Burning Bright (42 page)

“In the morning I will go to Admiralty House with…Mr. Livingston”—again, he gave Livingston a narrow-eyed look—“to verify that Evans’ fleet didn’t continue along the coast of Saint-Domingue. After that…I have a few ideas, depending on the admiral’s available talents, but we can discuss that in the morning. So I suggest you all take yourselves off to bed or watch, and we’ll discuss further after breakfast tomorrow morning. Miss Pembroke, if you wouldn’t mind waiting?”

Elinor took her seat at the table while the lieutenants left and Brown rolled up the map and stowed it away, saying, “Navy man,” and nodding at Elinor as he left.

Ramsay remained silent until the room was empty but for the two of them, then continued silent, looking out the window again, until Elinor became impatient and said, “Did you ask me to stay behind because you wished an audience for your reverie?”

He chuckled and shook his head, then came to take his seat next to her. “I have been trying to decide how to ask you what you did to Livingston. No, decide whether I
should
ask you, since I might need to deny knowing whatever it was.”

“I? I think you are mistaken, Captain. I did nothing to Mr. Livingston.”
Exactly true.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Livingston leaves the room, you follow him, he returns and is suddenly, inexplicably polite and respectful to me. I’m not sure what other conclusion I can draw.”

“I walked on the quarterdeck and came back. It was a pleasant night and it made me feel at peace. Perhaps Mr. Livingston had a similar experience.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you.”

“Because there is nothing to tell.”

Ramsay rolled his eyes and stood to walk back toward the window. “Well, you have my thanks, if it turns out he’s had as complete a change of heart as it seems.”

“I certainly hope he has, Captain.”

“I could order you, as your commanding officer, to tell me.”

“You could, Captain, but I would disobey, you would have to order me flogged, the crew would all mutiny, and you would end your days marooned on some tiny Caribbean island eating nothing but raw breadfruit and unripe coconuts.”

“Raw breadfruit is indigestible.”

“Then coconuts it will have to be.”

Ramsay laughed. “Miss Pembroke, it is good to have you back aboard.”

“I am happy to be here, Captain Ramsay. I have missed our conversations.”

“So have I.” His eyes met hers and his smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. “I—” he began, then blinked a few times and gave her a wry smile. “I hope I have success at Admiralty House tomorrow. Admiral Durrant isn’t happy with me right now, and it will take a great deal of incontrovertible evidence to get him to agree to my plan. No, to
Livingston’s
plan, as I intend him to be my mouthpiece. The Admiral respects Lord Copley…unfortunately it’s Admiral Durrant’s unthinking deference to titles that put us in this position. Mr. Livingston’s father is a viscount; Admiral Durrant wants Crawford to be ennobled; I am only an upstart with more talent than I deserve—”

“I do not understand how Lord Ormerod can be your cousin if you are not noble.”

“Third cousin. Our…let me see…we have the same great-great-grandfather, some craftsman or other, not wealthy but able to support his family well enough. He had two sons, one of whom manifested Moving talent; that son was given a title and property, you know how it goes, or maybe you don’t—”

“Of course I do. My father has spent his life tracking the intersections of talent with nobility. The ancestors of two-thirds of the talented nobles in England received their titles in service to Charles II. I am surprised
you
have not been offered a title, since the King and now the Prince Regent are so profligate with them.”

Ramsay shuddered. “The Regency Bill was supposed to deny the Regent power to award peerages. How I wish that provision had remained—but talent must be rewarded, and who knows how long the King may be incapacitated by his Extraordinary Discerner talent? I cannot imagine what it must be like, feeling what everyone around him feels, unable to distinguish between his own emotions and theirs… I should not pity my king, but it’s hard to feel anything but compassion for his condition.

“At any rate, I’ve managed to keep far away from England for the last seven years, away from anyone who might think my naval rank and prize money aren’t reward enough for an Extraordinary. I wouldn’t mind becoming an admiral someday, but an earl or a marquess…no. I have trouble imagining myself as some sort of lord. Harry loves it, let him have it. At any rate, I’m descended from the brother who didn’t manifest. There was no talent in that side of the family until I came along, and I—” All the chairs except Elinor’s lifted into the air at once and came down neatly aligned along the table. “More talent than I deserve, from the admiral’s point of view.”

“I suppose if you were a lord, Admiral Durrant would heed your words better.”

“True. Though I’m not sure the end would be worth the means.”

“So what is your plan? Or should I not ask?”

Ramsay shrugged and came to sit down next to her, the chair scraping itself away from the table without being touched. “I’m going to prove the pirates are on Tortuga. I’m going to ask for one of the admiral’s Bounder spies to sneak in and retrieve some object for the Extraordinary Seer to focus on. Then I’m going to have the Seers produce drawings of Evans’ stronghold and its fortifications. And then I’m going to give it all to Admiral Durrant, or have Mr. Livingston do it, and ask for his advice.” He smiled at her. “A little humility goes a long way, with the admiral.”

“Then I imagine you must have great difficulties in dealing with him.”

Ramsay’s eyebrows climbed practically to his hairline. “Miss Pembroke! You shouldn’t take such liberties with your commanding officer’s character.”

Elinor smiled with her eyes cast down, demurely. “I have those difficulties myself, Captain, so I do not think it much of a character flaw.”

Ramsay laughed and struck the table with the palm of his hand, one resounding smack. “I suggest you get some sleep, Miss Pembroke. Once we convince the admiral that action is both needed and possible, I want you present for the planning council. I’m certain Admiral Durrant will want you to play a role in the assault.”

Elinor saw little of Ramsay over the next three days. With no new orders forthcoming, the officers spent most of their time trying to maintain discipline over nearly three hundred men. Though the sailors had their pay and were allowed to go into Kingston in small groups to spend it, they were still aboard most of the time, the gunnery crews practicing to improve their speed, the others busy with their duties, painting the ship or cleaning the copper bottom. When not thus engaged, they drank, and ate, and played music and told stories, and Elinor was certain they were also gambling, though Ramsay disapproved of it.

Elinor, however, had little outlet for practicing her talent, as burning the harbor and the other Navy ships was frowned on, and she was frequently bored. Stratford was kept busy taking people to and from Admiralty House and other locations, so he was unable to procure her new books. Walking along the harbor at Port Royal, as she was not permitted to go alone into Kingston, lost its appeal approximately five minutes after she touched solid ground. Most of the livestock had been slaughtered, removing even the slight entertainment of watching them eat and relieve themselves.

She finally took to standing at the taffrail and flinging fireballs out and away, trying to increase her range and accuracy. This proved to be a popular activity, and the sailors began hunting down things that could float for her to aim at. When the noise became too loud, whoever the officer of the day was would shoo everyone away, and Elinor would go back to the great cabin and fidget, or lean out one of the windows and drop handfuls of liquid fire into the ocean and watch it boil.

She was engaged in entertaining the crew on the afternoon of the third day when a calm voice said, “I had no idea you wanted to be a performer. Perhaps you could go on the stage when your naval service is finished.”

She extinguished the fire she was holding and said, “Captain, I do not believe I have ever been so excruciatingly bored in my entire life.”

Ramsay chuckled. “Back to work,” he shouted, and the crowd dispersed, muttering. “They’ll have something more engaging to do soon,” he said, “as will you. We’re going to Admiralty House to discuss strategy.”

“You have persuaded the admiral?”

“
Mr. Livingston
has persuaded the admiral. Mr. Livingston has continued to be respectful, obedient, helpful, and filled with all manner of other virtues that terrify me, since I’m waiting for him to revert to type.”

He paused and raised his eyebrows at her, offering her the opportunity to speak; when she looked innocently back at him, he shook his head in mock-despair. “I’ve commended his performance to the admiral, and honestly, he deserves most of it. I didn’t realize he could actually think. With him making some valuable contributions and me being at my most persuasive with the Seers, we managed to get quite a few drawings of Evans’ stronghold.”

Elinor let out a long breath of relief. “Then it is there.”

“It is,” Ramsay said, but he didn’t sound happy.

“Something is wrong.”

“I’d rather not give you the details until you can see the drawings yourself, but…it won’t be easy.”

“I still think I—”

“If you’re about to say you want to go in alone and burn the place to the ground, I don’t intend to listen. It would be suicide, Miss Pembroke, and as we have other options, we’re not going to entertain that one.”

“And am I to play a part in these ‘other options’?”

“I think so. Come, let’s join the others and see what Admiral Durrant has in mind.”

Five other captains waited in Admiral Durrant’s Board Room when they arrived, among them Horace, who smiled and nodded at Elinor. She knew none of the other captains; Crawford was not present. The men stood around the table in varying degrees of awkward silence, all of them except Horace unwilling to meet her eyes.

Elinor gripped her skirt in her hands and twisted it until it wrinkled, then tried to smooth the wrinkles out. Ramsay stood next to her, as calm as if he were at a picnic, hands behind his back and head tilted slightly. It was a bad idea, her being here, they did not need her—

“Gentlemen, Miss Pembroke, pray have a seat,” Durrant said, entering the room and flinging himself into his chair at the head of the table without waiting for anyone to follow his instructions. He looked tired and angry, with his clothes in disarray and his teakwood face more lined than usual. A knot of apprehension formed in her stomach. He did not look like a man who anticipated victory.

Ramsay held Elinor’s chair for her then sat down beside her. Elinor leaned over and whispered, “Is the admiral—”

“Be silent, Miss Pembroke, or I’ll have you removed,” the admiral said, slamming his fist down on the table. She shied away from him in surprise. “You’re all here because your ships are either anchored at Port Royal or are stationed near Saint-Domingue, and that’s going to matter in this action. Thanks to the diligent work of Lieutenant George Livingston, we’ve located Rhys Evans’ secret stronghold.” His voice was hoarser than usual, and Elinor almost thought he had been crying, if she had not been certain he was incapable of tears.

Durrant snapped his fingers at Sullyard, who had followed him into the room, and the man moved around the table, laying sheets of paper in front of each captain and Elinor. His hand brushed the nape of her neck as he leaned past her, and she bent away from him, furious and humiliated. He dared touch her!…but of course he dared, because she could not burn him without the admiral seeing it and throwing her out of the meeting, or worse. His hand on her neck trailed further down, caressing her back, and she scooted forward in her seat, praying he would move on soon.

Then Sullyard hissed in pain and bent, his hand dropping from her back to clutch his foot. Beside her, Ramsay was studying his papers and paying no attention to Sullyard’s strange behavior.

Elinor looked at Sullyard’s elegant shoe, at the thin leather and the unnecessarily high heel, looked at Ramsay’s stout Hessian boot, just sliding back beneath his chair, and could not resist saying, “Oh, Mr. Sullyard, I imagine those shoes do pinch terribly, do they not? Perhaps you should have
chosen more wisely
.” Sullyard straightened, glared wordlessly at her, and continued moving around the table.

Impulsively, Elinor reached out and found Ramsay’s hand, resting on his knee under the table, and clasped it briefly in thanks. His attention never strayed from the papers in front of him, but his fingers curled around hers, gripping them for a fraction of a second when she would have let go.

The room suddenly seemed unaccountably warm, all those bodies in one place, the windows closed against the sunny Bermudan afternoon, and when he released her hand she raised it to her cheek, wondering if she looked as flushed as she felt. She could still feel his hand on hers. She busied herself with the papers Sullyard had given her, wishing for a breeze to cool her face.