Becoming Lady Lockwood (5 page)

“In the evening, the entire sky fills with bats. When I was young, my grandfather and I would sit outside on the balcony and watch them flitting through the sky.”

Riley looked wistful. “The other ship’s boys and I did not go ashore while we were in port. Captain Drake said Kingston was not the place for young gentlemen.”

“That was quite sensible of him, Riley. I think the captain kept you out of a great deal of trouble. I myself have only been to Kingston a handful of times, though it is merely an hour away from my home outside of Spanish Town.”

She asked the doctor questions about the placement of and distance between stitches, and seeing her interest in the procedure, he showed her how to tie off the knots and cut the thread between each individual stitch. With Riley’s permission, the doctor even allowed her to apply the last two sutures. Amelia did her best to keep her hands from shaking, as she was sure each stitch caused the boy pain.

When the doctor was finished, Amelia took Riley’s damaged shirt to wash out the blood and repair the tear.

All three patients had been given doses of laudanum for their pain and now rested comfortably. The men were moved to the sick bay, and Riley was taken to his berth with orders to sleep for the remainder of the day. He could return to his duties in the morning.

Amelia felt satisfaction in the fact that she had found a way to be useful. She determined to assist the crew in any way she could and banish any notions of her bringing bad luck to the voyage.

Amelia helped the doctor rinse the blood out of the shirt and rags, hang them to dry, and put away the medication in the dispensary cabinet. When they finished, it was nearly time for their midday meal. Dr. Spinner escorted her up the companionway. They were followed again by Corporal Thorne, who took up his post outside the wardroom with his usual display of ceremony.

As Amelia entered the room, she was delighted to see Sidney Fletcher among the officers seated around the table. He bounded toward her with a pleased smile and grasped her hand with both of his.

“Miss Becket, it is wonderful to see you back in good health.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.”

“The men have been telling me what a delight it was to eat breakfast with you this morning. I am disappointed that my duties kept me away.”

Amelia smiled at the lieutenant’s contagious good humor and allowed herself to be led to the table. She exchanged greetings with some of her new friends before Sidney captured her attention again.

“You recovered just in time.” Sidney said. “This afternoon we shall have quite a show. You won’t want to miss it.”

Amelia tipped her head, trying to think of what he might mean. “What kind of show might I expect to see aboard a British man-of-war, Lieutenant?”

Sidney’s eyes glinted. “A full gun-training drill.”

William stood on the quarterdeck
next to the helm. A glance at the compass in the binnacle box assured him that the quartermaster was keeping to course. The captain walked to the railing that overlooked the main deck and then turned, his eyes landing upon the large gold letters painted upon the afterpart of the quarterdeck:
England expects every man to do his duty.
The words appeared on every ship that was with Admiral Nelson at Trafalgar, and it was the motto by which William directed his crew.

He was reluctant to admit it, but he had thought often of Sidney’s concerns the past few days. Their orders and the course laid for the voyage were so unusual that he worried about what the Lord Admirals had in mind when they assigned the
Venture
’s mission. Was Captain Drake’s ship being used as a decoy? Were they sailing toward certain death? The responsibility for the men under his command weighed heavily on him. The importance of the gun drills became even more crucial as he wondered what dangers they would encounter. The best way to ensure the safety of the ship and the men was to drill until there was no doubt as to their capability in battle. The men needed to know precisely where to go and what to do and to work seamlessly together in a manner that could be achieved only by practice.

As William watched the deck, Sidney emerged from the companionway with Miss Becket. She opened a light yellow parasol and held it as she pointed and gestured with her hand. She appeared to be asking Sidney questions, which he answered in his usual animated fashion. Watching her, William perceived genuine interest in her inquiries and the explanations Sidney gave. She seemed to consider his answers before asking another question, and William wondered what it was that she found so interesting.

But he didn’t allow himself to wonder for long. He signaled to the boatswain, who sounded the bell five times and then repeated the pattern. A marine began to beat his drum, and the boatswain called the order, “Hands to quarters!” The command was repeated and called down the companionways until the ship erupted into action.

William watched as Sidney quickly led Miss Becket to the portside aft corner and under the overhanging deck, out of the way of the guns and the traffic. The officers moved purposefully toward their assigned positions, but he noticed many sailors moving slowly or hesitating as the gun decks were cleared. Some appeared to be waiting for instruction, and in the heat of battle, there was no time to think. William ground his teeth, frustrated.

He knew that the lieutenants would be supervising the dismantling and stowing of the panels that separated the cabins on the lower levels. Ship’s boys ran over the wooden planks, sprinkling sand from buckets to keep the sailors from slipping on sweat or blood while they hauled the huge cannons back and forth.

Each cannon required a crew of six men to prime, load, aim, and fire. A boy was assigned to each crew as a powder monkey, running the cartridges of gunpowder from the handling chamber deep in the hull of the ship. The powder was carefully passed through damp curtains to guard against sparks and then carried to the gun crew as cautiously and quickly as possible.

William waited on the top deck until each lieutenant’s runner had reported that their guns were loaded and battle stations ready. Once he was satisfied, William gave the order to the boatswain, who cried, “Up ports!” The noise of chains being cranked to raise the coverings of the gun ports sounded throughout the ship. “Run out!” yelled the boatswain, and any further noise was drowned out by the thundering of ninety-eight cannons rolling across the decks until their muzzles protruded from the sides of the ship.

William waited until the noise stopped then turned to where Sidney watched for his signal. “Mr. Fletcher,” he called. “Portside.” The men on the left of the ship tensed. “Open fire, first division!”

Sidney yelled to his crews, “Stand clear!” then “Fire!” The men simulated the noise of a cannon, yelling, “BOOM!” and immediately pulled their guns back to swab them out and reload.

“Open fire, second division!” called the captain, and for the next hour, the officers called orders and sent runners to the captain with their reports. The men grunted as they pulled the cannons back and forth, and boys ran up and down the companionways.

William watched for mistakes and speed and made note of the crews who needed extra practice.

He walked down to the gun decks, noting the clumsiness of some of the crews as well as the apologies of the officers in charge of their companies.

Sidney yelled at a sailor, “Swab out that cannon completely, man. Do you want your hand to get blown off when you reload?”

William knew it would be important to modify the drills, perhaps blocking a section of the companionway or pulling men off their guns to simulate losses and prepare them for any eventuality. Today he had gotten an idea of how the sailors would handle a battle, and despite the fact that all the officers were experienced, most of the crew had fought in few, if any, altercations. There was quite a lot of work to be done to get this crew trained.

When the call of “Cease fire, all!” finally came, the men sagged in relief and began to put the ship back together. After supper, William would need to discuss with the lieutenants the shortcomings he had spotted. The drill had left him feeling discouraged and anxious about their safety in battle.

As he pondered on this, his attention was captured by Miss Becket, standing in her position at portside aft, and for a moment his anxiety spread to include her. How would he protect her in a battle? He quickly banished the thought, angry at himself for even entertaining it in the first place.

His father would have chastised him for his weakness in worrying for a woman. The entire reason his father sent him to sea in the first place was because of William’s worry for his mother and newborn sister. His mother was so often the object of his father’s harshness, and one particular night, William had tried to defend her during his father’s drunken rampage. He had been too young to do anything but enrage his father, and the next day, William found himself on his way to London, apprenticed to a captain on a ship sailing for Australia.

He gritted his teeth, angry for letting himself stew in old memories. He hadn’t realized he was still watching Miss Becket until he saw her standing on her toes, trying to see over the high breastwork of the gunwale to the sea below. She looked around with an expression of frustration and, seeing a line of rigging, grabbed hold of it and stepped onto the ropes. She only climbed a few feet off the deck, but she was on the windward side of the ship. A strong gust would take her into the ocean. And William hadn’t given her permission to go aloft. It was time this woman learned who gave the orders on this ship. Where was the corporal assigned to her? William stormed down from the upper deck and marched toward her.

“Miss Becket, what exactly do you think you are doing?”

She looked toward him. Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “Captain, there are dolphins in—”

“I demand that you get down from there at once. This is hardly how a lady behaves.” He was well aware that his anger was completely out of line, but his frustration over the drill and the feelings dredged up by thoughts of his father were only intensified by Miss Amelia Becket and her insubordinate attitude. He reached up his hand to assist her, but she glanced at it and then looked pointedly at him. The delight in her eyes was replaced by coldness. She pressed her lips together and raised her eyebrow in her infuriating fashion before stepping down without his aid.

“It was my understanding, Captain, that the entire reason I am aboard your ship is to be transported to London in order for you to prove that I am not worthy of that title.” She picked up her parasol from where it leaned against the breastwork and walked back toward the companionway, catching herself as she slipped on the newly cleaned deck, once again leaving William completely speechless.

He stood for a moment, watching her storm away before he went after her, calling her name but having to repeat himself before she turned.

Her eyes were damp, and for a moment he wondered if she had been upset by his reprimand. He quickly pushed aside his surge of guilt.

“Miss Becket, I’d appreciate it if you would remain in your cabin tonight. We’re in for a storm . . . I’d say in about four hours.”

She cast her eyes around the skies, finally settling on a collection of clouds in the distance. “And how can you tell, Captain?”

“The barometer has dropped,” he said, though it was only part of the reason. How could he explain that after eighteen years at sea, he could sense a storm as accurately as any instrument? “A storm at sea can be frightening. If you would prefer to remain in my sitting room, I will assign some officers to attend you.”

“I am not afraid of a little rain, Captain. But I thank you for your concern.” Her eyes lifted to his, and he couldn’t help but notice how blue they were. The bright blue of the Mediterranean in full sun. And the lashes framing them were dark and thick.
Where are these thoughts coming from?

“If you change your mind . . .”

“I shan’t. Good afternoon, Captain.” She dipped in a slight curtsy before turning and walking down the companionway.

“Good afternoon, Miss Becket.”

Amelia lay upon the narrow
mattress, bracing herself as well as she could as the hammock swung back and forth in her cramped quarters. The captain had been mistaken when he’d said a storm at sea was frightening.

It was absolutely terrifying.

The ship tipped back and forth like a toy on the water. Amelia had found herself thrown from one side of the cabin to the other and had finally climbed into her hammock to avoid crashing into the cannon or falling against the wall.

She had endured many tropical storms in Jamaica and even a hurricane, but nothing could have prepared her for this. Her cabin was pitch-black. Water leaked through the edges of the port opening in the bulkhead, dripping on Amelia, her nightclothes, and her bedding. The ship creaked and groaned with every wave that smashed into her. Every sound convinced Amelia that the ship would sink. The sounds of men yelling, sails flapping, and objects shifting on the decks became suddenly loud then muted and silenced as another wave hit the ship. And on top of it all, she was sick again, but this time there was no nicely placed bucket next to her nor a pot of warm ginger tea.

Endless hours passed before the sea tired of pummeling the
Venture
. The waves remained choppy, but finally the constant sound of rain beating against the hull lulled Amelia into a restless sleep, where her dreams were haunted by maggoty biscuits, cannon blasts, and a handsome captain swinging a sword while his shoulder bled.

She was awakened by a knock at her cabin door. “Miss Becket—Amelia? It’s Riley, miss.”

She looked around, realizing that the sun was shining through the gap in the edges of the porthole cover. Awkwardly scrambling out of her hammock, she opened her trunk and found a wrapping to cover her damp nightclothes. “One moment, Riley.” She quickly looked into the mirror and saw that her hair was partly wet and resembled a rat’s nest. Her red, swollen eyes indicated that she must have been crying at some point during the night. She was pale and had been sick. Though she’d attempted to clean herself up, her appearance—and she suspected her smell—definitely left much to be desired.

Smoothing down her hair, she opened the door a bit and saw Riley standing next to Corporal Thorne.

“If you please, miss. Captain sent me to inquire after you.”

Amelia felt a rush of warmth in her cheeks as she remembered that moments earlier she had been dreaming about Captain Drake. “You may tell the captain that I am quite well. Thank you, Riley.”

The boy’s glance strayed to her hair, but he wisely said nothing about her appearance. “The storm, it hit us something fierce, and Captain thought you might like some fresh rain water to wash your clothes and take a bath.” Riley’s face colored as he said his last words. He stepped aside and indicated a large half-barrel tub behind him. “The cook’s heating up some water, and he’ll send it straight away.”

Amelia thought there was nothing on the earth that had ever sounded as wonderful to her as the idea of a hot bath did right that instant. She opened her door wide, and Riley rolled the tub into her cabin and set it upright. He pulled a sheet of linen sail into her room, and she helped him use it to line the inside of the tub.

She fetched Riley’s repaired shirt from her trunk and gave it to him. Then the two of them sat upon the trunk as Corporal Thorne supervised the men carrying bucketful after bucketful of hot water to pour into the tub.

“Riley, please tell Captain Drake how much I appreciate this.”

“I shall, miss. And thank you again for mending my shirt. I would have done a poor job myself.”

“Your injury—is it still painful?” she asked.

“It’s tolerable.” He lifted his chin higher.

“Spoken like a true hero, Riley.” Amelia winked at him, and he smiled. She bid him good-bye and closed the door behind him.

Hearing a quick knock, she opened the door again and took the thick chunk of soap Riley handed her.

Amelia spent the morning soaking in a hot bath, washing her hair, her clothing, and her bedding. She combed her wet hair and pulled it back in a braid to dry. She dressed and was about to pull on her ribbon-laced boots when she remembered how often she had slipped on the wet decks and stairs the day before. All of the sailors she had seen—and even some of the officers—walked the decks in bare feet. Feeling brave and a bit defiant, she pulled off her stockings and put them back into her trunk. No one would even notice with her long skirts. The wood was smooth beneath her feet, and her heart skipped at the thought that she was doing something so scandalous.
What would the stodgy matchmakers in Spanish Town think?

When Amelia emerged from her cabin, she felt like a new woman and vowed never to take the simple pleasure of a hot bath for granted again. She set off to find some breakfast but, upon discovering the wardroom empty, asked Corporal Ashworth to direct her to the galley.

She entered the large kitchen and saw various men working throughout the area. One man cut meat with a cleaver, and another cooked the smaller pieces on a stove. Two men peeled potatoes, and some boys were in the process of counting biscuits and separating them into buckets. Amelia asked a boy for a biscuit, which he happily gave her. She sat on a stool and rapped the bread on the wooden table before eating it.

A man with a peg leg and a dirty apron stretched across his belly limped over to her.

Amelia hesitated for a moment. Propriety would dictate that a lady should not speak to a man to whom she had not been properly introduced, but in the circumstances, she decided not to stand upon ceremony.

“Good morning, sir,” she said, waving at him.

“I suppose ya must be Miss Becket,” he said with a smile that exposed a mouth full of missing teeth. “Oliver Crenshaw, head cook. But ya can call me Slushy. Everyone does.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I wanted to thank you for heating water for me this morning. I cannot tell you how much it was appreciated.”

“It was no trouble at all, miss.”

Amelia looked around the large kitchen. “I was just noticing how very orderly your galley is managed. It must be an enormous undertaking to feed so many men each day.”

“I thank ya, Miss Becket.” Slushy beamed, and his neck reddened. “These lads finding ya all what ya need?”

“Yes, thank you. I was just after a biscuit.”

“Feel free to help yerself. ’Tis a true pleasure to have a lady aboard, and yer welcome in my galley anytime ya like.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Not sir. ’Twouldn’t do. Just Slushy.” She noticed now that the redness had spread to his cheeks.

“And do you have time to show me around the galley, Slushy?”

“’Twould be my pleasure, miss.”

Amelia followed Slushy and saw the racks where the cheese was kept; the tubs where salted pork was soaked before it was cut and cooked; and the steward’s room, where the dried goods were housed. She listened with interest as he explained the metal tags on the cuts of meat identifying which mess they belonged to. The cook for each mess was in charge of his group’s daily rations. The short tour led Amelia to a massive stove, where oatmeal or soup could be cooked in large vats. Beneath the stove, cooks continually tended a hot fire, and above the fire were metal boxes used as ovens. On the table near the stove was a heaping basket of browning bananas.

“When ya came in, I was just tryin’ to figure what I might do with these here before they grow too ripe.” He waved toward the basket and grimaced. “I haven’t much practice with island fruit. I thought maybe I’d try and make the officers a banana pudding . . .” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, Slushy. It’s fortunate indeed that I arrived in the galley this morning. With the fresh spices and treacle you brought aboard from Jamaica, and if you have a bit of cream and butter, I could help you make Banoffee Pie.”

Slushy squinted his eyes and tilted his head, “What’s that ya said, miss? Bawfee Pie?”

Amelia laughed. “It’s made with banana and toffee, you see. Ban-offee.”

Slushy shrugged. “Can’t say it sounds too appetizin’, if ya know what I mean, but ’twill be a pleasure to have yer company.”

He found her a clean apron, which she tied on, and then she headed into the steward’s room to take an inventory of the ingredients they would need for the pies. It was a relief to do something she was comfortable with. After her mother had died, Amelia had spent a large amount of time with the plantation servants, who had taught her to cook and sew and operate the sugar press and nearly everything in between.

As she and Slushy worked, he told her about the cannon blast that took off his leg. He had been certain he’d never work again—until Captain Drake had offered him the position of head cook.

“There’s not many jobs in the navy where a man don’t need both legs, Miss Becket,” he told her solemnly. “A great man, our Cap’n Drake.”

Slushy’s conversation reminded Amelia that she planned to find Captain Drake and thank him for such a thoughtful gesture that morning. When the last pie was finished and the preparation table cleaned, Amelia excused herself. “I had a lovely morning, Slushy. And thank you for the company.”

Slushy’s face was red again. “Come again, miss. And perhaps ya could teach me some more of them island recipes.”

It was early afternoon, and Amelia still felt a bit weak after her bout of seasickness the night before. She decided that a stroll on the upper deck in the fresh air might help her feel better. Stopping at her cabin, she checked to make sure her newly cleaned clothes were drying, and she put on her straw hat. Corporal Ashworth followed her up the companionway. He stood at attention on the deck as she strolled. There was a slight breeze, but not a wisp of cloud remained in the sunny sky from the storm the night before.

The captain wasn’t at his usual post on the upper deck, and Amelia decided against searching for him. He might even be asleep after the tiring night he’d undoubtedly had in the storm.

Amelia was unused to sitting idle. She was constantly occupied with some task or another on the plantation, so she began looking around for something she could do to help the crew. She was determined to be involved and make herself useful. It had felt good to help Dr. Spinner and Slushy, and there must be more tasks aboard this ship that she was capable of doing. She remembered what Captain Drake had said about her behaving in an unladylike manner, and she admitted to herself that her intentions were not completely pure. She wouldn’t mind irritating him a bit.

She walked around the upper decks, where she paused and watched the sailors feed and clean up after the livestock. Pens held cattle and pigs and goats, and inside the ship’s boats, small cages housed chickens and geese.

Amelia made her way to the forecastle of the main deck and saw a group of sailors climbing in the rigging and running along the yards to release a torn sail. Once the enormous sheet was lowered, the men spread it out on the deck to assess the damage. A man wearing a striped shirt and a red handkerchief tied around his neck was apparently in charge. His beard was as white as his midcalf-length trousers, and he walked around the edges of the sail, instructing men, who immediately set to work with needle and thread. He was quite soft-spoken. When he talked, the men had to lean close to hear him.

He stopped near Amelia, looked toward her, and nodded.

“Is the sail repairable?” she asked, looking at the shredded mess.

“Aye, miss. We’ll set it to rights.”

“And what is your name, sir?”

“Tobias Wheeler, miss,” he said in his soft voice.

“Amelia Becket. If you’d like, I could help mend the sail.”

Tobias stepped closer and peered at her. “Do you know how to sew?”

Amelia was a bit taken aback. She hadn’t thought she would need to present qualifications. “Yes. Well, tolerably. I made this dress.”

He looked closely at the dress. “Sewing on a heavy linen sail is much more difficult than making dainty stitches on garments.” He lifted one of her hands and stared at her palm. “Your hands are small and soft.” He sighed as if disappointed. “But the storm last night was brutal on the sails. I could use the help. Very well then, miss.”

She sat on the deck where he indicated and arranged her skirts around her. Tobias showed her the thick three-sided needle and handed her a sailmaker’s “palm.” It was a strap of leather with a hole that fit over her thumb. At the base of her thumb was a heavier piece of rawhide that she would use to push the needle through the thick linen. Tobias fastened the brass buckle of the palm on the back of her hand and set about teaching her how to make the stitches on the sails.

He gave her a stretch of sail to mend, and she pulled the section into her lap.

“This here’s a trial basis, miss. I mean no disrespect, but if ’tisn’t done properly, I’ll just have to unpick yer stitches and start again.”

Tobias had been right. It was difficult work. The leather chafed against her hand, and the thick waxed thread cut her fingers, but Amelia kept at it and eventually had a nice row of stitches in the sail where a jagged tear had been earlier.

“Ya did well, miss,” Tobias said as he inspected her work. His light gray eyes were shrewd, and the wrinkles around them fanned out across the leathery skin of his face as he squinted to peer closely at the seam she made. He ran his fingers along both sides of the sail, checking her stitches.

Amelia looked up and realized it was nearly evening. She bent her head from side to side, rubbing her neck. She unbuckled the palm and handed it back to Tobias.

He stood and offered his hand to her. “Thank you for your help, miss. You do good work, and I’d be pleased to have you anytime you like. Sails always need mending.”

She took his hand and rose to stand next to him. “You are quite welcome, Mr. Wheeler.”

“Please call me Tobias, miss.”

“Then if we shall be working together, you must call me Amelia.”

After saying good-bye, Amelia walked slowly down the companionway and toward the wardroom for supper. Corporal Ashworth trailed behind. In spite of the fact that sewing the sails was tedious and difficult and her hands and back ached, she felt a swell of pride. She couldn’t remember ever before needing to prove herself, and the fact that Tobias Wheeler had judged her work competent enough to meet his standards made her want to impress him again.