Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle by Cheryl Cooper

flickered beneath her face and settled on her silk slippers. “You must be one of the new ones on the Isabelle . Welcome aboard, Mr. George.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    There was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he nodded and sauntered on down the deck.
    “Ya didn’t fool Mr. Evans, ma’am.”
    “Apparently not.” Emily watched after him until she could no longer discern his funny hat amongst the throng of sailors.
    “He’s the one what plucked ya from the sea.”
    “I thought he looked familiar.”
    “Beg yer pardon, ma’am, but if ya wanna pretend you’re a midshipman, ya don’t hafta salute a carpenter’s mate like Mr. Evans.”
    “I have much to learn …” Emily’s voice trailed off as she caught sight of a young officer standing against the quarterdeck railing, his chin raised in challenge, glaring down upon her with his dark, penetrating eyes.
    “Who’s that, Magpie?” she whispered, nodding in the direction of the insolent observer.
    “That’s Lord Lindsay, ma’am.” Magpie shivered. “I … I don’t like him much.”
    1:00 p.m.
    (Afternoon Watch, Two Bells)
    WHEN THE AIR RESOUNDED with two bells, Magpie had to resume his duties, even though, unbeknownst to Emily, he had missed his dinner to sit with her. Emily couldn’t help feeling sad. Her taste of freedom had been all too brief and she had enjoyed their discussions on naval regulations, the fine art of sail sewing, and Biscuit’s culinary repertoire. Unable to wander the decks alone, she reluctantly began her trek back to the hospital, telling her little companion he didn’t need to assist her. “I’ll have to make my own way around the Isabelle sooner or later.”
    Having successfully managed the first ladder down to the upper deck, she found herself outside the officers’ wardroom. Behind the closed door came two voices raised in anger. She recognized one as the captain’s, but was not certain of the other. Emily slowed her pace in an attempt to hear their words.
    “It’s one thing giving that woman freedom to exercise above deck; it’s quite another allowing her to trifle with the likes of Magpie and Morgan Evans on the main deck.”
    “Magpie is a boy of ten.”
    “Mr. Evans, however, is not.”
    There was a crash as if someone’s fist had found a tabletop. “Enlighten me here. I fail to understand your concerns, brought on by an abundance of grog no doubt …”
    Emily’s heart stopped when the floorboards creaked behind her. A stench of perspiration and rotting teeth struck her nose with the force of a club. A growling voice breathed down her neck.
    “Lost yer way, sailor?”
    “Aye, sir. If you please, which way to the hospital?”
    It was Biscuit, the cook, carrying a tray of wine, sweets, and goblets. He resembled a flame with his shock of orange hair standing straight up on his forehead. One of his eyes widened in delight, while the other – horribly out of alignment – searched about for her. His long grey sideburns were sprinkled with food crumbs, as were his chest hairs, which sprang from his open-necked checked shirt like a stowed animal struggling to escape.
    “Yer arse backwards, sailor. Thee hospital’s in thee front o’ thee ship and yer in thee back.” He lowered his peculiar eyes to her right foot. “Seein’ as yer crippled, would ya like me to carry ya there after I take thee wine in to Captain Moreland?”
    “I can manage.”
    “Yer an awfully pretty young sailor. I’d be watchin’ meself wand’rin’ thee decks alone, especially in yer condition.”
    “I appreciate the warning, sir.”
    Unable to endure Biscuit’s odour, Emily stumbled away from him and made for the nearest passageway. She found herself in the sailors’ mess and, uncertain of the path back to the hospital, stood there awkwardly, the room stretching dauntingly before her like a bridgeless gorge. The dinner hour was over, but several men lingered, swilling their mugs of beer, enjoying their leisure time with