Regency Debutantes: The Captain's Lady / Mistaken Mistress

‘No, sir.’ She forced the voice as a low rumble, and shook her head.

‘Want to give that lass a kiss?’

Georgiana looked at the floor and shook her head. ‘No, sir.’

The third sailor spoke up at last. ‘Leave the lad alone, Jack. He’s still wet behind the ears, just a young ‘un. Let’s get some sleep on this bloody coach while we can.’

‘I was only ‘avin’ a laugh,’ Jack protested, ‘weren’t I, lad?’

The journey seemed long in the extreme, although it took little more than three hours. By the time they arrived in Fareham, close by Portsmouth, Georgiana was cold, hungry and tired, having been exhausted by excitement and nerves. And she had yet to travel to Havant from where she could catch the mail in the direction of Petersfield, thus allowing her to make her way to Collingborne. To make matters worse, the first stagecoach to Havant did not leave until early the next morning. After all this she could only hope that at the end of her travels, she would not be turned away from Collingborne House and that Mirabelle Farleigh would offer her the help she so desperately needed. Pray God that it would be so.

Captain Nathaniel Hawke stood on the quarterdeck of the Pallas and surveyed the busy commotion on his ship. The Pallas was a frigate, a long, low sailing ship, the eyes and ears of the navy. Before the quarterdeck a chain of men were hauling spare spars, placing them down beside the rowing boats on the open deck beams. Others scoured water casks ready for refilling. Shouts sounded from those up high checking the rigging, climbing barefoot and confident, white trousers and blue jackets billowing in the strong sea breeze. The smell of fresh paint drifted to the captain’s nose, as the men dangling over the bulwark on their roped seats, brushes in hands, applied the last few strokes of black across the gunport lids of the broadside. The black coloration contrasted starkly with the ochre yellow banding around the gunports themselves, setting up the smart so-called ‘Nelson’s Chequer’. In the distance, beyond the forecastle, the finely carved lion figurehead glinted proudly in the sunlight. ‘How fares Mr Hutton with his repairs?’

‘He’s completed all of the gunports on the starboard broadside and is halfway through those on the larboard. Mr Longley is continuing with caulking the hull and estimates that the job will be complete by this evening.’ First Lieutenant John Anderson faced his captain, resplendent in the full naval uniform that he had so recently purchased. He held himself with pride and eyed Captain Hawke with a mixture of respect and admiration. ‘The men are working hard, Captain, and all should be ready in two days. We’ll meet the sailing time.’ There was a strength and enthusiasm in his voice.

Nathaniel turned from his view of a chaotic Portsmouth Point and faced his second-in-command. The lad had everything that it took to make a good first lieutenant except experience. And that was something that would not be long in coming if Nathaniel had his way. ‘Indeed, Lieutenant, they’ve worked like Trojans, we all have. You’re right in your estimation of the work. But it’s not the repairs that threaten to postpone our departure.’ He glanced away, out to where the open sea beckoned. ‘We both know the real problem—our lack of manpower. We’ve not enough crew to properly man this ship and I cannot take her out as we currently stand. The men that we have are good and true, all came forward willingly to serve on the Pallas because she’s widely known to be a fair and lucky ship.’

Don’t be misled, sir. The men are here because Captain Nathaniel Hawke is reputed to be one of the best post captains to sail under and all that have sailed with him previously have been made rich with the prizes he captured. But the lieutenant knew better than to speak his thoughts.

Nathaniel’s face had grown grim. ‘But for all that, we’ve insufficient numbers to sail. It seems that we’re forced once more to turn to Captain Bodmin to supply the extra men needed.’ The knowledge curled his top lip.

Lieutenant Anderson sensed the captain’s reticence in the matter. ‘Most of the ships that sail from here require Captain Bodmin’s services and a good proportion of their crews comprise pressed men. It’s no reflection on you, Captain. Be assured of that.’

‘Thank you, Mr Anderson.’ He clasped his fingers together. ‘It seems that we’ve no choice, for if we’re to sail we must have men, even pressed men who’ve never set foot off land before and lack any seafaring skills. Not that that is what presents the biggest problem. They’ve no desire to be on board and so will cause any manner of trouble to illustrate the point. Little wonder when they’ve been forcibly deprived of their freedom. God knows, Mr Anderson, the Press Gang is very much a last resort. Better one volunteer than three pressed men.’

Both men turned and looked once more out across the crowded harbour of Portsmouth.

Georgiana was not feeling at her best as she huddled in the yard of the Red Lion. She felt as stiff as an old woman and she’d long since eaten any vestige of food contained within the bag pressed against her chest. The delicious aroma of hot mutton pies wafted from the pie seller just beyond the courtyard gates.

‘George, fancy a pie?’ The gruff voice surprised her.

Georgiana looked down and shook her head. ‘No, thank you, sir,’ she uttered in as manly a tone as she could manage. Her stomach protested with a fierce growl.

Burly Jack, as she’d taken to calling him, although not to his face, whispered to Tom, ‘Lad’s not the full shilling, but he’s ‘armless enough. Reminds me of me nephew.’ He straightened up and raised his voice in Georgiana’s direction. ‘Come on, now, boy, don’t be too proud for your own good. You must be starvin'. I ‘aven’t seen you eat nothin’ all night.’ Jack advanced, carrying three steaming pies, and thrust one towards her.

An audible rumbling erupted from Georgiana’s stomach.

Tom laughed. ‘Don’t try tellin’ us you ain’t hungry. They must have heard that stomach growl in the streets of London!’

The pie loomed before Georgiana, all hot and aromatic. She felt her mouth fill with saliva and could not help but lick her lips.

‘Come on, lad.’

The pie danced closer, calling to Georgiana with an allure that she had never experienced before. Her hand reached out and enclosed around the vision of temptation.

Burly Jack delivered an affectionate blow to her arm before the trio headed off towards the closest tavern.

Georgiana slumped against the wall. She bit through the pastry until delicious gravy spurted into her mouth, so hot that she could see the wisps of steam escape into the coolness of the surrounding air. Squatting down, she leaned her back against the rough-hewn stone behind her and chewed upon the heavenly chunks of mutton. It was strange just how contenting the simple act of filling one’s empty belly could be. Gravy trickled down her chin and she lapped it back up. She was just wiping the grease from her fingers down Francis’s brown woollen breeches when it happened.

Yells. Thuds. The sound of Burly Jack’s voice raised in anger and fear.

Georgiana started up like a scared rabbit, peering all around. The voices came from the other side of the wall. Darting through the gate she ran round and into the narrow alleyway. ‘Jack!’ Her voice rang out clear and true.

In the gloom of the alley her travelling companions had been set upon by several men. There was much flying of fists and kicking of legs, but Georgiana could just see that Burly Jack was being thoroughly bested. Without pausing to consider her own position, she launched herself upon Jack’s attacker, ripping at his hair and boxing his ears for all she was worth.

‘Run, lad!’ Jack’s voice echoed in her ear. It was the last thing she heard before she was felled by a hefty blow to the back of her head. And then there was nothing.

Georgiana awoke to a giddy nauseous feeling. There was an undoubted sensation of swaying that would not still whether she opened her eyes or closed them. Not that it made any difference to what she could see within the dense blackness of where she now found herself.

She tried to sit up, but the throbbing of her head increased so dramatically that she thought the remnants of the mutton pie would leap from her stomach.

‘George, is you awake yet?’ The unmistakable tone of Burly Jack’s voice sounded.

‘Yes, sir.’ She groaned. ‘Where are we? I can’t see anythin'.’

A hand landed on her thigh and she let out a squeak.

‘There you are, lad. Did them bastards ‘urt you? Looked like they landed you a right good ‘un on the ‘ead.’ Jack’s hand moved up to her arm. She prayed it would stray no further.

‘I’ll mend,’ she uttered, trying to quell the queasiness rising in her stomach, and struggled to a sitting position.

Jack’s hand patted her arm. ‘That’s the spirit. Tom and Bill’s ‘ere too. Bastards got us all, and two others by the name of Jim and Rad.’

‘The lad sounds young.’ Rad’s voice came out of the gloom. ‘Voice ain’t broken yet.’

‘He is young, so don’t be startin’ nothin’ with ‘im or you’ll ‘ave me to answer to.’ Burly Jack’s voice had lost its soft edge.

It seemed that Georgiana had found something of a protector within the smelly dark hovel. Would he remain so if he fathomed her secret? It was not a question that she wished to test. The rocking motion seemed to be getting worse, just as her eyes had adjusted to see grey shapes within the surrounding darkness. And with it grew her nausea. ‘Dear Lord!’ The curse escaped her as the retching began.

‘Easy, lad.’ Burly Jack’s voice sounded close. ‘You’ll get used to it soon enough and then it won’t never come back. Seasickness ain’t a pleasant feeling, but there ain’t nothin’ can be done about it.’

‘Seasickness?’ Georgiana questioned with a feeble tone.

‘Oh, aye, lad. What d’you think them fellows wanted with us? They’re the bloody Press Gang and you’re aboard ship now.’ Jack’s words had a horrible nightmarish quality about them.

She blinked her eyes into the darkness. ‘You must be wrong, sir.’

‘Nope,’ Jack replied with a definite cheery tone. ‘You’re a ship’s boy on the Pallas now, young George, whether you like it or not. Best get used to the idea before the bosun comes to fetch us.’

Georgiana let out a load groan and dropped her head into her hands. She was once again in a diabolical situation as the result of her own foolhardy actions. But this time there would be no handsome Lord Nathaniel Hawke to jump headlong in and save her.

‘You’ve interviewed them all, Mr Anderson. So what do we have?’ Nathaniel continued in his stride towards the small group of men standing at the far end of the main deck.

Lieutenant Anderson walked briskly alongside. ‘Good news, Captain Hawke, sir. There are five men, three of whom have plenty of experience at sea. I’ve rated them as able seamen, sir. The other two are landsmen, never set foot on a ship before, but I estimate that they’ll be quick to learn. All are now registered on the Pallas’ books.’

Nathaniel’s face was grim. ‘It sickens me to the pit of my stomach that I’m forced to resort to such a thing. I’d rather have them here willingly or not at all.’

‘You’re only following orders, Captain,’ the first lieutenant pointed out. ‘And I fancy that they’ll soon change their minds as to a life at sea once they’ve sailed on the Pallas.’