Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle. Cheryl Cooper

boy standing quietly behind the first lieutenant’s chair. “You there … a piece of that cake wouldn’t go amiss.”

      The servant boy jumped to do his bidding.

      “What do the merchant vessels carry?” asked James.

      As Captain Prickett’s mouth was soon full of cake, Mr. Bridlington answered for him, his eyes, once again, turned to the ceiling. “Supplies of all kinds: livestock, tools, munitions, troops … they even carry passengers bound for Upper and Lower Canada. Hardy fools, I say, leaving England at a time like this.” He made a sucking sound with his red lips.

      “So you’ve seen no one on your travels?”

      “Aye, we did stop for a visit with the captain of the Expedition a few days out from Portsmouth. Captain Uptergrove was his name …”

      “William Uptergrove!” James’s tired features sprang to life. “I served with him at St. Vincent. And he’s still commanding the Expedition? Why, he’s as old a relic as I am! And where had old Uptergrove been?”

      “On a re-supplying mission to our interests in the Caribbean. He was able to provide us with the only war information gathered thus far.” Captain Prickett shovelled another bite of cake into his mouth. “According to Uptergrove, we’re not making much of an impact over here. Why, we’ve only eleven ships-of-the-line and thirty-four frigates trying to accomplish a variety of tasks: protecting the St. Lawrence, blockading American ports, escorting British merchant ships, hunting down enemy frigates – to name a few.

      “Furthermore,” said Captain Prickett, spraying bits of cake onto the oak table, “it is believed that up to ten per cent of the United States Navy consists of men of British origin. The question is: are they deserters or were they pressed into the service by the Americans?”

      Mr. Bridlington clasped his delicate hands under his chin. “We’re not faring much better on land. The number of our regulars is very low indeed. We are forced to fight alongside Indians. Quite frightening, really!”

      Captain Prickett wiped his whiskered mouth with a napkin and examined the plates of unfinished food set before him. “We must soon finish our business with Old Boney; otherwise, this Yankee campaign will be our undoing.”

      Biscuit came into the cabin with the silver coffee pot.

      “Ah, coffee would be nice. And I’ll have more beef and potatoes. Your beans are quite good too, Moreland. We won’t be seeing fresh vegetables again for a time.”

      Amusement registered in James’s faded blue eyes.

      “The day before we met with Captain Uptergrove, his Expedition had come upon a most mournful scene,” said Mr. Bridlington. He dropped four teaspoonfuls of sugar into his coffee cup before casting his gaze upwards. “A British merchant ship robbed and its hull beaten to a pulp most dreadfully before being burned about fifty miles southeast of Halifax. It was sinking when the Expedition first spotted it in a telescope and Uptergrove said there was a terrible carnage drifting on the water.”

      James straightened in his chair. “And its crew? Were there any survivors?”

      “By the time Uptergrove arrived on the scene, a good number were floating lifelessly on the water,” said Prickett, his face now flushed with good food and wine. “He was, however, able to rescue a babbling old woman, a wounded young man whose injuries had rendered him unconscious, and a child.”

      “That’s all?” asked Captain Moreland. “Could the old woman provide Mr. Uptergrove with any information?”

      “Apparently she had quite lost her wits. Uptergrove could only glean that they’d been bound for Upper Canada and that it’d been an American ship that had struck them before dawn.”

      James became irate. “If she was a merchant ship, why the devil was she destroyed by an American warship? Stealing her crew and cargo I can understand, but such barbaric destruction I cannot.”

      “Quite a mystery, isn’t it?” said Mr. Bridlington, shaking his thin face.

      “How many weeks back did this occur, gentlemen?”

      “Four perhaps,” said Captain Prickett, just then discharging a tremendous fart. “Good Heavens, excuse me, gentlemen. It must have been that exquisite cut of beef.”

      Mr. Bridlington giggled. But James took no notice. He leaned back thoughtfully in his red-velvet chair and studied the rich colour of his wine.

      4

      Sunday, June 6

      9:00 a.m.

      (Forenoon Watch, Two Bells)

      “‘… She played over every favourite song that she had been used to play with Willoughby, every air in which their voices had been oftenest joined, and sat at the instrument gazing on every line of music that he had written for her, till her heart was so heavy that no farther sadness could be gained …’”

      “Gus, could I ask you to stop your reading for now?” Emily pleaded from her bed.

      Beyond the canvas curtain, Leander paused in his letter writing.

      “Are you tired?” asked Gus.

      “Tired? How could I be? I’ve done nothing but sleep for the past several days. No, I am not tired, but this part in the novel is so sad.”

      “Shall I come back this evening before my watch?”

      “Please do. You read so well. I am sure I could not read that well when I was your age.”

      Gus reluctantly closed the book. “Who taught you to read, Em?”

      Emily thought a moment before answering. Crooking her finger, she invited Gus to come closer and whispered, “Am I correct in believing – nay, in hoping – that our conversations are just between you and me?”

      Gus was taken aback. “Of course they are!”

      “Well, then, I shall tell you. Would you believe a string of tutors and governesses taught me to read?”

      “Why so many? Were you a naughty child?”

      “No, it was my father. He had a cruel streak in him, and being a man of great wealth figured he could exercise it upon my poor teachers. They were all wonderful, but that didn’t stop him from dismissing them at will.”

      Gus angled his head. “Perhaps your father, being a man of great wealth, knew Lord Lindsay’s father, as he is the Duke of Belmont.”

      “I am sure he must have. My father travelled in many circles, Gus.” Suspicious that Leander would be straining to lend an ear to their quiet conversation, Emily called out to him. “Doctor? May I trouble you a moment?”

      She smiled at the scrape of his chair.

      His auburn head peeked around the canvas. Even behind his round spectacles, the doctor had striking eyes, Emily thought.

      “Doctor, I’ve been deteriorating in your cot far too long … not that I don’t appreciate you giving up your cot … but I wondered if I might walk above deck to air my lungs … and exercise my one good leg. It would be nice to see Bermuda before we leave.”

      “I’m afraid I’d have to consult with Captain Moreland.” Leander stepped farther into her little corner. “Women are not usually allowed to move freely above deck at sea.”

      “He may give his consent, Doctor, as we are anchored,” said Gus. He looked back at Emily and added, “Although the sight of you on the weather decks might cause the men to fall from their yardarms.”

      Emily laughed, but Gus was quite serious.

      “If I were fitted out with a walking stick and maybe a pair of Biscuit’s old trousers? A straw hat would hide my hair … then again, I do recall seeing men with hair longer than mine when first I came on board. Surely, if appropriately outfitted, no one would