Hawk’s eyes widened.
“An interest in science—why, how marvelous!” Alison beamed. “You and my dear nephews and their friend will get along swimmingly!”
“We’ve met,” said Horatio, taking care not to look at the Weasels and Peregrine.
Alison gave Raven a searching look.
The boy averted his eyes. “Would you like a Pontefract cake?” he asked stiffly, holding out the bag to the midshipman.
Horatio hesitated.
“It doesn’t mean we have to be friends,” said Raven. “Go ahead, have one.”
“They’re very good,” encouraged Hawk.
Releasing a sigh, Horatio gingerly took a piece of licorice.
Hawk ventured a tentative smile. “Have two.”
The dowager rapped her cane to command their attention. “I take it there is some bad blood between the four of you?”
“Umm, well . . . Mr. Porter came upon us in the naval laboratory at the King’s Dockyard and didn’t realize we had been invited by Mr. Tilden—” began Peregrine.
“He called Peregrine a nasty name because of the color of his skin,” blurted out Raven. “So I threatened to punch him in the nose.”
“I—I am very sorry about that,” said Horatio, his cheeks flaming in embarrassment. “And I am ashamed of myself. It’s just . . .” He stared down at the tips of his boots. “I—I am aware that someone my age looks absurd in an officer’s uniform, and so I feel that I must try to sound . . . tough and manly.”
“Hmmph!” said Alison, breaking the long moment of taut silence that followed. “Well, if you ask me, I would say the Royal Navy is lucky to have such a fine officer in its ranks.” She regarded Raven with a challenging look. “It takes courage and integrity to admit when one is wrong.”
It was Peregrine who responded first. “Apologies accepted, Mr. Porter. I understand what you are saying.” He made a wry face. “I don’t look like an English lord, and it makes me feel very uncomfortable at times.”
Horatio hesitated for an instant before offering his hand. “Mr. Porter sounds so pompous. I would rather you call me Horatio.”
Raven made a sound in the back of his throat. “Sorry, I can’t say that with a straight face, Admiral.”
The dowager narrowed her eyes at the jest about Britain’s late legendary hero, Admiral Horatio Nelson, who had perished at the Battle of Trafalgar.
“We all go by avian monikers,” he added. “I’m Raven, and that’s Hawk.” A nod indicated his brother. “And our lordly friend is Falcon.” After a moment of thought, Raven grinned. “You’re a sea bird—how about we dub you Osprey?”
Horatio grinned back at him. “At least you didn’t suggest Albatross.”
A handshake sealed the friendship, and suddenly the boys were chattering like magpies with each other.
Alison listened with fond approval for an interlude before reluctantly interrupting. “There will be time for jabbering at some later time, but for now, perhaps Horatio—that is, Osprey—would care to join us in watching the Household Cavalry perform its maneuvers. It’s quite impressive, and I wouldn’t want you boys to miss it.”
Horatio gave a longing look at the parade ground. “Alas, I am on duty, Auntie Peake, and must deliver a packet of documents from the Navy Board to Mr. Tilden at the King’s Dockyard without further delay.”
“What a pity,” responded the dowager. “You must send me a note, my dear boy . . .” She gave Horatio her address. “And let me know the first day you have free. I shall take you all for ices at Gunter’s.”
Horatio appeared awestruck. “I-I’ve never had ices before.”
“They are very good,” confided Hawk. “My favorites are strawberry and pineapple.”
Alison smiled. “But of course Osprey must try them all and decide for himself.”
“Wait,” said Raven as the midshipman turned. “Take these.” He held out the bag of Pontefract cakes. “We have plenty of sweets at home.”
“T-Thank you.” With that, Horatio gave a salute and hurried away to the waiting naval carriage.
