Mrs. McVinnie's London Season (43 page)

The man looked around
in triumph. He rubbed his hands when the chains fell away and went
to perch himself on the carronade.

“
I
wouldn’t have such scaff and raff in my command, anyway,” Nicholls
grumbled.

“
Sour
grapes. I hear they are good seamen,” Summers said. “We will now go
below and look about, sir, if you please.”

Captain Nicholls
frowned and looked from Summers to Jeannie as a flush rose up his
already florid face.

“
Captain Summers, there are women belowdecks right now,
and ….” He left the sentence unfinished, but raised his
eyebrows.

Summers shrugged. “We
have to make sure. By your leave, sir?”

“
Aye,
sir. Do as you chose. I’m sorry, Mrs. McVinnie.”

Mystified, Jeannie
followed Captain Summers down the narrow companionway, wrinkling
her nose and holding her breath against the overpowering stench
that rose to meet her. It was the stink of filthy water washing
about with the effluvia of men and animals in it, the odor of too
many unwashed bodies in too tight a space, mingled with the smell
of new canvas and the omnipresent tarred rope.

“
Dear
me, Will, how do you draw breath down there?” she asked as she
pressed her handkerchief to her nose.

“
After
a while, I don’t even notice it,” he said. “And I do spend much of
my time on deck. Watch your head now. Well, perhaps you needn’t
worry about your head.”

She passed easily under
the low beams as the captain removed his hat and ducked low. The
smell grew worse as they traveled the companionway, peering into
small cubicles stuffed with sea chests and slung with hammocks.
They reached the forecastle and Jeannie stared about her in
amazement.

Women in various stages
of undress sat on the deck and dangled from hammocks. No one
appeared even slightly inhibited by the unexpected arrival of an
officer belowdeck. One of the women, more brazen than the others,
darted forward and presented herself to the captain. The others
laughed as Jeannie gasped.

‘‘
As
you were, you bitch,” said the captain, his face dark, his eyes
rock-hard.

The woman held her
ground a moment, considering the matter, and was pulled aside by
another, who whispered something to her. The woman looked at Will
Summers in fright and retreated to a corner beyond the reach of the
oil lamps that pitched and tossed.

“
Your
reputation seems to have preceded you in some way,” Jeannie said
when she found her voice again.

“
I
won’t allow women on my ship in port,” he said. “And when I find
them, I flog them. I suppose the word has got about. Damned
nuisances. Drunkenness, clap, and endless trouble, Jeannie. Look
about you now.”

She did as he said, and
saw no sign of Edward. She did not peer closely into the hammocks
that swayed too vigorously, or into the corners where women laughed
low.

They finished their
search, and Jeannie returned to the deck with no urging. Captain
Nicholls eyed her anxiously. “You look a bit peaky, Mrs. McVinnie,”
he said, and indicated a hatch cover. “Sit you down.”

“
No,”
she said shortly. “We have three other transports to look into, do
we not, Captain Summers?”

“
We
do.”

Captain Summers held
out his hand to the
Melanthion’
s skipper. “Do look close at
the Scots troops when they board tomorrow, will you? We’ll be
watching on shore, too, but Edward might be among them.”

“
Will
do, sir, and good luck to you. Do I hear that Lord Smeath has
relieved you of your London duty and sent you back to
sea?”

Summers nodded, no
mirth on his face, no light in his eyes. “I suppose I am still the
laughingstock of the Channel Fleet.”

Nicholls had better
sense than to smile. “The word has got about, sir,” he ventured. “I
expect it will soon be forgotten.”

Captain Summers
returned some inaudible reply and saluted Nicholls, who saluted
back and took his hand again. “Happy hunting, sir, and good fortune
on the blockade.” He looked about his transport. “We depend upon
you blockaders to keep the frogs in their little ponds.”

Jeannie clambered down
the side of the
Melanthion
, and was lifted, skirt and
petticoats flying, into the wherry by its commander, who assured
her he had “daughters a-plenty.” She merely smiled and sat
carefully again, wrapping her cloak about her. Captain Summers
joined her in a moment and directed the waterman to row next to the
Samson
. He made no comment to Jeannie, but sat wrapped about
in his own cloak, his chin down, his eyes closed.

“
It is
a grim life,” Jeannie commented as they neared the
Samson
.
“Not fit for a lad of tender years.”

The captain nodded. “It
is.” He made no move to touch her, but he leaned nearer. “A lad
grows up fast in the Royal Navy.”

“
If he
grows up at all,” was her next objection.

“
No
one has a safe-conduct, Jeannie,” was all he said until they gained
the deck of the
Samson
and she was introduced to another
surprised captain.

And another. And
another. A careful search of all four transports turned up no sign
of Edward.

The rain began as they
completed their search and started back for Portsmouth, which
sprawled in the gathering dusk across Portsea Island, winking like
a trollop. Jeannie huddled in her cloak and shook her head when
Captain Summers offered her the further protection of his own boat
cloak.

“
You’re a stubborn woman,” he commented as she allowed the
wherryman to drape a canvas about her shoulders. It smelled of fish
and brine, a veritable perfume after the stink of the ships
belowdeck.

“
No. I
merely wish to think in peace,” she said as the rain dripped off
her face. “I wish I knew where Edward was. I can only hope he is
warm and dry somewhere.”

It was easy then to cry
in the dark, with the rain pelting her. No one could hear her sobs
above the rain hitting the canvas as she cried for everything she
knew she had lost that day, and she wondered how to face Larinda.
It was even easier to cry for Captain Summers. I will miss you
terribly, she thought. The thought was made more dreadful by the
sure knowledge that once she was out of sight, she would be out of
mind, too.

Captain Summers paid
the waterman such a sum that, as the man knuckled his forehead, he
asked the captain where he wanted the boat stowed, now that he had
bought it. Summers did not smile as he helped Jeannie out of the
boat and onto the wharf. Without any words between them, they
trudged up the cobblestone street and into the light and warmth of
the Winston.

Larinda flung open the
door to the private parlor when she heard their footsteps on the
stairs. The light in her eyes quickly dimmed as Jeannie shook her
head.

“
You’re soaked through,” Captain Summers said. “Larinda, find
her a blanket to wrap about her when she gets out of those
clothes.”

“
I’ll
be fine,” Jeannie said, and sat down close to the fire, her back to
both of them. It was only a sextant, and now Edward was gone. The
knowledge sank in, taking root like a barnacle.

Suddenly the room was
too small, too crowded. She leapt to her feet and snatched up her
cloak again, darting out the door and down the steps as Larinda
called to her and the captain said something to Larinda that
Jeannie could not hear.

Jeannie walked rapidly
away from the Winston, knowing that as she worried and fretted
about Edward out on a night like this, she was almost mourning the
loss of a lover, this one seduced by the ocean, a power over which
she had no more control than the guns at La Coruña. She strode back
to the wharf and leaned against the railing. He would marry me if I
begged and pleaded enough, she thought, or got myself into his bed
and compelled his honor, but he would never be mine.

Hard on the heels of
this cold-eyed reality was the worse thought, the knowledge that if
he did give himself to her, Captain Summers would be a very happy
man. But he would never do that. He had been solitary too long. He
lived a life of total power and ultimate responsibility far beyond
human limits. He was not a man; he was a tool of the Royal Navy,
scarcely different from a topgallant or a binnacle.

I could never do that
to Edward, she thought. Not ever.

As she leaned against
the wharf railing, Jeannie realized how exhausted she was. She
looked down at the water for many minutes. When you can’t even
remember when was the last night’s rest you enjoyed, it is time to
pull the covers over your head, Jeannie lass, she told herself.

She stared at the water
for a long time and then, with a sigh, heaved herself away from the
railing. She was not surprised to see Captain Summers standing at
the top of the street. Maybe you do care just a little, she thought
as she trudged toward him.

“
I
wasn’t going to throw myself into the murk, Captain,” she said,
hoping that he could find a measure of humor in the
remark.

“
I did
not suppose that for a minute, Jean,” he said. “You have far too
much bottom for a silly stunt.” He gave her a moment for a
rejoinder. When she did not speak, he continued, his tone
conversational. “I was merely returning from a walk to the Globe
and Anchor, where several officers of the Dumfries Rifles are dug
in, writing their wills as they face the prospect of a sea
voyage.”

Jeannie looked up
quickly and took hold of his arm. “Bartley?” she asked. “Was he
there?”

He shook his head. “No,
Jean, dear, and there lies a bit of a mystery. Colonel Mackey
assured me that there has been no communication from Captain
MacGregor or the others on that post chaise since they left the
Couched Lion. I wonder what has happened.”

She looked at him. His
eyes were not as hard as they had been on the transport ship. There
was even tenderness in his face, and she wondered at it.

“
You
know, Will, Edward did overhear Bartley say that the Dumfries men
were leaving from the Lion at five o’clock,” she said. “I wonder,
do you think—”

“—
that
Bartley discovered him and returned him to Wendover Square? I
wouldn’t doubt it, Jean, and I do believe Bartley is the clue. I
wish we could find out, and soon.”

He took her hand then,
and she surprised herself further by allowing him to and even
returning the pressure of his fingers. “I also had a chat with
Colonel Mackey.”

Her eyes flew to his
face in dismay. “No!”

“
Yes!
He assured me that he would write to Galen this very night. And to
you, Jeannie. I was somewhat insistent.”

She cried then, and he
held her close, his hands so tender as he patted her back and the
rain poured down again.

“
Of
course, it will only join the letter from me that Galen McVinnie
has likely already received. Now, don’t poker up, Jeannie,” he
declared as she looked up at him. He kissed her nose. “Sometimes
people need a little push. Happens you’re one of those. You needn’t
worry about the Dumfries Rifles anymore, my dear. Consider this my
parting gift.”

They walked hand in
hand back to the Winston, stepping back when a post chaise rolled
by, splashing mud everywhere, and then running forward, still hand
in hand, when a kilted Scot, and another, came out of the
carriage.

Jeannie dropped
Summers’ hand and threw herself into Bartley’s arms, grabbing his
broad shoulders and shaking him. “Bartley, where is that wretched
Edward?”

Bartley stared at her,
his mouth open, and then threw back his head and laughed as she
shook him again.

“
Lord
love us, Jeannie my light, if you don’t remind me of a terrier,” he
protested as he chuckled. “Now, mind the pleats, hear?”

“
She
doesn’t have any more regard for my gold leaf,” the captain assured
him. “But tell us, sir, where in God’s holy name is my plaguey
nephew?”

Bartley managed to
plant a kiss on Jeannie’s upturned face before he laughed again and
turned her loose. “Come inside! Haven’t you two the sense God gave
a duck?”

They ran inside the inn
and the captain secured the best table in the taproom with a look
and a nod.

Bartley watched him,
admiration all over his face. “Sir, how you do that I can only
speculate. Is there a more fearsome ogre than a sea captain?”

“
I
doubt it,” the captain replied, getting a bit thin about the
mouth.

Jeannie recognized the
signs. “Bartley, please, where is Edward?”

Bartley took up the
tankard of ale that the landlord plunked down in a rousing hurry.
“Why, back in Wendover Square, where he belongs. The silly chuff
hid himself in the boot of the post chaise and was quite uncovered,
literally, when we stopped at Meadow Willingham to take on Jack
Farquhar and his duffel.”

He chuckled at the
memory. “Such surprise on one laddie’s face. I gave him a regular
good Presbyterian scold and we took him back to his aunt, who gave
him another.” He took another drink, sighed, and wiped his mouth
with the back of his hand. “Made us a bit late. We’ve got to report
to Colonel Mackey on the double quick.”

“
He’ll
have something of a personal nature to tell you, too,” the captain
said quietly.

Bartley made no
comment. He drank the rest of the ale, set the tankard down, and
cleared his throat.

“
Captain Summers, by your leave, may I write to Larinda?” The
thin look about the captain’s mouth vanished and was replaced by a
grin.