Becoming Lady Lockwood (10 page)

Amelia sat in the galley
with the ship’s boys, counting and dividing eggs into the buckets for the different mess cooks. Slushy tended the chicken that boiled in large vats on the stove. While Amelia did not particularly care for the smell, the galley was the warmest spot on the ship. She had also learned that Slushy liked to sing as he cooked and that the sound of his discordant harmonies drove the boys into fits of laughter. Slushy tolerated it good-naturedly, and Amelia laughed along with them as he favored them with a particularly terrible performance of “Sally in Our Alley.” By the time he reached the last chorus, Amelia and the boys joined in:

There is no lady in the land

Is half so sweet as Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

The group applauded, and Slushy bowed with a flourish, holding onto the preparation table to steady himself. Once he stood up straight, he grinned. “Get on with ya, boys. Tend to those chickens up on deck, and fetch the dried peas from the steward. I’ve work to do and can’t spend the entire day delightin’ the likes of you with my melodious talents.”

As the boys left, Amelia saw that Riley had stepped into the galley and, upon seeing her, began to walk in her direction.

“Good morning, Riley,” Amelia said.

“And to yourself, Miss Amelia. Captain sends his compliments and requests your presence on deck right away, miss.”

“Very well, Riley. And how is the weather on deck this morning?” she asked, hoping that she sounded casual even though the news that the captain wanted her had set her stomach fluttering. She felt a sudden urge to grin and start up another rousing rendition of “Sally in Our Alley.”

“Cold, miss. But the sun is shining.”

They left the galley, followed by Corporal Thorne, and Riley wrinkled his nose. “We’re to have boiled chicken again, I see.”

“Chicken and pea soup tonight,” Amelia said. “And for a little added excitement—sea biscuits!”

Riley smiled. After so many months at sea, the men regularly grumbled about the lack of variety in their menu. The two of them stopped at Amelia’s cabin. Riley waited as she put on her shawl; then he chivalrously held her coat as she slid her arms into the sleeves.

“And what vittles do you prefer to chicken?” she asked, tying her warmest bonnet beneath her chin and putting on her gloves.

“Beef, miss. How I’d love a large slice of beef with plum pudding and roast potatoes and gravy everywhere.”

Amelia smiled. “We do not have many cows in Jamaica. But I miss fresh fruit.” She stepped out the door and toward the companionway. The cool breeze that flowed from the decks was already chilling her through her coat. “And who is waiting in London for you, Riley? Do you have family there?” She prayed that he had someone.

“Aye, Miss Amelia. My mum and three younger sisters. My pa’s dead. It’s been more than a year since I saw them last.”

“I’ll wager you’re a great help to your mother.”

Riley’s shoulders straightened as they walked up the companionway.

When they stepped onto the deck, they spotted a group of sailors crowded around the gunwale on the starboard side. William hailed her and rushed toward them. “Thank you, Riley. Amelia, you must see this.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the group, who parted to allow her to step through their midst and to the side of the ship, where they all pointed at something in the water.

As she watched, a fountain spouted from the sea, followed by the enormous body of a whale that surfaced and plunged back into the water. Its tail, nearly as large as the ship’s mainsail, crashed into the water, sending up a spray. She turned to say something to William, but he turned her back around and pointed. “Just wait,” he said.

A moment later, a smaller spout shot up, and a miniature version of the huge whale bobbed on the water and then dove, its small tail hovering for an instant before it smacked down into the sea.

Amelia pressed her hands to her mouth to suppress the glee that threatened to burst forth in a most unladylike squeal. “A baby whale!” she finally squeaked. She looked at William—whose arm she had just noticed was around her shoulder—and fought the thoroughly compelling urge to lean against him.

He watched her face with an excited smile of his own. “In all my years at sea, I’ve rarely seen such a sight and never so close to the ship.” Squeezing her closer, he pointed again, and they watched the sequence of bursting forth with a spray and then plunging back into the sea, first by the large animal then repeated by the smaller.

A cool breeze caused Amelia to shiver, and William pulled her against him, wrapping his other arm around her. She leaned her head back against his chest and felt his chin rest on the top of her bonnet.

Amelia imagined that she would remember this as one of the most perfect moments of her life. The sun shone brightly in the blue sky, she was watching a miracle that few people would ever experience in their lifetimes, and she stood in the arms of the man she loved.

There it was. She loved William. She thought about him constantly when they were apart and felt as though she would burst with happiness when she was with him. He was everything she had ever dreamed of: handsome, kind, witty. William listened to her, respected her opinions, and felt pride in her. He was her other half.

A wave of sorrow drifted through her blissful moment, reminding her that if her father had his way, William would also be her brother-in-law. And if such was the case, would she be able to return to Jamaica? Or would she be expected to spend her life under his care, living in the dower house on his estate, near enough to see him every day but unable to be with him? William would undoubtedly marry, and she would be nearby to watch him and his bride and their children. That was, unless she married herself and went away with her own husband.

Her contemplations became unbearable, and with some effort, she forced the thoughts from her mind. She wouldn’t ruin this moment. Not when the future was so unpredictable. Right now, she was precisely where she wanted to be, and she would accomplish nothing by fretting about the unknown.

William stood on the quarterdeck.
Despite the bitter chill, he hoped Amelia would venture up on deck today. He paced in front of the railing, and hearing the four bells signaling the middle of the forenoon watch, he joined the quartermaster. The man looked ill at ease, as did all of the officers as they sailed through the French seas. The sailors were unaffected as, per the captain’s orders, they knew naught of their location and only understood that they were mere days from home.

Sidney was the worst of all. He remained in such a state of agitation that William was nearly ready to force the lieutenant to his berth with a dosage of laudanum to calm him. William patted the quartermaster on his shoulder. “Keep to course, Mr. Michaels.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

When William returned to the railing, he looked down to the quarterdeck, where Amelia stood, her arms wrapped around herself, speaking with Mr. Wheeler. When her gaze met his, she smiled and shook the older man’s hand. He patted hers in a fatherly manner.

William had seen a friendly affection develop between the sailmaker and Amelia, and he marveled at how she was able to soften the hearts of everyone around her. She had undoubtedly softened his, he thought with a wry smile.

Amelia walked toward him, and he stepped down the gangway to meet her. Linking her hand through his offered arm, she allowed herself to be led slowly as they strolled around the edges of the main deck.

“And how do you do this morning, Amelia?”

“Quite well, sir. And yourself?”

“Smashing. It is a fine day to be at sea.” He stopped at the gunwale and walked around, turning to face her. “However, there is a matter which I would like to discuss with you.”

Amelia raised her eyebrows. “It sounds serious, sir.”

“Precisely so, Miss Becket.” Her eyebrows rose even higher as he addressed her formally. “It has come to my attention that you were seen at dawn this morning with the junior officers as they sighted our position. Furthermore, I am told that you even had the audacity to use a sextant yourself in an attempt to understand the process.”

Amelia stared at him. Her face was a myriad of expressions ranging from curiosity to anxiety.

William leaned closer. “As I can find no other explanation, I am forced to assume that you are attempting to take control of my ship, miss.” He winked, and Amelia’s face relaxed into a somewhat relieved smile.

“It is true, sir. You have discovered my nefarious scheme. Just this morning I evaluated the size and cut of your jacket to see how I should look in regimentals.”

“I hardly need to explain that mutiny is a severely punishable offence.” He lifted her hands, wrapping his fingers around her wrists. “I wonder if we are carrying shackles in such a small size. But maybe returning you to London in chains is not a sufficiently serious punishment for a crime of this nature. I think I shall employ . . .
the waltz
.”

Her eyes widened in mock terror. “Captain, no! I shall reform. Such punishment is inhumane.”

“You should have considered the penalty when you—”

They were interrupted by a call from the riggings, which was repeated across the deck. A cold ribbon of fear wrapped around William’s heart.
Please let them be mistaken.
He pulled Amelia behind him as he rushed to the gangplank and up onto the quarterdeck.

Sidney handed him a spyglass, and he peered through it, his heart sinking at the sight of the white, pointed sails that practically screamed “blockade runner.” William waited a moment longer for the ensign to catch the wind, and when it unfurled, his fears were confirmed. Dread spread through his limbs, and he took a deep breath so as not to alarm the men. He must maintain a façade of calm if he hoped to inspire courage in them.

“William, what is it?” Amelia asked, slipping her hand back into his.

Not now. Not with her.
He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “It is a French warship, Amelia.”

“No,” she whispered. Her eyes darted from the ship to his face, and he found he could not bear her look of fear.

He gripped her hand more firmly, hoping to lend her courage that he himself did not feel. He must keep her safe.

“Corporal Thorne,” William called.

The marine rushed to him. “Sir?”

“Please see Miss Becket safely to the stern hold at once, and then quickly resume your position.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

William’s training took over, and he turned to Sidney and began to give orders. “Mr. Fletcher, give my regards to the boatswain and ask him to please call for action stations. At your posts, officers.” The bell was rung five times and then repeated. The drum began to sound, and feet pounded upon the deck at the shrill of the boatswain’s whistle and the call, “Beat to quarters!” All around them, the entire ship had broken into an ordered chaos that normally set William’s heart racing in anticipation, but today he was nearly panicked at the thought that Amelia could get hurt—or worse.

“William,” Amelia’s voice shook. “Can’t we outrun them? Please, we must do something.”

“We shall do something, Amelia.” He pursed his lips tightly.

“But . . .” The color had drained from her face, and tears began to fill her eyes.

The captain’s steward stepped onto the quarterdeck with William’s dress uniform and helped William into his full-metal jacket, bicorn hat, and perfectly polished boots. The sound of cannons rolling across the deck filled the air. The marines marched to their positions, muskets loaded and at the ready. William glanced toward the other ship and saw it bearing down on them quickly.

“William.” Amelia’s voice was little more than a terrified sob.

The sound pierced his heart, leaving behind an ache. He brushed his fingers gently across her cheek. “Be safe and brave, my Amelia,” he said then nodded to Corporal Thorne, who tugged on her elbow and guided her down the gangway.

William knew that he must put Amelia from his mind if he was to have his wits about him during battle. So many lives were in his hands, and he did not take the responsibility lightly. He permitted himself one last glance toward the opening to the lower decks, where Amelia and Corporal Thorne had begun to descend the companionway. She turned her head and briefly met his gaze and just as quickly was gone below.

He turned his attention to the starboard bow, where the warship drew ever nearer. Stepping to the quartermaster, he said, “Three points to starboard, Mr. Michaels. Let’s bring her around and show those Frenchies what they’re up against.”

He waited for all of the lieutenants’ runners to indicate that their squadrons stood ready, and then he signaled to the boatswain, who gave the order, “Up ports!”

The sight of the HMS
Venture
with her gun ports open and the absolute silence the English navy maintained before a battle must have struck fear into the hearts of the French sailors. Many enemies—or at least those few who had survived to tell the tale—had reported how unnerving and even eerie it was to face such a force. It was indeed part of the strategy to intimidate the enemy before the first cannon even fired. It was also quite a demonstration of the discipline necessary to control men at a most volatile moment.

At the captain’s signal, the boatswain cried the order, “Run out!” and as one, the cannons on the starboard side emerged from their ports.

“Stout hearts, men!” William bellowed. He knew that they were watching the cannons aimed toward them with the same apprehension as their enemies.

“Mr. Fletcher, at your command. Open fire, first division!”

Sidney stood at the other end of the deck. At the captain’s signal, he cried, “Stand clear!” and lifted his arm into the air. The entire ship held its breath, and time stood still as Sidney brought his arm down and yelled, “
FIRE!
”

The roar of the cannons
and the jerk of the ship as the entire side fired as one sent Amelia into a panic. She huddled in a ball next to the grate that Corporal Thorne had moved for her. She had climbed into the hull but just as quickly climbed out again when she heard the sloshing of water and the scampering of rats. The ship shuddered, and Amelia fell against the bulkhead in the small, dark section of the deck. Righting herself, she covered her ears against the screams, crashes, and explosions and loosed the emotions that she had attempted to hold in check. The idea that her beloved ship, her beloved crew, and especially her beloved William were facing a warship intent on their destruction caused her stomach to clench. She breathed rapidly as she fought back waves of nausea and tears and terror. And there was nothing to be done but wait.

More rolling of cannons across the deck; the smell of smoke; and the sounds of running, yelling, and injured and dying men crying out penetrated her attempts to push the horror out of her mind. The ship jolted again as it was hit, and she pressed her hand against the bulkhead to steady herself. She hated hiding, helpless, knowing that men she cared about were being hurt.

Amelia stood up and brushed off her skirts. She was disgusted with herself. There was plenty she could do, and she’d not behave like a coward and desert her shipmates. She fought down her terror and hurried toward the operating theater to assist the surgeon. He would definitely require extra hands at a time like this.

When she entered the familiar room, the scene she saw before her could only be described as a nightmare.

By the shadowy light of the lanterns, she saw carnage all around. Men—and parts of men—lay on tables and on the deck. Some men had gaping wounds; others, only blood where their limbs should be. The surgeon’s mates stoked a fire in a portable stove, where a pail of tar bubbled. Amelia watched, horrified, as two of the mates held an injured man upon the table while a third removed the sailor’s mangled leg with a saw. The stump of leg was dipped into the boiling tar to seal the wound and stop the bleeding. Amelia grabbed the doorframe for support. Her head was swimming. The noise of the groans and sobs and screams of agony filled her ears, and her first instinct was to run back to the dark corner above the stern hold.

She took a steadying breath and remembered that these were her shipmates. Fighting the upheaval in her stomach, she stumbled through the madness toward the surgeon. She would not let these men see her become sick or repulsed by them. It was their darkest hour, and they needed all the comfort she could give. Dr. Spinner looked relieved to see her, equipping her with a curved suture needle and catgut thread.

He pulled her toward the edge of the room, as far out of earshot as was possible. “Miss Becket, I do not mean to appear uncaring toward the men, but there will be many who we shall not be able save. If given a choice, our services will be most valuable to a man with a chance of survival. My design is to help as many men as possible, but sometimes this requires difficult decisions, and often they seem cruel. Please follow my advice.”

“I understand, Doctor.”

He turned back toward the supply cabinet. “You shall also want this,” he said, handing her an apron.

Amelia took off her coat and put the apron over her head, tying it behind her back as she followed Dr. Spinner. The surgeon’s mates were already attending to various patients, and the doctor led her to a man with a bloody cloth pressed to his face. Moving the cloth, the doctor revealed a gash torn in the man’s cheek. He looked it over quickly then motioned to Amelia.

“I have given him pain medication. If you please, suture the wound.”

“Yes, sir.”

The medicine had obviously done its job well. The man did not move as Amelia closed his wound. Initially, she attempted to work as carefully as possible, but as the cannons continued to fire, the room became increasingly crowded, and she realized speed was more beneficial than caution.

When she had finished, the man was carried away and replaced by another. Dr. Spinner instructed her as to the dosage of laudanum and set about removing the large splinter of wood that had wedged itself into the man’s leg. The sailor screamed out and attempted to rise, so Dr. Spinner called one of his mates to help hold the patient in place.

Amelia held the wounded man’s hand and brushed the hair from his brow. His eyes darted about, pain and fear evident. “You’ll be all right, sir. The doctor only needs to remove the splinter, and we shall have your leg repaired in no time.” Her words and the sedative had the desired effect, and the man relaxed.

“Suture, if you please, Miss Becket.” The doctor moved on to the next patient, and Amelia set to work sewing up the leg.

She concentrated hard, lest the swaying of the ship cause her to lose her balance during the delicate procedure. When Amelia had boarded this vessel, she’d never imagined she would come to sew up both sails and men upon its decks.

The man was moved, and his place was taken by a younger man. His shipmates laid him gently upon the table. A shirt had been tied around his torso in an attempt to stop his bleeding, but the makeshift bandage was saturated, and blood seeped onto the table and dripped onto the floor.

Dr. Spinner lifted the shirt, and his face fell. He caught Amelia’s gaze and shook his head ever so slightly. As she moved to follow him away from the table, the young man opened his eyes and lifted his hand toward her. Stepping back to him, she grasped his hand. It was cold, and she noticed that his face was growing paler by the moment.

“It’s bad, isn’t it, miss?” he asked.

Amelia nodded and blinked back the tears that had sprung to her eyes. “Yes. It is bad.” She laid her other hand on his. “What is your name, sir?”

He grimaced against the pain that must have been unbearable. “Nicholas.”

“I’ll stay here with you, Nicholas.” She smiled. “I’m Amelia.”

His eyes rolled, as he blinked and struggled to focus on her face. “Amelia . . . pretty.” His voice was getting weaker.

“Thank you.”

“Amelia, I’m scared,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

“There’s nothing to fear, Nicholas.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. His hand clenched briefly and then dropped from hers.

With the corner of her apron, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, placed Nicholas’s hand gently upon his chest, and rejoined Dr. Spinner where he was attending to the next patient. If she paused and allowed herself time to think, she would undoubtedly fall apart, so she kept busy.

It seemed like hours later, as she rinsed a rag out in a bucket of formerly clean water, when Dr. Spinner paused and turned to her. “Do you hear that, Miss Becket?” She sat silently for a moment listening and then realized that the cannons were no longer firing.

“And did we win then, Doctor?”

“We’ll know soon enough, miss, but as we aren’t having this conversation on the bottom of the ocean, I take it as a good sign.”

Amelia listened as she hung the semiclean rag to dry, hoping to hear William or someone reporting that the French had turned tail and run. She moved a pile of bloody rags, making room as the next injured sailor was laid upon the table. Turning back to her patient, she froze. The rest of the world seemed to fall away, and she pressed her fist to her mouth to stop the sob that fought its way free.

Tobias.

He lay unconscious upon the table. His head lolled to one side. The doctor stepped to the other side of the table and lifted his shirt. Ugly, purple bruising covered his torso in splotches that grew as she watched.

The doctor set the shirt back down and shook his head.

“Please, Doctor. We must do something.” Her voice was shrill, but she didn’t care. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Becket. I know the two of you were friends. You’d best say your good-byes quickly.” He patted her on the arm and moved away to attend to another sailor.

Were?
It couldn’t be. Not this. The cannons had stopped. It was Tobias’s last voyage. He was going home to rest his old bones and see his granddaughter, Anna.

She blinked against her tears and took his hand. “Tobias,” she said softly. “Please wake up.”

He groaned and rolled his head. His eyelids fluttered opened. “Miss Amelia,” he whispered.

She choked on a sob and attempted a brave smile as she laid her hand on his bearded cheek. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

Tobias began to cough, the pain of each movement evident on his face. He struggled to speak.

Amelia smoothed his gristly white hair away from his face. “Just rest, Tobias.”

“I’ll have plenty of time for that soon enough, miss.” He coughed again, and Amelia poured him a cup of water. When she offered it, he shook his head. “My trunk . . .” Another fit of coughs wracked his broken body.

Amelia stroked his face, “Shhh. It will be all right, Tobias.”

His voice was barely a whisper, and she leaned close to hear. “A pouch for Anna . . .”

“Of course, Tobias. I’ll deliver the pouch myself. And I’ll make sure Anna’s taken care of—I promise. Please, do not worry anymore.” Amelia couldn’t stop the tears that dropped from her eyes.

Tobias strained as if trying to sit up. “Pocket,” he whispered.

Amelia searched his pocket but found only the sailmaker’s “palm.”

When he saw that she held it, he closed his hand around hers. Tobias’s face relaxed. “I’m fond of ya, Miss Amelia . . . Like a daughter . . .” His soft whisper trailed away, and Amelia knew he was gone.

A small cry of “no” escaped her lips, and she lay her head upon his chest. Blood pounded in her ears. Tears streamed down her face, soaking his shirt, and Amelia felt a piece of her heart crumble away.

Minutes later, still standing at Tobias’s side, Amelia felt a hand laid upon her shoulder. It was with extraordinary effort that she lifted her head and tried to focus on the new movement around her. She turned to see Sidney standing over her. His face carried none of its usual joviality; rather, his expression was drawn. He pulled her to him in a gentle embrace before stepping back and looking into her face.

“I’m so sorry, Amelia.” She noticed that his eyes were weary and lines had formed around the sides of his mouth.

“I’m glad you’re unharmed, Sidney.”

“Thank you. The captain sent me to fetch you from the stern hull. I should have known you’d be in the midst of things.” Sidney attempted a small smile. “My friend Amelia Becket would not hide in the bowels of the ship when she could be doing something vital.”

“And the captain? Is he . . . ?”

“He is well, Amelia. Attending to the interrogation and processing of prisoners.”

Hearing his words, Amelia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Relief flowed over her, and her shoulders sagged. She allowed Sidney to lead her to the side of the room, and she leaned against him as he rubbed her arm. Sidney’s words and touch brought Amelia comfort, but it wasn’t his embrace she ached for. How had William fared in the battle? He was unharmed, but she could imagine the burden of watching his men and his ship under assault. She longed to comfort him, ease his troubles.

As they watched, the doorway filled with marines, who took positions around the room. Injured French prisoners were led or carried into the theater for care.

Amelia turned down Sidney’s offer to escort her above deck. “This is where I’m needed.” She patted him upon the cheek. “I am grateful that you are well, Sidney. I should not have been able to bear the loss of another so dear to me.”

Sidney’s face softened. “Thank you, Amelia. And I shall ease the captain’s mind and tell him you are safe also. I believe he half expected you to don regimentals and lead the musket charge.”

“How did the ship fare?” Amelia asked.

“Not well,” he said, his jaw clenched, and he looked away. “The extent of the damage is still being assessed.”

“It is a good thing we are so close to England, isn’t it, Sidney?”

He turned back to look at her, and she saw the strain had returned to his face. “Yes, Amelia. It is a
very
good thing.”

Once Sidney had departed, Amelia realized that she still held Tobias’s ship maker’s palm in her hand. She put it carefully away in her skirt pocket and turned her attention to the injured prisoners. Dr. Spinner was attempting to calm a man who had a bleeding wound on his side. As the doctor obviously spoke no French, his voice only increased in volume, and the prisoner became more agitated.

“Remain still, ya cursed Frenchie,” the doctor said, his teeth clenched.

Amelia stepped closer and spoke to the man. “
Et comment allez-vous, monsieur?
” Both the doctor and the prisoner looked at her with relief evident on their faces. “
Le médecin va vous aider, mais vous devez rester immobile.
”

The man calmed, and after the doctor’s examination, Amelia set to work suturing his wound. She continued to speak in French to him, imagining that he must be quite frightened aboard an enemy ship where he was unable to understand anything.

“What is your name, sir?”

“Pierre.”

“Pierre, I assure you, you are quite safe aboard the
Venture
. Captain Drake is a good man, and he’ll not mistreat you. Please tell your shipmates not to fear.”

She worked side by side with the surgeon for hours, translating when necessary. Once the prisoners were treated to Dr. Spinner’s satisfaction and then transferred to the sick bay, Amelia sank onto one of the overturned barrels. She leaned back against the bulkhead and closed her eyes, thoroughly exhausted.

The doctor joined her. “Your help was invaluable today, Miss Becket.”

Amelia didn’t think she could lift her head if she tried. She spoke without opening her eyes. “I am sorry for how I acted today, sir. When I saw Tobias upon the table, I did the very thing you warned me against.”

The doctor patted her hand. “I have rarely seen a woman with such compassion. I don’t begrudge you for caring about your friend.”

Amelia allowed herself to relax, and she may have even fallen asleep in the awkward position, but her head jerked up quickly as her mind filled with the dreadful images and sounds of the battle and its aftermath. She looked to her side, where the doctor’s head was slumped forward in sleep. She realized he still held her hand, so she gently pulled away, stifling a groan, and stood. She left the room and saw Corporal Ashworth outside the door. He presented arms and snapped to attention.