Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle (63 page)

And yet … the
Isabelle
, her crew, and Leander Braden had never felt so far away.

6

Monday, August 9

7:00 p.m.

(Second Dog Watch, Two Bells)

Aboard HMS Amethyst

As Fly Austen swept
into the great cabin, apologizing for his tardiness and having missed supper, Biscuit uncorked another bottle of Madeira and presented the latecomer with a glass, before refilling those belonging to Captain Prickett, Lord Bridlington, and Leander Braden.

“Ach, Mr. Austen, and ya missed one o’ me specialties tonight,” he chirped as Fly took his place at the round table, sampling his wine as he lowered himself into his chair.

“And what was it I missed, Biscuit?”

Biscuit’s odd eye rolled in his head, while he winked his normal one. “On a hint from the doctor, who told me ya was fanatical fer it, I cooked up a shank o’ fried goat!”

The men all laughed when Fly glared at Leander. “Had I received intelligence in advance of the delicacy you planned to serve us for our supper, I’d never have bothered to investigate the desertion of our men.”

Captain Prickett sat back leisurely in his chair, his wine glass propped up upon his prodigious belly. “And how many have we lost while sitting here in Halifax Harbour, Mr. Austen?”

“Four landmen and two sailors,” answered Fly, somewhat perplexed at Prickett’s devil-may-care attitude.

“Their names?”

Fly reached into his uniform jacket to produce a slip of paper, upon which the names of the missing men were recorded, and handed it over to Prickett who pursed his lips in concentration as he perused the list.

“A weakling, a scoundrel, three troublemakers, and one saphead,” pronounced Prickett, carelessly flipping the paper onto the oak table. “In addition to ourselves, Mr. Austen, I granted leave to no one but Biscuit and my purser, so they could round up fresh provisions in the victualling yard, and to Morgan Evans, and a few men of his choosing, who went in search of a new foremast. Did you learn how these men were able to leave the ship?”

“They swam to shore.”

“They swam! Why there’s hardly one amongst us that can swim!”

“I believe they took along a barrel or two to aid them.”

Prickett harrumphed. “Well the lot of them are dolts. They won’t be missed.”

“With your permission, I’ll send a few trustworthy men ashore to track them down, as I understand you’d like to weigh anchor tomorrow morning.”

“Do not bother yourself, Mr. Austen. We’re better off without them.”

“But we’re so short of able-bodied men.”

“If you’d told me that Dr. Braden had left us abruptly —” he paused to acknowledge Leander with a bow of his head, “I might consider going after
him
, but these men are an insult to the service; in fact, I’m rather pleased they’re gone. Nothing to be done now but write an
R
beside their names in the ship’s muster book.”

“An
R
?” asked Leander, looking to his naval companions for an answer.

“It stands for
Run
, Doctor,” replied Prickett.

Fly and Leander exchanged looks before returning to their wine. While Bridlington brooded — perhaps hoping no one would pin the blame on him, as he had been left in charge — Fly switched the subject. “Captain, upon your return from shore this afternoon, you said you’d received updated orders. Are we still returning to England?”

“We are, but now we shall have company.”

“Will we be travelling in a convoy?”

“No, thank goodness!

Fly narrowed his dark eyes. “But I understood the Admiralty demanded all Royal Navy ships travel in groups these days.”

“You understood correctly, Mr. Austen, but I detest having to stay all together, especially when crossing the Atlantic in all manner of weather, with ships that travel at various speeds, and with captains who are invariably suffering from drunkenness or pompous egoism.” Prickett shifted his bulk toward his first lieutenant. “Bridlington, remember the annoyance of escorting those two merchantmen back in June?”

The first lieutenant’s answer was high-toned. “Aye, sir!”

“Why the minute we were shot at, they took off like frightened women! Nay! There shall be no convoy.” Prickett extended his glass toward Biscuit so that he could refill it. “We’ve been instructed to stick like tar to a government mail packet, HM
Lady Jane
.”

“A packet? And what will she be carrying?” asked Fly.

“In addition to eight guns and a crew of thirty-six, she will be carrying several important dispatches, private goods, a dozen or so passengers, and
gold
bullion.”

“A tempting target for Yankee privateers?” offered Leander.

“Precisely, Doctor, thus the reason we’re to escort her home. These packets have had a hell of a time fighting off enemy privateers of late.”

“With us about, no one would dare attack her,” said Bridlington, contemplating his bandaged hand.

“No one except perhaps Prosper Burgo and his unruly Remarkables,” smiled Fly.

“Thank goodness they are on
our
side,” Leander smiled back.

They raised their near-empty glasses and cried in unison: “To our ships at sea.”

“And may God steer us and the
Lady Jane
safely home,” added Captain Prickett. He slurped up the last of his wine, and set his relaxed gaze upon Leander. “On second thought, Doctor, should you like to get ashore for an evening before we set sail, I shall grant you leave. I did promise you earlier, and have not yet kept my word. You could visit a grog-shop or two, mingle with the fair ladies awhile — you will find them
most
accommodating company — and keep an eye out for our missing Amethysts.”

“But, sir,” yelped Bridlington, “what if my hand should start bleeding again and the doctor’s not here to tend to it?”

Prickett’s gaze slid around the table before settling upon Bridlington’s ashen face. “I’ll seize one of the doctor’s colossal knives, cut off your entire hand in one swift blow, and be done with your incessant snivelling once and for all!”

Lord Bridlington cast his wandering eyes toward the cabin’s ceiling, and loudly exhaled to display his indignation.

Prickett snorted and repeated his suggestion to Leander. “It’ll do you good to get off the ship for a while, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Captain, but seeing as you may have to amputate Mr. Bridlington’s hand, I’d better stay to make certain you do a decent job of it.”

“Suit yourself, man,” said Prickett, who then leaned in companionably close to Leander and gave him a wink. “But, tell me, on those nights when visitors did come from shore … did you not take advantage of … well, you know … of any opportunities?”

Leander calmly maintained eye contact with Prickett. “I was very much occupied with the dozen or so men who suffered bad falls apparently brought on while doing cartwheels and handstands on the deck for the benefit of the female visitors.”

Bridlington, trying to salvage his dignity, jumped back into the conversation. “I daresay I should’ve liked it if that Jim Beef had deserted with the lot of those weaklings! He’s become most irksome.”

“How so?” barked Prickett, looking about to see where Biscuit and the wine bottle had gone.

“Last night, around midnight, I found him perched in the rigging, proclaiming to be Davy Jones, saying that the
Amethyst
was a floating coffin and that we were all heading to our doom. Can’t you do something about him, Doctor?”

“I can heal a man physically, Lord Bridlington,” said Leander, “but just as you cannot harness the wind whilst your ship sits in the doldrums, I cannot harness a man’s mind.”

Prickett punched Bridlington in the arm. “But we
are
, man.”

Bridlington pulled back and twisted his skinny neck to stare at his captain. “We are
what
, sir?”

“Sooner or later, we
are
heading to our doom.”

9:00 p.m.

(First Watch, Two Bells)

As twilight settled
upon the hills of Halifax and her harbour, the lights in her scattered homes and on the anchored ships gleamed like stars that had fallen to earth, and the air that whispered around the
Amethyst
was fresh and clean on this August night. Magpie sat upon a dilapidated box by the bowsprit on the fo’c’sle deck, his unattended mending upon his lap, his tall
Isabelle
hat upon his dark curls, and smiled to himself as he listened to the rich, deep-toned voice of Morgan Evans who was singing to a cluster of men seeking entertainment before retiring to their hammocks.

But should thou false or fickle prove

To Jack who loves thee dear

No more upon my native shore

Can I with joy appear

But restless as the briny main

Must heartless heave the log

Shall trim the sails and try to drown

My sorrows in cans of grog.

Unable to find a second available box for himself, Dr. Braden sat beside Magpie on the deck planks and rested his back against the square, clunky carriage of a bow-chaser. He had managed to affix the handle of the lantern he carried onto a protruding piece of the large gun, so that its flame flickered by his shoulder, enabling him to read his slim volume of poetry. Magpie had never before heard the name Robert Burns of Scotland, although Dr. Braden admitted to having a great appreciation of his poetical works. A few yards from where the two relaxed, the sailors tapped their toes, clapped their hands, and at times raised their voices in song with Morgan. Amongst them was Meg Kettle, swinging her hips about in dizzying circles, occasionally lifting her coarse skirt to show the grog-mellowed sailors a bit — or in her case a lot — of leg. It seemed to Magpie that the laundress had quite forgotten her heartbreak in losing Prosper Burgo, and was tickled to be the centre of attention once again, now that Captain Prickett had announced their leaving Halifax at first tide, insisting the men be early to bed and alert for their departure, and thus stemming the nightly flow of female shore visitors to the
Amethyst
.

Magpie swung around eagerly to look at Dr. Braden. “Are ya gonna write to her, sir, to tell her yer comin’?”

Leander lowered his book, a distant smile playing upon his lips. “I would like that of all things, but no, I think it’s best we surprise her.”

“And where is it ya send yer letters, sir? Do ya just write:
To Princess Emeline Louisa Georgina Marie in London
?”

“No!” laughed Dr. Braden. “Although they would most likely still find their way to her. No! Before she left she gave me her uncle’s address at Bushy House, and assured me any letters would be safely delivered to her.”

“And, sir, do ya … do ya really want me comin’ with ya?” Magpie asked, his heart rate accelerating.

Dr. Braden placed his book on the deck, pulled his long legs up to his chest, and hooked his arms around his knees. “I don’t believe Emily would want to see
me
unless I had
you
at my side.”

“Very kind o’ ya to say, sir.”

“In fact, if I were to show up at her door alone, I believe she would instruct me to turn around again and not return until I had
you
with me.”

“But are ya quite sure they’ll be allowin’ me off the
Amethyst
?”

“I am your doctor, you are my patient, and since you suffered a tremendous injury to your eye, it is my duty to see you have the very best attention. Therefore, while we’re in London, we shall have you examined by the very best physicians.”

Magpie absently fingered the green patch which covered the hole where his eye once was. “I’ve already seen the very best, sir.”

Dr. Braden smiled in gratitude.

“And … and do ya think we kin go to one o’ them fancy restaurants in London, sir, and buy us some supper?”

“Naturally! We’ve worked hard enough to be rewarded with a few shillings of pay before we leave the
Amethyst
. We’ll do just that.”

Magpie was thrilled to the core. “I’ll do the orderin’, sir, and we kin sup on roast o’ pork an’ potatoes, a kind o’ mint sauce,
soft
biscuits, cheese, and baked bread puddin’.”

“Is that not the meal the Duke of Clarence presented you with when you were cleaning his chimney long ago?”

Magpie nodded proudly.

“Well then, perhaps good fortune will fall into our laps, and you and I will be invited to dine with the duke and Emily at Bushy House!”

Magpie’s one eye shone as warmly as the lights of Halifax. “That would be just grand, sir.”

Suddenly Osmund Brockley rose up before them, his oversized tongue dangling on his lower lip. “I’ve been searchin’ for ya, Doctor,” he said. “Could ya look in on a poor lubber what’s complainin’ of abdominal pains, sir? He’s moanin’ somethin’ fierce.” Excusing himself, Leander jumped up and headed off with Osmund, leaving Magpie on his own to enjoy the music.

Morgan was singing a sad song now — an old Welsh melody, he’d told his audience. Under normal circumstances the song’s words would have caused a lump to form in Magpie’s throat, but he was too excited about the prospect of seeing Emily again — even if they first had to sail for several weeks to cross the Atlantic. Wouldn’t she be surprised to see them! He folded his arms across his thin chest and daydreamed about their reunion, imagining her reaction when she threw open the castle door to find Dr. Braden and him standing there. As Morgan was nearing the end of his song, Magpie contemplated the comfort of his hammock, and the continuation of his dreams with his head on his pillow. He grabbed his mending and was just about to quit his box when someone called out to him.