hands on deck. Tacking maneuvers for now. Tell the men to put as much distance between us and the galiot for as long as possible then meet me and Mr. Afua in my quarters.”
Elias’ jaw hardened. Kit knew he didn’t underestimate the seriousness of their position. “Aye, Captain.”
As close as his crew was, and the informal liberties he allowed, every man knew the ship came first. When it came to its operation, strict discipline was demanded and given.
“May I ask what’s going on, Captain?” asked the professor, his pale eyes wide in his florid face. The man seemed on the verge of panic. “I have the welfare of my two nieces to consider.”
“I can guess the danger, Captain.” Sophia interjected. “What would you have us do?”
She had Kit’s full attention. He could not tell what inner turmoil she might be experiencing but she stood before him calm and resolute.
“Danger?” asked Miss Laura. He ignored her.
“Get below decks and stay there until further orders from either myself, Mr. Afua or Mr. Nash. You’re safe down there, but I advise you to stay in your cabins.” He turned to go to his quarters then turned back briefly, observing Sophia helping Miss Laura to gather her painting accoutrements while the professor collected his journals.
“And keep out of the way of my men,” he added, and left.
Jonathan was already poring over charts at the conference table in the captain’s quarters. Kit was about to join the man when he felt a touch on his arm.
Sophia.
“Kit? Is there anything I can do? Perhaps the infirmary?”
He placed his hand over hers where it touched his arm and squeezed it, giving her a reassuring smile.
“Trust it won’t come to that.”
“Then God keep you, Captain.”
The hand that enfolded hers rose to his lips and he kissed the back of her hand. Only now did she allow the concern to show in her eyes.
“Your servant.”
She returned to her shared cabin. Kit heard her instructing Miss Laura to secure and fasten away their belongings as, behind him, Elias bounded down the steps. The two men joined the navigator at the conference table.
“They�
�re gaining, but more slowly,” Elias said as they entered the captain’s cabin. “The men are squeezing as much out of the breeze as possible, but the storm brewing off our port side is taking all of our wind. We can winch the thirty-two pounder onto the deck and prepare Congreve rockets.”
“I’d rather not let them get that close to need it. How quickly can the men be ready to fire?”
“We’ve only ever practiced in calm conditions,” warned Elias. “Twelve minutes.”
Kit nodded, considering the logistics. The Calliope may be small but she wasn’t defenseless. She was designed for lightning raids.
“Tell the men to prepare, but wait until my orders before winching the cannon on deck. Our maneuverability and speed are our biggest advantages at the moment. Give us options, Mr. Afua.”
Jonathan looked up from the map.
“We need speed, so we need wind. I recommend we sail into the storm and ride it out using the westerly squall to take us further north than our charted course. It will be rough, but the Calliope can handle it. The galiot will not. The heaving swell will make at least half of their oarsmen useless. The rain will also help us disappear. But it is not without risk.”
“How close will it bring us to the rocks at Formentera?” asked Elias.
“At the closest point we’ll be only four hundred yards away but we can pick our way through.”
“Then let’s do it,” announced Kit. “Mr. Afua, chart our course. Mr. Nash, remind the men to double up. We all sail in together, we all sail out together. I’ll have no man lost on the Calliope.”
Chapter Eleven
Uncle Jonas was the first to succumb. Sophia heard him retch in his cabin next door. Laura lay down on her bed with a wet compress over her eyes and complained of an upset stomach. Sophia confessed to not feeling well either. She had heard keeping one’s attention fixed to the horizon cured seasickness, but the sky outside was black and the view from the porthole was obscured by driving rain and spumes from storm-tossed waves.
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 145