“Do you suppose he will banish me to his gaol cell in the bowels of this ship with the ever-affable Mrs. Kettle as my protector?”
“If the captain seeks my counsel, I will recommend you stay where you are.”
“Comforting words; however, do not forget I am only a woman.”
Leander studied the floor.
Seeing his lips move silently, Emily asked, “What is that you say, Doctor?”
He dropped his arms at his sides. “Oh, I … I wondered whether you would be able to make the trip to Captain Moreland’s cabin with that ankle of yours.”
Emily smiled at him. “I cannot leave it here.”
He smiled back. “I will ask Gus to escort you there … and back.” Reaching out to pull the curtain aside, he whispered, “Will you require assistance with your new clothes?”
“As I have lost my underclothing to Mrs. Kettle’s laundry pile,” she whispered back, “I had better try this one on my own.”
2:00 p.m.
(Afternoon Watch, Four Bells)
THE CAPTAIN'S CABIN DOOR swung open, revealing Biscuit’s flaming orange head. Gus took off his hat. “Miss Emily is here. The captain is expecting her.”
Biscuit’s good eye gave Emily a thorough going over, moving from the top of Dr. Braden’s borrowed straw hat down to her bandage-wrapped ankle. She had on a pair of loose-fitting brown trousers, a checked shirt, and a polka-dotted red scarf tied at her neck. On her feet were her blue silk shoes. Biscuit chortled, and then muttered, “New slops, Mr. George?”
Gus peered up at Emily, a puzzled expression on his small face. With her eyes, she entreated that he ask no questions. From within the cabin came Captain Moreland’s insistent voice. “Thank you, Mr. Walby. I will call for you again later. Please come in, Emily. You may keep your hat on.”
While Biscuit stepped aside, Emily passed into the room, holding her breath against his sour stench. With an outstretched arm, the captain motioned her towards a red-velvet wing chair at the opposite end of the oak table from him. Fly Austen leaped up to help her settle in, placed her walking cane across her knees, and returned to his own chair on the captain’s left.
Glancing around the table, Emily found four pairs of keen eyes staring at her as if she were a curiosity at a local market. With the exception of the young officer with the bad complexion, the men all had warm smiles for her.
“You have already met Mr. Austen,” said the captain, “and I gather you made the acquaintance of our sailing master, Mr. Harding, in the hospital.”
“Yes, sir,” said Emily with a brief nod.
“But I do not believe you know our first lieutenant, Octavius Lindsay.”
Emily looked his way, feeling his dark eyes attaching themselves to her body like two black leeches. He had thin lips and greasy coal-coloured hair, and the aspect of a person who would not age well. She watched as his lips curled.
“I understand, ma’am, that you lived in Dorset. Perhaps you have made the acquaintance of my family. We have one of many properties in Dorset, my father being the Duke of Belmont.”
As Emily had already developed a distaste for the man, she replied, “How wonderful for you, Mr. Lindsay.”
Octavius raised his black eyebrows in surprise, then looked askance at Captain Moreland. With a nonchalance that irritated the younger man, James held up the decanter Biscuit had brought in for their interview.
“Would you care for some wine, Emily?”
“No, thank you, sir.”
Fly Austen addressed her amiably. “Have Dr. Braden and Mr. Brockley taken good care of you in the hospital?”
“They have both been very kind. You have all been kind to me.” Emily excluded Octavius in her glance.
“And your injuries?” asked James. “You are on the mend?”
“I am much improved these past seven days.”
“Good, good. It is our hope that you are comfortable while you are here on the Isabelle; however, Emily, your safety too is important, and you have given us some anxiety of late. As a result, we have felt it necessary to lay out certain restrictions for the duration of your stay.” James leaned back in his chair, resting his thick, intertwined fingers on the belly of his buttoned-up coat, trying to harden his facial features and inject a note of harshness into his voice. “Henceforth, you will be forbidden to set foot above deck during the day. Should you require exercise, you may take it, but only after the evening eight bells, and only with an escort of my choosing. Secondly, there will be no more mixing with the sailors. The areas on the gun decks where the men take their meals and where they hang their hammocks at night will be off limits to you.” Seeing Emily’s face fall, James felt a twinge of frustration. “You have proven yourself to be an affable young woman, but the men on my ship …” he stopped to choose his words. “I fear they will misinterpret your gregariousness.”
While James poured more wine for himself, and Mr. Harding and Fly gazed at the view beyond the cabin’s mullioned windows, Mr. Lindsay fixed a hostile stare upon Emily.
“But, sir, it was not my intention to end up in the mess yesterday,” she said. “I’m afraid I was hopelessly lost.”
“Ah, but while there,” said James, “you were imprudent enough to sit among Biscuit’s messmates and accept their offerings of beer.”
“It did not happen that way, sir.”
“Are you telling me you were forced then?”
“I was not, sir.”
James threw up his hands. “Then I’m afraid I am quite confused.”
“I understood you to be a woman of impeccable breeding,” Octavius eagerly interjected. “Obviously I was mistaken.”
Emily lifted her chin to him. “You know nothing of me.”
“Nonetheless, my good opinion of you has dropped a notch.”
“I do not care – or need – to be held in your high esteem, Mr. Lindsay.”
Octavius’s face flushed a deep red. “My father could ruin your family.”
Emily threw him a direct look. “Are you quite certain of that?”
James slammed his hand down on the table. “Enough! Mr. Lindsay, you forget yourself. You are not exempted from civility on my ship.”
With a dramatic flourish of his shoulders, Octavius jerked his face away and fumed like a schoolboy. James set his weary gaze upon Emily. “And you, young lady … unless King George himself sits on a branch of your family tree, I suggest you hold that arrogant tongue of yours.”
Emily tightened her grip on her walking cane.
Mr. Harding pursed his lips, his eyes shifting expectantly between Emily and James. Fly fingered the crystal stem of his wine goblet and gave her a small smile which she did not dare return.
“Do we understand one another, Emily?” asked James.
She was slow to respond. “Yes, sir.”
He pressed his fingertips to his temples and rubbed in circles. “The men involved yesterday,” he continued, “including young Magpie, have all heard their punishment for failing to return you safely to the hospital. They will lose their grog ration for three days, and it will be their sole responsibility to holystone the upper decks for the next four. Furthermore, unless under extenuating circumstances, they are not to keep company with you again.”
Emily’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “But that is unjust! The men did nothing wrong. They … they thought I was a man.”
“Ho,