Read Come Looking For Me Online
Authors: CHERYL COOPER
Come Looking For Me (36 page)
“Yer breakfast!” trilled an unfamiliar voice.
Scurrying to collect the food, Mrs. Kettle said, “Git dressed and be quick with yer gruel. Come eight bells, ya'll 'ave yer white hands in a tub o' saltwater.”
The thought of leaving her small prison â especially now that it was redolent with the essence of livestock â lifted Emily's spirits. Having endured endless days of nothingness, she was ready to embrace any form of occupation and would not have complained even if ordered to draw the weevils from the ship's biscuit barrels. Suppressing her anger with Mrs. Kettle, Emily watched as she gobbled her buttered biscuits and foraged about in her ditty bag.
“Were you speaking to Dr. Braden last night?”
Mrs. Kettle gave Emily nothing more than a wary glance.
“I â I thought I heard his voice.”
The laundress let loose a gurgle of laughter along with a spray of biscuit bits. “Dr. Braden? Where did ya get thee notion?”
Emily felt her confidence wane. “He said he had brought me some food.”
A pompous smile crossed Mrs. Kettle's sweaty face. “Ya daft girl. 'Twere a dream only. Yer precious doctor's lyin' on thee ocean floor.”
8:00 a.m.
(Morning Watch, Eight Bells)
Aboard HMS
Amethyst
BISCUIT HUMMED A SCOTTISH TUNE as he set upon the captain's table a steaming pot of chocolate, a dish of marmalade, toast, and a freshly baked salt-fish pie. Fly frowned at Biscuit. Humming had not been allowed in the presence of Captain Moreland at mealtimes, but Captain Prickett, who was busy stuffing his linen napkin into the collar of his shirt, did not seem to mind the impertinence. “Biscuit, tell me, my good man, what's in the pie?”
Biscuit clasped his hands behind his back and cast a grave gaze upon the stern windows as he rhymed off the ingredients. “Soused herrings, oysters, halibut, lobster, potatoes, herbs, parsnips, pepper and salt, oh ⦠ah ⦔ He paused to show off his greenish teeth. “And a pinch o' rum.”
Captain Prickett smiled his delight. “Well done, Biscuit. Now cut me and Mr. Austen a generous slice of it, then fetch the spiced cake you baked last night.”
“Ya'll be wantin' cake fer breakfast, sir?”
“Most certainly. The day's chores already lie heavy on me. I need to be fortified with tasty sustenance.” Captain Prickett spread a dollop of marmalade onto a half piece of toast, popped the whole works into his mouth, and studied his guest as he chewed. “How are you faring this morning, Mr. Austen?” he asked when Biscuit had left them.
Fly, who was about to take his first bite of pie, lowered his fork. “I am well, sir.”
“And that scorched back of yours?”
“On the mend. These past few days of rest have helped immeasurably. I thank you for the reprieve in not sending me straightaway to work in the galley with Biscuit.”
“Biscuit is quite capable of performing wonders with very little assistance.”
“I am glad you are finding his service satisfactory. With all due respect, his performance was not quite as impressive on the
Isabelle,
but then Captain Moreland and his officers provided Biscuit with nothing more than the most basic of victuals.”
“Where I, Mr. Austen, insist that my officers pay handsomely for their provisions, as food is my one joy.”
As Captain Prickett eagerly dug into his pie, Fly took the opportunity to pop his waiting forkful into his mouth.
“I have other plans for you, Mr. Austen,” Prickett said between bites. “That is why I wished to dine with you alone this morning.”
Fly watched his face expectantly, but had to wait until the pie was dispensed with to hear more.
“You are aware, Mr. Austen, that we raised Charleston earlier this morning.”
“Aye! I could see the town in the distance when I rose from my bed, sir.”
“Hopefully, we find Trevelyan here, and if not in Charleston then in the general vicinity, though we may have to search as far south as Savannah or even St. Augustine. We have gleaned information from two fishing vessels that claimed they passed a ship fitting the
Serendipity's
description. Now, if I were Trevelyan, and I had something to celebrate â in this case, the taking down of Moreland's ship â it is to Charleston that I would head. After all, it is known as the Paris of the American South for good reason.”
Fly listened intently to his host. “What about blockades, sir? Are any of our ships watching the harbour mouth?”
“We haven't the manpower to properly blockade these American ports, Mr. Austen, and what we do have is concentrated in the north, just south of New York. We are totally ineffectual down here. It's about time our ships moved south in larger numbers.”
“Sir, are we close enough to get a good look at the ships anchored in the harbour?” Fly strained his neck to catch a glimpse of Charleston through the great cabin windows, but his vantage point afforded him only a scene of rolling waves.
Prickett thoughtfully sipped his cup of chocolate. “Of course it is necessary to keep a safe distance and this rainy weather doesn't give us the best visibility.”
Feeling suddenly restless, Fly asked, “What are you proposing to do, sir?”
“Hang about a few days, see whether Trevelyan's
Serendipity
does slip out of the harbour.”
“And if he does, sir?”
“Well, now that's where you come in, Mr. Austen.
“Sir?”
Prickett cleared his throat. “You've had experience with this Trevelyan, Mr. Austen. You know his tactics, his games, and more importantly, how fast that ship of his can sail.”
“Aye, I have gained a brief familiarity, sir.”
Prickett shifted his bottom about in his chair. “You see, Mr. Austen, I've spent the past two years escorting merchantmen about this ocean, bullying potential predators with the
Amethyst's
sheer size and her long guns. Call it luck, call it misfortune, I cannot recall when I last fired a broadside at anyone and, heaven forbid, had the fire returned; notwithstanding, of course, that cowardly early morning shot we recently withstood.” He poured himself a second cup of chocolate. “For the most part, my men are experienced seamen, though they've had little opportunity to become a well-drilled crew. And I'm afraid
I
am not a fighting captain.”
An awkward silence followed, during which Fly was forced to listen to Prickett slurp and extol the virtues of his hot drink. Finally he took the initiative. “Sir, are you asking me to assist you with your campaign against Trevelyan?”
“Assist? Nay! I'm asking that you
lead
it.”
Fly set down his knife and fork and handed Prickett an incredulous stare. Prickett looked sheepish, but his familiar joviality soon returned the moment he spied Biscuit entering the great cabin with the spiced cake. “Ah! There you are. Cut me a generous slab of that, will you now?”
12:30 p.m.
(Afternoon Watch, One Bell)
Aboard the
Prosperous and Remarkable
MAGPIE COERCED A CHUNK OF MEAT down his throat. He had lost his appetite â due to the roughness of the sea and also to the company he was keeping. If it weren't for the presence of Prosper and for his kind invitation to join his messmates for a meal, Magpie would have quietly carried his plate back to the corner he shared with Mr. Walby. He peered up at the men who sat around the mess table, swilling their dinner's ration of grog, and eating their salted beef and boiled potatoes with their fingers. Though not having been intimately acquainted with them, Magpie was aware that a few of the Isabelles had had diseases of the mind or appetites for petty thievery, but these Prosperous and Remarkables were a different breed altogether. He had seen the likes of them before â at night in London, where they could be found lingering in rotting doorways down damp, foul alleyways, preying on passersby, dragging them into dark recesses, and murdering them for the few coins in their ragged pockets. Most of those who sat around him now had queer body parts â cracked teeth, maimed arms, missing ears, tattooed faces â and all of them had a peculiar brightness in their gaze. The man on his left had huge hands and shifty eyes, and a nose that looked like a tumorous strawberry. The way Magpie saw it, Prosper must have invited him to the table thinking he fit in with the bunch, having only one eye in his head. He shuddered as he sat on a chest at the head of the table and grabbed for his mug, praying the grog would settle his stomach, which had been home to a knot the size of an anchor since early the previous day. To avoid eye contact with the fearsome faces that surrounded him, he huddled over his plate and waited for the ship's bell that would herald the end of the dinner hour.
“Taken nineteen prizes since thee start o' this war,” said Prosper, jabbing his knife in the air, “and, by Jove, I'd likes ta 'ave an even twenty.”
“Aye, it's bin a while now, Prosper,” said the tattooed sailor at the end of the table. “I miss thee feelin' o' me cutlass cuttin' some gullet.”
The man with shifty eyes who sat next to Magpie's left elbow spoke up. “D'ya recall two months back, comin' upon that brig â what was it? Portuguese? French? Austrian? No matter. D'ya recall? And I roughed their captain up good and pitched overboard them what got in me way. And them wenches in their silk gowns â how they screamed shrilly, enough to uncleave barnacles from thee hull â and begged us to kill thee men but spare them.”
“And did ya?” Magpie's question was barely audible.
“Nay, pitched them in too.”
“Ya galoot,” hissed Prosper. “'Twere a waste. I coulda thought o' other things ya coulda done with 'em.”
The men broke into laughter and slammed their fists in approval on the solid oak of the tabletop, causing the pewter plates to dance.
“Is it true then, Prosper? Are ya goin' after Trevelyan?”
“Aye! Heard his men in Charleston talk o' silver, weaponry, and hundreds o' casks o' French wine in thee hold.” Prosper swivelled his head towards Magpie. “And ⦠a comely lass named Em'ly in thee great cabin.”
Magpie's heart stopped. He looked fearfully from Prosper to the man on his left that had boasted of pitching wenches overboard.
“Ya â ya won't harm her, sir?”
The man leaned over and thrust his strawberry nose into Magpie's flushing face. “Nay. So long as she don't git in me way.”
A second round of hilarity rocked their small table, the noise so loud it frightened Magpie. He had to tug on Prosper's sleeve to get his attention. “But, the
Serendipity's
a lot bigger than the
Prosperous and Remarkable.
And Trevelyan's got hundreds o' men and sharpshootin' marines and lots o' big guns.”
A smug smile sprang to Prosper's lips and his eyelids fell to halfmast. “Nineteen prizes, little man, nineteen of 'em.” His good humour suddenly changed to a scowl. “Magpie! Swathed in them bandages, ya look weak in thee head. 'Twould serve thee
Prosperous and Remarkable
well if I was ta fix ya up with an eye patch.”
There, finally, was the bell.
Prosper rose to his feet and cuffed the heads of the two men on either side of him.
“Have yas finished fillin' yer faces, then? Better look lively, ya band o' ruffians! Won't be bobbin' forever in these waters with no purpose, ya know. Soon, we'll be goin' after our prize. And accordin' ta Magpie here, yer gonna see fightin' on thee seas in thee rare style o' David and Goliath.”
As the men advanced from the mess table and headed out to their stations, Magpie whispered, “May the saints preserve us â every last one o' them.”
1:00 p.m.
(Afternoon Watch, Two Bells)
Aboard the USS
Serendipity
EMILY SEARCHED THE WASHING LINES fixed between the main and fore shrouds for space on which to hang her last load of linens, muslin shirts, neckcloths, silk stockings, and cotton trousers. She then set her laundry basket down on the deck beneath the foresail, gave her back a stretch, and wiped the sweat from her brow with her shirtsleeve. The sky was still overcast, threatening more rain, but between puffs of ocean breeze, the day was hot and sticky. Emily did not mind the weather. Nor did she mind that her ankle was hurting, her hands were red and roughened (the unhappy result of being submerged for hours in tubs of warmed saltwater and lye soap), or that her muscles were crying for mercy, having been shocked into use after weeks of inactivity. Her physical ailments were small nuisances compared to the pleasure of being out-of-doors, working alongside the Serendipities. The colourful scenes in the harbour and of distant Charleston were an agreeable change from the confinement of her dark cabin. Though physically drained, she felt stronger mentally, better than she had in days.
Bending down to pick up a pair of damp dungarees and two forked clothespins, Emily spotted the striking figure of Bun Brodie and his distinctive copper-coloured pigtail out of the corner of her eye, coming along the deck with a roll of canvas slung over his shoulders. She had seen him earlier, labouring above her on the yards, replacing sails for most of the day with the help of young Charlie Clive. They did not dare speak to one another, for Meg Kettle hovered nearby, keeping an eye on her every movement, making certain Emily did not converse with any of the sailors, although it was quite acceptable for
her
to lick her lips provocatively and make eyes at them. But this time, as Bun Brodie passed by Emily, he smiled and whispered “Mrs. Seaton” in greeting, before taking his heavy load up the shrouds. Emily could not keep her heart from quickening. With the exception of Meg Kettle and Octavius Lindsay, Bun Brodie was the first of the Isabelles she had seen on the
Serendipity.
If⦠if Trevelyan took him, did she dare hope â despite what Mrs. Kettle had said that morning â might he have taken others as well? At the very least, Mr. Brodie might be able to tell her what had become of Captain Moreland's crew. Locking away the flame of hope, Emily looked up at Charlie, standing tall beside Bun Brodie on the foreyard, only to find him gazing down upon her. Though the lad's facial features rarely fluctuated, he acknowledged her with a wave before setting to work unfurling the new sail.