Secrets of the Realm (8 page)

"That is too bad, Symington, but perhaps you should not have bet on me dying. It is my understanding that Captain Hawke frowns on gambling on his ship." Annie hoped Symington didn't see the beads of sweat dotting her forehead. "Speaking of the captain, he is expecting me," Annie said.

Symington let go of Annie's arm. Baring his teeth, he sneered. "Don't want to keep the cap'n waiting, now do we."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"About time you got your sea legs, Andrés. Report to Mr. Allan," Captain Hawke said in a curt tone.

Receiving no compassion for being seasick from the captain, Annie replied back just as curtly, "Aye, Aye, Captain." His slightly raised eyebrow was enough to satisfy her.

Annie found Mr. Allan at the foot of the foremast. Of medium height, the trim bosun had strong shoulders and wavy brown hair.

When Mr. Allan saw Annie, he began his speech. "The rigging relies on the mastery of knot tying. The operation of the sails determines the direction and speed the ship travels."

As he droned on, Annie was convinced he had given the same speech for years to all inexperienced sailors.

Out of Mr. Allan's field of vision, Barrette crossed and uncrossed his arms each time Mr. Allan did. Annie found it no small feat not to laugh, which she was certain was Barrette's goal. Apparently, she thought, he was not joking when he said he took nothing seriously.

"Any questions?"

Annie shook her head. "No, sir."

Mr. Allan looked over his shoulder at Barrette. "Demonstrate for the lad how to tie a bowline and a square knot."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Now with his back to Mr. Allan, Barrette made faces at Annie, all the while showing her how to tie the two knots. She chuckled while her nimble fingers copied his.

"This is serious business, Andrés. Do you find it amusing?" Mr. Allan asked.

"No, sir, not at all." As she continued tying the knots, Annie ignored Barrette.

Mr. Allan went on with his talk. "The brail is a smaller line that draws a sail in or out. While we have pulleys to do some of the work, you will be expected to go aloft to adjust lines and sails as well. Climbing a mast while we are docked is quite different from climbing one at sea. The wind will whip right through you and a sail can knock the best sailor off if he loses his concentration. Are you up to the task, Andrés?"

"I most certainly am, sir."

"If you feel you are not up to it, you can tell me. You don't want to put yourself or your fellow shipmates in danger." Mr. Allan gazed up at the topsail and looked back at Annie. "Again I ask you, are you positive you are up to the task?"

Barrette broke in, "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but Andrés had been seasick for several days. He might not be strong enough to climb the mast."

His jaw taut, Mr. Allan asked Annie, "What do you say to that, Andrés?"

"I am fine, Mr. Allan—never felt better." Annie turned to Barrette and whispered, "I thought you said you didn't take anything seriously."

When she turned back to Mr. Allan, he was shaking his head.

"It is no secret you have been seasick, Andrés. I did not intend to send you aloft today. I hoped you would make the right decision. Unfortunately, you didn't. I will send you aloft when you can show better judgment and not before."

Captain Hawke had been eavesdropping on the conversation. "Andrés! You are working in the galley today," he shouted.

"The galley?"

The captain's dark eyes narrowed. "Aye, the galley, or perhaps you would prefer spending the rest of this voyage in irons."

With each of his steps toward her, Annie dragged her feet two steps backward.

"What will it be? Irons or the galley," he said.

"The galley, Captain."

"At least you have made one wise decision today," he replied.

*     *     *

Annie found refuge on the lower deck. "Barrette needs to mind his own business. First the bucket, now this! I'm glad I threw up all over him," she said. "I couldn't have done worse than if I were on a bloody pirate ship!"

Consumed by anger, Annie didn't hear Symington coming behind her. Without warning, he picked her up and pinned her against the bulkhead.

"Are ye daft, boy? It is cursed to talk about such matters on a ship, 'specially this one!"

Annie slid down the wall. Dazed, she rubbed her neck and head. "Why this ship?"

Symington pointed up at the overhead. "Cause 'e was one," he said as he spat on the deck, barely missing Annie's foot.

"Who?" she whispered.

"Who da ye think? The cap'n, of course."

"The captain was a pi…?"

Seizing Annie's right arm, Symington lifted her off her feet and slapped his other hand across her mouth. "Yer a slow learner. Aren't ye?"

"Symington!"

The sailor dropped Annie as he reeled around. His hefty body was more agile than Annie thought possible. 

"Cap'n 'awke!"

"What is going on here?"

"Nothing, Cap'n. I was only 'elping the lad after 'e took a nasty fall," Symington said while he dusted off Annie's shirt and trousers.

"Is that what happened, Andrés?"

She pushed Symington's hands away. "Aye, Captain, he was helping me."

"You're dismissed, Symington." Captain Hawke said.

Symington sauntered off saying under his breath. "Remember what I said, boy."

Captain Hawke turned to Annie. "Would you care to tell me what
really
happened?"

"I fell, Captain. Just like Symington said I did. I am a bit clumsy at times."

 "Symington is a great storyteller. You, on the other hand, are not." Captain Hawke frowned while he studied her face. "What did you think of his fable about Barrette's rescue?"

"Was any of it true?"

The captain shrugged. "With Symington's stories, there is always an element of truth in them."

"Always?" she asked.

The captain folded his arms. "I thought I assigned you to the galley."

"I was heading that way when…" Annie hesitated.

"When you tripped?" Captain Hawke said. "Make sure you don't trip again. Next time, you might not be so lucky."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

With flour caked under her fingernails from a day's work in the galley, Annie skimmed the pages of
Captain Singleton.
Unable to concentrate, she read the same words over and over again. Finally, she gave up and laid the book down.

"Your first day as a sailor did not go well, did it?" Doc said.

"Who told you?"

"No one had to. If it had gone well, you would be chattering away like a magpie. Do you want to talk about it?"

She took a deep breath. "Barrette told Mr. Allan I should not go aloft today."

"After having been seasick, you were actually going to climb the mast? It sounds like this Barrette fellow has more good sense than you do."

"I was a good climber before we went out to sea," she said through clenched teeth.

"Yes, before you went out to sea and before you had taken ill."

Annie bit her lip. "I want to be accepted by the other sailors. I want them to like me."

"Getting yourself or someone else killed is not the way to do it."

Annie frowned. "Let's change the subject."

"What do you want to talk about?" Doc asked.

"I have an excellent idea. Let's talk about you." Annie rolled over and rested her chin on the back of her hands. "What did you do before you came on the Realm?"

"I am not an interesting subject," he said.

"Please." Annie puckered up her lower lip making Doc smile.

"How can I resist that sad face?" He took a deep breath. "I studied at Edinburgh University before becoming a surgeon at St. Thomas's Hospital in London."

There was a long pause that Annie realized was going to be permanent. "Don't stop there," she said.

Doc took a swig from his flask. "That is where I met Roger Moon. We became best friends. He had a little sister." Softly, almost prayerfully, he said her name, "Emily."

"Were you in love with her?"

"I still am."

"Is she pretty?"

"Not pretty, beautiful. Have you ever seen storm clouds open up to reveal the sky when you peer into the heavens? That glorious blue was the same color as her eyes. You are a lot like her. She always spoke her mind. Her father said it was unladylike to discuss politics or religion, but that never stopped Emily."

"Did you court her?"

"You are so much like her, full of questions." Doc peeked above his spectacles. "Over the years, I watched her grow from a lovely girl to a beautiful young woman. I married Emily when she was eighteen. I was thirty-two. When I proposed to her, I never thought she would say yes. I will never forget her words. 'Arthur Cromwell, I have loved you forever. Yes, I will marry you.'"

Doc went to the medicine cabinet. Moving aside a bottle, he pulled out an object wrapped in velvet, the same one Annie had seen the day before the Realm set sail. He solemnly uncovered it to reveal a miniature portrait painted on ivory. He ran his finger ever so carefully across its smooth surface. He handed it to Annie.

"This must be Emily. Oh, Doc, she is absolutely beautiful," Annie said as she gave it back to him.

For a moment, the portrait brought life to Doc's sad eyes. Again, he ran his finger across her likeness before returning the tiny portrait to the cabinet with his trembling hands.

"Where is she now?" Annie asked.

 "She died in 1733."

Annie shuddered. "That is the same year…."

"I know, the same year you lost your family," Doc said. "I lost everyone I loved in that epidemic. Me, a doctor, could not save my own…" His voice faltered.

Barely above a whisper, Annie said, "You told me you had a son named Andrew."

His eyes downcast, Doc said, "Yes, I had a son named Andrew and a sweet daughter as well, Beatrice."

"I am so sorry, Doc," Annie said. She wished she could say more, but couldn't. Kind words hadn't helped her when she stood behind a stone church watching her father, mother and baby sister being lowered into their graves. She knew no well-intentioned words could take away the pain.

Silently, Doc extinguished the candle.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Three days' worth of grease clung to Annie's clothes. Delivering meals to the captain's cabin had been her only break from working in the galley.

"Good evening, Captain Hawke." Annie kicked the door shut with her foot as she balanced the cumbersome dinner tray in her hands. "Good evening Mr. Montgomery."

Sitting at the gate-leg table, the first mate touched the tip of his nose with his finger. "Flour," he said.

"Oh." Annie put the plates down with a clatter before wiping off the smudge with her sleeve. "Is it gone?"

Mr. Montgomery nodded.

"Andrés did you cook these chickens?" Captain Hawke asked.

Annie forced a smile. "No, but I plucked them."

The captain leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Waverly is quite pleased with your work in the galley. In fact, he wants you to work there for the remainder of our voyage."

"Captain, I beg of you, I would rather die than pluck another chicken as long as I live."

"And to think, I thought you had found your life's work."

"Jonathan," Mr. Montgomery interrupted. "Don't tease the lad. Tell him."

Annie placed the back of her hands on her hips, then realizing how she must look, put her arms by her sides and shifted her weight onto one leg. "Tell me what?"

"While 'tis true Mr. Waverly is pleased with your work, Mr. Allan is even more impressed with your knot-tying skills. Tomorrow, after you have tidied up my cabin, you will report to the bosun." He shook his finger at her. "Don't do anything rash this time."

"Oh, no, Captain. I promise I will behave myself, and I will eat two bowls of porridge so that I am extra strong to climb the ratlines. And…"

"Whoa, boy. He said nothing about sending you aloft."

Annie thought a moment. "Whatever Mr. Allan wants me to do, it will be better than working in the galley. No offense to Mr. Waverly." This time Annie's smile was genuine as she refilled the captain's and Mr. Montgomery's tankards with Taylor's Port. "You won't regret this, Captain."

"I had better not." Captain Hawke clanked his tankard with Mr. Montgomery.

"Can I get either of you gentlemen anything else?"

"No, we are fine," Captain Hawke said.

Annie walked toward the door. She looked at Captain Hawke over her shoulder. "Will you be playing chess with Doc this evening?"

"Aye." His eyes fixed on Annie's cap. "Andrés, take off your cap. There has not been a spit of rain. Besides, you have not been outside for days."

"I will remove it if you wish, Captain, but I have grown quite fond of it."

"I see." Captain Hawke stroked his short beard.

"Let the lad be, Jonathan," Mr. Montgomery said. "At least Andrés isn't running around half-naked like Ainsworth. I have often wondered if that sailor even owns a shirt."

Annie cleared her throat, trying hard not to laugh. "If there isn't anything else, Captain, I will be on my way," she said as she opened the door. "Enjoy your chess game with Doc."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Captain Hawke hunched over the table, staring intently at the chessboard. A smile crept across his face as he moved his bishop. "Checkmate."

"Ah, good move," Doc said. "When are you going to play a game with Andrés? I have been teaching him, you know. He is a quick learner."

"Speaking of the boy," the captain said. "It is time he moved into the fo'c'sle with the rest of the crew. His
infection
, if he ever had one
,
must be gone by now."

"Andrés stays with me!"

Captain Hawke could not hide his astonishment at the outburst coming from his mild-mannered friend. "Since when do you give me orders?"

"When it comes to Andrés' safety, I will do whatever is necessary."

"What does this have to do with Andrés' safety? All I said was that he needs to move into the fo'c'sle."