Come Looking For Me (16 page)

“A fight, I mean … an assault. Emily's hurt.”

“Emily?” James's eyes grew large. “What the devil was she doing in the sail room?”

“I don't know, sir, but Magpie's crying, saying it's all his fault. And … and
he's
been taken to the master-at-arms.”

“Magpie?” cried James. “With the master-at-arms? You're telling me Magpie assaulted Emily?”

“No, not Magpie, sir.
Him.
He hurt her badly.”

“Speak plainly, Mr. Walby. We cannot follow your ramble,” said Fly kindly, extending an arm towards a chair. “Here, sit a while and begin again.”

“I'll stand, thank you, Mr. Austen,” said Gus, trying to gather himself together. “The thing is, sir, that while we were on deck for the burial, Emily was attacked in the sail room.”

James's faded blue eyes hardened and he took a step closer to the small midshipman. “And who was it that attacked her?”

Gus took a deep breath. “Mr. Lindsay. Octavius Lindsay, sir.”

“Kindly wait by the fish room hatch, Mr. Walby,” said Mr. Austen. The young midshipman nodded and chirped “sir” but did not move as far along the deck as he'd been instructed.

James hardly recognized the miserable heap of humanity on the floor before him as his haughty first lieutenant. There was a bleeding gash on the side of Octavius's head, and his features were twisted in anguish and fear. He resembled a young boy who'd been tormenting his younger sister and was about to face a severe reprimand from his intimidating father. James felt a muscle twitching in his cheek as he said sharply, “I am truly disillusioned, Mr. Lindsay. I can find nothing of the senior officer in you.”

“Captain, please, show mercy, sir. Please don't send me to my death.” Octavius dropped his head between his knees and began blubbering incoherently.

“I don't know whether to despise you or to pity you.”

Octavius began rocking back and forth on the floor, and in a voice choked with terror sobbed, “Please, sir, don't hang me. Give … give me fifty lashes, flog me around the fleet when we return to England, just please … I don't want to hang.”

James's blue-veined hands flew to his mouth and he shut his eyes as if in pain. A moment later he cried out, “For God's sake, man,
what
were you thinking? What could you possibly have been thinking?”

“You are a friend of my father's,” Octavius beseeched him. “He can make you a rich man when this war is done. I'll see to it. I'll personally see to it. Just don't put me to death.”

“Mr. Lindsay, you are familiar with the Articles of War by now,” James said, reaching out to steady himself against the nearest post. “I may have no choice.”

“I didn't know it was her. I swear I didn't know it was her.”

James straightened himself. “What nonsense! You've despised that woman from the moment she came on board.”

“I wouldn't have harmed her. I thought … I thought – ”

“You thought what?” snapped Fly.

Octavius hid his humiliation with his hands. A wrenching silence followed, broken only by the prisoner's guttural sobs. Captain and commander turned their backs to him and moved away while Gus Walby braved a few steps towards them, still keeping a respectable distance.

“What will you do with him, sir?” Fly asked in a steely voice.

“I don't know,” said James wearily. “Given the seriousness of his offence and the fact that he is an officer, his punishment will have to be decided by a court-martial. We have no choice but to wait until we reach Halifax. Only there will we find enough captains and perhaps a few admirals willing to sit and determine his fate.”

“Shall we leave him here in the bilboes with the marine?”

“Aye, for now. It'll be sufficient punishment keeping him here for all to see and taunt. Would you go ask Osmund Brockley to see to his head wound? I need time to think.” James placed his right hand on Fly's shoulder.

“Are you well, sir?” asked Fly, alarmed by the ashen colour of James's face.

“I am in desperate need of some fresh air.” Together they left the gun deck, leaving behind the forgotten Mr. Walby.

Meg Kettle, who had been silently mending her shirts in the shadows, waited until the captain and Mr. Austen were long gone. She then perked up and laughed at the young midshipman, who stood gaping down at the prisoner as if he were a spectacle at St. Bartholomew's Fair.

“'Ave ya bin able ta figure it all out, Mr. Walby?”

Gus looked surprised, as if he'd only then just noticed her sitting there. His lips parted, indicating to Meg that he might speak. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut, turned suddenly on his heels, and hurried away. Meg stood up to address the pathetic prisoner on the floor and made a sucking sound with her tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Thee men, if they didna despise ya before, will be despisin' ya now. Why ya just put a nail inta yer own coffin.”

“Where's Dr. Braden?” Fly asked the cook when his boot-clad feet were firmly planted on the hospital floor.

“In with thee wee lass, sir.”

“You are rather subdued, Biscuit.”

Biscuit hung his orange head. “Outta respect for thee lass, sir.”

Fly waved his arms in a dismissive gesture at the men lingering round the galley entrance, and in a muted voice ordered them away. “Back to work, back to work, all of you vagabonds. The last thing the doctor needs is to have you all underfoot.”

“Mr. Austen, you'll let us all know how she fares?” pleaded an old sailor.

“I will. Now out you go.”

Fly waited for the “vagabonds” to clear out before making his way to the canvas curtain where Leander, having heard him come in, stood ready to greet him. It did not escape Fly's notice that his friend appeared haggard and uncharacteristically dishevelled, that his brow was furrowed in worry, and that his lips were set in a grim line. “Come in,” said Leander quietly. “It's all right. She's in a deep sleep.”

Fly stared down at the quiet form in the cot. There was a hideous blue-black bruise on her face and the reddened imprint of fingers on her neck. “Does she have similar injuries elsewhere on her body?” he asked, finding himself unable to cease blinking.

Leander, his fist held to his mouth, turned his gaze from Emily and glanced up at Fly over his spectacles and nodded. Neither man spoke for a while. Beyond the open gunport, the wind had picked up and a low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. Above their heads, the bell sounded three times. Fly stepped closer to Leander and spoke as softly as he could so that the vigilant sailors lying in the hospital could not hear his words.

“You must know, my friend … she was
not
Lindsay's intended victim.”

“What?” Leander gave Fly a bewildered stare.

“Evidently,
he
had not been informed that our little sail maker was wounded and lying here … in the protection of your hospital. He all but made an outright confession. Perhaps it was his distraught mind speaking … perhaps he figured his punishment would be more lenient if James and I knew the truth.”

Leander seethed with revulsion. “I'll kill him! I swear I'll kill him!”

“Most every man on this ship will harbour the same sentiments once they have heard of Mr. Lindsay's exploits. But I believe it best we tell no one else of this sordid intelligence, leastwise Emily. For now, I need you to put down your fighting scabbard and come with me to the captain's cabin.”

“Can it not wait until later? I cannot leave here just now.”

“I have brought with me a marine sentry to guard Emily in your absence.”

Detecting Fly's concerned expression, Leander asked, “Has something else happened?”

“James has come down with a fever.”

“I tell ya, it was Octavius Lindsay that done it. I was there in thee wardroom when Gus told thee cap'n, and I heared it from Morgan, him havin' seen thee mischief with his own eyes.”

“And what did the cap'n 'ave to say?” asked Bailey Beck.

“Not a word,” replied Biscuit. “Went pale as a white whale and stormed from thee wardroom with Mr. Austen in tow.”

“They'll be stringin' Mr. Lindsay up on the yard for his crime. That I'll be wantin' to see,” said Jacko, rubbing his mountainous naked belly in anticipation of his meal.

Bailey let out a snort. “No way the cap'n will give 'im death what with his aristocratic connections.”

“A floggin' with a cat o' nine tails would be too lenient,” Biscuit growled.

“It'll come to court-martial,” said another of their mates.

“Nay! No time for court-martiallin' out here,” said Jacko. “Stranded in enemy waters, in a broken-down ship? And where would we be findin' enough British captains and admirals to do the court-martiallin'? Nay, we'll be days fixin' up the
Isabelle
just to git her sailin' agin.”

“Morgan says Lord Lindsay didna succeed in his intentions, if ya catch me meanin',” snickered Biscuit, handing Jacko his bowl. “And here I thought he fancied thee lads.”

“Oh, aye!” laughed his mates.

“Our Emily,” Biscuit continued, “she fought him off like a true seasoned sailor, though he knocked her about somethin' fierce. Word is her head was bleedin' all over thee sails and her face has an awful mean wound on it.”

Jacko punched his right fist into his left palm. “I'd like to git me hands on the bastard. I'd kill 'im with one snap o' the neck.”

“Not before I would roast him in me galley stove,” said Biscuit, his bad eye rolling about in excitement.

“If justice ain't dished up, why we'll dish it up ourselves,” said Bailey. “We'll wait til Mr. Lindsay's on the night watch and we'll give 'im a Jonah's lift into the sea.”

“Or a ball o' lead durin' the next battle with them Yankees.”

The men raised their mugs of grog and said, “Hear, hear.”

“Who's Emily?” asked their newest messmate. The men all turned to gape at him – a giant of a man with muscular arms and a long copper-coloured ponytail that fell a long way down his back. Biscuit cackled and placed his puny arm around the man's thick neck. “Lads, meet Bun Brodie. Off thee Yankee
Liberty,
but don't ya be holdin' it against 'im, 'cause he's a Scotsman. And with young Magpie losin' half his face, he's gonna fill in fer maker o' thee sails.”

The men nodded politely in Bun Brodie's direction. “Pleased to meet all o' yas,” he said before asking again about Emily.

“She's thee fair lass we plucked from thee sea a week or so ago,” Biscuit explained. “She'd jumped off a Yankee frigate that went by thee name o'
Serendipity
whilst we was doin' battle with her.”

“Thee
Serendipity,
ya say? Ya mean Captain Trevelyan's frigate?” asked Bun before shovelling a hunk of stew into his mouth.

“One 'n' thee same.”

Jacko smiled. “Our Emily, she's a right spirited girl. Why, two days ago she joined us at this very table for a cup o' beer.”

Biscuit laughed suddenly, spewing bits of stew about. “And you, Jacko, thought she was a man. Mr. George, hah!”

Red colour flooded Jacko's squashed-nosed face. “Aye! I did think it a bit queer him wearin' them blue silk shoes.”

“She fooled the lot o' us,” said the sailor with the swarthy complexion and bloodshot eyes.

“Well, not me, and I don't s'pose she fooled young Morgan either,” said Biscuit gleefully.

“Where is Morgan?” Bailey asked Biscuit. “It was him that was s'posed ta be on mess duty.”

“Probably back in Dr. Braden's hospital, still pretendin' to be needin' medical attention so's he can keep an eye on Emily.”

Bun Brodie spoke up while the men laughed. “And would ya be knowin' this Emily's last name?”

Jacko angled his big head and squinted at his new mate. “How come yer so curious 'bout Emily? Ya won't get far with her, man. Mr. Lindsay already tried.” The table of men broke into grog-laced peals of laughter. “But … but we do 'ave Meggie Kettle fer ya. She'll look after ya real nice-like in yer cot.”