The Lisbon morning was hot, but there was still a breath of spring in the air to soften the burning quality of a Portuguese summer that scorched even the coastal areas. The harbor seethed with life, feluccas, longboats, and fishing boats darting among the more ponderous merchant craft. Four British men-of-war lay in the outer roads, three ships of the line, and a dainty, thirty-six-gun frigate.
Captain Lattimer's eyes rested with pride on the Isaabelle's elegant lines as she swung at anchor. He raised his glass, examining his command. The Blue Peter was furled against her fore-top masthead, ready to be broken out when she sailed, and her decks were a bustle of activity. He nodded his satisfaction. Tomorrow morning they'd be under way, leaving the frustrating politics of harbor life behind.
“I beg your pardon, but do I have the honor of addressing Captain Lattimer?”
“You do, sir.” The captain turned and found himself facing a tall man of about his own age in the uniform of a cavalry colonel.
“Colonel St. Simon.” Julian extended his hand in greeting. “Admiral Moreton told me where I might find you.”
The harbor admiral was an infernal nuisance, always interfering in his captains' best-laid plans. “Indeed.” Hugo kept his expression impassive as he shook the colonel's hand. “How may I be of service, Colonel?”
“By giving me passage on your ship.” Julian came straight to the point. “I understand you're sailing for Portsmouth tomorrow.”
It was standard practice for a naval ship to carry diplomatic and army passengers. “I see no difficulty,” Hugo said, smiling with relief at this simple request.
Colonel St. Simon scratched his head a little uncomfortably and said, “Well, it's rather more. complicated than that, Captain. Do you have time to take a glass of wine with me, and I'll explain.”
“Tell me something,” Hugo said conversationally. “Am I going to have a choice, or do you have written orders for me from Admiral Moreton?”
“The admiral agreed to accommodate the wishes of the Duke of Wellington,” Julian said delicately. Traditionally, the navy was the senior service and even the commander in chief of the army would request rather than order a senior naval officer.
“I see. In that case perhaps you had better give me a glass of wine to soften the blow,” Hugo said wryly.
“I'm…” Julian cleared his throat. “We are putting up at the Rose. The taproom's pleasant enough.”
“By all means.” Hugo had not missed the change of pronoun.
They turned together away from the quay just as a figure came barrelling toward them in the broad-striped trousers and red waistcoat of a seaman, two hooped earrings swinging, a spotted handkerchief tied over his long tarred sailor's queue.
“Eh, Cap'n, sir. I've found us a brace of pigs, bonny as you please, and three nanny goats, burstin' with milk.” He beamed with pride.
“Good, Samuel. Listen, take this requisition and get it filled. Three four-pounders and as much round shot as you can squeeze out of ‘em.”
“Aye, sir.” The sailor took the parchment, cast an incurious glance at the captain's companion, and rolled away with his swaying seaman's gait.
“Samuel could find a filled scuttlebutt in a desert,” Hugo Lattimer commented as they turned into the cool dimness of the Rose. “Invaluable man.”
“I know the type,” Julian said, indicating a table in the window, instructing the waiter, “Lad, bring a bottle of port.”
The captain sat down, sweeping aside the skirts of his blue coat to free his sword. A dusty bottle and two glasses appeared; the wine was poured. The captain downed his first glass almost without tasting it.
“First one fast, second one slow,” he said without apparent humor, refilling his glass. “So let's hear the worst, Colonel.”
“Four passengers, three horses, and a mountain of baggage,” Colonel St. Simon stated bluntly.
“Dear God!” Captain Lattimer stared at him. “How am I to find room in a frigate? The Isabelle is not a ship of the line, sir.”
Julian moved his hands in a gesture combining both comprehension and powerlessness. “The admiral seemed to think…”
“The admiral is an interfering old busybody who doesn't understand the first bloody thing about commanding a man-of-war. He's sailed a desk throughout his entire career,” Hugo said furiously. He refilled his glass and tossed the contents down his throat with a flick of his wrist.
Julian was accustomed to men who drank deeply, and refilled the captain's glass without giving it a second thought.
“Oh, there you are, I've been looking all over for you. You'll be pleased to know that we'll be two chests lighter… Oh, I beg your pardon?” Tamsyn stopped in midspeech and looked inquiringly at the gentleman in his white-Iapeled blue coat with its deep white cuffs and gold-buttoned sleeves.
“This is Captain Lattimer. And a taproom is no place for a lady.” Julian made no attempt to conceal his annoyance. He'd hoped to have everything settled with the captain before exposing him to the full effects of Tamsyn's presence.
“Well, I'm no lady, as you never tire of telling me,” Tamsyn said cheerfully, putting one booted foot on a spare chair, resting her arm on her knee. “Good morning, Captain. Are we to voyage in your ship?”
Hugo blinked at the diminutive figure with her vibrant violet eyes and the short shining cap of silvery hair. She was wearing a riding habit, the skirt hiked up by her inelegant stance to reveal leather britches. Not if I can avoid it, lass. It was a silent declaration as he thought of the havoc such an astonishingly unconventional creature could cause among the crew.
“In the name of grace, take your foot off there,” Julian said, sharply pulling the chair out from under her foot. “Sit down, if you must.”
Tamsyn put her bottom where her foot had been and smiled warmly at the captain. “Don't mind the colonel. He's as cross as two sticks this morning. I expect it's the heat. My name's Tamsyn.” She held out her hand in a friendly manner.
Bemused, Hugo took it. “Tamsyn what? Doesn't she have a surname? “Delighted, Miss Tamsyn, he murmured.
“I promise we won't be in the least a nuisance on your ship,” Tamsyn continued blithely. “Josefa and I can share a sleeping space. We're perfectly accustomed to discomfort and cramped spaces, you should know. And you'll find Gabriel a very useful person to have around… won't he, Colonel?”
“Quite possibly,” Julian snapped, se recovering from the implication that he was suffering from heat stroke. “Where is he?”
“Concluding the deals we made with the merchants,” she said. “I told you we'll be two chests lighter for the rest of the journey. We've sold all the bole of cloth and the smaller casket of jewels. That leaves just the gold and the two bigger caskets. You'll have room to store such things, Captain?”.
“Hell and the devil,” Hugo muttered, developing the unshakable conviction that he was as firmly caught as a fish on a hook. “You'd better show me what you've got.”
“Come upstairs, then.” Tamsyn pushed back her chair, getting energetically to her feet. “You can meet Josefa at the same time. She's standing guard at the moment.”
Hugo sent a glance of despairing incomprehension toward the colonel, who was looking grimmer than ever. “I had hoped to ease you into this more gentle,” he said. “But there's no such thing as gentle, with Violette around. She has about as much finesse as a stampeding herd of elephants.”
“Violette?” Captain Lattimer's bemusement was running amok. “I understood the lass to say her name was Tamsyn.”
“Yes,” Julian said. “I'll explain the situation to you in full.” He turned to Tamsyn. “Would you make yourself scarce for half an hour… if it isn't too much to ask? When Gabriel returns, ask him to join us here.”