Dewey Lambdin - The French Admiral

"Nuns, Mister Monk?" Alan asked.

"Ya know them breast-beatin' priests an' popes is the randiest pack o' rogues goin', no matter what anyone says. They don't wear them cassocks fer nothin'. Finest garments in the world fer fornicatin' when the humor's strong on ye. Ya think ya seen somethin' when the bum-boats come 'round the fleet when we hit port, ya ain't seen nothing 'til ya put foot ashore in a Catholic land. 'Course, ya could keep Mother Phillips at the Green Canister in silver from all the condoms ya'd wear out, an' come home ta find Half Moon Street richer'n St. James' Place."

The humor was on Alan strongly after this short talk, and he felt an unbearable urge to readjust his privates, but could not, not as long as the Chiswicks were on deck. She suddenly looked a whole lot more desirable to him, however, after Monk's dissertation.

Dusk grew on the sea as the short early winter day began to end, and the hands were piped to quarters. Treghues's fifers and drummers came on deck in their livery and began to rattle and toot bravely while the marines turned up in their scarlet finery, and the seamen cast off the gun tackle and stood swaying by their pieces. Aft, in Treghues's quarters, the missing artillery had been replaced by short nines, older bronze guns not as reliable or as long as the newer long nines made of iron that were Desperate's original equipment.

For half an hour, until almost full dark, they stood waiting for the appearance of an enemy ship, while Treghues prated on from the nettings overlooking the waist about the ship and what would happen should battle present itself, to which the Chiswick women nodded often.

Finally, the hands were released from quarters, the guns bowsed down once more, and the men gathered up their hammocks from the nets to take them below. The overhead lookouts were stood down, and the men of the duty watch took up vantage points on the gangways and upper decks.

Treghues led the women aft toward the entrance to their cabins, and Alan was in their way. He looked at Caroline and tried to smile politely, but could not find it in him to be that charitable; he doffed his hat in a civil gesture, then turned away to his duties once more and missed the sudden frown that knit Caroline's brows together, hearing only Treghues inviting them to dine with him and share a captain's largesse.

There was a full moon that night that rode through a cold and clear sky. The stars stood out like candle flames, and the sea shone a lambent silver in the moon trough, each wave-top to either side to moonward flecked with sparkling glints. At the cast of the log, Alan found that Desperate was sailing at a fair five and a half knots even with three reefs in courses and tops'ls so that the slower and shorter merchantmen could keep up with her. He was aft, using the night glass to study their charges and count them, when he heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Caroline Chiswick pacing the deck, and he stiffened as much as if Commander Treghues had caught him napping. He could see in the faint light of the taffrail lanterns that she wore her hooded traveling cloak and muff.

"Good evening, Mister Lewrie," she said, hesitant about approaching him.

"Good evening, Mistress Chiswick," he replied civilly.

"I could not sleep," she said. "All the creaking and groaning the ship makes. And footsteps overhead constantly."

"I shall order the quarterdeck people to walk softer," Alan said.

Two bells had already pealed from the fo'c's'le belfry, so it was after one in the morning, he knew. An odd hour for a girl to be up and about, especially without her momma or servant as chaperone. The lack of supervision intrigued him.

"Do not do anything on my account, sir," Caroline said, stepping to the rail for a secure hold on the canted deck. "You must not make any changes in routine for our sakes, I pray."

"Do your parents rest well, miss?" Alan asked.

"They sleep soundly, thank you for asking, Mister Lewrie," she replied. "Um, this afternoon, Mister Lewrie, did I do something to disturb you?"

"I cannot think of anything, Mistress Chiswick." Alan frowned as though sifting his memory.

"When we went below, you answered my smile with such a look of complete… disinterest… that I feared I had inadvertently angered you in some way," she said with a haste that was out of character for the studied girl Alan had learned she was in their short acquaintance.

"I was on watch, after all." Alan shrugged in dismissal. "Our sailing master had already cautioned me to be attentive to my duties, and Captain Treghues was present as well. He's the one made me an acting mate, and I am still on sufferance to keep the rating."

"I see," she said, a slight line still creasing her forehead. "And you can do nothing to hurt your career in the Navy. You must love it, then, in spite of what you said before dinner."

"Actually, I detest it like the Plague," Alan confessed, screwing his mouth into a wry grin. "It was not my idea to enter the Navy, but I have become competent at this life, and it's most likely the only career I shall have."

"I had not gained that impression," she said. "Not the competent part, I assure you. You seemed most competent, in all things, when we sailed today. And competent at organizing our entrance into this ship, in everything. Surely, it's not that awful for you, is it?"

"I have come to accept it," Alan replied stiffly.

"I am sorry, I did not know that they could press-gang people as midshipmen," she said, attempting a smile as wry as his. "I had heard the food was bad and all, but… well, I'll not pry into a private concern of yours if it is bothersome to you to speak of it."

"I suppose you could call it press-ganged," Alan told her. "My family… look, I'm a second son, not in line to inherit, and there wasn't much to go around even then, not enough to keep me as a gentleman at home in London. And I was only an adopted son at that, without the blessing of the family name."

That sounds innocent enough, he decided. If she knew my real background, she'd go screaming for the ladders.

"And what did your father do?"

"Not much of anything." Alan grimaced. "He was knighted for something in the last war on Gibraltar—Sir Hugo St. George Willoughby. We lived in St. James, at the mercy of his creditors, most of the time. Had land and rents in Kent, nothing big, though, far as I know."

"But the Navy is a respectable career for a gentleman," she pressed, shifting a half step towards him. "Your captain was kindly disposed to you when we asked of you at supper. He said you were, how did he say it… shaping quite well as an officer-to-be."

"He did?" Alan marveled. Which only goes to prove that he's as barking mad as a pack of wolves, he thought.

"Oh, yes, he did. Though I am afraid he seemed a little put out that you were such a prominent topic," she whispered hesitantly.

"Oh?" Alan marveled some more, quite happy to hear that Treghues had been put out, and that he had been talked of.

"He said you came aboard after you had fought a duel for a girl's honor, the daughter of an admiral?" Her voice had a shiver of dread.

"The admiral's niece," Alan said, preening a little. "He has not seemed enamored of me, for that and a few other reasons."

"Did you hurt your foe?"

"I killed him," Alan informed her. "That's where I got this," he went on, lightly touching his left cheek which still bore the faint horizontal scar that Lieutenant Wyndham of the Twelfth Foot had administered.

"Because he ruined your beauty?" Caroline chuckled waggishly.

"No, that was a by-blow," Alan said, unable to credit a woman who could jape about something like that. "Excuse me, but I must return to the helmsmen. I have spent too long aft."

"Have I angered you again?" she asked.