Cut and Run: The Fourth Book in the Fighting Sail Series (19 page)

      
“Very well.” Drayton looked at the captain for a moment as he lay on the bunk, hand held to his face and groaning slightly. “Then I shall wish you all a good night.”

* * *

      
“It was in steerage,” Elizabeth told him. “To the left; the larboard side, that's correct, isn't it?” She was still resting against him as they walked down the companionway.

      
“Spoken like a true salt,” Nichols reassured her.

      
“Here!” She pointed at a closed door.

      
It was past ten o'clock, and only one shielded lamp lit the corridor. Nichols tapped hesitantly, and a female voice answered.

      
“Nichols, ma'am, fourth officer.”

      
After a brief flurry from inside, Kate opened the door, a gown pulled about her nightdress.

      
“Miss Hanshaw has had a nasty shock,” Nichols informed her. “She will need her cabin.”

      
“Of course.” Kate stood to one side and allowed them in.

      
“You may light a candle,” Nichols said, as he seated the girl on Kate's sea chest. “I will not stay, but guard the flame and keep it burning all the night if you so wish.”

      
A yellow glow soon lit the tiny room. Kate replaced the tinder striker and turned to them.

      
“I will leave also, there is another berth,” she said.

      
“No, please!” Elizabeth's hand went out to the other woman in supplication. “You may stay, there is room for two, surely?”

      
Nichols looked about. “I will have another cot brought. And arrange for your things from the roundhouse cabin.”

      
Elizabeth reluctantly released his hand. “You have been very kind.”

      
Freed from her contact, Nichols felt his old stumbling stupidity return. “I regret the need, ma'am,” he said, lying only very slightly, “but trust you will enjoy a better night now.”

      
“Thank you, George.”

      
He smiled awkwardly, before turning and ducking out of the small door.

      
Kate looked at Elizabeth. “It would seem to have been an eventful time,” she said.

      
“I've known nights more restful. Is there news of the captain?”

      
“The captain?” Kate's eyebrows rose. “He was shouting rather loudly earlier - was that anything to do with you?”

      
“I fear it might be.”

      
A tap at the door, and Crowley appeared with a cot.

      
“Sling it to the other side, Michael,” Kate said. “There should be room.”

      
There was, and soon the two women were alone again.
 

      
“All may be told in the morning, should you so wish. But now I think sleep is called for.”

      
“Sleep seems a very long way off at present.” Elizabeth sighed.

      
Kate nodded, “So I would suspect, but no talk of the captain, eh? In my experience nothing good has ever come from that quarter—though you can surely tell me more about George, if you wish.”

* * *

      
Drayton's next visit was back to Elizabeth's roundhouse cabin, but finding it empty, he called on the captain's quarters instead. The room was very much as it had been left. He looked about, noticing Rogers's writing desk, empty apart from a decanter of brandy and a half-filled glass. He glanced round when Luck, the servant, entered.

      
“The captain is returning; you may make preparations to receive him. I assume he will be retiring forthwith.”

      
“Very good, sir.”

      
“And he is not to be disturbed during the night. See to it; sit up outside his door if need be.” A thought occurred to him. “Tell me, has anything been moved since Mr Rogers was taken from here?”

      
“No sir, I have been waiting for news.”

      
Drayton nodded and glanced about. All appeared to be in place, although there was no sign of a quill or any letter in preparation. His gaze swept around as he went to leave, and it was then that he noticed something amiss. Luck had gone, and Drayton stepped quietly as he moved across and collected the small wooden knitting needle from the deck. Examining it for a moment, he touched the point experimentally with his finger. Many seamen indulged in all types of handicrafts, from lace making to scrimshaw, but Rogers did not strike him as one who might knit. He looked about the cabin again, searching for inspiration, and was about to replace the needle where he found it when something else caught his attention. It was the hole in the bulkhead. He moved across and examined it, then cautiously proffered his eye and peeped through. There was little to be seen as the girl's cabin was in darkness, but Drayton thought he had discovered enough. Slipping the needle back through the hole, he strode briskly out of the captain's quarters and returned to his own.

* * *

      
By the following day, the mood in the ship was considerably lighter. Paterson, transcribing the traverse board on to the deck log at the calling of the first dogwatch, decided that
Pevensey Castle
was now properly on her way. Nearly all the passengers were free from the constraints of seasickness; in fact several had already appeared to take in the fresh winter air that carried the faintest hint of spring and a promise of southern latitudes to sweeten it. Aloft, hands were skylarking and an unofficial game of crown and anchor was being played in the lee of the forecastle, something that Paterson and Langlois, the relieving officer, were quite prepared to tolerate for as long as it remained controlled.
 

      
Eight bells rang and the new men mustered. The quarter-master and helmsmen were replaced, and Paterson was about to go below when he noticed that an unusual number of Lascars were gathering in the waist. Some were clutching small cloths or rugs, and under the direction of the serang, they began to make for the forecastle. The men playing crown and anchor stopped to watch as Lascars from the old watch joined and grouped themselves in a tight pack on the deck. The serang pointed over the stern, and his men fell to the deck, prostrating themselves in a series of deep bows. Paterson and Langlois, standing on the quarterdeck, stirred uneasily at the sight of a group of men apparently paying obeisance in their direction.

      
“
'
Asr”
Langlois said, finally. “Afternoon prayers.”

      
“You seem to have picked up the lingo,” Paterson grunted. The new man was certainly full of surprises.

      
“Their faith has interested me for a while.” Langlois studied the log and made a small mark at the end. “Found a translation of the
Qur'an
last time I were in Bombay. I have it below now; you may see it if you wish. Made as much sense to me as any Bible.”

      
“Each to his own, I suspect,” Paterson mused, while the praying continued.

      
“Well, I can't pretend I am a follower of this, or any other religion.” Langlois replaced the log in the binnacle, removed the pegs from the traverse board and wiped it clear, then dusted the chalk from his fingers with an elegant handkerchief. “But then I would not stand in the way of those who are.”

      
“You don't believe in God?” Paterson asked, amazed.

      
Langlois gave a short laugh. “Oh I would be happy to,” he said, “should He ever choose to believe in me.”
 

      
The two officers relaxed as the Lascars completed their venerations and dispersed. The men playing crown and anchor returned to their game. Paterson realised that they had stopped throughout the period of prayer. “Well, if that’s all they need to keep them content, I have no problem,” he said.

      
The third mate was about to leave the deck when Langlois stopped him. “Any news of the captain?”

      
“Not a peep.” He lowered his voice so that the midshipman, quartermaster and other nearby hands were forced to strain quite hard to hear. “Word is he's laid up an' the surgeon won't sign him back for duties until he's off the laudanum.”

      
“Has Willis been on deck?”

      
Paterson nodded. “Noon sights, an' he showed his face at six bells; took a look about then left me to it.”

      
Langlois glanced across to the other ships in the convoy, all maintaining reasonable order, with the nearest escort,
Shearwater,
keeping watch to windward. The light was starting to fade, and before long they would be reducing sail for the night. “Can't pretend I miss him,” he said.

* * *

      
Nichols was with Elizabeth in her cabin. He had been so since giving up the forenoon watch and seemed likely to remain until he was expected on deck again at the call of the second dog, in less than two hours' time. His very presence was flouting Company regulations, although neither of them appeared to care. They had shared several cups of tea, some biscuit and cheese and a conversation that had grown more intense with every bell. Now, with Kate due back at any moment, they were seated on her sea chest, their heads close together, and hands unashamedly entwined.

      
“But a school teacher; is that really you?” Even after knowing her for so short a period Nichols felt instinctively that it was not. “Spending each day with someone else's children? I can't think of anything worse.”

      
“I can certainly think of plenty better,” she said, smiling into his eyes.

      
“So why?”

      
She sighed. “Because there is little else a woman can do in this world, and I find eating rather essential.”

      
“You hated being a governess.”

      
“I hated being a governess working for that man Chesterton. You only had to see the way he treated his valet, and it were clear what he intended for me.”

      
Nichols stirred uneasily at the thought. “It will not be easy,” he said, trying to steer the conversation away. “The East India Company have total control over the country, and do not sanction missionary work of any type.”

      
“Yes, my brother has said there have been problems; but his heart is set on a native school. It is needed, and must certainly make his work easier.”

      
“And that is your ambition? To travel several thousands of miles on the open seas, to do a job that you will probably be unsuited for, and live in a country where you are not welcome?”

      
“Whether it is, or is not, my path is set.”
 

      
“I do not believe that is ever the case, Elizabeth,” he said, surprising himself. “You must always be in charge of your own life, and are certainly entitled to change your mind, should you so wish. To do otherwise is to be a slave.”

      
“I wish that it were so easy.”

      
“It could be. You can alter your course now, this very minute.”

      
“And step into the sea?” she asked. “Thank you, George, but I should consider that rather a waste of life.”

      
“Is ignoring your own dreams, in an attempt to fulfil your brother's, any less of one?”

      
There was a silence as both considered this. It was hard to explain that one of the main attractions of remaining in
Pevensey Castle
was sitting right beside her. The pause lasted slightly too long and something of their intimacy diminished, although neither tried to remove their hand from the other's.

      
“What would you really like?” he asked, finally. She shrugged.

      
“Strange as it may seem, I have been enjoying my time aboard ship. There is little that I miss on land.”

      
“But you could go back.” His words were measured, and he felt his throat begin to tighten as he spoke. “We are to call at Madeira, it would be little difficulty to arrange a transfer to a home-bound ship.”
 

      
With his hand gently enclosing hers, she could find no credible answer. “I will continue to India,” she said finally. “Even after all that has been, I find the travelling really rather pleasant.”

      
“The travelling only takes a matter of months; you must expect to be in India for many years.”

      
“What will you be doing?”

      
“Me?”

      
“Yes, you and this ship.”