William had to admit that the time Dawling worked with the Yateses’ staff had not been ill spent. Though still simple, his food was much better prepared. William tucked into his dinner—but paused when he realized Julia had not yet lifted her fork.
“Is the food not to your liking?”
“It looks wonderful. I am…I have no appetite.” She gave him a wan smile. “I never do, the first day or two.” She glanced over at Dawling, standing behind William. “If I could have a cup of tea and perhaps a piece of bread, that might help settle my stomach.”
“Ri’ away, missus.” Dawling swept her plate from the table and disappeared, returning moments later with the bread and a steaming teapot.
As soon as Julia started picking at the crust of the slab of bread before her, William returned to his own food. It should not surprise him Dawling had taken to having a pot of tea ready at all times. No doubt something he had learned from Collin’s cook. Indeed, he appreciated his steward’s efforts to make Julia feel comfortable and welcome.
It meant he did not have to do it himself.
Weighing anchor and setting sail this morning had gone well. With Julia standing behind and above him on the poop deck, she had been out of his line of sight. He wished he could put her so easily from his thoughts.
He signaled Dawling to remove his empty plate but hesitated before leaving the table. Julia’s pallor and the tightness around her eyes tugged at him. “Would you like to take a stroll on deck? Perhaps some fresh air will be good for you.”
“If it is not an imposition, I would enjoy that.”
Every time she suggested her presence was a burden or a distraction was like a cutlass to William’s gut. What did he have to do to help her understand he had reconciled himself to her presence aboard his ship?
The three lieutenants already returned to deck from their dinner vacated the starboard side of the quarterdeck when William appeared with Julia on his arm. He made a quick scan of the activity on deck. Mostly quiet, as the majority of the crew were still below at their midday meal.
He turned and started back toward the stern. Lieutenants O’Rourke, Campbell, and Eastwick hastily turned away—as if the log board, with only two entries on it, was the most fascinating object they had ever seen.
“Is that your commodore’s flag?”
Julia’s question startled him. He followed her gaze upward. “Aye. That is my pennant.” While the rank of commodore gained him the right to wear the same uniform as a rear admiral—with all the gold braid about the collar, lapel, and cuffs he could bear—the swallow-tailed flag flying high above Alexandra’s deck bearing the Cross of St. George was the true insignia of his new rank.
“I am so proud of you.” Julia squeezed his arm. “I know I have said it before, but it bears repeating.” She swayed, dropped her gaze, and covered her eyes with her free hand.
William paused, prepared to direct her to the side and hold her to keep her from falling overboard. “Are you ill?”
“I should not have leaned my head back for so long. It made me dizzy.”
He wanted to put his arms around her, to offer her the promise of shelter and care. But he could not do so with an increasing number of crew milling about. The bell chimed thrice, and the balance of the watch came up onto the deck.
One of the sailing master’s mates scurried over, stopping a respectful distance from them. “Master Ingleby and Lieutenant Cochrane’s compliments, Com’dore, and they wish to inform you we are now at the coordinates designated for formation.”
“Very good. Let them know I will join them presently.”
The sailor saluted again and hastened off with William’s message.
“Thank you for the airing, William. I shall retire and see if lying down will be a curative for me.” Julia dropped her hand from his arm and bent her knees in a perfunctory curtsey.
William bowed before he realized how out of place the social gestures were on a warship—and between husband and wife. He took her hand and started toward the wheelhouse with her. “Send for Mr. Hawthorne if you need him.”
“I do not believe that will be necessary.”
“He would be glad of the duty of seeing to you. This shall be an otherwise dull voyage for him and his mates.” William tried to keep his focus on his wife, but Cochrane and Ingleby’s intensity of conversation over the chart made him impatient to join them.
“If I do not feel better after a rest, I will send for Hawthorne.”
Both Ned and Ingleby swept their hats off when William and Julia stepped into the shade of the wheelhouse.
“Mrs. Ransome, you are looking lovely today.”
“Enough of that, Lieutenant Cochrane.” Julia laughed, but the sound came out just as pale as her countenance. She turned to face William, closed her eyes a moment, and then looked at him again. “I shall leave you to your work.”
The marine guard at the door to the dining cabin opened it for her.
“Show me the dead reckoning on the chart.” William leaned over the small table where Ingleby’s chart lay spread open.
Neither Ned nor Ingleby complied with the order. William straightened. Both men had their backs to him, staring at the door where Julia had just disappeared.
He cleared his throat. “As you were, men,” he barked.
Ned snapped to first. “Apologies, sir. Is Mrs. Ransome unwell, sir?”
“A touch of seasickness. It shall pass. As we shall pass our formation point if we continue to dither.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Cochrane quickly showed him their position on the chart, well within a box William himself had marked on it.
“How far behind is the Golders Green?”
“About a hundred yards. We have gained distance on her over the past few hours. She doesn’t draught as well as Alexandra.” Pride laced Ned’s voice.
“If there is a hundred yards between each ship, that means our line is more than half a mile long. No. We must close the distances between ships. With twelve cargo ships between us and Audacious, that makes the ships in the middle of the line too vulnerable.”
“Vulnerable to what, sir?” Ingleby asked. “We are at peace with France and Spain. And their privateers would not dare risk the treaty and attack an English convoy.”
William rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I am not so certain. And there are still self-styled pirates throughout these waters, waiting for easy prey. We must be vigilant and keep the line as tight as we can.” He glanced over at the master’s mate hovering nearby. “Pass word for Lieutenant Jackson and Midshipman Gibson.”
The two young men must have been waiting nearby, for the mate returned with them less than a minute later.
“Mr. Jackson, Mr. Gibson, it is time to call the convoy into formation.” William wrote out his instructions and handed the slip of paper to the fifth lieutenant. “Signal the other ships to close ranks. No more than twenty yards between ships.” Two abreast—six pairs—would be better, but harder to coordinate and control. “Have the ships signal their progress and position up the line, and report to me regularly.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Jackson and Gibson chorused before hurrying off to climb up to the poop to start hoisting flags to send William’s instructions to the rest of the convoy.
“Mr. Cochrane, have the crew reef tops’ls so Golders Green can close with us.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Cochrane stepped out from under the overhang of the poop deck above to relay William’s orders to the crew, which immediately sprang into action to shorten the uppermost sails.
“Carry on, Master Ingleby.”
“Aye, aye, Com’dore.”
William glanced at the door to the cabin but returned to the captain’s walk along the starboard side of the quarterdeck. Though confident his orders would be carried out to the letter without his presence on deck, he could not bring himself to retreat to his cabin as he would have in the past. Not with Julia there. Not with the crew knowing Julia was there. In the past he would have gone to his cabin at such a time to write in his log book or journal or to deal with other paperwork. But if the crew were to see him retreating to his cabin now, it might appear as if he were shirking his duties.
He stopped amidships and turned to look out over the water, squinting against the glare of the reflected sunlight. He set his feet shoulder-width apart and clasped his hands behind his back, breathing deeply of the briny air.
Nothing like the chop of the waves under him and the open ocean spread out in its diamond grandeur before him.
Lord God, thank You for bestowing upon us the blessing of good wind and fine weather. Speed our journey, and if it be Your will, keep us safe from those who would do us harm, from disease and storm—
“Com’dore, sir?”
“Yes, Dawling?” William did not bother turning around.
“’Tis Mrs. Ransome, sir. She asked me to fetch Doc Hawthorne.”
“And did she ask you to send for me as well?”
“For you…no, sir. I…I reckoned you ought to know, sir.”
William clenched his teeth and then forced himself to relax. “I suggested Mrs. Ransome send for Hawthorne if she continued to feel unwell. Please do as she bids and fetch the doctor.”
William fixed his gaze on the horizon. Lord, help me find the fortitude necessary to set aside my belief that a ship is no place for a woman. Not even a wife.
Lieutenant Howe would not make eye contact with Charlotte. She mimicked his stiff stance as they waited in the captain’s dining cabin and tried to wipe every trace of anger from her expression.
From the corner of her eye, she could still see Kent’s smirk, which made hiding her anger all the harder. She counted the number of chairs around the table. Eight. Two fewer than William’s set aboard Alexandra. It stood to reason—Audacious was a smaller ship, carrying fewer cannons, fewer crew, and fewer officers. And right now, she wished she were counted among Alexandra’s larger crew, even with the constant fear of discovery she would live with there. William would never countenance his crew behaving in this manner.
The door between the dining cabin and the day cabin opened and Captain Parker entered, straightening his coat as if he had just donned it. He sat at the head of the table and folded his hands atop it.
Charlotte was again struck by how young the captain appeared. Perhaps that was why his crew was so disorderly. He had not William’s experience in handling the crew of a ship this large.
“Speak, Lieutenant.”
“Sir. Mr. Kent came to me with a very serious accusation against Mr. Lott. He has accused Mr. Lott of trying to poison him.”
Parker’s expression did not change. Charlotte’s heart pounded an alarm. The captain seemed unsurprised by this statement—unlike Howe’s shock at hearing Kent utter the charge against her—which meant Parker had somehow learned of it beforehand.
“Kent, state your case.”
“Captain Parker, sir, I returned to the cockpit for dinner. Lott here handed me a mug of grog, and when I drank from it, I could tell it was laced with something meant to fell me.”
Charlotte chewed the inside of her bottom lip as Kent spun a tale worthy of the most tortured of souls. Howe’s mouth grew tighter, his eyes grimmer, as Kent’s fable unfolded. Parker appeared mildly amused.
“Lott.”
Charlotte flinched. “Aye, Captain.”
“Why did you try to poison Mr. Kent?”
“I did not, sir.” She took a breath to continue, but a line from one of William’s old letters strayed through her mind. I would say no more, as it is best to stay one’s tongue and speak no unnecessary words before a superior officer, especially when said officer is relatively unknown. She clamped her lips closed on the story wishing to spill forth.
Parker’s pale brows twitched. “Oh? Then, pray tell, what did you do?”
No unnecessary words. “Sir, when I sat down to dinner with the plate and mug that had been handed me, I tasted the grog and realized it had been tainted with turpentine. I was on my way to dispose of it in the slop bucket when Mr. Kent”—stole was too incendiary a word to use—“took the mug from my hand and drank before I could warn him.”
“Turpentine?”
Howe motioned toward the mug, sitting on the table before him. “It is here, sir, if you wish to test it yourself. I agree with Mr. Lott’s determination that someone has indeed added turpentine to the cup, based on odor and taste.”
“I am curious as to how you recognized it as turpentine, Lott.” Parker made no move toward the grog.
“When I was small, I had a stomach ailment which our apothecary treated with turpentine, sir. I recognized the smell and taste of it almost immediately.” No sense in bringing one of the Yates-crew midshipmen into the story.
“Did you put the turpentine into the grog intending to make Mr. Kent ill?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“Where did you get the turpentine, Mr. Lott?”
“As I said, sir, the cup was handed to me with the turpentine already in it.” Frustration warred with amusement. This was the same method Philip had always used to try to get information out of her when they were children: circular questions hoping to snare her if she were lying.
Charlotte, Howe, and Kent all jumped at a knock on the door.
“Enter,” Parker called.
A man Charlotte had never seen, in civilian clothing, entered.
“Mr. Carberry, do come in.” Parker motioned the man to join Charlotte, Howe, and Kent. “Tell me, Carberry, have you prescribed turpentine or had any come up missing from your stores since coming aboard?”
“Yes—aye, sir.” The young doctor twisted his watch chain around his bony forefinger. “One of the midshipmen came to me with a stomach ailment and said he’d had turpentine before and it had helped.”
“Is that midshipman here now?” Parker looked pointedly at Charlotte.
She stood firm with the confidence of being innocent.
Carberry turned to scrutinize Charlotte and Kent. “No, sir. But he said his name was Lott, sir, if that helps at all.”
“He said his name was Lott, but you do not see him standing before you?” Parker’s veneer of calm began to crack. He pressed his palms on the table and stood, leaning over it.
“As I said, sir, I do not recognize either of these young men.”
“Thank you, doctor. That is all.” Parker straightened and waved his hand in dismissal.
The doctor inclined his head and backed out the door, as if leaving a royal chamber.
Parker ran his hands through his light hair. “As there is no clear indication of wrongdoing on Lott’s part, I cannot justify whipping or any such severe punishment. But I also cannot have the midshipmen making mischief and setting a bad example for the rest of the crew.” Parker’s fierce gaze fell on Kent as well as Charlotte. She fought against smiling. “To set an example for the rest of the midshipmen, you are both on continuous watch for the next twenty-four hours.”
The dismayed expression that slackened Kent’s jaw made the punishment worth whatever toll the loss of sleep and unceasing work would have on Charlotte; for Kent now understood that he did not have the liberty to do or say whatever he wished with no fear of rebuke from the captain.
Parker’s expression hardened. “If either of you are found shirking your duties or asleep, I will revise my judgment and you will be subject to corporal punishment. Lott, Howe, you are dismissed. Kent, a word.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Charlotte should not have sounded so chipper for someone who had just been meted out punishment for a crime she had not committed. However, the idea that Kent was being punished along with her raised her spirits.
Howe followed her out onto the deck. “Lott, a moment.”
“Aye, sir?” She jammed her hat on her head, wishing for one of her wide-brimmed bonnets to block the glaring afternoon sun.
“I heard about your encounter with Kent yesterday. You…you did not put the turpentine in the mug and give it him as retribution, did you?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“You believe the turpentine was intended for you?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Do you know who might have done so?” Howe fiddled with the adjustment of his bicorne, crossing his eyes to center the forepoint over his forehead.
Charlotte and the other midshipmen’s speculation that Kent’s mates had spiked her grog were unfounded and based merely on suspicion born from animosity. “No, sir. I would not hazard a guess as I have no evidence to support any accusation.”
Howe drew the corners of his mouth down in a disappointed expression. “Very well. What is your duty this watch?”
“I was idle, sir.”
“Report to—” Howe broke off when Hamilton rushed up to them.
“Lieutenant Howe, sir. Message from lead ship. Close ranks and form line. No more than twenty yards between ships, sir.”
Howe nodded. “Very good. I’ll inform the captain. You”—Howe included Charlotte with his nod—“return to the forecastle and continue to report on movements and orders.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“What happened?” Hamilton asked as soon as they were out of earshot of Howe.
She gave him a condensed version of the story.
“You are being punished for something you did not do?” He growled low in his throat. “Kent will pay.”
“Yes, he will, because he is being punished as well. And I believe the captain kept him to rebuke him privately for overstepping his authority.” She paused and stopped Hamilton by grabbing his sleeve. “You cannot take revenge on him, Mr. Hamilton. The captain was very angry at what he sees as mischief amongst the midshipmen. If there are any more incidents, I believe the punishments will be much harsher. He has been alerted to Kent’s conduct now. Let Kent be the one who brings reproach down on his own head.”
Hamilton stared at her a moment. “How can you be so calm about this?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Because nothing will come of my being upset over it.” And because she had to do what was necessary to keep from drawing undue attention to herself. “Come on. I cannot be seen shirking my duties. I have no desire to be whipped.”