Authors: Elizabeth Essex
Yet he did none of that. He just stared at her for the longest, most uncomfortable minute, while she waited for him to
see
her. To recognize
her
.
When he finally reacted, he leaned in close, close enough to speak quietly, so no one else might overhear. With his dark head tipped down close to hers, she could smell the scent of ocean, of heat and salt rising from the wool of his worn blue coat, and soap, and something else, something that had to be entirely Mr. Colyear. Something entirely, dangerously alluring.
“You are a member of this ship’s company now, Mr. Kent. You’ll be lucky to leave this ship at the end of two years’ time, and only then at your captain’s pleasure.” His voice itself was an elegant fog, disconcertingly soft. Patient even, as if the words rolled around in his throat, taking their time before gathering themselves into something weighty enough to be spoken. “And certainly not this morning.”
“No, of course not, sir. I had no thought of
leaving
.” That at least was entirely the truth. “Only of … others coming.”
Mr. Colyear’s head tipped back slowly as he weighed her words for another very long moment before he spoke in the same low, patient tone. “What are you up to, Mr. Kent?”
“Nothing, sir.” She lied more easily with every passing remark, even as she hated herself for the hypocrisy of her deceit. But the truth was that she wanted to stay. And she would stay. If only they would let her. If only Richard stayed away. If only she could appease Mr. Colyear’s damnable curiosity.
This time he smiled full out, his lips riding open to show the gleaming row of strong, white teeth. “Mr. Kent, you are an abominable liar.”
The desperation of wanting something so uncertain was a physical thing, a pain that added to the cat’s-paw of misery coiled deep in her gut. She could only answer with the truth. “Thank you, sir. For I have no wish to be a good one. I only wanted to make sure we’re to sail immediately.”
“Outrunning creditors, are you, Mr. Kent? Or some young lady’s family?”
Sally would have laughed if she hadn’t suddenly felt so near tears. She was definitely outrunning some lady’s family—her own. But he must be teasing her—the cool green of his eyes had warmed to a luminous jade. “No, sir,” she assured him as firmly as she could. “Nothing of the kind.”
Mr. Colyear took another very long moment of consideration, with his green eyes probing more gently, but no less relentlessly, before he spoke. “Do you see
that
flag, Mr. Kent?”
Sally followed the long length of his arm to see the pennant flying from the mainmast. “The Blue Peter, sir?”
“Do you know what it means?”
“All persons should report on board as the vessel is about to proceed to sea.”
“Correct. We will up anchor and sail within the hour. So think no more of the shore.”
“Aye, sir.” She tried to order her face to show him she was content with that, but her mind wasn’t accustomed to sitting still. She wasn’t very good at waiting. Still she worried. Richard could come, or be brought by force, until the moment
Audacious
shipped its anchor and left the shore behind. Until they cleared Spithead, she would not be safe.
And even then, Lieutenant David Colyear would not be done with his looking.
Until there was nothing left for him to see. Nothing but a competent officer. Someone who was useful. “I am entirely at your disposal, Mr. Colyear.”
“And so you are, Mr. Kent, so you are.” He mulled that smile of his around his lips for a while to make sure he was ready to be openly pleased. “I think this morning we shall rate you midshipman, as you seem to know your business well enough.”
In truth, she was a little taken aback. Sally had assumed she was rated as a midshipman, not just a gentleman volunteer. She had forgotten that she could be rated or disrated aboard ship entirely at the first lieutenant’s or the captain’s pleasure. But perhaps Mr. Colyear was merely amusing himself at her expense.
Yes. She saw the almost infinitesimal turndown at the very corner of his lips and knew he was amused. Just as he had been last night, when she had made her joke about the gun deck’s potential for biblical instruction, to cover her embarrassment at having to witness bare-breasted women being tupped by bare-arsed men while standing next to the unperturbable Mr. Colyear. Who with his eagle eyes, she was sure, saw every nipple and nolly in the place.
Her face still felt hot with the infernal embarrassment. But it was no wonder nobody saw her as a woman, if ripe old tarts of Long Peg’s variety were their measure of femininity. “I am most obliged, sir.”
“And I am obliged by the fact that I shan’t have to explain things to you in the same way I might with Mr. Jellicoe or Mr. Worth, for you seem to have retained a great deal of knowledge from your time aboard your father’s ships. More than your brothers expected.”
Ah. So he had had letters from at least one of her brothers. Matthew, she suspected. He was always the most loquacious of the Kent brothers. And particularly vocal in his disapproval of Richard’s ambitions for the church. If Mr. Colyear had been expecting Matthew’s version of Richard, it was no wonder why he was not disappointed in
her
.
The thought amused her enough to say, “And how shall I be most useful to you this morning, Mr. Colyear?”
There it was again, that long, considering stare, this time aided by the smallest pleating of his brow as he narrowed his gaze upon her. Let him look. If he was searching for a trace of the parson, he would never find it in her.
Finally, he inclined his ridiculously perfect, imperfect chin in another almost imperceptible gesture of approval. “You’ve changed, Mr. Kent.” There was that bright eye again, raking her over, turning over every loose piece of her in his mind. Weighing her up like a short charge of powder. It was all she could do to keep from fidgeting with her coat, pulling the lapels tighter over her chest. “I didn’t recall you being so … athletic. Nor did your brothers.”
“I’m older since they saw me last, sir.”
“Yes, perhaps you have grown up.” He let up his probing stare momentarily to cast his glance over the barometer and, from there, back up to the set of the sails. “I’m assigning you to keep the first watch of the officers, with Mr. Horner as the officer of the deck. You and Mr. Gamage will be the midshipmen attending him, as well as Mr. Northam, the master’s mate.”
She was unlucky to have drawn duty with the still unseen Mr. Gamage, but from what she understood of his character, she was glad neither Jellicoe nor Worth had been put with him. They were both too green to be able to handle him.
“As you seem to know enough that you won’t make a poor example to
Audacious
’s people, in sail drill and in weighing anchor, you’ll be with the division of the foretop.”
“Aye, sir.” She touched her hat to hide the thrill of elation that jangled under her skin and propelled her forward, toward the foremast.
“Not just yet, if you please, Kent. The captain will want the ship mustered first and to address the people. Stand at ease.”
It was a trial to do so when she was so filled with happy fidgets at the thought of going aloft. But the interim proved instructive. It was something of a revelation to watch Mr. Colyear at work. Just as she had seen yesterday, he knew every man by name, and was quick to note which of
Audacious
’s people, perhaps more professional or ambitious than others, came on deck and fell to their work before the rest of their divisions. Mr. Colyear was a man who openly respected the men without being overly familiar, and from what little she had seen, the feeling was mutual. Pinky had been open in his own admiration of the first lieutenant, and she knew Pinky judged a man on character alone.
Speaking of judging on character—Jellicoe and Worth followed on the heels of two other midshipmen she had not yet met.
“Richard Kent.” She introduced herself quietly to the two older boys.
“Charles Dance.” Dance was a serious young man who looked to be her age of nineteen or perhaps twenty. He was tall, and had sandy brown hair and hound-dog-sad blue eyes. He shook her hand gravely and said no more.
“Beecham, Marcus.” The dark-haired boy with beautiful almond eyes greeted her with a sideways grin, and shook her hand as well. “So you’re the famous Mr. Kent. Pleased to meet you. We missed each other yesterday. It’s often thus, when we’re on opposite watches.”
“Yes, but famous? How so?” Sally was worried her late arrival at the sally port would mark her as a laggard.
“Hasn’t everyone heard of the Kents?” Beecham answered.
Everyone in the navy had, and she had always been proud of it, always wanted to be counted as one of them. But now she felt all the burden of that heavy expectation rather more personally. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint.”
Beecham laughed. “Better you than me, man!”
“If you’re through there, Mr. Beecham.” Mr. Colyear’s quietly wry tone made its way to them, calling them back to attention without any trace of the screeching anxiety often employed by others of his profession. Mr. Colyear’s way was to correct instead of intimidate.
Speaking of intimidation, last of all the officers to scale the quarterdeck ladder was an older midshipman, identified as such by the white patches on the collar and cuffs of his too-small blue coat. He was nearly thirty years old by her eyes, older than all her brothers, and despite the weathered tan of his skin, and his weight, which showed him to be a man fond of his grub, he looked pinched, as if he were habitually displeased. This had to be Damien Gamage.
He wasn’t excessively tall—in fact, Sally guessed that she was taller, though he outweighed her by at least five stone—but he was easily tall enough to intimidate both Worth or Jellicoe. As soon as he ascended the quarterdeck, Mr. Gamage simply claimed the spot where poor Ian Worth had been standing, by abruptly elbowing the boy aside, as if Gamage had a right to whatever spot he wanted despite his lateness.
So he was a blaggard as well as a bully. It only remained to see if he was a blockhead as well. Sally glanced back at Mr. Colyear to see what he made of such antics, but his eyes were all for the men gathering in the waist, and not the officers.
Sally kept her eyes on Gamage, and decided his air of intimidation was more an effect of his bulk than his stature. The man had a largeness of person that was somehow slack, as if in the approach to his middle years, he had given up all pretense of rigor, and was beginning to run to fat. But there was still enough meat on him to make her mindful not to dismiss him out of hand. Ian Worth easily gave way, and moved around to shelter beside her. Everyone, she noticed, from the ship’s boys to the professional tradesmen like the carpenter and his mates, all the way up to the officers themselves, gave Gamage as wide a berth as possible, as if they none of them wanted to be in any way associated with him. Or meet with his sulky wrath.
How was such behavior allowed under either Captain McAlden or the all-seeing Mr. Colyear? How could they not see what Gamage was? But she had no time to ponder such imponderables when Captain McAlden came smartly up the quarterdeck ladder and the crew fell instantly silent.
Before the captain even spoke, Sally had to force herself to stand still, to quell the excitement building within her bound-up chest. Even without the added distinction of formal uniforms, the expanse of blue coats was the most exhilarating thing she had ever seen. There was the splash of scarlet as well from the commander of the marines, Major Lesley, that was echoed in the straight line of the seagoing soldiers lined up to one side of the quarterdeck.
It was a sight to behold, and this time, for the first time, she was a real part of it, not just a bystander. She was one of them, arrayed in her smart blue coat just like the rest.
Below them, in the waist, two hundred fifty-odd men and boys were gathered in a colorful hodgepodge of blue coats and red waistcoats, calico shirts and kerchiefs, straw hats and knit caps. No two men looked alike, although to her eyes it was easy to pick out the foretopmen, who were known to traditionally dress with more fineness, by their smarter kerchiefs and gold earrings, which superstition said gave them keener eyesight. These would be the men with whom she was to work.
Captain McAlden spoke from the quarterdeck rail.
“
Audacious
will join the Channel Fleet in blockade duty, proceeding to the station off Brest. We are ordered to find the enemy wherever he may be. The combined French and Spanish fleet under Villeneuve and Gravina are still at large and must at all cost be kept from joining with the Corsican’s invasion fleet in Boulogne. We will patrol the Channel in search of any portion of that fleet trying to enter these waters, harry all French shipping we might encounter, but also keep a fresh eye upon the harbor at Brest to make ourselves eminently useful to His Majesty and the Lords of the Admiralty.” The captain leaned both arms down on the quarterdeck rail. “But we will also take every conceivable prize that we can. There will be a guinea to the man who first sights a ship taken as a prize.”
A cry went instantly up from the topmen. “Huzzah!”
“And there’ll be more of the same opportunities for those of you not in the tops.
Audacious,
see to your stations.”
“Hip, hip,” the call came from the waist.
“Hurrah!” came the answering cheer.
As soon as the cheer had been repeated the requisite three times, the captain turned to the sailing master. “Mr. Charlton, you may weigh the anchor.”
And so it began, with the orders echoing from the officers of each division. Sally dove forward, down the deck to her station in the foremast.
“Man the capstan. Up anchor. Heave away.”
All over the ship, men clambered to their stations—topmen scrambled aloft and waisters hove to the braces and halyards in anticipation.
“Lively there, men,” she called as she climbed onto the starboard chains and the foretopmen scampered by up the shrouds.
Her heart sped up, pounding against her chest like whitecaps with the thrill of the moment. It was happening. Richard hadn’t come, and she was beyond glad. She was going to sea.