as ever. Come on, laddie, you’re gabbin’ like a fishwife. You youngsters would do anythin’ to avoid work. Got to keep my eye on you!’ His single eye stared large and codlike at Georgiana.
‘Yes, Mr Fraser, sir.’ She breathed her relief and watched while the cod eye delivered her a hearty wink.
Nathaniel was exhausted, but he knew that there was still much to be done before he could rest. Jeremiah Hutton and his assistants were already sawing up wooden spars to repair the damage done to the mizzen topgallant mast. Debris strewn across the decks was in the process of being cleared. And midshipman Hartley had apparently survived his ordeal with little more than a scratch to his arm.
Georgiana clambered upon the forecastle and surveyed the damage. ‘Set to it, lad.’ A basin was pressed into her hands. ‘Gather up seaweed and all else, exceptin’ fish, heave it over t’side. Look smart, now.’ She felt a thrust in her back and the voice was gone.
Pieces of wood, shells, dead and dying fish and stinking seaweed covered the floor before her. She scanned up towards the quarterdeck for any sign of Nathaniel. The seaweed squelched cold and slimy beneath her fingers. Sam Wilson’s thin body emerged ahead, gathering up the fish in his basin.
‘Sammy!’ she hailed.
The little lad looked round. ‘George! Place ain’t been the same without you.’
‘It’s good to see you too.’ She embraced the skinny body, glad that the orphaned youngster had survived the storm unscathed. Sam Wilson worried her more than she let anyone know. ‘Have you been helpin’ Jack like I told you to?’
‘Yeah, I’m Jack’s mate. He’s learning me knots for the riggin', and he don’t let no one cuff me, or take me grog.’ Sam gave her a gap-toothed grin.
‘What happened to your teeth?’ Georgiana held the lad at arm’s length and inspected his small grubby face.
He trailed a dirty hand across his runny nose. ‘Fell out when I was eatin’ me biscuit. Jack says more’ll grow.’
Georgiana smiled at the small ragamuffin before her and ruffled his matted hair. Poor little mite, thank goodness Burly Jack was looking out for him.
‘Master Robertson,’ a curt voice sounded. ‘Much as I hate to interrupt your little reunion, there’s work to be done aboard this frigate. And that means for all of us, no matter who we might happen to be.’ The veiled snub hit home, causing Georgiana to blush and resume her debris collection with renewed vigour. Lieutenant Pensenby leaned back against the railing and watched the boy’s progression with shrewd eyes. There was something strange about George Robertson, something very strange indeed. The way that he’d hugged ship’s boy Wilson, the clear, fine-boned face. It smacked of something unnatural, even if he was the captain’s nephew, or at least purported to be. Perhaps Captain Hawke was not quite the hero everyone thought. All was not as it presented itself, of that Cyril Pensenby was sure, and, one way or another, he meant to get to the bottom of the puzzle.
Captain Hawke worked solidly for the next two days, ensuring that every last speck of storm damage on the Pallas was repaired. He had already left the day cabin when Georgiana awoke and slipped through to pass to the station call for drill each morning, not returning until long after she had fallen asleep within the comfort of his cot. On the third day she had entered the captain’s cabin with a pile of freshly pressed neckcloths to find him poring over charts with both his lieutenants. The great stern windows striped pale winter daylight across the three men. Crossing quietly to his great sea chest, that he had had moved from the night cabin, she made to stow the linen safely and retreat without notice. Their voices mumbled in conversation, but she kept her head down and her eyes averted. She had almost reached the door when Nathaniel spoke out.
‘Wait behind, Robertson. I want to speak with you before you continue with your duties.’
She had no choice but to do as she was bid, hovering awkwardly near the exit while the captain finished his business with the lieutenants. Both men’s gazes washed over her, but the weight of Pensenby’s stare drew her attention. She glanced up to catch his regard, and the look within those small overly-curious eyes made her wary. Captain Hawke had not been wrong in his estimation of Second Lieutenant Pensenby. And the knowledge released in her a small spasm of worry.
The door closed.
‘Sit down, George.’
She glanced once more at the cabin door as if to make sure Pensenby was gone, and moved to one of the chairs positioned beside the captain’s desk.
‘Captain Hawke,’ she said quietly, inclining her head like some great lady, and composedly sat herself down.
Nathaniel watched the graceful figure before him. He cleared his throat and adjusted his neckcloth. ‘I just wanted to be sure that you took no hurts from the storm.’
Georgiana bowed her head to hide the smile that leapt to her lips. Nathaniel Hawke had been worried about her after all, and the thought, inappropriate as it was, brought a gladness to her heart. ‘None at all, thank you for your concern, sir. Mr Fraser looked after me most admirably.’
‘It must have been a frightening experience for you, all the same.’ There was a concern in his eyes that he could not entirely mask.
Georgiana shrugged her shoulders slightly in a dismissive gesture. ‘Yes, but not as fearful as the thought of those of you facing the storm up on the deck. When I heard that Mr Hartley had been washed overboard…’
‘His rope snapped, carrying him over. Fortunately we were able to retrieve him.’
She smiled at him. ‘It seems that on this occasion luck was on your side.’
‘Luck plays her part, but experience, skill, a decent ship and a good crew of men are the foremost defences against a stormy sea.’ He raised his brow, and the corners of his mouth tugged up in a crooked smile. ‘I sound to be singing my own praises, but that isn’t my intention. Your acclaim should be for the men who did their jobs so well in the face of the storm.’
Laughter played on her lips. ‘Captain Hawke, an arrogant man? Who would have thought it?’
His eyes creased with the boyish grin, but beneath it she could see the toll fatigue was taking upon him.
‘There’s a tiredness in your face. You’re bone weary and should rest.’ The thought was spoken aloud. She glanced down in embarrassment, unwilling that he should guess the truth of her feelings for him. ‘Forgive me, Captain, I shouldn’t have spoken.’
One long tanned finger gently tipped her chin up. He was still smiling. ‘Could it be that my nephew has a thought for my welfare?’
Georgiana could not prevent the colour that flooded her cheeks. ‘Yes…no…I …’ then exclaimed, ‘You’re teasing me again, sir. I should be about my duties.’ She made to pull back, but he stopped her.
‘Maybe so, but not before you’ve answered your captain’s question, ship’s boy Robertson.’ Nathaniel’s eyes shone wickedly.
He had not removed his hand from her chin, and in truth had no compulsion to do so. What was it about the dark-haired girl before him that attracted him so? Even during the long hours of work he had found himself desiring her company, to hear her clear voice, watch the rose blush grow in her cheeks when he teased her, witness her enthusiasm for learning anything and everything she could about the ship. She had a good mind, that much was evident. A mind wasted as a third-class ship’s boy. And the marriage mart of today would view it as a mind wasted on a woman. But Nathaniel did not think so.
When she looked at him her eyes were a cool, calm grey blue. ‘I’m concerned for every man upon the Pallas, including her captain.’
‘Even Mr Pensenby?’ It seemed he was willing to say anything to prolong the conversation, anything to prevent her leaving. He had missed her these past days. The realisation hit him with the force of a mid-Atlantic gale.
The light in her face