Ransome's Crossing (18 page)

“Your tea is ready in the big cabin, ma’am.” Dawling motioned over his shoulder when Julia turned. “’Twill be the last until this storm blows itself out.”

“Yes, thank you, Dawling.” She’d hoped William might come in and dry off for a little while, but he seemed determined that if any of his crew must be out in the weather, he would remain there with them—even if in the partial shelter provided by the wheelhouse.

She glanced up at the skylight as she skirted around the dining table. Rain lashed against it as if trying to break the small panes of glass.

“Don’t you worry none, missus. Ol’
Alexandra
, she’s been through worse than this before. And the com’dore will see us safely through.”

She grabbed hold of the door frame to keep her balance before continuing into the day cabin. “I have every confidence in
Alexandra
and her commander to keep us safe.”

Rather than the more comfortable sofa near her desk on the star-board wall, Julia made her way to the window seat. One thing her many voyages had taught her was that staying in the center of the ship during a storm like this made her much less seasick.

Dawling was about to pour the tea, but Julia waved him off. “I will do that, thank you, Dawling.”

He took a step back. “Anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”

“No, that is all.”

Knuckling his forehead, Dawling turned to leave the cabin, but he turned again when he got to the door. “Ma’am, it mayn’t be my place, but I just wanted to say that if the com’dore is worried about you walking about on deck unescorted, all you need to do when you feel like a breath is call ol’ Dawling, and I’d be pleased as punch to provide you with an escort.”

Slightly taken aback at the offer, Julia was not certain exactly how to respond. She settled for simply thanking him. He grinned and left the cabin.

How had he known she and William had discussed that very thing earlier in the day—that William was uncomfortable with Julia going about on deck without an escort? She stood and stepped over to William’s desk to pour her tea. Though it had sounded odd coming from rough, burly Dawling, it was the type of thing Creighton might have said to her in a similar situation.

The tea did nothing to settle the renewed nausea, even though she could taste the ginger Hawthorne had given her for it. But past experience told her the seasickness would pass once she became accustomed to the new rhythm of the ship—so long as the storm did not worsen.

Twenty years ago, a storm like this had hit them on her first crossing. Her mother had been prostrate with seasickness that time. She had sent Julia for the doctor, but as soon as Julia left the safety of the cabin, the strong wind had knocked her over. If it hadn’t been for William, who saved her by falling on top of her when she rolled into his legs, who knew what might have happened? Moments later, Michael had almost died as well—struck in the head with a giant iron hook, escaping with a wicked scar across his brow and forehead.

The cabin door opened, and Julia looked up, half expecting to see her father enter with an unconscious Michael in his arms.

“Julia?” William paused just inside the door. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head to clear it. “I was remembering the first voyage—thinking of Michael.”

“Your brother?” William divested himself of his oilskin, handed it and his hat to Dawling, and then closed the door to the dining cabin, shutting Dawling out.

“It was a storm just like this when he was injured.” She shuddered. “There was blood everywhere.” She closed her eyes a moment and then opened them as a happier memory took hold. “Michael was so proud of that scar. Made him look like a real sailor, he said.”

William eased himself onto the bench beside her. “My brother James fell out of a tree when he was ten years old. Ended up with a scar across his nose and down his cheek. He was thrilled. Thought it would make everyone believe he was already battle scarred by the
time he was old enough to sign on to a ship.” He reached for her half-empty teacup.

“Let me refill that for you.” Julia started to rise, but William stayed her with a hand on her arm.

“Nay, do not trouble yourself.” He drained it. “What is in this? Pepper?”

She smiled at his pained expression. “Ginger. Dr. Hawthorne recommended it for my nausea.”

He set the cup on the desk and resumed his seat beside her.

“All is well with the fleet?” Julia turned to face her husband. She enjoyed studying his profile: his distinct nose and chin, the lines that fanned out from the corner of his eye.

“Audacious
lost a sailor while striking topgallants. Fell from the yard and broke his neck.” William rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Julia could not stop the grim scene from playing out in her mind. She’d seen men fall from the rigging twice before. It was a part of life at sea, something that could happen to anyone who climbed the shrouds or masts or went out along the yardarms. As an adult, she understood her parents’ fury when they learned she had climbed to the foremast top several times. One wrong step, one improperly placed hand, and her life could have ended.

William reached for her hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. “I must return to duty. I am requiring the officers to be on deck only two hours at a time, and I volunteered for the first watch.”

She squeezed his hand. “Be safe.”

He nodded and exited the cabin.

Be safe. Something no one in the Royal Navy could guarantee. If she worried about William’s safety this much now, after less than a fortnight of marriage, what would she be like in a month? In a year?

For the first time in her life, Julia finally understood—and forgave—her mother. No wonder she had wasted away to almost nothing, worrying about Papa not just at sea, but at war.

Julia buried her face in her hands. She had gone and done what she’d sworn she would never do. She had become just like her mother.

C
harlotte was tired of being wet. After spending four hours each watch in and out of the rain above deck, all the pieces of her uniform had been soaked through multiple times over the past two days. And because the six to eight hours between watches were not long enough for even the muslin blouse to dry out in the dank darkness of the cockpit, she had no choice but to continue wearing damp clothes.

At least she was not alone in this misery. Everyone, even the officers, shared in it.

“I’ll have your grog ration today, Lott.” Kent swiped the mug off the table in front of her once again. She did not have the energy to pretend to protest. If he thought it bothered her, he would continue to take it, giving her the excuse she needed to not drink the vile stuff—almost as vile without the turpentine as with.

Kent laughed and carried the mug to the other end of the table. Parker might have succeeded in mixing his midshipmen with Collin’s on the three new watches, but the segregation remained in the cockpit during meals and idle hours.

“You can have half of mine, Charlie.” Isaac offered his cup.

Charlotte waved it away. “No, thank you.” She gave the boy the best smile she could muster. “I really don’t like it anyway.”

She shoved her plate away.

Hamilton pushed it back in front of her. “Eat. That’s an order. You’re already skin and bones. Even if you aren’t on my watch anymore, we can’t risk you becoming faint because the food doesn’t meet with your
overscrupulous tastes. I don’t know how you’ve lasted three years, Lott, if you’ve always turned up your nose at the perfectly acceptable food good King George provides for us.”

Charlotte picked up her fork and pulled off a few strings of the grayish meat. She had never cared for mutton, especially plain boiled mutton like this. But Hamilton had a point. She needed to keep up her strength.

“Listen. Quiet, everyone!” Martin rose, holding out his hands, head cocked. A slow smile showed his excessively crooked teeth. “It stopped raining.”

Charlotte strained her ears, but she did not notice a difference in the sound of the ship. Isaac took it upon himself to verify Martin’s proclamation.

He reappeared moments after disappearing up the companionway. “He’s right. It stopped raining. I could see clear sky to the northwest.”

Charlotte joined in the cheers, drinking her water along with the toasts. If the heat returned with the sun, perhaps by tomorrow evening she would once again be wearing dry clothes.

After dinner many of the idlers, including Charlotte, went up on deck to view the clearing sky and try to guess how soon the bank of clouds still hanging over them would be gone. When the afternoon watch began, she took her place in the forecastle with much more energy than she’d had just an hour before.

Audacious
had fallen far enough behind
Buzzard
that Charlotte needed her telescope to see it clearly. About halfway through the watch, something caught her attention and she raised the glass to her eye.

“Signal from lead ship.” She watched as the colorful, patterned flags were raised. “Mr. McLellan, my respects to Lieutenant Howe. Lead ship signals we are to make all sail and close to within fifty yards of the ship ahead.”

“Aye, aye, Charlie—Mr. Lott.” Isaac grinned and ran aft. Charlotte shook her head and wrote the message in her log book.

A few minutes later, the boatswain’s whistle shrilled the all-hands signal. Charlotte headed for the shroud—but stopped a few feet from
it, stomach churning. She needed to climb halfway up to monitor the crew on her station on the foremast. The memory of the sailor who’d fallen during the storm flashed before her.

She had to do it. She had to climb up there. She grabbed the ratlines and willed her arms to tighten, to pull her body up. After three false starts, she swung her legs up and hung from the inside of the shroud, face to the sky. One…two…three steps up, and she managed to flip around to the outside of the grid of ropes. Her heart surged when she looked at the deck several feet below.

Don’t look down.
She raised her chin and kept her eyes on the sails and yards above her. Somehow she managed to climb up to the spot from which she could see the men hoisting and rerigging the topgallants. Every time one of the sailors moved along the footropes hanging below the yards, her breath caught in fear he was about to plunge to his death.

But the longer she stayed up on the shroud, the easier it became. She relayed orders from the officers and soon the sails unfurled and billowed as they caught the wind. Finally, the order came to lay off, and she climbed down as fast as she could, not wanting to stay aloft any longer than necessary.

Within minutes of the crew coming down from the masts, the rolling tattoo of the drummer beat to quarters for evening inspection. Charlotte ran down to the gun deck to command her two gun crews at their battle stations.

Captain Parker seemed slow in his inspection tonight. Charlotte eyed the twelve men under her command critically, trying to see anything with which the captain might take exception. Seeing nothing, she turned to stand at attention just in time.

The captain strolled down the line of cannon and men, pausing occasionally to silently observe a gun crew more closely. Finally, he came to a stop halfway between Hamilton and Charlotte. His frown dug lines around his mouth.

“Lott—your log book.” Parker extended his hand toward her without a glance in her direction.

She pulled the small leather journal from her coat pocket and handed it to him, confident he could find no fault with it. Her penmanship was better than anyone else aboard—at least so Howe told her—and she scrupulously wrote down every message, every position, every course change, just as all midshipmen were required.

Parker handed it back to her without a word. “Lieutenant, release the men to supper.” But even as Howe shouted the dismissal order, Parker remained standing near Charlotte. She turned and dismissed her crews.

“Lott, a moment.” Parker looked at her now.

Heat flooded her face and her heart hammered. What did he want? Had he learned her identity? Had Kent gone to him with some falsehood about her again?

After the deck around them cleared, Parker clasped his hands behind his back. “You seem to be a fair hand with numbers and arithmetic, Lott.”

Numbers? “Y-yes…aye, sir.”

“I have decided to ask Lieutenant Howe to make some assignment changes in your watch. From now on, Mr. Kent is to be the midshipman of the forecastle, and you will be on the quarterdeck, primarily responsible to the sailing master for keeping the log board and assisting with reckoning our position.”

“But Mr. Kent is senior to me, sir.”

Parker’s brows raised. “I am aware of the seniority of the midshipmen on my ship, Mr. Lott. However, it is a captain’s prerogative to observe the strengths and weaknesses of the men and boys under his command and make changes in assignments when necessary. Mr. Kent is still senior of the watch, but the ship will be better served by having you on the quarterdeck. Report to Mr. Howe there on your next watch.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

She remained rooted to the spot until long after Parker disappeared up the companionway; then, as soon as she knew she was alone, she bounced on her toes and clapped her hands. She’d be on the
quarterdeck—working with the ship’s sailing master, doing something more than just staring at the back end of the ship ahead of them waiting to see if they were going to signal another message from William.

She started toward the cockpit at a half run, eager to tell Hamilton and Martin and the others about the honor…but then she came to an abrupt halt. Kent would be furious. The senior midshipman of the watch served on the quarterdeck by virtue of his being the senior midshipman of the watch.

Trepidation weighed her feet, and she trudged the rest of the way back to the midshipmen’s berth. Loud voices and laughter emanated from the cockpit—Kent’s being the loudest. He sounded happy—perhaps Captain Parker or Lieutenant Howe had not informed him of the change yet.

She’d hardly entered the room when Kent’s voice rang out over everyone else’s. “And so I told Cap’n Parker that I did not want to be the sailing master’s clerk, that I wanted an assignment that took a true man to do. So he agreed to make Lott do the sailing master’s bidding and allowed me to choose which place I wanted during the watch. Of course I chose the forecastle.”

Martin let out a snort. “More like he wanted a posting where he didn’t have to do so much work.” After glaring at Kent a moment longer, Martin turned to Charlotte. “Congratulations, Charlie. The captain must be very impressed with you to have given you the quarterdeck.”

Charlotte’s teeth rattled in her head from the back-pounding congratulations she received from Martin, Hamilton, and a few others. “I only hope I can live up to his expectations.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see you promoted to lieutenant before Kent.” Hamilton kept his voice low. “You seem to have a knack for making the superior officers like you—even when they originally set out not to.”

As the boys went back to what they’d been doing when she arrived, Charlotte allowed herself a rueful smile. Two weeks ago she had purposely set out to make the men surrounding her pay attention—flirting
and dancing with them while rebuffing their puppyish attempts to make her like them in return. Here, she had wanted nothing more than to stay unnoticed, to blend into the sea of faces and do whatever was necessary to ensure herself safe passage to Jamaica—and once there, to disappear without anyone from
Audacious
being any the wiser as to her true identity.

Now, looking around at Hamilton, Martin, Isaac, and the others, she realized she might have a hard time saying goodbye.

Julia tucked her book by as four bells signaled ten o’clock. William was usually back in the cabin by now. Though she risked his ire by leaving the cabin unaccompanied, she exited through the wheel-house. The sailor at the wheel and midshipman of the watch both knuckled their foreheads.

“Good evening, missus.” The fourth lieutenant touched the forepoint of his hat.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Eastwick. Is Commodore Ransome about on deck?”

“He’s aft, on the poop, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Eastwick looked as if he wished to say more but stepped aside. “Ma’am.”

She climbed the steep ladder steps to
Alexandra
’s highest deck—the roof of their cabin. One solitary figure stood at the stern, silhouetted by the moon and stars, his back to her. Halfway across the deck, she stopped. Was she making the situation worse? Not knowing his current temperament, she could not be certain if her presence would be welcomed or if she would make him angry by her willful disobedience.

She turned to leave, trying to be as silent as possible. The water and the wind gave her some measure of cover—until she gasped when her toes smashed into the raised dining-cabin skylight. She
hopped on her left foot, pain shooting through the two small toes of her right one.

“I used to do that all the time.” William’s deep voice was soft as his hands settled on her waist to steady her. “Except I was more likely to break glass than toes in these shoes.”

“I…” Embarrassment clogged her throat.

“Here, try to put some weight on it.”

She did. Though it hurt, she wasn’t about to let on that it did. “I think the pain is beginning to subside.” She noticed the sextant and journal he’d set down on the deck. “I had no wish to disturb you.”

“Come, let us get you to the cabin where you can sit.”

“No. I believe I am well.” She gritted her teeth and put weight on the throbbing foot.

“Then I shall be glad of your company, if you would join me in a stroll.”

Though each step felt worse than the step before, Julia took William’s arm, grateful for the support he offered—and his acceptance of her presence here when they both knew she had broken her promise to not come on deck unless accompanied by him.

“I have just finished calculating the distance between
Alexandra
and
Audacious.
The convoy is still far too spread out for my liking. And after this weather, we are likely to have thick fog by morning.”