Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (54 page)

Through an open gunport, she could see her uncle’s ship, its sails furled, its myriad pennants – including the flag of the Duke of Clarence – flapping in the Bermuda breeze from the highest points on its three masts. In the clear turquoise waters around it lay anchored a flotilla of smaller ships, and beyond, the grey rocks and dark green wind-swept shrubbery of Ireland Island. She took in great gulps of sea air, then glanced around Captain Prickett’s cabin, where she had taken up a pleasant residency for the past week – at least during the hours when she was not found in the forepeak, supplying food and affection to its one precious occupant who, with each passing day, grew stronger under her watchful eye.

Full of regret and trepidation, she left the great cabin and made her way towards the break in the larboard rail where a row of men had formed, like a receiving line at a ball, to speak their parting words to her before she was taken the short distance across the harbour to her uncle’s waiting ship. Hundreds of heads swivelled the moment she was spotted crossing the quarterdeck, the men stopping in their tracks to mark her steps, some of them raising their hats to her, some bestowing a naval salute. By now she was accustomed to their eager displays of curiosity and felt such goodwill towards each and every one of them – regardless of whether he was a true compatriot or had been born on this side of the Atlantic – that she wished they could all return to England with her.

Amazed that her wobbly knees were able to carry her, she walked slowly, acknowledging as many as she could, so pleased whenever she recognized a face she had once known upon the
Isabelle.
There was Osmund Brockley, Lewis McGilp, Jacko, Mr. Stewart, the red-haired midshipman, and Maggot and Weevil – all of them beaming their biggest smiles. Prosper Burgo was there too, his arm still draped around a complacent Meg Kettle, which astounded Emily, for the man had now been acquainted with “thee affable lady” for a full week. Emily had hoped that – somewhere in the crowd – she might see Mr. Crump, Mr. Harding, Bailey Beck, Bun Brodie, Captain Moreland, and even Octavius Lindsay, but she never did.

Arriving at the place where she was to descend to the
Amethyst’s
launch, Emily found two sailors strapping Gus Walby and his splints into the bosun’s chair. He alone would be making the journey with her. The thought of his dear company in the weeks ahead had sustained her during the darker moments of the past few days. At the rail stood the forlorn figure of Magpie, watching Gus as he was lowered to the rocking launch. Overwhelmed by the woeful scene, Emily turned away from it to address the waiting men.

Biscuit stood at the nearest end of the farewell procession. He placed a paper bundle in her hands and winked his straight eye at her. “I baked ’em fresh this mornin’. Ya won’t find nothin’ like ’em on thee admiral’s ship.”

“Thank you, Biscuit. Thank you for everything.”

He bowed low and clumsily before her, and upon straightening himself up, said, “Stay well, lass.”

Beside the Scottish cook, shifting from one foot to another, was Morgan Evans, a new knitted hat sitting at a jaunty angle upon his head. “Mr. Evans,” Emily said, fighting to compose her voice as she extended her hand to him, “I am so glad we were able to rewrite that letter to your sisters. Have you passed it off to the mail boat?”

“I have, m’am.”

“I hope you will soon see your family again.”

“I hope so too. And don’t worry,” he said, his cheeks reddening, “I’ll look out for Dr. Braden and Magpie for you.”

“I will be forever grateful. And thank you … thank you for pulling me from the sea – twice.”

“It was my pleasure. You … well … you brightened up our simple lives,” he stammered, quickly adding, “Mr. George … sir.”

Emily gave Morgan a warmhearted smile, then, proceeding down the line, gazed up at Fly Austen. Like Biscuit, he too had a gift for her.

“I received a packet of mail when your uncle’s ships dropped anchor and was delighted to find amongst the letters a new offering from my sister, Jane. It’s called
Pride and Prejudice.
As there is still a war to fight and I will soon be given another ship to command, I thought
you
might like to read it. I hope it will entertain you as well as her first novel did.” He handed her the black, calf-leathered, gilt-banded volumes.

“Thank you, Mr. Austen. I doubt I shall like it as well as
Sense and Sensibility,”
she said with a reflective smile, “but I can assure you I will look forward to reading it.”

Fly nodded. “Good! And have you Captain Moreland’s letter with you?”

“I do. Rest easy that I will guard it with my life, and that – once back in London – I will make certain it falls into the right hands.”

“Godspeed, Emily.”

“And you too, sir.”

Emily took a deep breath and looked towards Magpie.

“I don’t know if I kin stand it,” said the little sail maker, struggling to withhold his tears. “Gus were the best friend I ever had.”

Emily sank to her knees before him and took one of his hands in hers. “And he will want you to stay strong so that you can look after Dr. Braden for us. But cheer up! I will tell the Duke that you send your regards and remember well the kindness he and Mrs. Jordan once showed you long ago at Bushy House.”

Magpie made an effort to return her smile. “I wish I could go too. I – I just can’t bear bein’ parted from ya, Em.” His dark eye glistened like a star. “Why … yer like a mum to me.”

Emily squeezed his soot-stained fingers.

“Will ya promise me one thing, Em?”

“What is that, Magpie?”

“When ya come back to find Dr. Braden, you’ll come lookin’ fer me too.”

“I promise,” she said, planting a kiss below his eye patch, but so overcome with emotion she could barely stand again.

Leander was the last one waiting for her. He appeared agitated and embarrassed, like a young lad who has arrived at a birthday party without a present. He was dressed in an open-collared shirt and dusky-blue breeches that looked well on his tall, slim frame, and his complexion was suffused with high, healthy colour. Emily was barely aware that Fly, Morgan, and Biscuit had wandered away, taking Magpie with them.

“You
will
come back to me, Emily?” Leander asked, his eyes darting over the planks of the deck at his feet.

“I will, as soon as I can,” she said brightly, hoping to gain his dear glance.

“You won’t forget this poor doctor on the seas?”

She laughed. “How could I forget the man that introduced me to rum and laudanum? But you … you may soon forget what I look like.”

Leander shook his head. Assuming an air of mischief, he slowly pulled the miniature of Emeline Louisa from his coat pocket.

Emily gasped. “Ahh! How … ?”

“On that last day … just before your marriage ceremony… I was summoned to Trevelyan’s cabin to take a cup of tea with him and Mr. Humphreys. As Trevelyan’s thoughts were naturally engaged elsewhere, I took the opportunity to take back what is rightfully yours.” He held the miniature out to her, then – with a grin – snatched it back again. “However, unless you put up a monstrous protest, I have no intention of returning it to you … not just yet.”

“You will let Magpie know you have it.”

“He already knows. We have agreed to share it.”

They laughed and smiled at each other, but soon, knowing they had an audience, fell into an awkward silence. Above their heads, the sun blazed brighter, and around them, the world seemed to suddenly stir to life. Calls, commands, bells, and laughter drifted into their consciousness, like an unwelcome cue that their time together was drawing to a close. At last, Leander inhaled and said, “Good-bye, dear Emily.”

“But, Doctor, this is
not
our last good-bye. My ship is set to sail at sunrise. Watch for me. I’ll wave to you from the mizzen crosstrees.”

“Not the crosstrees, Emily. I’ll be sick with worry that you’ll fall. Just to the platform, please? And make certain someone is standing ready to catch you, should you falter.” Leander seized her hand and held it to his heart, the simple gesture raising a roar of approval from the onlookers, their applause and stomping feet shaking the ship’s timbers beneath Emily’s toes. Then, without warning, Leander pulled her to him and his lips found her mouth, lingering there until, in a choked whisper, he said, “I’ll be waiting, watching every sail on the horizon, for your return.”

Her eyes were so full of tears she could barely see him, but she nodded and gave him a fierce hug. “As will I, Doctor.” Releasing him was the hardest thing she had ever done. With a final wave to everyone, and a last look at Leander, she turned away to face her next journey.

18

Saturday, July 3

6:00 a.m.

(Morning Watch, Four Bells)

Bermuda Harbour

SITTING CROSS-LEGGED on the mizzen platform of her uncle’s ship, having successfully scrounged a pair of trousers for her climb, Emily narrowed her eyes in anticipation as they neared the anchored
Amethyst
in the Bermuda harbour. She scanned the aft decks, hoping Leander would remember, her heart drumming so loudly she was quite certain she could beat the men to quarters. The early morning winds whipped her untethered curls around her face, the rays of the rising sun highlighting their pale-gold colour. Above and around her the creamy yards of the mizzen sails rippled and snapped as if in secret communication with those on the main and fore masts. Far below her, the ship’s bell rang four times, and the crew moved about swiftly, with purpose, as they always did when leaving port. For a second, Emily could not recall if she was on the
Amelia
, or the
Isabelle,
or the
Serendipity,
or her uncle’s ship. From her lofty perch, the soaring masts, the sails, the weather decks, and the men all looked the same. It was her memories that were so different.

Another round of tears threatened to make their unwanted appearance. Emily squeezed her eyes shut to thwart them and dreamed she was back on the
Isabelle.
In her mind she could picture it: Mr. Crump was squawking like a squirrel over the inconvenience of his stump, and lambasting Osmund Brockley for slopping the fetid contents of the chamber pot upon his blanket; from his swinging hammock, Morgan was gazing shyly upon her, distracted only by the chirping Biscuit who was carrying on about the wonders of his sea biscuits; sunshine was pouring in through the open gunport beside her cot, and she was enjoying its warmth as Gus sat upon the three-legged stool, reading passages of
Sense and Sensibility
with careful diction; near the hospital entrance, little Magpie was stamping about like a spirited colt as he waited his turn to visit her; and Leander was writing in his medical journal, occasionally casting his blue eyes in her direction as if to make certain she was still there.

As the poignant images faded away, Emily opened her eyes.
He
was standing there now, alone at the taffrail, the beam of his smile evident across the distance, his right arm raised and waving frantically in farewell.

Afterword

Most of the characters in
Come Looking for Me
are fictional, but several require a word of explanation.

HENRY, DUKE OF WESSEX: George III had a large family. Six daughters and seven sons lived to adulthood, including his eldest son, George, the Prince Regent (later George IV), and his third son, William, the Duke of Clarence (later William IV), both mentioned in
Come Looking for Me
. The two youngest sons of George III, Octavius and Alfred, died when very young. The character of Henry and the title I bestowed upon him, “Duke of Wessex,” are both fictitious. George III did not have a son named Henry, but even if he had, Henry would not have been given the title of Wessex. In creating the fictitious father of Emily, I initially considered an “if only he had lived” scenario with Prince Alfred, but as his date of birth would have made it impossible for him to have fathered Emily, I chose instead to take literary licence and imagine a son that never was. I gave him the name of Henry as it is a popular name among the royal family, and I borrowed Wessex from the present Earl of Wessex, Queen Elizabeth’s son Edward. I imagined Henry to have been born between the Duke of Cumberland and the Duke of Sussex, as Queen Charlotte – who was pregnant most years of her early marriage – had a window of child-bearing opportunity between these two sons.

FLY AUSTEN: The novelist Jane Austen had two seafaring brothers, Francis and the younger Charles. Francis in particular had a most distinguished naval career. Many of the personal details I ascribed to the fictitious Fly are true to the real Francis Austen. For example, his nickname was “Fly,” his eyes were described as being “alert,” and he did – to his great disappointment – miss seeing action at Trafalgar. Still, I took literary licence with the character I ultimately created. Francis Austen did fight the Americans in the War of 1812, but not in the Atlantic, and not as the commander of a ship of seventy-four guns known as the
Isabelle;
in 1813, he had long since been promoted to captain. I do like to think, however, that the well-respected, intelligent, courageous, and humourous Fly Austen in
Come Looking for Me
is very similar to the man that once was.