Almost a Scandal (21 page)

“Makes sense,” the sailing master conceded. “He is the most capable midshipman, and the promotion would be a suitable reward for exceptional work. But it will cause collateral damage.”

“You refer to Mr. Gamage?”

“I do.”

Col was unsure if it was a relief or an added responsibility, to know others worried about the unhealthy amount of antagonism already existing between Kent and Gamage. But no one else knew what was at stake. If their fighting escalated into open conflict, she might be discovered. Or worse. Gamage could be violent and vindictive if not properly managed. “What can be done?”

“Same as we, and you, I note, are doing now. Staying vigilant. Keeping the midshipmen all occupied with work. Keeping them standing opposite watches.”

“All of which serve to fuel Gamage’s frustration.”

“Bound to happen. The man won’t cease being frustrated until the moment when he is put to bed with a cannonball. And even then, he will die blaming someone else. Poor bastard.”

“That was Kent’s summation.” At Charlton’s look of inquiry, Col elaborated. “Not that he was a bastard—though he is. But that he felt sorry for Gamage. After all Gamage has done to them.” Col shook his head. “Hard to fathom.”

Charlton took another deep, meditative drink of his brandy. “Older than his years, that boy. Sharper than his years as well. Ah, well. Not to worry. Captain McAlden knows what he’s doing. See if he doesn’t.”

Col could only pray that Mr. Charlton was right. Because Col had no idea of what he was doing, or what he was going to do. And he had no idea on God’s green ocean of how he was going to be able to actually live with her, and still conduct himself like both a king’s officer and a bloody gentleman.

*   *   *

Sally hardly knew what to think. She climbed to the deck slowly, as if the cannonballs that were being sewn into the shrouds for the dead Spaniards, to weigh them down to the bottom of the sea, were dragging at her feet instead. She understood Col’s weariness now. The dread of the coming interview with the captain made her feel tired and old, as if she carried a rock inside her. Each appointment seemed to get harder instead of easier. But it could not be put off any longer.

The carpenter’s mate had just finished replacing the door when she arrived.

“Ah, Mr. Kent. We’re all here? Good.” The captain greeted her cordially. “Do come in.”

The captain’s day cabin had already been restored to some semblance of order. The walls had been returned, although not all of the furniture had yet made it back aboard. So the group of men who filled the room, commissioned and warranted officers alike, all stood before the stern gallery. Sally was surprised to see that along with the captain were Mr. Charlton and Col, the commander of the marines, Major Lesley, Mr. Stephens, the surgeon, and the third lieutenant, Mr. Horner, as well as the bo’sun and gunner, Mr. Robinson and Mr. Davies.

“Edwards”—the captain was speaking to his steward—“be so kind as to get Mr. Kent a sherry.”

“Come, Captain, I insist. A claret at least,” Mr. Charlton chided amiably. “What would Dr. Johnson say?”

At the captain’s frown, Mr. Colyear quietly supplied the answer. “‘Claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero’”—he paused and shot her a glance—“‘must drink brandy.’”

But the captain was having none of it. “Sherry,” he insisted. “He’s too young for port, or brandy. It would give him the gout.”

Edwards hastened to obey.

“Gentlemen,” the captain said to the assembly once she had the proffered sherry. “A toast. To our sharp-eyed young midshipman.”

They turned. To her. They held up their glasses in her direction, their faces full of pleased expectation. For half a moment she did not know what to say. Her feelings were all tangled up inside her like a knot—hope and elation and dread all mixed up together. But the elation began to win out. They were still looking at her in expectation, so she raised her glass with theirs. “To
Valencia
oranges.”

A chorus of assent embraced her. “Here, here.”

The captain raised his glass again. “And to our Mr. Colyear. Superior sailing, sir. I don’t think old
Audacious
has ever flown as fast as she did today. And Mr. Charlton, by God, sir, I think the don thought you meant to park her on his deck. Well done, sir.”

And on he went, happily giving credit where credit was due. “Mr. Davies and Mr. Robinson. Superior gunnery, gentlemen, superior. I hope the Plymouth dockyard can do something with the wreck that you made of the xebec’s sterncastle. The gun crews were magnificent.”

With that he held up one final toast. “To the men.”

“The men,” they all repeated solemnly.

It was a perfect moment. If she had conjured such a moment out of her dreams it could not have been any more sublime. She hummed with happiness, like a drowsy, contented bumblebee, drunk on the nectar of her accomplishment. This is why she had done it. For this feeling of accomplishment and belonging. This feeling of useful fulfillment.

The only thing that could have possibly made the moment better was if her family, her father and brothers, had been there to see her triumph. To share her victory. Yet she could look forward to celebrating with her friends, her new family, her brothers in the orlop cockpit. They would have their own celebration—though perhaps with less juggling.

The mellow contentment spread, leaving her in a satisfied haze. So satisfied and hazy, she had to be recalled to attention.

“Mr. Kent.” Mr. Charlton nodded significantly at the captain.

“Yes, sir?”

“Have you ever visited the gunroom, Mr. Kent?” the captain asked.

“Yes, sir. To pass messages for the officers.”

They were all looking at her and smiling. All but Mr. Colyear, who looked solemn and grave.

“And how should you like to mess there? I’ve decided to promote you to acting lieutenant in Mr. Rudge’s place.” Captain McAlden gave her the news with the same amiable indifference with which he had accepted the Spanish don’s sword, pleased, but ready to move on.

But she wanted the moment never to end. It was all she could do to keep from dancing a little hornpipe of happiness right there in Captain McAlden’s cabin. She wanted to run down to the gunroom and dance another hornpipe there. She wanted to rush about and shake everyone’s hand. She wanted to share her happiness. She wanted to kiss their cheeks, every last one of them. She wanted to throw her arms around Mr. Colyear and—

Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, oh, Lord.

She would be living in the gunroom. With him.

Chapter Thirteen

The devil and every last one of his flaming imps take her. The lovely hazy euphoria was certainly checked now.

She couldn’t possibly put herself any closer to Mr. Colyear and preserve both her sanity and her secret. But there could be no question of turning the captain down. One didn’t refuse a promotion. It simply wasn’t done.

The officers were all still looking at her, expecting her to speak.

“I am honored, sir,” she managed.

“You’ve earned it. Acting fourth lieutenant, mind you. And Mr. Horner is promoted to second, and Mr. Lawrence—I hope you will share a bumper with him in the gunroom, since he is still on deck—will be full third. A good day, gentlemen. A good, profitable day.”

And so it was done. The party in the captain’s cabin broke up. The officers went about their business, and Sally made the trip back to the orlop filled with a different portion of dread making a tangle of her innards. She was glad of the promotion, of course, and the acclaim—who would not be happy to be singled out for such praise? But she would have to take leave of the orlop cockpit—though it was the land of boyish belches and wind—for the more refined air of the gunroom. The thought of the privacy a gunroom cuddy would afford her was a luxury beyond imagining, yet there were her friends, her brother midshipmen, to be considered. How could she leave them just when they had started to achieve their goal? How was she to manage Gamage at such a distance? She hated to lose her friends’ company—even the bad juggling.

And how was she to tell them?

But it was a devilish small world, the navy. They already knew.

“Richard.” Will Jellicoe greeted her at the cockpit with a hearty handshake. “We’ve heard your very good news. Congratulations!”

And so were they all anxious to shake her hand and offer their congratulations, even Dance, who actually smiled and said, “Well done, Richard. And well deserved.”

Beecham was his usual brash self. “Good piece of luck that.”

“A great piece of luck,” she agreed. “I wish that we had all been on watch together and so could share in the honor.”

“You were on watch with Mr. Gamage, but I didn’t notice the captain sharing the honors of finding the xebec with him,” Beecham observed.

“No.” Though she had tried, she really had, to share the credit with Gamage. If only he hadn’t been too stubborn and too stupid to see the opportunity laid out before him. Devil take him. Still she tried to put the best face on it. “I am happy that my removal will give you more room, but I only wish that it was Mr. Gamage who was moving out.”

“No chance of that.”

Sally turned, as did they all, at the grating sound of Gamage’s surly voice. He had scurried in from God only knew what bolt-hole, and was eyeing them all with his jealous distemper.

“Then it’s true?” Gamage asked. “The captain’s little boot licker has finally achieved his ends?”

“Hardly, Mr. Gamage,” she replied, not bothering to rise from where she was seated upon her sea trunk. To do so would only give him greater reason for his aggression. Instead, she dangled her hands over the tops of her knees to show him she was relaxed and calm. To show herself she was relaxed and calm. She could handle him. “My ends would be to see you seized up to a grating for theft, but failing that, to put a stop to your campaign of terror on this berth.”

Gamage answered her by tucking his chin and giving her one of his low, nasty, weasel smiles, as he slid his gaze purposefully to Ian Worth. “No chance of that happening with you gone on toward better things, now is there?”

No one believed Gamage would ever move on to better things, least of all him. That was probably why he was so vicious—he was like a caged dog that had given up all hope of getting free but could not stop himself from biting the hand that could open his door. Poor man. If she could set him free, she would, instead of fighting him, of poking him in his cage. She had to at least try.

But no matter what, she wouldn’t allow him to single out poor Ian.

“Gentlemen, will you excuse us, for a moment. Mr. Gamage and I have something to discuss.”

Gamage looked both deeply amused and curiously wary of Sally’s request. His white rat’s forehead creased with consternation. On the other side of the berth, Jellicoe and Worth looked adamantly opposed. Beecham opened his mouth, as if to ask if she had lost her mind, while Dance crossed his arms over his chest. Will and Ian looked scared but determined, but they were all, to a man, frowning their faces up tighter than monkey paw knots.

“Richard, I don’t think—”

“It’s quite all right, Will. Mr. Gamage and I are long overdue for this conversation, and I think it best if it were done in private. So if you would do me the honor of a moment alone with Mr. Gamage?” She indicated the door.

They went. Hemming and hawing and shooting her dark, anxious glances as they shuffled through the door, but they went. Probably only to the other side, where they would listen with their ears pressed to the portal. The thought made her smile.

And she used that smile to face her nemesis. “All right, Gamage. Now we can talk. No audience, no observers, no interruptions. So we can talk—”

“Fuck talk. All you need to know is you’ll pay for making me look the fool today, Kent. You’ll pay dearly.” Menace dripped off him like cold rainwater. “No one crosses me and gets away with it.”

She would not be cowed. And she would not give in to easy hatred.

“You crossed yourself today, Gamage. All you had to do was listen to me and you would have been the smart one. You could have been the one to make the report to Mr. Colyear. You
should
have—I all but begged you to. But you were too busy trying to make my life miserable to improve your own.”

Gamage still wasn’t listening. He reached out, and quick as a hungry stoat, he had her face pinched hard between the long fingers of his hand. “It will give me great pleasure to hurt you.”

“I have no doubt of that.” He was already hurting her. Sally tried to answer calmly, though her mouth was all squashed up and the indignation of helplessness made a mash of her insides. She tried to wrest herself from his grip, but Gamage was strong and held fast. He was bigger and stronger, and she had foolishly thought she could handle him. Yet she couldn’t just lash back by kneeing him viciously in the cods. She had to think. And get Gamage to think as well. “If you would but think for a moment, Gamage, you could see that I was trying to help you.”

“Don’t make me laugh, Kent-lick. Why would you want to help me?”

“Because the only way I’m ever going to get rid of you is to kill you, or to pass you for lieutenant.”

“You did try to kill me. I know—”

“No, goddamn it, Gamage. Think!” She finally twisted her face out of his grip but made herself stay close. Made herself look him in the eye. “I’m a bloody Kent, Gamage. If I had wanted you killed, you would have been gutted and dumped overboard like a fish carcass and no one would have so much as blinked an eye. I have friends. Real friends. While you’ve gone out of your way to make enemies out of nearly everyone. Fear won’t watch your back or cover your mistakes—friends will. And you have none. I don’t like you and neither does anyone else. You’re a mean bastard and you’re lucky you were only doused with pepper powder and not an emetic. Or worse.”

“So you admit it. I will see
you
seized up to a grating for that.”

“Think, Gamage.” She was letting her satisfaction at goading him push her off course. She made herself speak like Mr. Colyear, slowly and evenly, so he would get the point. “I don’t want you dead. I want to get you what you want.”