The Storm-Grey Sea

Chapter Four - The Dauntless

The day had been cloudy and it had drizzled much of the day, but now the sky cleared and she could see the moon, waning somewhat, sitting high in the sky like a pearl on navy-blue velvet.

She stayed up late, far later than she should have, and it was nearly one in the morning when she, closing the book, took up a candle stood to retire to bed. Then she heard it, the unmistakable jangling, rattling, and pounding of a carriage coming up the road.

She paused for a moment, and then went to the window. Seeing there what must have been her father's carriage, she retreated from the window and sat down. She, in her composed way, knew she ought not to show too much enthusiasm.

Still, she listened carefully to the sound of servants rushing to attend to him, listened to the door open and heard his voice calling out for something to eat and drink.

"Where is Miss Marlowe?" she heard her father ask. She heard the response given, too, and so, straightening her back, gave quite the show of serene gravity, poised with all her excellent breeding upon a chaise longue, as though the news of his arrival meant little to her.

However, when he entered the parlour, she was once again a little girl, overjoyed to see her father. All her ladylike, perfect manners were gone and she sprang to her feet.

"Papa!" she cried. In a manner incongrous with her usual elegance, she sprang forward and hugged him about the neck. He laughed and picked her up.

When he set her down on her feet, she brushed off her skirt and acted the lady once more. "How was London, Papa? What news from the Admiralty, if I might ask?"

"You may, Rosalind, you may," he said, and smiled broadly. "The Admiralty has orders for me - I'm to go to sea."

Rosalind was immediately put out, though she'd been expecting the news. "But Papa, I thought that the Bellona was still be overhauled at Portsmouth," she said, referring to her father's flagship, the HMS Bellona. As an Admiral, he had a first-rate ship-of-the-line under his command, a three-deck, one-hundred-and-twenty-gun ship with a complement of eight hundred men. There were very few first-rates in existence and so he, as a Vice-Admiral and not a full Admiral, was incredibly fortunate to have one, a product no doubt of his sterling reputation. "You said she would not be fully refitted for at least another month."

"I won't be on the Bellona, my dear. Apparently the Admiralty has some rather more subtle business to conduct, a matter of reconaissance in Jamaica with our French spies who have been transported there after they landed in Martinique," he explained.

He gave sigh, and Rosalind knew why. There was nothing her father hated more than administrative business. He put up with paperwork on board the Bellona because there he was still in active combat, but without his ship, he was left in a sea of bureacracy with no actual sea to temper it.

"But why are they sending you? And why not the Bellona?" she asked.

"Apparently there is a major concern that there are more spies in the Navy than is thought - a few captains, even are suspected of being spies, as well as an officer on board the Bellona. And so I am to travel on board a ship, in reasonable secrecy, of a man who can be trusted," explained Rosalind's father.

"And that ship is?" she prompted, highly curious and a little sympathetic to the captain who would have to ferry an esteemed guest such as Vice-Admiral Marlowe.

"Captain Spenser's-" began her father, but Rosalind knew that ship, and named it faster than he did.

"You're to be on board the Dauntless?" she cried, her excitement making her voice higher than normal and removing the elegance from it. Calming herself, she went on, her tone and manner back to its ordinary serenity. "Oh, Papa, promise that you will be kind to Mr. Cuthbert."