Almost a Scandal (39 page)

Oh, damn his eyes. What was he doing, taking his frustration out on Moffatt, who had been exemplary, as had everyone of the small band under his command? They had all worked until they dropped. After seven days, even Moffatt had begun to look as beat up and exhausted as if he had been flogged around the fleet.

Everyone in the bloody fleet must feel the same. Those who were still alive, anyway. Col looked out over the anchorage. Around them, every ship was in disarray, and he could see that more than one ship—English, Spanish, and French alike—had gone to the bottom in the howling gale. Fate was a strange, fickle, unstoppable thing. He wouldn’t be surprised if the weather hadn’t ended up killing more men than the cannonballs.

But Col would be goddamned to hell if he would let Sally Kent become one of the casualties.

He had done for her everything he could—kept her dry and saw to it she rested—but it was little enough. The fever that gripped her was beyond his limited powers. And he’d had too much to do, too many other lives to save by keeping them from going to the bottom, to do anything more than scoop her up from where she had fallen to the deck and keep her below, checking on her from time to time.

The moment
Swiftsure
was back under
Audacious’
s tow, Col had Sally bundled into the skiff and home where Mr. Stephens could have a proper look at her. Col didn’t trust the poxy French bastard, Dupuis, with his sneering, shifty eyes, to see to her anymore. After all, it was under his auspices that she had taken ill. She’d been in a feverish haze, half in and half out of her senses, for days, despite his care.

When they reached
Audacious,
Captain McAlden frowned down from the height of the quarterdeck as Col passed Kent’s inert body up over the rail.

“What goes on here, Mr. Colyear?”

“Kent has been injured, sir.”

“How?”

“In the boarding, sir. Before the storm.” Col climbed aboard quickly and then found he had to restrain himself from reaching to take Sally out of the bo’sun’s arms. “With your permission, sir, I’ll take Mr. Kent to Mr. Stephens now.”

“Mr. Stephens remains aboard
Tonnant
. Is it urgent?” But then the captain seemed to think better of having this conversation in front of the men. “See Mr. Kent to his berth in the gunroom, Mr. Colyear, and then attend me in my cabin. We are ordered to Gibraltar and there is a great deal to be done. And a great deal to be discussed.”

Normally, Col would have been proud to note that
Audacious
was in remarkable shape after the gale. The hull and rigging had been set to rights, and every wall and batten, sea chest and chair, in the gunroom had been restored to its correct place.

Col left Sally, pale and listless, in Pinkerton’s meticulous care and repaired immediately to the captain’s stern cabin, which seemed luxurious in its spartan accommodations after the bare wreck of
Swiftsure.
Col became suddenly aware of his dirt. He had not spared the time to change out of the soiled uniform he’d worn ever since the battle. He may have reeked of more than saltwater and saltpeter, but he was in no mood to waste time on the niceties.

“Captain McAlden?” he said directly. “I need to speak to you, sir.”

“Come in, Mr. Colyear. Whom did you leave in command of
Swiftsure
?”

“Mr. Jellicoe, sir, assisted by Moffatt, but they need to be spelled if you can spare men. But it’s about Mr. Kent, sir.”

“I’m sending over Mr. Horner.” The captain nodded to his clerk. “See to it, Mr. Pike. Now, Mr. Colyear, go on.”

“As I said, sir, Kent was injured in the boarding.”

“How badly?”

“A saber cut. Not deep but serious enough. But there was no time to allow the surgeon to attend to him.”

“What? Was there no French surgeon in
Swiftsure
?”

“Yes, but it took some time before Mr. Kent could be or would allow himself to be attended to. The wound was to the face, sir.” Col unknowingly fingered a line curving from his temple midway down the side of his cheek in illustration.

“Ah.” The captain drew still.

“Yes, sir. But what you need to know—” Col’s voice stumbled in his haste to speak the secret that felt as if it were eating him alive. “He is not Richard Kent.”

McAlden froze for a very long moment and then pushed slowly away from his table, and sat back in his chair. “I am aware that—”

“No, sir. I beg you would listen to me. The boy is not Richard Kent—”

“But Sarah Alice Kent. Sally,” McAlden finished quietly, “his sister. I know.”

“You know?” Of all things, Col never expected this. “Captain Kent—he wrote to you?”

“No.” Captain McAlden shook his head. “I have waited in expectation of just such a letter, these past months. But as yet, I have not had the pleasure of correspondence with Captain Kent. For all I know, Alexander Kent may yet be unaware that I have his only daughter on board.”

“Then, how did you—” Col let the question slide away. He was all too aware that by asking others, he would have to answer the same questions for himself.

“It may surprise you to find that I have known from the first. Since the first day you brought her aboard my ship, Mr. Colyear.”

Damn him for a fool. All this time. All this time he had strangled the guilt that was eating him alive. And all this time, she had never really even had a secret to keep. “How?”

The captain’s face lit with that same strange, small smile, as if he had his own secrets to keep. “Intuition. Experience with highly imaginative, active girls. I am not sure I will care at all for your answer, Mr. Colyear,” the captain continued, “but I find I must ask, when did
you
first discover the secret of Miss Kent’s sex?”

With that word, Col felt himself heat and burn to a cinder. “I beg your pardon, sir?” he stammered.

“I assume you discovered her during her recent illness?”

Here was the perfect, ready-made excuse. Here was the perfect circumstance to excuse himself from responsibility. And culpability. But he was an honest man—and he wanted to be rid of the burden of his guilt. He owed Captain McAlden, not to mention the Kents, the whole truth.

“No, sir. I’ve known since we weighed anchor.”

If Captain McAlden was surprised, he made no show of it beyond a slow lifting of his eyebrows. “I see. Who else knows?”

“No one, sir. I’ve told no one.”

“I’m sure you haven’t.” Captain McAlden smiled. “I have always admired your frankness of character, your steadfast loyalty, and your unimpeachable honesty, Mr. Colyear.”

The captain may have meant his words as compliments, but Col felt each one like a blow. “But she’s been living on a ship with two hundred and sixty-odd men,” the captain continued. “Someone else knows. Someone else always knows.”

“Perhaps old Pinkerton, sir, the orlop berth servant.”

“Ah. Of course. And Mr. Gamage as well. Strangely perceptive man for a blockhead, Mr. Gamage. He came to me with his suspicions some time ago. And for his honesty was rewarded with the command of your sloop, Mr. Colyear, thereby keeping Kent’s secret. I rather like the touch of ironic justice in that. But I had much rather you had come to me with your news sooner, Mr. Colyear.”

There was nothing Col might say to acquit himself. Nothing he would allow himself to say in his defense.

“It seems we’ve all been keeping secrets on
Audacious,
” the captain said philosophically. “I hope it may give Captain Alexander Kent some relief to know so many people have been looking after his unorthodox, but highly useful, recruit.”

Col needed no reminder to think of her father—to think of all of them. His friends. Her family. “Will you write him now, sir?”

Captain McAlden took a long time before he answered. “I think not. At least not yet. Not until we know how she fares, one way or the other. The next few days will, I’m sure, tell.”

And there it was, the truth he had been keeping, even from himself. For the first time, the mortal possibility leached into his chest like acid, turning his heart to cold, aching stone. But he nodded. “I’ll see to her, sir.”

“And I am sorry that I cannot allow you that luxury, Mr. Colyear.”

“Sir?”

“In days such as these, Mr. Colyear, the navy has need of all its intelligent, able-bodied, and even abler-minded young men. Mr. Lawrence has been promoted to first, while Mr. Horner I have just now sent to command
Swiftsure.
And you, Mr. Colyear, are to report immediately, before the morning watch has ended, aboard
Tonnant
.
Tonnant
is too large to take in tow, so you will be left to bring her into repair while the main body of the fleet makes sail for Gibraltar. When possible, you will follow with all haste. Are your orders clear?”

Col swallowed his feelings down like hot shrapnel. “Yes, sir. I thank you.”

“You are most welcome to the command. Good luck and godspeed, Mr. Colyear.”

There was nothing for it but to go, though he felt as if his boots were weighted down with lead shot. He should have had some notice, some greater amount of time to prepare. To say good-bye.

When he reached the gunroom, Angus Pinkerton was just coming out of Kent’s cuddy.

“How is she?”

“Quiet, sir. But weak. Too weak.” He shook his head. “I reckoned I’d make a posset to see if I can strengthen young Kent up.”

“Yes, you do that, Pinkerton.”

“Thank you, sir, I will. But…” The old man hesitated. “Seeing how things is, I don’t rightly know what I ought to do with this.”

Pinkerton brought out from the fold of his coat a creased and sealed missive, and passed it carefully to Col. It was the letter Sally had written to her father before the battle. The one that she had asked him to see delivered.

If he had to go, if he had to leave her to the care of this ancient, grizzled mariner, not knowing what her fate might be, he would do her one last service.

“Are you a praying man, Pinky?”

“Of course.” The old tar smiled. “Me ’n Saint Peter been on speaking terms these fifty years.”

“Then I will ask you to do me the favor of interceding for her, Pinky.”

“I can do that, sir, if you’ll be so good as to safeguard that”—he pointed to the letter—“for me.”

“Consider it done, Pinky. I know just what I need to do.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Sally awoke and knew somehow she was in Gibraltar. She knew she had come to this place—this lovely airy room with fresh, clean linen on a wide bed—some days ago. And they had been kind, and called her Miss Kent, and given her tea, and bade her to sleep.

What happened before that was lost in a haze that was half dream and half memory. She remembered Col being gruff and unhappy, and ordering her about in that low, vehement tone of his. And Pinky tutting and fussing and making her drink the foulest concoctions. But she had been tired. So very, very tired.

And, she found, she was still as weak as a torn sail. Even rising up in the bed was exhausting.

“Good morning, miss.” A cheerfully plump woman bustled into the room with a vase of fresh wildflowers. “I didn’t know you was up. Why, you look a hundred times better today.”

Did she? Without a mirror, Sally had no idea what she looked like. But she said, “Thank you, ma’am,” because it was only polite, and she needed to be polite considering she hadn’t the devil of an idea to whom she was speaking. Or for how long she’d been imposing upon their hospitality.

“They’ll want to know you’re awake,” the cheerful woman assured her as she headed for the door. “And I’ll warrant you’ll be hungry.”

“And thirsty.” Sally’s throat felt as if it had been holystoned. “I thank you, yes.”

She fell back onto her pillows, stretched her achy muscles, and was trying to reckon out just where she could be when Captain McAlden walked into the room.

“Ah.
Miss
Kent. Good to see you improving.”

“Captain McAlden, sir,” she stammered, entirely unprepared to meet with her captain while in bed. And wearing a nightshirt.

Oh, devil take her now. She could feel her whole face flush with embarrassment. She hitched herself up to sitting.

“Please.” He held up a polite hand. “No need to rise, Miss Kent, though you can’t know how it pleases me to see you awake and lucid.”

Miss Kent. Clearly, she was found out. It only remained to know if she was disgraced as well. “I take it,” she began cautiously, “we are in Gibraltar.”

Captain McAlden nodded. “
Audacious
made port three days ago, and I made free to have you brought here, to the home of a friend, Mr. Harvey, and his family. You may stay as long as you like, until you are recovered. They are happy to have you, and quite discreet. You needn’t worry that there will be any awkward questions.”

“Thank you, sir. But then I’m afraid I’ll have to be the one with the awkward questions. What’s to become of me? What
has
become of me as Richard Kent?”

“Sensible of you to ask. The world knows that Richard Kent was grievously injured in the Battle at Trafalgar, and, as a lifelong friend to your father—as is Mr. Harvey, in whose house we are guests—I thought it best to bring you here, to recover.”

Her gloomy outlook brightened. “So I am still Richard, and I may become Richard again, when I am recovered?”

“No, Miss Kent. I fear that would be impossible. As a friend to your father, I simply can’t allow it any longer.” He tried to put paid to her ambitions, but his last admission was telling.

“Any longer?”

“It may surprise you to know, as it did your friend Mr. Colyear, that I make it my business to know exactly what goes on in my ships. At all times. From the moment a new crew member comes aboard, Miss Kent, and speaks warmly of her family traditions.”

Devil take her. She didn’t think her face could get any hotter, but still it heated by several degrees until she was sure she was as bright as a winter orange. “I see.”

“Yes, well.” Her captain was none too comfortable himself, tugging at his cravat as if his steward had tied it too tight. “I wish to the devil that I had seen things as clearly at the start. At the time, I didn’t see the harm. You were eager and spectacularly able. I had need of you. To put you off would have put me in arrears of my schedule. And quite frankly, I wasn’t sure if your father was playing a joke on me, or I on him. Either way, I regret it. I will admit that my ambitions got the better of me. You cannot know how deeply I regret it. I should have put you off from the first.”