"Good God," Nathaniel murmured at story's end. This was the child who chose to draw pictures in the gravel rather than climb trees, who screamed in terror on the back of a pony bigger than a Shetland, who seemed incapable of opening his mouth beyond a monosyllabic answer to a direct question. Jake's courage and ingenuity in this instance astonished his father. That however, didn't alter the seriousness of the situation.
"How do you think Nurse and Miss Primmer are going to feel in the morning, when they go to the nursery and you're not there?"
Jake didn't reply, but the tears now tracked slowly and soundlessly down his cheeks.
"You didn't think about that, did you? They're going to be worried out of their minds wondering what's happened to you."
"You're sending Primmy away," Jake whispered, gulping. "And Iwant to be with Gabby."
"Yes, well, Ican see your point," Nathaniel muttered. "It seems to run in the family." He leaned back against the bulkhead, holding the child lightly, rather surprised at his own sense of humor in the face of this catastrophe.
A shiver suddenly shook the small body and Nathaniel became aware of the child's damp clothing, the hair clinging to his forehead from the sea spray. It was also long past midnight.
"You'd better go to bed," he said, standing up with the child. "There's nothing to be done about this for the moment." He set Jake on his feet and pulled the damp jersey over his head. "You'd better get out of those trousers too."
He stood, frowning, as the child obediently fumbled with the buttons of his nankeen britches. "Here, let me do it." Bending, he swiftly divested the boy of the garment, then wrapped him securely in the blanket from the cot.
"Warmer now?"
Jake nodded, huddling into the coarse wool. He was too shocked and overwhelmed by the events of the night to be aware of the novelty of his father's attentions. Nathaniel picked him up and deposited him on the cot and he curled onto his side, snug in the folds of the blanket.
Nathaniel stood looking down at him for a minute, his frown more one of puzzlement than anger. Then he turned and went back on deck.
Gabrielle stood at the deck rail, wrapped in her cloak against the rising wind. "Well?" she asked as he came to stand beside her.
"I put him to bed. I'm afraid he's usurped the cot."
"That's all right. I'm not tired anyway. Is he all right?"
"Cold and wet and exhausted, I think."
"Hardly surprising." She paused for a minute, then said hesitantly, "Did you punish him?"
Nathaniel shook his head. "It'd be both superfluous and pointless in the circumstances, don't you think?"
"Oh, yes," she agreed. "I just wasn't sure how you would feel."
"I could wish you hadn't bewitched my son," he said, staring moodily over the rail at the dark, heaving mass of the sea.
"That's hardly fair," Gabrielle protested, but without anger. She could well understand Nathaniel's present dismay.
"Isn't it?" He turned to look at her, and that piercing, troubling intensity was in his gaze again.
"I don't know what you mean." She sounded puzzled and uneasy.
Nathaniel pulled himself up sharply. He shook his head, passing a hand wearily over his eyes. "I don't mean anything, really. I was just lashing out. Sorry."
Gabrielle nodded her comprehension. "What are you going to do with him?"
"I don't have much choice," Nathaniel said flatly. "He'll have to come with us."
"Can't you simply turn back with him when we reach Cherbourg?"
Nathaniel shook his head. "The boat's not going back immediately. Dan, the skipper, is an enterprising fellow. He'll potter down the Brittany coast and sail back probably from St. Malo in a week or two, laden to the gunwales with barrels of brandy and any other contraband that comes his way."
"But won't it be dangerous for Jake in Paris?"
"Yes," he said. "But there's a particular safe house where he won't cause any undue remark. On the journey, he can travel with you, protected by your laissez passer. No one's going to be interested in a child."
"Maybe we can make it all a game for him," Gabrielle said thoughtfully. "It might not be so alarming for him."
"I don't see what you mean."
"Well, he's very imaginative. He plays games in his head all the time. I think it's common with only children. He creates very elaborate scenarios, too, very detailed and precise. He's described some of them to me. They're very impressive. He's a bright little lad."
Nathaniel didn't look impressed at the thought of his son's fantasy life. "I don't see chat it makes much difference whether he sees it as a game or not. The sooner we get to Paris, the sooner I can hide him properly, so we'll be traveling day and night."
The assertion of a spymaster rather than a father, Gabrielle reflected. Nathaniel obviously had no conception of what it would be like to travel bumpy roads without respite in the company of a six-year-old. However, she said only, "Let's go below. The wind's getting up."
There was nothing but the floor to sit on in the bare cabin with its swinging lantern and bolted-down table. Gabrielle noticed with a faint grimace that someone had thoughtfully provided a slop pail in the corner for whatever relief the Curlew's passengers might need. There was no possibility of privacy. Not for the first time she reflected that the world had been arranged to suit men.
Nathaniel put his arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder as the boat creaked around them and the lantern threw its menacing shadows.
She had been dozing for half an hour, when the motion of the boat changed dramatically. The pail slid across the floor, crashing against the far bulkhead. Her stomach dipped and she groaned.
"I'm going to have to go on deck in the fresh air," she whispered. Jake suddenly wailed, sat up with his eyes still shut, and clutched his stomach.
Gabrielle grabbed the pail and reached him just in time, almost before Nathaniel had grasped what was happening. The child vomited wretchedly, in between moans and wails, and the atmosphere in the confined space grew even more fetid.
Gabrielle held his head over the bucket, murmuring soothing words as she tried to control her own roiling insides. "Can you fetch some cool water?" she asked Nathaniel, who was hovering helplessly. "Just to bathe his face."
"I don't know if there's any fresh on the boat."
"Then salt will do. But surely there's some drinking water?"
"It's only a twelve-hour voyage," he said. It hadn't occurred to him any more than it had to the fishermen to carry a cask of fresh water on board. Nathaniel had made this journey many times, but never with a woman and a child.
He returned in a few minutes with a bucket of sea-water. His cloak was wet from both rain and spray, and he lurched against the table as the boat pitched violently, water slopping over the rim of the bucket.
Jake was still vomiting, the violent retching interspersed with his tortured wails and moans of uncomprehending protest at this horrible thing that was happening to him.
Gabrielle took Nathaniel's kerchief soaked in seawater and bathed the child's hot, sweaty face. Her expression grew tense as half an hour passed and Jake continued to vomit, no longer groaning or moaning, just hanging in her arms over the pail.
"He can't go on like this, poor little mite," she said worriedly. "He hasn't got anything left inside him. Oh, God…"
She lost the fight with her own nausea and rushed stumbling to the companionway, her hand over her mouth. "You'll have to look after him," she managed to gasp before she clambered up onto the drenched deck and the blessed fresh night air. Even the rain was a relief. She made it to the railing and gave herself up to the supreme misery of seasickness, heedless of the gusting wind and soaking spray.