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‘Hoist up the cask!’ the gunner’s mate instructed, and attempted to remove the simpleton’s jacket.
Georgiana yelled for all she was worth, her voice rising higher in her panic. ‘Jack! Jack!’ She plunged her teeth into the fat man’s hand and kicked as hard as she could at his shins.
‘Ouch! You little bugger!’ Holmes released the skinny arm to deliver a weighty cuff to the lad’s ear.
It was the opportunity that Georgiana had been waiting for and she needed no invitation. Before the gunner’s mate could recover, she legged it straight up the rigging of the main mast. She didn’t dare look down, just kept on climbing up towards the topgallant mast. The wind blasted cold and icy, contriving to knock her from her precarious perch, but she clung to the ropes until her fingers hurt. Voices murmured from far below, their words lost to the wind. Her heart pounded in her chest and she watched with rising misery as the light diminished in the surrounding sky.
‘What the hell is going on?’ The men scattered before Captain Hawke.
Lieutenant Pensenby stepped forward. ‘Ship’s boy Robertson disobeyed a direct command, sir. He attacked Holmes here when he tried to effect that order.’
‘And what exactly was the command, Mr Pensenby?’
Pensenby’s thin face flushed. ‘The boy and the gunroom were filthy, Captain. Indeed, it wasn’t possible to enter the place without soiling my own uniform. As I am adverse to having such a dirty specimen serve the food upon my plate, or, indeed, to sup in unclean surroundings, I instructed that he clean both himself and the room. He complied with the room, but is most reticent to bathe himself, sir.’
Nathaniel groaned to himself. This was the last thing he needed. That half the ship’s company was lacking in personal hygiene could not have escaped Pensenby’s notice. Indeed, most of the men saw bathing as something undertaken only by eccentrics. But flouting of any order was not something that could be taken lightly, especially when it had been issued by the second lieutenant. ‘And where is the boy now?’
All eyes looked up into the rigging.
‘Ah,’ the captain murmured by way of understanding. ‘Fetch able seaman Grimly.’
Someone was coming up to fetch her. She dared a look and saw Jack not far below.
‘What the ‘ell ‘ave you been doin'?’ the gruff voice queried. ‘Pensenby’s got his dander up about you and no mistake and I ain’t gonna be able to stop ‘im.’ Burly Jack sighed. ‘Bathin’ ain’t exactly my delight, but couldn’t you ‘ave just ‘ad a quick duck in and out?’
Georgiana’s hands wove themselves tighter through the ropes. ‘No, Jack. Don’t make me go down. I won’t have a bath. I can’t.’ The words were barely more than a hoarse whisper into the wind.
‘If you don’t come down with me they’ll just send someone else to get you. Come on, lad, don’t make it worse than it already is.’
He was right. Pensenby would never leave her be. There was nothing else for it, she would have to throw herself upon Nathaniel Hawke’s mercy and hope for the best.
Chapter Four
‘Master Robertson, no man or boy on this ship is exempt from the line of command. To disobey an order from an officer is an offence, and one that merits disciplinary action.’ A chill wind blew hard across the deck, carrying in its wake the damp smell of rain. Darkness was closing in fast, and the lanterns were being lit. Nathaniel felt a pang of sympathy for the lad; nevertheless, it was the first direct contravention of an order and his response was likely to set a precedent amongst the men. ‘Lieutenant Pensenby has instructed you to bathe and bathe you shall. See to it, Mr Holmes.’
‘Aye, aye, Captain.’ The boy was so pale he looked as if all the blood had left his body. Holmes quelled the thought, he had a job to do. ‘You ain’t got nothin’ different from the rest of us, lad. Let’s get on with it.’
Panic constricted Georgiana’s breathing. ‘No! Wait!’
Holmes’s hand clamped upon her shoulder and Captain Hawke made to walk away.
‘Captain Hawke, please wait, sir. I can explain.’ Her usual hushed mumble was forgotten. She lashed out at the man beside her. ‘Leave me be!’
It was imperative that he remain indifferent to the boy’s pleading voice. Such scenes were always difficult for Nathaniel, but he could not back down. He continued towards the forecastle.
‘You will not address the captain, Robertson, it is not your place to do so,’ Pensenby interrupted.
Her jacket had been removed and Holmes was tugging at her culottes. Georgiana bellowed as loudly as she could, and tried hard to maintain the slight edge to her accent. ‘I must speak with you, Captain, sir. Please, sir!’
Still she saw only the receding view of his deep blue coat, his shoulders squared, his golden epaulettes glinting in the lantern light.
‘It concerns Farleigh Hall, sir.’
Nathaniel ceased his measured steps and swung round. Surely he had misheard? ‘What did you say, boy?’ He drew his brows together in perplexity and walked slowly back to where the gunner’s mate held the boy in a neck lock.
‘Farleigh Hall,’ Georgiana managed to choke the words out.
Something was most definitely amiss. How did a simpleton third-rate ship’s boy know of his brother’s house? An uneasy feeling was gathering in his gut. ‘Release the boy, Mr Holmes. I would hear what he has to say.’
With considerable relief Georgiana lurched forward, her hand pressed to the bruising on her throat. ‘It’s private, Captain, sir. I must speak with you alone, sir.’
If Nathaniel observed that his previously tongue-tied ship’s boy had suddenly developed a clear and coherent manner of speech, he forbore to mention it.
Pensenby’s countenance was growing tarter by the minute. ‘How dare you?’ he spluttered with the indignation of a man who could not quite believe what he had just heard. ‘I’ve never seen a more audacious manner in a boy.’ The second lieutenant’s temper was wearing dangerously thin. ‘You will be punished for this insolence.’
‘Make ‘im kiss the gunner’s daughter,’ a coarse voice added from the background.
The prospect of being bent over one of the long guns and caned on the backside was enough to make Georgiana’s hair to stand on end. ‘Lady Mirabelle,’ she squeaked in defiance, and, ‘Lord Frederick,’ just for good measure.
Nathaniel’s mind was decided in an instant. ‘I’ll interview the boy in my cabin. Have him brought down immediately.’
Georgiana’s knees almost gave way with relief as Holmes dragged her along in the captain’s wake.
‘But …’ Lieutenant Pensenby’s jaw dropped.
‘Thank you, Mr Pensenby. Continue with your duties.’ Captain Hawke’s clipped tones floated back to reach him.
The captain’s cabin, positioned at the rear of the gun deck, was incredibly large in comparison with the cramped conditions endured by the rest of the crew, and furnished well, if not luxuriously. As well as a desk, captain’s chair, dining table, six dining chairs and a small chest of drawers, there was a large and very fine oil painting depicting Lord Nelson’s victory against the French Admiral Brueys at the Battle of the Nile. Amidst the elegance of the décor were two large eighteen-pounder long guns, shone to a brilliant black finish. Nathaniel Hawke leaned back against the desk, stretching his legs out before him. The cocked hat was removed and positioned carefully on a pile of papers to his left. An errant lock of hair swept across his forehead and his eyes glowed deep and dark.
‘Well, young Robertson, tell your tale.’
Georgiana felt the tension mount within her, and quickly slipped on the torn jacket that Holmes had replaced in her hands. An extra layer of protection against what was to come. And what was to come? She had no notion what Captain Hawke’s reaction would be. No notion at all. She licked her dry, salt-encrusted lips and began. ‘Thank you for agreeing to my request for privacy. I’m sure that you’ll agree to its necessity once you’ve heard the truth.’
‘Indeed?’ One winged eyebrow raised itself. ‘You suddenly have a most eloquent turn of phrase, Master Robertson. The prospect of a bath seems to have overcome your tendency to the whispered mumbling of a simpleton.’
Georgiana cleared her throat and clutched her hands together. How did one go about imparting such a revelation? ‘Quite,’ she muttered softly.
The silence stretched between them.
Nathaniel’s hands stretched flat upon the desk and he leaned forward. ‘I believe that you have something to tell me.’
Such long strong fingers, so representative of the power within the man himself. An image of those fingers stroking her cheek popped into her mind and she flushed with guilty anger. How could she think such a thought, and at a time like this? A warm blush rose in her cheeks and she rapidly averted her gaze.
Nathaniel did not miss the emotions that flashed so readily across the boy’s face, nor the telltale rosy stain beneath the dirt-stained cheeks. He waited, curiosity rising.
‘I…You …’ She paused, unable to find the words. Oh, heaven help her! Taking a deep breath, she launched into the story. ‘There’s no easy way to say this, Captain Hawke, so I’ll strive to be brief and to the point. Please remember throughout that I…that I never intended the position in which I now find myself. Such a possibility never entered my mind.’ She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes wide and clear, her voice elegant and polite. ‘The fact of the matter is that I’m not who I appear to be.’ She paused, her breathing coming fast and furious, almost as if she had ran the length of the ship.
‘I’d gathered that much. And you’re now about to do me the honour of revealing your true identity.’ His tone was dry, but there was an encouraging gentleness in his eyes and Georgiana knew that Nathaniel Hawke was a fair man. The knowledge gave her the confidence she so desperately needed to continue.
‘Yes.’ The single word slipped softly into the silence of the cabin.
Nathaniel experienced a reflexive tensing of his muscles and an overwhelming intuitive certainty that the next words to be uttered by the ragamuffin boy standing so quietly before him would change his life for ever.
The boy’s chin forced up high. The grey-blue eyes met his without flinching. The narrow chest expanded with a deep breath. ‘I am Miss Georgiana Raithwaite, recently of your acquaintance at Farleigh Hall.’ Still the breath held, tightly squeezed within her lungs. She waited. Waited. And never once did her gaze wander from those dark eyes that were staring back at her with an undisguised disbelief.
Silence.
The blood ran cold in Nathaniel’s veins and a shiver flitted down his spine. It was not possible. The ragged boy, Miss Raithwaite. ‘You cannot be Miss Raithwaite. You’re a…’
Georgiana endured the roving scrutiny of his eyes without moving. ‘Now you understand why I couldn’t comply with Lieutenant Pensenby’s command.’ She raised her eyebrows wryly and bit her bottom lip.
‘Hell’s teeth!’ Nathaniel cursed and stood upright. A horrible sinking sensation was starting within his stomach, for beneath the grubby urchin face he could see what had previously eluded him—the fine features of the young woman he had pulled from the River Borne. ‘Your hair…Have you—?’
‘Naturally,’ replied Georgiana. ‘It wouldn’t have been much of a disguise otherwise.’ She whipped the cap from her head to reveal her sheared and matted locks.
‘Dear God!’ Nathaniel could not suppress the exclamation.
‘Yes, quite. It’s in a horrible filthy state, as is the rest of me. How ironic that my present trouble has arisen from my refusal to bathe when that is one of the things I’ve longed so ardently to do these two weeks past.’ She smiled then, a smile that lit up her face.
Nathaniel stared, and stared some more. Inadvertently his eyes dropped lower, as if he would see what lay beneath the torn blue jacket. ‘You show no external signs of…of, um…’
‘Bindings. Terribly uncomfortable things to wear, if you must know,’ she said stoutly.
Captain Hawke’s swarthy complexion flushed. ‘Yes, quite.’
‘But it wouldn’t have done at all for Burly Jack or the others to have discovered otherwise.’
‘Burly Jack?’ Nathaniel’s brows knitted.
‘Able Seamen Grimly, sir.’ She sighed. ‘He’s been looking out for me, you see, since we became acquainted on the mailcoach to Fareham.’
There was a definite pain starting behind his eyes. The tanned fingers rubbed at his forehead. ‘No, Miss Raithwaite, I don’t see at all. I think you had better explain all that has happened since I saw you last.’ He gestured towards a wooden chair and said politely, as if they were both in the drawing room of Farleigh Hall, ‘Please be seated.’ He then lowered himself into the red leather captain’s chair and prepared to listen.
Georgiana started to talk and, with only the occasional interruption from the captain, continued to do so for some considerable length of time.
‘So let me check that I have understood you correctly, Miss Raithwaite.’ He watched her with a quizzical expression. ‘Following a disagreement with your father, you ran away from home, by mail, to seek refuge with a friend who lives near Portsmouth, and were mistakenly taken by the Press Gang?’
‘Yes.’ She folded her hands before her and tried to look composed.
He wasn’t fooled for an instant. Nathaniel Hawke knew guilt when he saw it. ‘And may I enquire as to the nature of your disagreement?’
Her fingers pressed to each other. ‘I cannot reveal that, my lord. It regards a personal issue.’
‘Such as your betrothal to Mr Praxton?’ he asked softly.
Her eyes met his, then dropped to scan the mahogany surface of his desk as colour flooded her cheeks.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
A small silence elapsed.
‘Then I’ll write to your father and at least let him know that you’re safe.’
‘No!’ Georgiana was out of her seat and facing him with a look of pure horror. ‘No, I beg of you,’ she pleaded. ‘If you have the smallest consideration for me at all, my lord, please do no such thing.’
He felt her distress as keenly as if it were his own. ‘Very well, but if I’m to help you I must ask that you tell me the truth, all of it.’
The moment had come. She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. The truth, whatever it was, had affected her dearly. He watched her gather her courage, watched her sweet lips open in preparation. ‘When I said that my father approved of my betrothal to Mr Praxton, I was not telling you the whole story. He…he and Mr Praxton …’ It seemed that she could not find the words. ‘After what happened in Hurstborne Park with Mr Praxton’s…plan, Papa was so angry with me, and I with him. I just couldn’t believe what he meant to do. Papa knew how I felt and still he didn’t care. He was determined to have his own way, wouldn’t even listen to me. In my heart I knew that I couldn’t do as he bade, so…so I decided to run away.’
A horrible sensation was settling on Captain Hawke. He thought he could see exactly where Miss Raithwaite’s tale was leading. And that somewhere was in the direction of a disapproving father and an elopement. There would be no friend near Portsmouth, of that he was sure, only Walter Praxton waiting at their chosen place of assignation. Damn the scoundrel! He schooled the emotion from his voice. ‘Your father’s response to Mr Praxton’s actions in the park is understandable. No man would condone such treatment of his daughter. It’s hardly surprising that he won’t have you wed Praxton. The man is a knave.’
‘No, you misunderstand. Mr Praxton—’
‘Is no gentleman to behave as he did. I cannot think you would believe anything other. Think, Miss Raithwaite, what kind of gentleman would have encouraged you to such actions? Deserting your family, dressing as a boy, travelling across country alone, and on the mail of all things. Why, anything could have happened to you!’ He raked his fingers through his hair with mounting exasperation. Hell, but did the girl have no inkling as to what sort of man Praxton was? Little idiot! The thought of Miss Raithwaite allowing Praxton liberties made his blood boil.
‘Captain Hawke, you’re mistaken in what you think. Mr Praxton is indeed a—’
Nathaniel knew exactly what Praxton was. He didn’t want to hear the woman before him plead the wretch’s case. ‘I suppose you mean to tell me next that you love him and that is excuse enough.’ It was a brutal statement, brutal and angry and disappointed.
Her mouth gaped open and beneath the dirt he could have sworn that her skin had drained of any last vestige of colour. She gripped the edge of his desk, leaned forward towards him and said in her most indignant voice, ‘I beg your pardon, sir!’
‘If you speak a trifle louder, Miss Raithwaite, you need adopt your guise no longer, for every man on the ship will have heard a woman’s voice from within my cabin.’
The grey-blue eyes closed momentarily before fluttering back open. ‘I’m sorry, Captain Hawke. I’m trying to tell you that your beliefs concerning Mr Praxton are quite wrong. The incident in the park was not how—’
But Nathaniel had no intention of listening to Miss Raithwaite defend the scoundrel. It was hard enough knowing that she had feelings for him. ‘I do not wish to hear your thoughts on Mr Praxton. Whatever your plans were, they can be no more. We must concentrate on the situation we now find ourselves in.’
Those clear fine eyes stared at him with such wounded disbelief as to render him the cruellest tyrant on earth.
‘It seems that you have made up your mind on the matter and nothing I can say will change it.’
There was a melancholy in her voice that he had not heard before. Why did he have the sudden sensation that he had just made the worst blunder of his life? Damnation, the truth was harsh, but it was kinder than letting her believe Praxton’s lies. And she was right, nothing would make him warm to the rogue. ‘The Atlantic Ocean lies between you and Mr Praxton now. You had best forget him, Miss Raithwaite. He cannot reach you here.’
When she bowed her head and did not answer, he knew that nothing he could say would affect the girl’s affection for the villain. He battened down his own feelings and moved to deal with the practicalities of disguising a lady’s presence on board his ship, all the while oblivious to the relief that his last comment had wrought in Miss Raithwaite.
Quite why Nathaniel was so adverse to hearing the truth about Walter Praxton escaped her. If only he had let her explain. But perhaps it was better this way, for heaven only knew what a man like Nathaniel Hawke would do if he understood exactly what Mr Praxton and her papa had been about. And that was sure only to make matters worse, for them all. Let him think the worst if it would prevent him becoming embroiled with Mr Praxton. Besides, he was right. That she had set out to seek Mirabelle’s advice no longer mattered, for she was far beyond any help that lady could now offer. On a social standing, even Mr Praxton’s loathsome attentions paled in contrast to the circumstance into which she had now stumbled…well, thrown herself. She was under no illusion as to exactly what she had done to her reputation just by running away. And then there was the small matter of being pressed aboard a naval frigate…as a boy.
At least her papa’s evil plan had been foiled. No man, not even Mr Praxton, would wish to wed her now. Even so, she could not help but be glad at Nathaniel’s words: the Atlantic Ocean lies between you and Mr Praxton…He cannot reach you here. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Somehow, she doubted that she had heard the last of Walter Praxton.
The door opened to reveal Captain Hawke’s head. ‘Morris, organise that a large tub of warmed sea water be brought to my night cabin. And also a jug of warmed fresh water.’
‘Aye, Captain.’ As the captain’s head disappeared once more the young marine sent a look of bewilderment to his opposite sentry, shrugged his shoulders and scurried off to do as he was bid.
Neither did the captain’s steward or his valet blink an eyelid when he requested fresh bedding and clean clothes of a size to fit Master Robinson. But it did not take long for the news to spread far and wide aboard the Pallas. Indeed, in a matter of hours, both Lieutenants Anderson and Pensenby had heard the rumours.
‘I cannot credit that he’s treating the boy in such a way.’ The tip of Mr Pensenby’s long nose trembled at the very thought. ‘There is no doubt some unsavoury motive at play. Robertson openly flouted my command and what does he receive in return? A flogging? Reduced rations? Crow’s nest watch? Oh, no. Master Robertson is treated to a private warmed bath within the captain’s own cabin. There’s something very much amiss.’
John Anderson’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m sure that there must be some perfectly reasonable explanation for what has happened. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. No doubt the captain will inform us of anything that we should know.’
