Almost a Lady Read online

  He was looking at her, his eyes that glacial blue she’d encountered once before. “You have a very short memory, Miss Barratt,” he stated softly.

  “On the contrary,” Meg retorted, refusing to be discomposed, “my memory is remarkably acute.” She backed away, still holding her arm, and refusing to drop her own gaze until she had to turn to go down the companionway. On board his ship one had to watch oneself around Captain Cosimo, she reflected as she made her way along the passage to the sick bay, cradling her arm that was now beginning to throb uncomfortably.

  She climbed down into the dark confines of the sick bay. It seemed crowded and she assumed that the second barrage had caused some other injuries. David Porter was putting a splint on a man’s foot, while three other men, one bleeding copiously from a gash under his eye, sat on barrels against the curved bulkhead waiting their turn. Meg looked down at her arm, which was still bleeding sluggishly around the shard of wood. She had the uneasy feeling that the wood was somehow preventing a fountain of blood.

  David glanced across at her. “Hurt?”

  “Just a scratch.”

  “Give me a minute and I’ll be with you.”

  Meg shook her head. “No, please . . . there’s no hurry. Look after the men first.”

  He left the man on the table and crossed towards her, head bowed below the low ceiling. “Let me look.” He lifted her arm.

  “No, really, it’s not a problem,” she protested. “Please look after the others. I wouldn’t have come down except that . . .”

  “That what?” he prompted when her voice trailed away.

  “Cosimo gave me his look,” she said flatly.

  David looked momentarily startled, then gave a guffaw of amusement. “Oh, that look. Questioning an order, were you?”

  She shrugged. “It seemed unnecessary to burden you with a scratch when there are others more seriously hurt.”

  He let go her arm and gestured to a sack spilling what looked like beans. “Take a seat over there for a few minutes. And whatever you do, don’t pull that splinter out.”

  Meg obeyed. Her choices on this ship were annoyingly limited. Down here in the bowels of the ship she felt disconnected from the action above. The ship’s motion was very different and the immediacy of the danger was somehow distanced, although realistically she knew that they were not in the least insulated from cannon fire or anything else here below the water level. In fact she was hard pressed to keep panic at bay at just the image of water pouring into this space where elongated shadows flitted against the walls as the lamps swayed violently whenever the vessel changed course.

  She played with the beans, trawling them through her fingers, fighting to regain her composure. When David called to her to come to the table she had the panic well under control. Her arm was now hurting badly and she had to fight the urge to yank out the foreign body.

  She perched on the edge of the stained table while David looked at her arm. “Cosimo knows what he’s talking about when it comes to wounds,” he commented in a casual tone as he took up long tweezers. “They get infected very quickly if they’re not cleaned promptly and properly.” He took hold of the splinter between the tweezers and pulled steadily. “I can see that his manner might put your back up if you’re unaccustomed to his authority, but as a general rule his reasoning is faultless.”

  “One might agree to that if one had voluntarily submitted to his authority,” Meg pointed out with a touch of acerbity. It helped take her mind off what David was doing. She watched with an almost detached interest as the long piece of wood was withdrawn from her flesh. Immediately the blood flowed quickly, dripping onto the silk skirts of Ana’s gown. David seemed not to notice, or not to care, and began to wash the wound with a vinegar-soaked cloth that made Meg inhale sharply and bite her lip. He probed a little further with the tweezers and pulled out several small splinters.

  “I think that’s the last of them.” He staunched the flow of blood with a pad also reeking of vinegar. “We all find our own ways of adjusting to Cosimo.” He reverted to the earlier topic in the same casual tone and as if there’d been no intervening time.

  “Sensible if one’s obliged to do so,” Meg returned, pressing her other hand hard on the pad as David indicated that she should.

  He gave her a lightly quizzical smile that nevertheless held a hint of concern. “I don’t believe Cosimo means you any harm, Miss Barratt.”

  Meg met his gaze frankly. “Maybe not,” she said. “But two days ago I did not expect to find myself trapped on a ship engaging in an act of war with the enemy.”

  “No,” he agreed rather helplessly. “I can see your point, ma’am. But it was an unfortunate accident.” He reached over for a strip of the linen that Meg had worked on earlier. He was regretting having started this conversation. Cosimo could defend himself. And if, as he’d hinted to David, he might make use of the unfortunate accident that had dropped an unwitting Meg Barratt onto his ship, David wasn’t sure he could defend him anyway.

  “Please let’s drop the formalities, David,” Meg said, sensing the man’s sudden unease, although his fingers were deft as they bound up the arm. “My name’s Meg.”

  He smiled at her. “Well, Meg, I don’t think that’ll scar. It might throb for a while, but I’ll re-dress it in the morning.”

  “If we get through the night,” Meg said, grabbing the edge of the table as the ship lurched beneath her.

  “Have faith,” he responded, bracing himself easily against the motion.

  “We’re luring the frigate,” Meg informed him rather pointedly, sliding off the table. “But I’m not certain what to.” She regarded him closely in the wavering light and saw a quick frown cross his eyes. So he was not quite so placidly unquestioning about his captain’s plans as he’d implied.

  But apart from that fleeting frown he gave nothing away. “Would you like me to fashion a sling for you?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be careful.” She set off cautiously towards the ladder leading to the decks above.

  “Try not to knock it.”

  Any reply she might have made was lost as a clatter of feet in the corridor above heralded the arrival on the ladder of two men carrying a third between them. “Cannon got loose, sir,” one of them said, coming backwards down the ladder supporting the legs of the groaning man. “Crushed Sly against the fo’c’sle. He’s hurt pretty bad.”

  Meg stood aside as the other bearer supporting the man’s head and shoulders inched down the ladder. There was little room now in the confined space and she decided she’d only be in the way if she offered to help. Besides, they didn’t need it. The man was already on the table, his breathing harsh and ragged, and David was already stripping away his shirt, giving rapid-fire instructions to the boy who acted as his assistant.

  She made her way back up to the fresh air. Strangely her fear had vanished and she was now only curious to see what was happening on deck, and how things had changed since she’d gone below.

  At first glance everything looked the same. Cosimo was back at the wheel. The French frigate was still in pursuit, but at a slightly greater distance. Meg saw that all the sails were once more set and the Mary Rose was speeding over the waves. Ahead the spume from the breaking waves against the rocky outcrop seemed much closer and she felt something clutch in her throat. They seemed on a collision course. But it was clear to her now that Cosimo did not intend for his own ship to founder on those rocks. He was leading the enemy.

  But why didn’t they notice? she thought, going to the rail to stare out at the pursuing vessel. They had charts. They must know where they were heading. But perhaps they were so eager for the prize that must seem within their grasp they weren’t concentrating. Perhaps they assumed that the Mary Rose knew where she was going and wouldn’t deliberately put herself in danger. Perhaps the French captain didn’t know these waters as well as his English counterpart.

  But it was useless speculation. Rather tentatively she approached the helm, keepin
g out of Cosimo’s line of sight in order not to distract him. But he was instantly aware of her. His gaze flicked for a second over her pale face, down to the bound arm, then returned to his scrutiny of the sails. “Does it hurt?”

  “Throbs,” she admitted. “Are we going to run aground on those rocks?”

  “O ye of little faith,” he scoffed lightly.

  Meg swallowed. “Are they going to be wrecked?”

  He glanced at her again with a slightly mocking glint in his eye. “I assure you they’d have no more sympathy for us were the positions reversed than I have for them.”

  Meg shook her head in mute denial of such callous pragmatism.

  Cosimo said, “If it makes you feel better, there’s a sandy shoal just before the rocks. That’s where they’ll run aground. Now, you’re distracting me.”

  Meg left at once, taking up her station against the deck rail. Things were happening fast now. Cosimo was calling out orders, his feet braced against the deck, his hands on the wheel as he swung it around. She could see the sudden tensing of his shoulders as the wheel fought him, then the ship began to turn, the boom swinging overhead, the sails cracking as they slammed across to the other side. The Mary Rose caught the following wind and leaped forward, leaving the frigate still plunging forward towards the rocks.

  Meg could hear the cries and shouts from the frigate as they saw what was ahead of them. She had a fair sense now of what the scurrying, clambering sailors were doing as the enemy ship tried to go about, but she was much bigger, much more cumbersome than the dainty sloop and the turn took much longer. There was a great rasping and crashing of timbers filling the stillness of the night air, and the frigate came to a shuddering, straining halt.

  The Mary Rose danced away towards the open sea and Cosimo after a minute handed the wheel to Mike and came over to Meg, wiping his brow with his shirtsleeve. Despite the cool wind the physical effort of the last fifteen minutes had made him sweat.

  “What will happen to them?” she asked.

  He smiled. “They’ll stay there nice and secure until the navy turns up,” he told her, sounding, she thought, rather smug. “There are two English men-of-war somewhere out there in the Channel. They’ll come this way sometime after dawn. And they’ll find a nice fat prize all wrapped up and beribboned awaiting them.”

  He looked up at the sky, noticing the first faint graying in the east. Meg followed his eyes. “It seems to have been a very short night,” she said, even as she thought that an eternity seemed to have passed since they’d shared that electric supper under the stars.

  He nodded. “You’re tired. Go below and get some sleep. We’ll be making for harbor within the hour.”

  Meg after a second’s reflection decided not to say that she wasn’t particularly tired. Or even that she’d prefer to stay on deck. One of those looks in a night was quite sufficient. She made her way to the cabin, where Gus squawked a “G’day” at the sound of the door opening. She took it to mean that he was ready to face the light and removed the silk cover on his cage. He greeted her with a beady eye and hopped along the perch and out of the cage, then he swooped onto the windowsill and regarded the growing light with an air of intelligent interest.

  Meg scratched his poll and then stretched out on the cot, careful not to jolt her bandaged arm. She didn’t bother to take her boots off; she’d go back on deck shortly.

  She didn’t hear the door open an hour later, and was unaware as Cosimo removed her boots and spread the coverlet over her. He stood watching her sleep for a few minutes, a considering frown in his eyes.

  Meg Barratt had carried herself well that night. She’d shown less wild exhilaration than Ana would have, but she’d managed her apprehension well. She would not cave under danger, he decided. But she showed some awkward scruples. Ana wouldn’t have spared a moment’s anxiety as to the fate of the enemy vessel and those aboard her. Like him, she had thought only for their goal. The enemy was just that, and all was fair in war.

  Could Meg Barratt be persuaded to lend herself to the plan in hand? She had an unconventional streak in her, that much was very clear. She was no ordinary maiden lady. But that aside, she had been sheltered for the most part from the harsh realities of life at war. Could she accept an assassin’s task? Understand the need for it?

  He pursed his lips. He couldn’t act precipitately. He needed to tread carefully, to take his time to learn her, but the devil of it was, he had no time to spare. He was scheduled to remain on Sark for no more than three days, waiting for any dispatches that he could pass on to Admiral Nelson’s fleet when eventually he caught up with it. And in those three days he would be hoping against hope that he would get some clue as to Ana’s fate. After that, come hell or high water, he had to continue his mission.

  Chapter 6

  Meg was aware of pain, at first vague and unspecific, as she swam groggily back to consciousness. She lay still for a minute with her eyes shut, feeling the deep throbbing ache in her arm. The events of the night came back vivid in every detail and the acid reflection occurred that the last time she’d awoken in this narrow box-bed she’d also been groggy and in some degree of pain. Sailing on the Mary Rose didn’t seem particularly conducive to health.

  Finally she opened her eyes. Judging by the brightness of the sun, it must be well past mid-morning, she reckoned. Hardly surprising that she’d slept so late considering how she’d spent the greater part of the night. The ship beneath was rocking gently at anchor, and when she dragged herself up in the cot, she could see through the open window green hills in the distance. The air was a delicious mélange of seaweed and salt, and the sound of voices reached her through the window.

  Land, Meg thought. The recognition galvanized her and she swung herself out of the box-bed and stood up, holding her arm gingerly against her chest. The bandage was bloodstained but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. The green silk gown was ruined, sleeve torn, the skirts and sleeve stained with blood, which was a pity since she’d rather liked it. Well, there were other garments in the cupboard.

  She knelt on the window seat and gazed out across a narrow expanse of water to a quay where fishermen were mending nets. A huddle of cottages crowded behind the quayside and above them rose a green hillside. A slender cart track wound its way up from the hamlet towards the summit of the hill and she could just make out the roofs of several cottages scattered across the hillside.

  Hot water and then breakfast seemed the order of the morning. Without much expectation she peered into the head and to her delight saw two water jugs, steam still rising from their contents, and a pile of fresh towels. She glanced once towards the closed cabin door, then shrugged and reached behind her to unfasten the gown. It was impossible to do with one hand and her other arm was stiff and useless except for her fingers.

  She struggled in increasing frustration and only succeeded with an unwary stretch in opening the wound on her arm. Absurdly she felt like weeping at her helplessness as she stared at the seeping blood, then with an exclamatory curse tried again with her good hand to undo the top button between her shoulders. Cosimo’s familiar knock came as her oaths became more vigorous.

  “Oh, come in,” she called impatiently.

  Cosimo entered with Gus on his shoulder. “What on earth are you doing? It sounded like a bad morning in Billingsgate just then.”

  “I am trying to unbutton this damn gown with only one hand,” she told him through clenched teeth. “And now the other one’s bleeding again.”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake why didn’t you come and find me?” he demanded, sounding somewhat impatient himself. “Come here.” He moved behind her and swiftly unfastened the buttons before pushing the gown off her shoulders.

  His hand brushed the skin of her back and Meg closed her eyes on a jolt of quite unlooked for and at this point unwelcome arousal. He was so close to her she could feel his breath rustling the top of her head. The gown lay in a puddle at her feet.

  She stepped away from it and,
keeping her face averted, said, “Thank you. I can manage now.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked with an apparent solicitude that didn’t fool Meg one bit. He had enjoyed that moment of contact, whether it had affected him with quite the same jolt she couldn’t be certain. But she knew absolutely that her reaction hadn’t escaped him.

  “The buttons on my chemise are in the front,” she pointed out acidly.

  “Ah. Pity.” His eyebrows lifted. He came up behind her and, reaching over her shoulder, caught her chin on his fingertips, turning her head sideways. For an instant his lips brushed the corner of her mouth. “Are you quite certain I can’t help?”

  “Positively.” Meg didn’t bother to pretend outrage at the familiarity; she was growing accustomed to Cosimo’s flanking maneuvers, although not entirely sure what he hoped to achieve by them. They seemed more teasing than serious. Anyway she was determined that if and when she decided to consummate this attraction, it would be at her orchestration. And that wouldn’t happen until her situation was clarified and she knew she had a means of getting back to England. Quite apart from the fact that bleeding and grubby as she was now, she couldn’t imagine a less enticing moment.

  “Very well.” Somewhat to her perverse chagrin he sounded perfectly content with her refusal. “I’ll leave you then. I’ll send David to look at your arm in about ten minutes. I expect you’ll need some assistance dressing and he’ll be an unobjectionable lady’s maid.” With that he left the cabin to a chorus of g’byes from Gus, who had taken up residence on his perch.

  Meg swore under her breath and the macaw cocked his head as if trying to catch what she’d said. “So far I haven’t heard you swear,” Meg declared. “And I don’t think you’d better learn it from me.” She managed to undo the buttons and ribbons of her chemise and get rid of garters and stockings. Naked she managed to sponge herself one-handed and then struggled into clean linen. She took out the bronze gown that she’d worn the previous day and shook it out. It would do. But doing it up was beyond her.