Burning Bright (18 page)

“I imagine it is not a pleasant example. Please do not describe it to me.”

Ramsay nodded, his face grim. “Evans would like to be the second coming of Henry Morgan, them both being Welshmen and all. It’s why he took the name Brethren of the Coast, though they’re nothing near as honorable as Morgan’s band, which considering the kind of men who sailed with Morgan is saying something. The Admiral is furious at his fleet’s inability to find their headquarters, let alone capture any of the Brethren leaders, which is why I imagine we will be directed to do so.”

“So you might want to practice that fire-slinging you do,” Livingston said. He poured himself yet another glass—was that five now, or six? Elinor had thought there was a rule, perhaps even an Article of War, prohibiting drunkenness, but Livingston seemed not to care about his condition.

“Mr. Livingston, I think you should pass me that bottle,” Ramsay said. “May I offer you wine, Miss Pembroke? Watered, of course.”

“Bet she took more than that from you today,” Livingston muttered, casting a sly glance at Elinor.

She gasped. Ramsay stood with a force that knocked his chair over, slamming his fist on the table, making his plate and Elinor’s rattle and the bottle fall on its side. “Apologize to the lady
this instant,
” he snarled.

Elinor, her eyes wide, clutched her napkin in her fists, feeling her cheeks burn. Wine trickled from the narrow mouth of the bottle. Livingston sat up, his face as white as Elinor’s was red.

“Miss Pembroke, I apologize,” he said, though he looked more afraid than penitent. “I have had too much to drink and allowed that to override my good judgment. I sincerely beg your pardon.”

“I…I accept,” Elinor said. Beside her, she could almost feel Ramsay quivering with fury. She didn’t want to look at Livingston, but she was afraid to look anywhere else, afraid of what she might see on their faces.

“It’s your good fortune I’m not allowed to call you out, Livingston,” Ramsay said, his voice like sharpened steel. “Make such allegations about my character again, and I don’t care who your father is, you’ll be back in London as fast as Mr. Hervey can carry you. Get out of this cabin, and I don’t want to see you again until you’re sober enough to appreciate the tongue-lashing I’m going to give you later.”

Livingston pushed back his chair and stood, wobbling. “Sir,” he said, then turned and left the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“I truly beg your pardon, Miss Pembroke,” Ramsay said, righting his chair and taking his seat.

“It’s not your fault, Captain,” she said, proud that her voice remained calm. The idea that anyone might think she and Ramsay…such an innocent thing, spending an hour alone together…
who knew my reputation could be on such shaky ground, even here?
“Mr. Livingston was clearly in his cups, and I’m certain he would never have said such a thing if he were sober.”

“That’s not an excuse, but you’re more generous of spirit than I am.” Ramsay set the now-empty bottle upright and tried mopping the stain with his napkin. “Dolph’s going to be angry, me ruining his tablecloth like that.”

“I assure you, Miss Pembroke, no one could possibly believe such a thing of either you or Captain Ramsay,” Selkirk said, reaching across the table to pat her hand. Elinor successfully resisted the urge to snatch it away.

“Livingston’s an ass,” Brown said, still placidly eating. “Always thought so.”

“He’s an ass with connections,” Beaumont said, then glanced nervously at Elinor. “Excuse my language, miss. Captain.”

Elinor waved a weary hand. “I think there is no better word in the English language for him,” she said, “and I am not sure why you put up with him. Could he not be transferred elsewhere?”

“West Indies or no, this is a prime posting,” Ramsay said, “and we’re likely to take many prizes before we’re done, which means possible promotions for my lieutenants. Lord Copley wants great things for his son and pulled several strings to get him posted to
Athena
.”

“You should have given him
Joyeux
, Miles,” Beaumont said. “Would’ve spared you some of that bile.”

“I had good reason not to,” Ramsay said, flicking his gaze briefly toward Elinor. “And I think Livingston’s dislike of me is deeply seated enough that nothing’s going to change his feelings.”

“Should I be worried about mutiny?” Gibbons said.

Ramsay shook his head. “Livingston’s animosity won’t extend beyond me. He wants his career to thrive, and if he has any sense, he’s working on a nice speech that will convince me not to destroy him.”

“Can you do that?” Elinor asked.

“He probably believes I can. There’s certainly much I can do to impede his progress.”

“Boy’s still an ass,” Brown said.

“Watch your language, Mr. Brown. But I agree with you.”

Elinor picked up her fork again, saw how her hand trembled, and laid it down before it could betray her. “Would you have challenged him to a duel, Captain?”

“Dueling is illegal, and that goes double for Extraordinaries,” Ramsay said, sounding as though he’d bitten off something sharp. “But—” He gripped the bottle’s neck like a club. “I’ll put the fear of God into him, or at any rate the fear of me, and he won’t trouble you again, Miss Pembroke.”

He stood, glass in hand. “Gentlemen, let us toast the King.” Elinor never knew what to do during that little ritual, but it seemed sitting quietly was acceptable, because Ramsay had never corrected her. So much of what they did was impenetrable to her.

“Well, Captain, I must say that’s the most entertaining meal I’ve had in a long time,” Hays said, pushing back his chair. “I don’t think I’ll stay for drinks, if you don’t mind.”

“And I think I shall retire,” Elinor said, “so, good evening, gentlemen.” They all pushed back their chairs as she rose and made her curtsey, then she went to her room, where she sat on the bed and stared blindly at the wall. Livingston’s white face rose up before her mind’s eye. She did not think his comment had come solely out of the bottle; it must have been something he’d thought about before. The memory of her pleasant walk along the beach went sour. She
was
in Ramsay’s company often; their bedrooms
did
adjoin to some extent—would others have drawn the same conclusion?

I’ve been too careless
, she thought,
and I cannot allow myself to forget I am the sole guardian of my reputation, here aboard ship.
Yet her relationship with Ramsay was perfectly innocent; what did she care if low minds assumed otherwise?
Let enough people believe your virtue is…flexible…and you will endure far more than idle gossip. Bad enough you can’t avoid Mr. Selkirk; imagine trying to stay out of the way of someone whose intentions are far darker. Captain Ramsay can’t have everyone on this ship flogged.

A knock at the door, then, “Miss Pembroke. Would you mind coming out here?” After a pause, Ramsay added, “All things considered, I probably shouldn’t enter your bedchamber even if there’s no one around to see it.”

Elinor pushed open the door. Ramsay had already turned away and was standing with his hands gripping the back of his chair. “I apologize,” he said without looking at her. “It never occurred to me anyone here might question my honor, let alone yours.”

“You have done nothing to apologize for, Captain. Mr. Livingston has reason to wish us both ill,” Elinor said. “He spoke out of spite.”

“And hit a plausible target. How many others are thinking the same way?”

“Does it matter?” Ramsay’s tense, distant stance made Elinor forget she had the same concerns. “Captain Ramsay, I have so few friends aboard ship that I cannot afford to lose one. Can it not be enough that we know ourselves to be honorable?”

He turned his head to look at her, his blue eyes shadowed. “Miss Pembroke, do you honestly believe your presence on this ship can be hidden forever? You have to protect yourself against that day. Arthur or Peregrine will dine with us from now on, and I’ll sling my hammock in the lobby outside the great cabin—”

“You will never get any sleep if you do that!”

“I’ll never get any sleep if I’m worrying about what people think I’m doing behind closed doors. Forgive me, Miss Pembroke, but I believe I told you that you need to learn to accept gallant gestures when they’re offered you.” He smiled, but there wasn’t any humor behind it.

“I think this is the wrong decision, Captain.”

“It’s the only decision left to me. Good night, Miss Pembroke.” He pushed the chair in, bowed to her, and went into what would no longer be his bedchamber.

Elinor stood there a few seconds longer, her mouth agape, then retreated to her cabin and once again sat on the bed staring at the wall. All her innocent pleasure, poisoned by a few vicious words. It infuriated her that her honor was such a fragile thing in the eyes of the world that it could be tainted by the merest accusation of improper behavior. Ramsay would still be friendly, but under such constraints they could never become true friends.

Loneliness struck her as it had not since her first night aboard
Athena
, when she had cried a few self-indulgent, homesick tears and reproached herself for choosing her third path. And they would be setting off across the Atlantic soon, a journey of almost three weeks that at the moment seemed like three years. She felt like kicking Livingston, or setting him—no, not setting him on fire,
never think like that, not even idly
—but she could happily see him flogged if it meant being allowed to be Ramsay’s friend.

She put on her nightdress and lay on her bed, atop her blankets.
At least Mr. Selkirk will be company for you
. She groaned. It was going to be a very long three weeks.

In which Elinor meets the admiral

he sound of a distant drum woke Elinor from her reverie, a pleasant daydream in which she was walking in the fields near her family’s home in Hertfordshire, and she sat up and rubbed her forehead where it had pressed against the window frame. Could they have encountered another ship, here where there was nothing to see but waves and sunlight and—no, that wasn’t a bird, it couldn’t be.

She left the great cabin, and as she neared the companionway, the drumming resolved itself into the sound of men’s boots beating a tattoo across the deck and up the ladder. The smell of hot wood and tarred rope drifted past them, along with shouts made incomprehensible by the brisk sea wind that carried those too-familiar odors. She halted outside the captain’s quarters and watched them pass, and when the flood had abated, she followed them up the ladder and, blinking, into the fierce midday sunlight.

To her dark-adjusted eyes, the men climbing the rigging with more than usual alacrity were black insects with too few legs, skittering against the sails that blinded her. More men crowded the larboard rails, jostling for position, a few climbing onto the ship’s boat to have a better view of whatever it was they were all looking at, then leaping down when a shrill whistle and a shout from Lieutenant Fitzgerald brought them to order. Elinor blinked away the last of the light-blindness and touched the shoulder of the nearest man, saying, “I beg your pardon.”

The man turned, jerked away from her in surprise, then nodded and began shoving. “Out o’ the way for Milady! You there, shift a leg, din’cha hear me? I said
move
!”