“He tends to the captain, helps the steward, carries on the duties of a personal servant. But he rooms with the captain and eats food from his table. And he never takes watches.”
“That is strange.” Third-class boys weren’t supposed to be coddled. It didn’t prepare them for life as seamen. “Is he a relation to the captain?”
“A distant relation. The boy’s father was master and commander of the sloop Caroline that went down in the Mediterranean a few years ago. The previous first lieutenant,” Jarvis swallowed, blinking rapidly, “said the boy joined soon after, since he didn’t have any other family to speak of.” The man cleared his throat and looked up toward the yards.
Dominic pretended not to see the show of emotion at the mention of Lieutenant Hargood, the officer he replaced.
“I had best find the captain. Thank you, Jarvis.” Dominic left the man staring aloft and followed the boy—George—down the ladder to the gun deck. Dominic didn’t know where the second lieutenant’s aura of bitterness came from, but he sensed something stewing behind the lowered brows and hard-set jaw.
Chapter 2
Georgana balanced a tray with tea things in her arms and waited for the steward to ready her father’s dinner tray. She could almost hear Grandmother’s shrill disapproval at the now-tepid water in the teapot. Preparing and serving tea had been the subject of many lessons with Grandmother, instructions that still echoed in Georgana’s head after three years apart. But Grandmother never had to navigate the gun deck of a swaying ship in the middle of a watch change without upending the tea tray.
Georgana stood at the galley until the steward passed with the captain’s dinner. Hanging lanterns swung gently about the deck, sending shadows running behind the cannons. The steward cut through the group of men milling about the deck. She followed on his heels, head down. If the crew didn’t see her, they wouldn’t talk to her. And while the men didn’t notice her much, the boys . . .
“Hoy, George!” A hand grasped the back of her coat, forcing her to a halt. In the noise of the group, the steward didn’t realize she’d stopped.
Georgana tried to breathe. She knew who held her coat. Most of the other boys tripped her or shoved her, then went back to their tasks, but Walter Fitz never let her go quickly.
She turned and tried to pull the coat free, but his grip held. The teapot sloshed water over the tray, and the other boys snickered. Georgana cringed as warm water splashed her dry, cracked hands.
“You going to walk right by without greeting your betters?”
She did not point out he was far from her superior. Though he might be stronger than she, they were both third-class boys. “I must bring the captain his tea.” She used the gruff voice she’d tried so hard to master, but even her deepest tone sounded pitifully small.
“You’re bringing the captain his tea?” Fitz smiled darkly. “You do that a little too well for a man.”
Georgana’s hands shook, rattling the tea things. Fitz had joined up in Portsmouth with his father, the new coxswain. He couldn’t have guessed her secret in so short a time. “Let go of me.” She pulled again, but he didn’t release her.
Instead, he whipped her to the side, and she crashed into one of the eighteen-pounder guns that lined the deck. The silver teapot clattered over, knocking the lid off. Water surged over the tray. Then he jerked her back toward his messmates.
“Stop, please!” she cried, still clinging to the tray.
“What was that, Prince George? Couldn’t hear you.” He sent her swinging the other way again.
A stitch in her jacket popped and reverberated up the seam. She fought to keep anything else from tipping to the floor. Eyes from around the deck fell on her, but no one stepped in to help. Not even the marines, tasked with keeping the peace on board.
“Too good to eat with us, are you? Having your dinner with the captain again?”
Georgana tried to wrench herself away and tripped, her knee pounding into the floor. The tray fell from her grasp, its contents clanging across the deck. She gasped at the pain that shot up her leg. Fitz tried to yank her back to her feet.
“That is enough.” No one could mistake the authority in the voice.
Her knee hit the deck again as her coat went slack. She almost fell flat but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. Her head stayed lowered as the hand grasped her under the arm and helped her up. Heat rose to her face at the silence filling the gun deck. Men who had been climbing the ladder froze. All within view saluted the newcomer.
“Your name?” Lieutenant Peyton asked.
Georgana chanced a peek. The taller boy stood at attention, widened eyes his only sign of fear.
“Walt Fitz, sir.”
“You will respect your shipmates, Mr. Fitz. Do not let me see this happen again.”
Fitz nodded eagerly. No one was sure how to act around the new officer yet.
“Go fetch more water, George,” the lieutenant said in a kinder tone. He picked up the fallen silver and set the tea things on her tray.
Georgana hurried back to the galley. How humiliating! As though being under the protection of the captain didn’t give her enough unwanted attention. She didn’t need Lieutenant Peyton making her more of a target.
The cook grumbled when she asked for more water but refilled the pot from his kettle nonetheless. To her dismay, the first lieutenant was waiting at the ladder. The men had finished changing watch, leaving the gun deck mostly clear.
“Are you all right, George?”
She touched the brim of her cap and mumbled a yes. He was supposed to be on deck with his men.
“Don’t let them treat you that way.” The lanterns painted his face a dull yellow. But even in the poor light, she could tell he was handsome. The crew might have called him a “pretty boy” if he weren’t ranked so high above them. She would know—that was what they called her, though in a jeering manner. The juvenile softness of her face didn’t compare to his high cheekbones and angular jaw.
“Stand up to them,” he said. “Don’t let them toss you around. They will not give you respect otherwise.”
Defend herself? That would not go well. Though in age she had them all beat by three years at least, Fitz could down her in a matter of moments, she was sure. He was skinny as a bowsprit but neared the lieutenant’s height at only fifteen years old. She turned to go without responding to the lieutenant’s suggestion.
“I could teach you, if you like.”
Georgana paused. No one had offered to help her with anything since she stepped onto the ship. She lifted her eyes to meet his, but the earnestness of his gaze made her look quickly back to the floor.
“No, sir.” She bowed her head. “But thank you all the same.”
The lieutenant nodded, then bounded up the ladder like he’d been called to dinner instead of to stand on a damp deck late into the night. Georgana watched him go, then walked into the glow of the captain’s quarters, lit with several tallow candles in glass-paned lanterns. Her father scribbled notes at his table, several maps lying before him. He didn’t look up when she entered and shut the door.
Georgana could do with a few more people like Lieutenant Peyton on the crew. Perhaps this latest addition to the wardroom was worth angering the second lieutenant after all.