the bell hollee project

7.1

2008-04-20T02:38:00.000+01:00

“My God, it’s a fine day, isn’t it?” Reeve said, inhaling lustily as they stepped back into the busy street. Hollee inhaled as well, a little more cautiously as he had just spotted a cart full of fish going past. “A good day to be alive and be American!”

Hollee stepped onto the pavement. In an instant, Reeve was beside him, and in order to prevent another trot like the one they’d just had, Hollee was forced to take a dancing step backward. In order to cover his awkwardness, he put on a grin and waved his hands. “Spoken like a man who hasn’t been on a ship in a few days. If you’d seen the doldrums we’d come through, you would not speak so well of this weather.”

“Ah, well, this is true,” Reeve said agreeably. Really, he wasn’t a bad man, he was just so terribly…enthusiastic.

“Captain Reeve, as delighted as I would be to accompany you to dinner, I feel I could not bear to disappoint you yet again. You must let me plead indifference and return to my ship.” There. That should be sufficient. But Reeve refused to accept this. He cocked his head sideways and smiled at Hollee.

“Am I really such an insufferable table-fellow?” he said. “My dear chap, I was rather under the impression we were friends and that—if I may flatter myself—I am quite the only soul you know in this city. I would be terribly disappointed if I could not at least take you to supper and catch you up on the gossip of this town. And I shall do my best not to convince you to emigrate here, if you like!”

Hollee was fairly certain that Reeve would forget that last statement as soon as they stepped into the tavern, but the man had a point. Who else did Hollee know in this town? What other plans for tonight had he? Hollee had very few male acquaintances who weren’t his own sailors. It would rude to turn Reeve down after he had spoken so honestly, but more than that, Hollee couldn’t stay locked away in his own cabin forever. Shrugging his shoulders gamely, he smiled.

“Capital!” Reeve said, managing to restrain himself to patting Hollee on the shoulder instead of thumping him on the back.

A half hour later, they were cozily seated in front of a banked fire at the Bunch o’ Grapes, a half-drunk bottle of very acceptable wine on the table. Around them, other small clusters of men were engaged in small talk, cards and dice moving among half-eaten plates of food. Smoke mingled with laughter mingled with low voices hushedly discussing business. Reeve had managed, to Hollee’s surprise, to keep to his promise of not attempting to recruit Hollee, but it was costing the Navy man dearly. He had nearly run aground on the forbidden topic many times, causing Hollee no small amount of private amusement. In order to avoid it, Reeve was chattering animatedly about the various ships which called in Philadelphia, mixed in heavily with his own experiences as captain.

“…and the Angel, you know, she runs out of Charleston as well, but she’s a slave-trader. We’ve no truck with her, which is a pity, as her captain, Captain Thomassen that is, he’s as quiet and as friendly a man as you could meet. You’d never know her business unless you saw her unloading and you’d never believe such a quiet man could traffic in human lives! Ah!” This last exclamation was over the appearance of their meal. Reeve made a space on the table for his food (he had ordered two dishes for himself) and tucked in happily. Hollee picked up his turkey leg and began to gnaw on it. It was, as advertised, extremely fresh. “Now there’s a meal worth putting in for,” Reeve sighed happily, attacking a pile of kidney with relish. “Care for a bite of mine, Captain?”

“I should like to try it, thank you,” Hollee said. He turned to find their serving-girl and gestured for a mug of ale. They continued to eat steadily for several minutes.

“I declare, Bell, I’ve never seen you eat with such an appetite,” Reeve said, oblivious to the carnage that was occurring on his own plate.”

“As you say, a meal worth putting in for,” Hollee replied. “Adam,” he said suddenly, his thoughts jumping ahead. “Have you ever heard of a man named Nelson? A British captain?”

“Nelson? Is he new?”

“I rather think he is. He’s captaining the Boreas down in Nevis, and I shouldn’t be very surprised if it’s his first command. He was at the party on Nevis, at President Herbert’s house. Not that you had a chance to introduce yourself.”

“Well now,” Reeve said, smiling roguishly. He set his fork down and scanned through the prodigious wealth of gossip stored in his head. “Now, let’s us see. If it’s the same Nelson I’ve heard of, then he was captain in the Vanguard, blockading Spanish Florida during the war. Not very much action, unfortunately—drives a young captain quite mad, from what I’ve heard—you spend your time patrolling and drilling your men and nary a prize in sight! What’s he doing on Nevis?”

“He’s been sent by the King to enforce the Navigation Acts,” Hollee said. Both men ignored the fact that as an agent of the United States of America government, Reeve should not be encouraging acts of piracy. “With Mannington I knew exactly where I stood, but with Nelson I’ve no idea. I suspect that he may enforce the Acts more stringently than his predecessor, but I’m not entirely certain. I haven’t returned to Nevis since his arrival, but I suppose I shall have to at some point.” He sighed. Reeve, aware that the conversation was steering close to a topic had a promised to avoid, stayed silent but smiled helpfully. “If it was just a matter of a larger bribe I could adjust accordingly, but I’ve no wish to spend time in an English gaol.”

“Nor me neither,” Reeve said. “There is talk—oh, rumors, really—that as Americans we should work to free the West Indies from the rule of King George and absorb them into the colonies. But I think that is just senior captains spoiling for a fight. We’ve no money, really, none at all.”

“Is this why you’re so eager to recruit me?” Hollee said. “The Navy gains and experienced captain without having to lay out money for a new ship?” Now he was teasing Reeve, but he knew that he had hit the mark.

“Ah, why do you think it’s taken so long for the Liberty to get repaired? No money. Can’t even get it on my own credit. I tell you, Hollee, it’s enough to make a man think of piracy! Begging your pardon.”

“No offence taken. Now I understand why you are so eager.”

“Oh, but it’s not only the Windsong, Bell,” Reeve said, leaning forward. Hollee moved back slightly, out of the range of the onions Reeve had consumed. “Not just the ship alone, but you yourself, Bell. I think you might do very well in the American Navy. The English are just a load of gentlemen who are more interested in prize money and climbing their ladder and their precious gold braid. But you’ve got principles, you’ve got ideals. You know that there are things out there worth fighting for!”

“Like what?” Hollee couldn’t stop himself, the words were out of his mouth before he knew he’d spoken.

“Like your right to sail anywhere you like. We know we ought to respect the governments and the monarchies and the claims of anyone who says so, to each island, each state. But we—“ Reeve made a complicated hand gesture that Hollee understood to include them both and any other captain who had made his home upon the seas “—we also understand that the ocean is open and free to any man who dares her. Who can stop us when we are about in our ships? Some landlubber, in an office in the Strand? I don’t think so. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you, Hollee—we believe in your freedom as well. A commission in the Navy wouldn’t pin you down, it would give you even more horizons, respect and the right to go anywhere you chose.”

Hollee thought for a moment. He had never heard Reeve speak so impassionedly. Enthusiastically yes, but behind this speech was a genuine glow of a fire that burned for his new country. His broad face was no less open than before, but it was softer, more honest. For one odd, fleeting moment, Hollee had the feeling that Reeve was about to lean forward and kiss him, but then the captain belched loudly and reached for the bottle again.

Picking up his knife and fork, Hollee refocused his attention on his plate. “I think you overestimate me, Adam. All I have ever wanted to do is sail. No more, no less. I appreciate that right, but I do not think I could fight for it.”

“But you have!”

“If you are referring to the incident where I rescued you and your sailors, I simply happened to be passing by at the time.”

“And you were good enough to drop us off in Baltimore instead of turning us over to the authorities!”

Hollee sighed. “I suppose I should have sailed all the way across the Atlantic with a hold full of prisoners?”

“Come, Bell, you cannot deny that you feel some stirring of patriotism when you think of our new country!”

“Your new country, I still sail under the Union Jack.”

“Nominally.”

“Even so. And if I were to carry your new flag, I would have less freedom than I have now. I could not, for example, return to Nevis.”

“Why not? I stop there all the time!”

“And leave hastily every time.”

“Harsh words!” But Reeve was smiling. Hollee, on the other hand, was growing more somber.

“You overestimate me, I tell you. If I am such a believer, as you say, then why have I chosen to come here to Philadelphia? Where I know no one—saving yourself, of course—and where I have no business? Am I merely enjoying my freedom, as you seem to think, or am I avoiding returning to the Indies?” And if I am avoiding returning, Hollee added silently, then why?

“Why, fate has merely conspired to keep you away from Nevis, that is all,” Reeve said compassionately. “You were engaged to bring Annie here, and you will take her back and you will return to Nevis. You’ve been away for long periods before this—why the sudden soul searching?”

“If I am searching, it is your fault,” Hollee said, smiling faintly. “I was ever so content to sail, but now I am expanding my horizons and enjoying my freedom. All I want is to sail!” he said plaintatively. “I do not wish to start revolutions.”

“I suspect that is what General Washington said as he set up camp on the Boston Neck,” Reeve said, rumatively. “But I know how you feel. All a sailor wishes to do is sail. But—even occasionally—we must put in, mustn’t we? We must touch terra firma no matter how much we wish to keep running before the wind.”

It was such an odd expression that Hollee was quite struck with the poetry of it. Their feasting had subsided into the slow, muddy thoughts that often accompany a heavy meal, and they sat back now, listening as a fiddler struck up a tune in the next room.

“I think,” Captain Reeve said a few moments later, fishing for his tobacco and his pipe, “that Bell Hollee must figure out what he is running from.” Aware that he had struck a chord, he lit his pipe and studied Hollee over the bowl. Hollee was not meeting his gaze, but Reeve could see that the tall man was thinking. His arms bent reflexively across his chest, his long narrow fingers folded over his maroon sleeves. “And why, dear friend, are you so afraid of whatever it is?”

Hollee had never let anyone into his most intimate confidences before, and he certainly wasn’t about to do so now, and especially not to Adam Reeve, captain and notorious gossip. But Reeve could see his questions taking hold in Hollee’s brain. Somewhere, in the back of Hollee’s brown eyes, ideas and memories that had been quite landlocked were breaking free and coming to the surface. Whatever nerve Reeve had touched, it was humming now throughout his brain, and slowly Hollee was admitting things to himself that he had never dared consider before. It wasn’t fair, he thought. Reeve believed so passionately in his causes and his country that he was unable to see the difficulties and the dangers. But Hollee was too sensible a man to let himself be distracted by high rhetoric—although for a fleeting moment he was jealous of Reeve’s boyish enthusiasm, his absolute belief the United States and in his place in the world. How simply things must appear to him. Hollee knew too much to believe the world divided into black and white, but perhaps…perhaps…

A wish sprang up in him so violently he had to put his hands on the table to steady himself.

Perhaps he was capable of believing in some things after all. Things which would conquer all difficulties, all dangers. But not a country, not a cause. Adam Reeve’s passion was too unwieldy and fanciful for someone as sensible as Hollee, but in some way he was right. Hollee needed to believe in something. For too long he had been running before the wind, with nothing solid to touch down on. But finally walls were crumbling in his memories, walls that held each of his emotions and beliefs in separate compartments. He pictured Fanny’s face in his mind, and a second later a rush of feeling moved through him—but for the first time, Hollee understood this feeling to be love, to be the passion and excitement that the poets spoke of, albeit expressed in his typical understated way. And what’s more, he finally believed that she loved him. He could hardly believe that it had taken him so long and so many miles before he accepted the fact that she loved him, and he loved her. That in fact, they should be together, for their emotions were equally matched. Hollee was in love. And, more miraculous still, he believed himself to be loved.

Reeve, who quite mistook Hollee’s epiphany, thumped him on the back, thinking him to be choking on a piece of turkey. Hollee waved him off.

“Stop, stop it, man.”

“Only you looked so pale all of a sudden.”

“I believe I begin to understand what you’re saying,” Hollee admitted carefully.

“Ah! Then you’ll join us!” Reeve leaned forward, his pipe dangling dangerously from his lips.

“Only you looked so pale all of a sudden.”

“I believe I begin to understand what you’re saying,” Hollee admitted carefully.

“Ah! Then you’ll join us!” Reeve leaned forward, his pipe dangling dangerously from his lips.

Hollee leaned forward, exasperated. He wanted to fly to Nevis that instant and tell Fanny everything—she was the only one who could possibly understand how he was feeling now. Instead, he was forced to consider Adam Reeve’s red face, grinning at him expectantly. Emotions rushed after each other—first exasperation, then anger, then a sweeping wave of indulgence, all within the span of a heartbeat. Hollee was spinning, he was in such turmoil. Quite uncharacteristically, he threw his head back and laughed, then drained his wineglass in one and held it out for a refill. Reeve was so amazed at his friend’s performance that he nearly poured wine onto the table instead of into the empty vessel.

“Adam, how long have we been friends?”

“Well now, ever since…I’d say five years? Good Lord, has it been five years?”

“Yes, all right, and in all that time, have you ever known me to change my mind? When it’s important?”

“Certainly, there was that one time you…oh, no, hang on…”

“Precisely. And now I’ll remind you of your promise not to speak of the Navy while we’re dining. I allowed you some leeway, but, really, Captain Reeve, you must try to restrain yourself.” All this said with a grin that Hollee could not quite contain plastered across his face. Reeve threw up his hands and reached for the bottle.

“Good Lord! You led me down that path, you old tempter—you know how my heart bleeds—bleeds—“ he took a swig of red wine for dramatic effect “—for America. Sometimes, literally. Say, Hollee, have I ever shown you my scar?” And he reached for his buckle, only to be stopped by Hollee’s laugh again. “What has gotten in to you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so merry!”

“Can’t a man be in a good mood?” Hollee said expansively.

“Not if he’s you. Bell Hollee has only two moods. Serious and disappointed.” This was accompanied by a long frown and a puckered forehead, a perfect imitation of Hollee’s normal way of appearing.

“This is extremely good wine,” was all that Hollee would allow, smiling.

chapter 7

2008-04-19T00:14:00.002+01:00

[Author's note: Hello readers! After being away for awhile, I am happy to announce that I am back, and so is Bell. I'm afraid that the joined up bits are showing a little, but I hope that it's not too confusing. Enjoy!]

Keith Cobb had given Hollee a letter of introduction, and the captain set off now to present it to the first respectable merchant he could find. The city around him fairly crawled with excitement—a different excitement from Nevis and Charleston. Most cities will have a certain bustle around their ports, but Philadelphia seemed especially busy, her self-importance evident. Servants in bright livery rushed around, some of them speaking foreign languages, soldiers—veterans—of the recent war walked proudly down the streets, their coats brushed. Carriages hurried past, each more fashionable than the last, an inch of lacquer blinding passersby. To Hollee’s untrained eye, it appeared that Annie was correct about Philadelphia’s place in the fashionable world: certainly the women here wore some outlandish costumes. A few were so low cut as to make the modest captain blush for the women wearing them, although they appeared otherwise to be respectable and unconcerned with the figure they cut. Everyone seemed eager to cast off the drab clothes forced on them by war and hardship, as they had cast off an outdated form of government.

Not normally a modish man, Hollee considered himself in a shop window while he waited for a carriage to rumble past. Fanny had spoken well of his appearance the night of the party—was it really nearly two months ago?—but would she feel the same way if she could compare him to the dandies rushing past now? Nothing had changed about his appearance, but he felt a certain disquiet, the same feeling that had prompted his purchase of white silk stockings. It was followed by a strong desire to see Fanny, to describe to her what the Americans were wearing, to ask her opinion on the new fads. To hear her voice. A week spent in the company of Annie Cobb had made Hollee grow used to a woman’s voice, a woman’s opinion constantly being offered even when it was not solicited. Fanny, of course, would never say any scandalous thing about what she was seeing, although Hollee could practically see her raised eyebrow that would convey everything she was thinking. Almost subconsciously, Hollee smiled, his eyebrow raised in a familiar arc—and then he looked across the street and saw Captain Reeve bearing down on him.

Damme! Hollee thought frantically—there was no hope for escape, the man had spotted him and anyway, the street was too full for Hollee to get away without pushing people over. Besides, Captain Reeve was waving now, quite enthusiastically, and hallooing his name. Hollee waved back weakly, indicating that he would wait and praying that Reeve would shut up. People looked at him curiously as he went past, churning through the crowd like an eel through a school of tropical fish. If anything, Reeve was even fatter and taller than he had been when Hollee last saw him, as though determined to settle into the life of a gout-ridden gentleman naval officer as soon as possible.

“Hollee! My God! Never for a moment thought I’d see you in Philadelphia!” Reeve squashed Hollee’s hand in an effusive handshake and for one horrifying moment, Hollee thought he was about to be hugged. “What on God’s green earth brings you to Philadelphia? And why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I did not know myself until a week ago, and then I did not know where I could find you,” Hollee said, leaving out their last meeting where Reeve had very nearly been strung up on the mainstay of a Royal ship, “I thought the Liberty was cruising south of here?”

“Lost our foresail in a storm,” Reeve said cheerfully, as though it were a wonderful stroke of luck. “The spare had gone to the Franklin two weeks before, so there was nothing for it but to make port. But what chance we should meet now! And on friendly ground!” he added, growing serious (or as serious as Reeve could ever be), “now we may discuss my little proposal at length and without fear of being overheard.”

“My answer will remain the same,” Hollee said hastily.

“But surely you cannot deny me the pleasure of attempting to change your mind?” Reeve said. “The Bunch o’ Grapes has fresh turkey, I’ve heard, fresh today.”

“I would love to join you, but I’m afraid I must attend to some business,” Hollee said, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.

“But surely you do not have a man here?” Hollee was forced to shake his head. “Well then! Let me recommend Mr. Keifer. He is an honest man, or I am not, and a friendlier soul you could not wish for. Capital! Well, that’s settled—let me take you to him and then we’ll to the Grapes!”

Reeve took Hollee in hand, steering him through the streets with one ham-sized fist firmly lodged in Hollee’s back. Perhaps his effervescent nature had expanded since the last time they met—or perhaps his good nature did not quite extend to the belief that Hollee would show up at the tavern, should he let Hollee out of his sight for a moment. Hollee was unable to extricate himself without great personal embarrassment—and probably no small physical harm, either—and so he was forced to endure being driven through the streets like a sullen donkey.

Philadelphia, Hollee recalled dimly, had endured British occupation at one point, and the scars of that presence were hastily being erased. Hollee had never seen such a flurry of building before, as though the citizens were determined to scrub every trace of England out of the very boards and sawdust. The whole town was simultaneously being torn down and built up. Hollee liked Philadelphia because of its neat, logical grid of streets, each given a sensible number or an easily remembered name of a fruit-tree. And he was surprised at how much he approved of the new buildings being thrown up—he, Hollee, who despised anything new or changing. But he could see how the new buildings would present a clean face to any passerby (even a passerby traveling as rapidly as he), sweeping away the dirty alleys and corners that existed in any city, even the port city of Nevis. It would be tidy and orderly, once construction was completed, beautiful in its symmetry and logic.

Reeve’s perambulations took them to a little shop a few blocks north of the harbor. Mr. Keifer, Hollee was relieved to see, was a sensible, dour little Scotsman, who shared a sympathetic glance with Hollee as Reeve made his enthusiastic introductions. Hollee liked him at once, and they concluded their business quickly.

[author's note]

2008-03-13T15:15:00.001Z

Hello readers. I am currently in the process of moving, and I don't know when I'll be able to continue the story. Please check back and I hope to have the rest of it up soon. Thanks for your support!

6.2

2008-03-11T20:50:00.002Z

The Windsong was flying a Union Jack, naturally, but she also wore a couple other flags that identified her as a merchant ship out of the Indies. She hadn't been to Philadelphia recently, so Hollee was unsure of protocol. Compared to the other ships which were plying up and down the Delaware, it appeared that a ship of the Windsong's size could expect to anchor in the middle of the river. As Hollee scanned for an appropriate location, he spotted a rowboat making its way toward them, a man standing in the prow waving.

"That must be the harbormaster, or his clerk," Hollee said to Annie, "They don't recognise us." He hallooed to the man and told his sailors to back sails. The Windsong's speed died away and the rowboat caught up with them. The two men in the ship were exceedingly tanned, and they were accompanied by an exciteable black dog (which Hollee was glad to see would be staying in the boat).

"Lannon, George Lannon at your service sir," said the man who had been standing up and waving. He had leapt over the side of the boat with the agility of a man half his age. His hair was bleached white by the sun, but his eyes were merry. "I represent Mr. Coster, the harbormaster."

"Bell Hollee, your servant, sir. Spend most of your time intercepting strange ships, do you?" said Hollee, smiling.

"I do indeed sir! And a great deal of traffic we've been getting lately. I would be pleased to tell you where you may make berth if you'll tell me your business." Lannon had pulled out a well-worn notebook and a pencil.

"This lady is my business, Mr. Lannon, this is Mrs. Annie Cobb, of South Carolina, who has taken it into her head to go shopping here in Philadelphia. So I was engaged to bring her here. Although, I must also add that both her husband and myself could not bear the thought of an empty ship entering this harbor, so I also have several barrels of rice, and some cotton dress lengths."

"Very good, sir. Well then--" Mr. Lannon consulted his small notebook. Then he took out a small spyglass and scanned the bristling docks. "I can offer you a berth on the far dock there--do you see?--if you come up on the larboard side, you'll have no problem. You'll have to offload and then anchor in the river, however, space is at a premium here."

"I can see that, sir, and I assure you we will make haste."

"Excellent. I'll send Roger to fetch your men off the ship when you've anchored, so you needn't worry about your launch. There's only the harbor-fee..." Hollee handed over some coins "...and you're all set." He made another mark in his book. "So sorry, what was the name of the ship again?"

"The Windsong sir, out of Port Royal. And her captain is Bell Hollee."

"Not Edward Hollee's son?"

"His nephew, sir."

"Ah, of course. He had a daughter, didn't he?"

"Yes, she lives in England now. Married, five children."

"My, my. Old Captain Hollee used to spend a great deal of time in Philadelphia--before the war--I think he preferred it to the Indies, personally. But of course, he had the Mary Teck then, and that was a smaller ship. Well then. Welcome to Philadelphia! Captain, Madam," Lannon bent over Annie's hand, "your servant."

As they watched the rowboat speed off to intercept another ship, Annie patted Hollee's arm. "What will you do in Philadelphia, Bell?"

"Well, if you can spare me, I thought I might take a cargo. I'd be gone for two weeks, would that give you enough time to find everything you need?"

"Two weeks should be more than sufficient, I think."

"Then that's settled. Your husband has given me a letter of introduction, so now all that remains to do is introduce myself to one of the merchants here and see if anyone has a shipment to go out."

"Or you could stay here in Philadelphia and enjoy yourself."

"I just had a holiday on Nevis," Hollee said, unaware that his voice had become softer. Annie, with her woman's intuition, turned her head and looked at him. His eyes were still darting over the water, but they were focused inward. "Now I must stay busy."

"Will you go back to Nevis, do you think?" Annie said, as Sally handed her a shawl. The Windies were working their way up the Delware, aiming for the dock that Lannon had pointed out. Hollee was pleased to see that no one was neglecting their knots.

"Eventually, I shouldn't wonder. It's the closest thing to a home I have."

"Keith told me somewhat of your concerns, with the new agent."

Hollee looked down at Annie. There was something frank and open about her, a friendliness and ease that he felt with no other woman. Perhaps it was her perfect contentment in her marriage, or the fact that she built no barriers against him, but he knew somehow he could confide in her. Annie Cobb had all the artful frankness that a woman should possess, but there was also real intelligence behind her eyes, an understanding of how people interacted and how the world worked. If she had been a man, she would have been formidable in business or politics, or anything she had set her mind to. It was pleasant to be able to speak on equal terms with a woman, to never wonder if there was some subterfuge going on behind those eyes.

"Oh, there are a half-dozen reasons why I should stay away from Nevis," Hollee said. "It appears that I must start thinking about the future of my business, whether I wish to expand or perhaps branch out into another area. But really, I'd rather stay as I am. Sailing back and forth, for as long as the winds will take me."

"No thoughts of marriage?" Annie thought she spied the real reason behind Hollee's reticence.

"Thoughts, naturally. Nothing...concrete, however," he added lamely.

Captain Hollee had to excuse himself at this point to oversee the crew. They worked up to the dock and tied off, the manoevre easy compared to earlier moorings. Hollee prepared to go ashore to find an agent for his small cargo as the men lined up for their pay--only a pittance this time as the cruise was so short, but Hollee liked to be fair.

"John, will you go with Mrs. Cobb this week?" Hollee said to his first mate after he had paid the last man off. "I know she has Sally with her, but I'd feel safer if she had a man to look after her. And to help her with anything she needed, of course."

"Why, I could go!" Pritchard had overheard and he came scurrying across the deck. "I'd be willing to help out Missus Cobb, if she'd have me. An' I can carry a great deal more than John, anyway!"

"Aren't you planning on visiting your wife?" Hollee asked, raising an eyebrow. Pritchard dithered for a second, then grinned disarmingly. "Well, I've no argument if Mrs. Cobb doesn't."

"Argument with what?" Annie said, coming out of the cabin. Behind her, two men were carrying her luggage. She had made preparations to stay at a small, respectable inn, and a coach was already waiting for her on the shore.

"Mr. Pritchard has volunteered to stay with you for the course of your visit," Hollee explained. "I would feel much better if someone went with you while you were wandering around Philadelphia, and Pritchard won't be too much of a distraction."

Annie smiled broadly. "I think it is a capital idea."

"Very good, then it's settled." Annie moved carefully over the gangway, Sally following closely behind. Before Pritchard had a chance to follow, Hollee grabbed his arm and pulled him close. "And I'm counting on you, Pritchard, not to let her out of your sight. If I find out you give Annie Cobb the slip to go to a tavern, I'll leave you here in Philadelphia, so help me, with your wife."

Looking suitably chastised, Pritchard hurried after the bobbing yellow figure walking briskly down the dock.

6.1

2008-03-06T05:55:00.001Z

The Windsong set sail soon after Annie Cobb came aboard. Hollee had been correct in predicting his crew would be pleased at the thought of an additional week aboard, but there was some muttering when he announced the addition of a female passengers. “’s bad luck, it is,” Pritchard had said under his breath when he thought Hollee couldn’t hear him. If there had ever been a woman more accommodating than Mrs. Cobb, however, Hollee couldn’t think of one. She arrived at the dock in her husband’s coach and immediately pronounced herself pleased with the entire outfit, from the crew (well-scrubbed in her honor) to the tidy ship. Hollee had volunteered to give up his cabin for the duration of the cruise, and she was even impressed with the tiny space, exclaiming over the charming bunk and the bright windows. Her maid, Sally, was less impressed, as she would be forced to sleep in a hammock, but the two women soon made themselves comfortable. Hollee was gratified that Annie had taken his advice to pack lightly to heart, and her reticule was compact enough to fit into the space allotted without too much trouble.

“A painted floor!” Annie was saying as he came to check on their progress. “How clever. I do like this white and black pattern, perhaps I shall do your room the same, Sally, what do you think?”

“I think it’d be the devil to keep clean, ma’am.”

“Not at all,” Hollee said, inclining his head. “The floor is covered in old sailcloth. If it ever becomes irretrievably dirty, we simply tear it up and lay new cloth.”

“How clever!”

“Mist’ Cobb ain’ gon’ let you cover up his nice parkay floors, not two months after he got them laid.”

“This is very true. But something to keep in mind for the future, perhaps.”

“If you’ll allow me, Mrs. Cobb, I merely came down here to inform you that we are about to leave Charleston, and I wondered if you wished to say farewell.”

“Of course, Captain, how thoughtful.”

The Windies had loosed the massive ropes holding the ‘Song to the dock and were now being taken in tow by a harbor barge. Their movements were fluid and practiced, as they scurried about the deck, securing the odd rope or crate, or going aloft in preparation for the moment when the sails would fly. Hollee, as he came out of the dark cabin, watched them with a practiced eye, and thought perhaps it might be time to conduct refresher drills on the proper sequence of events for leaving a harbor. Annie, on the other hand, was delighted. She stood watching the men from under the parasol Sally handed her, as gulls swooped around the ship, looking for fish stirred up in their wake. The day was bright, but muggy, and a low haze was settling on the water, making the sun hotter than it seemed.

“But why aren’t you setting sail?” Annie turned to Hollee, her eyes keen.

“There’s not enough wind to carry us forward,” Hollee explained. “The wind here is not strong enough for us within the harbor, and it is dangerous to be under our own power when the harbor is so narrow and there are so many ships about. We will be towed past that point there, and then we’ll make sail and you shall see some speed.”

“They’re very good, aren’t they?” Annie said brightly, as above her head young Tom missed his grip on the platform, and fell from the futtock shrouds into the ratlines. He grabbed on to the ropes, his eyes wide, and Campbell reached down and hauled him back up onto the mainyard by the back of his shirt. Hollee blinked. Twice. Less sewing and more time aloft, he made a mental note. Even Annie could not fail to notice Pritchard’s frown as the seaman went by them, carrying a coil of rope. She looked back up to Hollee. “Captain,” she said, loud enough so that her voice carried. “I’ve heard that it is bad luck for women to travel on board ships, is this true?”

“That is a legend, madam, but I assure you, my sailors have no such truck with such blatantly untruths.”

Annie moved over to the side of the ship, seemingly oblivious to the dozens of ears (and eyes) that were trained on her. “That seems hard to believe—after all, the ocean is full of mysteries, and to discredit one would be to discredit them all. I think,” she continued slowly, “the problem is not so much with women as it is with the fact that certain people do not respect the ocean as much as they ought. And, naturally,” she turned back to face Hollee, “since women generally do not go to sea, they are less familiar with the respect required of all her passengers and so they appear to bring bad luck. But if a woman understands the ocean—rather, understands she must respect the sea and it’s traditions, why, then perhaps her presence would not be so disruptive. I have a deep respect for the sea. The sea touches us all, Captain Hollee, whether we ride upon her back or merely gain from those who do. I do not pretend to be an expert upon the currents of the ocean, but in my ignorance I try to be respectful and understanding and do all I can to learn what I ought.” And she blushed prettily, as though embarrassed by her speech and tucked a stray curl behind her shoulder. Hollee felt rather than saw Sally rolling her eyes behind him at her mistress’ speech, but later that day he overheard a conversation between Pritchard and Waggs where the sailor allowed as how “Missus Cobb wasn’t as stuck on herself as most women generally were.”

By this point the Windsong had reached the narrow opening to the harbor. The wind was freshening, and if the ship was a horse, she would be perking her ears up, eager for a gallop. Hollee called all hands to prepare to cast off and sent the rest of the men into the shrouds. The wind was east by north east, and they would have to tack once they got back the furthest point of the land, but in the beginning they could run ahead of the wind without a second look back. Hollee saluted the captain of the barge as it pushed off and headed back for Charleston.

“Now, Mrs. Cobb, you will see some real speed.”

At a call from Hollee, the hands released the sails, and they came down in a smooth cascade of white. The haze which stood in the harbor was lifting past the point, and the sun beat down hotter. The ship began to pick up speed, her hull rising and falling over each crest, creating a wake that drew a straight line behind them. Hartleby steered the great vessel directly eastward, the sun a few points starboard of his shoulder, squinting into the brightness. Hollee’s feet, long accustomed to walking on the rollicking deck, paced back and forth, eyeing the speed and efficiency of his crew. They were capable men, but they needed to work more closely in tandem. He knew that they understood the necessity of working together so that the ship might go forward, but they did not understand what kind of speed and efficiency could be got by precision. Perhaps if he drilled them. What I need, he mused, are a few ex-Navy men, then we would see some quality. Hansen had neglected one of his knots and a corner of the mainsail was flapping in the wind, causing John Waggs to shout at him until the man had hurriedly tied it. Hollee turned to Annie to see what she thought of the ride so far, but there was no longer anyone standing beside him. He frowned for a moment, but could not look for her for long, as the moment was fast approaching when they would tack onto a north-northeast path.

Once the crew had completed this maneuver, however, Hollee could look more earnestly for his passenger. The men were still aloft, preparing for the moment when they would tack onto a more easterly route (this would continue until the wind shifted), and the decks were relatively clear. She must have gone below, Hollee thought, or gone overboard—and this thought was so momentarily paralyzing to him that he actually took a step toward the rail before he realized that someone would have spotted her. Then he saw Sally exiting from the cabin, carrying a vessel which she emptied over the side.

“Miz Cobbs feelin’ poorly,” she explained succinctly. Sally did not look well herself, her face was slightly yellow under her dark complexion, but unlike her mistress she did not have the luxury of laying down. “She in your cabin.”

“I will have John make up some soda water, that will help calm her stomach,” Hollee said, nervously. That the flamboyant Annie Cobbs would—or indeed could—be brought low by seasickness was something he had not contemplated. “And some for yourself as well, perhaps.”

“Oh, don’ be worryin’ ‘bout me, now. I ain’ got nothing wrong with me. Just don’t like ships, is all.” Hollee noticed how Sally had backed away from the railing and was eyeing the water suspiciously. “I tol’ Miz Cobbs she shouldn’t be leavin’ Charleston at all, but she ain’ gon’ listen to me, nossir, and then Mist’ Cobbs said, ‘Well, if you got to go, then take a ship, it won’t be so bouncy,’ thinking maybe it’d be better for her and the baby. We’ll see.” Sally shrugged, oblivious to the tumult she had thrown Hollee into. Oblivious of the fact that not everyone could spot an expectant mother as easily as she could, she took it for granted that Hollee was aware of Annie’s condition. Up until that moment, however, Hollee had not the faintest clue. He reeled from this information, a thousand worries crowding in on him on top of the ones he had already considered. Baby! God! Did she need any extra care? Did she require special foods? What if something would happen? What that something might be Hollee did not dare contemplate, and he forced himself to stop picturing the scene in his head where a thunderous Cobb called him out for losing his wife and child.

“You have me at a disadvantage, Sally, I did not realize that Mrs. Cobb was…” Hollee could not bring himself to say something so indelicate.

Sally seemed to realize his difficulties, and her face softened into a smile. “Oh, she real early yet,” she said soothingly. “Don’t you worry—Miz Cobb is as strong as a horse. She ain’ gonna have no problems, no sir. You just leave her to me. And get yer man to bring me some of that soda water. I’ll have her up and about in no time.”

“Perhaps she should remain in her cabin? Lying down?” Hollee called after Sally as she went back into the cabin, but she just smiled and kept walking.

Matrimony and now children, Hollee mused as he went to find John Waggs and tell him to break into his surgeon’s chest. Everything was changing so suddenly—only he himself remained the same, endlessly sailing his ship on a changing ocean.

And John. John who was currently shouting at some of the new hands, exhorting them to work faster as they struggled to splice a fraying rope. But even John looked older, his voice not quite so booming as Hollee remembered from his youth. Everything changes, even here.

John seemed relieved to be removed from the vicinity of such obviously obtuse sailors and he quickly hurried away to fetch his medicines, leaving Hollee to take the fraying rope into his own long hands and demonstrate the proper way to splice it. The rope seemed to fly back together by magic under his thin fingers, and the sailors meekly fed it into the pulleys without a word. The sun was hotter now, even though the movement of the ship was creating a strong breeze, and Hollee rubbed the back of his neck with his kerchief where the sweat had gathered. His queue seemed especially long and heavy today, laying between his shoulders like a dead weight.

When John came back on deck, Hollee hurried over to him. “Did you speak to Mrs. Cobb?” he said quietly, mindful of the ears around him.

“I did. She said she’s expecting, did y’ know that?”

“Good God, do you honestly think I would have agreed to take her to Philadelphia if I’d known she was with child? What do I know about children?”

“Unless you plan on sailing around in circles for the next seven months, you’ve nothing to worry about,” John said calmly.

“What if something should happen?”

“I think you do not give Annie enough credit. She’ll be fine.”

After a few days, John’s prediction proved to be the true one, and Hollee’s worries began to fade. Annie had reappeared the next morning, refreshed, she said by a long sleep and John’s ministrations. Her old sparkle returned soon after. Hollee and Sally nearly had to physically restrain her from following Pritchard up the rigging onto the platform two days out from Charleston, and soon her favourite spot on the ship was near the bow, spray splashing in her face. The voyage was dogged by poor weather—although the wind continued to blow strongly, it was never as northerly as it might have been, and the sun shone hotly without relent. The ship plowed through water thick as molasses, rolling up and down, side to side with a constant, heady rocking motion. Biased as he was, Hollee thought privately that Cobb was a wise man to send his wife by ship: the jolts of a coach journey would shatter bones, but on the ocean the rocking motion was hardly noticeable once the voyager grew accustomed to it. Sally never got over her distrust of the endless sea, and stayed mostly in the cabin or seated on a crate just outside the door, her sewing in her hand.

The journey took a few days longer than expected. The wind dried up a day out of Philadelphia until the Windsong was barely making two knots, agonizingly slow for a crew accustomed to a good five or six or even seven. Annie by that point had completely won the crew over, so much so that she had begun to solicit them for advice.

“Now Mr. Pritchard. What is your opinion on colors? For myself, I should prefer a vibrant yellow in my dining room, however I am told that the fashion of today is blue and I dearly hate to be out of fashion.”

“Now, Missus Cobb, well, if it was my dining room, I’d paint it anything I wanted, and if anyone said otherwise, I’d say ‘I’m starting a new fashion!’”

“Why—that is a brilliant idea! What a ingenious solution you’ve hit upon!”

Before Pritchard could follow up his brilliant idea with another equally amazing he was sent aloft by Hollee to spy for land. Soon after the shout came down, and the crew grew busy again, preparing to enter Delaware Bay.

All harbors are different, and the one at Philadelphia was particularly tricky. The city was located far up the Delware River, which was a narrowing of Delaware Bay that connected to the Atlantic. Even at their low speed, the Windsong found it necessary to winch in their sails and reduce speed so they would avoid hitting any of the numerous vessels going in and out of the city. Even Charleston could not compare to the sheer amount of traffic that plied up and down the Delaware. Philadelphia had taken on an air of importance after surviving an attack by the British to become the de facto capital of the new country. The Windsong was joined by countless other merchant ships, small fishing boats and mail packets. The smaller vessels zipped around the larger ones which moved sedately through the water, French and Spanish ships of the line, their hatches opened in the spring sunshine, glimmers of cannon peeking out. Diplomatic ships from a half-dozen other countries (Hollee spotted the Dutch, Portuguese and Russian flags among them) were anchored further up the bay, their exotic crews performing familiar tasks as they waited for ambassadors to be received or denied. There was even a cluster of British ships, slightly segregated from the others as though they were gathered defensively, their ensigns waving proudly nonetheless.

5.3 & chapter 6

2008-03-03T21:46:00.001Z

“Captain Hollee, you must allow me to invite you to dine tonight. Annie will be so pleased to see you.”

“I intended on leaving as soon as I could get a cargo,” Hollee said ruefully, “And if you have a cargo bound for the Indies, then that could be tonight.”

“Always business with you! Do you never stop for a moment’s pleasure?”

“I’ve just had a week’s holiday, Cobb, what more could I ask?” A momentary flash of Fanny’s face—now several hundred miles away—sped across Hollee’s mind and disappeared.

Cobb forced his face to take on a serious look, an attempt that was not entirely successful. “Well then, to business. Shall we haggle like a pair of fishwives on the wharf?”

Cobb’s warehouse and office were larger than Mr. Maccaby’s, but they were not so neatly kept. Instead of Mr. Maccaby’s imposing green ledger, Cobb pulled a tightly bound sheaf of papers out from behind his desk and set them down, shooing away a small tabby cat. Hollee sat across from him and pulled out his own small journal, where he kept a list of the goods he had transported across the ocean. He read off the items he had for sale and Cobb told him in return what he would pay for them. For a few minutes the two men were lost in a web of back and forth business as prices and descriptions flew between them. But in the end, both were mutually satisfied. Cobb made marks on various papers in front of him, and then offered Hollee a slip of paper with a credit drawn on his bank. While Hollee trusted Mr. Maccaby to keep his money safe for him, he could not, alas, extend the same courtesy to Mr. Cobb. Cobb was a fair, shrewd, honest businessman, but he was also prone to fits of forgetting. Hollee accepted the credit slip gracefully and slipped it into his pocket without looking at it.

“Now then, Captain Hollee, I have emptied your ship. And I think I have a novel way of filling it up again.” Cobb was leaning across the desk, his face beaming like a bear that has just landed a juicy trout. “Go see to the unloading of your ship and then we shall have dinner and I will tell you about my idea.”

“If it’s indigo, I’ve told you already there’s no market for it in the Indies.”

“It’s not indigo.”

“What then?”

“Soon enough! Soon enough! Go now and mind you’re careful with my rum!”

Hollee could see that there was no possibility of getting it out of the man when he was like this—his face was sparkling with a secret in the same way that small children grinned when they are keeping something from their parents. Shaking his head with a smile, Hollee clasped the man’s hand and took his leave. The Windies would be glad to hear the cargo had been dealt with so efficiently and that they were virtually at liberty already. Hollee walked back toward the harbour. In many ways, Charleston was similar to Nevis—there was that same bustle and hurry near the docks, but there was also an affected air of respectability. Liveried servants ran through the streets importantly, carrying messages. Sedan chairs wove in and out of the stopped carriages, servants shouted to one another to give way. The closer Hollee got to the dock the shabbier the buildings became, and he saw fewer and fewer carriages. The women moving along the sidewalks were no longer hurrying past him, clutching shawls and packages, but drifting up to him and insinuating services in low voices that made him speed up without making eye contact. As the masts and spars of the docked ships came into view, Hollee passed by the slave pens that held fresh cargo from Africa, the faces as frightened and confused as those of the animals which were housed a little way away from them. Their voices were raised in foreign languages, adding an extra layer to the din that already accompanied life at the docks. Laborers were working to lift cargoes into or out of sea-going vessels. Vendors and peddlers were shouting, proffering their wares to anyone who would pass. Young boys operated efficiently, picking the pockets of the inattentive. The different impressions came so suddenly to Hollee that it was impossible to pick out any one sound or image to focus on. He felt as though he were moving through a play, on his way to make an exit, a bit player with no lines, merely there to give dimension to a scene, and then gone.

How different the feeling from Nevis! He felt comfortable here, unafraid, but he did not feel as though he could comfortably belong here for longer than was necessary to unload and take on different cargo. Although Mr. Cobb might count him among his dearest friends, he was intimate with very few other people. And there was little chance of his breaking into a higher level of society. For a moment Hollee amused himself wondering if Nelson would even deign to greet him, should they cross paths here in Charleston—an impossibility, since no British warships had been seen since 1780. For a moment, Hollee wondered what would happen when he and Nelson crossed paths again—if he would be allowed to dock at Nevis—or if he would be unable to ever set foot on Caribbean soil again. What then? Should he try to make a home for himself in America? Charleston was most likely out of the question—although Captain Reeve might insist that every man was equal in this new world, privately Hollee had not found it so. The city was a curious mishmash of the old with the new slapped on top of it. The changes of the War for Independence had come so quickly the town had not had time to acclimate. Nevis, on the other hand, wore her age gracefully, accepting change gradually, like a dower matron watching scandalized while her granddaughter parades new fashions. What a strange world this is, Hollee mused as he sighted the Windsong, and all of it connected by the sea—the only constant in an uncertain world.

As he had predicted, the Windies were much heartened by the news that he had concluded their business quickly, and offloaded the cargo with a will. They lined up at John’s table and collected their pay, then disappeared into Charleston’s underbelly to spend it in the few hours ashore that they had. Pritchard had had the nerve to ask Hollee if he had any parties to attend, prompting the captain to ask Pritchard if he had any other ships he intended to crew, and the seaman had gone stomping good-naturedly down the dock.

“He’s got a wife in this city, y’ know,” John said, as he closed his small strong-box.

“Does he?” Hollee said, surprised. “I never knew that.”

“Well, it’s hardly an appropriate topic ay conversation on board a ship now, especially when I’ve heard he’s also got a wife in Philadelphia,” John noted sagely. He noted Tom looking at him with interest. “Don’t ye go getting idears now. And don’t y’ go wandering off too far. I’d rather face a hungry wolf than Queenie if she finds out I let y’ go wanderin’ around Charleston on yer own.”

“Do I get paid, sir?”

“Y’ d’ not, not as ship’s boy. Y’ stay on for a year, learn yer trade, and we’ll sign ye up as an able seaman and then y’ can expect some pay. Well, that’s doesn’t mean we’re gonna let y’ starve!” John added hastily, noting Tom’s crestfallen face, “I’ll take y’ to the Rover and if y’ can finish a plate ay their stew, I’ll give y’ a shilling.”

The boy’s eyes widened at the thought of such riches, causing both John and Hollee to laugh. “Will ye join us, Captain?”

“I would love to, John, but I’ve been invited to dine with Mr. And Mrs. Cobb tonight.”

“Mrs. Cobb, now, who would that be?”

“That would have been Miss Annie Hallam, who married Cobb sometime after our last voyage.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense. It’s about time, then. Now Tom, go put your shoes on, and we’ll be off.”

“Oh, Mr. Waggs, must I?”

“Yes, and trust me, y’ don’t want to be wanderin’ around Charleston with yer bare feet on.”

Tom did as he was bid. As soon as he disappeared into the hatchway, John turned a worried eye on Hollee.

“Bell, I don’t suppose you could see yer way to lendin’ me a shilling, could ye? Did you see that boy’s face? He’ll win that bet in a second—I forgot how young boys eat.”

Hollee laughed and handed over the coin.

Chapter 6

The Cobbs lived on a quiet side street, far enough out of the center of Charleston that the voices and music from the taverns did not reach their tall windows. Hollee had thought briefly about donning his new silk stockings again, but decided against it at the last minute. The walk was slightly longer than he thought it was, and he arrived a few minutes late, much to his displeasure. The second storey windows were open to the cool night breeze, translucent white curtains fluttering in the breeze.

When he was admitted into the parlour, Hollee found his hostess seated in a neat wooden chair, a basket of neat sewing at her feet. Annie Hallam was a beautiful vivacious woman without much of a fortune, but she had more than compensated for that by her outgoing and engaging personality. She was also, according to some, incredibly headstrong, and more than one suitor had been discouraged by her quirk of telling every man exactly what she thought of him. Few men—like Mr. Cobb—were either man enough to laugh off the slights, or possessed such excellent characters that Annie was unable to find fault with them. It was obvious that matrimony suited her, Hollee thought. She fairly glowed with the pleasure of greeting him and welcoming him into her house, attentive to his every need.

“Keith sent word that we were to expect you for dinner,” she said, when the greetings had subsided. “I was so pleased to hear you were in town again! It has been far, far too long.”

“Yes, it has,” Hollee said, relaxing. “The last time I was here, you were entirely unattached, and now I understand I have the pleasure of congratulating you on your marriage.”

“Oh—well,” Annie said, blushing prettily, “As to that, I suppose Keith simply found he had the courage to ask me once and for all. Not that I answered right away,” she continued, impishly, “No, I left him dangling for several days. And then, when I did accept—why Captain Hollee, you would not believe some of the stories I heard after I accepted. Mr. Cunningham, who has been a very close friend of mine, you know, he threatened to call Mr. Cobb out, and Mr. Lee (that would be Fabian Lee, no relation to the Richmond Lees) actually sent me a letter telling me he was considering self-harm!” Far from looking horrified by these anecdotes, Annie Cobb looked quite pleased at herself to have left such a string of broken hearts beside her. Hollee reflected it must get rather boring to be a desirable young lady and be sitting around waiting for proposals. “Mr. Cobb is unfortunately working late tonight. I cannot believe that he is as late as this! I have had notes from him all afternoon—one telling me you were coming, and another saying he would be late, then another saying he would be quite late and even one saying he wanted to—“ But she stopped abruptly and looked down at her hands, her ears turning pink. Hollee chose to ignore the abrupt silence. What on Earth made women feel so comfortable confiding in him? Hollee couldn’t quite figure it out—like any man of the time, he was entirely comfortable with the fact that there were large swaths of female mysteries that were unknown to the male mind. Mysteries that should stay that way.

Fortunately, they were saved from further awkwardness by the arrival of the master of the house. Keith Cobb came in through the front door shouting heartily for Annie, and his wife rose from her chair to greet her. Hollee found it quite necessary to avert his eyes for a moment while the two newlyweds greeted one another. Then Cobb turned to Hollee and treated him to another crushing handshake.

“So glad you could make it! I’m so sorry I am late! I only hope Cook has managed to save our supper without drying it too much!”

They retired to the dining room almost immediately. The massive table could have easily have sat a dozen, but the servants had set one end of it in a cosy tableau of plates and silver. Early blossoms spilled out of a vase, their faint perfume wafting through the air like a song. Cobb called out for the soup to be called as soon as they were seated. Apparently the delicate formality of some society houses had yet to be adopted here. But the servants were no less efficient than their counterparts the world over. Food appeared and wine was poured by silent hands, faces concentrating on the movement of the vessels.

Cobb launched into his business proposal without preamble, the same way he had called perfunctorily for dinner to be served: “So, Mr. Hollee, what do you think of my house?”

“I find it very beautiful sir—and much improved since the addition of Mrs. Cobb.”

“You do not find it bare, sir?”

Hollee thought that an odd question, and in response he took another look around the room. Now that the merchant had pointed it out, the room did appear sparse. The grand table stood forlornly alone in a room that could have easily have held a pair of sideboards or a cupboard. The parlour, visible through the open doors, looked practically empty without Annie’s buoyant personality, a pair of wooden chairs flanking a forlorn table.

“I see what you mean,” Hollee said slowly. “It appears that you have not quite finished with the furnishings.”

“But that is precisely what I mean!” Cobb said, lowering his wine glass to the table. “You’ve got it in one. Annie and I have been so busy we have been unable to furnish our home properly. Why, you should see our bedroom—we have been forced to sleep on a—“ But he was cut off abruptly, accompanied by what sounded like a small female foot being brought down forcefully on top of his boot. “Er—that is, I mean to say—we are in a bad way all over. Now, I do not wish to demean the merchants and carpenters of this town, but they are, I am ashamed to say, sadly out of date with the latest fashions. Or so my dearest wife tells me. So she would like to go to Philadelphia to buy furniture. And I would like to engage the Windsong to take her, and bring back her purchases. Philadelphia,” he continued, adopting a sage tone of voice, “has had the benefit of several years of culture, in the form of various ministers and foreign ambassadors, an infusion, if you will, of European sensibilities. And their styles are among the newest and most fashionable of the day. Just the thing for my Annie—who has always had a good eye for such things.” Hollee rather suspected that Cobb’s views on Philadelphia were formed entirely by his wife’s but he did not say so. “What do you say, man? Will you allow me to hire your ship?”

“Why, Mrs. Cobb,” Hollee said innocently, “I am surprised at you. Here America has thrown off the yoke of European tyranny and you are all eagerness to continue to be a slave to their fashions?”

“Oh Mr. Hollee, you are teasing me!” Annie cried, splitting Hollee’s face into a wide grin.

“Naturally. What do I know about furniture or fashions? You may buy your chairs from India and I would not be able to say if that was wise or no. But I can tell you that I would be most honored if the Windsong carried you to and from Philadelphia.”

“Excellent!” Cobb said, beaming.

“Now I do not know if I wish to go aboard Captain Hollee’s ship, if he is going to be so hateful to me,” Annie pouted.

“It’s true, I have not been to Philadelphia for quite some time,” Hollee said, relishing the hot food in front of him. The beef was only slightly dried out, but the potatoes were excellent and the small bowl of fresh salad greens was most welcome. “Perhaps the fashionable capital of America has moved? Have you considered Boston? Or—of course, if you truly wished to have the finest house in Charleston, there is no substitute for Paris. But before you ask—the Windsong is too small to make that voyage safely or without a convoy.” Annie was not entirely clear what a convoy was, but she was polite enough not to argue with Hollee.

“No, it shall be Philadelphia,” Cobb said. “Annie has been writing letters, she has catalogues and descriptions from the merchants there. She’s already ordered our new bed! A week or two should be sufficient for her to spend my fortune, and then home again.” Cobb sighed heavily with feigned despair. “A lifetime to build up my fortune and she’ll have it gone within a week!”

“And then I shall be able to entertain properly and everyone will say ‘Oh, doesn’t Mrs. Cobb give wonderful parties!’ And they will think that you are a wise businessman to be able to afford such lavish entertainments and they will all want to do business with you.”

“My partner,” Cobb said affectionately, and Hollee felt a sudden stab of jealousy. Not for Annie, for though she was lively enough for a night’s entertainment, her mercurial moods would be wearing in longer doses. Mr and Mrs. Cobb presented such a cosy picture of domesticity that Hollee felt he was standing in front of a painting, looking in on a scene he could never hope to enter. He felt—for lack of a better term—lonely, although both people in the room were now looking at him attentively, waiting for his answer.

“It appears then, that I am engaged,” Hollee said, smiling broadly. “And I am most happy to be of service. As soon as you are ready to go, we shall set sail. I am at your service.”

The rest of the meal was vaguely celebratory. Cobb could barely take his eyes off his wife, who was clearly excited over the prospect of a shopping trip. She kept running over lists of furniture that were absolute necessities and other items which were only secondary—although there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she would come back with everything she mentioned. Hollee could offer little more than encouragement, while Cobb mentioned this or that advertisement he had seen and vague opinions on what he would like to see in their house.

After dinner, the two men retired to the parlour. Without another lady present, it was difficult to justify a post-dinner pot of coffee, and so Annie excused herself and went upstairs to prepare for bed. Hollee sipped on his snifter of brandy. Cobb was glowing with happiness.

“Isn’t she a jewel? My God, Bell, I am the luckiest man in the world.”

“I will not argue with you.”

Cobb had lit a small pipe and he puffed on it meditatively for a second. “I cannot recommend matrimony highly enough, Bell. Have you ever considered it? I thought I should be perfectly content with my business, with my own bachelor way of life, but I never realized how much I was missing.” Hollee’s emotions vacillated wildly: part of him tried to raise and eyebrow and smirk, the other part continued to feel that awkward stab of loneliness. But Keith Cobb’s speech was so obviously sincere and heartfelt that Hollee could no more ridicule the man than he could have sailed the Windsong singlehandedly.

Perhaps sensing he was sailing too close to the wind, Cobb tacked into another topic of conversation. “I must confess that I am surprised you took up our commission with such alacrity,” he said, “I expected you to take up another load and beat it back to Nevis—with the weather we’ve been having, I wouldn’t have blamed you. Annie has been excited to go to Philadelphia for weeks now. I was hesitant to let her go with just anyone, but if you are with her, I will feel as comfortable as if I were there my own self.”

Hollee inclined his head. “I must confess myself flattered that you trust me with your most precious possession. As for my own motives, the waters around the Caribbean have grown somewhat more hostile of late.” And he outlined briefly the new situation with the Boreas’ new captain, leaving out the part where he despised Nelson for being an ingratiating little toad. “I am certain that we will shall be taken should the Windsong cross paths with the man, and so I am eager to avoid that unhappy event as long as I can.”

“But Bell—if that is the case, then come to America!” Cobb leaned forward earnestly. “There are so many ports here for you to trade between, and the trips would be shorter, the time ashore longer. Why bother with the Caribbean and the British at all?”

Cobb had seen most of his business stopped or seized when the war had broken out, and his ambivalence about independence had grown from an ember into a fire, fanned by the mistreatment of his ships and his goods. He was an earnest patriot, not a firebrand like Reeve, and when he spoke now, his genteel love of country shone softly out of his face. Hollee wished mightily he could return that goodwill. He leaned forward as well.

“Keith, your feelings toward Annie—toward your home, your life together—that is precisely how I feel about Nevis.”

“My dear sir, is there a Mrs. Hollee at last?”

“No. I do not mean this about another person, but about Nevis herself. If I ever had to leave her for good, I should feel like you would should your Annie be taken from you.”

Cobb frowned, he did not exactly comprehend how a man could feel so strongly about a place. But he understood love and quiet passion, even if it was directed at an island and not a person.

“Well, we are glad to have you while we can,” he said, breaking into his familiar smile again.

5.2

2008-03-03T05:29:00.002Z

The harbor at Charleston was nearly the exact opposite of the one at Nevis. The town was located at the end of a long bay which was entered through a narrow gap. More than once during the American War for Independence, British ships had taken control of the port and fired on the city, hoping to rouse Loyalist men of the colony. But the city had never fallen and now, four years after the last cannon, the only warships present were French. The buildings rose from within the walls of the city, freshly painted white, gleaming in the late May sunshine. It was easy to imagine dozens of spyglasses pointed at the Windsong as she entered the harbour, curious eyes picking out her lines and then her name. Charleston had been in existence for a hundred years and had adopted genteel airs, but along her wharf, men and boys ran back and forth, shouting, while asses neighed and dogs barked.

The Windsong was taken in tow by a barge, brought alongside one of the longer docks and made fast by her crew. They would not be staying long, and the Windies were eager to unload so they could make the most of their time ashore. Hollee had them begin to bring the barrels of rum and other goods up on deck to keep them busy. Already there were several men on the dock calling to him, eager to do business. And now here came Charleston's version of Mr. Lamb--a stocky man named Cutter who came barreling forward, carrying a ledger and greeting Hollee in his strange South Carolina accent. Hollee felt an odd vertigo as he greeted the harbormaster: there were men all over the world whose employment required them to stay in one place and greet his ship. Men all over the world and the only thing they had in common was him.

Hollee's Charlestonian version of Mr. Maccaby was Mr. Cobb. He was not very much older than Hollee, but he was nearly entirely bald and the lines around his face from smiling made him appear years older. Whereas Maccaby was calm and collected, Cobb was effusive and eager, always quick to shake hands or clap someone on the back with a blow like a bear's paw. When Hollee entered his shop, he was up on his feet in a second, rounding his desk, one hand outstretched, the other raised. Hollee grasped the one and braced for the other.

"My goodness, Mr. Hollee!" Mr. Cobb said, engulfing his business partner. "And how are you this day? Tell me, did you have a nice holiday? How did Mr. Maccaby find my tobacco?"

Mr. Cobb thought it highly amusing that he did business with a man he had never seen, spoken to or corresponded with.

"He found it very palatable and paid us very highly for it," Hollee said, smiling. It was hard not to smile in Mr. Cobb's engulfing presence. "I have brought you more rum, and some sugar, quill-feathers--oh, and a bolt of red silk."

"Red silk?" Mr. Cobb said politely.

"Yes, it is Mr. Maccaby's idea of a joke--he knows it is too garish for colonial sensibilities, but he would insist on sending it. The fabric is quality, but the color--it is like a parrot drowned in fruit punch."

The very color Hollee described suddenly appeared in Cobb's face as he blushed ferociously. "Captain, if it's not too much trouble, I would be much obliged if I could look at this fabric. I might be able to take it off your hands for you."

Hollee looked confused.

"It's not for me!" Cobb hastened to assure him. "It's for my--well, you see, since you've been gone, I've gone and got married. And my wife--Mrs. Cobb, that is, Annie--she dearly loves the color red. She was a very young when the war broke out, and she never had nice things as a young lady ought to. I am afraid I spoil her, but if your fabric is silk and as red as you describe, why then it is just the thing for her."

"But Mr. Cobb!" said Hollee, shaking his hand, "You must allow me to make a present of it to you--to her. To congratulate you on your nuptials. I had no idea you intended to make Annie your wife."

"Nor did it, until she let it drop that she had received several proposals and was waiting to see if she could, erm, get a better offer from me. Naturally, I outbid them to a man!"

Hollee had seen Annie Hallam on several occasions, when he had dined in company with Mr. Cobb, and approved of her heartily. She must be nearly twenty years younger than her husband, he mused, but it was so obvious the man was mad for her that she would have been foolish to take anyone else for a husband.

5.1

2008-02-29T23:44:00.001Z

As the Windsong manoevered away from the dock, her captain fell uncharacteristically silent. John Waggs shouted orders and the sailors, old and new, ran to obey. Hollee watched with a critical eye, but he did not offer corrections or change the course set by his first mate. Small boys ran down the dock, racing the Windsong until she reached the end of the dock and they stopped short, waving and shouting. The sails were let fly, caught, and began to fill with the wind. The whole ship seemed to sigh, relieved to be underway again.

Hollee couldn’t resist looking at Nevis one last time. The ship was picking up speed now, and the water underneath her bow was breaking into white snowdrifts, her wake spreading strongly behind. They passed the Temeraire, due to leave for England as soon as Captain Mannington was ready to leave, and the Boreas, anchored further out, still waiting her captain. The island shrank behind them, and Hollee turned his attention forward. The day was bright and cool, and the Windsong was leaping through the water like a dolphin. Hollee felt his spirits begin to rise, as the distance between himself and Nevis widened. He had not realized how down he felt until this moment, when he could leave all his worries behind, simply go. Freedom to move where he wished, when he wished. He was his own man, and master of the Windsong.

“Mr. Campbell! Lend a hand there! You, Pratt, secure that rope. My God, who tied this knot? It’s a disgrace!”

And so on. Eventually the bustle on the ship that always accompanied a leaving settled down, and the men who were not on watch could go below or above or tend to their own myriad responsibilities. John Waggs had brought a boy on board, one of Queenie’s “orphans,” a young lad of twelve who had sought shelter with her when his mother had succumbed to scarlet fever and his father to gin. Now he was eager to try the sea, and he was quite perplexed when John began his lessons.

“Now Master Tom. We’ll commence with the needle an’ thread.”

“Needle and thread, sir?”

“Ay lad, who d’ ye think is going ter mend y’ shirts out here?”

“Queenie always mended them for me, sir.”

“And d’ y’ see Queenie out here now, you do not. So it’s every man for hisself, and y’ve only yerself to look after yer clothes.”

Hollee, recalling his own arduous sewing lessons at John’s hands, took pity on the boy. “Don’t forget we’ll be needing to stitch sail as well, lad, or leather, or a host of other things. A ship is more than wood, you know.”

And the boy had picked up his bone needle and attended John.

They chased the trade winds up the coast of America, stopping at Cuba for fresh water and becoming becalmed off the coast of Florida for a few days. The men took advantage of this to row into shore and return with a three-foot alligator, which they proceeded to roast for dinner that night. The animal was large enough that each man could have a pair of teeth, and soon alligator teeth necklaces were all the fashion among the Windies. The next day the wind picked up (to much cheering) and they set sail again for Charleston.

chapter 5

2008-02-27T19:51:00.002Z

"Name?"

"Seamus O'Brian."

Hollee squinted up at the new recruit. "Irish?"

The man nodded.

"Sign here, please. And I hope you will not be fighting on this voyage," Hollee added, as the man made his X.

O'Brian grinned, revealing two missing front teeth. "Only if ye want me to, sor," he said. He shook Hollee's hand and stood aside.

The navy press gang had managed to miss all of the Windsong's crew (no doubt because they were hiding underneath loose women or, in the case of Mr. Hartleby, in the church), but several men had opted not to sign back on. Hollee had hired three news hands and he was not displeased with them If they could do half the things they claimed, they would fit in well with the established Windies. The tide was tugging at the ship's bottom, the new mainsails sniffing hopefully at the wind. After the rainshower yesterday, the air was fresh and clear, and it was time to leave.

4.1

2008-02-27T17:50:00.004Z

Fanny cocked her head. "Do you mean to tell me, Bell Hollee, that you have been here a whole week and have not come to see me?" She picked up her sewing, smiling. "Captain Nelson has been here twice already."

"Has he?" Hollee said, trying to keep his voice light. "I daresay he'll be busy once he decides to take possession of his ship. It's very good of him to entertain Josiah and let you have some leisure time."

Perhaps sensing she should not have mentioned the navy man, Fanny gracefully tacked the conversation. "And what about you? Where do you go next?"

"Charleston, but pray, do not mention that to Captain Nelson."

"Hollee, have I ever let you down?" she said, frowning playfully. "Why, when Captain Reeve was here the other night--did I ever for a moment let on that you and he were bosom companions?"

Hollee could not prevent himself from rolling his eyes. "It's a wonder that the Navy hasn't hauled you in for questioning, associating with a known American and a smuggler."

"I cannot believe the Navy doesn't have better things to do than to go chasing around after you. Why, there are rumors of a slave uprising to the North--never mind the fact that the Spanish are determined to increase their trade routes through here." Fanny had an instinctual understanding of the political web that overlaid the Caribbean islands, an understanding born of a woman's need to balance parties and conversations between feuding factions. "Honestly--just how much do they think you stand to make with your little ship?"

Hollee told her.

Fanny's eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "I beg your pardon, Bell, I had no idea it was so much."

"I'm afraid I am deceiving you somewhat, for the number is lower depending on many things. Whether the ship needs repairs, the amount of crew, if I must replenish my gunpowder, et cetera, whether or not I must pay bribes. But yes, I manage to do all right for myself." Hollee looked away. Talking about money in polite society, was normally taboo.He had not meant to impress Fanny with his business dealings, only to demonstrate--modestly--that there was quite a bit at stake. Fanny looked thoughtful as she pulled a tiny needle through a ruffled collar. Hollee continued, "That is to say, the number sounds much grander than it is."

"How wonderful to not have to constantly worry about money." This said softly and wonderingly.

"Yes. No worries--only the Navy, pirates, and, let's not forget, acts of God." Hollee smiled conspiratorially. Then he leaned forward. "Fanny. I must apologise for the way I acted last week. It was most improper and rude."

"Not at all--"

"Pray, let me finish. I wish I could give you all the things you ask for. But I cannot. You must believe me when I tell you that I cannot marry you, though I hold you in the highest esteem. I would like to," he said quietly. "But I cannot. I have had you in my thoughts all this week, however, and I believe that I have hit on an idea which I am hoping will be pleasing to you. Earlier I mentioned my riches only to demonstrate that I am quite capable of what I am offering. Which is to say--I would like very much to buy you and Josiah a house of your own, where you can live comfortably without worry about your uncle's temper."

Fanny naturally looked quite shocked and surprized at his statement, which was not at all what she had been expecting. Her sewing was sitting forgotten on her knees again as she looked at him, her eyebrows moving together and apart in confusion as she tried to piece together the logistics of what he was saying. Hollee let her work it out for a second before saying, "Please think about it. Take as long as you like. Don't feel you have to answer me now, but consider it, please."

"A house of my own?" Fanny said, coloring. "With no obligation on my part? A gift--a gift from one friend to another?"

"Yes--," Hollee said, confused, he thought he had made that perfectly clear.

"Oh Bell. What would people say?"

"They will say nothing. They will say, 'Look how well Fanny Nisbet is taken care of!' if they say anything. There is nothing untoward about buying a house for someone."

"Or they will say, 'What has Fanny Nisbet done to deserve such a beautiful house?' and the gossip will start. Thank you for the offer, but--"

"You haven't even considered it."

"There's nothing to consider, I'm afraid. It is a lovely gesture, but I cannot accept it."

"But your uncle--you made it sound quite serious."

"Oh, it is serious, you're quite right there."

"Well then?"

"Even then I cannot accept your generous offer. I would not do that to my reputation--nor Josiah's--nor yours. Don't scoff, Captain, you will spend all your time away from Nevis, you won't have to hear a thing, but I would, and it would hurt me."

"And if your uncle makes good on his threat?"

"Then I shall--" Fanny threw up her hands in exasperation, "I don't know, I suppose I shall go back to England and live with my husband's family. Or become a governess."

Hollee shuddered. "You would leave Nevis--and me--just like that? For England?"

"It is one option."

"I hate England."

"Don't be petulant, Bell, you haven't been in England for sixteen years."

"I beg your pardon. Please consider what I am offering."

"You offer me a house. Nothing more. You will not marry me, but you will buy me a house. Do you honestly think I should be flattered that you are willing to invest your money in me, but not your life? Bell--dearest friend--why are you so adamant you won't have me?" Fanny shrank into her chair, uncertain. Her eyes were locked on his, suddenly frightened. "Are you already married?"

All Hollee could see was his dearest friend sitting across from him, looking petrified, awaiting his answer. Their pause was broken by a yell from outside, then a slow winding cry, as of a small boy who has had the wind knocked out of him, but has finally gotten it back just in time to alert the whole world he has been greatly wronged. Fanny, with a mother's sense tuned to any change, broke her gaze with Hollee and dashed outside. For his part, the captain stood to follow her, but paused. Out on the lawn, Nelson and Fanny were kneeling over the prone Josiah, who had evidently fallen out of a tree. Fanny was alternately hugging him and shaking him, and Nelson was expertly feeling for broken bones. Having decided there were none, the two adults put him back on his feet, where Josiah clung to Fanny's skirts and settled in for a good cry. She picked him up and they moved back towards the house.

"...you shall have a biscuit, my love, that will make you feel better. And a nice tall glass of lemonade." All over the house, servant ears were pricking up at her words and black hands were already hurrying towards tins and boxes, preparing a tray for Master Josiah. "Captain Nelson, thank you so much for looking out for him."

"Not at all, not at all. I only wish I could have sprouted wings and stopped him from falling altogether."

The little party re-entered the parlor. Nelson was surprized to see Hollee, and it took him a second to remember who the man was. He made a small bow and Hollee returned it, then sat down abruptly in his chair. Josiah was snuffling at his mother's neck and she was wiping his tears away with her handkerchief. Hollee tried not to be too repulsed by the sight of the tiny red tear-streaked boy, a far cry from the obedient little lad who turned pages for his mother in his best coat. Nelson, Hollee also noted meanly, had a grass-stain on one knee, and his queue was quite undone. Nelson seemed to become aware of this fact a second after Hollee noted it, for he quickly brushed his hair back off his face, dislodging some small twigs as he did so.

The Navy captain seemed to regain some of his former poise as he sank into a chair, however. He sat primly on the last eight inches, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you for taking Josiah outside," Fanny said. She continued to stroke her boy's hair as servants entered with a tray. They set it down noiselessly, replacing Fanny's cold teapot with a fresh one and disappeared. "I'm sure he appreciates it as well. Did you get to hold Captain Nelson's sword?" Fanny said to her son. Josiah nodded somberly, then more eagerly as he remembered the shiny gilt handle. "Was it heavy?"

"I could lift it!" he said and reached for a biscuit. Fanny intercepted his nose with her handkerchief and he blew noisily before finally getting his treat.

"He handled it very well," Nelson said gravely. "I am proud to say the English navy triumphed several times over the Americans this afternoon. Josiah will make a fine sailor some day."

Fanny smiled. "Why don't you go see if Susie needs some help in the kitchen?" she whispered to her son. He seemed loathe to leave this interesting world of adults, but after a few more prods and a couple more biscuits, he darted from the room, clattering down the hallway.

"They won't appreciate that I've sent him to them in the middle of the dinner preparations," Fanny said, smiling. "But perhaps he can be passed off to the barn. Come fall I must think about some schooling--I daresay he will be less than happy to sit quietly all day learning his lessons, but there it is." She decorously retrieved her sewing from where it had fallen in her flight and began to stitch once again.

Nelson was sipping tea, blowing on it to cool off the scalding liquid. Hollee marveled how quickly Fanny had moved through the moods of the afternoon. The emotional outburst between them had been replaced by the frantic worry and then soothing calm of a mother, and now she was once again the picture of the perfect hostess. His own heart was still hammering in his chest just from picturing her startled, drained face, looking at him with that uncertainty after she had turned down his offer. He felt as though he were sitting on a chair of nails--nothing could make him wish to stay, except that Nelson was sitting to his left. The stiff display he had demonstrated the week before was gone as if it had never existed, and he now looked perfectly at ease. Hollee felt an unfamiliar feeling race through him whenever he regarded the man.

Nelson continued to sip at his tea. Fanny seemed perfectly content to sew, and so the two men were forced to regard one another.

"Pray tell me, Captain Nelson, when do you take to your ship?" Hollee said, relieved to hear his voice in its normal register.

"Ah, three days from now. I have already been aboard to go over the ship's log and the papers with Captain Mannington, and to look over the crew, but we are still a few men short. As soon as my lieutenants have rounded up the requisite number, we shall set sail."

"Very good sir." Holle could not resist adding, "I hope you do not find any of my men, sir, we sail tomorrow. That is--if I have a full complement of seamen, naturally."

Nelson looked at him with interest. "Remind me again which ship is yours?" he said thoughtfully.

"The Windsong, Captain."

"Oh yes, of course. You must forgive me--I have met so many captains this past week, it is quite difficult to keep track of them all. Tell me, what is your destination once you shove off?"

Hollee felt the familiar mixed emotions moving within him. Really, for all his social posturing, the man had no idea how offensive he could be. Hollee felt like rising and leaving without saying a word. Instead he forced himself to reply. "Ch--Barbados, sir," he said. He could have bitten off his tongue. Instead of attending to the question he had let his dislike get the better of him and had practically admitted to the captain he was planning on breaking the law!

"Barbados, sir?" Nelson frowned. "Do you intend to take on a load of rum there?"

Hollee, who had blurted out the first island that came to mind south of Nevis, took a moment before he realised that Nelson was delicately asking if he participated in the slave trade. He straightened his back self-righteously. "Not at all, sir! I have a special commission to deliver some goods to Barbados."

"Ah, of course, forgive me."

"The Windsong has never been--nor will never be--a slaver," Hollee said vehemently. "I'd burn her to the waterline before I let her be used thus."

"Well said, sir. I couldn't agree more. It is a nasty, stinking business and no doubt about that." Nelson seemed pleased that they were in agreement on something, and Hollee could see the tally mark which made Hollee an ally in Nelson's fight against law-breakers. "And then off to England, I suppose?"

"Beg pardon?"

"You said you have private business in Barbados--then off to London, I suppose? A ship as tidy as the Windsong, you could sail her right up the Thames into the Pool."

Hollee was finding it harder to deceive Nelson than he thought.

"Bell never goes to England if he can help it," Fanny said softly. "He hates England." Her eyes never moved from her sewing, but Hollee knew he was being paid back for his earlier outburst.

"Hate England, Captain Hollee?" Nelson said, honestly aghast. "How can you hate our mother country? Our home? The country which gave us Magna Carta and the Glorious Revolution, not to say spawned the greatest Navy the world has ever seen?"

"I left England for good when I was sixteen," Hollee explained. "It is simply that I have seen other parts of the world I prefer more. And perhaps there are parts of the world I have not yet seen that I would prefer still more. So, to prefer England above all others when I have not yet seen all the world seems to be somewhat...hasty."

Nelson smiled broadly. "You sound like some of my midshipman--full of life and hope and anxious for adventure and their next horizon." Hollee and Nelson could not have been a year apart in age, and Hollee disliked this man talking down to him as though he were a boy. "You will realise though that the world is small, and we must always have a place to call home."

"And why can't I call Nevis home?" Hollee said softly. For the first time, Nelson seemed to pick up on the tension between Hollee and Fanny, and he looked quickly from one to the other. As soon as Hollee saw this, he rose. "I am afraid I have trespassed on your hospitality for too long, Mrs. Nisbet. Pray consider what I have said." He reached down and took Fanny's hand, kissing it gently. "I may be gone for quite some time, so please think of me often and write me a letter when you can." Fanny looked as though she were about to say something, but then thought better of it with Captain NElson in the room with them.

"Thank you for stopping by, Captain Hollee," she replied. "It is always good to see you."

Hollee and Nelson shook hands in a perfunctory manner, and then Hollee was walking down the hallway. He stopped in front of the sideboard where Nelson's hat and his were sitting side by side--his faded brown felt, Nelson's black and shiny with braid. They could not have been more different, just like the men who wore them. Fanny must have seen that. If Nelson had been visiting, she could not honestly still think they were alike in their ambitiousness. But which would she prefer? The familiar, brown hat, or the new, stiff black one with it's braid?

Jamming his hat on his head, Hollee stepped out into the blinding sunlight and started for the port and the Windsong. Ambitious. How could he be considered ambitious? He never wanted to be--he wanted to sail, to trade, to work and to be left alone. Look where ambition got you. He had offered to buy a house for Fanny and she had scorned his offer as though it were an offer to play cards. What would Nelson offer her, Hollee mused, that he could not? The answer came too quickly iand it hurt as though he had been thumped on the back of the head. Of course--marriage to a Naval captain, a man who would always have employment, room for promotion, room for ambitions. John Waggs no doubt would say that Bell was being foolish, that Fanny had only known Nelson a week and anyway, she loved him, but Hollee knew better: Nelson was about to ship out as well, he had to move quickly if he thought Fanny would be a good match. Then no doubt John Waggs would say to him, well, Bell, why do you care who she should marry, if y' will not? John's accent echoed in his head, as loud as a conscious. Yes, Bell thought, what should I care, if I do not marry her, about who does? She's only Fanny, after all.

But all the way back to the port, he was filled with unaccountable sadness. Only Fanny. Dear Fan.

3.5 & Chapter 4

2008-02-26T04:59:00.004Z

"Oh?" said John, "And how does the lady feel about this? She wants y' to marry her, doesn't she? What would she say if you told her you were thinking about a house instead?"

Hollee opened his mouth, but before he could reply, John held up his hand.

"I'm only sayin' mebbe y' should ask her first."

Chapter Four

By the time the week of enforced leisure was up, Bell Hollee thoroughly wished that he had never set foot on Nevis. Mr. Maccaby had pronounced himself well pleased with the stores that Hollee had brought ashore and had then spent an entire evening trying to convince Hollee to take several cases of fans to Boston. He seemed put out when Hollee refused, although he managed to sneak aboard a bolt of his famous red silk when Hollee wasn't looking. "We aren't selling to the loose women!" Hollee had said when he finally spotted it. "What merchant in his right mind would carry such fabric? It's blasphemy just to look at it!" But he had not removed it from the ship. Mr. Lamb, on the other hand, had sustained a bite from a cat while out taking his evening constitutional and was convinced it was the Windsong's beast. In his irking, non-offensive way he had conveyed to Hollee that should he become rabid he would hold the Windsong's captain responsible, prompting Hollee to hold out his hand and encourage Mr. Lamb bite him. "That way, sir, if you are in fact rabid, we shall both of us be mad together."

The ship's crew, naturally, finding themselves at leisure for a whole week, did not know what to make of it, and before three days were out, Hollee looked up from his desk to find three of his sailors standing sheepishly before him, their hats in their hands, looking for more pay. Hollee had directed them to Mr. Lamb, who could always use a few extra day-labourers, and had admonished them to follow the example of Mr. Hartelby (the ship's Methodist) next time. Mr. Pritchard at least had the good sense to get arrested with bribe money on him, so that he did not need to send for his captain to spring him out of gaol.

During his free hours, Hollee tidied his cabin, throwing away his old maps and purchasing a new set (so new they were drawn with "The United States of America" in place of the old colonies), sat in front of Queenie's unused fireplace and listened to her rail on about her dead lovers, and walked Nevis' beaches. He stayed at the Anchor and Crown for a pair of nights, waking both mornings with the sensation he was falling from his bunk--a sensation that was caused no doubt by the fact he was on solid land. The solitary actions were extraordinary. He was at perfect liberty to walk where he chose, to say whatever he wished and to sit perfectly still for long hours, options he could not enjoy aboard the Windsong. Perhaps it was knowing this that made him itch for his cabin and the constant attention that the sea required.

Then again, perhaps it was the pair of conversations he had had the first day he was here. Fanny's face continued to move in and out of his thoughts. And John's two cents' worth of advice rattled around as well, so that he was thoroughly confused. John was correct, absolutely, Fanny was no kin to him and therefore no consideration. And yet, he felt secure enough in his reputation that setting her up in a home of her own would reflect in no black mark either on her character or his own. It seemed such an elegant solution. He had enquired generally of Maccaby what sort of house his savings could afford and had learned that a modest dwelling on the edge of town was the best he could hope for. Enough room for Fanny and Josiah and a brace of servants to keep them comfortable. Certainly not the dozen room spread that was the Herbert plantation. But a comfortable dwelling.

"Mebbe y' should ask her first." John's pragmatic advice. Would Fanny be content in a house so small? Or was the more pertinent question--would Fanny be content in a house which he, Hollee, had bought for her? Would that be acceptable to her? It was all very well to create a plan and make enquiries if she was only going to turn him down. And soon, the obvious problem began to make itself clear: Hollee was going to have to return to the house to speak with Fanny. Their last confusing, awkward conversation was going to have to be addressed, clarifications made, explainations offered. Fanny's intentions could not have been clearer--she must be burning with embarassment for she had not contacted him in the past week--but what were Bell's intentions? Marry her. No. A house then. Yes. But what seemed so simple to him quickly became unravled in a tangled mess once he started to imagine the excrutiating conversation which must take place, a conversation which in his mind led more than once to tears and (on one memorable occasion) to his face being slapped.

So it was little wonder that Hollee put off the inevitable until the day before the Windsong set sail. Hollee had anxiously overseen the setting off the newly purchased mainsails that morning. After a fortifying lunch of kidneys, he turned his feet once more toward Herbert plantation. The day was hot and flat, the sun lolling in the sky like a impudent seagull that refuses to move when approached by a pedestrian. Sweat streamed out from under Hollee's hat as he moved briskly down the exposed boardwalk. Even the waves to his left seemed sluggish, they could barely must the energy to slap the wet sand before giving up and rushing back into the ocean, exhausted. Hollee had sent no word he was coming, and now he wondered if he should have at least sent a boy on ahead to give Fanny warning. What if she were in the middle of some project? (Although what ladies might do in the middle of the afternoon on a day like today Hollee had no idea) But, the plantation was coming into sight, it was too late now.

Nebuchanezzer was at the door as soon as Hollee came up the stairs. He seemed nervous when he took Hollee's hat, although he smiled widely as ever. "Mrs. Nesbit be in t' parlor," he said, gesturing. And he disappeared, leaving Hollee to walk forward through the spacious rooms alone.

The French doors leading to the patio were open wide as they had been on the night of the party, although this time sheer curtains moved sluggishly in the lazy breeze. Hollee quickly patted his forehead with a handkerchief, then paused as he turne to enter the parlor. A boy's yell had come from the backyard, and a second later Josiah went tumbling past, wearing a tricorn covered with gold braid and carrying a bright sword. He circled around and leapt onto a chair, brandishing the sword for all he was worth.

"Ye dogs!" his voice was sqeaky with excitement, "Ye cowardly American dogs! Come out and fight like men!"

"Who calls us cowards?!"

"I do! I do! Captain Nisbet!"

"The Captain Nisbet who fought Blackbeard and Barbarossa and beat them off single-handedly in the middle of the night with only a pair of cannon and a rusty cutlass?"

"Ay!"

"I hear he is a fearsome captain, but we shall have his ship for a prize and make it the flagship of the American Navy! For England! England!"

Small branches and twigs began to fly at Josiah, evidently "cannonballs" for they were accompanied by the sound of explosions, courtesy of the unseen player. Josiah called for his cannon to be rolled into position and began to return fire with a store of his own sticks. To Hollee's great surprize, the second speaker suddenly hove to into view--none other than Captain Nelson. His hair was askew, his arms were full of ammunition. The battle continued under Hollee's amazed eyes, until it became clear that Captain Nelson (or rather, the scurvy American dogs) were surely getting the worst of it. He sank to his knees--still "firing" valiantly--and Josiah boarded him by running up and dumping the rest of his ammunition directly onto Nelson's buff waistcoat and headbutting him for good measure. Nelson laughed, and his laugh was echoed in the room off to Hollee's right. He turned.

Fanny was sitting in the parlour, in front of the windows, her lap covered with forgotten sewing. Hollee suddenly realised he had been perfectly framed in the parlor door, and Fanny had been watching him as avidly as she had been watching her son play with the navy captain. She smiled at Hollee before turning and calling out the window: "Now Josiah, please, don't sink your prize or he won't come around to play with you. Captain Nelson--pray, if he gets too be a handful, do send him in to me!" She turned to Captain Hollee. "I daresay I am a bit more threatening than the American Navy. It's good to see you, Bell. Tea? Or something cooler?"

Hollee found himself quite wrong-footed. All his imagined conversations had started out with a startled, stammering Fanny needing to be reassured by his quiet, manly insistence that the conversation the week before had changed nothing between them. The smiling, perfectly at ease Fanny before him had been totally unanticipated.

"I..." he said, mentally cursing himself for such a brilliant beginning. "I wanted to speak to you to--to finish our conversation of the past week." That at least, had the effect of fading Fanny's smile somewhat. He hurried on. "However, as you have a guest, we can speak of it another time. Or perhaps I should call again."

"Oh, no, do sit down. We are hardly a party of three, as you can see," Fanny said, gesturing out the window where Nelson had been induced by his conquerer to hoist him into a palm-tree. "Do sit down and visit for awhile. We needn't speak of anything, if you like."

Watching Nelson handle Fanny's son so easily and familiarily made Hollee suddenly want to know how long the man had been there and if he had come before. He forced himself into the room, taking a chair that would not permit a clear view of the yard. A servant entered and left a glass of lemonade on the table beside him. It was cool and sweet when he lifted it to his lips, as much to avoid conversation as to cool his palate.

"I sail tomorrow," he said finally. "In the morning, if my crew remembers, that is. I thought I should be the world's rudest person if I did not call on you."

"I am very glad to see you," Fanny said, and for a second all was mended between them, it was as if no conversation had taken place and no interloper was present in the garden. Bell relaxed somewhat.

3.4

2008-02-25T05:14:00.002Z

Hollee looked confused.

"But that is precisely what I am proposing to do."

3.3

2008-02-23T04:24:00.001Z

John did not argue with him.

“I have other things to worry about—my business,” Hollee hurried on, trying to explain himself. “Which may seem selfish, but think of our reputation—think of our crew. I cannot allow myself to get distracted just now.”

“Fan’s a distraction now, is she?”

“You know what I mean. Up until yesterday we were friends, nothing more. Now it is most confusing.”

“So you’d rather things carried on as before, only instead a’ visiting her by her Uncle Herbert, you’ll do it in a house you buy for her. Sounds clear as mud to me,” John said. Hollee sighed.

“She is a woman, she is supposed to be looked after by her kin. I don’t know why she wants me to help her out.”

“Did she ask for your help?”

“Not directly, no.”

“Perhaps she’d like to be kin to you, Bell, did y’ ever think a’ that?”

“I don’t even understand why she is so worried. Certainly she must have money left to her by her husband. Surely she could fend for herself.”

“And who do you think’s looking out for her money right now? D’ y’ honestly think she could walk into a bank and open an account there? And what about when Josiah gets older and needs a father? She’s thinking about him as well, Bell.”

Hollee opened his mouth to speak and then paused. The memory of the night before flashed across his mind—his hair is the same colour as yours—funny that, for he had been thinking precisely the same thing about Fanny’s hair.

“…determined to be stubborn, then leave the poor woman alone. Y’ can’t set her up in a house you bought for her and not expect her to expect certain things. You’re right, you know—you’re no kin to her, you’ve no reason to feel like you need to help her. So stay away from her.”

3.2

2008-02-22T04:18:00.001Z

The events of the night had been sloshing around in Hollee’s brain, and now they started to form a coherent pattern. “I did. I think we have a problem, John. The man is named Nelson—and he is the king’s man through and through. He swore to me that he was duty-bound to uphold the king’s laws. I don’t mean that he is an honest man, only that he has a very clear sense of what is right and what is wrong. His king is right, and so, therefore, we must be wrong.” He sighed. “It is very discouraging.”

John considered. “The way I see it, y’ have two choices. Y’ can either take on a cargo and run your chances, or, y’ can stay away for awhile, and see how other captains fare.”

“I could also abide by the law, don’t forget.”

“Tha’s true,” John said unhelpfully. He slurped his coffee. “There’s plenty a’ colonies left, after all. No sense in running up to America if it’ll only bring you grief. Why not think more on what Mr. Maccaby was saying? You could sell the Windy, buy a new ship, start running in and out a’ England. Or Africa, if you like.”

Hollee blanched. “I would never consider becoming a slaver!” he said vehemently.

“Did I say slaves. I did not. There’s other things come out a’ Africa besides slaves, I’m bound.”

“I was thinking about buying a house, actually.”

John looked at him, surprised. “Were you now? What brought that on?”

Hollee realized the turbulence in his mind had less to do with that man Nelson (Nelson he could handle when the time came), than it did with the image of Fanny looking at him, so disappointed and so beautiful in the moonlight. He leaned toward his first mate, intending to convey the conversation of the night before when his field of vision was once more cut off by Queenie’s calico-covered bosom. She heaved a plate of sausages and beef onto the table, followed by a bowl of hard-boiled eggs, then a small wooden trencher of salt and finally, another mug of coffee. Hollee pulled the coffee towards him and sipped it delicately. It burned his throat, but the fresh, strong taste was worth the pain.

Queenie sat down on the other side of him. She was wearing a red calico dress with a flamboyant yellow apron pinned over the top of it. Her grizzled grey hair was tied up under a piece of the same material. It was rumored that her mother had been the most famous beauty in the whole islands, and her father had been a Navy admiral, but the only hint of her parentage left was her flawless, coffee-with-milk coloured skin and her startling hazel eyes. The only wrinkles on her face appeared when she smiled, pointing directly to those eyes. She patted Hollee on his arm and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Now then, Master Bell, it is good to see ye,” she said approvingly. “I can’t remember t’ last time you been in here. I been looking out for you ever seen Captain Reeve came looking for you last week—“ Hollee groaned inwardly—was the whole island to know he knew that dreadful man?—“and then, last night, Mr. John here comes in for supper and I says ‘Now where is your captain, John?’ and bless me if he doesn’t tell me you’ve been invited up to Mr. Herbert’s big house. Well! You could ha’ knocked me over wit’ a feather, that’s the truth. Aren’t we moving in some mighty fine circles now, aren’t we?”

“Mr. Hollee was just about to tell me about tha’ party, Queenie,” John put in, his eyes glowing mischeviously.

“I thought I had,” Hollee replied peevishly.

“Only that you did not care for the king’s new man, on account a’ he’s determined to uphold the king’s law—which is no reason to dislike a man, Bell.”

“Is that what everyone’s so hot under t’ collar about?” Queenie said. “No one tells me anything. Yesterday, it’s all my mens can talk about—this captain, that captain—I can’t keep all a’ ye straight!”

“Captain Mannington is going back to England—“

“Oh, I never liked him, he never come in here.”

“—and he is being replaced by a new man, who, I suspect, you’ll not see in here either,” Hollee finished succinctly.

“Oh, then I don’t like him either.”

“Just so.” Hollee took another sip of his coffee and when he found it had cooled somewhat took a larger gulp. “See John? No sugar, no milk—just the way God intended.”

“If God had not wanted me to have sugar, he would not have made it taste so wonderful,” John said reasonably. “But come now—surely you did not spend all night disliking the new fellow. What’s the news up at the Herbert House? Did you see Miss Fanny?”

“Do you mean Mrs. Nisbet?”

John grinned impishly. “The very one.” Fanny had actually had the grizzled old sailor to tea one afternoon, an event which John never quite got over—the beautiful young woman serving him tea in fine bone china, his callused fingers so thick he could barely hold the delicate teacups. “I hope you passed along my compliments.”

“I did not, unfortunately, because you forgot to send them.”

Queenie smacked him affectionately on the back of the head. “You be no gentleman, Bell Hollee!” she crowed.

Hollee inclined his head, shrugging. “You can’t say fairer than that.”

John looked at Hollee’s face. Hollee’s expression had gone from its normal peevish haughtiness to something a little sadder and more unguarded. “Hollee—you did speak to t’ woman last night, did y’ not?”

“Of course I did, John, she was the only person there I knew!”

“And she’s all right-she’s not sick or anything, is she?”

“Not to the best of my knowledge.”

Queenie had picked up on the subtle clues that were passing between John and Bell with a woman’s intuition. She leaned back slightly and put one weighty forearm on the table. “Bell Hollee, you be in love wi’ that woman!” she said, aghast. Bell Hollee had never, to the best of her understandings, been in love with anyone.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Queenie!”

But Hollee might as well have jumped up on the table and reciting poetry, for his swift outburst only confirmed what Queenie could see written across his face, plain as day. Her eyes quickly retreated back into their crow’s nest of wrinkles as she smiled broadly. “Well, that is the beatenest thing, I do declare! Bell Hollee—in love. And she? What does she think of that?”

Hollee refused to answer, instead cutting up his sausages and delivering them to his mouth with a speed which quite defied imagination. Queenie refused to be put off. She leaned forward to speak around Hollee to John, with the effect that Hollee was even more squashed between the two. “Did you know anything about this?”

“No, I never did, by my soul. All I thought they was was friends. What do you think about it?”

“I think Miss Fanny could do worse. Oh—she could do better too, that’s the truth.”

“D’ you know, Mr. Hollee just told me, just now, tha’ is, that he was thinking about buying a house. I was wondering who was going to look after the place while he was at sea, well, now I know, I guess.”

“You are jumping to wild speculations. You have nothing to back up your claims, which are most spurious at any point, and false, and I should call you out for infamy, John, if you weren’t so ancient and you, Queenie, if you didn’t suffer from a most ill-timed malaise, by that I mean the curse of your sex, by that I mean—oh—“ for Hollee had gotten quite lost in his sentence by this point, “Oh, cease this at once. You are being foolish. And there is nothing further to discuss.”

Queenie had been chuckling softly, but she stopped when she saw that Hollee was really—truly—angry. Her face grew serious and her voice came more softly. She patted his arm. “Bell,” she said, “You know how I care for ye, and I worry about ye, and not just when you’re gone for weeks at a time, no. You a man who needs looking after. You a man who could benefit a great deal from a wife, just remember that.” She patted his arm again and rose. “I get you some more coffee.”

As she moved away from them, John leaned in. Hollee turned, ready fend off his jokes again, but the sailor’s face had grown as grave as Queenie’s. “I jest, Bell, but is it true? D’y’ love her?”

Hollee did not look directly at him. “It hardly matters where my feelings come into this, it appears,” he said dryly. “Fanny told me a most disturbing piece of news last night—a secret I cannot share with you, John, I’m sure you understand—“ John nodded “—but if it’s true, she will need a new place to call home by the end of August.” Hollee paused. “I cannot think so ill of Herbert, but I have no doubt that what she told me of his conduct is true. And I cannot bear to think of Fanny out on the charity of her poor cousins, or worse, working for herself. So perhaps, I could buy her a house. A small house, to be sure, but a place of her own. There—living on her own, or perhaps with another lady, she would be quite protected from harm or the winds of change.” Hollee put his hands flat on the table, staring down at his half-eaten breakfast. “She would like to marry me, John. I believe she loves me, and I even…I could even go so far as to say I have feelings for her.” Hollee raised his eyes to his friend’s. “But I cannot marry her.”

3.1

2008-02-21T02:15:00.000Z

Bell Hollee has slept aboard his ship. He had walked back to the port feeling oddly ill at ease, and had decided to sleep alone rather than face the jocularity of the Anchor and Crown. He had stripped of John’s coat and his own cream waistcoat, folded them neatly and put them over the back of a chair, then taken off his silk stockings. As he lay down the last thought that rose up out of the tumult of his mind was—“I shall never get to sleep tonight”—and as so many before him who have laid down with that thought, he was out almost immediately.

When the sun woke him the next morning, he was lying in practically the same position in the narrow bunk, lying on his back, his arms loose beside him. He got up and dressed in his “uniform” then went quickly on deck. No one was about except for the lad who had been stationed on the dock by Mr. Lamb to ensure that no one boarded the Windsong. He tugged his forelock at Hollee as the captain passed, in an admirable imitation of a seasoned sailor. Hollee nodded at the boy. He had drunk just enough wine last night to make the sun unpleasant, bouncing off the water and into his eyes.

When he finally entered the Crown, the first person he laid eyes on, thankfully, was John. His first mate was tucking into a plateful of bread smothered in molasses and fruit with relish, a huge pot of coffee by his elbow. Hollee removed his hat and went over quickly to sit beside him.

“Well now, here’s a sight! I thought you’d stay here last night, but we didn’t see you come in. Queenie had a song circle going last night, you missed out on some good tunes.”

“Did I,” Hollee said absently. As if summoned by the sound of her name. Queenie appeared. She was even larger than Hollee remembered—but then again, perhaps his perception was somewhat altered by the fact she was engulfing him in her giant bosom.

“My dar’ boy! How are you! Oh, it be so good to see you—I told Johnnie here we’s better see you this time, or I’m going to have to come down to t’ Windsong myself!” Queen backed away, her hands on her hips. She scrutinized his face. “Oh no. Oh no—this will never do, you are too thin by half. Will you take some breakfast like Mr. Waggs here, or do you want a proper feed?”

“Bacon would be lovely—or beef if you have it,” Hollee said, sharing Queenie’s despairing looks at John’s odd breakfast. “And eggs. And—coffee!” he shouted, for Queenie had already begun to make her way back to the kitchen. She cut a swath through her patrons, her backside shining like a stern beacon through the drab colors of the men’s suits.

“Coffee?” John said, pushing his mug over to Hollee. He raised it to his lips, then scowled.

“You’ve put sugar in it.”

“Tis still coffee.”

Hollee considered the truth in this statement and took another swig.

John continued plugging away at his breakfast. “So,” he said, with a mouthful of food. “Did y’ meet the new man?”

The events of the night had been sloshing around in Hollee’s brain, and now they started to form a coherent pattern. “I did. I think we have a problem, John. The man is named Nelson—and he is the king’s man through and through. He swore to me that he was duty-bound to uphold the king’s laws. I don’t mean that he is an honest man, only that he has a very clear sense of what is right and what is wrong. His king is right, and so, therefore, we must be wrong.” He sighed. “It is very discouraging.”

John considered. “The way I see it, y’ have two choices. Y’ can either take on a cargo and run your chances, or, y’ can stay away for awhile, and see how other captains fare.

chapter 3

2008-02-19T03:50:00.001Z

When Hollee stayed on Nevis (which was rare, he preferred his cabin aboard the Windsong), he stayed at the Anchor and Crown, a rambling pub and hotel which had started out as a three-room building and gradually been added on to over the years. The clientele were men much like himself, seafarers, largely sensible men with wives and children back home, who needed a clean place for a night or two. The tiny rooms were undecorated and had hardly anything to recommend them, but the pub was the other extreme, packed with a mishmash of tables, chairs, lurid posters and broadsheets covering the walls while heavy wooden chandeliers cast light over the assorted guests. The stone floor was covered in dried reeds, and a huge fireplace at the end of the room was hardly ever lit, owing to the heat generated by the usually full room. Instead, a stuffed vulture perched on the grate while soot steadily blackened his red head. More animals were scattered around, an owl stood guard over the door and a fox kept watch over one end of the bar. Squirrels were abundant, and a few sad fish had made their final home in niches carved in the wall—far from their native element. Bell found the atmosphere of genial anonymous fun relaxing after being constantly watched on deck of the Windsong.

Then there was Queenie, an enormous old mulatto woman whose cooking was famous for a thousand miles. She ruled over the establishment—and her husband—with a personality that was like a hurricanoe. Many times her patrons had been woken by her early in the morning as her voice rose in argument with the village’s greengrocer, haggling over the price of fresh vegetables. Her husband ran the brewery out back, and his ales were only slightly less famous than his wife’s cooking. He was nearly as big as his wife, and not shy about raising his voice to match hers. Together they quarreled, laughed and worked together, creating the most successful establishment on Nevis.

2.5

2008-02-18T01:47:00.003Z

Hollee stopped at the edge of the patio, feeling acutely as though he were invading on some private scene. It was not just the press of Navy uniforms either, he felt as though he was watching the polite dance in front of him through a thin veil. There were not enough partners for the ladies, and some of the men were standing off to one side, observing and smoking thin cigars. They seemed so perfectly of this world for a moment Hollee felt an irrational urge to dash a glass of red wine all over those neat buff waistcoats. He was suddenly very aware of the perfidous document in his pocket as though it were smouldering and burning him through the fabric of his coat. He couldn’t fit in with these peacocking Navy men, had no desire to fit in with Reeve’s unwieldy armada, all he wanted was to be left alone, to his ocean, his Windsong, to travel in peace. He wondered if the Navy men were talking about him, murmuring rude questions about the odd man out in the green coat who had been pulled away from the party. He had only been gone for five minutes—but the party had moved forward without him, leaving him behind, foundering.

And now he noticed that Fanny was dancing with Nelson. Hollee had no sense for such things, but he supposed the man moved well enough—although he looked rather odd, being an inch or so shorter than Fanny. He appeared to be doing all the talking. At least, his mouth moved continually as they moved through the different sets of the dance. Captain Hardy was making a decorous turn with Mary who was smiling and working her dimples at him. Either the man was blind or unaffected because he kept his face politely straight.

Fanny had such a lovely uncomplicated life, Hollee mused as he slunk off to the buffet and busied his hands with a small plate of cheeses. He chased that with a few slices of mango, then reached for another glass of wine. The niece of the president, she could move in any social circle she wished—yet without performing the stringent duties of a hostess. An opportunity to meet as many eligible bachelors as she could wish. With her calm good manners, but lively interest in society, she would be a welcome addition to any gathering. And there was no pressure on her. No one could deny that she had been a wanted woman—her son Josiah, who was presently being relieved of a glass of wine by his wearied nurse was proof of that. Not like Herbert’s daughter, who laughed gaily at the slightest remark said by any man of rank. That was it, Hollee decided, she had no need to marry every again, should she choose, and so she was free to be her own sweet self.

The last thought was not analyzed by his swift moving brain, but floated across his mind and disappeared like a soap bubble so that he hardly realized it had occurred to him to label her “sweet.” The minuet ended and the dancers applauded the musicians, who rose to take a brief intermission. Nelson turned to make some remark to Fanny, only to discover that she had left his side and was walking towards Hollee. The captain offered her his glass and she took it, taking a sip of the wine.

“It’s warmer out there than it looks!” Fanny said, fanning herself and smiling. “Where were you? What happened with Captain Reeve?” she added, dropping her voice.

“He attempted to press me into the American navy,” Hollee said, returning her smile. “I told him I was not interested in becoming a traitor to the British crown, and I asked him to leave you alone.”

“Did you really?” Fanny said, looking a trifle disappointed.

“Don’t tell me you enjoy his company!” Hollee said.

“He has such thrilling stories, you know, they quite break up my day.”

“I assure you, he is making half of them up.”

“Oh really? And what about yourself—I hope you are not making up your stories as well.”

“I should hope not. I have enough drama in my life without embroidering upon it.”

“Captain Reeve does not embroider. He has a very difficult job, protecting such a new nation.”

“Fanny, next you shall tell me you are about to move to Boston and become a rebel against our king!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Fanny waved her hand vaguely and a damp curl stirred in the night air. “It’s all rather confusing. I try to read the newspapers that Uncle gets from London, but they’re full of so many names, so many politicians shouting against one another. But when you describe it—when Captain Reeve explains it—why, then it makes perfect sense.”

“What makes perfect sense, if I may be so bold as to enquire?”

“Your justification for breaking the king’s law, naturally. After all you have been trading in these waters since you were sixteen, and your uncle before that. Why should you stop now just because the king—who has never been to the West Indies, so far as I know—passes a decree?”

“My God, Fanny, you are a patriot.”

“I’m certain that trying to avoid the British navy is not an enviable task—“

“Smugglers avoid the British navy, I am a legitimate trader. Why, even today I was boarded by Captain Mannington, who looked over my papers with a most scrutinizing eye before he let me go on my way. But not after a long and, I must say, tearful lecture about my duty to the British crown and the Acts which govern our lands—“

Hollee had let himself carry on a bit, watching a smile spread across Fanny’s face, so that he did not realize that Nelson had crept up to stand beside him until he heard the man say “Yes sir! By God! Just so, sir!” Hollee was so startled he nearly leapt back. He turned his head quickly and gazed at the naval man who was standing next to him, ramrod straight, his eyes shining with a fervent light. Fanny seemed nearly as surprised as Hollee was and after his outburst, Nelson seemed slightly embarrassed and more subdued. But he continued to stand as straight as a poker.

“Sir, I’ve no doubt you’ve heard that Captain Mannington was removed from the Boreas for failing to adequately enforce the king’s laws,” Nelson said quietly, delicately. Hollee nodded.

“I am sir, and I am sorry to hear it. The captain and I were good friends. Indeed, I have had the priviledge of knowing him for nearly my entire career. You have the misfortune, if I may make so bold, of filling a very large pair of shoes.”

Nelson nodded solemnly. “I have no doubt but that I am ready for the challenge,” he said, with no trace of self-mockery. “I am glad to hear that you at least understand the importance of extending England’s laws even to the most remote of her isles. It would pain me greatly, sir, now that I have had the pleasure of meeting you, of having to arrest you!” And he gave a sort of hoarse laugh, the first sound of merriment that had escaped from his lips that evening.

“But sir,” Fanny said, her expression going somewhat empty and blank, “would you not say it is unfair to those poor merchants who have plied their trade between America and the Indies for so long now, only to have them be cut off from their sources of income?”

“Unfair?” Nelson frowned again. “I do not say what is unfair or not. It is not up to me to decide such matters, it is up to me to enforce the law. It is Parliament--the king--who says what is fair and what is not—and he has made it most ardently clear that he does not wish rebel colonists to gain by trading in his waters.” Fanny’s question had made Nelson look at her suspiciously, but she continued to imitate her empty-headed cousin and smiled at him so that his fears were assuaged. “Shall we toast the king?” Nelson cried, reaching for a glass of wine. He leaned back and included his fellow Naval men in his question. “Gentlemen? I give you—the King!”

They drank heartily, and went on to toast the Queen, her children and England, and each time Nelson threw back a quantity of wine so that he had quite finished the glass by the end of it. Hollee on the other hand sipped quietly. After the toasting was done, the musicians picked up their instruments again and set off into another minuet. Before Nelson could ask, Hollee had scooped up Fanny’s arm and was leading her onto the dance floor.

So that was how it was going to be—there would be no bribing this man. All his fears were coming true. Nelson and he might agree on loyalty to the king, but their agreements faded the further away from London they got. Whereas Nelson saw only the firm outlines of red British colonies all over the world, where laws were meant to be enforced equally from Calcutta to Nevis, Hollee saw the holes where the map had worn through, where there was room to maneuver and room to make allowances.

Bell Hollee had been taught to dance by John Waggs, a secret that he guarded feverishly. Where John had learned to dance, Hollee had no idea, but the first mate had dragged him into the cabin one afternoon when he had received an invitation to a soiree and had said, “Now then. If you’re going to go mixing with polite society and quality folk, you’re going to need to learn your steps.” Hollee had been a sullen pupil and—to his horror—a very good one. Dancing had come as naturally as tying knots, as balancing on the deck of a rolling ship. After being accepted into “polite society” there had been no need for a refresher course, for the ladies, as soon as they saw what an excellent figure he cut on the dance floor, were eager to teach him the latest steps.

Fanny moved gracefully through the other ladies, her grey eyes demurely on him. They came together and sprang apart with a light touch, his hand on her back, now on her shoulder. Fanny was right, it was hot out here, but Hollee suspected his temperature also had something to do with his roiling mind. He forced himself to focus on his partners, moving down the line until it came time to swing Fanny around again. He was able to accomplish this much more easily than Nelson, being several inches taller than Fanny and a small, mean part of his mind was glad for it.

After that dance came another, then another, and Hollee found himself quite unwilling to let Fanny go, although the gentlemanly thing to do would have been to share her, as there were not enough females in the party. Nelson continued to stand by the buffet table, making small talk with the other captains, although he joined in for the last dance when Captain Hardy begged off an ardent suitor. Then it was time to go inside. The servants brought the gentlemen glasses of port and several of the ladies made noises about going home. But Mistress Mary had been practicing a new solo and she was determined to end the evening with a recital. So the company ranged itself on a selection of chairs in the parlor and paid polite attention.

Fanny accompanied her cousin. Josiah, defying the odds and his inclination towards sleepiness, had been appointed page-turner and was sitting next to her. His back was straighter than Nelson’s, his eyes feverishly bright with pride at being given this most important task. The song began, a quavery one about love lost or some such nonsense. Hollee was fairly certain he had heard the song on Aruba several weeks ago. Mary held her hand theatrically to her bosom and squeezed a well-timed tear out of one eye, her audience sighing with appreciation.

But Hollee was distracted by Fanny. Something about her had changed, he didn’t know what. It felt as though—it felt as though he was seeing her for the first time, although he had been looking at her steadily for the past hour. Something about the arc of her neck, the glow of the candles on her face, even her small nods to her tiny son were painfully familiar and yet at the same time, undeniably new. He felt the same way he did the first time he had stepped on the Windsong as her captain. They had just buried old Hollee and he had returned to the ship to take her into St. Kitt’s for a new cargo, but the second he stepped aboard the familiar boards they seemed to ring with a new importance and expectations. Yes, that was the feeling exactly—and as before, he had no explanation for it.

The song ended. Applause—Hollee joined in a beat too late. Mary gave several gracious curtseys and then she and Fanny rose to see their guests out the door. The carriages had been made ready while Mary was singing, and they were standing outside. President Herbert was in his element, shaking hands and pounding men on the back, extracting promises of return, assuring everyone that they would meet again soon. The furor was quite overwhelming—so much so that Nebuchanezzer had forgotten Hollee’s hat. He apologized profusely and shot off to fetch it.

“I daresay you’ve had enough on your mind tonight,” Hollee said when the man returned. Nebuchanezzer bowed and Mary came forward, swooping in to kiss Hollee on the cheek.

“You were magnificent! Squiring cousin Fan about all evening. What a gentleman!” she cooed. “You must come back again. I shall speak to Father—we must have another party soon!” Hollee was grateful that Fanny seemed distracted with Josiah and did not hear this. He smiled and nodded.

“Another party?” Herbert boomed, “Capital idea. Just give me long enough to lay in another supply of cheeses—these fellows have quite cleaned me out, but I daresay you can’t blame them, eh?” He grinned and was greeted by shouts of approbation. There was a loud crack! and the carriages began to move off. Herbert shook Hollee’s hand, his face red with excitement and too much brandy. Already Nebuchanezzer was waiting patiently to take his master to bed. “So good to see you, man! What a night, eh? Eh?”

Hollee had nothing to say to this, so he merely attempted to meet the force in Herbert’s grip, with no success. Herbert nodded one last time and turned away, Mary swooping up to meet him.

Hollee turned to look for her and she was there.

“I thought I might walk with you until the end of the drive,” Fanny said softly. “If you don’t mind.” Hollee offered her his arm. Josiah scampered on in front of them and Fanny waved away the nurse.

It was darker in front of the house, the road a silver path through the black trees. They paused, allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“Josiah, don’t go too far ahead, there are tigers in the forest!” Fanny warned. The little boy came running back. He launched himself into Hollee’s arms, wrapping his arms around Hollee’s neck and nearly unseating his hat.

“Are there really? Really tigers?” he asked anxiously.

“Oh now,” Hollee said frowning. “No. No I should think there are not. No, I think they were all eaten by the dragon, weren’t they, Mrs. Nisbit?” Josiah, terrified, burrowed into his shoulder while Fanny hid a smile.

They walked on, cool night breezes swirling around their ankles.

“What did you think of Nelson?” Fanny asked quietly, breaking the silence. Hollee frowned, he did not like the man invading their private minutes together.

“I did not like him,” Hollee said honestly, “I found him too ambitious.”

Fanny laughed. “I rather thought he reminded me of you,” she said. “You’re both very proud, very eager to do what is proper and right. Although you have different ideas about what is right and what is proper.” She patted his arm to show that she meant no offense.

“Do you find me proud, then? I did not mean to give offence.”

“I do not find your pride offensive. It is endearing, because you are so proud of your ship and your travels. You are very eager to please.”

“Am I now.”

“You want everyone to love you.”

“Fanny, I must confess, the more you strive to explain yourself, the less I like the explanation.”

“Oh, pray, do not be offended. I am merely elaborating on my meditation of your character. You are steady and proud of your steadfastness.”

“I sound like a very boring fellow.”

“Not at all. Did you see how Nelson flitted about, talking of his accomplishments to anyone who would listen? Now, he is a proud fellow, but proud of himself, of what he’s accomplished. I don’t think he had been there twenty minutes before he was spouting off about some action with the American navy, when everyone knows their navy is nothing to speak of. And he is a terribly poor dancer.”

Hollee was inexplicably pleased with this statement.

“I found your piano playing most enjoyable.”

“Thank you.”

“And you, Master Josiah, your page-turning was to be commended.”

But Master Josiah had fallen asleep on Hollee’s shoulder and was curled up there like a worn-out puppy who’s been playing too fiercely. Hollee lifted his eyes to Fanny’s face and found she was staring at him with a sad half-smile on her face.

“Tuppence for your thoughts.”

“Oh, you’ll think I’m silly. Just a mother’s foolishness.”

“When have I ever thought you silly?”

“You will.”

“I won’t.”

“Well then. I was merely thinking how similar Josiah’s hair colour is to yours.”

Hollee was quiet for a second. “Does he take after his father at all? I always thought he looked rather like you.”

“No, Mr. Nisbet was much given to fat, he had very round cheeks. Not like my little whippet here.” She brushed some of Josiah’s curls out of his face. Hollee realized she was fighting off some inner emotion.

“Fanny, what is it?” A war had broken out within him—part of Hollee’s soul urgently wanted to know what could have made Fanny look so sad, and another part of him warned that if he asked this question their friendship would never be the same. But what kind of friend would he be if he did not ask it?

They had reached the end of the drive and Fanny sat down on the low stone wall there. She slipped off her dancing slippers and sunk her feet into the sand, just as Hollee had done hours previously. “My uncle has sworn he will not feed me past the end of the summer,” she began quietly. “He is quite adamant that I must marry and get out of his house, that he has fulfilled his duty as my relative, but that the time has come as he put it. He says—oh, you mustn’t think harshly of him, Bell, he means well, but he is under a terrible amount of strain and he says things like this when he is upset. He says the most terrible things and shouts at me and suggests that perhaps I do not want another husband that I am not trying like…like Mary…” Fanny’s eyes remained dry, but her voice trailed off and she sighed. “I am very sorry to burden you with this, Bell, but I know I can trust you to keep a secret for me. It is quite embarrassing. The truth is, I have never found another man I wished to have as a husband. I was quite happy with Mr. Nisbit, we—“ but here her voice abandoned her completely and she blushed. She might be willing to take Hollee into her confidences, but there were still things it was not decent to speak about.

Hollee stood in front of her awkwardly. He had begun to grow warm where Josiah was lying against his breast, the hot little body pressed into his cream-coloured waistcoat and borrowed jacket. The child was draped over him so trustingly, so naturally that Hollee was acutely aware that when Fanny looked at him, she would not be able to tell easily where her son ended and Hollee began. Holle was also aware that this was a moment when something could be said—something should be said, for she was looking up at him so trustingly, so beseechingly. But there was—there was— That newness about her had not left her, and it made her beautiful in the moonlight.

“I am very sorry for your worries,” he said. His voice was loud. It cut into the tranquility of the night. Fanny’s brows furrowed; that was not quite it. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

Something closed up in Fanny’s face and she smiled politely. “Yes, well. Thank you for listening to me. You always were a good friend.” She reached up for the sleeping Josiah. For a fleeting second their hands brushed against each other, and then Fanny leaned in and brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth. She had aimed there deliberately, allowing him to choose whether it should be a gentle peck on the cheek or a romantic, full-blooded kiss, but he did not turn his head, and her lips landed on the corner of his, her touch as light as a feather. Although she was the one who had instigated it, she became uncertain, pulling Josiah closely to her while she watched his face. For a second, Hollee thought she was going to shake his hand.

“Good night,” she said, backing away into the darkness.

“Farewell,” said he, lifting his hat to her. The kiss—and her smell—lingered in the darkness like powder after cannon fire. His heart was leaping about in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins. Her perfect figure was a white shadow disappearing as she moved away from him, but he could not stop himself from watching her. Good God she was in love with him! The sudden knowledge hit him like a rolling wave and nearly knocked the breath out of him. An uncertain, unbidden grin rose up to his lips, only to be wiped away as more thoughts crowded in. He could marry her. He could—she wanted him to marry her. The stupidity that occasionally blinds men lifted like a curtain and he saw each of their previous meetings in a new light, each look, each touch, each laugh, each shared grin-- He could marry her. He could run after her right now, sweep her up in his arms, kiss her, wake Josiah, laugh, whisper into her ear that he wanted her, wanted her for his wife, beg her to be his—

Bell Hollee squared his shoulders in his familiar way.

And set off up the road back to the port and the Windsong.

2.4

2008-02-16T07:08:00.003Z

His anger carried him through the door and onto the patio. The night had well and truly set in by now, and the only lights came from the flickering candles within the colorful lanterns. Hollee was so incensed that he hardly realised the trio had struck up a lively minuet and the partygoers were dancing.

2.3

2008-02-15T04:46:00.002Z

Hollee did not bother to wait and see if Reeve made it out the front door, but turned hurriedly and walked back into the party. He was inwardly fuming, half-considering marching up to the nearest post captain and revealing Reeve as a traitor and pirate, but his good manners stopped him. He could not interrupt the evening, as much as it would give him pleasure to see Reeve hauled before a magistrate.

2.2

2008-02-14T03:47:00.002Z

[For more info on Nevis, click here.]

The house made a kind of L-shape, presenting its long verandah to the road. Behind, facing the sea, a small courtyard was ringed with low bushes, and a green lawn spread away to the white sand beaches. Hollee cut up onto the road so that he approached the front door. The carriages which had passed him were just disappearing into the stable yard, led by a pair of capable Negroes, and Hollee could hear the voices from the party already started drifting up from the courtyard.
He went into the house, which had its shutters open in the evening. Candles gently wafted in the breeze, the white curtains fluttering in front of freshly whitewashed walls. He handed his hat to Nebuchanezzer who made a low bow and and murmured that the party was “just through there.” Hollee had been to the house several times. To his left was the family wing with its bedrooms. To the right was the kitchen and dining room, the detached “summer kitchen” a few yards further on. As he walked through the double French doors he passed the library and the sitting room, where he had taken tea on numerous occasions with Fanny. The parlor was filled with fresh flowers and unlit candles, waiting the moment later in the evening when the party would move inside. The harpsichord was open, signaling there would be music later. Outside, lanterns glowed in the darkness, and a string trio beckoned him onto the patio. Small tables and chairs had been scattered around, each with their own candle and bouquet. A buffet stood along one end of the patio, groaning under platters of food: sweetmeats, cold cuts, fruits, vegetables soaked in vinegar, small candies.

Fanny had not underestimated her uncle’s party, for twenty or more people stood outside already, gathered in small groups. Hollee’s first impression was of a multitude of gold braid catching the failing light. The men outnumbered the women, but each group boasted at least one member of the fairer sex, all the better for the naval commanders to boast of their exploits. The ladies were doing their best to lend excitement to the stories, gasping and waving fans as each turn was described. Mary was already hanging on the arm of a particularly tall captain. Fanny, however, was holding onto Josiah and speaking in turn to a captain and a lieutenant who had taken up stations on either side of her. They took it in turns to attack the buffet table with all the enthusiasm men who hadn’t seen unpreserved food in weeks could muster.

Behind the sparkling, chattering groups, silent servants passed, filling glasses with white wine or taking empty plates as required. Hollee found a glass of wine pressed into his hand and he moved forward into the assembly. Since Fanny was the only person he kenned at this point (save Mary, and she was clearly not missing him), he headed in her direction. As he moved through the gathering, he could not help shooting covert glances to the right and left of him. Who was the new captain of the Boreas? Hollee nervously sipped at his wine. He rather thought it might be the tall captain Mary was hanging on. IT was clear the man knew no one, and he looked extremely uncomfortable. Hollee looked at him again, took another gulp of wine and found himself standing in front of Fanny.

“There you are, Captain,” Fanny said, looking pleased. “I was beginning to think I might have to give you up.” At this moment Josiah gave a yell of pleasure and launched himself from his mother’s arms, evidently transported with ecstasy that Bell Hollee had joined their party. Hollee caught the boy as he wriggled through the air and suffered himself to be hugged. Fanny snatched him back as soon as she was able to disentangle her son’s limbs. “I am terribly sorry, Bell,” she said, “I told him he might stay up to say hello to the new captain, but only if he behaved, which so far he has been unable to do and if he keeps this up, I shall be forced to send him to bed directly.” Fanny placed grave emphasis on all the words which would stick in her son’s ear with a practiced mother’s tongue and Josiah kissed her by way of apology. Fanny gestured to the nurse who was hovering nearby and handed the small boy over. “My apologies, gentlemen.”

The two navy men on either side of her hastened to assure her that no apology was necessary, and the captain went rather further and described a time when he was forced to lash a powder boy aboard his ship. Hollee found he had finished his first glass of wine. One of the silent servants materialized to refill it.

“Fanny, will you have some wine?” Hollee asked, realizing Fanny had no glass. “Forgive me for asking the hostess, but you appear…” He could not finish the sentence “appear to need one” with two perfect strangers standing nearby.

“Yes, thank you, I will,” Fanny said. “And you must forgive me, gentlemen, I do not mean to be rude. A mother’s perogative, you might say.” She laughed and sipped at the wine which had been handed to her. “Captain Bell Hollee, allow me to introduce you. This is Captain Dylan, of his majesty’s ship Sang Froid and her first lieutenant, Roberts.”
“Gentlemen, a pleasure,” Hollee said, making a small bow which was echoed by the navy men.
“A captain sir? Pray tell—what is the name of your ship?” Dylan enquired politely.

“The Windsong, sir,” Hollee replied. “Nominally out of Port Royal, although we have not seen that city for nearly eightmonth. I prefer Nevis.”

“You spend your time largely in the West Indies, I take it?” the captain said interestedly. Hollee nearly replied that they cruised between the Indies and America, but remembered in time that this would be considered illegal in present company and managed to merely nod stiffly. Lieutenant Roberts was standing at his elbow, as ill at ease as Hollee was. Not only did he have the disadvantage of not knowing anyone, but he was surrounded by at least six of his superiors, and the temptation of food and drink loomed large. It would not do to act dishonorably in such company and he was miserably aware of the fact.

Luckily for him, Dylan seemed aware of the fact and clapped his hand on his lieutenant’s shoulder. “We must drink a toast to young Roberts here,” he said, “he passed his lieutenant’s test last month, and the Sang Froid is his first posting. He has performed admirably well, and I am very much pleased with his conduct—although I daresay you’re looking a bit nervous tonight, my lad! But come, one glass of wine won’t kill you. A toast I say!”

Hollee obligingly lifted his glass and drank. The lieutentant was looking very odd, smiling and frowning by turns, but it was clear he had relaxed somewhat. Hollee found that his glass was being refilled again and leaned into Fanny.

“I had to reprimand one of my men for drunkenness today,” he murmured in a low voice, “Imagine what he would say if he could see me now!”

Fanny’s tinkling laugh broke out over the assembly, ringing into one of those odd silences that sometimes happen to an assembled company. Her whole face lit up with a smile and Hollee returned it, happy to have made her grin.

“Ah! President Herbert!” Captain Dylan said, stepping back and widening their small group to admit Fanny’s uncle. “How very good to see you, sir!”

“Likewise!” Herbert said heartily, grasping Dylan’s hand. “I did not mean to neglect you, only it appears I have had a better turn out than I could have hoped for. Shame Mannington could not make it, eh?” Fanny froze in embarrassment, her uncle winking broadly. “Still—a very handsome turnout, wouldn’t you say? Did I hear that this young man is newly made lieutenant?”

“Yes sir, and a very good job of it he’s making as well,” Dylan said hurriedly, moving the conversation past the mention of the luckless Captain Mannington. “I daresay he’ll be in a ship of his own before long.” The lieutentant, already pink with an abundance of praise, quietly excused himself lest his face should glow crimson in the evening and began to graze in earnest at the buffet table. Dylan and Herbert, who were very well acquainted, having lost large sums of money to each other for the past five years at the gaming tables each Saturday, drew closer together and began to gossip in earnest. In response, Fanny and Hollee moved a step away and surveyed the beach.

“Your gown is very becoming,” Hollee said, feeling he should say something to acknowledge Fanny’s beauty.

“Oh, this old thing?” Fanny said dismissively, “It’s entirely out of fashion. But the blue matches your waistcoast exactly.” She pointed to the small flowers embroidered on Hollee’s garment.

“The blue suits your eyes,” Hollee said, which was not a lie, but he thought that she flushed a little oddly at the compliment. Fanning herself she turned her back to the sunset and looked over the crowd.

“What a lot of stuffed shirts,” she said, and Hollee found the awkward moment smoothed over. “Half of them are new today and eager to get in with Nevis’ ‘society,’ such as we are. The rest are old friends like Captain Dylan”—she gestured to the Captain, who was gesticulating wildly, Herbert nodding frantically in agreement—“who are simply here for the food.”

“Do you know which one he is?” Hollee said, nervously. “The new captain of the Boreas?”

“Your new nemesis, you mean?” Fanny smiled. “He’s standing over there, in that group with Mary.”

“I knew it, the moment I saw him—“

“No, not the tall nervous one, the shorter one standing next to him.”

Hollee stared. The man was of an average height, but slight and thin. He was perhaps Hollee’s age, but his face gave the impression of agelessness—he could have been anywhere between twenty-five and forty. At the moment he was standing stiffly, the toe of one foot turned out formally away from the other, one hand on his hip. He wore an expression of intense concentration mixed with haughtiness, and Hollee had the distinct impression that he was putting on this little routine for the benefit of those around him, a carefully polished pose to convey serious thinking and great capability. How would this man ever be able to command a shipful of men? At a distance of ten yards he looked no bigger than Josiah, his formal posture almost funny in the calm, relaxed atmosphere. At the moment he was attending to a story that Mary was telling. The rest of the group were laughing as she exaggerated the movements of a milliner she had dealt with the day before. The new captain was listening somberly. When Mary gestured toward Fanny, clearly indicating her in the story, he turned, saw her, excused himself and headed their way.

“My dear Mrs. Nisbet,” he began, making a leg, “allow me to present myself. I have the good fortune of knowing your name from your dear cousin, but not, alas, the pleasure of your company.” He made a small bow. “Captain Horatio Nelson, at your service.”

Hollee could feel his jaw clench inadvertently as he prevented a smile from creeping across his face. Nelson’s formality was rarely seen in the company of the king, much less a small party on an island in the middle of nowhere. Fanny, bless her, managed to keep her face neutral as she extended her hand. Nelson bent over it, kissing it perfunctorily.

“I am very glad to make your acquaintance,” she said, her voice steady. “Allow me to present Captain Bell Hollee of the Windsong.”

“Your servant sir,” Nelson said, bowing again. Hollee returned the bow. There was something electrically vital about Nelson, something to do with those startling blue eyes that had taken the edge off his ridiculousness. Hollee found himself reevaluating his first impression.

“I understand you are to take the Boreas now that Captain Mannington will return to England, sir,” Hollee said. “My congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you. I am very fortunate—the Boreas will be my first command, and I enjoy a great deal of liberty under my orders. A sailor must go where he is ordered, of course, but I dearly hate convoy duty.” He smiled. “I’m sure you understand.” Then he paused thoughtfully. “The Windsong, now, I do not think that his one of his majesty’s ships, is it?”

“No sir, it is a merchant vessel, out of Port Royal. Although I enjoy a great deal of trade here on Nevis.”

“Ah, just so, I have heard of your ship, sir, but I was under the impression that she was captained by an Edmund Hollee?”

“You are thinking of Bell’s uncle,” Fanny said softly. “He passed away nine years ago, God rest him, and left Bell the Windsong. Although many people make the mistake, and so you will often hear them spoken of as ‘old Hollee’ and ‘young Hollee’ though. They are quite interchangeable.” She smiled.

“My apologies, of course, that would make sense. I fought in the American Revolution, you know,” Nelson said, mentioning his service a bit too quickly after apologizing. “And spent a great deal of time here in the West Indies, protecting his majesty’s interests. I am very glad to be able to do so again. It is beautiful here, is it not?”

Bell could not get a handle on his feelings toward the man. As soon as he had determined to dislike him, Nelson would come out with a comment and Hollee’s attitude would completely change. How could he dislike a man who found Nevis beautiful?

“But Bell now…” Nelson was thoughtful shifting his weight, “You’ll pardon my rudeness sir, but that seems to me to be a queer sort of name for a man.”

“My Christian name is Andrew sir,” Hollee said, his inner compass swinging around to dislike once more. “But I was christened ‘Bell’ when I was a boy by my father, and it has ever been my ensign.”

“Oh, do tell the story, Bell!” Mary said. Hollee had not been aware that she had been cruising toward them until she suddenly appeared at Hollee’s elbow, towing the tall taciturn captain. “I dearly love this story.”

“Captain Hollee, allow me to present Captain Hardy,” Nelson said, his body going through its strange gyrations again as he waved his hand toward the captain. Hardy was obliged to dislodge Mary so he could shake Hollee’s hand. Hollee, who was considered tall by many people, was forced to look upward into Hardy’s face, and he thought he could see the ghost of a indulgent smile there, almost as if Hardy too was aware of his friend’s affectations. He instantly warmed to the man.

“Tell the story, Bell!” Mary said. Somehow her other hand had found its way into the crook of Hollee’s elbow so he was obliged to shift his wine to his left hand.

“Well it’s…it’s not a very clever story,” Bell said lamely. “I was taken aboard the Mary Teck when I was—the Mary being the ship Captain Hollee owned before the Windsong—when I was three years old, as a special treat, you know, for a small child, to see the ship and perhaps climb about a bit. After awhile, my parents began to see they could trust me not to fall over the side and so they allowed me more liberty. Perhaps a bit too much liberty, for when they next turned around I had disappeared, and a frantic search ensued. My mother was convinced I had fallen over, and my father thought I was gone below and stuck in the bilge. And so they were in a high state of panic for about a minute until they heard the ship’s bell ringing.” Hollee was uncomfortably aware of Fanny watching him. He knew that she could see a small boy climbing gaily around a ship, unaware of the panic he was causing his parents, and the image amused her. “It was me, of course. I had merely gone around the capstan, and in their haste, my parents and all the ship’s crew missed me until I began to ring the bell. My mother was so relieved she caught me up and began to hug and scold me all at once, and my father tells me that all I could say was ‘bell, bell’ as if I had been denied the world’s biggest prize.”

The group looked at him for a second longer before realizing that the story was over and then laughed politely. Nelson was the last to smile, as though puzzling out some hidden meaning behind the tale.

“Captain Hollee still has the bell,” Fanny said, appreciatively. “It hangs on the Windsong now.”

“I lost Hardy once,” Nelson said, smiling. “We were off the coast of Florida and a gang of Spanish pirates came upon our squadron. The wind was in their favour, and before I knew what had happened, they had boarded Hardy’s ship and taken her as a prize. I fought off another pair of them, but I knew I would never be able to prize him out of their grasp.”

“What happened?” Mary gasped, her eyes opened wide in admiration.

“I was ransomed four months later,” Hardy said unaffectedly. “Not dashing in the least, although Nelson was determined to come after me and had to be quite talked out of it by the commodore.”

Mary drew a little closer to the two captains as naval jargon began to flow between them. Hollee thought her head was quite turned with the gold braid and tales of daring against the French, Spanish and Americans—but he was rather unimpressed. It was clear that the peace with America had depressed the opportunites for young, eager captains such as Nelson, and he was desperate to get ahead although no chance presented itself.

He turned to whisper something witty to Fanny, an inside joke that she could appreciate, but he found that she was watching Captain Nelson interestedly, paying close attention to what he was saying. He watched her watching him, her grey eyes mutedly following the conversation, his blue eyes snapping, occasionally flickering to her, marking that she was watching.

“Hollee, my God, I did not hope to see you here!” A voice rang out from behind Bell and he turned around. A tall, somewhat florid man was dashing towards him, hands outstretched to engulf his in a handshake. “How are you! How are you!”

Hollee excused himself from his small group and went to meet the man. Adam Reeve was a captain in the American Navy, and Hollee could not fathom how he had managed to get an invitation to President Herbert’s private fete, nor why he would want to be here, nor why he should be on Nevis at all. Reeve had wangled a lieutenant’s commission with months left in the American War for Independence and had, through the fact that the Americans were handing out captainships as quickly as they could build vessels, risen to commander of his own ship within six months. He was a peacock of a man, vain of his thick blonde hair, and fiercely proud of his new country. Occasionally he would appear in the Liberty in the West Indies “convoying” one ship or another into a port. Usually his attempts ended in the ship being seized—the Liberty’s presence a sure sign than an American ship was attempting to skirt the Navigation Acts. There were also unpleasant rumors that the Liberty and her captain engaged in acts of privateering, acts which, since few yet believed that the United States of America was an actual country, were considered piracy by most of the civilized world.

Reeve was also responsible for Hollee’s one dash into Baltimore at the height of the War. The Windsong had skirted a battle off the coast of Maryland, waiting until the English ships of war had taken their prizes, firing some, before continuing. When they had disappeared over the horizon, the Windsong had crept forward and Hollee had been astonished to see several boatloads of sailors left behind—sailors for whom there was no room in the holds of English ships. He had taken them aboard (including their Captain Reeve—he had been in the Common Sense one of the ships that had been burned) and deposited them in Baltimore at Reeve’s request. Ever since then Reeve had believed Hollee to be an ardent patriot and would not listen to protestations that Hollee was merely doing the Christian thing.

“Hollee, my God,” he said loudly as Hollee took his arm and forcibly led him away from the assembly. “I did not dare to hope to find you here. I only meant to leave a letter with Mrs. Nesbit, but Nebuchanezzer told me you were here! In the courtyard! Surrounded by the English!” Reeve glowered, then, in a lower voice, “God rot them all and their unholy ships—“

“Mr. Reeve,” hissed Hollee, “Do I have to point out to you that you are also surrounded by the English, English who are sworn, moreover, to capture smugglers, traitors and pirates and turn them over to the proper authorities? You might wear a captain’s uniform, but that carries no water with these men. As for Mrs. Nisbet—“ he hurried on, for Reeve showed every sign of protesting violently, “if you ever include her in one of your mad schemes, I will hunt you down personally and blow you out of the water. She is loyal to England and further more, she has no idea of what vile and traitorous things you get up to and I intend to keep it that way!”

“But Mr. Hollee! Fanny and I are friends! Haven’t we all had tea in the past? And she is terribly fond of you, I know she would not mind taking a letter for you.”

“What’s in this letter that it could not go by regular post?”

“Oh, as to that—well, it’s…it’s just that I never can find you, Bell, and I know you are always calling on her.”

“Well, you have me now, so tell me what is in this letter that’s so important and then take yourself off. You are making a spectacle of yourself.” And indeed, several of the captains were putting their heads together and whispering about Reeve’s appearance.

“Gentlemen, if you need to converse,” Mr. Herbert interjected, “May I suggest my library? Come, I will show you where it is.”

They had no choice but to follow. Herbert led the way across a suddenly strangely quiet garden, and Hollee could feel the burning eyes of disapproval upon him as they mounted the steps into the house.

“Mr. Reeve,” Herbert said as they crossed the threshold. His voice was low and dangerous. “I believe I made my position on your appearance in my house perfectly clear. As I am a gentleman, I will not have you thrown bodily out in front of my guests, but should you ever dare to show your face here again, I will not hesitate.” He turned and went back into the garden, giving Hollee a significant look, a look that both tarred him with the same brush as Reeve and pitied him. Hollee writhed a little inside. He would not have Herbert’s bad opinion for the world.

“In here,” he said brusquely, pushing Reeve ahead of him into Herbert’s library. The shutters were nearly closed, save for a crack, and no candles were lit. They left the door to the main hallway open, but the gloom was nearly absolute. Dry leather bindings stood sentinel on three sides of the room. “What is it?”

Reeve had pulled the letter out of his pocket and was proferring it to Hollee. “I’ve come with the same question, Bell,” he said quietly, earnestly. “We need you. The American government—we need every man, and I know you believe in our cause.” Bell rolled his eyes in exasperation. They had been over this before—arguing over the same ground countless times. Reeve pretended not to notice. “I have been authorized to offer you a commission in the United States Navy,” he continued, his boyish enthusiasm rising. “We need ships, we need cannon—both of which you have, and a crack crew as well—our government, the government of the people, Bell, we intend to challenge the Navigation Acts. It makes no sense that we are unable to trade with countries in our own hemisphere, and so we are finally ready to make an assault on the ships that convoy here in the West Indies. My God, Bell, this was tailor made for you! Who knows these waters better than you? And your ship—you handle her like she was your right hand. And when we win, there will be no more tariffs, no more sneaking about, no more illegal taxes, we will show everyone—Britain, France, Holland—we are a country to be reckoned with.”

In more exciteable men, Reeve’s speech would have ignited a fire of patriotic fervor, a shouting of huzzahs and a swearing of oaths. Hollee merely stood until he was sure that Reeve was finished, then shook his head. “No. No again, but not, I fear, for the last time. When will you learn, Reeve, that I am perfectly content the way I am? The tariffs are high, but what is the price of what you are suggesting? No. I would not risk it—nor would I ask my crew to risk it. They are good men, but they are not Naval men, and I could not run them like the Navy would ask me to.”

“On the contrary, we are quite lenient,” Reeve said brightly. Then, reflecting, “Perhaps too lenient. But you—“

“No, Adam. And now, you better leave. President Herbert will not complain if an intruder is taken off by the authorities. And my God, Reeve, you blundered into a pack of Navy men, hungry for prizes. What on earth is wrong with you? Do you never think anything through?”

“Ah, Bell. The British are hungry for prizes. But we”—he meant himself and the Americans—“we hunger for freedom.”

“Very well, Adam, but if you don’t flee, you’ll lose your freedom as well.”

Reeve pressed the letter into his hand. “Think about it, Bell.”

“There’s nothing to think about.”

“I know.” And when Reeve removed his hand, the parchment remained in Bell’s hand. To his relief, Reeve did not stay to press his point home, but tipped his hat perfunctorily and exited out of the room. Hollee stuffed the letter into his pocket like it was an obscene broadsheet.

2.1

2008-02-13T00:08:00.000Z

Hollee stared at the white sand for a second and then, with a deliberate decision, sat down and stripped of his shoes and stockings. He would have been decidedly early for the party any way, and it had been so long since he had actually touched the ocean he sailed about in. Carrying shoes and stockings in one hand, he waded across the soft sand. His feet were nearly as pale as the sand around them, small and neat. The tiny particles rubbed up against his skin with a wonderful frisson, so different from the normal feel of wool and leather. The sand became firmer as he approached the shoreline, growing wetter. He left footprints as he moved forward. Now the rushing waves could just touch his feet, the water cool after the hot sand. He stood there for a moment, right on the edge of sea and sand and stared out over the endless blue.

In his window of vision he could see all manner of boats, large ships way out, their sails spread like ladies parasols, smaller fishing vessels coming and going into the port away to his left, and tiny rowboats handled by one or two men who were checking their crawfish traps. The sea was like an endless carpet, but the color would not stay true for more than a second. The blue of the water would flush away to reveal a grainy green or yellow, or rush back with a hurry of cerealean. He had tried to describe this color once, when he was in England, to an acquaintance of his. “It’s like—it’s like—“ he had floundered, casting about for some color he could point to and say, “like that” but nothing had come to hand, not even the clear blue sky. The ocean had a special hue all its own, a color that had to be seen to be believed.

And he had seen it. Just thinking about the miles and miles of sea he had seen gave Hollee a puff of pride and happiness. This was freedom. This corner of the ocean, whose secrets he knew better than anyone else (save perhaps the smugglers), he could sail it with his eyes closed in the dead of night if he had to. The intimate knowledge of the waves permeated his every pore until knowing when to tack and when to run came instinctually. He had never asked for more than to be allowed to range free upon the water, never demanded more out of life, and had been rewarded with the kind of happiness that accompanies hard work and integrity. President Herbert might be the kind of man who, after gaining immense personal fortune, set about to increase his prestige through petty offices and a system of favour, but Hollee could not understand this desire. This ocean—the Windsong—his faithful crew and his slowly but steadily increasing numbers in Mr. Maccaby’s black ledger—that was all he wanted.

The sun was moving more quickly now, heading into the sea, which was growing darker. When Hollee stepped out of the waves, the breeze made his feel cool—not uncomfortably—but the twilight’s temperatures served to remind him time was passing. He ground his feet into the dry sand until they were quite dry as well, then set about knocking the grains off. One by one he slipped into his stockings and shoes, leaning against an obliging palm tree. The white silk made him pause. Was there something else he wanted? He had been so quick to oblige Fanny’s request. But they were friends—had been friends for nearly five years. Her face swam into his mind unbidden, as he had seen her so many times with her long neck bent over a piece of embroidery. Never once had he acted in a manner unbecoming toward her. Never once had she tossed her hair or smiled a coquettish smile like other women of the town, like her cousin. But John had grinned so when Hollee had asked for the loan of his coat, like they were sharing a secret. Hollee frowned uncomfortably.

Beyond the boardwalk lay a road cut through the palm trees. As Hollee approached the wooden platform, a pair of carriages rolled down the dusty road, kicking up a great deal of dust. He paused and watched them pass. They were full of men and women dressed up for Herbert’s party, all laughing and enjoying themselves a great deal. The women were exclaiming over the speed of the carriages, and the men were declaring they would go twice as fast. Hollee caught an impression of a great deal of gold braid and flashing blue overcoats, Naval uniforms. The carriages went ahead quickly, disappearing into the gathering gloom, their passengers’ voices still carrying back to him, now becoming muffled. For a half second, Hollee thought about turning around and returning to the quiet of the Windsong or the relative peace of the Anchor & Crown. But then he thought of Fanny, how she had asked him to come and save her from the boring Naval men, and, squaring his shoulders, he moved on down the boardwalk.

chapter 2

2008-02-12T04:01:00.000Z

The Herbert plantation was a large affair some ways down the coast from the harbor. John Herbert had invested in the land when it could be bought for a song--or, rather, the price of a pair of slave hands--and had worked it ferociously, making a small fortune in sugar cane. His wife had died giving birth to their second child, who had soon followed its mother. Mary, his eldest at seventeen, was the light of his life. When the British Crown decided to take a more active hand in Nevis, it was natural that the mantle of responsibility should fall to its most well known and wealthy resident.

John Herbert agreed with that assessment and took his duties as president seriously. He ruled Nevis fairly, if somewhat stringently when it came to interpreting the laws, but recognised that his power ended largely at the shoreline. Consequently he made sure to be the center of his small kingdom, and no detail escaped his notice.

The beautiful white plantation house had been built seven years previously, and it was due to the large cadre of house slaves that he coud afford to give such a large party on such short notice. The Negroes had been running off their feet ever since their master announced he intended to give a party that evening. Savoury smells issued from the kitchen. In the garden, lanterns were being hung. And a small army in and of itself was attending to Miss Mary, Miss Herbert (Herbert's spinster sister) and Mrs. Nisbet.

But Hollee knew nothing of these preparations or domestic sagas. He had decided to walk the two or so miles between the Windsong and Herbert House and was rather enjoying the novelty of moving in the same direction and meeting no deck or railing. On his left, the sea, the beautiful blue tropical sea spread away to where the sun was just beginning to lay his red mantle in preparation for setting. On his right the green trees of Nevis rose suddenly into volcanic peaks (extinct now) like they had been sculpted by a giant pastry chef. Unseen animals made the leaves rustle and a faint breeze carried the smell of lush vegetation. Hollee's shoes made a dull sound on the wooden boardwalk that rose above white sand, almost too bright to look at.

1.2

2008-02-10T20:58:00.001Z

Mannington flipped through the pages perfunctorily, briskly efficient. Hollee waited until the noises ceased, then turned back around. The senior captain was in the act of removing his hand from his breast pocket. “Would you like to go below and inspect the cargo, sir?” Hollee asked politely.

“No, no, there’s no need. Everything seems to be in order. Salt herring, eh?” he said, winking. “Nevis does seem to be terribly fond of salt herring. Well, that’s all in order then. You run a tight ship, Hollee, a tight ship. The Navy would approve of you!” Hollee inclined his head, forcing a nod. I could do with less approval, he thought sourly, if it meant leaving my ship unmolested.

They walked back onto the deck, where the lieutenant was still standing by the railing, trying and failing to look bored and disinterested. Several of the Windies were leaning over the side and conversing with the sailors from the Boreas, they jumped back with the captains approached.

“Always a pleasure, sir, always a pleasure,” Mannington said, turning to shake Hollee’s hand.

“Likewise, sir.” Hollee returned the handshake cordially. He had no real complaints about Mannington’s conduct, it was just this Navy policy of stopping any ship that caught their fancy which rankled. Mannington was genial enough, he was, after all, just following orders. The older man held onto Hollee’s hand a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary. He smiled into Hollee’s face, but his smile bore a hint of sadness that Hollee could not account for. Then he let go and swung himself over the rail. The lieutenant followed hastily.

“Well!” Hollee said as he watched the boat row away back toward the Boreas. “What do you suppose that was alhttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.italic.gifl about?” John had come up on deck and was mopping his head with a red kerchief. “He seemed powerfully distracted.”

The crew seemed to be in a state of some excitement. Pratt stepped forward. “Well, sir, we’ve just had a bit of news—it seems that Captain Mannington has been recalled to England, sir!”

Hollee smiled. “That would explain quite a lot. Did your, er, informers say why?”

“No sir, no one seems to know, sir. But they’d bet it’s because he ain’t enforcing the Navigation Acts, sir.”

Hollee’s smile faded. That would just be it, that would be the exact reason. Damme the English and their acts, their taxes. Hollee was sorry for the old captain—being called back to England to be raked over the coals by the Admiralty was not something he would look forward to, but he could not help wonder in the back of his head just how much higher his bribes would be for the next captain. Every Naval man sent here would take an oath of loyalty and swear to uphold the King’s laws—but every man could be bought, after all. Mannington’s price had been comparatively low. No, damme the English for their acts, their taxes, and now this new worry.

The port at Nevis was wide and deep—a merchant’s port, not easily defended. Ships could come and go twenty abreast if they needed to, and all manner of docks and rafts stuck out into the water, like tendrils of the land seeking for new footholds. As the Windsong approached, the breeze that had been carrying them forward slowed, so they edged into the still waters with barely any headway at all. This gave every man and boy ashore with a pair of eyes time to pick out the Windsong’s shape and colors, and they all remarked to one another what a tidy ship she was and wondered out loud what sort of cargo she might be carrying.

“Look lively now!” barked John. “Mr. Pratt! Mr. Campbell! Let’s have those mainsails up and make ready to take in the topsails. Mr. Richards! Be ready with that rope there.”

They glided into the dockyards where a dozen pairs of hands reached eagerly for the Windsong’s ropes. Hollee watched critically as his crew scurried around the ship. No one would be able to say they made a bad job of it, but then again, the wind had been very low. All in all, a very tidy job of it. The ropes which anchored them to the dock were double-checked, and a gangway was slid across. Already women were calling to the men, and boys were jostling with one another, singing the praises of this or that establishment.

The men were on deck, grinning at one another as John brought out his small table with it’s locked box and his ledger. Hollee turned to address them.

“I intend to make sail in a week’s time, and if any of you should care to join me, then I expect to see you no later than nine am. We shall try to catch the morning’s tide.” Hollee had checked his tide table the night before. “I thank you all very much for your hard work, and now if you will please form an orderly rabble—I think Mr. Waggs has something for you.”

The men queued up for John, and Hollee spotted the harbourmaster coming down the dock towards them. The man looked slightly ridiculous, puffing away under a grey wig and straw boater, a mangy dog at his heels.

“Mr. Lamb, how good to see you again,” Hollee said, tipping his hat. Lamb returned the gesture, managing to wipe off his steaming forehead in the process.

“La, it’s hot, Bell, my God. Can’t you dock at a more acceptable hour?”

“And here I thought I was to be congratulated on the speed of my voyage.”

Mr. Lamb looked at Hollee reproachfully. “I wouldn’t look so smug if I were you—you’re the fourth vessel to pull in today, and one was a Navy job, ship of the line, bless my soul, fresh from England. Of course, there’s no telling them anything, no sir, it’s how’s you do and we’ll have all your best water casks, thank you very much. I tell you, Bell, it’s a sad business, a sad business.” Mr. Lamb’s large eyes looked up at Hollee, watery and grave. “When a navy ship—a king’s ship—has no respect for a fellow servant of the law, why then, Mr. Hollee, I declare, we’re no better than the colonists, that is, I mean to say, the Americans, that is—anarchy, Bell, is what I mean to say, without respect we’re two steps away from anarchy!”

Mr. Lamb looked quite pleased with himself, and Hollee suspected the man had been working on that speech all morning. Behind him the men were exiting the ship, some of them calling out “good-bye, captain!” with a respectful tip of a hat. Hollee nodded in return, knowing most of them would be back.

“Well, this should cheer you up, Mr. Lamb, I intend to stay for a week, so there’s no need to trouble yourself on my account.” And indeed, Lamb looked happier at the thought, and happier still when Hollee handed over enough coins to cover the cost of their stay. “I have six barrels that need to come out, but I must see Mr. Maccaby first.”

“The last ship what came through here was carrying horseshoes and roofing nails. As if we don’t have our own bloody horseshoes,” Lamb exhaled heavily. His dog was sniffing around Hollee’s ship, and he was watching the thin creature sharply. If it gave the slightest inclination of blessing the deck, Hollee would have it over the side in an instant. “Beg pardon, sir,” Lamb said a beat later. He wiped his head again.

“That’s all in order then. I shall see Mr. Maccaby and be back within the hour, I daresay.”

“Very good, Bell. I’ll come with you. Hoy! Ripper! Give over there!” Mr. Lamb went to intercept his dog.

“John, I’m going ashore. I’ll be back within the hour. You don’t mind staying awhile, do you?”

“Not at all sir,” John said, shutting his little box.

“I thought I might invite you to the Anchor and Crown for supper, if you don’t have any other plans,” Hollee added.

“Can’t say as I have. I’ll look forward to joining you then.” John had queer ideas about food—he refused to eat meat unless there was no other alternative. The Anchor and Crown—or, more specifically, it’s proprietress—was one of the few places that would indulge his strange tendencies. As if reading his mind, John grinned. “I daresay Queenie will be glad to see you.”

“And you as well, I shouldn’t wonder,” Bell grinned back. Mr. Lamb had chased his dog off the Windsong and now stood expectantly on the dock. “’til then, John.”

John picked up his table and moved back into the cabin as Holle joined Mr. Lamb.

“There she is sir—can you see her? Bloody great ship of the line, seventy-four guns or I miss my guess…” Mr. Lamb pointed, and they set up the dock towards dry land.

Nigel Maccaby was Bell Hollee’s “man of business” on Nevis—a staid businessman who bought and sold goods off of ships, and who also looked after Hollee’s money while the captain was away on long voyages. Maccaby and Brevis had been responsible for loaning the original Hollee his startup funds, and even though both Brevis and Hollee the elder were dead, Maccaby and Bell saw no reason to dissolve the partnership. Hollee walked briskly down the street, in between overhanging signs, dodging children and pigs. The sun had passed its zenith several hours before, but was still hot, even though shadows were edging out from where they had been hiding all day.

When Hollee entered the door of the modest warehouse, he was confronted by a small counter. No one was immediately evident, so he rapped once, calling for Mr. Maccaby. A faint voice entreated him to come around the back, so he moved through the front room and into the warehouse. Bales of goods were stacked up, barrels and crates, some of them prised open, some of them still shut like an oyster keeping a secret. Maccaby was standing over a bale of fabric while his two clerks broke it open, holding up lengths of satins and silks for his inspection. He nodded approvingly.

“Now, if there’s no moths in these, they’ll fetch a fair fortune. Hollee!” he said, smiling more broadly. “Good to see you, man. Tell me, have you ever seen such a red in all your life?”

The perspiring clerk held up a silk the colour of a parrot. “It is exquisite,” Bell acknowledged.

Maccaby hopped off the bale he had been standing on. A thin man with a colorless face, he wore grey breeches and an off-white shirt. The effect only made him stand out the more as he moved in front of the jewel-bright fabrics toward Hollee.

“Upon my word, you make your trips faster every time. It’s good to see you, my lad. Now tell me what you’ve brought for us.”

“Six barrels from Charleston,” Hollee said as they moved into Maccaby’s office, which was tucked into a corner. “Tobacco. I had more, but they snapped it up at St. Kitt’s.”

“And that’s all?”

Hollee nodded. “I had uncommon good luck trading along the coast. John can show you the books—we’ve turned a fair profit on this voyage.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Maccaby said, pulling is own ledger toward him. It was covered in green leather, and was rather larger than any ledger Hollee had ever seen. “Well now. Tobacco…oh, yes…” He quoted a figure at Hollee and they haggled good naturedly about the price for a few minutes, before settling on an amount. Mr. Maccaby made a mark in his huge green ledger and then pulled a smaller black ledger off the shelf behind him. In it was a list of figures concerning Hollee’s personal fortune. He copied the amount he had just subtracted from the green ledger into the smaller black one, and added the new figure in.

“You know, “ he said, as he pushed the book across the table toward Hollee so the young man could inspect it, “you really ought to consider investing some of your money. I know I offer you a fair per cent here, but you could do much better if you thought to buy some bonds or stocks. Or an investment of real estate, perhaps? You could practically build a house with this amount.”

“I have no wish to have a house empty save for a few servants who spend their days polishing silver that never gets used,” Hollee said. “The Windsong is my home.”

“Then perhaps another ship?” Maccaby said. “Has the idea ever crossed your mind to expand your business? I know several good men who would be more than happy to sail for you, and if you had twice the ships, why, you’d be transporting twice the merchandise. Or a larger ship, even. If you traded the Windsong, you could get a ship twice as large for a song.”

Hollee smiled. “I don’t think you understand a captain’s attachment to his ship, sir. As to getting a second one—well, I can think of no one off the top of my head who I’d trust at her helm. If only John Waggs were thirty years younger, I’d do it in a second and put him charge without a second thought. And a larger ship—why, I’d only have to pay twice the taxes.” Hollee sat forward, attentively. “Maccaby, that reminds me. I’ve heard that Mannington is to be sent back to England, is this true? Have you heard anything?”

“Oh, it’s true all right. The Navy apparently thinks we’re getting a little too complacent in circumnavigating the Navigation Acts.” Maccaby spoke with the tone of one who was unconcerned about the fact that everything in his warehouse would be considered contraband goods. “Happened quite suddenly. One day the packet arrives with his orders to prepare to return to England, two days later the Temeraire arrives with his replacement. Quite shocking, really. He’s lived here twenty years! How he’s going to pack up and return to England I shall never know. I wouldn’t be surprised if he retires his commission, comes to live here. He’s put away a fair bit, wouldn’t you say?” He winked. Hollee thought about how much larger the numbers in the black ledger would be if he hadn’t had to pay Mannington every time he sailed past Nevis.

The Navigation Acts had been a fact of his life ever since the War for American Independence had ended four years previously. During the war Hollee had spent most of his time trading back and forth between the islands of the West Indies, with occasional jaunts to England, trying to avoid the bulk of fighting altogether. Only once had they made a dash into Baltimore, and that on a special request. The truth was, Hollee could have bought a larger ship and traded more profitably between America and, say, France or Holland, but he liked the compactness and familiarity of the Windsong, he liked the beauty and tranquilty of the West Indies. There was no reason why he couldn’t go along as he had until the time came for him to retire. Even then he secretly wished that he would drop on the deck just as old Hollee had. And so he had agreed to the sordid necessity of bribery, the only dishonest practice he engaged in. Even that did not rankle him so much as the fact that bribery was now a necessity whereas before he had been perfectly free to ply the same routes free from harassment.

“I must withdraw a small sum—there are stores to be bought, and I think I would feel better if we replaced the topsail before it splits down the middle—but there’s no great hurry,” Hollee said. “I intend to stay here for a week. May I engage you to take supper with sometime in the next few days?”

“Certainly, sir, I should like nothing better!” said Mr. Maccaby amicably. They rose and shook hands, exchanging pleasantries, and Hollee exited out into the street once more.

I must see about supper, Hollee mused, and then perhaps I shall return to the Windsong. Campbell’s impromptu bathing had put him in a mind to have a wash himself before eating, and with the ship safely docked he could do so unmolested. So caught up in his small thoughts was he that he did not notice the open carriage until it was nearly upon him.

“I say, man, look out!” a voice called sharply and Bell pulled up, alarmed. A neat black carriage, open to the sun had stopped in front of him. The man who had shouted was seated in the back, his face protected from the sun by a wide hat. Next to him sat a young lady of perhaps sixteen, peering out from a froth of lace and bonnets. Hollee’s hat was in his hands before he even registered that the carriage carried another passenger—passengers, actually—and he gave a low bow. The man recognised him and smiled. "Why, Mr. Hollee, we did not know you."

“President Herbert, Miss Herbert,” he said. He inclined toward the lady sitting in the front of the carriage, “Mrs. Nisbet, forgive me, I did not see you there.”

“What a splendid surprise,” Herbert said. He was the president of the island, appointed by royal decree, and the mantle of his station sat upon him visibly even when, like today, he was dressed fairly casually. Miss Herbert—Mary—was his daughter. She was a coquettish, smiling woman, hiding her head beneath her parasol as she flashed her perfect teeth at Hollee. Hollee, however, had eyes only for the slim figure sitting across from them with her back to the driver. Herbert was carrying on, “Frances was just talking about you the other day, weren’t you, Frances? Saying that it had been far too long since we’ve seen you. And I daresay it has been.” As one of Nevis’ most successful merchants, Hollee enjoyed a felicitious relationship with it’s president—a relationship that would not have been so cordial had the strict class lines of England held sway here, or if Hollee had not been quite so successful.

Fanny Nisbet was President Herbert’s niece. She had married a doctor and gone off to England to live, only to return two years later, her husband dead, a small son in tow. Josiah was with them now, peering over the side of the carriage interestedly as his mother patted his soft curls. Hollee forced himself to give the child a smile. He did not especially care for children, but Josiah was less disagreeable than most. Although she would not be considered beautiful by many people—especially sitting so close to her vivacious cousin--Fanny had a sort of Roman beauty, her grey eyes solemn and thoughtful, her brown hair capped tightly under a straw bonnet. The yards of fabric which made up her dress were a sedate rose color, much easier on the eyes than the screaming red Maccaby had been so proud of a half hour earlier.

“And what brings you into the center of town today, sir?” Hollee said, replacing his hat on his head. “It is quite hot, is it not?”

“I did not think so, sir, until we ventured down here. It’s quite cool up at our house, we enjoy a healthy breeze off the sea. The same breeze that brought you in, I daresay. No, the king has sent us a new man—have you heard? A young captain to take over the Boreas, to enforce the king’s laws. Poor Mannington,” he went on, scowling, “One can’t help but feel he brought it on himself. Perhaps it’s all for the best.” Herbert made it perfectly clear that he was all for abiding the king’s rules, although perhaps, as President, there was more leeway for him than anyone else. “We have come down to the quay to see if this new captain would do us the honor of being our guest tonight at a small party. Would you care to join us?”

The invitation had come so quickly that Hollee did not register it at first. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Oh, do,” Fanny said, speaking for the first time. “It will be dreadfully boring, I am afraid, only Navy men and their wives, we should very much like to hear your stories about the pirates you’ve encountered.”

“But my dear Mrs. Nisbet,” Hollee said with a faint smile, “You’ve heard all my stories already—you could probably recite them better than I could.”

“Yes, do come,” Herbert said, leaning across his daughter, “I’m sure the new man will want to meet as many of our local merchants as possible—better to meet on neutral ground now, eh?” Herbert laughed genially, never suspecting for a moment that Hollee was not as law-abiding as he seemed.

“I meant to dine at the Anchor and Crown tonight with my man,” Hollee said slowly, “I suppose I could ask him if he could do without me for one night. I shall see.”
“You don’t need his permission, do you, come on now,” Herbert said.

Fanny leaned over and smiled, almost apologizing for her uncle’s behavior, for Hollee had visibly stiffened at this slur against John. “John will understand. Please come. It would be so nice to have a good long chat with you again.”

“Well, then, I…I suppose I can but accept. Yes. thank you very much, Mr. Herbert, I will join you tonight.”

“Splendid! Eight o’clock then—we shall be looking for you!”

“And don’t listen to uncle,” Fanny added quickly, “It’s won’t be a small party, whatever he says, so be sure to wear your silk stockings!” This last was called out to him, for the carriage had begun to rattle down the street. Fanny raised her hand in a small salute to him, and Hollee lifted his hat again, watching her move away from him.

What a funny man, Fanny ruminated, her hand automatically stopping Josiah from tumbling out of the carriage. Taller than most men, he had an odd way of standing with his shoulders cocked forward so that, even though he was ramrod straight, he gave the appearance of slouching. He carried his head proudly, his manners almost too formal for old friends such as they. Fanny had first met Hollee when the latter had called on her uncle, interceding on behalf of a sailor who had been about to be thrown out of his house for failing to pay taxes. A great deal of money had changed hands, Fanny was sure, but in the end the man had been able to keep his house, and Herbert had been quietly impressed by the determination of this bright young man. Fanny had been newly a widow then, wandering about her uncle’s house with little to keep her distracted from her grief. Hollee had begged the pleasure of her company after finding her alone in the garden, and they had taken a quiet tea together. He had done most of the talking, describing his ship, his travels. Fanny had only ever been on a ship twice in her life—once on her way to England, a new bride, once on her way back, bereaved—but she had loved the feel of the ocean under her feet, the snapping sails. Hollee had a way of speaking that captured that sensation perfectly, so that they passed many hours together. Since then, whenever he had put in to Nevis he had made it a point to come and see her, and their friendship had grown and strengthened.

“What an odd fellow,” Herbert said, mimicking Fanny’s thoughts. She frowned though, for she did not like to hear her uncle speak ill of Hollee. “A good sailor but—quiet, isn’t he?”

“Very quiet, Father,” Mary piped up. Her hand was snuggled into the crook of her father’s arm, and Fanny felt suddenly lonely.

Hollee had watched the carriage disappear around a corner before turning and walking again. He did not particularly wish to attend a party at Mr. Herbert’s plantation house—a house barely eight years old and beautiful and wide open—he would prefer a quiet night with John. Or a quiet afternoon with Fanny, he reflected, but they would barely have a chance to talk at a party. She would be required to perform some duties as the niece of the host, and he could not hope to know anyone else there.

Then there was the matter of her final comment. Silk stockings. Hollee frowned. What use had he for silk stockings? He regarded his own outfit—his “uniform,” as he referred to it. His plain brown trousers, green waistcoat and wine-coloured coat had served him very well for the past several years, and unless there was a great upheaval in the very near future, he could see no reason to change it. The wine coat was particularly nice, he thought, an elegant compromise between the drab brown most merchants wore and the bright patterns of plantation owners and landsmen. Hollee had been forced to buy it after his last coat (a drab brown, come to that) had been irreparably ripped during a storm. And Fanny had liked it. She complimented him on it when he had presented himself the next time, saying that it set off his brown hair and eyes nicely. Hollee frowned again. Well—if she wanted him in silk stockings, he would have another stop to make. He turned down a side street, heading for a haberdashery he knew.

“John,” Bell Hollee said an hour later, stumping over the gangway onto the Windsong. “I hope you can forgive me, I’ve accepted an invitation to dine with at President Herbert’s home tonight. Apparently he is feting the new captain and thought I might provide some amusement, a distraction from Naval matters. I’m afraid I shall have to postpone our dinner.”

“’Tis no matter to me, sir,” John said sagely, “I shall dine at the A&C whether you are there or not—and I’ll give Queenie your love as well, whether you will or no. What’s in the package?”

“Silk stockings,” Hollee said shortly.

“Bless me, sounds like quite an affair,” John said, hiding a smile.

“I’m sure Herbert is anxious to make a good impression. After all, this man is newly from England, and we are but a small tropical colony, I’m sure he wishes to impress on him that we are just as civilized as any society house in London. By the by, I saw Mr. Maccoby, and he seems to think Mannington was sent off because he was not enforcing the Acts as stringently as he could. I am a little concerned what this new man will do to our overhead,” Hollee said, “As I’m sure you are. Perhaps we should think about upgrading the Windsong and trading between Europe and the Americas? I know the Song can make it, but I wouldn’t like to do it any more than I have to, and I dearly hate a convoy. What do you think?”

“It’s a possibility,” allowed John, “but perhaps you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself?”

“That could very well be. Maccaby has my head all turned around with ideas of investing in something. Well, I shall meet the man tonight and try to make an assessment of him. After all, I wouldn’t want to go skipping off to France if I didn’t need to.”

“Just so, sir.”

Hollee felt the presence of his first mate comforting. “Would you be so good as to fetch me a bucket or two of water? I’ve a mind to wash before tonight’s party. Oh and John, may I borrow your new green coat?”

“My new coat, sir?”

“Yes, the green one.”

“The one I bought in Carolina? It’s two years old, Bell.”

“Yes, well, you’ve never worn it, it will be like new, won’t it?” Hollee said, a trifle testily. “And Fanny won’t have seen it, she’ll think I did as she asked and put my best foot forward.” Hollee could have bitten off his tongue at that last statement. John smiled as the reason behind the new stockings and sudden need to bathe became clear.

“Very good, sir,” John said, “water it is. Oh—and you may want to stick your head down the hatchway there and have a yell at Pritchard. He hasn’t left the ship, he’s afraid you’re still angry with him.”

John moved away to get a bucket of water, and Hollee did as he asked. He went halfway down the steps leading to the lower deck, peering into the gloom. Pritchard was tucked up in the bow, the ship’s cat asleep on his lap.

“Pritchard, for God’s sake, take some leave,” Hollee said.”

“Yes sir, thank you, sir,” Pritchard stood quickly, upending the cat. “I didn’t want to upset you more, sir. I’ll see you in a week then?”

“Yes, thank you.” Hollee stood aside as the man went up on the deck. He may have stayed on the ship in an attitude of penitence, but he had also prepared to go ashore while he was waiting, for he was now wearing his best vest and a strong odor of cologne.

“Have a pleasant time at your party tonight, captain!” Pritchard called cheekily as he scampered over the gangway. Hollee stared after him, annoyed. Now every man aboard his ship would think that he was dressing up for Mrs. Nisbet, which wasn’t the case at all. Like President Herbert, he was simply determined not to embarrass Nevis. That was all.

In his cabin, John had poured water into the basin beneath the faded mirror and left the rest of the bucketful alongside the small cabinet that held his necessities. Hollee scrubbed at his face with a small cloth, eyeing his reflection. He had a narrow face, tall cheekbones and a longish nose which had a tendency to stick in the air if he wasn’t careful. His brown eyes were the exact same shade as his brown hair, which he now loosed from its queue and brushed out. It reached to below his shoulder blades, a glossy brown that might have elicited looks of jealousy from women, had he ever worn it loose in their company. He hated wigs, but could not tolerate the smallest wisp of hair in his eyes. He gave one last brush and then reached for the horn jar of grease and began to apply it mechanically to his hair. When this was done, he braided it and bound it back it its long black ribbon. Then he undressed, rubbing the wet cloth over the rest of his body. His face and hands were tanned from their long exposure in the sun, but the color ended sharply at his wrists and neck, the rest of his body pale from being hidden beneath layers of clothes. He had no fresh linens, so he put his dirty shirt and breeches back on, but instead of his brown stockings, on went the white stockings, their newness and cleanness shocking in the gloom.

From underneath his small bunk he pulled a small chest and opened it. Inside was a collection of clothes and a jumble of journals, quills, odd souveniers he had collected from his travels. Near the top was a parcel wrapped in crinkly paper. He pulled it out and opened it. It was a cream-coloured waistcoat worked over with small blue flowers. For some unknowable reason, he had bought it the last time they were in Charleston and then—embarrassed by his extravagance—had buried it immediately in his trunk. But it was just the thing for Fanny—just the thing for the party tonight. He put it on.

John knocked at the door and came in, carrying his green coat. Two years out of fashion, to be sure, but still clean and new, as Hollee had known it would be. John eyed his captain critically, his face reflecting some deep inner disturbance. His eyes were green, not like the color of water which warns about shallows, but rich green like the pine trees on the coast of New Jersey. He nodded gruffly at Hollee’s outfit as the captain spread his arms helplessly. John brushed the coat with Hollee’s brush as Hollee worked on his neckcloth. He tied it three times before it was satisfactory and then slipped into John’s coat. John had been bigger when he had bought it, and it was only slightly too short for Hollee. He didn’t think anyone would notice. He gave one last tug at his neck, then turned to face his first mate.

“Well then. Off I go.”

1.2

2008-02-10T20:58:00.000Z

Mannington flipped through the pages perfunctorily, briskly efficient. Hollee waited until the noises ceased, then turned back around. The senior captain was in the act of removing his hand from his breast pocket. “Would you like to go below and inspect the cargo, sir?” Hollee asked politely.

“No, no, there’s no need. Everything seems to be in order. Salt herring, eh?” he said, winking. “Nevis does seem to be terribly fond of salt herring. Well, that’s all in order then. You run a tight ship, Hollee, a tight ship. The Navy would approve of you!” Hollee inclined his head, forcing a nod. I could do with less approval, he thought sourly, if it meant leaving my ship unmolested.

They walked back onto the deck, where the lieutenant was still standing by the railing, trying and failing to look bored and disinterested. Several of the Windies were leaning over the side and conversing with the sailors from the Boreas, they jumped back with the captains approached.

“Always a pleasure, sir, always a pleasure,” Mannington said, turning to shake Hollee’s hand.

“Likewise, sir.” Hollee returned the handshake cordially. He had no real complaints about Mannington’s conduct, it was just this Navy policy of stopping any ship that caught their fancy which rankled. Mannington was genial enough, he was, after all, just following orders. The older man held onto Hollee’s hand a few seconds longer than was strictly necessary. He smiled into Hollee’s face, but his smile bore a hint of sadness that Hollee could not account for. Then he let go and swung himself over the rail. The lieutenant followed hastily.

“Well!” Hollee said as he watched the boat row away back toward the Boreas. “What do you suppose that was all about?” John had come up on deck and was mopping his head with a red kerchief. “He seemed powerfully distracted.”

The crew seemed to be in a state of some excitement. Pratt stepped forward. “Well, sir, we’ve just had a bit of news—it seems that Captain Mannington has been recalled to England, sir!”

Hollee smiled. “That would explain quite a lot. Did your, er, informers say why?”
“No sir, no one seems to know, sir. But they’d bet it’s because he ain’t enforcing the Navigation Acts, sir.”

Hollee’s smile faded. That would just be it, that would be the exact reason. Damme the English and their acts, their taxes. Hollee was sorry for the old captain—being called back to England to be raked over the coals by the Admiralty was not something he would look forward to, but he could not help wonder in the back of his head just how much higher his bribes would be for the next captain. Every Naval man sent here would take an oath of loyalty and swear to uphold the King’s laws—but every man could be bought, after all. Mannington’s price had been comparatively low. No, damme the English for their acts, their taxes, and now this new worry.

The port at Nevis was wide and deep—a merchant’s port, not easily defended. Ships could come and go twenty abreast if they needed to, and all manner of docks and rafts stuck out into the water, like tendrils of the land seeking for new footholds. As the Windsong approached, the breeze that had been carrying them forward slowed, so they edged into the still waters with barely any headway at all. This gave every man and boy with a pair of eyes time to pick out the Windsong’s shape and colors, and they all remarked to one another what a tidy ship she was and wondered out loud what sort of cargo she might be carrying.

“Look lively now!” barked John. “Mr. Pratt! Mr. Campbell! Let’s have those mainsails up and make ready to take in the topsails. Mr. Richards! Be ready with that rope there.”

They glided into the dockyards where a dozen pairs of hands reached eagerly for the Windsong’s ropes. Hollee watched critically as his crew scurried around the ship. No one would be able to say they made a bad job of it, but then again, the wind had been very low. All in all, a very tidy job of it. The ropes which anchored them to the dock were double-checked, and a gangway was slid across. Already women were calling to the men, and boys were jostling with one another, singing the praises of this or that establishment.

The men were on deck, grinning at one another as John brought out his small table with it’s locked box and his ledger. Hollee turned to address them.

“I intend to make sail in a week’s time, and if any of you should care to join me, then I expect to see you no later than nine am. We shall try to catch the morning’s tide.” Hollee had checked his tide table the night before. “I thank you all very much for your hard work, and now if you will please form an orderly rabble—I think Mr. Waggs has something for you.”

The men queued up for John, and Hollee spotted the harbourmaster coming down the dock towards them. The man looked slightly ridiculous, puffing away under a grey wig and straw boater, a mangy dog at his heels.

“Mr. Lamb, how good to see you again,” Hollee said, tipping his hat. Lamb returned the gesture, managing to wipe off his steaming forehead in the process.

“La, it’s hot, Bell, my God. Can’t you dock at a more acceptable hour?”

“And here I thought I was to be congratulated on the speed of my voyage.”

Mr. Lamb looked at Hollee reproachfully. “I wouldn’t look so smug if I were you—you’re the fourth vessel to pull in today, and one was a Navy job, ship of the line, bless my soul, fresh from England. Of course, there’s no telling them anything, no sir, it’s how’s you do and we’ll have all your best water casks, thank you very much. I tell you, Bell, it’s a sad business, a sad business.” Mr. Lamb’s large eyes looked up at Hollee, watery and grave. “When a navy ship—a king’s ship—has no respect for a fellow servant of the law, why then, Mr. Hollee, I declare, we’re no better than the colonists, that is, I mean to say, the Americans, that is—anarchy, Bell, is what I mean to say, without respect we’re two steps away from anarchy!”

Mr. Lamb looked quite pleased with himself, and Hollee suspected the man had been working on that speech all morning. Behind him the men were exiting the ship, some of them calling out “good-bye, captain!” with a respectful tip of a hat. Hollee nodded in return, knowing most of them would be back.

“Well, this should cheer you up, Mr. Lamb, I intend to stay for a week, so there’s no need to trouble yourself on my account.” And indeed, Lamb looked happier at the thought, and happier still when Hollee handed over enough coins to cover the cost of their stay. “I have six barrels that need to come out, but I must see Mr. Maccaby first.”

“The last ship what came through here was carrying horseshoes and roofing nails. As if we don’t have our own bloody horseshoes,” Lamb exhaled heavily. His dog was sniffing around Hollee’s ship, and he was watching the thin creature sharply. If it gave the slightest inclination of blessing the deck, Hollee would have it over the side in an instant. “Beg pardon, sir,” Lamb said a beat later. He wiped his head again.

“That’s all in order then. I shall see Mr. Maccaby and be back within the hour, I daresay.”

“Very good, Bell. I’ll come with you. Hoy! Ripper! Give over there!” Mr. Lamb went to intercept his dog.

“John, I’m going ashore. I’ll be back within the hour. You don’t mind staying awhile, do you?”

“Not at all sir,” John said, shutting his little box.

“I thought I might invite you to the Anchor and Crown for supper, if you don’t have any other plans,” Hollee added.

“Can’t say as I have. I’ll look forward to joining you then.” John had queer ideas about food—he refused to eat meat unless there was no other alternative. The Anchor and Crown—or, more specifically, it’s proprietress—was one of the few places that would indulge his strange tendencies. As if reading his mind, John grinned. “I daresay Queenie will be glad to see you.”

“And you as well, I shouldn’t wonder,” Bell grinned back. Mr. Lamb had chased his dog off the Windsong and now stood expectantly on the dock. “’til then, John.”

John picked up his table and moved back into the cabin as Holle joined Mr. Lamb.

“There she is sir—can you see her? Bloody great ship of the line, seventy-four guns or I miss my guess…” Mr. Lamb pointed, and they set up the dock towards dry land.

Nigel Maccaby was Bell Hollee’s “man of business” on Nevis—a staid businessman who bought and sold goods off of ships, and who also looked after Hollee’s money while the captain was away on long voyages. Maccaby and Brevis had been responsible for loaning the original Hollee his startup funds, and even though both Brevis and Hollee the elder were dead, Maccaby and Bell saw no reason to dissolve the partnership. Hollee walked briskly down the street, in between overhanging signs, dodging children and pigs. The sun had passed its zenith several hours before, but was still hot, even though shadows were edging out from where they had been hiding all day.

When Hollee entered the door of the modest warehouse, he was confronted by a small counter. No one was immediately evident, so he rapped once, calling for Mr. Maccaby. A faint voice entreated him to come around the back, so he moved through the front room and into the warehouse. Bales of goods were stacked up, barrels and crates, some of them prised open, some of them still shut like an oyster keeping a secret. Maccaby was standing over a bale of fabric while his two clerks broke it open, holding up lengths of satins and silks for his inspection. He nodded approvingly.

“Now, if there’s no moths in these, they’ll fetch a fair fortune. Hollee!” he said, smiling more broadly. “Good to see you, man. Tell me, have you ever seen such a red in all your life?”

The perspiring clerk held up a silk the colour of a parrot. “It is exquisite,” Bell acknowledged.

Maccaby hopped off the bale he had been standing on. A thin man with a colorless face, he wore grey breeches and an off-white shirt. The effect only made him stand out the more as he moved in front of the jewel-bright fabrics toward Hollee.

“Upon my word, you make your trips faster every time. It’s good to see you, my lad. Now tell me what you’ve brought for us.”

“Six barrels from Charleston,” Hollee said as they moved into Maccaby’s office, which was tucked into a corner. “Tobacco. I had more, but they snapped it up at St. Kitt’s.”

“And that’s all?”

Hollee nodded. “I had uncommon good luck trading along the coast. John can show you the books—we’ve turned a fair profit on this voyage.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Maccaby said, pulling is own ledger toward him. It was covered in green leather, and was rather larger than any ledger Hollee had ever seen. “Well now. Tobacco…oh, yes…” He quoted a figure at Hollee and they haggled good naturedly about the price for a few minutes, before settling on an amount. Mr. Maccaby made a mark in his huge green ledger and then pulled a smaller black ledger off the shelf behind him. In it was a list of figures concerning Hollee’s personal fortune. He copied the amount he had just subtracted from the green ledger into the smaller black one, and added the new figure in.

“You know, “ he said, as he pushed the book across the table toward Hollee so the young man could inspect it, “you really ought to consider investing some of your money. I know I offer you a fair per cent here, but you could do much better if you thought to buy some bonds or stocks. Or an investment of real estate, perhaps? You could practically build a house with this amount.”

“I have no wish to have a house empty save for a few servants who spend their days polishing silver that never gets used,” Hollee said. “The Windsong is my home.”

“Then perhaps another ship?” Maccaby said. “Has the idea ever crossed your mind to expand your business? I know several good men who would be more than happy to sail for you, and if you had twice the ships, why, you’d be transporting twice the merchandise. Or a larger ship, even. If you traded the Windsong, you could get a ship twice as large for a song.”

Hollee smiled. “I don’t think you understand a captain’s attachment to his ship, sir. As to getting a second one—well, I can think of no one off the top of my head who I’d trust at her helm. If only John Waggs were thirty years younger, I’d do it in a second and put him charge without a second thought. And a larger ship—why, I’d only have to pay twice the taxes.” Hollee sat forward, attentively. “Maccaby, that reminds me. I’ve heard that Mannington is to be sent back to England, is this true? Have you heard anything?”

“Oh, it’s true all right. The Navy apparently thinks we’re getting a little too complacent in circumnavigating the Navigation Acts.” Maccaby spoke with the tone of one who was unconcerned about the fact that everything in his warehouse would be considered contraband goods. “Happened quite suddenly. One day the packet arrives with his orders to prepare to return to England, two days later the Temeraire arrives with his replacement. Quite shocking, really. He’s lived here twenty years! How he’s going to pack up and return to England I shall never know. I wouldn’t be surprised if he retires his commission, comes to live here. He’s put away a fair bit, wouldn’t you say?” He winked. Hollee thought about how much larger the numbers in the black ledger would be if he hadn’t had to pay Mannington every time he sailed past Nevis.

The Navigation Acts had been a fact of his life ever since the War for American Independence had ended four years previously. During the war Hollee had spent most of his time trading back and forth between the islands of the West Indies, with occasional jaunts to England, trying to avoid the bulk of fighting altogether. Only once had they made a dash into Baltimore, and that on a special request. The truth was, Hollee could have bought a larger ship and traded more profitably between America and, say, France or Holland, but he liked the compactness and familiarity of the Windsong, he liked the beauty and tranquilty of the West Indies. There was no reason why he couldn’t go along as he had until the time came for him to retire. Even then he secretly wished that he would drop on the deck just as old Hollee had. And so he had agreed to the sordid necessity of bribery, the only dishonest practice he engaged in. Even that did not rankle him so much as the fact that bribery was now a necessity whereas before he had been perfectly free to ply the same routes free from harassment.

“I must withdraw a small sum—there are stores to be bought, and I think I would feel better if we replaced the topsail before it splits down the middle—but there’s no great hurry,” Hollee said. “I intend to stay here for a week. May I engage you to take supper with sometime in the next few days?”

“Certainly, sir, I should like nothing better!” said Mr. Maccaby amicably. They rose and shook hands, exchanging pleasantries, and Hollee exited out into the street once more.

I must see about supper, Hollee mused, and then perhaps I shall return to the Windsong. Campbell’s impromptu bathing had put him in a mind to have a wash himself before eating, and with the ship safely docked he could do so unmolested. So caught up in his small thoughts was he that he did not notice the open carriage until it was nearly upon him.

“I say, man, look out!” a voice called sharply and Bell pulled up, alarmed. A neat black carriage, open to the sun had stopped in front of him. The man who had shouted was seated in the back, his face protected from the sun by a wide hat. Next to him sat a young lady of perhaps sixteen, peering out from a froth of lace and bonnets. Hollee’s hat was in his hands before he even registered that the carriage carried another passenger—passengers, actually—and he gave a low bow. The man recognised him and smiled. "Why, Mr. Hollee, we did not know you."

“President Herbert, Miss Herbert,” he said. He inclined toward the lady sitting in the front of the carriage, “Mrs. Nisbet, forgive me, I did not see you there.”

“What a splendid surprise,” Herbert said. He was the president of the island, appointed by royal decree, and the mantle of his station sat upon him visibly even when, like today, he was dressed fairly casually. Miss Herbert—Mary—was his daughter. She was a coquettish, smiling woman, hiding her head beneath her parasol as she flashed her perfect teeth at Hollee. Hollee, however, had eyes only for the slim figure sitting across from them with her back to the driver. Herbert was carrying on, “Frances was just talking about you the other day, weren’t you, Frances? Saying that it had been far too long since we’ve seen you. And I daresay it has been.” As one of Nevis’ most successful merchants, Hollee enjoyed a felicitious relationship with it’s president—a relationship that would not have been so cordial had the strict class lines of England held sway here, or if Hollee had not been quite so successful.

Fanny Nisbet was President Herbert’s niece. She had married a doctor and gone off to England to live, only to return two years later, her husband dead, a small son in tow. Josiah was with them now, peering over the side of the carriage interestedly as his mother patted his soft curls. Hollee forced himself to give the child a smile. He did not especially care for children, but Josiah was less disagreeable than most. Although she would not be considered beautiful by many people—especially sitting so close to her vivacious cousin--Fanny had a sort of Roman beauty, her grey eyes solemn and thoughtful, her brown hair capped tightly under a straw bonnet. The yards of fabric which made up her dress were a sedate rose color, much easier on the eyes than the screaming red Maccaby had been so proud of a half hour earlier.

“And what brings you into the center of town today, sir?” Hollee said, replacing his hat on his head. “It is quite hot, is it not?”

“I did not think so, sir, until we ventured down here. It’s quite cool up at our house, we enjoy a healthy breeze off the sea. The same breeze that brought you in, I daresay. No, the king has sent us a new man—have you heard? A young captain to take over the Boreas, to enforce the king’s laws. Poor Mannington,” he went on, scowling, “One can’t help but feel he brought it on himself. Perhaps it’s all for the best.” Herbert made it perfectly clear that he was all for abiding the king’s rules, although perhaps, as President, there was more leeway for him than anyone else. “We have come down to the quay to see if this new captain would do us the honor of being our guest tonight at a small party. Would you care to join us?”

The invitation had come so quickly that Hollee did not register it at first. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Oh, do,” Fanny said, speaking for the first time. “It will be dreadfully boring, I am afraid, only Navy men and their wives, we should very much like to hear your stories about the pirates you’ve encountered.”

“But my dear Mrs. Nisbet,” Hollee said with a faint smile, “You’ve heard all my stories already—you could probably recite them better than I could.”

“Yes, do come,” Herbert said, leaning across his daughter, “I’m sure the new man will want to meet as many of our local merchants as possible—better to meet on neutral ground now, eh?” Herbert laughed genially, never suspecting for a moment that Hollee was not as law-abiding as he seemed.

“I meant to dine at the Anchor and Crown tonight with my man,” Hollee said slowly, “I suppose I could ask him if he could do without me for one night. I shall see.”
“You don’t need his permission, do you, come on now,” Herbert said.

Fanny leaned over and smiled, almost apologizing for her uncle’s behavior, for Hollee had visibly stiffened at this slur against John. “John will understand. Please come. It would be so nice to have a good long chat with you again.”

“Well, then, I…I suppose I can but accept. Yes. thank you very much, Mr. Herbert, I will join you tonight.”

“Splendid! Eight o’clock then—we shall be looking for you!”

“And don’t listen to uncle,” Fanny added quickly, “It’s won’t be a small party, whatever he says, so be sure to wear your silk stockings!” This last was called out to him, for the carriage had begun to rattle down the street. Fanny raised her hand in a small salute to him, and Hollee lifted his hat again, watching her move away from him.

What a funny man, Fanny ruminated, her hand automatically stopping Josiah from tumbling out of the carriage. Taller than most men, he had an odd way of standing with his shoulders cocked forward so that, even though he was ramrod straight, he gave the appearance of slouching. He carried his head proudly, his manners almost too formal for old friends such as they. Fanny had first met Hollee when the latter had called on her uncle, interceding on behalf of a sailor who had been about to be thrown out of his house for failing to pay taxes. A great deal of money had changed hands, Fanny was sure, but in the end the man had been able to keep his house, and Herbert had been quietly impressed by the determination of this bright young man. Fanny had been newly a widow then, wandering about her uncle’s house with little to keep her distracted from her grief. Hollee had begged the pleasure of her company after finding her alone in the garden, and they had taken a quiet tea together. He had done most of the talking, describing his ship, his travels. Fanny had only ever been on a ship twice in her life—once on her way to England, a new bride, once on her way back, bereaved—but she had loved the feel of the ocean under her feet, the snapping sails. Hollee had a way of speaking that captured that sensation perfectly, so that they passed many hours together. Since then, whenever he had put in to Nevis he had made it a point to come and see her, and their friendship had grown and strengthened.

“What an odd fellow,” Herbert said, mimicking Fanny’s thoughts. She frowned though, for she did not like to hear her uncle speak ill of Hollee. “A good sailor but—quiet, isn’t he?”

“Very quiet, Father,” Mary piped up. Her hand was snuggled into the crook of her father’s arm, and Fanny felt suddenly lonely.

Hollee had watched the carriage disappear around a corner before turning and walking again. He did not particularly wish to attend a party at Mr. Herbert’s plantation house—a house barely eight years old and beautiful and wide open—he would prefer a quiet night with John. Or a quiet afternoon with Fanny, he reflected, but they would barely have a chance to talk at a party. She would be required to perform some duties as the niece of the host, and he could not hope to know anyone else there.

Then there was the matter of her final comment. Silk stockings. Hollee frowned. What use had he for silk stockings? He regarded his own outfit—his “uniform,” as he referred to it. His plain brown trousers, green waistcoat and wine-coloured coat had served him very well for the past several years, and unless there was a great upheaval in the very near future, he could see no reason to change it. The wine coat was particularly nice, he thought, an elegant compromise between the drab brown most merchants wore and the bright patterns of plantation owners and landsmen. Hollee had been forced to buy it after his last coat (a drab brown, come to that) had been irreparably ripped during a storm. And Fanny had liked it. She complimented him on it when he had presented himself the next time, saying that it set off his brown hair and eyes nicely. Hollee frowned again. Well—if she wanted him in silk stockings, he would have another stop to make. He turned down a side street, heading for a haberdashery he knew.

“John,” Bell Hollee said an hour later, stumping over the gangway onto the Windsong. “I hope you can forgive me, I’ve accepted an invitation to dine with at President Herbert’s home tonight. Apparently he is feting the new captain and thought I might provide some amusement, a distraction from Naval matters. I’m afraid I shall have to postpone our dinner.”

“’Tis no matter to me, sir,” John said sagely, “I shall dine at the A&C whether you are there or not—and I’ll give Queenie your love as well, whether you will or no. What’s in the package?”

“Silk stockings,” Hollee said shortly.

“Bless me, sounds like quite an affair,” John said, hiding a smile.

“I’m sure Herbert is anxious to make a good impression. After all, this man is newly from England, and we are but a small tropical colony, I’m sure he wishes to impress on him that we are just as civilized as any society house in London. By the by, I saw Mr. Maccoby, and he seems to think Mannington was sent off because he was not enforcing the Acts as stringently as he could. I am a little concerned what this new man will do to our overhead,” Hollee said, “As I’m sure you are. Perhaps we should think about upgrading the Windsong and trading between Europe and the Americas? I know the Song can make it, but I wouldn’t like to do it any more than I have to, and I dearly hate a convoy. What do you think?”

“It’s a possibility,” allowed John, “but perhaps you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself?”

“That could very well be. Maccaby has my head all turned around with ideas of investing in something. Well, I shall meet the man tonight and try to make an assessment of him. After all, I wouldn’t want to go skipping off to France if I didn’t need to.”

“Just so, sir.”

Hollee felt the presence of his first mate comforting. “Would you be so good as to fetch me a bucket or two of water? I’ve a mind to wash before tonight’s party. Oh and John, may I borrow your new green coat?”

“My new coat, sir?”

“Yes, the green one.”

“The one I bought in Carolina? It’s two years old, Bell.”

“Yes, well, you’ve never worn it, it will be like new, won’t it?” Hollee said, a trifle testily. “And Fanny won’t have seen it, she’ll think I did as she asked and put my best foot forward.” Hollee could have bitten off his tongue at that last statement. John smiled as the reason behind the new stockings and sudden need to bathe became clear.

“Very good, sir,” John said, “water it is. Oh—and you may want to stick your head down the hatchway there and have a yell at Pritchard. He hasn’t left the ship, he’s afraid you’re still angry with him.”

John moved away to get a bucket of water, and Hollee did as he asked. He went halfway down the steps leading to the lower deck, peering into the gloom. Pritchard was tucked up in the bow, the ship’s cat asleep on his lap.

“Pritchard, for God’s sake, take some leave,” Hollee said.”

“Yes sir, thank you, sir,” Pritchard stood quickly, upending the cat. “I didn’t want to upset you more, sir. I’ll see you in a week then?”

“Yes, thank you.” Hollee stood aside as the man went up on the deck. He may have stayed on the ship in an attitude of penitence, but he had also prepared to go ashore while he was waiting, for he was now wearing his best vest and a strong odor of cologne.

“Have a pleasant time at your party tonight, captain!” Pritchard called cheekily as he scampered over the gangway. Hollee stared after him, annoyed. Now every man aboard his ship would think that he was dressing up for Mrs. Nisbet, which wasn’t the case at all. Like President Herbert, he was simply determined not to embarrass Nevis. That was all.

In his cabin, John had poured water into the basin beneath the faded mirror and left the rest of the bucketful alongside the small cabinet that held his necessities. Hollee scrubbed at his face with a small cloth, eyeing his reflection. He had a narrow face, tall cheekbones and a longish nose which had a tendency to stick in the air if he wasn’t careful. His brown eyes were the exact same shade as his brown hair, which he now loosed from its queue and brushed out. It reached to below his shoulder blades, a glossy brown that might have elicited looks of jealousy from women, had he ever worn it loose in their company. He hated wigs, but could not tolerate the smallest wisp of hair in his eyes. He gave one last brush and then reached for the horn jar of grease and began to apply it mechanically to his hair. When this was done, he braided it and bound it back it its long black ribbon. Then he undressed, rubbing the wet cloth over the rest of his body. His face and hands were tanned from their long exposure in the sun, but the color ended sharply at his wrists and neck, the rest of his body pale from being hidden beneath layers of clothes. He had no fresh linens, so he put his dirty shirt and breeches back on, but instead of his brown stockings, on went the white stockings, their newness and cleanness shocking in the gloom.

From underneath his small bunk he pulled a small chest and opened it. Inside was a collection of clothes and a jumble of journals, quills, odd souveniers he had collected from his travels. Near the top was a parcel wrapped in crinkly paper. He pulled it out and opened it. It was a cream-coloured waistcoat worked over with small blue flowers. For some unknowable reason, he had bought it the last time they were in Charleston and then—embarrassed by his extravagance—had buried it immediately in his trunk. But it was just the thing for Fanny—just the thing for the party tonight. He put it on.

John knocked at the door and came in, carrying his green coat. Two years out of fashion, to be sure, but still clean and new, as Hollee had known it would be. John eyed his captain critically, his face reflecting some deep inner disturbance. His eyes were green, not like the color of water which warns about shallows, but rich green like the pine trees on the coast of New Jersey. He nodded gruffly at Hollee’s outfit as the captain spread his arms helplessly. John brushed the coat with Hollee’s brush as Hollee worked on his neckcloth. He tied it three times before it was satisfactory and then slipped into John’s coat. John had been bigger when he had bought it, and it was only slightly too short for Hollee. He didn’t think anyone would notice. He gave one last tug at his neck, then turned to face his first mate.

“Well then. Off I go.”

1.2

2008-02-10T05:53:00.000Z

Inside the cabin, John had closed the ledger and set out a packet of papers. Each was a certificate of landing for the cargo they had on board. The boxes, barrels and crates from the islands they had just visited would not be a problem, since they were all part of the British colonies, but the six barrels of tobacco remaining would. Since the American War for Independence had ended, Britain had forbidden her colonies to trade with the new rogue state, courtesy of the Navigation Act. As a loyal British subject, Bell could visit any of the thousands of British ports in the world, but it was so much easier (not to mention more familiar) to spend her time coasting between the Indies and the Americas. The fact that this was technically illegal had not overly bothered his conscience. It had been legal seven years ago, after all, and in the future it would no doubt be again. The merchants in Charleston were in on the game and had provided Bell with false papers claiming that the barrels down below were salt herring from Nova Scotia, but just in case that didn't work, there was also an envelope containing a sizeable bribe mixed in with the papers. Good breeding would not allow Bell to offer Mannington a fistful of guineas, but if the envelope was gone when he set the papers down, they could continue on their way, both satisfied that the appearance had been kept up.

Outside the window the world was blue. Blue skies, blue ocean, blue sunlight skipping through blue clouds. Bell watched the waves dash across the windows as Mannington ruffled through the papers briskly. John was smiling gamely. An observer would have taken the scene to be one of immense boredom and routine, but there was an undercurrent of tension, as there always was. Bell wished with all his might that it could have been any other way, but if he wanted to trade in Nevis--and they loved tobacco in Nevis--then Mannington would have his bribe, and they would continue on unmolested, cargo intact.

1.1

2008-02-09T02:00:00.000Z

The Captain turned his attention back to the green island in front of him, trying to recapture his former mood. Nevis was a small island tucked into the West Indies like an emerald dropped into the sapphire sea, a popular crossroads from merchants coming up from Brazil, west from Britain or north from America. A sailor had once remarked that “all islands are alike—if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all” but Hollee had a special fondness for Nevis. He had never known a proper home, but everytime he returned to the small island he relaxed.

They had been at sea for nearly two weeks, beginning in Charleston with a cargo of tobacco and had slowly worked their way down the islands, selling and trading for sugar, rum and any other material goods that Hollee thought might do well in America—a country starved for pretty things after seven years of war. He maintained a particularly good relationship with merchants up and down the eastern Atlantic due to his insistence on running a tight ship and his high level of personal integrity. The older men remembered the first Captain Hollee fondly and were eager to deal with his serious and honest nephew. The younger men were happy that he did not try to cheat them but accounted for every penny. And his crew was pleased to have a constant stream of work and a captain who did not belittle them too much—only if they deserved it.

The Windsong was not an exceptional flyer, but she made good time for a brig. The ship had originally been French—captured in a fight by the English navy, she had been burned almost to a hulk during the action. The original Captain Hollee had seen an investment and had bought it at auction for a song, refitted it and began his business in the West Indies. Because of her unfortunate beginnings there was always something awkward about her appearance, though she was sturdy enough. Her most unique feature was her six guns—very unusual for a merchant vessel. The four situated on either side of the waist were discovered under the wreckage of the decks after the auction—originally there had been five, but the fifth had exploded the first time the crew had fired it—and the bow and stern chasers were a present from a grateful silversmith who had sent the Windsong to England filled up to her decks with his wares. They had made it, but after hearing the stories of the pirates encountered along the way, the smith had purchased two small carronades as a present. That had meant much less than his continued business, so that even to this day the current Hollee often found himself making the occasional trip to England, laden to the waterline with silver.

There was nothing in the hold that wouldn’t keep for a few days, and Hollee had already determined to have a week off at Nevis. The crew were looking to it almost as much as he was—more so, if Pritchard’s actions were any indication—and at the thought he looked up into the yards. Several faces peered down at him, looking to see if he was still angry, and he gave them a half grin, indicating that he would not hold this episode against any of them. The ship relaxed, and talking started up again, snatches of laughter. Hollee turned and went into the captain’s cabin, remembering to duck as he did so.

“Everything all right?” he asked, smoothing his hair back into its queue. Sitting at his table was John Waggs, a pile of coins in front of him and a ledger book open at his right elbow. The crew would be paid off once they reached port, and John was marking down their allowances.

“Oh yes, I’m nearly finished.” he said, smiling. “How’s Pritchard?”

“Drunk and down below. I never thought the man was a drinker, but apparently he’s decided to take it up. If he does it again, I shall have him off my ship.”

“There’s a first time for everything, I daresay,” John said amicably.

John Waggs had been the other part of Hollee’s inheritance. He had sailed with the Windsong since she was first refitted, and was older than any man on board, including her captain. He held the position of first mate, but—owing to the smallness of the ship and his intense loyalty—he also served as purser, carpenter and, occasionally, surgeon. He wore his grey hair short, and it frizzled around his sunburned face, his shirt open in the front. Like most of the sailors he went barefoot, but kept his ankles bound with linen. Although Hollee had never heard him complain, he spent less and less time aloft, and the captain suspected arthritis or something worse was wearing the old man down. He would be nearly seventy soon, although he had forgotten his age.

“We’ve done all right for ourselves this time, haven’t we?” John said, turning the ledger so that Hollee could look at its neat columns, though there was no need.

“We haven’t made port yet,” Hollee said lightly, glancing out the window. “And unless I’m much mistaken, there’s our welcoming party now.”

Outside the window a frigate was flying up to meet them, her blue ensign flapping in the wind. She was making signals to stop and allow her crew to board. Hollee went on deck, scooping up his hat as he did so. The Windies (as his crew called themselves) had seen her already and were waiting attentively for their captain to give the order.

“Back sails,” he said, “Let her come alongside. You there—Campbell, for god’s sake man, put on some trousers.”

Campbell, who had been enjoying a wash, gazed at him reproachfully.

The frigate pulled up as the Windsong slowed, and soon the two were running side by side. The Windies together, their speed dropping. The Naval men onboard the boat moved about efficiently, but with an air of boredom. It was their job to ensure that no one was smuggling goods into Nevis, and they had performed this maneuver hundreds of time. Still—unlike the Windsong, the Boreas was a ship of the line and her captain could flog any one of them for a whole list of indiscretions, so they moved smartly, if mechanically.

A boarding party was gathered at the rail of the Boreas. Hollee quickly lifted his hat in salute, and the captain of the other ship did the same. A launch had been lowered into the water, and the party now quickly climbed into it.

“Jesus,” Campbell muttered, at Hollee’s elbow and now, thankfully, clothed, “A captain and a first lieutenant? Just what do they think we’ve got in here, doubloons?” Hollee privately as he watched the boatload of men row toward them. The gold braid on the uniforms flashed in the sunlight. “Mr. Campbell, if you please, show some courtesy this time.” Campbell was Scottish and liked to tell anyone who would listen that he had lost relatives at the battle of Culloden. Hollee suspected his profession had less to do with a nautical tendency than a need to leave Britain for political reasons. The Scot scowled at the redcoats standing on the deck of the Boreas.

In due time, the captain of the Boreas was hauled onto the Windsong and was shaking hands with her captain. Captain Mannington was a loud, large man who had been stationed in the West Indies for twenty years and had grown fat and complacent. He blew a breath smelling of wine into Hollee’s face and inquired after the trip.

“It went very smoothly, sir, no complaints at all,” Hollee replied blandly, thinking about the pirates that had menaced them off the coast of Florida. Brief excitement had reigned as he had ordered the stern chaser to be loaded, but the single shot had gone wide of the mark—and that was enough to convince the pirates to leave off. Mannington waved his hand, not absorbing a single word he said. His first lieutenant stood on the deck behind him awkwardly, while down below the boat’s crew talked in low voices about the best place to drink in Nevis. Mannington seemed distracted. His red face was more corpulent than usual, streaming under the sun. He stood gazing about the deck, almost as if he were lost in contemplation. “Shall we go below and inspect the papers, Captain?” Hollee asked politely. “I daresay you could do with a glass of wine after that row. The sun is fearful hot, isn’t it?”

“Not very thoughtful of you, putting in at the height of the day!” roared Mannington with something like his old self again. But the comment seemed forced, unnatural. Hollee led the way into the cabin, leaving the poor flustered first lieutenant on the deck to be stared at by his ship’s crew, a powerful object of curiosity to them.

chapter one

2008-02-07T21:39:00.000Z

"Mr. Pritchard," said Captain Hollee tightly, his fists on his hips, "I may carry rum on this ship but I will not tolerate drunkenness, that is perfectly well known to you." The seaman in front of him swayed slightly as he nodded his head emphatically. Behind him, the smooth green ribbon that was their first sight of land in days spread evenly out over the turquoise water. "I cannot control what you do when you are off my ship, but while you are here, you will abide by my rules. Really, Mr. Pritchard, we are in half an hour of making landfall, you could not have held off until then?" The Captain was in a foul mood, his happiness at sighting land a days early wiped out by the sight of his best topman nearly falling out of the rigging. "I will dock your pay for this, and if you choose to sign on again--you better show up sober. Now get below. I don't want to see you for the rest of this voyage."

Pritchard complied, unsteadily, relief palpable on his face. Hollee had taken a belaying pin to one of the ship's boys a few years ago, even though no one thought him capable of it, and that offence was far less than being drunk while on duty. Pritchard had been confident that he could perform his duties with a pint in hand, until an unexpected breeze sent the Windsong skipping to larboard a point--he had missed his handhold and hung upside down by his knees until he was spotted by his mates and hauled back into the sheets. But not, alas, before Captain Hollee had seen him.

The Captain, for his part