A Royal Likeness (35 page)

No answer. She wasn’t here. Where was she? The crates stood empty where he had left them, so she musta been here doing her work. Eh, not his problem. Gin dropped the luggage inside the room near the door without bothering to look farther into the cabin. She could figure out what to do with her belongings. He turned to leave and paused.

The admiral probably wouldn’t want his cabin left unlocked once they were underway. Best if he found the first lieutenant and asked him to come back with him with a key to latch the door.

“Are we ready to weigh anchor?” Nelson asked.

“I believe so,” replied
Victory’s
captain, Thomas Hardy. He reviewed his lists. “The magazine is full of shot, the surgeon has his tools and bandages, and the hold has over five hundred barrels of water, fifty tons of beer, and enough salted beef and pork to make the Prince of Wales scream for mercy.”

“Indeed.” Nelson repressed a smile. “What of those dratted wax figures? Has that Ashby woman stored them in my cabin?”

“Yes. One of the men reported her arrival to me, suspicious of course as to why a woman wanted aboard.”

“Is she done? Has she left the ship? Make sure of it.”

Hardy had Gin summoned.

“Seaman, did you get the two crates aboard and in the admiral’s cabin?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“And did the woman accompanying them get them opened?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is she gone?”

“Gone, sir? She wasn’t in the cabin when I was just there a few minutes ago, but—”

“Thank you. That will be all.”

And so Gin returned to his post, and, with Nelson’s approval, Captain Hardy gave the signal to pull anchor.

Nathaniel had no idea how difficult it would be to drum up a crew for his ship, now rechristened
Wax Maiden.
Press gangs took most of the able bodies, and it was difficult to persuade the willing with mere money to spend an indefinite amount of time at sea. He’d resorted to offering extra rations of beer, free clothing, and bonus money on top of a promise of spoils for completing certain types of missions. All in all, a degrading business for him. But he’d finally rounded up a crew of men who claimed to have good naval experience. He worried briefly that they might be a crew of misfits instead of a complement of hardy sailors, but dismissed the thought as one that did not take into account his own skills as a leader.

He was also surprised by the cost of victualing even a small ship such as his. The price of a single potable barrel of water was positive thievery. Not to mention the amount of food Mr. Scroggs said he must have aboard even for a small journey, plus guns and shot for protection. Fortunately, he had good credit with the bank.

Or at least his father did, and Nathaniel had no compunction in borrowing on his father’s name.

But most of his difficulties were behind him. Just a few more repairs and
Wax Maiden
would be ready to do her duty, a duty that would ultimately result in great glory and recognition for one Nathaniel Carter Ashby.

This accomplishment deserved a celebratory glass of port. He decided to send for one of his father’s finest vintages from the cellar right now.

Maybe he’d offer a glass or two to the new maid, Polly something-or-other, Lydia Brown’s replacement. She was a saucy-looking thing who might enjoy a brief dalliance with a man poised to be quite famous, indeed.

And when he was that famous, why, Marguerite Ashby would come scampering back to London, now wouldn’t she?

Marguerite woke slowly, all of her senses coming back to her individually. Where was she? What had happened? As her eyes became focused, she saw Nelson and Hardy in wax, standing before her like sentinels.

Dear God, did her head throb. She tentatively reached up a hand and touched the back of her head. The pain was excruciating and she withdrew immediately, holding her hand up in front of her. Was that blood? Why was she bleeding?

Right. The table. She’d clumsily fallen, something she’d never done before when working with wax figures. How embarrassing. Well, she just needed a bit of tidying up and she’d be on her way now that the figures were set in place. Her hand flopped down to her side again.

She lay still for several minutes, willing the pain away. Surely this was the worst headache she’d ever had, although it wasn’t every day that she crashed into a heavy mahogany table, now was it? The boisterous noises of the crew outside the cabin as they prepared for the journey were magnified inside her tender skull.

She again attempted to get up and at least this time maneuvered into a seated position. While sitting motionless to again regain control of her pulsing head, she felt a gentle movement beneath her. Sort of as though she was floating. Surely that was just her mind playing tricks in her weakened state.

Wait, there was the feeling again. Motion forward. Dear God, no, surely the ship had not pulled anchor. With as much rapidity as she could muster, Marguerite pulled herself up by the edge of the table and stood, wobbling. She stepped gingerly to the cabin’s rear windows and saw nothing but a receding coastline.

Even through her muddled wits, she realized she was trapped aboard the ship. But they weren’t too far away from shore yet. If she could get someone’s attention quickly enough, then without a doubt she could be put in some kind of launch and sent back to Portsmouth.

Marguerite groped her way to the front of the cabin and pulled down on the entry door’s handle. The door would not open. She rattled and pulled on the handle, yet it wouldn’t budge.

She was locked in. Who did this?

Now overcome with a panic that overrode her throbbing head, she pounded on the door with her fist, calling out for someone to help her, release her.

She could hardly hear herself over the din of the sailors working. Why would she expect them to hear her weak voice from the other side of the door?

A banging fine accomplishment, Marguerite. You, who loathes sailing more than anything, are now trapped on a hulking beast headedfor battle. This couldn’t be happening. Surely someone will find me soon and send me back to shore.

She continued rapping on the door and crying out until she was hoarse and her smarting head had her near to blacking out.

Perhaps I should rest a moment.

She stumbled back across the room to one of the leather-cushioned benches along the wall of windows next to the dining table.

She felt better as soon as she sat down. The pain receded only a little, but it was enough that she began to feel drowsy. The rhythm of the ship slicing through the water added to her lethargic feeling.

Perhaps I should lie down for just a few minutes.

Marguerite lay down on one side, facing the interior of the cabin, her knees pulled up toward her chest and her skirts in a jumble around her. She was fast asleep in moments.

* * *

“What in blazes are you doing down here?” Nelson’s agitated voice pulsated in her ears.

Marguerite slowly opened her eyes. How long had she been asleep?

She blinked her eyes, trying to get her bearings again. So many blurry faces above her.

A familiar voice drifted over from somewhere in the room.

“Admiral, I believe Mrs. Ashby is injured. Her hair is matted with blood. May I suggest we have Mr. Beatty have a look at her? There’s no sense in incurring a casualty so soon.”

Another voice interceded calmly. “Mrs. Ashby, can you hear me? What happened to you?”

Marguerite mumbled that she had fallen while setting up the figures but had been locked in and couldn’t leave the ship before it departed. Meanwhile, she was trying desperately to fully wake up despite her throbbing head.

That second voice spoke up again. “Admiral, it would seem the woman has had an accident and should not be blamed. Once we catch up to the rest of the fleet, I recommend we transfer her to a ship at the back of it. Lieutenant, she’s in your charge. Keep her out of the admiral’s sight until we reach the rest of the fleet.”

Squinting her eyes, Marguerite could just make out the shape of what must be Captain Hardy’s long, dour face.

Nelson spoke again, and his perturbed tone made her wince. “As though Pitt’s idea wasn’t idiotic enough, now we have to deal with an injured woman creating a predicament for us. Can you imagine what would happen if it was put out that I
forgot
an unauthorized woman was aboard?”

“Yes, Admiral,” replied Hardy in a soothing voice. “I imagine I should also be castigated soundly as well.”

“Quite. Make sure the crew knows its duty with regard to this.”

Marguerite attempted to apologize for the trouble she was causing, but couldn’t quite form the words. Besides, didn’t they realize she might have died? Instead, she closed her eyes to block out the light and the faces, and sank back into quiet oblivion.

When she awoke again, she was still lying on a window bench,
only now she had a thin blanket tossed over her. It smelled faintly of grease. Darden was on one knee next to her and peering into her face with concern.

“Marguerite, do you know me?”

She nodded her head slowly. Her headache was still excruciating and the movement made it worse.

Darden clasped one of her hands in his damaged left one. “Everyone else is gone. You were shivering so I covered you. I apologize for taking that liberty. The ship’s surgeon has been in to see you and doesn’t think there is serious damage. He wanted to bleed you to release ill humors from your brain, but I thought you’d had enough trauma to sustain you for one day. I must admit your hair is a bit frightful, though. Fortunately, you’re on a man-of-war and mirrors are a scarcity here.”

Marguerite laughed weakly. “Why did Captain Hardy say he would put me off the ship once they meet the fleet? Why doesn’t he put me off before we leave sight of the shoreline?”

Darden looked at her, baffled. “Marguerite, do you know how long you were sleeping?”

“Not more than a few minutes, I’m sure.”

He shook his head. “We were at sail for two hours before Nelson called his officers together for a meeting in his cabin. That’s when you were discovered.”

“That’s not possible!” she gasped.

“I’m afraid it is. Do you think you can take some tea?”

He gently helped her up into a seated position and put her hands around a warm cup before slipping into a dining chair nearby. She gratefully sipped the hot liquid.

Keeping her eyes down on her cup, she said, “I suppose Lord Nelson and Captain Hardy are furious with me.”

“I suppose it’s not every day that a beautiful widow stows away in the admiral’s cabin.” He looked away, embarrassed, when her eyes met his.

An uncomfortable silence ensued.

Marguerite swallowed the last of her tea. “So how long before we reach the fleet? A day?”

“I’m afraid not. Captain Blackwood has blockaded Villeneuve
and the combined French and Spanish fleet at Cádiz. Vice Admiral Calder’s fleet presumably arrived there today to join him, and Nelson’s plan is to get there as soon as possible to take overall command. I expect it to take another couple of weeks.”

“Two weeks! You must be joking. Darden, you know I cannot possibly survive in a ship that long. Besides, I have no change of clothing or any personal belongings.”

“That’s actually not true. All of your personal bags that I loaded onto the carriage in London are here.” He nodded to a pile of luggage near the door.

“I don’t understand. I left all that on the dock while I was setting up the figures. A sailor helped me with the crates after getting approval from the captain, but that was all.”

“Well, somehow your belongings got aboard
Victory.
So hopefully you have a book or two to keep you company for the journey. My intent is to put you in the sick berth, since it’s empty right now. You’ll need to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Promise me that you will do so.”

She nodded obediently, feeling like a chastised little girl. “You know, I didn’t do it on purpose, Darden. And I worked dreadfully hard to fulfill this order for Mr. Pitt.”

“I know. And when we catch up to the rest of the fleet, we’ll put you in a launch and deliver you to a ship at the rear of our columns. You should be quite safe. How does your head feel?”

“Rather like it made contact with an anchor, but the tea helped. By the way, is Lieutenant Selwyn aboard with us?”

Darden’s face darkened. “No, you may recall that the lieutenant was headed for the
Royal Sovereign.
It is doubtful that we will have the pleasure of his company for the foreseeable future.”

“Yes, I remember now. How foolish of me to ask.”

Darden stood and offered his arm. “Are you ready to go to your new quarters? The sick berth won’t be as glamorous as the admiral’s cabin, but you’ll be on the same deck near the figures and it’s as private a place as you’ll find in the ship.”

She attempted a feeble joke. “Will my bed be as sumptuous as the admiral’s over there?”

Darden smiled in return. “I’m afraid not. That cot was specially
made to fit Lord Nelson’s frame. If something happens to him, he’ll be wrapped in it with two round shot at his feet and buried at sea. Lady Hamilton made the hangings herself.”

“He loves her greatly, then?” Marguerite’s question was more a statement.

“Unfortunately, yes. Although most of the Royal Navy and the government find their relationship scandalous, given that both were married when Lord Hamilton was alive, it does have its supporters. Captain Hardy thinks Emma is good for the admiral.”

“And you? What do you think?”

Darden shook his head. “I don’t think anything at all. Not on this topic, anyway, should I like to retain my position. But I will say that when I am married there will be no room in my life for a mistress, because I’ll be too busy loving my wife.”

And on that very interesting comment, Marguerite allowed herself to be escorted to what would be her new home for the next two weeks.

Time passed slowly for Marguerite. Although her head wound bled, the surgeon decided it did not require sewing up, so after a biting cleanup with saltwater, she was left to mend on her own. Her headache lasted nearly as long as the large knot on her head, although it did get progressively better with each night of sleep.