else happened?”
“James has come down with a fever.”
4:00 p.m.
(Afternoon Watch, Eight Bells)
WITH AN AIR OF IMPORTANCE, Biscuit dished up bowls of mutton stew for his mates seated around his mess table on the upper deck.
“I tell ya, it was Octavius Lindsay that done it. I was there in thee wardroom when Gus told thee cap’n, and I heared it from Morgan, him havin’ seen thee mischief with his own eyes.”
“And what did the cap’n ’ave to say?” asked Bailey Beck.
“Not a word,” replied Biscuit. “Went pale as a white whale and stormed from thee wardroom with Mr. Austen in tow.”
“They’ll be stringin’ Mr. Lindsay up on the yard for his crime. That I’ll be wantin’ to see,” said Jacko, rubbing his mountainous naked belly in anticipation of his meal.
Bailey let out a snort. “No way the cap’n will give ’im death what with his aristocratic connections.”
“A floggin’ with a cat o’ nine tails would be too lenient,” Biscuit growled.
“It’ll come to court-martial,” said another of their mates.
“Nay! No time for court-martiallin’ out here,” said Jacko. “Stranded in enemy waters, in a broken-down ship? And where would we be findin’ enough British captains and admirals to do the court-martiallin’? Nay, we’ll be days fixin’ up the Isabelle just to git her sailin’ agin.”
“Morgan says Lord Lindsay didna succeed in his intentions, if ya catch me meanin’,” snickered Biscuit, handing Jacko his bowl. “And here I thought he fancied thee lads.”
“Oh, aye!” laughed his mates.
“Our Emily,” Biscuit continued, “she fought him off like a true seasoned sailor, though he knocked her about somethin’ fierce. Word is her head was bleedin’ all over thee sails and her face has an awful mean wound on it.”
Jacko punched his right fist into his left palm. “I’d like to git me hands on the bastard. I’d kill ’im with one snap o’ the neck.”
“Not before I would roast him in me galley stove,” said Biscuit, his bad eye rolling about in excitement.
“If justice ain’t dished up, why we’ll dish it up ourselves,” said Bailey. “We’ll wait til Mr. Lindsay’s on the night watch and we’ll give ’im a Jonah’s lift into the sea.”
“Or a ball o’ lead durin’ the next battle with them Yankees.”
The men raised their mugs of grog and said, “Hear, hear.”
“Who’s Emily?” asked their newest messmate. The men all turned to gape at him – a giant of a man with muscular arms and a long copper-coloured ponytail that fell a long way down his back. Biscuit cackled and placed his puny arm around the man’s thick neck. “Lads, meet Bun Brodie. Off thee Yankee Liberty, but don’t ya be holdin’ it against ’im, ’cause he’s a Scotsman. And with young Magpie losin’ half his face, he’s gonna fill in fer maker o’ thee sails.”
The men nodded politely in Bun Brodie’s direction. “Pleased to meet all o’ yas,” he said before asking again about Emily.
“She’s thee fair lass we plucked from thee sea a week or so ago,” Biscuit explained. “She’d jumped off a Yankee frigate that went by thee name o’ Serendipity whilst we was doin’ battle with her.”
“Thee Serendipity, ya say? Ya mean Captain Trevelyan’s frigate?” asked Bun before shovelling a hunk of stew into his mouth.
“One ’n’ thee same.”
Jacko smiled. “Our Emily, she’s a right spirited girl. Why, two days ago she joined us at this very table for a cup o’ beer.”
Biscuit laughed suddenly, spewing bits of stew about. “And you, Jacko, thought she was a man. Mr. George, hah!”
Red colour flooded Jacko’s squashed-nosed face. “Aye! I did think it a bit queer him wearin’ them blue silk shoes.”
“She fooled the lot o’ us,” said the sailor with the swarthy complexion and bloodshot eyes.
“Well, not me, and I don’t s’pose she fooled young Morgan either,” said Biscuit gleefully.
“Where is Morgan?” Bailey asked Biscuit. “It was him that was s’posed ta be on mess duty.”
“Probably back in Dr. Braden’s hospital, still pretendin’ to be needin’ medical attention so’s he can keep an eye on Emily.”
Bun Brodie spoke up while the men laughed. “And would ya be knowin’ this Emily’s last name?”
Jacko angled his big head and squinted at his new mate. “How come yer so curious ’bout Emily? Ya won’t get far with her, man. Mr. Lindsay already tried.” The table of men broke into grog-laced peals of laughter. “But … but we do ’ave Meggie Kettle fer ya. She’ll look after ya real nice-like in yer cot.”
“I was on thee Serendipity,” said Bun solemnly. The men quit chuckling and lowered their mugs to stare at him. “I was on thee Serendipity whilst ya was battlin’ it out.”
“Oh, nice,” said Biscuit. “So ya was takin’ shots at we Isabelles, killin’ thee lads, was ya now?”
“Ach, no, I was chained up in her hold doin’ some prayin’.”
Biscuit glanced around at his mates before settling his good eye upon Bun Brodie. “So, what d’ya know ’bout our Emily?”
“I was told there was only one lass on thee Serendipity. Her name was Mrs. Seaton. She was Trevelyan’s prisoner on account he didna fancy her father.”
“Who might her father be?”
“And what was his crime?”
Bun looked around placidly at his attentive messmates as he chewed away on his mutton stew. “I ’aven’t a goddamn clue.”
7
Friday, June 11
1:00 a.m.
(Middle Watch, Two Bells)
IT WAS SOME TIME LATER that Leander found an opportunity to speak to Emily alone. He had attended to her injuries and periodically given her tinctures of laudanum to ease her pain and help her to sleep, but few private words had passed between them. On the day of her attack in the sail room, Captain Moreland had fallen ill with a fever and much of Leander’s time had been spent making sure he was comfortable, as well as assuring the men that their leader had not contracted typhus or yellow fever or some such sickness that would most likely result in half the ship coming down with it. Many of Leander’s patients still required plenty of attention, being in grave danger as a result of their wounds. Moreover, with the crew working around
