Rondo Allegro by Sherwood Smith

Author:Sherwood Smith [Smith, Sherwood]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: French Revolution, historical romance, Napoleonic era, silver fork, Regency romance
ISBN: 9781611384284
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2014-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

20

Anna had no strength to protest, and what could she say? She did not feel in any respect a wife, but everyone regarded her as one.

Gripping a pail of unused water, she followed Parrette into the hold. She ran her thumb along her fingers, and then peered down at her blood-crusted hand by the flickering light of the lantern that Parrette held high.

The ring was gone. Probably somewhere in that horror of an orlop. She could not bear to return. Perhaps someone might find it, someone inured to the aftermath of war.

Parrette continued into the hold, poking through the boxes and barrels until at last they found their trunks. Each set down her bucket of water. They were alone, though footsteps could be heard above.

They hurried out of their clothes, and Anna gratefully plunged her hands into her bucket. The cold liquid was shocking. Anna scrubbed feverishly over every inch she could get at—she felt could not scrub enough. She left off only when she discovered she was rubbing her skin raw. She scrambled into fresh clothing, as Parrette blocked her from view of the ladder.

Parrette bent to pick up their discarded garments.

Anna said fiercely, “Fling mine overboard. Or I will do it. I will never wear that gown again.”

“I will put it to soak,” Parrette said tonelessly. “There are other uses for the cloth.”

Anna heard no rebuke in her voice, but her throat ached, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I beg pardon. I . . .”

“We both must take food. We will need our strength, and Lt. Sayers said before he collapsed that the captain ordered a meal be shared out.”

“A meal.” For the first time since the cannon had begun to fire, Anna began to wonder about the wider world—the upper deck, the weather deck, the battle. She forced herself not to blurt questions that she knew Parrette could not answer, and picked up her bucket.

They emptied the buckets into the scuttle, and Anna began to make her way slowly upward. The roar of cannon had gone silent, but the ship was filled with noise: hammering, sawing, the shout of voices, the thump of footsteps. The cry of wounded.

She heard the noise before she saw the shocking aftermath of battle. Where she had only seen scrubbed order was a chaotic tangle of rope, wood, iron, sailcloth. Crimson spatters, streaks, and splashes marred wood, rope, sailcloth.

Lanterns hung everywhere against the dying light, as the boatswain oversaw the most desperate of the repairs. The captain’s cabin was still missing, except for his cot, and the checkered canvas deck cover that someone had unrolled. He lay in his cot, the steward Perkins bent over it as he helped the captain drink.

Perkins looked up at her approach. He touched his forehead, and said, “Ma’am. If you’ll bide here, I can fetch the portable soup, which the cook has in hand. Carpenters is bringing up the bulkheads as soon as they get the hull patched forward, as it’s coming on to blow.

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