Burning Bright (26 page)

She slid the carriage window open and fanned some of the sea breeze toward her neck. The sun was not terribly hot that morning, but the day was humid and the air clung to her like a damp second skin.

St. Maur muttered something. “I beg your pardon?” Elinor said, leaning forward.

“I said we’re in Pembroke Parish,” St. Maur said. “Thought that might be interesting to you.”

“It is, Mr. St. Maur. I wonder if the founder could be related to me.”

“Named after the third Earl of Pembroke.”

“Really? Then probably not. My family is old but not titled. You seem to know a great deal about it.”

“I was born here.”

“Mr. St. Maur! I had no idea! I don’t suppose you have leave to visit your parents?”

St. Maur had gone increasingly red during the course of this conversation. “Not today, miss.”

“Born in Bermuda. How exciting!”

He shrugged and went back to looking out the window. “I suppose.”

Elinor concealed a smile behind her hand. They were passing through a cool, shaded alley of cedar trees, lined in places with broken stone walls that were waist-high to the people strolling along, none of whom seemed inclined to hurry their journey. She felt a little indolent herself. No point in hurrying, was there, when the warm sun and the moist air relaxed her so. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the flickering of light falling through the leaves to brush her eyelids.

In town, she purchased a gown in a tiny shop run by a woman with charcoal-black skin and her hair wrapped up in a brightly patterned cloth, though it took nearly all her small store of money to convince the woman to sell it; it fit Elinor imperfectly, but she could not afford to commission anything
Athena
might not remain in port long enough for her to collect.

Then she coerced St. Maur into taking her on a tour of Hamilton. There was not much to see; St. Maur explained that the capital at St. George, his home town, had far nicer and more elaborate architecture, but Elinor was charmed by the simplicity of the houses and the friendliness of the citizens. Eventually they wound up at the harbor, where Elinor stayed on the road rather than tease St. Maur by asking to walk barefoot along the beach.

Ships of all sizes, from single-mast boats to vessels almost the size of
Athena,
stood at anchor in the harbor; others lay fully upon the shore, hulls tipped to the sky, while men scraped their bottoms free of barnacles and other growth. She watched one ship cross the harbor in a wandering path, tacking into the wind, and gazed after it until it cleared the harbor and its tawny sails disappeared around the point.

Legs aching from her unaccustomed exertion, sweat dampening her back and beneath her arms, she drifted off against St. Maur in the longboat and jerked awake when in her half-aware state she realized his posture was more rigid than usual, his hands and arm too still. Elinor swallowed a laugh and apologized to the young man, whose cheeks were maroon. She reached down and trailed her fingers in the warm water, and watched
Athena
grow as they approached her, thinking about what they might have for supper and how nice it would be to wear her new gown at the table.

But when she reached her bed cubby, she found a letter, creamy thick paper sealed with black wax, lying on the rough, slightly wrinkled blanket. She dropped her parcel on the bed and picked up the letter, whose rough rag texture caught at her fingers. Her name was written on the front.

She could not quite make out the seal in the dim lamp light, so she took the letter into the great cabin, where the smell of roasted chicken and rosemary promised a delicious supper, and held it up to the window to catch the fading sunlight as the sun began to dip like a bright orange below the horizon. It looked like an anchor, but was too blurred for her to make out entirely. She turned it over to look at her name again. No handwriting she recognized, so her family had not discovered her location, but who else would be writing to her?

She broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The smooth, curving copperplate did not match the handwriting on the outside of the envelope. Elinor was so struck by its beauty that she found herself halfway down the page with no idea of what she had read. She started over, reading more slowly. As the import of the words reached her, her fingers went numb, and she knew she was still gripping the paper only because she could see how her white hands clung to it. She stood, staring at the words without reading them, for a full minute before reading the whole thing through again, still barely comprehending the message.

Distantly, somewhere beyond the roaring in her ears, she heard the door open. “Ah, Miss Pembroke. Did you enjoy your outing?” Ramsay said, removing his hat and placing it on the little cupboard between the couches.

“Captain,” Elinor said, and saw by his face that she had spoken so softly he could not hear her, so she repeated more loudly, “Captain, what ship is the
Glorious
?”

Ramsay began unbuttoning his jacket. “That’s Captain Crawford’s ship. Why do you ask?”

She held out the letter toward him. “Because I have been ordered to report there at once.”

In which Elinor’s circumstances change, and not for the better

amsay stared at her for a moment, puzzled. He snatched the letter from her hand and read it silently. She could tell when he finished because his eyes came to rest somewhere in the center of the page for a few seconds, and Elinor had to make herself take a breath because the emotionless look on his face was far more terrifying than rage would have been. “Captain?” she said.

Ramsay thrust the letter back at her and was out the door, shouting, “
Mr. Hervey!
”

Elinor ran after him, crushing the paper in her hand so its thick creases cut into her palm. She went up the companionway at a run, felt her hair coming loose from its pins and shoved them back in so forcefully with her free hand their tips pricked her scalp. “Captain Ramsay, what am I to do?”

Ramsay swung around, his hand on the mizzenmast. “Stay here while I sort this out,” he said. “Mr. Beaumont, take my place at table. Mr. Hervey, Admiralty House
now
.”

Stratford, his eyes and mouth wide with astonishment, grasped Ramsay about the waist and disappeared. Beaumont, as astonished as Stratford if better at concealing it, said, “Miss Pembroke?”

Elinor tried to smooth the crumpled paper, then handed it to Beaumont, who read more slowly than Ramsay. He glanced once at Elinor before he came to the end. “I didn’t realize you were subject to orders like this.”

“Neither did I,” said Elinor, “but I suppose—I mean, the First Lord did say I was to be under Captain Ramsay’s command, and I thought that meant—Mr. Beaumont, will I have to leave
Athena
?”

Beaumont chewed on his lower lip and looked out across the Great Sound. “Don’t worry. Miles won’t let it happen.” He didn’t look as certain as he sounded. “Why don’t we go in to supper?”

“Without the captain?”

“He insisted I do the honors. I wouldn’t go against his instructions, however unsettled the situation is.”

They were joined by Selkirk and Lieutenant Fitzgerald, but with Beaumont distracted and Fitzgerald nervous in Elinor’s presence, she was left to converse with Selkirk, who seemed oblivious to the tension Elinor felt. His Discernment might or might not be strong—he had never been so impolite as to comment on her emotional state after the first time she’d taken his arm—but his powers of observation were remarkably poor for all he claimed great insight into the human heart. He persisted in chattering inconsequentialities without noticing that Elinor’s responses were halfhearted or unenthusiastic.

She picked at her roast chicken while he prated away on something to do with cats, or possibly turtles. The smell of rosemary sickened her; it reminded her of unfolding the letter, reading that beautiful copperplate that wanted to tear her away from everything familiar.

It surprised her to realize how much she loved
Athena
, cramped and dark as it was; she even loved the terrible smell of rum that permeated the ship when they cracked open a new barrel to mix a fresh batch of grog for the men. Thinking of all the things she loved about the ship made her angry. She had fought and killed for
Athena,
and now Admiral Durrant wanted to take her from it? She was almost certain the First Lord’s instructions had not given Durrant the power to assign her elsewhere. Ramsay would put him straight. This was all a horrible mistake.

“Miss Pembroke, if I might tempt you with another piece of chicken?” Selkirk dropped more meat on her plate without waiting for her assent. She smiled weakly at him and tried to take another bite, but it tasted bitter and too salty, like tears. “You seem out of sorts, my dear. Perhaps I might read to you later? We never finished that book of Catrynge’s sermons you enjoyed so much.”

“I thank you, Mr. Selkirk, but I think not this evening. I fear the sun has given me the head-ache,” Elinor lied. In fact, she felt surprisingly vigorous considering her stomach was cramped with worry. A draft carried the smell of rosemary to her nose again; she snatched up an orange and began tearing at the peel, holding it close to her face and breathing the tangy citrus scent deeply.

“How terribly unfortunate, Miss Pembroke. Perhaps you ought to see Dr. Hays?”

“I believe rest is all I need, thank you.”

“Then let me bring you lemon-water to bathe your forehead. It does wonders for the circulation and soothes even the tenderest—”

“
Mr. Selkirk
,” Elinor said, unable to control herself, “I do not wish for lemon-water, or Dr. Hays, or anything but the comfort of my bed. I pray you, do not trouble yourself further.”

“I see,” Selkirk said, stiffly. “I apologize for my misplaced attention.” He laid down his napkin and rose from the table. “I sometimes overstep when I am concerned about those for whom I feel—but I see I am renewing those attentions you find so intolerable.”

“Mr. Selkirk—” She could feel the eyes of every man in the room on her, and wished she could melt like wax between the floorboards.

“No, you are correct, Miss Pembroke, I cannot offer you anything that will ease your distress.” He made a perfunctory bow and went to the door only to cry out in surprise and pain when it was flung open in his face.

“I beg your pardon,” Ramsay said, but he sounded not at all penitent. His voice was flat, emotionless, but Selkirk, his hand on Ramsay’s arm where he had reached out to steady himself, gasped, snatched his hand away, and staggered out of the great cabin as if the flimsy door that had struck him had been made of iron.

Ramsay shut the door gently behind him and stood for a moment, looking down at his hand on the knob. “Captain,” Elinor began.

“You’re to pack your things and report to
Glorious
immediately,” he said, “which I interpret to mean as soon as you’ve finished your supper. And that interpretation is the only thing I have power over.” He went to the table and sat heavily in his chair at its head.

“But that is monstrously unfair! Captain—”

“Miss Pembroke,” Ramsay said, still in that flat voice, “you are under orders like the rest of us. Admiral Durrant has determined you will best serve the Navy under Captain Crawford’s command. The
Glorious
is to be made a special unit of Scorchers, you and three other men, for a mission the admiral didn’t see fit to discuss with me. I have spent the last half-hour arguing with him, and all I accomplished was to be accused of disrespect and insubordination. So we are all to do our duty.” He spat out the last word as if it tasted of sand.