Come Looking For Me (37 page)

Deep in happy thought, Emily pinned the remaining clothes onto the already congested lines, unaware that Trevelyan's launch had returned to the ship. Suddenly hearing his distinctive voice only a few feet from where she worked gave her a fright, but as the deck was teeming with all manner of activity, and she, outfitted in hat and trousers, must have blended well with the crew, Emily hoped he had not yet recognized the new washerwoman. Keeping her back to Trevelyan, she listened with curiosity to his conversation with Octavius Lindsay.

“Why am I only hearing of this now, Mr. Lindsay?”

“Sir, you – I had no idea where you were lodging in town.”

“How many of them were there, besides that little mongrel that vomited on my rain cloak?”

“Hard to tell, sir. They scattered … ran down different alleyways and streets.”

“Did you watch all vessels leaving the harbour?”

“We did our best, sir. At dawn we rowed from ship to ship to question and search the crews, but we came up empty-handed. Perhaps, whoever it was, they took their chances and slipped away in the dark.”

“There is still daylight, Mr. Lindsay. Search again. Take the launch and twelve or so marines with you, and this time, make certain you upend all chests and run a sword through every ditty bag. That little mongrel could be hiding anywhere. He could be on anyone's ship. But before you dash off – I have brought Mr. Humphreys with me from town. See to it that he is provided with accommodation below deck.”

“Mr. Humphreys, sir?”

“The chaplain.”

“Aye, sir.”

Emily laughed to herself as she hung up the final articles of laundry. Few men of the sea had religious leanings. Was Trevelyan about to seek God and salvation with the help of this Mr. Humphreys? She scooped up her empty basket, then while she waited a moment, giving Trevelyan time to quit the deck, a stomach-churning thought struck her. Feeling faint, she turned around slowly. But
he
stood there still, his strange eyes having found her. Whatever thoughts he had in his head, they were hard to read. His thin lips parted and Emily braced herself for what surely would be a disparaging remark related to her present occupation; instead, he lifted his gaze to the foresail that billowed above her head, and called out, “Mr. Clive, are you contented with your new situation?”

For a moment Charlie appeared bewildered and delayed his reply as if he weren't certain his captain had singled
him
out. “Aye, sir.”

“And does it surpass serving up biscuits and tea to common wenches?”

Charlie's eyes shyly met Emily's upturned ones. “I – I suppose so, sir.”

“And have you mastered the shrouds, Mr. Clive?”

Charlie's head rose higher on his skinny neck. “Oh, aye, sir.”

“Show me then.”

“Sir?”

“Climb down and I will observe your abilities.”

Perched high up on the yard, Bun Brodie and the men assisting him in replacing the foresail followed Charlie's cautious descent with amusement until the lad had landed safely on the deck between Emily and Captain Trevelyan.

“Well done, Mr. Clive,” Trevelyan said with no enthusiasm. “Now this time I will watch as you climb to the foretop and back. But as I require improvement in your speed, I will suggest a contest and provide you with an opponent.”

Those within earshot of the exchange broke off their chores and crowded round to witness the impending spectacle, including Meg Kettle. Emily's mouth went dry when Trevelyan's eyes dropped on her like an axe and remained there as he spoke in a voice for all to hear.

“Men! Ten years ago I had the
privilege
of watching a young child race up the ratlines on HMS
Isabelle
as her proud father looked on. Perhaps today,
she
will bewitch us with another brilliant performance.”

Astonished, Emily could only gape at Trevelyan as she tried to make sense of his words. Cold dread rushed through her body as the spectators – encouraged by Trevelyan's rare display of good nature – drew closer.

“But, sir, that was a very long time ago,” said Emily, trying to gather her scattered wits.

“Yes,” Trevelyan responded flatly.

“I've not had much
opportunity
of late to climb ropes.”

“I was told you were spotted sitting upon the mizzen crosstrees the morning of the
Isabelle's
last day. Did a great eagle carry you there?”

Emily glanced at Mrs. Kettle and was inflamed to see a glowing smile upon the woman's glistening features. Quickly, she turned back to Trevelyan.

“I have never made a habit of participating in
such
contests, sir.”

Trevelyan sloped his body towards her until barely an inch separated their faces, then he tilted his head to one side. “Well, madam, you can begin now. I believe – given your unorthodox upbringing – you shall relish this novel adventure.” He stepped backwards to smile at the crowd.

Feeling helpless, Emily wavered. She prayed no one would see the tremor in her hands nor hear the pounding of her heart.

“C'mon now, Miss.”

“Show us what yer made of.”

“Give Charlie a lickin'.”

“Aye, thee whelp needs a good thrashin'.”

“Nay!” Meg Kettle yelled out. “'Tis thee other way round.”

With the men's raucous laughter ringing in her ears, Emily – dazed and distressed – pulled off her hat, threw it into her empty laundry basket, and set the basket down upon the deck. Then she squared her shoulders and slowly began rolling up the legs of her trousers.

“It appears there are three larger ships in the harbour; perhaps they are frigates, perhaps one of them is Trevelyan. It would be ideal if we could move in closer to shore to get a better look.”

Surprise crossed Lord Bridlington's face. “But if we were to do that, in a heavy ship such as ours, we may ground on a shoal and some of the smaller vessels would then come after us and board us, and if they were to gain control, what would become of us?”

Captain Prickett raised his hand to silence his senior officer. “Mr. Austen,” he said, lowering his voice so the men working around him could not hear his words, “tell me what course of action we should assume and
I'll
pass the word to have it carried out.”

Beneath the bow of his bicorne, Lord Bridlington's eyes widened.

“Thank you, sir,” said Fly thoughtfully. “There is a sloop flying under our colours hove to near Sullivan Island. It might be wise to attempt communication with it.”

“Imagine our Admiralty sending nothing more than a sloop to watch this part of the coast. The Americans must be having a good laugh at our expense,” grumbled Prickett. “Consider it done, Mr. Austen.”

“Also, sir, I wonder if we could – as soon as possible – put to sea. With your permission, I should like the gun crews to practise their drills, as you yourself admitted this morning that it has been a long while.”

Captain Prickett glanced around his ship and nodded in agreement. “Right! I will arrange for it, Mr. Austen.”

Lord Bridlington's eyes darted between his captain and Fly. “If gunfire is heard onshore, won't the enemy get the notion that we are issuing a challenge of sorts?”

Captain Prickett hiked his breeches up around his prodigious belly. “That's exactly what we are doing, Mr. Bridlington. If Trevelyan's holed up in there, we'll root him out … if he's any kind of a man, of course.”

Captain Prickett clapped his jumpy officer on the back and led him towards the nearest hatchway, leaving Fly shaking his head in wonder as he watched after them. Left alone, he ambled along the rail, pausing every few feet to squint again through his spyglass. There were myriad vessels sailing in and out of the Charleston harbour; most of them appeared to be harmless fishing boats, though the
Amethyst
was too far away for Fly to confirm it one way or the other. He stayed there for an hour, accepting a cup of tea and a roll from Biscuit, but speaking to no one else as he continued his watch over the harbour. Engrossed in his thoughts, he took some time to recognize Morgan Evans loitering nearby, still unaccustomed as he was to seeing the young man without his distinguishing wool hat. “Mr. Evans!”

Morgan put his fist to his forehead in salute. “Beg your pardon, sir, I didn't mean to disturb you.”

Fly regarded Morgan with fondness, his mind wandering to thoughts of his own baby sons back home in England. Were they to mature into young men the quality of Mr. Evans, he would be a proud father indeed. Fly wondered how Morgan was coping without the company of his old mate, Bailey Beck, and whether the horror of Mr. Alexander's drowning still troubled him. He desired to inquire, but believing himself to be yielding to softness, returned his attention instead to the sea. “What is on your mind, Mr. Evans?”

Morgan shifted from foot to foot as he always did when he was nervous. “We've seen you watching the harbour for hours now, sir, and wondered if, by chance, you'd observed what's running along the larboard rail?”

Fly's black eyebrows shot up. He swung round to search the waters beyond the
Amethyst's
waist and, without hesitation, strode to the opposite rail, raising his spyglass as he walked.

“We've been keeping our eye on her for a while now, sir,” said Morgan, hurrying to catch up to him. “There aren't many ships that boast a hull the colour of blood. If I'm not mistaken, we've seen this one before.”

Through his glass, Fly watched the two-masted, square-rigged brig bearing down on them, though still a far piece away. “My guess is you are not mistaken, Mr. Evans. The Atlantic is a vast ocean with millions of square miles of water to traverse; chance meetings are a rarity, and yet we meet again.”

“What's his game, sir?'

“Damned if I know, Mr. Evans.”

“How is your patient, sir?” Joe asked.

“He has a bump on his head.”

“Inflicted by
you,
sir?”

Leander smiled wryly then motioned towards the crowd. “What's all this?”

“You're just in time. We're in for a rare delight. Captain Trevelyan has set a contest between – oh, shush – the fun begins.” Joe's eyes flew to the shrouds, leaving Leander none the wiser. But before long, two figures appeared on the ratlines. The assembled sailors clapped, whistled, and hooted their approval as the figures climbed. Their noise attracted the notice of those on ships moored nearby, some stopping to watch.

“Up ya go.”

“Faster, man!”

“Cap'n Trevelyan has thee watch set on ya.”

“Ya won't live it down if ya get beat, Fish.”

Leander turned to look at Joe, whose face was flushed with enjoyment. “It's Charlie Clive?”

Joe nodded, his eyes never leaving the climbers.

“I wasn't aware Charlie was acquainted with the ratlines. And who is it with him?”

So enthralled was Joe in the competition, he did not reply. Leander exhaled his disgust and began pushing through the spectators. He detested this kind of contest and the cheap captain's pride in the speed with which their men were able to scale the ropes. By the time Leander had shouldered his way to the edge of the crowd, one of the climbers was nearing the foretop. Trevelyan turned his head towards him and their eyes locked, mutual loathing evident in their brief glance.

“Doctor Braden!” he called out, reinstating his gaze on the climbers. “Are you impressed with
her
skills?”

The implicit message in Trevelyan's words sent Leander's eyes scrambling up the shrouds. From this new standpoint, he could see the familiar plait of gold hair swinging over the shoulders of Charlie's competitor. “Dear God,” he whispered, his pulse escalating.

The jostling onlookers continued urging them on, their voices echoed by several spectators out in the harbour.

“She's gainin' on ya, Fish.”

“Look ahead now! Don't look down.”

“Faster now!”

Charlie was the first to reach the foretop, and seeing that Emily was well behind him, he lingered long enough to bestow a victorious smile upon the spectators. Cries of “Huzzah” erupted around Leander, causing him even greater alarm. Seemingly spurred on by the Serendipities' support, Charlie launched into his descent and in no time had passed Emily just as she reached out to touch the foretop's platform. Seeing her take one hand off the lines, Leander shouted, “Be careful!” The men guffawed and slapped Leander on the back in fun; however, no sooner had the words escaped his lips when, to his horror, Emily slipped and lost her footing. An anxious murmur rose up as those standing on the deck beneath her dangling legs followed with trepidation her fight to maintain a hold on the ropes and restore her footing. Leander broke out in a cold sweat; he bolted instinctively towards the shrouds, but Trevelyan stopped him. “There's no point in
both
of you breaking your necks.”