Grabbing a shawl, she left the cabin and went to knock on Penelope’s door. When there was no answer, she pushed down the handle and looked inside the small cabin. Finding it empty, she made her way to the deck. A cool breeze hit her face as she climbed the ladder, so she pulled her shawl tight across her shoulders and tied the two ends in a knot to keep it from flying away. Shouts overhead made her look up. Two men, so high above her she couldn’t make out their features, were balancing on a beam of wood that went across the mast while managing one of the sails. One wrong move and they would plunge to their deaths.
Cassandra sucked in a breath and looked away. The deck itself was full of activity. Teams of men pulled on ropes while a middle-aged man named Mr. Harris, whom she now knew to be the boatswain, appeared to be checking their work while assessing the ship’s overall condition. Unfamiliar words and phrases like, “Give her sheet,” “Tail on,” and “Keep your luff,” were shouted with clear precision.
She shielded her eyes against the sun with the palm of her hand and looked out across the water. They were sailing adjacent to the coastline, gradually adding distance as they crossed the English Channel.
“Good morning, Mrs. Crawford.”
Jolting slightly, Cassandra turned. “Good morning, Mr. Quinn.”
Placing his hand on her elbow, he steered her toward the side of the ship. “It’s probably best not to stand in the middle of the deck. And I’d suggest you keep your wits about you all the time in case one of the riggers drops something.”
“Riggers?”
Mr. Quinn pointed at the men who balanced so high in the air they made her feel dizzy. “Doesn’t happen too often, but you don’t want to be in the way of an item falling from that kind of height if it does.”
“Of course not. Thank you.” A lock of hair had come loose in the breeze so she pushed it aside, trying in vain to secure it behind her ear. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my daughter?”
Mr. Quinn grinned. “Indeed I have. She was up bright and early. Helped us haul anchor.” He winked. “Won’t be long before she’s commanding the ship herself.”
Cassandra laughed. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“You think I’m joking, aye?” When Cassandra pursed her lips he chuckled and jutted his chin toward a spot behind her. “Just take a look for yourself, why don’t you? She’s standing right there.”
Cassandra turned. She hadn’t seen Penelope because she wasn’t on the main deck. Instead she stood on the quarterdeck with Devlin, her hands on the wheel while he issued directions. A wide grin the likes of which Cassandra had never seen was painted across her face. On her head was a tricorn so big it almost covered her eyes.
A surge of warmth filled Cassandra’s heart. She smiled, a little undone by the appreciation Devlin instilled in her. He was making Penelope feel at home by giving her something important to do. “May I go up there?” she asked Mr. Quinn.
“Of course. I dare say those two will be glad to see you.” The sly look in his eyes made her cheeks feel slightly warmer than before. “Come on. I’ll escort you.”
What Cassandra hadn’t noticed, however, when she’d looked up from the main deck was Devlin’s attire. Gone were the fashionable London clothes he usually wore, replaced by a beautifully tailored uniform that fit him so snuggly she almost forgot how to think. Cut from royal blue wool, his tailcoat was lined with gold cording. Matching epaulets adorned each shoulder and two rows of gold buttons followed a vertical line on each side. Beneath it, he wore a white waistcoat, shirt, and breeches. Polished black boots and a saber attached to his side finished off the ensemble.
“Monty,” he said as soon as he spotted Cassandra and Mr. Quinn, “can you please take over?” He patted Penelope on her shoulder. “Just keep her steady and you’ll be fine.”
“This is the best thing ever, Mama! Can you believe I’m actually steering a ship?”
“I’ve always told you that you can do anything you set your mind to,” Cassandra informed her. “Though I must admit I never imagined it being this.”
“You must be hungry,” Devlin said as he linked his arm with hers and began escorting her back down below deck. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very.” Watching her step, she descended the ladder. “You should have woken me sooner though. I can’t quite believe how late it is.”
“I thought it best to let you get the rest you need. But I’m glad you’re up.” Having joined her, he gave her a sly smile. “I can’t wait to give you a proper tour, starting with the galley.”
To Cassandra’s horror, her stomach responded with a low rumble, but if Devlin heard it, he pretended not to, for which she was immensely grateful. Instead, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her through a narrow doorway next to the ladder. What had been a small crowded area before suddenly opened up to encompass the width of the ship.
“That’s the lower part of the capstan.” Devlin gestured toward a cylinder as thick as the trunk of an oak. “The top half – the part that sits on the main deck – has spokes in it. We use it for winding rope. And this,” Devlin continued, pulling her through a square doorway, “is the gun deck.”
Cassandra gasped in astonishment. Gleaming black cannons – eight on either side – were evenly placed between tables and benches. Buckets and knotted ropes hung overhead and against the bulkheads, while polished wood barrels stood as if strategically positioned along the length of the deck.
“It’s beautiful and so incredibly clean.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and gave him a quick glance to see if he’d taken offense.
“What did you expect?” His eyes shone brightly with mischief. “That I would tolerate scruffiness?”
“No. I suppose not. But it really is impressive.”
He responded with a grin. “Come on.” His fingers curled more securely around her hand. “I’ll show you where Mr. Talbot works his magic.”
Mr. Talbot was the cook. Cassandra remembered him from yesterday when Devlin had asked his entire crew to line up on deck so they could be introduced to her.
