Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (47 page)

“Is it a merchantman that you’re aiming to board?” Gus asked, uncertainty in his voice.

Prosper chuckled. “Nay! We’re gonna save our resources fer
thee
prize, though it be killin’ me men. There be plenty o’ merchantmen comin’ from thee harbour and no one ta stop ’em.”

Magpie’s eye rounded in excitement as he handed Gus the spyglass he had found abandoned on the
Isabelle’s
deck that final day. “Squint through the glass, sir. What d’ya see?” As Gus’s arms were encumbered with splints, Magpie held up the glass for him.

“Why, it’s the
Amethyst!
” Gus stared at Magpie. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“We weren’t certain ’til this mornin’, sir,” said Magpie, beaming. “When she run up her colours, we knew she were British, but vis’bility’s bin poor with all o’ the rain, and she made sure she kept her distance from us ’cause Prosper refused to make it known what he was about. Besides, Mr. Walby, yer the one with the keen eyes. Yer the one what woulda known fer sure.”

“What do you suppose she’s doing down here?” asked Gus, peering again through the glass.

“On blockade duty, most like,” suggested Prosper.

“She’s bin goin’ out to sea for thee past two days to shoot off her guns,” added Pemberton.

“I like to think she’s come lookin’ fer us, sir,” answered Magpie in a small voice.

Prosper and Pemberton howled with laughter. “There won’t be no one lookin’ fer thee likes o’ yas. Far’s anyone kin tell, yer inside Jonah’s whale.”

Magpie grimaced, not liking that image of his presumed departure.

Prosper rested one hand on Gus’s shoulder. “Rest here fer a spell. We’ll fetch yas fer dinner. And then both o’ yas kin mess with me.”

Gus waited until Prosper and Pemberton had wandered out of earshot. “Does that mean I get to meet his band of ruffians?”

Magpie nodded. “Aye! They’re a frightful lot, but ya’ll fit right in, sir, with yer busted limbs and all.”

Gus watched the
Amethyst
in silence for several minutes. “Magpie, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Likely, sir.”

Gus peered up at his friend. “Do we
dare
think it – do we
dare
hope …”

“… there be Isabelles on board?” Magpie finished.

6:30 p.m.

(Second Dog Watch, One Bell)

Aboard the USS
Serendipity

ANGRY VOICES ROUSED EMILY from her rest. As she shuddered awake, Jane Austen’s book slipped from her lap. Reading had become her only means of distraction, but the fresh sorrows of the past two days had left her as spent as a shipwreck, and now, as never before, sleep came so easily. Leaving her cot quietly so as not to disturb the slumbering Mrs. Kettle, who required rest before tackling her twilight recreation, Emily put her ear to the flimsy wall of mounted canvas that separated her space from Trevelyan’s quarters, hoping to follow the conversation, or at the very least, identify who was arguing with the captain. Regrettably, she could hear nothing more than the angry intonation and inflection of the words being spoken. Mrs. Kettle’s rum-induced snores were enough to rattle the ship’s timbers. Her ear was still to the wall when Trevelyan himself came to fetch her.

“Dress yourself appropriately, madam, and be in my cabin in five minutes.”

“For what purpose, sir?” asked Emily, clutching her chest from the shock of his sudden appearance at her door.

He gave her a humourless smile. “Why, for a glass of wine and some conviviality, of course.”

She quickly changed into a roughly woven earth-coloured dress from Charlie’s collection of castoffs, and overlaid it with Leander’s coat. Upon entering Trevelyan’s cabin, her heart endured another shock, for standing by the stern windows, staring out upon the harbour that glittered in the waning sunshine, was Leander. Hearing her step, he glanced round expectantly. His face was suffused with colour, likely the result of his heated words with Trevelyan, but the stony expression in his eyes softened the moment they beheld her. Emily felt her own face flush and stood there like an awkward schoolgirl at a country ball, aware that Trevelyan was closely watching their behaviour as he poured claret into three glasses.

“Drink up, madam,” he said, handing Emily her refreshment. “You have a moribund look about you.” He turned to Leander. “As for you, Doctor, you must drink to forget those things you
cannot
change.” Lifting his own glass to his lips, Trevelyan planted his feet and allowed his eyes to travel freely over Emily. “You amaze me, for the day is exceedingly warm, yet you insist on wearing that frock coat.”

“It gives me great comfort, sir,” she said, meeting Leander’s eyes. An endearing smile played upon the doctor’s lips, but all too soon he returned his gaze to the harbour, leaving Emily overcome with sadness. For days she had prayed that his life had been spared the sinking of Captain Moreland’s ship. Discovering him here, so close, had filled her exhausted heart with joy, but since that time there had been no opportunity for them to speak alone. Now it seemed as if those precious weeks on board the
Isabelle
had never taken place. Leander was still far away – on one of those distant ships that sailed on the cloudless blue horizon beyond the windows – and all that remained to torment her was a ghostly shadow.

Trevelyan interjected her forlorn thoughts with a snort. “
I
will choose what you wear tomorrow.”

Wresting her eyes from Leander, she gave Trevelyan an empty glance. “Why is that, sir?”

“I shall not
marry
you wearing another man’s frock coat.”

A contemptuous laugh burst from Emily’s lips. “I shall not
marry
you at all. I
loathe
you.”

“Seeing that our feelings are mutual, we should get on quite well.”

“I would prefer to be flogged with a cat o’nine tails, sir.”

“I shall arrange it for you, madam … with pleasure.” Trevelyan helped himself to a plum from a bowl of fruit on his table and sank his teeth into it. “I have brought with me a Mr. Humphreys from town. He hopes to travel with us as far as Boston. In exchange for his passage, he has agreed to conduct the ceremony.”

“Sir, I have no intention of marrying you. You do not interest me.”

“It may surprise you, madam, that beyond your family connections, I have
no
interest in you.”

Emily’s retort was swift. “It does not surprise me at all, especially as you keep Mrs. Kettle and … Mr.
Lindsay
… so close to your side.”

Leander had turned from the windows to watch her, his hand in a fist before his mouth. Emily’s hand shook as she raised her glass to her lips, fully expecting to feel the back of Trevelyan’s hand cut across her face; instead, he finished eating his plum and examined her as he would the bilge water in his hold.

“There is no impediment that I know of. You are not married, though you travelled on the
Amelia
under the guise of Mrs. Seaton.”

Emily sniffed at him and lifted her chin. “But, sir, you have not posted the banns.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“I am not twenty-one.”

“Your parents are deceased. You have no guardian on this side of the world, and I have already secured what I need to make it legally binding.” Trevelyan raised one eyebrow. “You’re not betrothed to an indulgent prince from the Continent now, are you?”

“I am not,” was her terse reply.

Trevelyan’s eyes wandered in Leander’s direction. “Or, perhaps, to an inferior ship’s surgeon?”

Emily could not bear the look that had crept into Leander’s eyes. “No, sir.”

“Good! For that might distress poor old Queen Charlotte, the Prince Regent, and your miscellany of uncles.”

“I can assure you their distress would be far greater if I were to marry a fiendish captain from an enemy fleet.”

“Oh, I think they shall be quite pleased with the arrangement. You see, madam, although you may be unaware of it, I am well connected, almost as well as you are. And as I am my
English
father’s rightful heir, I intend to return to London to collect my fortune – one way or another – with you as my wife.”

Emily rounded on him. “If you are who you say you are, sir, it bewilders me that your behaviour towards your
countrymen
has been anything but exemplary. It bewilders me that you are commanding an American ship and not an
English
one. Furthermore, as we are totally unsuited for one another, I am quite puzzled that you should
require
a granddaughter of the King as your wife.”

Trevelyan walked over to his desk. Still there was nothing more upon its polished surface than the two miniatures. He picked up the one of the young sandy-haired lad, and smoothed the gold of the frame around the boy’s smiling face with his fingers, quite as if he had forgotten that he was not alone. When he had replaced it again, he muttered, “I
shall
require it.”

So profound was the silence that fell upon the great cabin that Emily jumped when a sudden knock sounded at the door. A breathless young messenger appeared, asking for Leander.

“Beg yer pardon, sir, Dr. Braden’s needed below in the surgery.”

Emily turned her head to find Leander’s eyes fixed upon the miniature of Emeline Louisa. As he slowly set down his glass, she saw his lips part and heard him take a deep breath. Then he looked at her, as if for the last time.

“If you have something more to say, Doctor,” intercepted Trevelyan, “make it fast and be on your way.”

With all the composure he could muster, Leander replied, “I thank you for the wine, sir, and for the wisdom of your
counsel.”

The door closed quickly behind him. Emily’s dark eyes flashed at Trevelyan. “Your
counsel?
”

Ignoring her, Trevelyan seated himself at his table. “The moment the winds and tides are in our favour, we will leave this place, and tomorrow Mr. Humphreys shall marry us.”

“You forget, sir, you do not have
my
consent,” snapped Emily.

“Madam, should you choose to be difficult, I shall deliver your
compatriots
to officials in the Navy Department.”

“My compatriots?” Emily hesitated a moment, unsure of what he meant. “You are welcome to hand Mrs. Kettle and Octavius Lindsay over to your
officials.
They deserve to rot in prison.”

“I refer to your Isabelles that sit in my gaol.”

Emily’s mind raced. Was he telling her the truth? She had seen Bun Brodie. Was it possible there were others? Were Gus and Magpie – those two dear souls – languishing in the
Serendipity’s
filthy hold?

Pouncing upon her uncertainty, Trevelyan added, “And of course there is your
esteemed
Doctor.”

Emily’s wavering confidence drained away. “But you – you require Dr. Braden’s services on your ship.”

“I will do what I must to get my way.”

Feeling the sting of tears, Emily was slow to reply. “Sir, I cannot pretend to understand the nature of your former crimes against your country; however, my guess is your more recent traitorous offences, namely those against the
Amelia
and
Isabelle,
will cost you dearly. I doubt you will ever be allowed to set foot again in England.”

Trevelyan poured himself another glass of wine, leaned forward over his table, and clasped his hands under his chin. “Then, madam, neither will you.”

16

Friday, June 25

6:30 a.m.

(Morning Watch, Five Bells)

Aboard HMS
Amethyst

THE EARLY MORNING MISTS were beginning to recede around the
Amethyst
as she stood out to sea under her topgallants. Near the bowsprit, Fly Austen was captivated with the shimmering orb of orange on the eastern horizon as he searched all round, looking for that elusive ship with the blood-red hull. At this hour, there was no sign of it. Captain Prickett and Lieutenant Bridlington, who were keeping him company on his watch, were more captivated with their bowls of cold fish soup, recently delivered to them by a cantankerous Biscuit.

“I would have preferred hot soup, Mr. Austen, but already the day is a warm one,” said Pickett, beads of sweat dripping down his cheeks as he downed spoonfuls of the brown, oily stuff.