She was lying on a soft bed covered in a cold wet sheet. Voices around her argued, but she couldn’t understand what they said. Opening her eyes, she focused on the cracks in the ceiling, then turned her head slowly sideways to see Charles and Nicholas. She moaned in protest, thinking she was going mad, and closed her eyes tightly against the light.
“Peter,” she said, only to cough in a long fit of agony as her body convulsed in pain.
Someone took her hand and gently pulled her hair from her face.
“Shhh, be still.”
She opened her eyes to see Charles standing over her.
“You cannot be real,” she moaned.
“Indeed, you may depend on it, dear sister,” Charles said and squeezed her hand in his. “You are safe now. I will take you home.”
“Home?” she said her throat burning with irritation. She coughed, shaking her head. “No.”
She struggled to sit up, then noticed she was covered only by a sheet and lay down again, horrified that her secret was known. She glanced around the bedroom in terror trying to understand her surroundings. Nicholas stood at the window, facing her. He was angry.
“Where are my clothes?” she said in a panic. “Where am I?”
“My quarters,” Nicholas said frowning. “The surgeon advised us on how to bring your fever down.”
“The surgeon?” she said terrified.
Charles shook his head. “It was not easy. The chap is uncommonly honorable and would accept no bribe for his silence until one was made he could not refuse.” She glanced at him in confusion.
“What are you doing here?” she asked and withdrew her hand from his. “And why is he here?”
Nicholas stepped closer.
“It is fortunate for you, Georgiana, we were here,” Nicholas said. “Only our interference saved your charade from discovery, a charade that would have had consequences far beyond your own had it been discovered. You play at games you do not understand, and it ends now before what is left of your life is destroyed beyond repair.”
“You have no say in my life,” she said, turning on him. “I am no wayward child to be scolded. What I do here is not under your control.”
“What you do here is lunacy and will bring you to a miserable end. This is war, Georgiana. This battalion leaves for the continent within days, and most of these soldiers will not return.”
“I am quite aware of the occasion,” she said fiercely. “I am no dimwit.”
“Then you willfully endanger yourself for the purpose of what? Is it entertainment you seek?” Nicholas asked, sneering. “You have grown bored of your soft life and have a need of amusement?”
“You confuse me with the landed male gentry of which, I assure you, I lack the necessary equipment required,” she said, annoyed. “Do not judge me by your own class standards.”
“I can assure you, dear madam, I recognize fully the class to which you belong,” he said angrily. “But even most whores have better sense than you have shown here.”
She rose quickly and hit him hard with a closed fist, drawing blood from his lip. He reeled back in surprise.
Charles jumped between them. “You recover uncommonly fast, sister.”
“Get him out of here.”
Turning to Nicholas he said, “Give me leave, Markham, to speak to her.”
Nicholas picked up his hat from a chair and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
“Your carelessness in execution is no real advantage to you,” Charles said, frowning at her. “The commanding officer seeks to have Nicholas punished for intervening on your behalf. You were to be severely flogged for your part today.”
“I had no wish for his interference, and I am not convinced his presence here is an advantage,” she said and, pulling the sheet about her, looked about the room for her uniform. “I blame you for it.”
“Dear Georgiana, it is not for my sake the gentleman has traded the navy for the infantry. Believe me, his rashness is fueled only by his will to see Napoleon at last defeated. He was quite mad with anger at the discovery of your face among the men in line. It took all my skill to convince him not to reveal your true identity. Only the danger it placed you in would sway him.”
“And your rashness? Am I to blame for that?” she asked, coughing and wrapping the sheet closer around herself, as she made her way to the window. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“The absurdity of that statement from your lips is probably entirely lost on you?”
She ignored the remark and located her clothes under a blanket.
“You must remember I bear a responsibility towards you,” he said. “I cannot in good conscience allow you to face Napoleon on your own.”
“I am not alone but accompanied by several well-trained battalions.”
She reached for her clothes and looked about the room for a place to change into them again, pausing at a fit of coughing. Once passed, she dropped the sheet to dress.
“Your lack of decorum does not comfort me,” Charles said and turned his back on her.
“Your concern for my decorum is ludicrous.”
“Why must you remain resolute in your madness?” Charles asked.
“It is no madness.”
“You share a room, dear sister, with five men. It is madness. It does not bear contemplation how you have managed to escape detection.”
“I am blessed in that humanity seems to perceive reality with preconceived notions. Women are forbidden here, so they see no woman.”
“It will be advisable perhaps before we proceed from this room to discuss your intent?”
“My intent has not changed.”
“I dislike an argument but must point out the merits of Nicholas’s view that perhaps this play has played out.”
“My true identity is known?”
Charles hesitated then admitted, “No.”
“Then I march on.”
“My advice is against it.”
“So noted,” she said and paused in buttoning her shirt as a coughing fit overtook her.
“You are not well.”
“A statement of the obvious. And yet I continue.”
“I feel a great inclination to seize the opportunity to point out the weaknesses of your scheme even though you may dismiss my reasoning.”
“You do not see an advantage to holding your tongue?”
“I do not.”
“You are much mistaken in thinking you can deter me.”
“I am far more rational than to assume that but allow me to continue.”
“If you must.”
“I must,” he said and helped her on with her coat. “You are weakened by illness, unable to perform your duties well under peaceful circumstances, still no closer to discovering Rupert’s location and very soon likely to face French cannon with no possibility of surviving.”
“Your point?”
“I believed clear,” he said, frowning. “You must surrender.”
“You have given me far more credit than is due, dear brother.”
“I believe not.”
“You forget I am also female, therefore inferior of mind, with no notion of sense and thus fated to failure. Follies and nonsense are my whim. I must be saved by a man before I harm myself.”
“No,” he said slowly. “I do not believe I have made such assertions.”
“Then you are not arrived to save me?”
“Good Lord, no,” Charles said. “The infantry appeals to me on a much baser level. The uniforms are quite splendid, the parties and hunting satisfactory, and I gather admiration as I parade myself about town. The infantry is far superior to the navy in providing a gentleman a sporting chance at a pleasant life.”
“And Nicholas?”
“His motives are far superior, I’m afraid. He means to rid the land of evil. It was always his failing, and one we must forgive him for. He knows no other way.”
“Then he did not know of my presence here?”
“I swear it on our dear mama’s life he had no notion.”
“He will not give me up,” she said, her voice lacking conviction.
Charles shrugged. “Perhaps it is best you quit the field before his better judgment wins the day. He is a fellow given to uncommonly good sense, I’m afraid.”
“Not he nor you can discourage me from what I must do.”
“A grievous affair, but I am very sensible, madam, and will refrain from saying more on the subject.
“And neither will I take credit if your current good health were to be suddenly ended.”
“My situation in life is my own.”
She studied her brother a moment, trying to remember the small boy that followed her around to her great annoyance. He was still prone to the same behavior, only now he believed he was protecting her.
“Please, Charles,” she said taking his hand in hers, “go home.”
“Immediately, were you to join me.”
She shook her head slowly. “You know I cannot.”
“Then we are at an impasse.”
***
They left Portsmouth on May 25, the battalion packed into the transport ship HMS Mermaid. The ship creaked and groaned under a heavy load of soldiers, cavalry, and artillery. Its armament had been cut down to a quarter and could therefore accommodate a thousand troops. It made the ship vulnerable to attack, so it and the other troopships in the convoy were escorted across the channel to the continent by warships. Battered by a southwesterly gale, the ship pitched and rolled on huge waves, flinging troops first one way then the other. Soldiers below deck were packed tightly together and vomited their rations onto already slippery floors.
Above deck, Charles glanced past the water dripping off the brim of his hat to the ocean waves and knew from experience that the convoy lay scattered across the channel. In the storm, he could make out no nearby sail. The ship climbed each huge wave with an effort, only to fall heavily down the other side. Squalls flung huge drops onto the tarpaulin clothing of the officers and men whose duties kept them on deck.
Eight bells rang and the ship’s watch changed. The bell rang every half hour, and every watch was four hours long. The sounding of the ship’s bell brought back memories he’d rather forget.
Charles turned his attention to the figure on deck, the gentleman’s eyes on the main hatchway to the decks below. A gust of wind swung the ship around as if the world had come undone, and Charles braced himself, as he stumbled down the quarterdeck. Reaching the lone figure, Charles fastened his hands to the railing for stability while Nicholas remained upright without the need of support, his legs long used to the pitch and sway of a ship. Charles had never been able to quite find his sea legs. Even now, he knew his face would be pale and slightly green.
He had hated life at sea and only remained all those years to prove his father wrong. But his father had been right. He had not the constitution to thrive at hardship or war. Not like his sister who seemed to seek out both.
“What say you to the weather?” Charles asked, his voiced raised above the wind, his hand firmly holding his hat on. “Is it not uncommonly fine?”
Nicholas turned his head slightly to look at Charles who tried, under scrutiny, to seem like his friend, unmolested by the storm. Charles smiled at him, but Nicholas returned his gaze to the hatch without comment. Nicholas had the good sense to leave his hat below, Charles thought.
“We are quite fortunate in quartering above deck rather than below. I have heard the conditions there are dim and wet with sick climbing the walls on every wave.”
Charles’s attempt to provoke Nicholas failed but, unwilling to admit defeat, he continued. “The horses suffer much better conditions, though they appear very uneasy with the movement of the ship and have dispatched quite a few to the surgeon with a broken limb from a good kick.”
Still, he received no answer. It was his sister that Nicholas now seemed determined to dwell on.
“She will die,” Nicholas said angrily.
“It is in all our fates,” Charles shrugged.
“You have no regard then for your sister’s well-being.”
“No, indeed, I have nothing but the highest regard for Georgiana’s well-being.”
“And yet she is below decks of a troopship headed straight for war, because you have neglected your duty. You should have stopped her.”
“I do not deserve such censure.”
“Then you will help me remove her from here by any means possible?”
“No,” Charles said. “And, if you are at all acquainted with her nature, you would refrain from any such action.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Georgiana was born with thunder in her bones, Nicholas. She seeks out storms. They are her natural environment; no action on my part or yours can ever change that. She will only find another way back, and next time she will do it without our knowledge, leaving us powerless to aid her did she require it.”
“My purpose is only to see her well.”
“You mean to save her from the wolves?”
“I do.”
Charles smiled, “But she is herself a wolf, surely you see that in her.”
“I am well acquainted with her predatory skills.”
“Excellent, then perhaps we should but aid her if she requires it. Nothing more.”
“It is painful to me that she consumes my thoughts. I cannot have her, but neither can I bear a world in which she does not breathe. That is all that is left to me, Charles. I could not survive her end.”
“Depend upon it. You cannot dictate a course to her as easily as a ship at sea. She means to find the boy.”
“What is he to her?”
“Her salvation.”
“I do not understand.”
“Then you are in good company, dear fellow. Will you reveal her?”
“No,” he said shaking his head. “Fool that I am.”
“Then come. This gale begins to blow in my ears. Let us return to our warm cabin for a game of cards like the true gentlemen we are and leave Georgiana to the comforts of the tween deck.”
Nicholas seemed reluctant but eventually gave up his vigil and followed Charles.
***
After weeks of marching, Georgiana looked forward to remaining stationary onboard a ship until the weather changed.
“I can na take another day of this,” Haskell moaned from his hammock.
A wave rolled the ship to leeward, and she pitched suddenly towards the floor as another wave hit broadside sending the ship spinning. Had Peter not grabbed hold of her, she would have lain in a heap on the floor amongst others unlucky enough to suffer a closer view of the vomit that covered it.
“Thank you,” she said, and he let her go.
“Safer in the hammock,” Peter said climbing into his.
The hammocks hung in rows in what would have been the tween deck used for storage. The creaks and groans of a wooden ship at sea were particularly evident here. The deck evened then rose as the heavily laden ship climbed over a wave and then down it. The bulkheads cracked as if the ship was breaking itself on the storm. Georgiana glanced nervously about, but no one else paid the sounds any attention.
“What’s the matter, George?” Henderson asked. “Afraid ye’ll have to swim to France?”
“Probably can’t swim,” Parr laughed.
Henderson had become more determined with every day to seek retribution from her. Twice he and his friends had almost managed to catch her alone, and if not for Peter and the boys, her military career would have ended abruptly. She knew better than to antagonize him, but he hated being ignored. She felt something hit the back of her head. It slid slowly and sickly down her back into her collar, and Henderson laughed, as she realized he had thrown vomit at her.
Peter rose slowly from his hammock. She saw the anger in his eyes and shook her head.
“Don’t,” she said. “Not here.”
It did not stop him from pulling a knife from his belt.
“What will it be, Warwick?” Henderson laughed, as Peter stood over his hammock where he lay relaxed and not concerned by the knife. “A knife to the throat or gut? You will be sure to hang. Your fondness for the weakling is quite unnatural.”
He watched Peter, unbothered by the threat he posed. The men around the group all stopped what they were doing to watch as well.
Peter lifted the knife up and slashed down. Henderson screamed like a pig come to slaughter, his hands raised to defend himself. The knife sliced through the rope that tied his hammock, and he slammed down onto the vomit-covered deck, his legs still in the air. The company, including Henderson’s friends, roared with laughter, as he struggled to stand and, slipping on the wet floor, slammed back down onto it.
Angry and humiliated, Henderson pushed Georgiana out of his way and stumbled up the stairs to the deck above.
Walking easily with the pitch of the ship, Morris and Fleming arrived with their clothes soaked through.
“What’s with Henderson?” Fleming asked.
“The usual,” Georgiana said, wiping the vomit from her neck with a cloth.
“Tried it on again, did he?” Fleming asked.
“Only bread today,” Morris said, handing out chunks of it to any still fit enough to eat.
Climbing into her hammock, she chewed her bread slowly, thankful she was not prone to seasickness. With her recovery from fever and the long march from the barracks, she was still weak, but her body no longer convulsed in spasms of coughing. She managed to get some hours of sleep and woke to water dripping on her face. Her hammock swayed heavily with the movement of the ship. Most were asleep. She glanced at Peter. His eyes were closed, but she could never tell with him.
“Peter?” she called softly, but there was no response.
She needed to relieve herself. In the dim lantern light, she glanced towards Henderson, but he lay sleeping on his side, his hammock once again tied off. Quietly, she rose and made her way amongst the sleeping men to the stairs. She stumbled her way along dark hallways to the head, closing the door. Careful not to sit on the filthy bench, she relieved herself. The roll of the ship made it near impossible and only through luck and fortitude did she manage not to soil herself. On her return to the tween deck, she heard above her the stamp of hooves and neighs of horses ill at ease on a moving ship. Bella would be there, she knew, and she hesitated a moment before climbing the steps up.
***
Georgiana made her way into the dark and noise of the gun deck. No light was allowed here for fear of the straw catching fire even though the straw was wet and slippery under her feet. The rolling of the ship made the horses nervous. Some kicked out in fear while others strained at their harness. Those unfortunate enough to have duties on this deck knew to stay away from the frightened animals lest they be kicked.
Two horses had already been shot after their legs were broken in a fall as the ship had flung them around and into a frenzy of panic. They lay now in their stalls where they had dropped. Georgiana made her way past them to find Bella.
She stood in her stall stamping at the straw under her hoofs, restless, the whites of her eyes showing, as she flung her head up and down. The mare greeted her with a neigh, and Georgiana approached her carefully.
“Hello there, Bell,” she said softly and rubbed her neck. “I brought you something.” From her pocket, she took the apple and, biting off a mouthful, she fed it to her. “Dark and wet down here isn’t it, my beautiful,” she whispered to Bella.
At the far end of the stalls, a horse broke free from its harness and made a run for it. An officer and two men on duty cut off its escape route and carefully tried to force it back to its stall without getting kicked. It caused the rest of the horses to erupt in alarm. Georgiana tried to calm the horses around her, tempting them with a bite of the apple until they settled again. The ship rolled heavily on the waves, and the horses slid over the wet straw trying to remain upright. One unlucky horse lost its footing and slammed onto the deck. Struggling to get up again, he caught his left leg in his harness, and his eyes rolled back in panic.
Georgiana slipped her knife from its place on her belt and approached carefully. The horse reared up, hitting its head on the deck above, its leg pulled painfully back. Pulling him down and talking to him, Georgiana quickly cut the harness where it was caught, and the horse settled back down.
“There now, big fella,” she whispered. Running her hand over his leg, she didn’t think any permanent damage was done.
The ship swung suddenly around, and she was knocked off her feet to the ground as the horse reared again, its hooves coming down. She rolled quickly out from under it and, struggling to find her own feet, was slammed into a post and clung to it to steady herself. A shadow moved to her left. Thinking someone had come to help, she turned to reassure him that all was well. Instead, she froze. She stared at Henderson in the shadows.
“All alone now, aren’t we?” he sneered and brought a shovel up and swung it at her head.
She ducked, but not fast enough and it caught her a glancing blow.
She felt a darkness come over her and shook her head, pulling herself up and running for the stairs.