Almost a Scandal (15 page)

“You did, sir.” The gray eyes that met his were unflinching. No excuses or useless explanations. Col had expected no less, but it was nice to have his faith borne out.

Gamage, however, was another matter altogether.

“And Mr. Gamage, did I see you do the same, and then strike a crew member, a rated man, besides?”

“
He
started it”—he jerked his head to Kent—“the little prick. And the other man ought to know to mind his betters.”

Col felt his blood heat by several degrees, and the air in his lungs grew thick and heavy with steam. And yet he made a point of speaking precisely, even methodically. “Shut your filthy mouth, before I shut it for you, Mr. Gamage. You are on the quarterdeck of a frigate of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. If I
ever
hear you speak like that again, I will cut out your tongue with a marlinspike and feed it to the sharks. Do I make myself clear?”

Even Gamage had the sense to quake under the sharp blade of the reprimand. He swallowed his surliness. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Col took a deep breath to restore his equilibrium without cooling his anger one bit. “As to your choice of language in speaking to the man Willis, what was it our esteemed Admiral Nelson has said to the point? Can’t recall, Mr. Gamage? Mr. Kent?”

“‘Aft the higher honor,’” Kent quoted instantly, “‘but forward the better man.’”

Col could have admired her cleverness if he wasn’t so bloody angry. “Thank you, Mr. Kent, yes. Can you conceive of what he meant, Mr. Gamage?”

Gamage shifted his eyes over Col, looking for but not being able to exactly find the hidden trap. He finally answered, “No, sir.”

“He meant that the navy only works, and works well, and is able to overcome her enemies and keep her country safe, if each man jack of you, from the officers down to the lowest, unrated boy, treats each other with the utmost respect. Respect, Mr. Gamage, does not mean striking a man for no reason other than to salvage your pride.”

And though Col kept Sally’s warning about Gamage’s insidious allegation in the front of his mind, he strove to be fair, and share the blame. And he was mad enough at her to let fly a few more blasts. “And respect, Mr. Kent, does not mean indulging in a fit of catcalling on my deck, like a bloody
girl
.” He leaned into her then with the hard weight of his eyes, if not his body.

And she blanched a little at that, the high color of her indignation leaching away as some of her hopefully better sense returned.

“I will not put up with such behavior from my officers. I will disrate you faster than a lead line can sink and turn you before the mast, seniority, or family, be damned. Now get yourselves below to make your most abject apologies to your captain and pray not to have engendered his displeasure as much as you have mine. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Kent was the only one of the two to meet his eye. “Aye, aye, sir.”

*   *   *

Sally found, as she marched herself off the quarterdeck and down to the captain’s cabin, that half of the crew was watching, and all the midshipmen were waiting for her in the waist. Every one of them from silent Charles Dance down to little Ian Worth.

Will Jellicoe reached out to shake her hand. “Good luck, Richard.”

“Good luck, Richard,” echoed Ian Worth.

“Thank you, Ian.”

She did not need to notice that the courtesy and the encouragement were not extended to Damien Gamage. But for the first time, the other midshipmen held their places as Gamage moved past, and didn’t give way for him. It was promising. It might make it all worth it. She wouldn’t care how much ire she drew, so long as it stayed firmly away from both Ian and Will, as well as Charles Dance and Marcus Beecham.

The marine sentry at the door banged the butt of his rifle hard against the captain’s bulkhead door. “Mr. Kent, sir. And Mr. Gamage.”

“Get yourselves in here,” Captain McAlden growled. Any hopes Sally had cherished that Captain McAlden would go easy on them were dashed with one look at his face. When they had themselves arrayed at attention in front of his table—for even Gamage knew enough to present his better self to the captain—the man laid in to them with all the chill of his considerable sangfroid. A pick wouldn’t have chipped the ice from his eyes.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, gentlemen. We are a ship of war. We are at war with an enemy who will not rest until England has been destroyed. It is our job and our duty, personally and professionally, individually and collectively, to prevent that from happening. And it is my duty specifically to make sure that each and every officer under my command is doing his duty to the utmost. And that means there is absolutely
no
time for petty squabbles. I will not have my midshipmen bawling accusations across the deck like Billingsgate fishwives. Do you understand me?”

Sally felt a shiver crawl meekly across her skin. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me the nature of this childish antagonism. Mr. Gamage, you are the senior. Explain yourself.”

“I cannot account for it, sir.”

“Cannot or will not?” The captain dismissed Gamage’s lack of explanation and turned the cold steel of his gaze upon her. “And you, Mr. Kent?”

Sally could give him nothing but the truth, no matter how impolitic. “It is my opinion that Mr. Gamage mistreats the younger midshipmen, bullying them physically and filling them with needless anxiety that interferes with the performance of their duty. And I also have reason to think Mr. Gamage has relieved me of my personal stores.”

“Your opinion, is it? Stealing is a very serious accusation, Mr. Kent. Have you proof?”

To Sally’s mind, the captain did not seem at all surprised by her accusations, and perhaps—just perhaps—Captain McAlden sounded hopeful that she would indeed have the proof that he would need to thoroughly punish Gamage. She
hated
to disappoint him.

“None, sir, which is why I did not bring my complaint to you. And the stores found their way into interesting places.”

The captain narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

“I understand you enjoyed a bottle of mint sauce with your lamb last night, sir.”

She had his full attention now. “Think very carefully about what you imply, Mr. Kent.”

“I make no implication, sir. I understand the stewards barter amongst themselves. Fresh food is a valuable commodity, and anyone may try and do the best for his master that he can. The goods stolen from my dunnage have traveled far and wide throughout the ship. As they were meant to, to divert attention from the crime and involve as many people as possible in the blame. As I said, I have no evidence, but I have found it exceedingly strange that the greater part of the midshipmen’s mess should be so quickly reduced to millers, with the noticeable, and well-fed, exception of Mr. Gamage.”

Sally let her eyes slide sideways over Gamage’s soft girth before she raised her glare to Gamage’s face. She was obliged by the fact that he did look a trifle green in the gills. He wasn’t as confident in his scheme as he wanted everyone to think. He was vulnerable. That was good to know.

Captain McAlden took a long time to mull his decision, turning his back on them to prowl toward the stern gallery. Sally was conscious of working to keep any trace of smugness or expectation from her face, but she was entirely unprepared when the captain turned back and addressed her.

“Mr. Kent. You may report to Mr. Colyear and tell him your punishment is to spend ten of your off-duty hours at the masthead, repenting of your sins.”

“My sins, sir?” She thought she might choke on her indignation. She could not conceive of such a miscarriage of justice. She had expected better of Captain McAlden.

“Aye, Mr. Kent.” He regarded her coldly. “The sin of not using the considerable portion of brains with which you were born to better control yourself. There will be no more displays of temper upon my deck. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” She swallowed the hot fist of pride lodging in her throat. She would not cry. She would not embarrass herself and her family by such an unseemly, dispirited display. She jammed her hat down upon her head and made what she could of a dignified exit.

But her self-pity ended the moment she set her sights on her comrades, waiting for her near the companionway.

“Well?” Ian asked.

“Mastheaded.”

Charles Dance’s face slid into a small smile. “For you, that’s no punishment at all.”

Sally felt her spirits lighten. She hadn’t thought of it that way. And truly, he was right. She was just as comfortable in the tops as she would be in her hammock. Probably more so.

“And Gamage?” Will inquired.

“Still in there. I’m not privy to Captain McAlden’s thoughts, but I imagine Gamage is getting more than just a talking-to.”

“We’ll find out from Pinky,” Ian offered. “He might be as deaf as a haddock, but he still has his ears open for all the scuttlebutt talk.”

Sally clapped him on the shoulder in triumph. “Listen to you talk, Ian. Why, in just two days, you’ve become the veriest old salt.”

“Thank you, Richard. I’ll take that as quite a compliment.”

“And so you should.”

A shadow eclipsed down them from above. “Move along there, gentlemen.” Mr. Colyear’s voice was his usual granite drawl. “I’m sure you have duties to see to. And Mr. Kent, I’ll see you at the main masthead this instant, sir.”

Sally touched her hat and lowered her eyes. Devil take it, but it was eerie, the communication between Mr. Colyear and the captain. How Mr. Colyear could already know the punishment allotted to her by the captain was remarkable, seeing as no message was passed out of the cabin. And judging from his voice, Mr. Colyear was not best pleased at so lenient a sentence.

“Go on, then,” Charles Dance advised. “I’ll bring you your books.”

“Thank you.” It was customary for midshipmen to study their navigation while sitting at the masthead. “That’s very good of you, Mr. Dance.”

“Charles, if you please.” Dance held out his hand for her to shake. “I had an egg for breakfast this morning, Mr. Kent, instead of cold mush. And I am sensible to whom I owe my thanks.”

Sally felt a welcome smile stretch across her face. Honestly, if such was to be the outcome, she would gladly sit through a hundred hours at the masthead. “You are most welcome.” And Dance was right. It was no punishment at all.

The weather held fine and bright, and tucked in between the shrouds and the crosstrees, she was as snug as in any berth, though she was disappointed to see that Gamage was mastheaded for his punishment as well. But in Gamage’s case the sentence was made much more severe by his age and girth. It took him the better part of three quarters of an hour to struggle up the shrouds to make the climb to the shorter mizzen masthead, the lowest of the mizzenmast’s three tops, and Sally was sure half the crew was secretly hoping he would keel over the side from an apoplexy.

It was a matter of perverse pride for Sally to be seen sitting her punishment far higher than Gamage could manage, in the topgallant crosstrees, because she was conscious of the good opinion of the topmen who worked the trees. And Gamage proved to be sensible to the slur. Across the air dividing them, he gave her a look as mean and unforgiving as a dockyard dog, and drew his thumb across his neck to pantomime his threat.

Sally sent him a mock salute in reply to such impotent intimidation. The sting had been drawn from the wasp by the simple exposure of his ways to
Audacious
’s public. Devil take Gamage, she would meet his challenge, for she had four older brothers, and even with Gamage’s supposed superior experience and years, Sally reckoned that altogether, she was privy to about forty years of Kent knowledge, expertise, and dirty tricks. She may not have done it all, but devil take her, she had heard enough to know how to take a man down a peg.

Damien Gamage had no bloody idea of the Kent ways of retribution. He had finally tangled with the wrong man.

With that thought to cheer her, and with hours of idleness in front of her—she had no great need to study “The Requisite Tables,” for she already knew them as well as need be since she had no illusions that she would ever actually sit for her lieutenancy exams in front of a board of examination—she had a great deal of time to study Mr. Colyear.

From the vast height of the topgallants, he swam the deck like a sleek leviathan, silent and stealthy, constantly moving forward. He was very near to relentless. Just watching him scan the deck and rigging with the sweep of his eye, and make his judgments with both speed and acuity, made her understand how he was so intimidating to those around him. He held everyone to a high standard, because he held himself to an even higher one. He only seemed exacting because he didn’t comprehend that not everyone was as clever and as quick as he was.

But still, he was patient, rarely raising either the volume or the tone of his voice to anger. Methodical, tireless, brilliant. That was Mr. Colyear.

Devil take her for a stupid lubber, but when the afternoon sun cast his shadow upon the deck, bloody Lord God but he was long in the bone. And as handsome as they came. Straight and tall, the most finely made man she had ever had the pleasure to know.

And he did not like her. Not one bit.

So be it. Mr. Colyear’s disdain gave her the freedom to deal with Mr. Gamage as she saw fit.

The Kent way.

Chapter Ten

When Sally arrived back at the orlop cockpit at the end of the watch well ahead of Gamage, for he took a much longer time in his ungainly descent from the masthead—no sliding down backstays for him—the confidence and ebullience of her fellow midshipmen had ebbed dangerously.

“Mr. Gamage is going to be twice as mean as he ever was when he gets back, isn’t he?” Ian lamented.

“No,” Sally countered staunchly. Normally, at least one of the midshipmen was invited to dine with the captain, but it seemed after the earlier set-to that they were all being punished by exclusion. Which had led to the present state of affairs, with all four of the other young gentlemen, Dance, Beecham, Jellicoe, and Worth, awaiting Gamage’s return with something close to fearful dread.