Their intimacy of the hour before abruptly ended. A full crew of men scurried over the deck in all directions as the ship rounded the island and prepared to drop anchor. The hour had come.
CHAPTER
forty-two
Though Esmée had long grown used to vessels of every size and description, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the ship that would take Henri away from her. Her heart quailed at the coming separation. TheIntrepidwas one of the handsomest ships of the line she’d ever seen, built to inspire awe among its allies and fear among its enemies. ’Twas a two-masted brigantine, outfitted superbly, guns and cannons on full display.
Henri turned back to her. “I fancy the figurehead resembles you.”
“Should I be flattered?” Esmée thought it an odd likeness, dark hair and all. “I even have a yellow dress of that same color.”
“Though expertly carved, she’s very wooden. You’re far lovelier.” He winked at her. “You well know female figureheads are said to calm angry seas with their beauty.”
“Not only that, when I was small Father told me fairies lived in the figurehead and watched over the crew.” Her attention returned to the window. “He was telling me about the ship as it was being built. A maritime feat, he called it. And now yours to command.”
“Pray I keep my wits about me.”
“Why? You’ve never been otherwise.”
“I’ve never been betrothed.”
“Does this mean you must alter your rule about unmarried crew, Captain?”
“What is your recommendation, Miss Shaw?”
She smiled. She always seemed to be smiling of late. “Why not query your men?”
“Fair enough. This shall, God willing, be my final cruise.”
Lucy’s words echoed in her mind. Mightn’t they marry on the ship’s smoothly planed deck? A sort of declaration of her love for him, a way to redeem the past. A rebuke to the foolish girl she’d once been. But for now Henri had hold of her hand, leading her out the door.
Even anchored at a distance, theIntrepidloomed as large as the island itself, dwarfing everything except the light. In time, the jolly was lowered and several crew disembarked, intent on the landing.
When ashore, one man gave a little bow, cocked hat beneath one arm. “Richard Farr, sea chaplain, at your service.” He lowered his bald head once again. “Miss Shaw, daughter of the renowned Admiral Shaw, I presume. I am an admirer of your father and his coffeehouse.”
Charmed, Esmée greeted him just as warmly, thinking how different he was from Nathaniel Autrey. Behind him came several other new crew, lured more by the captain’s reputation than the colonial government’s lucrative sign-on bonus, Father had said. They regarded her with deference and downcast eyes, obeying Henri’s command to repair to the Flask and Sword.
“This is Dr. Gerard, ship’s surgeon.” Henri made introductions to a tall, bespectacled man of middle age.
He bowed. “Good morning, Captain. At your service.”
Two ship’s surgeons? She’d thought only Southack would sail. The significance was not lost on her. Henri exchanged a few pleasantries with the newest medical officer before he walked on, joining those en route to the tavern.
“A full complement of hand-selected men,” she mused, “including your Africans who form the foundation of your crew. Fiercely loyal, all of them, or so I’ve heard.”
“’Tis what keeps ships afloat and mutiny at bay,” he replied, attention still on the ship.
Esmée shaded her eyes, having forgotten her hat, as another figure in the full uniform of a naval officer walked toward them. “Father? What are you doing here?”
Her father embraced her, holding her tight as if she’d been gone months instead of days. His gray eyes sparkled, his navy felted cape expertly tailored. “And do you think I’d be absent from this launch? And the frolic beforehand?”
“Frolic?” She drew back as Henri explained there would be a bit of revelry before sailing. “Of course you must be in attendance, Father. ’Tis your lifeblood, this.”
“Eliza nearly accompanied me. She misses her older sister dearly.” He smiled enigmatically. “Of course she sent a little something to you. Her gift is in the captain’s cabin.”
“Does it require tending or feeding?” Esmée asked, knowing Eliza’s preference for the outlandish.
“Neither, thankfully.” Her father faced into the wind, pulling his cocked hat lower. “Now if you lightkeepers will excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”
