she found a bit of rope, she improvised as best she could. “Be good,” she said as the dog strained at the new leash. Then she looked around in earnest, this time concentrating on what she saw—which was purposeful action and chaos all at once. Sailors prepared the frigate to set sail. Their wives garnered a parting gift or hug against an uncertain future. And bumboat men and women sold merchandise to the crew.
The bumboat people fascinated Jeannette. From temporary stalls, they hawked their wares, just as they would in a marketplace on land. According to their bleating voices, they sold, on credit until payday, fresh fruit, clothes, trinkets, and any other items that a sailor might fancy.
Ragamuffin children darted through the melee, along with numerous dogs, cats, parrots, and other pets.
She might be safe from Lord St. Ives, but what would she face here? The hundreds of ropes that controlled the sails and supported the yardarms looked extremely complex....
But she would never have to learn them. She wouldn’t be around long enough.
The thought of London cheered her as she watched barefooted sailors check the rigging high above.
“Vicard!”
Lieutenant Treynor had to call her three times before she realized he was speaking to her. Recognizing her blunder, she finally turned—but knew she’d never survive in this new world if she couldn’t keep her own name, and her dog’s, straight.
“Come along, Bull.” She started forward, but wasn’t particularly eager to meet the square, ruddy captain who’d been conversing with Treynor and a handful of other officers for several minutes already.
“Yes, sir?”
Treynor waved her to his side. Not wanting to get close enough to him to rouse any more thoughts of the Stag, she reluctantly obeyed.
“You need to accompany Captain Cruikshank to his cabin so his clerk can enter you in the muster book. Otherwise, you’ll not get paid,” he told her.
With all the news of the war, Jeannette had some understanding of the subject. Boys received a pittance, if that.
“Oui, monsieur.” Pay was the least of her worries. She wouldn’t be part of the navy long enough to collect it.
“Has the lad any experience?” The captain turned bloodshot, watery eyes upon her.
Another officer, who wore his impeccable uniform like a badge of honor, reached out to grab her hands. He turned her palms up and rubbed the soft flesh with his thumbs. “Not a callus in sight. With such delicate hands, I would say he has not done a stitch of work in his life. Isn’t that just like the lazy French?”
Jeannette was glad she’d scrubbed dirt onto her face, for it had left plenty beneath her nails as well. She refrained from making a response to the officer’s demeaning comment while hoping that the others wouldn’t look too closely.
The captain waved off the other man. “It takes no calluses to be a bosun’s servant, Mr. Cunnington. Those will come with the job. And a French lad can learn as easily as an English one.”
“I didn’t know a frog could do anything quite as well as an Englishman.” Cunnington and another man laughed, but the captain cut them a glare that wiped the smiles from their faces.
“Regardless, the bosun needs a lad, and this one will do.”
The officer named Cunnington eyed her again. “Actually, I have been in need of a steward for some time now. I could use the boy myself, Captain, if you could see your way clear to indulge me.”
A prickle of fear skipped down Jeannette’s spine. She already knew two or three days spent in the company of this man would be too many.
Fortunately Treynor spoke up. “Too late, Lieutenant Cunnington.”
The captain hesitated, then affirmed his agreement with a nod.
“But I hardly think Hawker deserves more consideration than I.” Indignation oozed through Cunnington’s voice and his gaze lingered on Treynor before returning to the captain.
Treynor tensed. It was a subtle change in his demeanor but one Jeannette
The bumboat people fascinated Jeannette. From temporary stalls, they hawked their wares, just as they would in a marketplace on land. According to their bleating voices, they sold, on credit until payday, fresh fruit, clothes, trinkets, and any other items that a sailor might fancy.
Ragamuffin children darted through the melee, along with numerous dogs, cats, parrots, and other pets.
She might be safe from Lord St. Ives, but what would she face here? The hundreds of ropes that controlled the sails and supported the yardarms looked extremely complex....
But she would never have to learn them. She wouldn’t be around long enough.
The thought of London cheered her as she watched barefooted sailors check the rigging high above.
“Vicard!”
Lieutenant Treynor had to call her three times before she realized he was speaking to her. Recognizing her blunder, she finally turned—but knew she’d never survive in this new world if she couldn’t keep her own name, and her dog’s, straight.
“Come along, Bull.” She started forward, but wasn’t particularly eager to meet the square, ruddy captain who’d been conversing with Treynor and a handful of other officers for several minutes already.
“Yes, sir?”
Treynor waved her to his side. Not wanting to get close enough to him to rouse any more thoughts of the Stag, she reluctantly obeyed.
“You need to accompany Captain Cruikshank to his cabin so his clerk can enter you in the muster book. Otherwise, you’ll not get paid,” he told her.
With all the news of the war, Jeannette had some understanding of the subject. Boys received a pittance, if that.
“Oui, monsieur.” Pay was the least of her worries. She wouldn’t be part of the navy long enough to collect it.
“Has the lad any experience?” The captain turned bloodshot, watery eyes upon her.
Another officer, who wore his impeccable uniform like a badge of honor, reached out to grab her hands. He turned her palms up and rubbed the soft flesh with his thumbs. “Not a callus in sight. With such delicate hands, I would say he has not done a stitch of work in his life. Isn’t that just like the lazy French?”
Jeannette was glad she’d scrubbed dirt onto her face, for it had left plenty beneath her nails as well. She refrained from making a response to the officer’s demeaning comment while hoping that the others wouldn’t look too closely.
The captain waved off the other man. “It takes no calluses to be a bosun’s servant, Mr. Cunnington. Those will come with the job. And a French lad can learn as easily as an English one.”
“I didn’t know a frog could do anything quite as well as an Englishman.” Cunnington and another man laughed, but the captain cut them a glare that wiped the smiles from their faces.
“Regardless, the bosun needs a lad, and this one will do.”
The officer named Cunnington eyed her again. “Actually, I have been in need of a steward for some time now. I could use the boy myself, Captain, if you could see your way clear to indulge me.”
A prickle of fear skipped down Jeannette’s spine. She already knew two or three days spent in the company of this man would be too many.
Fortunately Treynor spoke up. “Too late, Lieutenant Cunnington.”
The captain hesitated, then affirmed his agreement with a nod.
“But I hardly think Hawker deserves more consideration than I.” Indignation oozed through Cunnington’s voice and his gaze lingered on Treynor before returning to the captain.
Treynor tensed. It was a subtle change in his demeanor but one Jeannette
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