On a Lee Shore (4 page)

Kit may have had his ideas about his shipmates, but it was clear to him that they too had formed an impression of him. As a servant and valet to a gentleman, it was only to be expected that he was considered a lackey. Dorling was inclined to treat him as a common servant, and Kit fetched and carried for him as well as Sir George, whose needs were simple and whose demands were reasonable. It was no hardship to wash out Dorling’s and Uttley’s shirts when he did Sir George’s and his own. Sir William had advised him to make himself generally useful.

The men before the mast were not shy about expressing their opinions. Kit heard himself referred to as “the scullery maid” on a couple of occasions but feigned deafness. Let them think what they liked, he decided. He was at sea again and that was all that mattered. With a deck under his feet by day and lulled at night by the swing of his hammock, he felt he could put up with anything. It was even quite luxurious when he awoke in time for the watch change to know he didn’t have to turn out and join them.

Once Sir George was up and about, Kit’s time on deck was curtailed. There were reports to be read and written, and Sir George insisted on everything being set down in a round fair hand to a cipher of his own invention.

“Latin and Greek, dear boy”—Sir George had dropped ‘Penrose’ when Kit admitted to having read Virgil—“and a little letter substitution. Not unbreakable by any means, but it gives a casual spy pause.”

Kit found the encryption process fascinating even though he wondered why it should be necessary. But he took Sir George’s dictation, making lists of shot and cordage, lumber and casks, availability of sweet water, fresh food, and livestock, items to check, to double check, men to see, and establishments to inspect. Each day, when the job was done and Sir George gave him leave, he ran up on deck to enjoy the brightening sunlight.

They were making good time. Kit tried to be close at hand when Vargas took his sightings and even made his own, having persuaded Uttley that Sir George needed an explanation of how the cross-staff worked. They arrived at the Cape Verdes in brilliant sunshine and paused at Ribeira Grande to take on water and fresh greens. Sir George was allowed on shore and was enthralled at the sensation of feeling the land move under his feet.

“I say, Kit, I won’t be sick again when we go back to sea, will I?” he asked as they strolled around the market.

“Most probably not sir,” Kit said. “Look—straw hats. You’ll need one where we are going.”

They returned to the ship, Kit laden with their purchases, and were met on the quay by Dorling, who was red-faced with sun and annoyance.

“The most damnable thing,” he said. “Dunning jumped ship! Vargas is looking for a man to replace him now.”

“Oh dear.” Sir George clutched his new hat as a gust of wind caught it. “Will that hold us up?”

“We have until the evening tide.” Dorling shrugged. “I have decided to eat ashore. May as well make the most of fresh food where it’s easily obtained.”

“A grand idea! Kit—you will join us.”

“With pleasure, sir,” Kit replied, amused to see Dorling’s scowl deepen further.

After a meal spent listening respectfully to his elders and enjoying the view of the harbor, Kit returned to the ship to find that Vargas had been successful.

As Sir George stepped on deck the new man caught his elbow and steadied him. “Careful there, sir,” he advised. “The deck is a little wet. Ah, Lieutenant Penrose!” He knuckled his forehead in the approved naval fashion. “I didn’t recognize you out of uniform, sir.” He turned away in response to a shout from Vargas, leaving Kit to worry. The man hadn’t been on the Malvern, but Kit didn’t recognize him from any of his other ships either.

They sailed as the sun began to go down, ate lightly of the food purchased ashore, and then Kit assisted Sir George to prepare for bed. Once he was ready to get into his hammock he blew out the lantern.

“Good night, Kit,” Sir George said.

“Good night, sir,” Kit replied and stepped up onto the gun. He settled himself, looking up at the planking a couple of feet above his head, the finish slowly becoming apparent as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering in from their tiny window. His last thought before he closed his eyes to sleep was of the new deckhand and his cheerful greeting.

Under those circumstances it wasn’t surprising that he dreamed of the wreck and awoke with a gasp and a start. All was quiet—or, at least, no noisier than it should have been—and Kit rubbed his hands over his face, pressing their heels into his eye sockets for a moment, then combed his fingers through his hair. He stretched and tried not to think of the Malvern and the men who had gone down on her—or the long and horrible months before. But it was too late. There it all was in the forefront of his mind. Why would he have had this dream now? Could the new hand have been on the Malvern? Kit kicked the blankets off his feet, folded his arms behind his head, and scowled into the darkness as he reviewed his memories.

“I’ll be sorry to see you go, Kit.” The captain of the sloop Caxton had been a good man to serve. “But this is a grand opportunity for you. Gasson has the reputation of a fighting captain, and I’m sure you’re as sick as I am of carrying messages. I’m sure you’ll do very well.”

“I hope to, sir,” Kit said and bade his old command an affectionate farewell without regret. Promotion was what all young officers strove for, and to be requested by name to serve on such a ship as the Malvern was flattering indeed.

For the first couple of months Kit was so intent upon his duties that he hadn’t really noticed the low spirits aboard the ship. He thought perhaps the hands’ sullen reaction to his orders was because he was the new man, so he worked doubly hard to show his watch that he was firm but fair. He thought he had succeeded reasonably well but still felt uneasy. The only time the company came together with a will was when a possible prize was sighted. Kit couldn’t account for it.

Plain sailing was the worst time, when they were en route or when on escort duty. Kit assumed it was because the men were bored. He organized extra drills, small competitions, rewarding them with praise and such small prizes as were appropriate. For six months Kit battled to win them over, six months during which they succeeded in every endeavor. He knew that Gasson’s report to the admiralty would be glowing with pride and that the company could expect prize money upon their return, yet his men still treated him with respect but little trust.

They were on their way home, carrying dispatches, when he finally discovered why the atmosphere was so poisonous.

The King’s Letter boys or Volunteers-per-order were neither fish nor fowl on the ship. Young gentlemen who were training as officers, they fetched and carried, learned everything they could, and if they failed to perform their lessons well they could be beaten by men who called them ‘sir’. Kit had served his time as a Letter boy. He hadn’t been beaten often, the shame of letting his teachers down was too much to bear, but he knew others who had. The boys on the Malvern were beaten frequently, and Hollins, the older, reacted with fury, while the younger, Livesy, withdrew into sobbing terror. Kit did what he could for them. He corrected faults patiently and even offered to spend part of his free time coaching them, but his offers were met with blank stares.

Matters came to a head one evening when he was off watch. A scuffle in the wardroom proved to be the boys fighting.

“Stop that,” he ordered, pulling them apart. Livesy was red round the nose and eyes. Hollins had a nasty scratch on his cheek. They both stared at him, one apprehensive, the other sullen.

“This is no way to behave.” Kit frowned at the silver tray with a filled decanter on the wardroom table. “What are you doing with that? It belongs to the captain, doesn’t it?”

After a short silence Hollins nodded.

“I see.” Kit smiled. Someone was required to take the old man some wine. Kit remembered the contests from his own youth and how the winner was sometimes offered a glass or had been coached in some esoteric technique of navigation or gunnery.

“Well, if you have lost track of whose turn it is, I suggest we go with seniority this time. Livesy, take note. It will be your turn again soon, but now Hollins will take the wine to the captain.”

He looked at the two young faces, seeing tears welling in Livesy’s eyes as expected, but he was shocked at the fury with which Hollins glared at him.

“I won’t,” he whispered. “You can’t make me. I won’t do it.”

“Mr. Hollins,” Kit snapped. “This is insubordination.”

Hollins took a deep breath. “I don’t care. I won’t do it.”

Kit tried to control his temper. “Mr. Hollins,” he said. “You will climb to the for’ard fighting top and stay there until I have decided what punishment you deserve. Mr. Livesy, you will report to the carpenter and tell him that you have been sent to assist with the inventory. Wipe your eyes now and be smart about it.”

When Kit entered the cabin bearing the tray, Captain Gasson looked surprised but smiled a greeting.

“What ho, Penrose,” he said. “Are both the young gentlemen otherwise occupied?”

“I’m afraid so, sir.” Kit placed the tray on the desk. “Hollins is aloft and Livesy is helping Mr. Bergen. Since your steward is indisposed I thought I would bring the tray myself.”

Gasson chuckled. “Indeed,” he said. “Thank you, Kit. I’m glad you came. We haven’t had much chance to talk since you have been aboard, have we? Please, pour a glass for yourself. Take a seat.”

Gasson’s attention was flattering, warming Kit almost as much as the wine. The captain took the trouble to draw Kit out, asking his opinion on this or that matter of shipboard procedure. Then the personal confidences were invited. Did Kit have a sweetheart? Ah, so the sea was his first love. Still, plenty of chance for fun in port for a young man with energy to spare. Kit knew he was flushing as he replied. Gasson smiled as he talked about comradeship and the honor of warriors—things that Kit could agree with most heartily.

Gasson eulogized the clean healthy life they led, how much joy the companionship of like-minded individuals could bring. Kit began to feel that he was missing something, but Gasson seemed pleased with him, breaking off his praise of Patroclus and Achilles to laugh when Kit said that Patroclus should have damn well left Achilles’s armor alone.

“The cheek of it, sir, to take it without asking permission. Even if they were bosom companions…”

“Oh Kit.” Gasson shook his head. “I think maybe they were a little closer than that.”

“Oh yes, sir,” Kit agreed with a grin, thinking of his own distant cousins. “I think you are right.”

“Hmmm,” Gasson set his empty glass down. “Indeed. Perhaps that’s enough wine. Put it back for me, please, there’s a good fellow.”

Kit stood and slotted the decanter into its place in the rack. He froze, shocked, when he felt the heat of Gasson’s body against his back and the intrusive grasp of his hands, one tight on his chest, the other stroking down his belly to cup and grip.

“Come now, Kit,” Gasson murmured, his breath warm against Kit’s ear. “Let me see what you have here for me.”

To strike a superior officer was a court martial offence, but there was nothing in the King’s regulations about yelping and elbowing him in the ribs while leaping away.

“Sir,” Kit gasped. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Gasson smiled at him across the desk. “I thought we understood each other, Kit. I’ve seen the way your eyes follow the more comely men,” Gasson snorted, amused. “If you were a heifer you’d be lifting your tail.”

If Gasson had struck Kit the shock couldn’t have been more complete. “Sir!”

Gasson laughed again but with an edge. The flush to his cheeks looked more like anger than lust. “No? I’m sorry. Maybe I misjudged your interest. Maybe you’re more bull than heifer. Maybe that’s why you’re eager to keep the boys to yourself.”

“The boys?” Even then it took a moment for Kit to understand. His experience of the service had been of nothing but kind, if firm, discipline. But not all boys were able to call upon Sir William Tregarne as godfather and sponsor.

Shock was replaced by repulsed fury. Later Kit thought of a dozen more intelligent things he could have said, but just then he was too furious and too frightened.

“You, sir, are a vile creature!” he shouted, his voice cracking in an adolescent way that just upset him further. “What you are about is against the laws of God and man. And moreover, sir, it is against King’s Regulations. When we get to Plymouth—”

“You’ll not find anyone to testify against me,” Gasson said. “Because nobody would believe such things of a man in my position. Dear God, even you, for all your smug virtue, ignored the signs until I had my hand on your cock.”

That was the horrifying truth. Kit should have known. It was plain to see, in the distress of the boys, the distrust of the men, but he had been so dazzled by the success of their cruise that he had been blind to it. And, in his own eyes, that made him almost as guilty as Gasson.

Dismissed to his tiny cupboard of a cabin, Kit was aware that Lieutenant Alford had been summoned and shortly after he appeared at the door.

“You bloody fool,” Alford hissed. “Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut? Get your coat on. You’re on watch until further notice.”

Other officers came and went, none of whom had a word of cheer for Kit, but five hours into his watch, Kit realized he wasn’t alone. Livesy had come on deck and was staying close. Hollins appeared too, uneasy when he met Kit’s eyes, but for the first time some of that sullen anger had receded.

“I brought you coffee, sir,” he explained, pushing the cup into Kit’s chilled hands. “Looks like rain. Shall I bring your oilskin, Mr. Penrose?”

“Thank you, Mr. Hollins.” Kit didn’t make the mistake of smiling. “That would be most kind.”

It did rain, washing the decks and pouring through the scuppers, but Kit thought it would take more than that to cleanse the Malvern.

After twenty hours, Kit was reeling with tiredness and chilled to the bone. The wind had gotten up, a nasty, gusty blow a little west of southwest, and the Malvern was driving along before it. There was a distant gray shadow to larboard that Kit felt was probably the Lizard, but when he tried to look at it, the glass wavered and he almost fell.