Ransome's Honor (5 page)

“Dawling. Still with me, sir.”

“Have his skills improved since last I visited?”

“No, sir, though he does try hard.” William loaded his plate with roasted vegetables.

“Perhaps this furlough will give you a chance to find a new steward. I cannot have one of my very best wasting away for want of proper care.

Julia cringed inwardly.
One of my very best
indeed. She knew what her father meant.
The man who has replaced my son in my affections.
Her appetite vanished, and she studied her father from the corner of her eye. How could he carry on like this with William when he knew full well of William’s treatment of her last time they were all together?

“Miss Witherington?”

At her elbow, Sir Drake offered the platter of mackerel. She nodded, and he served a small portion for her.

“I hope you have settled in well and are finding England to your liking, cousin.” He served sweetbread and vegetables onto her plate without a glance at her.

“It is much colder here than what I am accustomed to, Sir Drake.”

“Cold?” His condescension slipped into a derisive chuckle. “Just a few days of rain to break the heat of the summer. Nothing to regard.”

“In Jamaica—”

“Once you have been in England for a while,” Drake spoke over her as if she hadn’t said anything, “you will come to appreciate the variety of weather. Besides, we are quite temperate down here in the south. Up in Scotland, even now there are places still covered in snow Though I cannot imagine why you would ever travel to such a heathen place as that.”

“She could possibly pay a visit to your Aunt Hedwig,” Lady Pembroke said, “as you did last year, son.”

“I do suppose the part of Scotland Lady MacDougall lives in is a somewhat better clime and landscape than some places in England, like the northwestern shore.” Drake leaned closer to Julia as if to share a secret. “I had the misfortune of staying a fortnight just outside Liverpool and found it to be the most dreadfully dull spot in England.”

Julia glanced across the table at William, curious to see his reaction to Drake’s words. If she hadn’t known him as well as she did, the suddenly precise movement of lowering his fork to rest on the edge of his plate wouldn’t have meant anything to her. The lines around his icy-blue eyes became more pronounced.

“It is farming country, so perhaps not to your liking.” William’s clipped words betrayed little of his native regional accent. “The Ransome family has lived in that part of the country for many generations.”

Lady Pembroke, seated beside him, gave William a pitying look. “Then you must resent the fact that the Royal Navy has kept you from it.”

“A man of honor never resents doing his sacred duty” Sir Edward’s voice took on a hard edge. One thing Lady Pembroke had not learned in her three months in the Witherington household was to hold her tongue when it came to her disapproval of the Royal Navy.

Julia dropped her gaze to her plate to hide the smile trying to overtake her lips. If her aunt continued making snide comments like that about the navy, perhaps Julia would be free from her sooner rather than later.

William resented aristocrats who felt they had the right to belittle anyone not fortunate enough to have been born with a title. At least the admiral had not changed since receiving his knighthood.

“Oh, Sir Edward,” Lady Pembroke’s coy tone rasped across William’s skin like splintered wood. “You know I had no intention of insulting Captain Rutherford’s honor.”

“Ransome, m’lady,” William corrected her. Unbidden, he looked across the table. The slight smile playing around Julia’s mouth added fuel to the building fire of annoyance inside him. She had just cause to carry hard feelings toward him, but she did not have to take such obvious pleasure in her aunt’s disparaging remarks.

Julia’s mirth vanished, however, when Sir Drake leaned closer to her, his arm brushing hers, to insist she take a serving of asparagus. William almost smiled before he could stop himself. One thing he would never forget about Julia: she hated asparagus.

When Julia didn’t respond to Pembroke’s overbearing attempts to engage her in intimate conversation, the baronet returned his attention across the table. “What will you do to keep yourself occupied now we’re at peace with France, Captain Ransome?”

William forced a polite expression. “I am blessed to remain captain of
Alexandra.”

“But the war is over these three months. How has your ship been put to use?” The tone of contempt in Lady Pembroke’s voice was punctuated by Admiral Witherington’s fork hitting his plate with an unusually hard
clank.

William cleared his throat. “We’ve seen mostly home service since the Peace.”

“In other words, they’ve all but recommissioned your boat as a cargo transport.” Pembroke’s expression came close to a sneer.

William called upon years of experience at hiding his reactions to keep the baronet from seeing his anger. “As a ship of the Royal Navy, we see to whatever duty the Admiralty requires of us.”

Julia coughed lightly, looking at her father with concern. Indeed, the admiral’s face showed signs of his rising temper. “You came to Portsmouth to receive new orders, did you not, Captain?” she asked in a rush when Sir Edward opened his mouth to speak.

William grasped Julia’s purpose, also wanting to allay an explosion of temper by his superior officer. “Aye—yes, Miss Witherington. Tonight, I shall inform my crew they will be dismissed tomorrow for a few weeks’ home leave, but we shall weigh anchor at the end of August.”

“And I hear you’ve seen much action during the war.” Julia glanced at her father, worry still shading her green eyes when she returned her gaze to William. “Could we trouble you for an anecdote?”

William did not find speaking of his own exploits enjoyable, but a soft huff from Lady Pembroke decided him.

“Yes, Ransome. Tell them of your first command on
Hope
.” But Admiral Witherington didn’t give William a chance to draw a breath, much less begin the story. “Ransome here had just taken command of the
Hope,
a thirty-eight gun frigate, his first assignment as Post Captain, and sailed to the East Indies.

“He ran up on
Adamant
, a seventy-four gunner, just off the coast of Circas.” The admiral’s eyes gleamed as he warmed to his topic.
‘Adamant
had come under bombardment by a French privateer and was hulled, burning, and sinking fast. Ransome made all sail to intercept, got the weather gauge of them, and commenced firing.” Admiral Witherington regaled them with details of the engagement William could hardly remember.

William kept his attention trained on his commander, embarrassed by the knowledge that those outside of the Royal Navy took no interest in such recitations.

The dishes rattled when Sir Edward brought his palm down on the table in an enthusiastic punctuation to the story. “Not only did Ransome’s gun crews stave off heavier cannon from the French, he captured the privateer and launched boats to pick up survivors from
Adamant.”

Heat itched under William’s collar. “The French ship had taken damage from Adamant’s guns. And we did not come away unscathed, Admiral. Hope took heavy damage during the rescue attempt. We barely made it back to Madras, and the poor girl was scrapped for salvage.”

Julia frowned and leaned forward. “A thirty-eight, fully crewed holds how many? Three hundred?”

“I had two hundred seventy-five souls aboard the
Hope
when we left port.” William raised his eyebrows, encouraging her to continue.

For the first time since he’d seen her in the drawing room, Julia’s air of aloofness vanished. “A seventy-four, like the
Adamant
, holds up to six hundred forty, not including the Marine contingent. Your ship wouldn’t hold that number of men, even standing shoulder to shoulder.”

He nodded, impressed but not surprised that she would so quickly be able to calculate the ships’ capacities. “Yes, nearly nine hundred on a frigate would be nigh impossible. But Miss Witherington, keep in mind Adamant had been under bombardment all morning.” Remembrance of the tragedy nearly locked his voice in his throat. “We only rescued eighty-three.”

She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“God protected us long enough to keep those men safe and return them home to their families. My family was one of those blessed. My youngest brother, Philip, served on the
Adamant
as third lieutenant.”

Pain flickered through Julia’s green eyes before the guarded expression returned. William wished he could recall his comment—as it had only served to remind Julia of the loss of her own brother at sea.

“Ah. I see.” Pembroke jerked as a footman accidentally brushed his arm while refilling his wine. “You stayed to mount a rescue attempt not from some altruistic reason like the fraternity of naval officers or Christian duty. You stayed only to try to rescue your brother.”

Julia gasped and glanced at her cousin. At the head of the table, Sir Edward slowly rose, his face a mottled purple. “Do you dare impugn the reputation of one of the most highly decorated captains in the Royal Navy, sir?”

“Father, please. I am certain Sir Drake meant no harm.” Julia clasped her father’s arm.

Sir Drake inclined his head. “No, I meant no insult, Sir Edward.” Although the words came out of Pembroke’s mouth, his amused tone belied them. “No insult at all, Captain Ransome.”

“Come, Julia, we should leave the men to their port and talk.” Lady Pembroke stood before William realized her intention and rose as well.

Julia’s eyes flickered between her father and Sir Drake a moment.

“Actually,” Sir Drake tossed his napkin on the table and moved languidly to his feet, “though I know it is quite rude of me to do so, I must take my leave. There is much work to be done at Pembroke Hall to make it habitable. Sir Edward, Miss Witherington,” he bowed toward them, “thank you for your hospitality” Joining his mother at the door of the room, Pembroke turned and made the barest nod toward William. “Captain Ransome.”

William mimicked the action. “Sir Drake.”

As soon as the door closed behind the Pembrokes, Julia turned to face William. “Captain Ransome, I sincerely apologize for my relations’ comments. They have not been in the habit of keeping company with naval families.”

He wondered if the excuse sounded as empty to her as it did to him. “You are not to be held responsible for the words or actions of others, Miss Witherington.”

“If you think you can bear Lady Pembroke’s presence again, Ransome,” the admiral said, “I would like to invite you to a dinner party here to celebrate your return and your successes in the war—Julia my dear, do you think we can have one planned by next Thursday?”

The openness in Julia’s expression vanished faster than he could blink. “Yes, Papa. I will see to it.”

The admiral picked up Julia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Invite Captain Yates and his wife as well. His successes should also be celebrated.”

William’s gut wrenched at the wary look in Julia’s eyes. A dinner in his honor was not to her liking, apparently “Sir, while I am honored to be so singled out by you, I must tell you that my mother and sister are expected in town early next week, so I will want to spend what time I can with them.”

Sir Edward clapped William’s shoulder. “Bring them along. It has been too many years since I have seen Mrs. Ransome. Your sister was hardly walking, if I recall correctly I will brook no opposition, Captain. Do not force me to make it an order.”

Though the admiral’s tone had gone gruff, his stance rigid, teasing humor still danced in the superior officer’s eyes.

William could do nothing but capitulate. “Thank you, sir.”

“Good.” Admiral Witherington leaned over and kissed the top of Julia’s head. “My dear, if you would be willing to forgive our rudeness as easily as Pembroke’s, I’ll have Elton take me down to the docks with Ransome so we can have a few words about his orders.”

“I do need to get back to the ledgers.” She rose and followed them out into the foyer. “Good evening, Captain Ransome.”

He bade her farewell and did his best not to watch her as she climbed the stairs. All of the qualities he’d first seen in her as a child and later as a debutante of seventeen had matured into the kind of woman any naval officer would dream of for his lifelong companion.

And she could have been his, but for appeasing his sense of honor. His vow to never burden himself with a wife doused him in coldness more frigid than the North Sea in January.

Chapter Three

A
ll throughout Spithead harbor, eight bells clanged from every ship, marking midnight and the beginning of the middle watch. From the deck of the large, dark ship looming like a mountain above, a voice rang out, demanding the identity of the small vessel approaching.

William cupped his hands beside his mouth. “Captain William Ransome for the
Alexandra.”

The familiar face of the fourth lieutenant, illuminated by a lantern, appeared over the gunwale balustrade. “Welcome back, Captain.”

William paid the boys who’d rowed him out and then climbed up the accommodation ladder in
Alexandra’s
side. Once he was on deck, Lieutenant Eastwick saluted by touching the fore point of his hat.

William returned the gesture and turned to the midshipman holding the lantern. “Pass word for Lieutenant Cochrane to join me in my cabin.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” The teen scrambled to obey.

“Carry on, Lieutenant Eastwick.”

The man eight years William’s junior bade him goodnight, unable to keep a tone of disappointment out of his voice. William had no doubt that in his day-long absence, the crew had entertained themselves with wild speculations of what orders he was receiving. That not all of the lieutenants were on deck awaiting his arrival came as a mild surprise.

William walked through the vacant wheelhouse and entered the doors beyond into the dining cabin. The long table surrounded by ten tall-back wooden chairs served as dining table and workspace. He rounded the table to starboard and passed through the day-cabin and into the small chamber behind containing his hammock, desk, sea chest, and washstand—in addition to the large twelve-pound cannon square in the middle, reminding him at all times he made his home on a ship of war. After every action
Alexandra
took part in, his chamber smelled of burned gunpowder for days.

The main cabin door opened, and Dawling entered. “Welcome back, sir. I trust your visit to the port Admiralty went well.”

William shrugged out of his sodden raincoat and tossed it toward his steward. “As well as could be expected.”

A brisk knock sounded. William nodded, and Dawling admitted the first lieutenant.

William returned to the dining cabin. “That’s all for now, Dawling.”

The steward knuckled his forehead in salute and latched the door behind himself. Cochrane reported on the crew’s activity since William’s departure at eleven that morning. While Cochrane gave his report, William stood behind the head chair at the table, forcing himself to concentrate through his fatigue. When Cochrane finished, William unclasped his hands from behind him and rested them on the chair’s high back.

His first officer—and friend—fidgeted with his coat cuffs and chewed the corner of his mouth. William held back a smile. After two long years at sea, everyone was eager for home leave, but most aboard worried they had come back to Portsmouth to be decommissioned. The thought that William could have entered port with Julia eagerly waiting for him, as the wives and sweethearts of many of his crew were even now waiting, gave him pause; but he brushed it aside in frustration and returned his thoughts to
Alexandra
’s new orders.

“I spoke at length with Admiral Sir Edward Witherington this afternoon.” William’s struggle against his inner turmoil made his voice sterner than he’d intended. But being the practical joker among the officers, Cochrane deserved to squirm a bit. “Tomorrow morning, I would like you to call the entire crew to order at four bells in the morning watch. I know six o’clock is two hours early, but we only have until noon to clear everything and all personnel from the ship.”

Cochrane swallowed hard. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“Dawling!” William called, and as expected, the door opened immediately.

“Aye, sir?”

“Go to the wardroom and inform the officers—not just the lieutenants, but the warrant officers and captain of the marines also—they are to assemble here in five minutes. Full dress is not necessary. Let Lieutenant Eastwick know as well—the midshipman of the watch can relieve him.”

Dawling saluted and let the door slam behind him as he hurried away.

William sat at the head of the table and started looking through the pile of correspondence that had arrived in his absence.

“You’re going to make me wait for the others, aren’t you?” Cochrane paced the other end of the long, narrow room.

William looked at him over the top of a letter from a former commander. “Why shouldn’t I? You might as well have a seat, Ned.”

“Just tell me!” Cochrane grabbed the back of the chair nearest him and shook it as if it were his adversary. “Are we being turned out or not?”

The muscles in William’s cheeks ached with the effort to hold back his smile. He skimmed through a few more letters. “May I remind you, Mr. Cochrane, at this moment, I am still captain of this ship and your superior officer. You might try to remember that fact when addressing me.”

Cochrane flopped into one of the chairs with a sigh. Within the time frame, the other officers entered, each in varying states of dress, most in their shirtsleeves, a few with trousers and uniform coats hastily pulled on.

Once assured all were present, William dismissed Dawling and rose, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I know every man aboard is anxious to hear what orders Admiral Witherington has for us.” He paused and looked around the room at each of his officers. “The entire crew must vacate by noon tomorrow All personal belongings left behind will become the salvage of the dockyard crew.”

The officers shifted and murmured at the word salvage, and William had never seen a darker scowl on Cochrane’s face. William schooled his own expression before continuing.
“Alexandra
will be turned over to the dockmaster at noon tomorrow and—”

“Not decommissioned!”

“Sir! Turned over?”

“They canna’ scrap her, sir!”

“She’s still a sound ship, even if she is patched up, sir!”

“Did you tell the Admiral—”

“Silence.” William barely had to raise his voice for the assemblage to come back to order. “As I was saying,
Alexandra
will be given over to the dockmaster tomorrow...for a complete refitting in preparation for our next assignment.”

A quiver of excitement ran around the room like a storm swell, but this time they waited for William to finish.

“The crew and officers are, as of noon tomorrow, at liberty. Officers will report back to me at the Admiralty on eleventh August; crew are to report back two days later. We will have less than a fortnight to fit up and supply her before we weigh anchor twenty-sixth August.”

Exclamations of relief and gratitude filled the room, and the atmosphere changed from tense to celebratory. Above the noise, Cochrane made himself heard. “Where will we be going, sir?”

“Gentlemen, the war with America continues, and more ships are needed to patrol the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico for blockaderunners.” Now William let his smile show.

The men exclaimed over their good luck of spending the winter in the balmy climate most of them had only heard about.

“Sir, some o’ the men who came to us pressed two years ago—wha if they don’t come back from leave?” the boatswain asked.

“Matthews, any man of the crew who decides he does not want to sign on for our new assignment may stay behind. Replacements will be easy to find. I have ten requests for positions here,” William held up the stack of letters, “from highly qualified sailors and officers desperate for a ship.”

Every officer in the crowded dining cabin eyed the pages, smiles dimming.

“Lieutenant Eastwick, you may return to the deck and tell the crew currently on watch. Lieutenant Cochrane, rouse the petty officers to pass the orders to them and have them wake the sailors at six o’clock. Master Ingleby, the midshipmen are yours for the telling. If there are no further questions...?”

To a man, everyone murmured, “No sir.”

“Dismissed. I have some packing to do.” William joined their laughter and called for Dawling.

The burly sailor pushed his way into the cabin through the outflow of officers. “Should I wake Cook, sir? He’ll need extra help packing up his pots and pans, and the purser-well, he were here, weren’t he?”

William really should say something to Dawling about listening at the door, but as the steward wasn’t prone to gossip...he watched the younger man bustle around both cabins, mumbling about the work needing doing before vacating tomorrow

Dawling had been an ordinary seaman until William’s previous steward had been killed in an action off the coast of Spain about a year ago. Experienced stewards weren’t to be had, and every other skilled member of his crew had been needed where he was, so William took a volunteer.

Now would be an opportune time to find one of those many experienced men with no current employment, as Admiral Witherington had suggested. What would it be like to again have a steward who did not have to constantly be reminded of his duties? If he could find another place for Dawling—if perhaps one of the petty officers’ mates did not come back...but Dawling had put forth a colossal effort to learn the job and had become a decent steward-nothing like the experienced servants of which his friends could boast, but competent.

William crossed to his desk and began to sort through the neat stacks of papers atop it. Much of it he would need in the next week as he finalized his logs and reported on his ship’s activities. He had not given a full accounting in two years, so the task daunted him.

Dawling grew quiet, and William turned to see if he’d left the cabin. The steward stood in the door between the day-cabin and sleeping quarters, worrying one of the brass buttons on his uniform coat.

“What is it, Dawling?”

“Well, sir...it’s just that...you see...” Dawling’s gaze never lifted from the floor.

“Spit it out, man. You know you can tell me anything.”

“Aye, sir.” Dawling cleared his throat. “Sir, could I...what I mean to say is...would you...?”

William crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

Dawling released his breath in a low growl. “You see, sir, the truth is...I’ve nowhere to go on land. That’s why I came to the navy as a lad—no family, no home. So what I want to ask is if you might take me with you.”

Very few things in life could surprise William. No words immediately came to mind.

“I mean,” Dawling quickly added, “I’ll work—work as your valet or in the kitchen or wherever I can be of use, sir. But I can’t afford to stay in a hotel or boarding house for three weeks, sir.”

Dawling, working as his valet? William nearly laughed at the image. He had accepted Susan Yates’s invitation to stay until
Alexandra
was habitable once again. Perhaps experience working with her well-trained household staff would be helpful. William could well afford to cover the extra expense to Collin and Susan’s household, and maybe Fawkes could be convinced to take Dawling under his care and train the man in the areas where he most lacked grace, tact, and diplomacy.

“Very well. If you would like, I could use a valet.”

Gateacre, England

Charlotte Ransome flinched, her quill scraping a black mark across the parchment. The soft knock came again before the door opened.

Face illuminated by the candle she carried, Charlotte’s mother needed no words to express her displeasure. “Do you know how late it is?”

She glanced at the porcelain clock she’d painted at school two years ago and grimaced. Half past midnight. “No—I did not realize...”

“When I awoke and saw the light—I thought you fell asleep with a candle still burning. What are you doing?”

“Just finishing a letter.” Charlotte slid the written sheets under a blank one.

Mrs. Ransome’s pale brows lifted. “You danced for hours and then came home and sat up later writing a letter? You remember the hired driver is to arrive at dawn?”

“Yes, Mama. I remember.”

“And you could not wait to write your letter until after we are underway?”

“I...I could not sleep, so I thought I would finish it tonight.” Charlotte moved so the light of the candle on her desk did not shine so directly on her face. Her mother was too perceptive by far.

Mama sighed—a sound Charlotte was all too familiar with. “We have a long, arduous journey ahead of us. I hope you do not become ill from fatiguing yourself before we even begin.”

Charlotte laughed. “We shall be sitting in a coach for three days. I believe I will have time to rest.”

“Very well. I expect you to be ready when the driver arrives. William is paying quite a handsome sum for us to have private conveyance. I do not wish to increase the cost by any delays.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Her mother’s face eased. “I do not mean to be ill-tempered. I simply worry about traveling so far on our own.”

Charlotte rushed to her mother and hugged her. “There is nothing to fear. Between your prayers and the protection of a private carriage, we shall arrive in Portsmouth safely”

Mama chuckled and embraced her tightly before looking pointedly at the open valise on the chest at the end of Charlotte’s bed. “Complete your packing and get some sleep. We shall have a light breakfast before we go.