Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle. Cheryl Cooper

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СКАЧАТЬ the mast on the following day to the highest bidder, and the raised money sent home to England to benefit their dependents. The men worked by lantern-light, humming sea shanties, and fortifying themselves with the extra ration of grog Captain Moreland had ordered for them to ease the burden of their unpleasant task.

      Above deck, despite the sadness of the day and the repair work that had to be done, James allowed those hands who hadn’t rushed to their beds in exhaustion to gather as usual for a bit of entertainment. Biscuit played his fiddle and the young sail maker, Magpie, his flute. The men clapped and cheered as Morgan Evans hopped up on an overturned crate to lead them in singing an ode to grog:

      While up the shrouds the sailor goes,

      Or ventures on the yard,

      The landsman, who no better knows

      Believes his lot is hard,

      But Jack with smiles each danger meets,

      Casts anchor, heaves the log,

      Trims all the sails, belays the sheets,

      And drinks his can of grog.

      * * *

      THE DIN ON THE WEATHER DECKS awakened Emily. For a few bewildering moments, she glanced about her tiny room – illumined by a lantern, which swung gently on a wooden peg by her feet – trying to remember how she came to be in this new place … on this new ship. Someone had placed her in a cot next to a sealed gunport, and closed off her corner with the aid of two lengths of canvas suspended over a rope affixed to the ceiling timbers. Despite the noise overhead, she could hear moaning and weeping beyond the canvas. One or two people were moving quietly about, speaking words of reassurance to those who wept. A foul stench assaulted Emily’s nose and made her stomach queasy, but she had no desire to investigate its source; she was too preoccupied with her own sorrows and discomforts. Her mouth was dry, her left ankle throbbed, and there was a vicious pain in her right shoulder. How she longed for a cool drink of water, and the luxury of a real bed and a fat pillow. How she longed to forget everything that had happened to her in the past few weeks. Unable to tolerate the pervading smells of her surroundings, she buried her nose in her blanket and prayed that sleep would soon return.

      To her surprise, a little yellow-haired fellow suddenly appeared between the canvas curtains. He wore tight white pantaloons, a dark-blue frock coat, and a big grin.

      “Are you feeling better, ma’am?” he asked cheerfully.

      “No, actually … my whole body hurts. And I feel ill, but perhaps that is a result of the horrendous smell about this place.”

      “I am sorry about that. Dr. Braden has opened all the gunports for you, with the exception of the one by your head, but I’m afraid, whether the ports are opened or not, most of the ship carries with it an awful odour.”

      “Could I ask you to open this port as well? It may alleviate some of my suffering.”

      Emily watched the boy closely as he worked to lift the heavy port into place. When he was done, the bracing air that instantly found her corner did much to improve her temperament.

      “Dr. Braden says you broke your ankle and that you were shot in the shoulder. I hope it wasn’t one of our men that shot you.”

      “It was definitely not one of yours.” She smiled up at him. “And what is your name?”

      “Augustus Walby, but everyone calls me Gus. May I ask yours?”

      “It’s Emily, but I should like it if you called me Em.”

      “Should I not address you as Miss … something?” he asked, looking uneasy.

      “No, please, just plain Em. Now tell me what it is you have in your hands.”

      “A novel. Mr. Austen gave it to me. Have you been introduced to Commander Austen yet?”

      “I may have been. Does he go by the name of Fly?”

      “He does. Dr. Braden calls him that. I understand they have been friends for a long time; grew up in the same town in England. It was Mr. Austen that suggested you might like it if I read to you.”

      “And what is the title of your novel, Gus?”

      “Sense and Sensibility. It was written by Mr. Austen’s younger sister, Jane.”

      Emily’s eyes brightened. “I know it! I would be happy to have you read it to me.”

      “It would be my honour, ma’am.”

      “Remember, Mr. Walby, it is Em.”

      “I fear the captain would send me to the flogging post should he overhear me addressing you by your first name.”

      Emily narrowed her eyes. “He wouldn’t dare while there’s still breath in me.”

      Gus laughed, showing a line of perfect white teeth, a rare thing in the navy.

      “Who taught you to read?” she asked.

      “My mother did when I lived in England. Mr. Lindsay and Mr. Austen help me now when they have some free time. They help all we young midshipmen with our letter writing, too. Mr. Austen is a particularly good teacher, although this war keeps him awfully busy. I don’t really care for Mr. Lindsay. He has no patience when we make mistakes.”

      “Where in England does your family live?”

      “They lived in London.”

      “Lived?”

      “My parents are both dead.”

      Emily’s face softened. He was so young.

      “I live with my uncle. He’s a sea captain and expected me to enter the navy.”

      All at once, Emily felt fiercely tired. “I would love to have you read Jane Austen to me, Gus, as long as you’re not offended if I should drop off to sleep. But before you begin … could I trouble you for a cup of water?”

      “Right away … Em.”

      * * *

      “MAY I INQUIRE, SIR who this woman is?” asked Octavius after Captain Moreland had rejoined his men in the wardroom.

      “She’s a mystery, Mr. Lindsay,” said James, cutting into his meat. “From her speech, we have deduced that she is an Englishwoman, and from her manner of clothing, a gentlewoman. Whether she really was a prisoner of war on the Serendipity is yet to be confirmed. Regardless, it confounds me why any woman would be fool enough to be on the Atlantic with war raging all round.”

      “Might it seem likely her father has a large plantation in Jamaica, or Antigua, perhaps, and she was travelling there to meet him?” asked Leander.

      “Or, perhaps she was en route to Canada to be with relatives who have already settled there,” suggested Fly. “War and politics are driving many away from the United States as well as from our England.”

      James gave Leander and Fly a thoughtful СКАЧАТЬ