“Are you all right?” Dominic asked.
The boy nodded, scooting toward Captain Woodall’s quarters. He lowered his other foot but groaned the moment he put pressure on it.
Dominic took hold of his arm before he could try another step. Most likely he twisted the ankle when he landed from the fall. “Let us get you to the surgeon.”
The boy shook his head sharply. “I need to get back to the captain.” He squinted at Dominic, little droplets wetting the corners of his eyes.
“You won’t be much use to the captain if that foot doesn’t heal properly. Come, I’ll help you.”
Georgana winced as the surgeon removed her shoe, then stocking, pulling at the tender flesh beneath. Lieutenant Peyton put a hand on her shoulder. She couldn’t meet his eyes. His kindness was just one more reason for the boys to tease her.
“Now, what have you done to your foot, Mr. Taylor?” the surgeon asked. He spoke English with ease but could not hide his thick French accent. She didn’t like the amused look in his dark, glittering eyes.
The lieutenant spoke up. “The boys—”
“I tripped going up the ladder,” Georgana said quickly.
Étienne glanced at Lieutenant Peyton but said nothing. Her insides writhed as the man took her foot in his hands. She’d stayed away from Étienne and the previous surgeon for fear they would see through her disguise. He prodded the purpling skin with his fingers, pain lancing up her leg.
She twisted her head away, teeth clenched. Her face met the soft scratch of wool, and she tried to focus on the sensation. It took all her strength to not let the tears escape as he felt along her ankle. Finally Étienne released her foot.
A hand tousled her cap, and only then did she realize she was leaning into Lieutenant Peyton’s arm. She sat up quickly, grateful for the dim lighting of the surgeon’s room to hide her flushed face. Leaning into him like a young lady swooning in a ballroom would do nothing to convince him she didn’t need his help.
“It is not broken, Dieu merci.” Étienne went to a chest and retrieved a bottle of amber liquid. He pulled the stopper off the bottle, and an acrid smell permeated the room. “I will apply a compress of vinaigre for the swelling. It should not hurt so much in a few days.”
Georgana’s shoulders fell. A few days? She wasn’t going to be able to keep this from her father.
Étienne soaked strips of cloth in a vinegar paste and wound the strips snuggly around her injured foot. She fought to keep her face stoic. The lieutenant pitied her enough. No need to make it worse.
“Eh voilà,” the surgeon said. He moved away to return his supplies to their places. “I will need to replace the compress when it dries.”
“Thank you, sir.” She wobbled as she stood, and Lieutenant Peyton grasped her upper arm to steady her. The throbbing in her foot stopped her from shaking off his hand. If she were dressed as befitted her gender, he would not have dared take her arm in such a manner.
But she wasn’t. She was a pathetic ship’s boy who couldn’t stay out of trouble despite her greatest efforts to remain unseen.
A strange homesickness for England soured her stomach. She’d never been homesick for that place before. England had always meant Grandmother. But she couldn’t decide which bully she would rather face—Grandmother or Fitz and his gang.
The lieutenant thanked Étienne, who raised his hand to his forehead in a lazy salute. Lieutenant Peyton slowly led her out of the room and into the darkness of the orlop deck, the belly of the ship she only went to during battle.
They worked their way up to the messdeck, where Fitz’s comrades gave them wary looks over their game of cards, then onto the gun deck. After the dank air of the orlop deck, the fresh air coming through the hatchway felt wonderful against her warm face. Her arms shook from the strain of pulling herself up the ladder without the use of her injured foot.
“Will you lie to the captain?” Lieutenant Peyton asked, his voice low. He took her arm again. “I think he ought to know what happened.”
Georgana’s head snapped up. He was going to say something. She could only imagine what new regulations Papa would create, further alienating her from the other boys and raising more suspicions. And they’d never leave her alone if Fitz were disciplined.
The lieutenant watched her, brows knit. Late afternoon light filtering through the hatchway caught the vibrant brown and green that swirled in his eyes.
“You can’t tell him,” she blurted.
Lieutenant Peyton sighed. “I will not say anything for now. But if this keeps happening, I will go to the captain.”
Georgana saluted. She needed to stay clear of Fitz and his gang, for everyone’s sake. “Thank you for your help, sir.” She removed his strong fingers from her arm, and he didn’t protest. Then she hobbled into the captain’s quarters, one shoe and one empty stocking dangling from her fingers.
Chapter 4
Dominic didn’t expect to see Captain Woodall on the quarterdeck. He usually didn’t show himself above deck prior to the forenoon watch. Dominic seized the opportunity, walking quickly aft. George’s plight had not left his mind since the incident with the other boys more than a week ago. He would keep his promise of not telling the captain everything, but something had to be done.
The captain stood at the very back of the ship, watching the horizon turn from deep blue to pink. Dominic joined him just as the bell rang four times from the other end of the ship. Six o’clock.
“Good morning, Captain.”
Captain Woodall did not respond but rested his elbows on the bulwark.
“How is young George?”
“Nearly recovered from last week’s fall.” The captain removed his bicorn and ran a hand through his graying hair. “The ladders get so slippery some days. Can’t be helped, unfortunately.”
Dominic leaned into the rail. So the lad had kept to his story.
“Sir, pardon my boldness, but he does not appear suited to life at sea. Does he have connections that could find him an apprenticeship as a clerk or something less brutal than a career in the navy?”
Captain Woodall pressed his lips together. “The lad’s father wished him to be at sea.”
Dominic tapped his thumbs against the bulwark. He didn’t know why he felt so foolish making this inquiry. He never had trouble speaking his mind. “He has been at sea three years, has he not? Perhaps it is time to advance him past third-class boy.”
“He is fine where he is.” It came out as a growl, as close to losing his temper as Dominic had seen from the captain in the three weeks since they set sail from Portsmouth.
“But what of his future?” Dominic persisted. “He cannot stay a ship’s boy all his life. If his father was master and commander, surely he deserves a higher rank.” Second class, at least. And if his father were a gentleman, first class. A higher rank could solve George’s problem with Walter Fitz. Punishment for harming a superior was severe.
The captain didn’t respond.
“Why not prepare him for midshipman? I could train him in the things he doesn’t know. He is fourteen? Fifteen? In a year or so he could be ready for advancement.”