The Admiral's Ward

by Dinah McLeod

  I have no skills, she fretted. Nothing I can do to earn money. I was such a stupid, stupid girl.

  Delia ceased her pacing and sank to the floor in defeat.

  What was I thinking?

  But that question at least was easy—she’d been thinking that she had to have her own way. She had thought that her father would regret what he had said once she had gone, that she would have the last laugh. She had thought she would have a grand adventure. But now that her future neared, adventure looked less exciting and more like a terror-inducing nightmare.

  I left a good life, and for what? Uncertainty?

  She shook her head, so frustrated with herself she could cry.

  Perhaps I could go back to my parents and beg their forgiveness.

  The thought made her shudder.

  I could beg their pardon, and perhaps they would forgive me. Perhaps there would even be a way to salvage my marriage with the duke.

  Her throat ached at the thought of what she would have to say to persuade him toward forgiveness.

  But that would mean telling the admiral that I lied...

  And that thought was the worst of all. She couldn’t. She must rid herself of these thoughts somehow, for the punishment he would produce for this treachery would be most fearsome. But more than that, she would never be able to face him again...

  Enough of this! I am so sick of being stuck inside these drab, dreary walls that boast not even a picture to look at! I must escape this place at once!

  Yes. The thought was a balm to her very soul. If only she could get out, take in just a bit of fresh air, that would console her. That would make everything better and rid her of the questions that plagued her.

  She walked toward the door, but the moment her hand was on the knob, she froze. No. She must be rational about this, and reason forced her to wait at least until he’d come for breakfast. How she would be able to eat without his keen eyes seeing that she was up to something was beyond her. Those knowing eyes would pull the truth out of her without his even having to ask.

  Then she would earn herself another bottom smacking without having even carried out her plan! Her hindquarters smarted at the thought, and she reached behind to rub, although she knew from her earlier peek that the evidence of her spanking had faded, leaving her skin creamy white once more. Delia knew that the last thing she desired was another trip over his knee, and yet, the idea of breathing in fresh ocean air for the first time in days was an intoxicating prospect. Was it worth it, though?

  At that moment, a sound rapping on the door made her jump. Delia bit down on her lip so hard, she tasted blood.

  “Ow!”

  “My lady? Are you alright?”

  “I... just a moment.”

  Delia brushed the blood away with the back of her hand—a tiny droplet, still, it had stung—and tried to school her expression so that he would not know she had been scheming. Then, after taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she opened the door.

  The admiral filed in, seeming a bit preoccupied. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you this morning. I’m terribly sorry, but—”

  “It’s quite alright, I know you are a busy man with many responsibilities.” When his dark brows lifted, Delia silently cursed herself. She mustn’t appear too eager.

  “That is a mature view, my lady, and I thank you.”

  She bristled at the implication that she was not normally mature, but she pushed it down. This was providence—now she could leave and he would be none the wiser, so long as she played these next few minutes perfectly. “You do not have to thank me. I simply realize now that you are a very busy man.”

  “Oh? And when did you realize that?”

  Delia couldn’t miss how he glanced to her skirted backside before looking once more to her face. She scowled at him. “Long before you smacked me, thank you very much!”

  The admiral threw back his head and laughed while she watched with lips pursed. Even when he finally stopped, his lips were still quirking. “Yes, indeed. Well, I shall leave you to break your fast then, shall I?”

  “Thank you.” She took the tray and waited for him to leave. Was it her imagination, or was he looking at her strangely? Was he suspicious?

  No, of course not. Don’t be silly, Delia. You’re nervous is all. Act normal, and be patient. He said he had to leave, and so he will.

  But the funny thing about trying to act normal was that you became anything but, at least in Delia’s case. She bobbed a curtsey, then promptly hated herself for it.

  The admiral merely chuckled once more. “You know, Delia, it is a rare woman that possesses your... spirit.”

  Any other day, she might inquire as to precisely what he meant by that, but at that moment her heart was beating a rapid tattoo alongside her breast and the hidden uniform called to her.

  “As I said, I must bid you adieu, but I shall see you for the midday meal, and with any luck, I’ll have time to spare by then.”

  “Yes, that would be lovely.” She smiled, proud of herself for managing a normal tone at last.

  “Very well. Enjoy.”

  She thanked him again, then heaved a sigh of relief once the door closed behind him once more. She set down the tray and could not help but note how her hand shook. She held it in front of her face, watching as it trembled. It was a slight tremor, but there nonetheless.

  Perhaps I was being rash. Maybe I shouldn’t. If I’m caught...

  She shuddered, her cheeks clenching involuntarily.

  Come on, Delia, you can do this! Don’t you want to escape the confinement of this prison? the devil on her shoulder whispered in her ear.

  If the admiral cared at all for my well-being he wouldn’t keep me shut in like this, she reasoned. I’m getting claustrophobic, not to mention lonely.

  Then again, he comes and visits when he brings the meals, that cannot be counted as thoughtless, surely...

  Delia swiftly dismissed this line of thought. She had needs, like any woman would. And what she needed most was to get away from her thoughts. It was this dank, empty room making her thoughts spin out of control like a top. All she needed was some exercise, some fresh air, and perhaps she would calm down and realize that things were not as bad as they seemed. She had to do this. He had really left her no choice, and she would simply explain that. But only if it became necessary, seeing as she had no intention of being caught.

  That decided, Delia dove underneath the bed to retrieve the bundle Barnabee had brought her. She had it untied quickly and held each garment up to the light for inspection. It was immediately apparent that this particular uniform had not seen use in many a year. It was dusty, had a minor rip that had not been mended, and smelled faintly of mildew.

  Delia sighed once more. This must be what Miss Ashley meant when she said ‘Beggars cannot be choosers.’ She had always thought it quite an odd saying, and yet, it described her situation perfectly.

  Perhaps you should call this whole thing off. It was an entertaining idea, certainly, a lark, but—

  Delia unceremoniously pushed the angel off her shoulder and began to undress. Once she had replaced her gown and skirts with the uniform, she hurried to the looking glass to examine herself. She frowned at her reflection. Her blonde curls were her signature, and with them tucked inside a cap she wasn’t certain whether her face looked too feminine for her to playact as a boy. She turned her head this way and that, scrutinizing the image reflected back at her. Her cheekbones were high, her skin a rosy peach and flawless. Noticeably absent was facial hair.

  “This will never work,” she muttered at her reflection, dismayed. “Unless... I suppose I could say I was a young boy, if asked...” She considered the idea, then decided she was willing to take the risk.

  It was time to go on her own grand adventure. Perhaps it would never make its way into a storybook, but it would be something she was sure to remember for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  It had felt so thrilling, so daring at
first. And more than a little bit naughty as she had slid the door open and, looking both ways once more, slipped outside, careful to be quiet as she closed the door behind her. In her first stolen minutes she was determined to take everything in, to relish the sights and sounds that had, up until now, been denied her. The only problem was there wasn’t much to see.

  The walls were crafted from the same dull brown wood she had been staring at in her own room. There were no decorations to speak of, or anything to distract the eye. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given it’s a ship full of men. But she couldn’t help but feel disappointed all the same. She was nearly resigned to turning back around and forgetting the whole thing when she heard voices. It sounded as though they were coming toward her. She had only a moment to decide—did she turn around and flee, or did she have an adventure?

  It was an easy decision for Delia to make, though there was no denying that her heart was beating thrice as fast as it normally did. She walked toward the sound, trying to appear nonchalant. But the whole charade was nearly spoiled when her ill-fitting boots hit a puddle and she almost went flying. She threw her arms out and caught her balance just in time, but not before an unladylike squeal escaped her lips.

  And then they were around her, laughing. Four men dressed similar to herself, except that their uniforms were clearly a new style, and clean.

  “Look, boys! There’s a lad aboard the Victoria with us!”

  “Where have they been hidin’ you, laddie?”

  Their grins made her cheeks flush with embarrassment as the drum of her heart beat with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Doing her best to disguise her voice, she said, “In the kitchens, my—” Catching herself, she amended to “sir.”

  The men exchanged glances before they broke into guffaws of laughter.

  The heat in her cheeks intensified. What had she said wrong?

  One of the men turned his smile on her. His mouth glinted from a piece of gold in place of where a tooth should be. “‘Tis only one man aboard this ship that insists on being called ‘sir,’ my lad. I see you’re familiar with the admiral.”

  Delia ducked her head, but nodded.

  “We are but simple men, and we love to sail. We have no need for all the formalities, whatever the captain says. What’s your name, lad?”

  She thought quickly. For a moment she thought of going with her father’s name, but the thought made her wrinkle her nose. “Eric,” she said instead.

  “Well, m’boy, let me introduce myself. I’m George.” He held out a tanned, rough-looking palm.

  Delia didn’t see what other choice she had but to take it. She did, putting as much strength into the shake as she could muster. It must have worked, for he smiled.

  “This here is Fred, Louis, and Will.” As he introduced each man, they nodded in acknowledgement or lifted a hand. “But you needn’t remember their names, they’re not more than vagrants.”

  A chorus of scoffs and protests ensued, which George listened to with an amused smile.

  “Well, what are ya doin’ out of the kitchens then?” George asked.

  “Ah... the captain wants me to... mop the decks,” she muttered.

  “Don’t let us keep you.” He was smiling at her like he had a private joke.

  The sight of it made her a bit nervous, truth be told. Was it just because he thought her an inexperienced boy aboard his first voyage? Yes, that had to be it.

  Suddenly, there was another voice coming down the hall. Delia recognized it at once and relaxed. It was Barnabee. Would he recognize her? Perhaps she could fool him. The thought amused her greatly and spotting the mop and bucket out of the corner of her eye, she crossed the deck to grab it. Thankfully, the bucket already contained clear, clean water, because she would not have known how to procure fresh if it had not.

  Though some of the men went back to their tasks, she could feel the heat of a few lingering stares. She paid them no heed as she hoisted the mop from the bucket. It was only her second time, and the trouble was that the mop the admiral had brought her before had not been soaking in water for hours. She had not known that it would carry such a weight, and was not prepared to bear it, even if she could have. Delia yelped with surprise and dismay as it slammed to the deck and water streamed across it.

  What attention she had lost was drawn back to her at once and she heard many chuckles and muffled laughs at her expense. Cheeks burning, she ducked her head.

  “Looks like you could use some help there.”

  Though she refused to look up, she heard Barnabee’s voice at her elbow. Still, she couldn’t fail to notice as he picked up the mop and quickly mopped up the mess she had made, wringing the excess water out and placing it back in the bucket in a few quick motions. It should have relieved her, but it only made her blush with deeper shame.

  “Now that things are set to rights here, I think you are needed back—”

  “Kitchen,” she muttered under her breath.

  “To the kitchens,” he continued smoothly.

  Bobbing her head, Delia followed Barnabee, but much to her surprise he did not take her back below deck to her room.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I thought since you’d made it out that you’d like to have yourself a look around.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You’ve got some time before the captain comes lookin’ for ya, don’tcha?”

  “I suppose, but—”

  “Oh, c’mon.” He flashed her a mischievous grin. “You dinna muster your courage jus’ to turn tail and go back to your room, now d’ya?”

  Delia stiffened her spine in defiance of the very idea. “Why, no, I didn’t!”

  “Excellent. Let me show you around then, give you a proper tour. I’d offer you my arm, but seein’ as you’re in trousers...”

  She covered her hand with her mouth in hopes to stifle her giggles.

  Barnabee’s grin widened and his eyes sparkled.

  And they were off. First, he took her to tour the kitchen she had claimed to work in, introducing her to the cook, Mr. Gibbons.

  “What’s that heavenly smell?” Barnabee asked as he slapped the man on the back.

  This question puzzled Delia who clearly must have a different definition of “heavenly”.

  “Ack, you know it’s the usual fare for you miserable lot,” the cook responded, his tone jovial. He handed Barnabee a roll that glistened with butter.

  Delia eyed it with envy, but had no idea how to let Barnabee know she wanted one, too. Her attempt at playacting a young man on deck had been a disaster and she had no desire to repeat it, lest she be caught out.

  “Then why are ya working so hard?” He queried as he accepted it. He took a big bite at once, making known his appreciation with a moan of pleasure.

  “The admiral has me makin’ two portions for ‘im every meal. Say, you wouldna know what that’s ‘bout, would you now?”

  Barnabee shrugged. “The man’s business is his own, as ever.”

  “Hmph.” The cook stirred a bubbling pot on the stove. “If anyone knows anythin’ on this blasted ship, it’s you.”

  “Ah, perhaps that’s true, but I’m tellin’ ya I don’t know anything.”

  A knot grew in the pit of Delia’s stomach as she listened to their exchange. If Mr. Gibbons was suspicious, who else might have noticed something off about this particular voyage? If what the admiral had told her proved true, there could be a lot of trouble for him if the crew discovered her presence. Up until now, she’d been only thinking of herself, and that knowledge was enough to sour her stomach.

  She cleared her throat.

  Barnabee caught her eye, but before he could speak, the cook seemed to just notice she was standing there.

  “And who might you be, laddie?”

  Delia’s eyes pleaded with Barnabee. Should she answer? Should she stay silent? No, it would look all the more suspicious if she did. “Er—”

  “Walt—”

  They b
oth stopped at the same time, staring at one another.

  “Walter,” she muttered at last.

  The cook’s keen gaze went back and forth between them before he shrugged. “Pleasure to meet ya, Walter.”

  “Yes, well, good to see you, as always. We’ve got to head on now, before the admiral’s tearin’ around on top deck, lookin’ for heads to smash.”

  Mr. Gibbons chuckled and waved them away.

  “Thank you.” She breathed a grateful sigh once they were out of earshot.

  “You’re welcome. But I think it might be best if we get our stories straight from here on out, lest we catch trouble.”

  Delia had been thinking the very same. “I told the crew I was Eric.”

  “Hmm. It certainly has a bit more appeal than Walter, I s’pect.”

  She rolled her eyes, but was smiling just the same. “It was all I could come up with on quick notice.”

  Before he could answer, she heard another voice. A stern, commanding, all-too familiar voice. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Must’a tarried longer than I thought.”

  Still unable to speak, she nodded fervently.

  “Come on, now, get movin’ or we’ll both be caught,” Barnabee hissed under his breath. Taking her by the arm, he led them both down the hall, back the way she had come. It seemed to take much longer on the return journey, but after many twists and turns Barnabee released her arm, having returned her to her door. “Now, you best get inside. You don’t want the admiral to see you like this.”

  She certainly did not. Mumbling a quick thank you, she turned the knob and hurried inside. It had been a quick adventure, to be sure, but one that had given her much to think about.

  * * *

  Delia had only just shoved the stolen clothes under the bed and tended to her hair when the admiral knocked. His way was to knock twice, then open the door. She was waiting for him, with the book in her hand as a prop.