On a Lee Shore (15 page)

“Four years ago now, and no closer to solving the problem as far as I can see. Twenty thousand and worth every penny.” Griffin shook his head. “The lives that have been lost. The ships.”

Kit looked up at the sky where the moon was putting the brighter stars to shame and tried not to think of the Isabella and her less fortunate sisters, driven before the storm. Or the Malvern, come to that. “It’s a prize worth going for even without the money,” he said. “What do you think will turn the trick? I have spoken to officers who have high hopes of lunar tables.”

“The solution will be mathematical,” Griffin said. “A reliable time piece…”

“Oh surely not,” Kit scoffed. “Heat and cold, damp, hard wear, a clock wouldn’t serve. I think we should put our faith in the stars and trigonometry. We just need some incredible brain to work out the formula.”

“Nevertheless, Kit,” Griffin said with a chuckle. “I’m prepared to put money on the solution being mechanical rather than geometrical. What say—five guineas?”

“Done,” Kit offered his hand. “And if it’s not solved in our lifetimes, I’ll pay you in ambrosia in the next.”

Griffin shook his hand. “In the unlikely event we both make it to heaven, done. Failing that I’ll…interpose myself between you and the devil’s bo’sun’s starter.”

“A very generous stake,” Kit said, following as Griffin returned to the cabin.

There the captain poured more drink, though Kit had barely touched his and asked a question about the war in the Mediterranean that Kit was barely able to answer. “The Windsor was on blockade duty most of the time,” he explained. “I rarely had any idea what was going on. It was my first proper ship, so I was still missing my mother and trying not to annoy too many people.”

“How old were you?” Griffin asked.

“When I joined the Windsor? Twelve, almost thirteen,” Kit said. “But I already had my sights set on being an admiral.” He took a sip of the brandy and set the glass down with care for the slender stem. “And did you wish to be a General?” he asked with a smile.

Griffin was slow answering. He drained his glass in a long, slow swallow and reached for the bottle. “Yes,” he said as he watched the deep amber liquid pool in his glass. “I had ambition. I was able to buy a commission after I left Cambridge.”

“I was told you were an Oxford man,” Kit said. “But I suppose…”

Griffin waved a hand. “Same difference to the uninitiated. It was Cambridge. I learned what interested me but had no calling for the priesthood, so the army seemed a good second choice. And mathematics and artillery go together. I found I had a talent for organization. Men will love a commander who sees they are well housed and provisioned. Well-fed men are able to march farther and fight harder. There was a lot of fighting—Ramillies, Malplaquet—and I lost commanding officers regularly until I achieved the rank of major.”

“Good grief, you saw some action!” Kit stared. He picked up his glass again. “I’ve never fought on land. I assume it’s very—different.”

“Oh yes,” Griffin said. “More than you can probably imagine. It seems faster. Ships move more slowly in relation to each other. You maneuver and position and finally strike. It’s only at close quarters that you have that mad rush where one loses track of who is doing what and where. On land that can happen at any time. A little mist, an unexpected valley. At sea it’s very hard to take anyone by surprise.”

“You managed that very effectively with the Hypatia,” Kit pointed out. “You took us all by surprise.”

“Not all of you,” Griffin replied. “We had an ally in a trusted, able seaman who was able to persuade the officer of the watch that he could manage alone, and who signaled us that it was safe to move in. We were running without lights, so all I had to worry about was the Garnet veering off course and colliding with us.”

This was dangerous ground. Kit found himself tensing as he remembered the puff of white smoke from the Africa and Vargas’s shattered body. He bit down a comment that would have ended the conversation abruptly. “How on earth did a Major of Artillery end up captaining a pirate vessel?”

Griffin’s expression took on that calm coldness that Kit had seen leveled at him so many times before. “Sheer bloody bad luck,” he said. “With a generous helping hand from His Catholic Majesty’s Navy and an even bigger one from our own Royal Navy, the bastards. Kit—it’s a subject I would sooner avoid, and if you press me we will fall out. Tell me instead about your family. Do you have anyone waiting at home for you? A wife? A sweetheart? You mentioned your mother?”

Kit hesitated then shook his head to rid himself of an odd sense of déjà vu. “Oh no. No encumbrances. And Mother died five years ago,” he added sadly because he had loved her dearly even though his trips home had been rare. “I have a younger brother, but he’s in the service of the East India Company and is doing well. So, no—there’s nobody waiting for me—other than perhaps my godfather.” He stared into the darkness beyond the window and his lips quirked into a little smile. “He would be so furious if I turned pirate.”

“Your godfather? Then by all means he must never find out.” Griffin raised his glass. “Here’s to him. Does this godfather have a name?”

Kit raised his glass as well—he had drunk more than he had thought. “Why yes,” he said. “Here’s to Sir William Charles Tregarne, ex-Rear Admiral of the Blue and advisor to the Navy Office.”

“Admiral Tregarne?” Griffin began to chuckle. “Oh Kit, you’re more of an asset than you know.”

“Hardly an asset, I would have thought,” Kit said with a wry smile. “Sir William has boatloads of godsons, mostly sons of crew members. My father was just one such, but my mother was a very good friend of Sir William’s wife, and we always lived close to them. My father was killed in the same action that cost Sir William his leg and caused his retirement, so Sir William did what he could for us. He arranged for me to get my Letter and, when Charles was old enough, found a good safe billet for him as well. Of the two of us, Charles is far more likely to make his fortune.”

“One in the service and one in trade,” Griffin said. He had been drinking steadily and his color had risen, but his speech was still clear. “One to bring in the gold and the other to bring in the glory.”

“Plenty of opportunity for glory with John Company,” Kit said. “The pirates are almost as bad in the Indian Ocean as they are here.”

“Hah!” Griffin topped up Kit’s glass again. “And you keep sorry company now,” he pointed out. “But then you have had bad luck with your captains.”

“Not until recently,” Kit said and flushed as he realized how that sounded. “Captain Dorling of the Hypatia,” he added, “was not a seaman and cut his expenses to the bone. Given another five men and a free hand at the helm, I could have shown you and the Garnet a clean pair of heels.”

Kit thought the challenge a neat way of changing the subject, but Griffin refused to rise to it.

“And before that, there was the Malvern?”

Kit had picked up his glass but set it down again. “I’m sorry, sir, as you said earlier, we all have subjects we would sooner avoid. If you will excuse me—”

“No, Kit,” Griffin growled. “Subjects are like—like sandbanks. You need to sound them regularly because they can shift in alarming and unexpected ways. You can’t spend the rest of your life jumping like a goosed bar wench every time you hear the name.”

Kit drew breath to point out that the captain had been very reticent about his transition from soldier to sailor, but Griffin continued before he could speak.

“As even a reluctant crew member you are now in my care. Moreover, you are of a rank, unofficially, that will give you a measure of control over the ship should I be incapacitated. Therefore, your welfare is the ship’s welfare and thus of great concern to me.”

“Amazing,” Kit said. “That was almost an algebraic formula for managing junior officers. You should patent it with the admiralty and make your fortune.”

They glared at each other for a moment.

“If you try to walk out that door,” Griffin growled, “I’ll knock you down and sit on you. Just answer the bloody question, boy. It surely can’t have been that bad?”

“As I said, sir,” Kit’s voice was shaking with the effort of remaining polite. “It’s old news, over and done with, and I would sooner not discuss it.”

“Which aspect of it?” Griffin demanded. “The loss of your ship, which I would understand and for which I have great sympathy? Or the sodomy? Oh Kit! I see it’s the latter. What a fuss about nothing.”

“Nothing!” Kit was on his feet, fists clenched. “How…how dare…nothing? Those children on the ship! Good God, man—”

“Stop babbling, Kit,” Griffin said. “I’m giving you a big chance here to tell your story truthfully. I’ve already heard two other versions, neither of which put you in a good light.”

“What?” Kit sank back down onto the chest. He had spent so long trying to forget about the Malvern, he had assumed that the subject would be as distasteful to everyone else. “What have you heard?”

“I’m not telling you,” Griffin said coldly. “One chance, Kit. Come clean, here and now, and that will be an end to it. Otherwise, I’ll go on assuming the worse.” His voice trailed off and his lips thinned. “Tell me what happened. Plain, unvarnished truth.”

“Truth?” Kit glared at him. “The captain of the Malvern requested my transfer to his ship. It wasn’t a happy ship, but I did not understand the way of it until I was alone with him one day and he—he touched me. Intimately. And made some accusations about my relationship with the younger officers, and I realized that he…”

“Had been buggering the lower orders. Let’s have it out in the open. Had you?”

“No! Of course not.” Kit’s anger had given way to horror. “Who has been spreading such foul lies? Tell me. I’ll cut his heart out.”

“Some might consider that you’re protesting too much, but I think I detect honest confusion.” Griffin hadn’t taken his eyes off Kit’s. “So you challenged Gasson to his face and threatened to have him up before the court martial. They’d have hanged him, of course.”

“Livesy was thirteen,” Kit said. “Hollick was older but had been on the ship for a couple of years. There were some among the hands too. None had been given any choice in the matter. Of course the man should have hanged. He must have been mad. That’s the only explanation of why he tried his games with me.”

“Oh that’s easy, Kit,” Griffin smiled. “As I’ve told you before, you’re handsome and clean and unspoiled and a challenge. For some that’s an irresistible combination on its own, but you—what was the description I heard? He’s a shy, sly, creeping little fellow who won’t admit what he wants but sneaks looks when nobody’s looking…or when he thinks nobody’s looking.”

“That’s not true.” Kit’s heart had sped up until he was certain Griffin would be able to see the beat of it in his chest. “No, that is not true.”

Griffin shushed him and shook his head, his expression sympathetic. “I wasn’t sure until tonight when I changed my clothes. You might lie to yourself Kit, but you can’t lie to me. I saw the color move under your skin, saw how you lingered over lighting the candles, saw the little glimpses you took and how you closed your eyes and knotted your brows. You took too much care, Kit. Another man to whom it meant nothing would have faced me and talked to me while I changed. Not turned his shoulder and looked at my reflection in the window.”

Kit found his breath coming short. “No. You are mistaken.” He got up again. “I am an officer of His Majesty’s Navy. When the opportunity comes, I will take my place on another warship where I will be a credit to my godfather and sponsor, Sir William Tregarne. I can do none of that,” he spat, “if I’m a criminal. So, no. I am not that.” Fists clenched and jaw set, Kit had taken a step toward Griffin. “I don’t care what you think. I am not.”

Griffin wasted no time in arguing. He stood, one hand gripping and twisting the neck of Kit’s shirt and the other taking a fistful of his hair. Kit went rigid with shock as their mouths met. He had never imagined what it would really be like to be kissed like this—the softness of lips contrasting with the scrape of mustaches and the harsh hardness of teeth. Kit gave a broken gasp at the flicker of a tongue against his lips. With a groan he opened his mouth. Griffin tasted of brandy and heat. The feel of him, hard against Kit’s betraying body, was so good, the kiss demanding yet sweet. It was the most marvelous thing that had ever happened. His hands opened and were on Griffin’s back holding him close, closer, as Kit began to kiss him back and—suddenly, it was the worst thing. Far worse than Gasson’s shameful attempt at intimacy, because that had been vile and hateful but this…this wasn’t. Kit couldn’t bear that.

He burst out of the captain’s cabin, scalp stinging and shirt gaping where he had torn himself free, and stormed up onto the deck. Two of the crew were sitting by the tiller, sharing a bottle and murmuring quietly to each other. Lewis and Protheroe, their heads close together, looked up, and Protheroe smiled as though he was about to speak. Kit flung himself at the ratlines and swarmed up them as far as he could go, hating the thought that they must have heard his final exchange with their captain.

“But you can’t run away,” Griffin had said, his grasp on shirt and hair still tight. “Not from this. Ignoring it will only make you unhappy. Admit it, Kit. I do. They are harsh names, certainly, but better than the alternative.”

“What?” Kit had gasped. “Sodomite?”

“Better that than hypocrite.” Griffin had smiled.

“I’m not like you.” Kit groaned as he remembered and ached for that kiss. The strength of Griffin, the powerful grip of his hands. “I swear it. I’m not. I don’t want you. I don’t.”

Chapter Nine

Few secrets could be kept on a small sailing ship packed with a crew who, for the most part, had little to do but gossip. Especially if the secret had been shouted aloud within earshot of two garrulous Welshmen.

“Funniest thing I ever saw,” Protheroe said to his messmates. “Damn me if it wasn’t. Our Kit was up that mast like a treed cat. Only came down because he needed to piss and didn’t think he’d make the side from the masthead.”