An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition by Cartland Barbara Page B

Surgeon, who was coughing in the repulsive manner which had annoyed Rodney since he first came aboard. They filed slowly into the room.
    “Will you be seated, Gentlemen?”
    The door was still open and Rodney glanced towards it.
    “Is Master Gillingham coming?” he asked sharply, knowing that Hapley was standing outside. He could not prevent the rasp in his voice and Hapley’s “Coming now, sir,” did not soothe the anger which Rodney felt rising within him.
    Curse Francis ! It was what might be expected – that he would keep him waiting, even though his cabin was next door and all the other officers had further to come. Well, he would be damned if he would wait for the boy. Rodney turned towards the men seated round the table.
    “We are all present, I think,” he said, “with the exception of Master Baxter who is on watch and Master Gillingham who appears to be somewhat tardy in making his appearance. I want to take this opportunity at the beginning of the voyage to speak to you and make clear certain matters which concern us all. First, the welfare of the men...”
    There was a sound at the door. Rodney raised his head. So Francis had condescended to appear at last, he thought. He supposed he must rise to greet him. After all, much as he might dislike the boy, he was Sir Harry’s son and without Sir Harry’s gold the Sea Hawk would not have been his to command. He pushed back his chair.
    “Good evening, Master Gillingham,” he said. “Allow me to welcome you to our company.”
    It was growing dark in the cabin, the gleam of sunshine which had heralded their departure from Plymouth had vanished into low clouds, the waves breaking on the portholes obscured much of the daylight; for a moment Rodney had an impression that Francis was smaller than he had remembered, and then, as he touched the hand outstretched to him, as he felt the fingers warm and soft beneath his own, he felt a sudden startled suspicion which left him breathless, so that he could only stare wildly and incredulously at the small oval face looking up into his, at two green eyes which he remembered all too vividly.
    It could not be true – it was impossible! Rodney told himself, and looked again. But there was no doubt of it. It was not Francis who had come into the cabin, but Lizbeth. Her red hair had been cut short and was drawn back from her forehead. Her elaborate doublet of dark blue velvet with its short, satin-lined cape, was exactly what Francis might have worn, the sword dangling at her side was undoubtedly his.
    Disguised as her brother, taking her brother’s place, she was yet undoubtedly herself, too. Rodney stood before her in silence striving vainly to find his voice, to collect his senses.
    It was Lizbeth who spoke first.
    “Thank you for your welcome, Master Hawkhurst,” she said in a low voice. “I am delighted to be here and my father sends you his greetings and wishes you all possible success on the voyage which lies ahead of us.”
    She turned from him as she spoke and, crossing the cabin, seated herself on the one chair left empty at the far end of the table. She made it clear to Rodney what course she expected him to take and for the moment, his brain in a whirl, he could think of nothing better to do than to return to his own seat.
    Lizbeth was now speaking to the officers.
    “May I introduce myself, Gentlemen?” she said. “I am Francis Gillingham, as Master Hawkhurst may have told you.”
    They all bowed as was expected of them and then, the formalities dispensed with, they looked to Rodney and waited for him to finish his speech.
    What was said after that he really had no idea. He supposed that almost automatically his voice spoke the thoughts which he had planned earlier in the day. He knew, though, that the fire and spirit with which he intended to deliver this oration was lacking, so that the attention of the officers wandered and the Surgeon’s cough seemed, from time to time, to drown his voice.
    In a daze