The galley was not exactly the most brilliant place to hide, not with summer still hanging on and the ocean breezes still a far way off. Once they were out to sea it wouldn’t be so bad, but now, with the huge brick ovens radiating heat since before the dawn, and steam rolling out of cauldrons on the stove for what promised to be a tasty evening meal, it was hot as the devil’s welcome.
The cook and his two helpers had discarded most of their clothes by the time the crew started wandering in for a quick breakfast, a man or two at a time as could be spared, since the hours before castoff were the busiest time aboard. Georgina had watched the activity dockside for a while as the last of the ship’s supplies and equipment were delivered and carried to the hold and galley. But it was a familiar sight and so didn’t hold her interest very long. And besides, she’d seen enough of England to last her a lifetime.
So she stayed in the galley, out of the way and out of notice, perched on a stool in the opposite corner from where the food supplies were being stacked, barrels and casks and sacks of grain and flour, so much that there was finally no room for any more, and the rest had to be stored in the hold.
If it weren’t for the heat, Georgina would really have liked it there, for it was certainly the cleanest galley she’d ever seen. But then the whole ship had a spanking new look to it, and, in fact, she’d been told it had just undergone refurbishing from top to bottom.
Between the ovens and stove was a deep coal bin, full to the brim just now, A long table in the center of the room was barely scarred, with a butcher’s cleaving block at the end of it waiting to drip blood from one of the many live animals penned in the hold—a great many animals actually, just about guaranteeing fresh meat for the whole voyage. The room was as cluttered as any galley, with its hung spices and pots, chests and utensils, and everything was carefully secured to the floor, walls, or ceiling.
The lord of all this was a black-haired Irishman by the doubtful name of Shawn O’Shawn, who didn’t suspect Georgie MacDonell was other than what he seemed to be. Shawn was a friendly fellow of about twenty-five, with merry green eyes that were constantly surveying his domain. He’d given Georgina permission to stay, though with the warning she might be put to work if she did. She didn’t mind that, and every so often she was given a task to do when his helpers were both busy. He was a talkative sort and didn’t mind answering questions, but he was a new man himself, and so there wasn’t much he could tell her about the ship or her captain.
She hadn’t met too many others of the crew yet, even though she and Mac had slept aboard the ship last night, or tried to. What with being wakened repeatedly as the men drifted into the forecastle at all hours from their last night in port, and drunkenly tried to find their hammocks in the dark, sleep wasn’t part of the agenda unless you were topsided with drink.
The men were a motley bunch of different nationalities, from what she had seen so far, which wasn’t unusual for a ship that traveled far and wide, losing and picking up new men in ports all over the world. Of course, that meant there would be a few Englishmen included in the motley, and there were.
The first mate was one, Conrad Sharpe, known affectionately as Connie, though she’d heard only one man so far dare to call him so. He spoke with a precise accent, almost like a blasted aristocrat, and there was no nonsense about the man. Quite tall and narrow of frame, with red hair shades darker than Mac’s and a host of freckles on both arms and hands—suggesting he had them all over. Yet his face was deeply tanned, without a freckle in sight. And his hazel eyes were so direct, there’d been several heart-stopping moments when Georgina had thought she wasn’t fooling anyone with her disguise. Yet she was signed on. He had taken her at face value. In fact, there’d been no bargaining with the man, as Mac had found out. Either they worked or they didn’t sail with the Maiden Anne, which suited Georgina, but Mac had given in only grudgingly.
She could find no fault with Mr. Sharpe—at least not yet. It was on principle alone that she didn’t like him. Which wasn’t fair by any means, but Georgina didn’t care to be fair just now where Englishmen were concerned, placing them all into the category shared with rats and snakes and other detestable creatures. She’d have to keep those feelings to herself, though. It wouldn’t do to make an enemy of the man. One tended to watch one’s enemies too closely. She’d just avoid him as best she could, him and any other Englishmen aboard.
She hadn’t met Captain Malory yet, since he still hadn’t arrived before she came down to the galley. She knew she ought to go and find him, introduce herself, discover if there were to be any duties above those she anticipated. All captains were different, after all. Drew demanded a bath be waiting for him in his cabin every day, even if it had to be salt water. Clinton liked warm milk before he retired, and it was his cabin boy’s duty to bring it and also tend the cow that produced it. Warren’s cabin boy had to do no more than keep his cabin neat, since he liked to fetch his own food and eat with his crew. Mr. Sharpe had named all the normal duties expected of her, but only the captain could tell her what else he would require.
Just now he’d be busy, getting them under way, but that would be to her advantage. Yet she kept dillydallying. He was, after all, the one she had to worry most about fooling, since she would be in his company more than that of any of the other men. And first impressions were the most important, since they tended to stick and affect all other judgments. So if she got through their first meeting without his finding anything amiss, she could pretty much relax.
But she didn’t get up to go search him out. There was that very great “if” that kept her in the hot galley long after her clothes began to cling and her hair became a wet mat under the tight-knit stocking and woolen cap that concealed it. If the captain saw nothing unusual about her, she’d be fine. But what if he was the one discerning eye aboard that she couldn’t fool? And if he unmasked her before they reached the channel, she could well find herself put ashore rather than locked up for the duration of the voyage. A worse possibility, she could be put off ship alone. Mac, after all, was needed a lot more than a cabin boy. And if the captain refused to let Mac go with her, actually detained him until it would be too late for him to follow, there wasn’t anything they could do about it.
So Georgina stayed in the galley where she was already accepted as Georgie MacDonell. But she stayed too long, as she realized when Shawn dropped a heavy tray of food on her lap. Seeing all the silver domes and fine cutlery on the tray, she knew it wasn’t for her.
“He’d be in his cabin then? Already?”
“Lord love ye, where have ye been, laddie? Word’s gone ’round hisself has a head poundin’ worse’n the rest of us. It’s in his cabin he’s been since he came aboard. Mr. Sharpe’s cast us off.”
“Oh.”
Double-damn, why hadn’t someone told her? What if she’d been needed, looked for? What if he was angry because no one was there to tend him? That would certainly get them off to a fine start.
“I guess I’d better…yes, I’d better—”
“Aye, and quickly. Jesus, careful with that now! Is it too heavy for ye, then? No? Well, never ye mind, boyo. Just remember to duck if it comes back at ye.”
The dishes clattered again as Georgina stopped on her way out the door. “Why would it…for God’s sake, he wouldn’t throw it at me, would he?”
Shawn shrugged, grinning widely. “Now how would I be knowin’ that? I’ve yet to clap eyes on the cap’n myself. But when a man’s got hisself an achin’ head, ye never know what to expect, do ye now? Anticipate, laddie. That’s me advice, and good advice it be.”
Wonderful. Get the green lad even more nervous than he already was. She hadn’t realized Mr. Shawn O’Shawn had such a fine sense of humor, rot him.
It was a long walk to the sterncastle, where the captain’s cabin and those of his officers were located, especially long with England still visible off port and starboard. Georgina tried not to look at the riverbanks and how really close they were, tried to look for Mac instead, needing a boost in confidence that a few words with him would give her. But he was nowhere in sight, and the heavy tray was beginning to drag at her arms, so she couldn’t delay to look for him. A delay wouldn’t be wise anyway. Cold food would not appease a surly, pain-ridden man.
And yet, when she stood outside the captain’s door, precariously balancing the tray with one hand so she could knock with the other, she couldn’t do it, couldn’t make the tiny sound that would gain her entry. She stood rooted, paralyzed except for the trembling in her hands and knees, the tray slowly rocking side to side, all those “what ifs” converging in her mind.
She shouldn’t be this nervous. If the worst happened, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She was resourceful enough to find another way home…alone…eventually.
Devil take it, why hadn’t she found out something about this captain other than his name? She didn’t know if he was young or old, mean or kind, liked or merely respected…or hated. She’d known some captains who were real tyrants, the godlike authority they had over their crews going to their heads. She should have asked someone else when Mr. O’Shawn hadn’t been able to answer her questions. But it wasn’t too late. A few more minutes’ delay, a few words with whomever was nearest on deck, and she might learn that Captain Malory was the nicest old softy you could ever hope to sail under. Then her palms would stop sweating and she could forget those “what ifs”…but the door opened just as she turned to leave.