Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (40 page)

Emily’s blood boiled. “It may also surprise you,
sir,
that I have never lived in a palace.”

His head rolled to one side. “Old King George never installed his son, Henry, and your poor mother in an apartment at the Queen’s House or St. James’s or Windsor Castle?”

“He did not.”

“Astounding!”

“And I am rather astounded that
you
are even acquainted with my father’s first name.”

Trevelyan leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, and rested his chin on his upturned hands. “I was once well acquainted with your father,
madam.
”

“Really? Were you a
servant
of his?”

Trevelyan mused a moment and his eyes wavered in recollection, but he did not dignify her question with a reply. He downed the rest of the red wine, and at length said, “I would have been quite happy to share the contents of this bottle with you.”

“It was easy to resist the temptation. You stole that wine from the
Isabelle.
”

He grinned. “I did! And no doubt Captain Moreland stole it from the hold of one of his French prizes, but as
he
has no further use for it, I hate to think of it going to waste.”

Emily’s pulse quickened. “What does that mean?”

“Oh! I forget. You know nothing of the
Isabelle’s
fate.”

“
You
forget. I was there when you ordered her burned.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s right, madam, I burned her to the waterline and her sorry hull is on the bottom of the Atlantic, in water so black and so deep no one will ever find her again.”

His words cut with all the force of a whip. She closed her eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath. “And … and what of her men?” With a throbbing heart, she watched Trevelyan push back his chair and rise to his feet. He grabbed a piece of ham, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed on it fiercely before turning to nod at Charlie and Beans, who immediately moved to clear the table. He then strode to the wall where he’d hung his rain cloak and sword, took only his weapon, and headed towards the cabin door.

“Mr. Clive, when you are done, take madam back to her
closet,
” he said, opening the door. Then he turned to Emily. “Your Captain Moreland was torn apart by our grapeshot. When I boarded his ship, it was my misfortune to find him dead in his cot, though bleeding still like a stuck pig.”

Emily covered her mouth to strangle her cry.

“For services rendered, we did
rescue
two of your Isabelles: one surly youth named Mr. Lindsay and a cow called Mrs. Kettle.”

Emily twisted in her seat to confront him, but could only whisper, “Is that it? Is that all?”

His eyes grew more distant as he gazed down at her, and there was a twitching in the flesh of his face. The door shut behind him, and Emily sat there in disbelief, her eyes shining with tears. Rain knocked upon the newly installed gallery windows at her back, and the ship’s bell clanged once, its resonance hurting her ears. Charlie and Beans said nothing as they tiptoed around her, removing the dishes and the remains of the supper. The still-warm aroma of meat and pastry and pudding tormented her.

After wiping her wet cheeks with a sleeve of Leander’s coat, she let her gaze fall on Trevelyan’s desk, the very one she had pushed in front of the door three weeks ago to bar entry to the
Serendipity’s
marines whilst she made her escape from out the blasted stern windows. There had been nothing atop his desk then. Now it held two gold-framed miniatures. The first was a painting of a young boy, perhaps eleven or twelve years old, with sandy hair and dark, merry eyes. The second one brought a lump to her throat. It was Magpie’s little painting of the daughter of Henry, Duke of Wessex – Emeline Louisa Georgina Marie.

Near Midnight

(First Watch)

THE FIRST KNOCK intruded upon Emily’s dreams of her childhood home in England, but did not wake her. The second was louder, more insistent. She lifted her head off her flat pillow and sleepily called out, “What is it?” Her cabin was as black as tar. She could see nothing, and when no one responded, her heart began to race.

Sitting upright, Emily listened to the wind whistling around the
Serendipity
, and to the shouts of the watchmen, which sounded like the cries of those lost at sea. Her cot was swinging more wildly than normal, and rain pounded on the timbers around her. Recollecting the happiness of her dream, she felt an oppressive sense of sadness. It had been ages since she had visited a place of sunshine and happiness in her dreams.

Once more she called out in the night, this time with fear in her voice. Still no one answered. After a few anxious minutes, Emily heard a swishing sound, as if someone had passed something under her door, and soon her cramped quarters became redolent with a mouth-watering aroma. By now used to finding her way around in complete darkness, she scrambled out of her cot and over the cold cannon, falling on her knees to crawl the remaining distance. Her groping hands discovered a wedge of pork pie wrapped in paper. In the darkness, she filled her mouth with the savoury pie, and only once she had food in her stomach did she pause again to listen. Someone was still standing on the other side of her door. She was certain of it. She sensed his presence, was certain even she heard his breathing. Lying flat on the clammy floorboards, she put her face near the gap under the door and whispered, “Charlie? Is it you, Charlie?”

Still nothing.

“Thank you.”

Somewhere beyond her cabin another door opened and Emily could hear muted voices approaching. In a flash, whoever had come to her with food, stole away.

13

Monday, June 21

Noon

(Forenoon Watch, Eight Bells)

Aboard the
Prosperous and Remarkable

THE MOMENT MAGPIE opened his one eye to the new day, he drew a sigh of relief. There, in the low cot next to him, nestled in the forepeak of Prosper Burgo’s brig, was Gus. His face was as wan as a morning moon, and his arms, resting on a plaid blanket, were bound in fresh splints, but Magpie could hear his even breathing, and was so happy he hadn’t died in the night and Prosper’s crew hadn’t had to heave his lifeless body over the side of the
Prosperous and Remarkable.
Peeling back his own blanket, Magpie got to his feet and went above deck in search of the commander, thinking it was only proper to thank him for all his kindness.

The day was dull and warm and a humid rain fell. Magpie trudged the unfamiliar flush-deck, pausing now and again to ask passing sailors if they knew the whereabouts of Captain Burgo. Finally, one of them pointed towards the bow.

“He often stands there, lookin’ fer fat merchantmen with holds o’ valuable cargo.”

The only ship Magpie had ever been on was the
Isabelle.
In comparison, Prosper’s brig was diminutive, and congested with clutter and livestock pens. Only two masts rose up over its small decks, on which fifty or so men roamed – not one of them dressed in a proper uniform – and he’d counted only fourteen guns in all. Inching his way fore, Magpie found himself distracted by the new sights and the curious, hardened faces of the crew. It was no surprise to Magpie that Prosper found him first, magically appearing before him when he hopped down from the fore rigging with his spyglass in hand. Setting his fox-like features in a frown, he scrutinized the fresh bandage on Magpie’s head. Being, among other things, the ship’s surgeon, Prosper himself had meticulously applied it the night before.

“’Bout time yas were roused, Magpie. Ya come on board, gulp down me vittles, tell me yarns about thee
Isabelle
and
Serendipity
and some wench named Em’ly, and then ya go sleepin’ right round thee watch. Do ya fancy I’m runnin’ a hostelry here?”

“No, sir, but I didn’t sleep too good in the skiff.”

Prosper turned and shouted, “Mr. Dunkin, ya scoundrel! Find our little friend here a raincoat o’ sorts.” To Magpie, he said, “Now don’t be callin’ me
Sir.
I prefers thee sound o’
Prosper.”

“But aren’t ya the captain?”

“I’m thee owner o’ this here brig!”

“But ya give the orders, don’t ya, sir?”

Prosper shrugged. “That I do! And I ’spect me men ta obey me. If they get foolhardy I pitch ’em overboard, or fix thumbscrews ta their sensitive parts, or I leave ’em on a deserted island where they starve ta death –
slowly.”

Magpie looked out upon the dreary seas and wondered if he’d be spending the rest of his life with Prosper Burgo. He didn’t like the sound of those thumbscrews! Reluctantly he followed Prosper down the deck, frightened by the red and purple veins that rose on the man’s face whenever he roared out his commands.

“There’s a wind come up, ya bunch o’ ruffians. Square away thee yards. You there! Clear out this pen. It reeks. You lubbers sittin’ on yer arses can move these barrels below and earn yer supper. Pemberton, ya galoot, bring me and Magpie here a mug o’ chocolate.” Prosper paused to take in air and assumed the ship’s wheel from Pemberton Baker.

“Have ya spotted any fat merchantmen, Mr. Prosper?” asked Magpie in a small voice.

“Nay! Plenty o’ fishin’ vessels, but there ain’t no merchantmen to be seen. I was hopin’ these warmer waters would be crawlin’ with ’em. Ya see, they’re all holed up in them northern harbours thanks ta yer Royal Navy, and it’s been kinda hard on me fortunes o’ late.”

“What will ya do when ya see one?”

“Why, I’ll give ’em chase, board ’em, cut up their crew, and seize their ship.”

“Yer a pirate, then?”

“Nay!” He lifted his stubbly chin to the wind. “Me
Prosperous and Remarkable’s
got a letter o’ marque.”

“What’s that?” asked Magpie, as the scoundrel named Mr. Dunkin helped him into a hooded poncho.

“It’s a piece o’ paper given ta me by me governor allowin’ me ta rob enemy ships at will.”

Magpie’s eye shot open. “Yer not Yankee, are ya, Mr. Prosper?”

“Yankee? I woulda strung ya up – and yer friend, despite his afflictions – if I be Yankee.”

Magpie’s hand flew to his throat.

“Nay! I’m from Quebec!” continued Prosper. “Born in thee Magdalen Islands, smack dab in thee mighty St. Lawrence.”

“I ain’t never heard o’ those places, Mr. Prosper.”

“Hmm! Guess I’ll have ta take ya there one day, but only after I’ve plundered a few fat merchantmen and kin afford ta rest fer a spell.”

“Where’re we now?”

“We’ll soon be raisin’ Charleston. Intelligence tells me there ain’t many o’ yer British ships blockadin’ these parts … and that Trevelyan’s
Serendipity’s
bin seen headin’ this way.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I gotta hankerin’ ta meet yer Em’ly.”

An icy ripple danced down Magpie’s spine. “Oh, Mr. Prosper, if Emily’s on the
Serendipity
– and I don’t know it fer sure, I’m only thinkin’ Trevelyan took her agin – ya wouldn’t think o’ hurtin’ her?”

Prosper turned his ruddy face to the sea and grinned from ear to ear. “Nay, me little man. I wouldna think o’ it.”

1:30 p.m.

(Afternoon Watch, Three Bells)

Aboard the USS
Serendipity

EMILY LOOKED UP from Jane Austen’s book, alerted by the heightened excitement on the quarterdeck beyond her door. The
Serendipity
was slowing down. For the past two hours she’d been engrossed in reading by lantern-light, positioned on the floor with her back leaning against the coolness of the cannon, and during that time she’d heard frequent calls to “heave the lead,” and replies that revealed the water depth was gradually diminishing. More recently, she’d heard orders for “all hands aloft” and “shorten sails” and “anchor down.”

Picking herself up off the floor, she tossed the book onto her pillow and struggled to open the gunport, the windy, rainy conditions having made it necessary to keep it closed until now. To her delight, the
Serendipity
was sitting broadside to a sizable town. Towering church steeples, terraced homes, impressive buildings, wharves, and warehouses materialized in the mists beyond a harbour full of ships. Emily raised herself up on the cannon’s carriage so she could stick her head farther out the port. The rain had stopped and the winds had died away. There was a mucky, marshy smell in the air, curiously mingling with the fragrance of flowers. In the harbour lay moored countless bobbing vessels: fishing boats, cutters, merchantmen, cruisers, frigates, sloops, brigs, barques – she couldn’t even put a name to them all – and in no time the
Serendipity
herself was moored in the shallower waters. Listening to the commotion as the men, amid much laughter, prepared to lower the boats, Emily discovered her own spirits lifting.