quizzing me,” she accused him.
“Never! Now where were we?”
I don’t know where you are, sir, but I must inhabit another realm, Nana thought, as she spread the roster on her lap. What an ordinary life I lead. She looked over at the captain, who, to her surprise, appeared almost to be memorizing her face.
“Captain, may I ask you a question?”
“Aye.”
“Are you ever afraid?” She regretted the question the moment she asked it. He’ll think I am an idiot, she thought, her face red.
“I am afraid all the time, Miss Massie,” he told her, after a long pause. “I fear for my ship, I fear for my men, I fear for myself.” He looked at the ceiling again. “I suppose it’s in about that order, too.”
“I… I should never have asked such a stupid question,” she stammered.
“It’s an honest one, and I gave you an honest answer,” he told her, then looked her directly in the eyes. “Ships like mine are the only thing standing between England and ruin. I know times are hard here, but they are infinitely worse on the blockade. And in Spain and Portugal? I doubt Oporto will hold out much longer against the French, damn Boney and Marshal Soult to hell. If Sir John Moore’s army survives to fight another day, I will be amazed. Yes, I am afraid, Miss Massie. Don’t cross me when I say I need to be at the dockyards at two bells in the forenoon watch, even if I have one foot in the grave. I do.”
Nana stared at him, shocked. He stared back, just as surprised, as though amazed at what just came out of his mouth. She watched him in silence, watched as the astonishment on his own face changed into irritation, and then mellowed into a rueful expression she couldn’t quite fathom. Maybe it was chagrin.
When he spoke, he sounded apologetic. “Miss Massie, I… I almost don’t know what to say. I just told you things no one knows except officials at Admiralty House.”
“Maybe you needed to tell someone,” she said, after a long pause of her own, remembering the great relief she had felt after she finally confessed to Gran the terrible future her own father had planned for her. “Sometimes it feels better to share bad news.” She lowered her voice. “Are things as bad as all that?”
“They are worse.” He put his hand over his eyes. “I have to go to the dock now, listen to the master shipwright tell me he needs at least two months for repairs and then bully him into doing it in three weeks. Then I must cajole the victuallers to move really fast to resupply my ship.”
“I wish I could help you.”
She knew there was nothing she could do, no strings she could pull, no advice she could give. If there was a more powerless person in all of Great Britain, she had no idea who it would be.
Perhaps the captain saw it differently, although she couldn’t think why. He looked at her again, that same, searching look. “You already have,” he said simply. “You are listening.”
“Anyone would,” she assured him.
“No, they would not. I have observed that when most people are afraid or bewildered, they just change the subject.” He took a deep breath. “People at the highest levels of our government do it.”
She had nothing to say to that. This man would never
lie to me, she told herself. I suppose it doesn’t matter, because when he finally realizes life is more comfortable at Drake’s Inn, he will be gone and I will never see him again. I can at least be as honest.
Chapter Three
Nana looked down at the list in her lap. “Shall I begin?”
He nodded, and stared at the ceiling above, as though wishing for a compass there to tell him which way the wind blew off Spain.
There were two hundred names on the roster, not quite a full complement of crew for a 34-gun frigate. As she read each name, he had her write in a one, two, three or four in the margin.
“What was that for?” she asked, when he finished.
“I’m assigning them to shore leave,” he told her. “The fifty ones will go first, for five days, and so on.” He chuckled. “My brother officers on other ships think I am insane for allowing any leave at all, but I have not had much trouble with desertion.”
It struck her as strange—even after his earlier plain speaking—that he seemed to want to talk to her. She decided it was her very powerlessness that made him garrulous. He seemed to sense—rightly so—that there was nothing he could tell her that would ever be repeated. Obviously she knew no one who could profit by any of his conversation, and he was aware of that.
Or so Nana reasoned. She looked at him, but not as minutely as he had observed her earlier, deciding she had nothing to fear from this stern-looking man who was probably braver than lions, even if he did say he was afraid.
She wanted him to smile. “Do they not desert because you see that their bedding is turned down nicely at night and there is a fire laid in the grate?”
He rewarded her with a laugh, which pleased her beyond all expectation. “I rather think it is the bedtime story, lullaby and gentle rocking of the hammock.”
It was her turn to laugh. She looked into his eyes and saw good humor mirrored there. “And hot milk before lights out,” she added.
“You’ve hit upon it. Actually, it’s wrapped up in money, as most things are, I must confess,” he said. “Although the Tireless is part of the Channel Fleet, we operate under Admiralty Orders.” He looked at her. “Are you bored yet?”
She was far from bored. She could have listened to him for hours. “I don’t think you could bore me,” she told him. “We live a quiet life here in Plymouth.”
“Admiralty Orders are more onerous because my ship is at the beck and call of Admiralty House for special missions.”
He must have thought that sounded ostentatious, so he made a face. “Someone has to do it, Miss Massie. When we take the occasional prize ship, we needn’t share it with the fleet, so our shares are larger, from captain right down to the lowest-rated landsman. They love me for the money.”
She didn’t believe that for a minute. He must have noticed the skepticism on her face. “What other reason can you use to explain my low desertion rate?”
“You are fair.”
“You don’t even know me,” he countered.
“No, I don’t,” she agreed. The room seemed suddenly too warm. “Is that all, sir? Should I ask Pete to find a hackney?”
He sat up carefully. “Not yet. Look in the tar bag again. I think there is a folded sheet with the heading of Repairs. I have a few more you need to add.”
She sat down again and picked up the bag, wrinkling her nose at the smell, but rummaging until she found the sheet.
“That’s my copy. I left the original with my sailing master,
