Chapter Four
Four
You must be joking.”
“Abject horror” is the only way I can describe the feeling in my gut as I stare into the dimly lit dampness of the fo’c’sle belowdecks. Surely, this is some kind of jest at my expense.
The room has a lived-in quality that suggests it has never made acquaintance with a mop.
Nor has fresh air ever been allowed to permeate the space, as my nose is brutally assaulted with a cocktail of body odor, stale grog, and sick.
Dingy grey-brown hammocks hang around the room, stacked in twos.
I think at one time they must have been white, but no longer.
I turn to the whiskerless, silver-haired man, who I’ve discovered is the ship’s first mate. His name is Tydes, which seems a jest in itself, but he has assured me it is his true name. “You have a stateroom for me, surely,” I press.
He stares back at me without the slightest hint of amusement. He points to a hammock strung a few feet from the door. “Your stateroom, my lord,” he says, voice positively dripping with disdain.
My stomach drops and my shoulders sag. Not only is Mr. Tydes unamused by me, he appears to actively mislike me—which is just preposterous.
Everyone likes me. My mind races as I try to come up with an alternative solution to our problem, for that is what it is: our problem.
If I am not given appropriate lodgings for my rank, I will make sure to let my displeasure be known.
Constantly.
“If you don’t like it, you can string up a hammock on deck with the men who prefer to sleep under the stars,” Mr. Tydes grunts. “Or you can see yourself off the Deliverance.”
I’m sure he would simply love that. In fact, I’m rather considering it when there is a strange shift in the ship below my feet. I glance around, as if the hammocks and stench might have answers for me.
Mr. Tydes smirks at me, his eyes crinkling in a way that could almost be friendly, were he not an ornery old bastard with apparently no sense of humor. “We’re weighing anchor, lordling. Best settle in.”
“Weighing what?” I ask, nearly losing my footing as the ship shifts again beneath me. My eyes widen and I realize what he means. We’re putting out to sea, now, and I no longer have the option of boarding another ship.
I open my mouth to complain further, but Mr. Tydes has already turned his back on me and is making his way up on deck.
Following him out into the chaos of men bustling about, doing whatever it is sailors do to make a ship sail, I scan the crowd for my temporary manservant and realize both he and my trunk are nowhere to be found.
“My things!” I shout to absolutely no one in particular. Nobody is paying attention to me, though a few men give me strange glances as they pass by.
Panic sets in, and for a moment all I want to do is curl up in a ball right here on the ship’s deck.
I don’t, of course—how humiliating would that be?
—but I do march forward, dodging sailors as I make my way back to the stained-glass door of the captain’s cabin.
I knock briskly on the glass and cross my arms as I wait for him to emerge.
He doesn’t, and I cannot hear over the shouts of the crew behind me if he has given me leave to enter.
Well, I won’t be left standing out here like a fool.
I’m a viscount, for Christ’s sake! (Almost.) I turn the handle, pleased to find the door unlocked.
Before anyone can stop me, I let myself into the cabin.
The curtains along the gallery windows are drawn back now, so I can see around the room fairly well.
The weapons that littered the table are now mounted along one wall.
Before I can consider why the captain has need of so many weapons, I spot my trunk at the foot of the rather grand four-poster bed, which appears to be built into the wall.
The captain is not here to see my disgruntled expression as I stomp over to my trunk and check the lock.
It is unscathed, so at least no one has tried to rob me.
Still, I have no intention of leaving my things unattended here.
I glance at the small settee bolted to the floor in the middle of the room.
Leaving my trunk where it is, I go to the settee and sink into the cushions with a sigh.
Despite the hollering outside, the captain’s cabin is relatively peaceful.
As much as it pains me to admit, Digby was right: I am no adventurer. I have been on this ship for less than an hour, and I am already spent.
But the thought of Digby Hale stiffens my resolve.
No, I cannot allow that dishrag of a milksop to have one up on me—even though he will never know it, as I plan to disappear over the horizon and never return to the shores of Falmouth again.
Come hell or high water, I will make something of myself.
(Preferably without either of those things.) It sounds a bit dramatic, but I mean it—Digby, my father, and the prince’s opinions of me be damned.
It’s time I drew my own path in the sand.
When I wake, I am instantly horrified. I sit up and scrub my hands across my face. My first thought is that I hope my father didn’t catch me sleeping in the sitting room—but then I look up and am met with the unreadable expression of Captain Sharpe.
“Comfortable, Mr. Mortimer?”
I grimace at the name. “Ugh, anything but that.”
His brows rise, and I realize he is expecting me to cower before him.
I won’t—I technically outrank him. I draw myself to my feet and calmly smooth out my waistcoat, deliberately taking the time to right my clothes.
It is a power play, and I can tell by the way his expression shifts to one of dismayed amusement that he is well aware of what I am doing.
“You stole my trunk,” I say before he can speak.
He balks and glances to the trunk at the foot of his bed. “I have no interest in your fancy britches.”
I clear my throat before I can laugh. “I cannot be expected to sleep in a hammock with the crew.”
“Would you prefer to sleep in the brig?”
It’s my turn to look dismayed. I take a step back and place a hand on my chest for dramatic effect. “I beg your pardon—”
“Begging is usually best done on your knees.”
All right. I see I am well matched with Captain Sharpe.
“Please,” I implore, opening my hands. “There must be a stateroom you can supply for me.”
“Must there be?” he asks, and I am quickly growing tired of this dance.
I sigh and let my hands fall to my sides. “Captain. I have no intention of sleeping in a dingy hammock in a room with fifty other men.”
“You are not a guest on this ship, little kitten,” Captain Sharpe says. “You agreed to become a member of my crew, did you already forget?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Then as a member of my crew, you will sleep with the crew. My officers are awarded private cabins for their loyalty and hard work. You are not one of my officers. In fact, you are not yet officially one of my crew. You do not come to me making demands.”
I frown and motion to my trunk. “And where am I to keep my things if I’m to be without proper lodgings?”
Captain Sharpe smiles at me, and I am all too aware of how much he’s enjoying himself. “That’s a predicament for sure,” he muses. “Not many places on this ship that are safe from sticky fingers.”
I close my eyes and draw a calming breath.
I am about to lose my temper, and I would absolutely hate to humiliate myself further.
“Captain Sharpe… I have no desire to play this game with you. If you cannot accommodate me appropriately, or even provide me with a safe place for my things, I will find another ship.”
“Will you, lad?” the captain asks me, lifting one dark brow. “And how do you propose to do that? Will you swim back to port?”
My eyes widen and my stomach drops as I recall that when I dozed off, they were raising the anchor.
How long did I sleep? How far out to sea have we come?
I cannot think of anything to say in reply.
All I can do is stare at Captain Sharpe with my mouth agape, blinking stupidly as the gravity of my situation truly sets in.
My expression seems to have some kind of effect on the captain, for he releases a puff of air and allows his shoulders to sag. “You can keep your trunk in here,” he says as he motions to where it currently sits. “You’ll have to come in here every day to do the ledgers anyway.”
Well, that’s something. I am surprised by the gesture, but I don’t say so. “Thank you, Captain.”
I decide it’s best to hedge my bets here. I have won a small victory, and now I’m sure I can press the captain later for a room. Surely, something can be found once he is feeling a little less hostile towards me.
I am about to leave when I recall the man who brought my trunk on board. I turn back to the captain, alarmed once more. “I was meant to pay my man for bringing my things on board.”
“He’s been paid.”
Shit. I sigh and reach into my pocket. “How much did he demand from you?”
Captain Sharpe smirks at me. “Two crowns. I told him he’d take three shillings or lose a hand.”
This startles a laugh out of me as I pull a crown from my purse. “Well. I had promised him a crown,” I say, tossing the coin to Captain Sharpe. “Consider the rest a small investment in the search for my room.”
It is the captain’s turn to laugh as he pockets my coin. “Off with you, lad. Get some sleep, for you’ll be up bright and early if you want to mess before I put you to work.”
I force a smile that I know must seem more like a grimace as I turn to leave the comforts of the captain’s lavish cabin. I cast one more mournful look towards my trunk, and then I step out on deck into the fading sun.