Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (6 page)

“A bit disoriented?” said Emily, shaking his hand. “I am sorry for that. How do you do, sir?”

Leander slipped through the curtain and stood quietly next to Fly just as James asked, “And how are your injuries tonight?”

“Much as they were last night, sir.”

“Leander assures me you will make a full recovery.”

“I am very thankful to Dr. Braden,” she said, keeping her eyes on the captain, who pulled up a nearby stool and dropped down heavily upon it.

“You were on the American frigate, the
Serendipity.
”

“I was.”

“How long were you their … guest?”

Emily gave a wry smile. “I was their prisoner, sir.”

James cleared his throat. “Their prisoner, then.”

“I cannot say for certain … three weeks, maybe four.”

“Were you mistreated?”

Emily’s voice went icy. “Yes. Every day.”

Avoiding her eyes, James pressed on. “How was it you managed to escape?”

“I jumped out the stern windows, which you conveniently blew out with your cannon fire.”

Emily saw a flicker of amusement cross Fly’s face. Her eyes drifted to Leander, who stood watching her, one fist held to his lips. For a moment his blue eyes locked with hers.

“Were you shot before or after you jumped?”

“After, sir.”

“Any idea who was it that pulled the trigger?”

“I believe his name was Mr. Clive.”

James shifted on his stool. “You are a British subject?”

“I am.”

“And your home?”

“Dorset, sir.”

“Your father’s name?”

“My father died three years ago.”

“His name?”

Emily was slow in answering. “Henry … Henry George, sir.”

James paused in his questioning, his eyes narrowing as if he were running the name
Henry George
through his mind. Finally, he asked, “His occupation?”

“He was a farmer.”

“A farmer,” echoed James flatly. He took a deep breath. “And your mother?”

Emily’s lips disappeared into a thin line. “She died when I was very young. I do not remember her at all.”

“But you
do
remember her name?”

“Yes, of course. It was Louisa.”

“Do you have any other family?”

“No … sir.”

James studied her, a small frown playing between his brows. “How old are you, young lady?”

“Eighteen, sir.”

“Did you ever hear tell of any Englishmen on the
Serendipity?
”

“I was locked in the captain’s quarters and never once allowed beyond their confines. I was neither acquainted with the crew, nor those that Captain Trevelyan kept in his gaol.”

James glanced up sharply. “Trevelyan?”

“Yes, sir.”

The colour drained from James’s face and there was a slight waver in his voice. “Captain
Thomas
Trevelyan?”

“That was his name.”

“Did you … did you … at any time overhear the extent and nature of
his
war orders?”

“No, but I suspect they were comparable to yours, Captain Moreland: to sink or take a prize all enemy ships along the Atlantic coast.”

The men exchanged glances, then regarded Emily with expressions of curiosity.

James’s left leg bounced up and down as he resumed his questioning. “How was it you came to be Trevelyan’s prisoner?”

Emily hesitated. She lowered her glance, and stared at the bandages on her hands.

“I would appreciate your answer before sunrise.”

“Sir … please … I do not want … I do not wish to speak of that morning.”

“Very well, then,” James said unhappily. “Was there anyone else, besides yourself, taken prisoner?”

Emily’s lips quivered, her eyes still on her hands.

James inhaled in exasperation.

“May I, sir?” asked Fly. James settled back on his stool and gave Fly his assent with a wave of his hand. Quietly, Fly tried a different tack. “I assume it was Trevelyan who attacked your ship, Emily.”

She nodded.

“What kind of ship were you on?”

“I’m not certain.”

“A large ship-of-the-line? A frigate? A merchant vessel, perhaps?”

“I am guessing … it was most likely a merchant ship, Mr. Austen.”

“Bound for … ?”

Emily looked up suddenly, and tossed her head, as if trying to recapture her previous confidence. “Upper Canada.”

“What was this merchantman carrying?”

“Besides human beings? I do not know.”

“Guns … soldiers … food supplies?”

Emily shrugged helplessly.

“With whom were you travelling?”

“Companions.”

“Companions? And did your companions have names?”

“Does it
really
matter, Mr. Austen?” challenged Emily. “Surely their names are of no consequence to you.”

Angered, James rose from his stool. “That is for
me
to decide.” He studied her a moment. “Was this merchantman of yours conducting some sort of reconnaissance mission?”

“How would I know?” Emily snapped, adding with sarcasm, “Perhaps her hold was crammed with crates of gold.”

James’s voice rose in response to her impertinence. “There must have been
some
reason why Trevelyan attacked your ship?”

“My guess is … he attacked it for no other reason than the British colours flew from her topgallants.”

“What was the name of your ship?”

Emily turned towards the darkening sea beyond the open gunport. “I – I don’t remember.”

“
That
I find hard to believe,” muttered James harshly.

“Sir, as passage was booked for me, I did not concern myself with the ship’s name.”

James drew nearer to her cot. “Would you perhaps remember the name of this unknown ship’s captain? Surely you were acquainted with him. If you could provide me with
this
detail, I may then be able to deduce – ”

At that moment, Leander placed his hand gently on James’s shoulder and said, “Sir, I think we best allow Emily more rest.”

James rubbed his eyes, causing the baggy bits to redden. “For God’s sake, might we at least know who you
really
are and why you were on a British merchant vessel?”

“Sir, I have told you,” Emily said in a tone that pushed the boundaries of civility. “I am from Dorset. My parents’ names were Henry and Louisa George. They are now both deceased. My father was once a farmer. I was on – what I believe was – a merchant ship. We were bound for Upper Canada. If I have displeased you, I am sorry, but I do
not
know Trevelyan’s reasons for attacking my ship,
or
why I was taken prisoner.”

James gave Emily a cold stare. “I find it hard to believe, young lady, that
you
are the daughter of a Dorset farmer.” He threw aside the curtain and stalked out.

With frustration etched on his face, Fly followed, shooting a glance at Leander and mumbling, “We have learned
nothing
at all of importance.”

From their hammocks, the sailors – those who were conscious – followed with interest the captain and the commander as the two of them marched across the hospital room and stomped up the ladder.

“Doctor,” Mr. Crump called out, “I swear this be more excitin’ than doin’ battle with thee French. It does wonders to ease thee pain of losin’ me leg.”

“Aye,” said the sailor swinging next to him, “a bit o’ melodrama makes me not mind missin’ out on me can o’ grog, bein’ in here.”

The wounded sailors craned their necks in an effort to see the patient lying in the cot beyond the canvas. Leander studied the two of them over his spectacles with consternation and heard them grumble their disappointment when he yanked shut the crack in the curtain.

* * *

EMILY SENSED LEANDER standing next to her cot long before he spoke. “I would like to re-dress your wound when you’re feeling up to it.”

“Now is as good a time as any,” she said despondently, turning over so he could reach her bandages. Slowly, his skilled hands removed her soiled dressings and cleaned away the blood and ooze. She closed her eyes to the warmth of his freckled hands on her skin and listened to the
Isabelle
as she cut through the roiling waves, almost forgetting the searing pain where the ball had entered her body.

“If I’d been left in the sea yesterday, Doctor, I would not have minded.”

Leander gazed at her long hair, the golden waves spread across the white blankets of her bed reminding him of a field of wheat.

“Well, perhaps you have a great deal more living to do.”

She said nothing more until he had finished applying fresh bandages.

“May I speak plainly … as patient to doctor?” She rolled over to look up at him. Leander peeled off his spectacles and placed them in the top pocket of his black apron. “Is there any reason … any reason at all why I must tell you every last detail about myself?”

Surprise registered on his handsome face. He lowered himself upon the stool that the captain had earlier occupied and pulled it closer to her cot.

“Not unless you’re a spy for President Madison or you’re working for Napoleon himself.”

“I assure you I am neither, Doctor.”

“And your presence on the
Isabelle
will, in no way, harm the crew.”

“I cannot think how it could.”

“If you could recall the name of your ship or its captain, it would certainly assist Captain Moreland.”

She met his gaze steadily.

“Otherwise, you may keep your history to yourself.” He rose to leave, then paused by the curtain. “But you should know this: Captain Moreland plans to put you ashore the moment we arrive in Halifax harbour. And if that is not agreeable to you, you must decide how you will answer him.”

3

Thursday, June 3

11:00 a.m.

(Forenoon Watch, Six Bells)

ALMOST TWO DAYS after her encounter with the USS
Serendipity
, the
Isabelle
dropped anchor in the deep waters off Ireland Island, Bermuda, alongside a privateer with a blood-red hull, three merchant ships, and one British ship-of-the-line called the
Amethyst
. The winds and tides had been in Captain Moreland’s favour, and his crew had easily steered clear of the dangerous reefs that surrounded the Bermuda Islands. In the past, many ships had not been as lucky; they had been ripped open on the shoals and sunk in the turquoise waters. Under the sunny Bermudian sky, their wooden skeletons could be seen rotting in the sand, constant reminders to passing sailors of their fate should their course not be accurate.

Once the
Isabelle’s
crew had been fed their breakfast, they fell to work on the repairs that could not be achieved at sea. For a few hours now, the sounds of hammering and good cheer had reverberated around the ship as it bobbed gently on the clear waters.

“Sir, what about a new figurehead?” asked Mr. Alexander as Captain Moreland, in the company of Octavius Lindsay, surveyed the ongoing repairs to the ship’s waist. “Shall I ask Morgan Evans to carve you a new one?”

“I think not, Mr. Alexander. There isn’t time for fixing a new one, and besides, I find them rather ostentatious and outdated. Just smooth out the sides where our figurehead once rested.”

“What about painting, sir? The ship needs painting,” insisted Octavius.

“I thought you were in a hurry to see Halifax, Mr. Lindsay. Painting will only further delay us.”

“But, sir, we don’t want the Americans to think our navy is old and inferior.”

“But, Mr. Lindsay, we are old and rapidly becoming inferior.”

“With all respect, I never expected to hear you say such a thing.”

“Mr. Lindsay, we’ve lost more sea battles and men in this new war than I care to count. Too many years of war are taking their toll. If we’re not quick and attentive, the
Serendipity
will come upon us again and this time there will be
no
retreating.”

“What would Lord Nelson have said, sir, if he’d heard you utter such defeatist words?”

“Young man,” said James, inspecting his new mizzenmast, “Nelson has been gone for eight years.”