Almost a Scandal (9 page)

“A guinea says he didn’t,” Mr. Charlton answered.

“No bets, Mr. Charlton. And only a fool would take it. Well, Mr. Colyear?” The captain was making sport of him.

“No, sir. I haven’t set foot on land since Gibraltar, last spring. And only then for less than ten minutes. I’m not fond of the way the land reacts underfoot.”

Their smiles were all at their expense.

“Not even the ladies can tempt our Mr. Colyear ashore,” Captain McAlden observed. “But I tell you, man, you shall think very differently of the land when you have got a wife.”

He did not bother to repeat that he should not want a wife for the very reason that it would require him to go ashore. They had heard his objections to marriage before and would only be more amused, for Captain McAlden was of a different opinion entirely. Indeed, on their last cruise—chasing Villeneuve’s French fleet across the Atlantic—the captain had ordered a diversion in their course to the island of New Providence, ostensibly to reprovision the ship for their swift passage back to England with Admiral Nelson’s dispatches for the Admiralty, but in reality so the captain could spend a long day and night with his wife, Lady McAlden, who lived there.

“Well, I should like you to reconsider, Mr. Colyear,” his captain advised. “Not about the wife, for such things are the province of a man’s own discretion, but about the land. For what I have in mind, I should very much like to send you ashore.”

Col forced himself not to react like a puling midshipman. Not to let his damned fear and hesitation show. “Ashore, sir, or merely inshore for a mission, like a cutting-out expedition, for example?”

“Very much like a cutting-out expedition, Mr. Colyear. Such acuity confirms my opinion that you are one of the finest young officers I have ever had the privilege of having serve under me. And, much as it would pain me to part with you, I should like to see you in your own command. But to accomplish that we will need to be truly audacious.”

The warm praise burned away Col’s misgivings. “I thank you for your confidence, sir. But how exactly is that to be accomplished?”

McAlden’s devilish, one-sided smile was out in full force. “By being lucky, of course.”

“I thought you did not believe in luck, sir?”

“I don’t,” his captain answered, still smiling his secret, ironic smile. “I believe in preparation. Luck is merely when preparation meets opportunity. And I want you to be prepared for every opportunity, Mr. Colyear, including those ashore. But it is early days yet. On another tack entirely, I should like your opinion as to the current state of the crew.”

Col was thoroughly prepared for such a discussion. In his head, he had already divided the whole of
Audacious
’s people in different watches and divisions based on what he already knew of their abilities and temperaments. “We’ve retained most all of our crew from the last cruise. Only two invalided out in Portsmouth. So the topmen and the gun crews should be well manned with veterans. We’ve taken on five new landsmen, but I’m sure you’ll want daily sail and gun drill—perhaps alternating days while we work new hands in.”

“Admirable. Mr. Charlton, have you any recommendations?”

“Mr. Davies has put forward William Moffatt’s name for gunners mate. Good man, steady. Been in seven years.”

“Mr. Colyear?”

“Excellent choice, sir.” And so they went through the ranks. While the captain never interfered with his sailing master or his first lieutenant’s prerogatives, he liked to know everything that went on aboard his ship, including all matters of the crew’s division, which were Col’s to decide.

“Quite satisfactory,” Captain McAlden remarked. “And what of the officers? What do you make of the boys so far?”

Here was his chance to speak. Now. With England still off the starboard rail.

“Dance and Beecham continue to come along well.” Col eased into the dangerous topic. “Mr. Dance especially is maturing in his abilities.”

“Excellent. And Mr. Gamage?”

Col was sensible, as were they all, of their failures with Mr. Gamage. The navy liked to see something come of its investment in a man’s training, and Col took it personally, as a mark against his professionalism, that Mr. Gamage did not improve. He strove to push the resignation from his voice. “He continues to be Gamage.”

“Not much you can do for him if he can’t learn his mathematics enough to pass the exams. Mr. Charlton? Any thoughts about putting him up as a master’s mate?”

“I’ve broached the idea, sir, only to be told by Mr. Gamage that he considers the position to be below that of a gentleman.”

“Well, damn his impudence. And without the mathematics there is nothing to be done. And the new boys? I have high hopes for young Kent. A bright, eager lad. He certainly seemed to know his business in the foretop. His father will be pleased to hear of it.”

“Have you written to Captain Kent?” Col wished the impulsive question back even as he asked. While Captain McAlden rarely interfered with his lieutenant’s disposition of the men, he would be taken aback by Col’s inquiry after his personal correspondence, even if he did not hear the urgency in Col’s normally level voice.

“Have you some objection, sir? Do you not share my good opinion of the boy? Come, Mr. Colyear, if you know something to the boy’s detriment, let me hear what you have to say, for I would not give such a man as Captain Kent false hopes.”

Now was the time, the perfect time, to disclose his misgivings about Kent. Now, while she could be put off discreetly and quietly, while they were still within sight of the English coast. Now.

But what if his misgivings were wrong? What if his much-vaunted instinct was wrong? The insult to Richard Kent, and by extension to his family, would be monumental. Not to mention utterly humiliating for Col himself.

He had to be sure.

“No, sir.” The words felt dry and tight in his throat. “None at all.”

“Good. It is for you to decide, of course, but I should recommend putting our able young Mr. Kent with Mr. Gamage. That pairing seems likely to cause the least amount of trouble.”

“Agreed, sir. Young Mr. Worth is with Mr. Dance, and Mr. Jellicoe with Mr. Beecham. I’ve already seen to it.”

“Excellent.” The captain smiled. “That is why I count on you, Mr. Colyear. You always see what needs to be done.”

“Yes, sir.” Col swallowed his misgivings down like a dose of bitter medicine. “I hope to God I have.”

Chapter Six

“A word, Mr. Kent, when you are done with your lessons.”

Sally blinked to adjust her eyes to the full brightness of the sunlight after having her eye to the sextant, and found Mr. Colyear standing directly in front of her. He had not been on the quarterdeck earlier, when they had begun the lesson, for she had found herself looking for him, seeking out his tall form even before she realized what she was doing.

The forenoon had been spent in the company of the rest of the midshipmen—minus Mr. Gamage, who had disappeared below the moment Mr. Charlton had called them to attend him—at lessons on the mathematics of navigation. They had just finished learning to take the noon reading of the zenith of the sun, a skill she had acquired years before, when Mr. Colyear had materialized before her, like a shark rising out of the water, grim, silent, and intent.

But that just seemed to be his way, his method for keeping the officers and men on their toes. Sally was glad she was already on her toes, for that was undoubtedly why he wanted to speak to her. He must have noticed that Mr. Charlton had singled her out for praise in the quick and accurate accomplishment of her calculations. Perhaps Mr. Colyear wanted to add his own praise for the efficiency with which she had seen his orders followed that morning. “Certainly, Mr. Colyear. I am at your disposal.”

“Walk with me, if you please.”

She turned to follow him down the gangway toward the bowsprit. In his usual manner, his eyes never stopped roaming, never stopped canvassing the ship for work to be done. Or work to be done better.

“Lincoln,” he said to one of the forecastle men, “see that sheet is coiled properly. Higgins, report that split in the chain wale to the carpenter. I don’t want that giving way at the wrong moment.”

Sally merely followed in his wake, conscious of her appearance, striving to walk as she had been observing Jellicoe and Beecham doing. Trying her best to appear to be boyish. To be her better version of Richard.

Now that Mr. Colyear wasn’t bending his thorny, unrelenting gaze upon her, she could appreciate his vigilance, and appreciate his qualities—as a professional man, of course. He saw everything that needed to be seen, everything that needed to be done. In the setting of the sails that morning, the moment she had noticed a correction that needed to be made, he was already there, calling out his orders before she even got the words out of her mouth.

He was quite remarkable. And he wasn’t at all like her brothers, who were voluble and impulsive. Mr. Colyear was even-keeled, keeping his emotions in check behind his formidable intelligence and self-control. It had been a great pleasure to listen for his well-tempered, precise commands.

“Young Mr. Kent,” he began slowly, giving each word the full measure of its weight. “I hardly know what to do with you.”

He sounded baffled, and just a little put out. But Sally had heard such tones before. How many times had her father or one of her brothers sounded the same, when she had exasperated them with her tomboy, hoydenish antics?

She gave Mr. Colyear the same answer she had always given them. “Put me to work, sir. Anywhere you please, though I like the foremast, and especially the captain of the foretop, Willis. Excellent man. Knows his business. But if it please you, I can do almost any duty you should need or desire.”

“I have no doubt you can.” Mr. Colyear shook his head ruefully and looked out over the rail at the sea, reading its ebb and flow the way most people read a book—all its secrets were open to him. “You’re an odd one, Kent.”

Sally was buffeted back by that, as if by a stiff headwind. Odd was not helpful or admiring. Odd was certainly not promising. Odd was not good.

“Last night I was happy to find that your brothers had gotten you wrong. They never thought there would be any making a sailor out of you. Best left to your books and dour sermons was Matthew and Dominic’s theory. But you don’t seem the sort for books. Not at all.”

Her stomach began to knot up like a cat’s-paw. This was very definitely not good. “Have I done something wrong, sir?”

“If you’ve done what I think you have, it’s the wrongest thing I can think of. Damnation, but I’m not sure of you, Kent. Not sure at all.” Mr. Colyear swiped his hat off his head and ran his fingers through his black hair in a gesture of utter frustration, making him look disheveled. And thoroughly appealing. “Ever since you came on board you’ve captured my attention in a way that has”—he searched for a word—“unsettled me.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to—” She could hear the sharp edge of panic fraying her voice, but her heart seemed to be rising into her throat. She seized upon the first excuse. “I know I was tardy coming aboard but—”

“And why was that, Kent?” He turned to look at her, his gaze raking across her, searching her face, looking at her as if the answer he sought might be written across her skin. Up close, his voice sounded throaty and ashen, as if it had been dragged through a fire. Everything about him looked that way, dark and saturated with charcoal—the sooty black of his rumpled hair, the liquid depths of his eyes that darkened now that all the light had gone out of them, and the shadowed dark of his skin, burned and bronzed by the years of exposure to sun and wind and rain. Up close, everything about him seemed dark and relentless. “Why were you tardy coming aboard?”

She would have to lie despite the heat that raced under her skin, scorching her. Despite the fact that he had said only this morning that she was an abominable liar. She would have to lie because not to do so would be to give in. To give up her dream.

So she cleaved as closely to the truth as possible, desperate to make him believe her. “I was unsure, sir. Unsure if I should take my place.”

A frown pleated three identical vertical marks between his eyebrows as he continued to watch her. “You still felt that perhaps the church was your true calling?”

She should have known that her brothers’ letters would be frank and revealing. She should have been better prepared for Mr. Colyear’s probing inquisition. “Yes,” was the only thing she could answer. It was the truth—or at least it was Richard’s truth.

“And what, may I ask, do you think now?”

Sally put every ounce of terrified conviction into her answer. “That it was absolutely the right decision to come aboard.”

“Absolutely?”

“Yes, sir. I was meant for the sea.” This was undoubtedly the truest thing she had ever said. She knew it to the bottom of her soul. “Mr. Colyear, can you doubt my commitment? I have tried—I am trying—very hard to prove my worth. To prove my usefulness, just as Captain McAlden instructed. Have I not done so?”

“You have.” He looked her in the eye and she felt again the strength of that look, the singleness of focus. It made a person feel as if they were the only thing in the world he could see, when she knew that wasn’t true—he saw
everything
. He always had. “But you ought to know as well as I, Kent, that sometimes, even that is not enough.”

He knew. The knowledge was there in the quiet resignation of his voice, in the pained way he closed his eyes so he might no longer have to look at her. She told herself it was inevitable that he should know her. But even that cold knowledge could not alleviate the searing knot of pain radiating from her chest.

She turned away so he might not see the hot wash of tears rising in her eyes. She would not cry. Devil take her, she was a Kent.

“It’s funny. All day I’ve been thinking of that summer. The summer I spent with your family at Cliff House, there in Falmouth. I recall it was a very fine house, with a great prospect down to the sea.”

“Oh, yes.” She could hear the bleak, frustrated attempt at humor in her voice, as she attempted to follow his improbable segue. “I don’t think my father could abide in any house for longer than a day, if it did not have a view of the sea.”