“It seems we have some time,” she said, watching the jaunty message from her friends.
“So it does.” He gave the order for the oarsmen to climb aboard. The longboats were winched after them, even as the sails were unfurled and caught the wind. The ship heeled over as Anthony swung her onto the port tack, then she straightened and began to dance across the swelling waves.
Olivia sat down on the deck, warmed by the sun, and closed her eyes, letting her body flow with the rhythm of the ship. The wonderful smell of frying bacon rose on the air and something else, a strange, bitter scent. Adam came up to the quarterdeck carrying a tray that he set down on the deck beside her. There was bread and bacon, two tiny china cups, and a small copper pot of some strongly aromatic black liquid.
“What’s that, Adam?”
“Coffee… comes from Turkey. We was there a few months back an‘ the master took a fancy to it.” The elderly man’s nose wrinkled. “Powerful strong stuff, it is. Can’t abide it meself.”
“Are you maligning my coffee, Adam?” Anthony had handed the helm to Jethro and now came over to them.
“Each to ‘is own, I say,” Adam declared, and went off.
Anthony sat down beside Olivia. He poured a little of the thick black stuff into each cup and handed one to her. “Try it.”
She took a sip. It was bitter and yet sweet. “I don’t think I like it.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” he said, piling bacon onto bread with his fingers. He leaned back against the rail and took a healthy bite.
Olivia followed suit. “How long to Portsmouth?”
“We should be there by late afternoon. Once we round the Needles, I’ll be able to leave the quarterdeck.”
Olivia turned to look at the approaching ridge of jagged rocks. “They look very dangerous.”
“They are.”
“More so than St. Catherine’s Point?”
“It depends on the conditions. St. Catherine’s rocks are smaller and as a result perhaps more vicious. It’s probably easier on a dark night to run afoul of them than the Needles.” He said it carelessly, helping himself to more bacon.
Olivia looked out at the rocks and the boiling sea at their base. She shivered.
Portsmouth harbor was filled with the navy’s ships. The quay was alive with sailors. Longboats ferrying officers and supplies moved constantly among the great ships, accompanied by the twitter of pipes and the roll of drums.
Olivia stood in a secluded corner of the quarterdeck as Anthony brought Wind Dancer to anchor in the roads between another frigate and a ship of the line. She knew less than nothing of sailing, but knowledge wasn’t needed to appreciate the delicacy of the maneuver. They dropped anchor with a great rattle of chains, and the ship rocked gently on the swell.
“What happens now?” Olivia asked.
“What do you wish to happen?” He traced the curve of her cheek with a forefinger.
Olivia glanced around at the lively harbor. “I look like a boy. What will people think if they see you doing that?”
“That I practice the English vice,” he responded with a grin. “It’s not uncommon among sailors… They spend so much time at sea, you understand.”
“I didn’t know it was an English vice,” Olivia said seriously. “The Greeks and Romans, of course, but… Oh, you’re laughing at me!”
“Only a very little.” He leaned against the rail, idly watching the scene. “If you like, we could spend the evening in the town.”
“But I have no c-clothes… only these.”
“Oh, I suspect we might be able to find something suitable from among the treasures in the hold. Come, let us go and look.” He moved off with his leisurely stride.
She followed him down into the waist of the ship, where he collected an oil lamp. He lit it and led the way down into the dark hold that smelled of sea and the pitch that caulked the timbers.
Chests, barrels, bales, were stacked to the ceiling. “Now, which of those chests… Ah, this one, I believe.” He went unerringly to an ironbound chest. “Hold the lamp.”
She took it and held it high as he knelt and opened the chest.
“What do you fancy? Muslin… cambric… silk… even velvet we have here.” He rifled through the pile of material. “There are some gowns made up at the bottom, as I recall. How about this?” He drew out a gown of dark green muslin.
“It’s very pretty,” Olivia said, examining it in the light. “Will it fit?”
He rose with the gown and held it up against her. “It looks perfect to me. Adam’ll be able to make any adjustments. Now you need stockings and slippers and a shawl.”
He returned to the chests, lifting lids at random, until he had assembled the necessary garments. “There, you’ll be as fine as five-pence.”
Olivia exchanged the lamp for the bundle of clothes. “Shall we eat supper in the town?”
“At the Pelican, madam. It has a very fine table.”
In her borrowed finery, Olivia sat in the stern of the small boat as they were rowed to the quay. Anthony had dressed for the occasion in doublet and britches of a gray silk, so dark it was almost black. Olivia knew she was living a dream. She was part of a play of which she didn’t know the words. She didn’t know how the next scene would play. It was a thrilling, entrancing world that bore no relation to the real one. But they had bought the time and she allowed the dream to catch her up, sweep her along, unfold before her.
It was late when they returned to the ship, and Olivia was aware that she had perhaps drunk too much burgundy for wisdom. She felt as if she were floating on froth… a delightful feeling that she tried to describe to Anthony, but without much success. She caught the grins of the two sailors who were rowing them back, and wondered vaguely but without much concern whether her words sounded different from the way they sounded in her head.
When they were tied up at the ship’s side, Anthony looked up at the rope ladder and then assessingly at Olivia. “You know, I don’t think I want to risk it.”
“Risk what?” A little hiccup escaped her.
“Never mind. Come.” He drew her to her feet. The little boat rocked alarmingly. He bent to put his shoulder against her belly and hitched her up and over, holding her securely behind the knees.
Olivia found her gaze focusing on the points of his shoulder blades through the gray silk. She would have liked to kiss them, but she couldn’t quite reach them. So she gave up the attempt and instead gazed down dreamily through the black veil of her hair at the dark green water washing against the white sides of the frigate. Hands leaned over the rail to take her and lift her clear onto the deck. Anthony jumped down beside her and stood laughing down at her.
“I’m very much afraid you’re not going to have a happy morning,” he said, brushing her tumbled hair away from her face.
“I’m very happy now,” Olivia assured him.
“Yes, my flower, I can see that.”
A little ripple of amusement went around the deck, and Olivia smiled sunnily at these friendly men, whose faces were now so familiar.
“Can you walk to the cabin? Or should I carry you?”
“Oh, I think you should c-carry me,” she said with another little hiccup. “It’s strange but my legs don’t seem to belong to me.”
“Over you go, then.” He hoisted her up over his shoulder and went down to the cabin with his prize.
She swayed on the floor and smiled delightfully at him. “You’ll have to undress me. My hands don’t seem to belong to me either.”
“Well, that is always a pleasure.”
Olivia regarded her borrowed garments with an air of inquiry as they slid from her body. “Did these c-come from the Dona Elena? They don’t seem very Spanish.”
“No, they came from a wreck,” he said, drawing her chemise over her head.
Pirate. Smuggler. Wrecker.
She could hear his voice saying so carelessly how easy it was for a ship to run afoul of the rocks off St. Catherine’s Point. Just like the wreck that had been driven to its doom the night before she’d fallen into the air just above the point.