Free The Bastard by Brenda Novak Page B

cranny. In all honesty, she hadn’t thought beyond the immediate and desperate need to reach London. Had she been able to imagine life onboard the frigate, she might have realized the folly of her plan.
    Mrs. Hawker pinched her arm. “Did you ’ear me, lad?”
    Jeannette flinched, and Bull growled softly at her feet. “Y-yes!”
    “Then what, exactly, did I say?” The robust woman propped her hands on her hips, waiting for Jeannette’s response, and easily glaring the dog to silence.
    So much for loyalty, Jeannette thought, glaring at Bull herself.
    She searched her recent memory for an answer. “You said your husband is a petty officer and one of the best seamen,” she began, shooting a glance at the bosun, who didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. “His responsibilities include inspecting the ship’s sails and rigging every morning and...and reporting their state to the officer of the watch.”
    She almost smiled when she managed to recount this much, but the bosun’s wife simply raised an eyebrow, wanting more.
    “If new ropes or...or other repairs are needed,” Jeannette fumbled on, “he informs the first lieutenant. And the bosun is also in charge of...” She wracked her brain but couldn’t remember anything else. “...of repairs,” she finished lamely.
    Mrs. Hawker sighed in exasperation and held out a small, silver pipe. “What about this?”
    “Oh! He uses that to issue his orders.”
    “Right. An’ ’e’s in charge of all deck activities, like raisin’ and droppin’ anchor. What else?”
    Jeannette barely heard the question. She had made a grave mistake by joining the navy. As cramped as their quarters were, the Hawkers would find her out in no time. An uproar would break out at the discovery of a woman dressed as a boy, and the Tempest ’s captain would have her escorted to Plymouth. There, St. Ives’s solicitor would return her to the baron, if Treynor or another of the men didn’t take her to Hawthorne House and collect the promised reward first.
    She should have struck out for London on foot. No one would have guessed a French boy begging a ride to the capitol to be the Baroness St. Ives. Certainly such a journey was less risky than shipboard life.
    “Lad?” Mrs. Hawker prompted.
    Before Jeannette could respond, the bosun frowned at them. “’Is name’s Jean.”
    “I don’t care what ’is name is. ’E’d better listen to what I’m tellin’ ’im, or ’e’ll wish ’e ’ad. Bloody arrogant French.” She turned to her husband. “I don’t know ’ow ye’re goin’ to teach someone who won’t pay attention. Maybe ’e’s daft.”
    “We ’aven’t even sailed yet, Geraldine. Give the lad a chance to get ’is legs afore ye start ’arpin’ at ’im. There’s nothin’ to replace experience. ’E’ll learn, right enough.”
    Sensing an opportunity to beg leave of the cabin, Jeannette cleared her throat. “Speaking of sea legs, I have never been on a frigate before. Do you suppose I could take a turn around the ship?” She appealed to the bosun, knowing better than to ask Mrs. Hawker. His rotund wife was irritated enough to keep Jeannette under her thumb indefinitely.
    “There’s no need to go gettin’ in the way—” the woman began, but her husband interrupted without the slightest acknowledgment of her words.
    “There’s a good idea,” he said to Jeannette. “Off with ye.”
    Jeannette smiled. “Merci, m’sieu.”
    Passing immediately through the door, she planned to “find” a skiff. She had to get off the frigate, and she had to do it while there was still enough confusion to cloak the departure of a young boy.

*

    Jeannette wandered about the upper deck with Bull at her heels, trying to devise a plan. To her untrained eye, it looked like mass confusion reigned, which could only help her. Amid so many, she felt anonymous.
    Those in charge were easy to identify because of their immaculate uniforms. Fortunately, they were absorbed in their