Free Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle by Cheryl Cooper Page B

clean, and the stitches around the patches were neat and even. There was a catch in her throat as she asked, “Where did you live before joining the navy, Magpie?”
    “In London, ma’am. I was a chummy, a climbin’ boy.”
    “A climbing boy? Do you mean you cleaned chimneys?”
    “That I did. Still can’t get the soot out o’ me nails.”
    “What a horrible time you must have had.”
    “Oh, aye, and I had a mean boss – Mr. Hardy was his name. He stood around eatin’ meat pasties while I climbed the dark flues. And if I didn’t wanna go up, he’d prick me feet with a pin. I’ve burns on me legs and arms, and me lungs don’t take kindly to colds.”
    “How did you ever escape Mr. Hardy?”
    “I didn’t jump out o’ no windows, ma’am,” he said with an impish grin. “Nay, I was climbin’ at a big house one day and I had a fall. Bruised meself badly. The man o’ the house was kind enough to give me water and let me rest awhile on his couch. He gave Mr. Hardy a terrible tongue lashin’ on account o’ me bad treatment, and ordered Mr. Hardy to leave his house at once, sayin’ I would be stayin’ with him. Imagine me surprise! His wife was kind too. She give me the best dinner I’ve ever eaten and told me to eat up ’til me sides busted. I remember it still: roast o’ pork an’ potatoes, a kind o’ mint sauce, biscuits, cheese, and a baked bread puddin’.” He sighed at the memory. “It was grand. After dinner the man asked me if I wanted a postin’ on a sailin’ ship. Said he was a big gun in the Royal Navy and could get me a post if I was keen. Course I didn’t wanna go back climbin’ so I jumped at the chance.”
    “Who was this saviour of yours?”
    There was mischievous glint in Magpie’s eyes and his thin chest swelled as he proudly said, “He was called the Duke o’ Clarence.”
    Emily’s mouth fell open. “The – the Duke of Clarence? Our King George’s son?”
    “One ’n’ the same, ma’am.”
    “That is astounding!” Her dark eyes danced as she clapped together her bandaged hands in merriment. “Imagine you making the acquaintance of the Duke of Clarence.”
    Magpie’s smile vanished. “Why? ’Cause I ain’t nobody?”
    “Oh, I didn’t mean it in that vein, Magpie. I just think the poor duke has long been criticized for his lifestyle and politics and here he’s shown true kindness to the Isabelle’s sail maker.”
    “D’ya know him too, ma’am?”
    Emily shrank back on her barrel. “No. I’ve just read about him in the newspapers. That is all.”
    For a moment Magpie’s almond eyes watched her, as if expecting her to say more, but when she did not, his expression changed and he peeked up shyly at her. “Do ya like the clothes I made fer ya, ma’am?”
    “Your handiwork is truly exquisite! I look every inch a sailor now, do I not?” Emily leaned closer to him. “Everything is perfect and yet … I cannot guess how it fits me so well.”
    “Dr. Braden helped me guess yer … yer proportions, ma’am.”
    “Did he now?” Emily grinned pensively.
    “ Magpie! Why aren’t you below sewing our sails?”
    The low voice startled Magpie, who sprang off his barrel to salute the young man with the bandaged left hand who stood before them.
    “You don’t have to salute me,” the man said.
    “Aye, but I do, sir. Yer a carpenter’s mate and higher on the scale than me.”
    “Nonsense,” the carpenter’s mate replied. His hair was long and shaggy, and beneath his knitted hat, which resembled a long sock, his tanned face was familiar. He jerked his paint-splattered thumb towards Emily.
    “Who’s your pal, Magpie?”
    The boy faltered, his eyes darting nervously between Emily and the carpenter’s mate.
    “Mr. George, midshipman, at your service, sir,” Emily said loudly, raising a fist to the brim of her straw hat in salute.
    The young man looked wary as he returned the salute. “How do you do? Morgan Evans is my name … sir.” His stare