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Chapter Two
Captain Bartholomew Grayson carefully put a brass compass, a sextant, and a set of other instruments vital to marine navigation into his well-worn leather valise. Those were followed by an errant glove, a pair of woolen socks, and a silver button that had come loose from one of his naval uniforms. The rest of his belongings had already been packed away into his scuffed and battered leatherbound trunk awaiting transfer to his townhouse in Grosvenor Square.
For a few seconds, bittersweet sensations beset him, for he’d spent the last three years or so on the HMS Daedalus as its captain. The bulk of his adult life had been conducted upon the seas where he’d worked his way up the ladder, gaining promotions, until he’d finally attained the rank of captain. And with that, the command of the fine schooner.
But now, at the age of eight and thirty, he was compelled to step down from a life of adventure, to retire from the Royal Navy. It was time to follow a new path and perhaps finally chase the elusive thing that would fill an emptiness in his soul he’d felt all too often of late. Riding the waves, though still a lovely calling, didn’t fulfil him like it used to.
What he’d do for the remainder of his life was still a question that haunted him.
With a sigh, Bartholomew manipulated the buckles on the bag that secured it closed. “Well, that’s the last of it.”
He’d pulled into port at the London Docks two days prior, but since the contents of the hold needed to be offloaded, he’d stayed on to oversee that operation. Plus, he wished to be certain his crew had fared well under his command. They had become friends and family over the years; it was difficult to leave them. Some of the men would remain in London, for their stints at sea were over, but some would return once a new captain was assigned to the schooner and repairs were completed. No doubt in the spring, the Daedalus would sail again to points unknown.
“It’s bleedin’ strange we’re leavin’ the ship today, Captain.” This from his cabin boy, Luke. A lad of just ten-years-old, the child was an orphan and had been for quite some time.
“Watch your language, Luke. We’re no longer on the sea, and in polite society, a gentleman is always conscious of how he talks.” Bartholomew softened the censure with a grin. “But yes, it is exceedingly odd.”
The boy had attempted to pick his pocket while Bartholomew had been on leave in Port Royale, Jamaica three years prior. No doubt a product of a quick tryst between a prostitute and a randy sailor, from what he could gather, the boy had grown up on the streets of that city, bouncing from house to house, but mostly he’d spent his formative years without the benefit of a family or any sort of nurturing.
Until Bartholomew had come along and taken him beneath his wing, offering him the position of cabin boy if he promised not to steal from the crew. After a few months’ adjustment, Luke had fallen under the rules and so far, he was well on his way to becoming a model citizen… if he could remember the proper ways of speaking.
But all of that would soon be in the past, for Bartholomew intended to apply to Eton and hopefully the boy’s intelligence would be enough to gain entry to that school.
“I forget how to talk like you, Captain.” The boy frowned. He shoved a hand—tanned by the sun—through his mop of golden curls, and then he tugged at the collar of his linen shirt. “And I don’t like these bleedin’… er bloody…” When Bartholomew lifted an eyebrow, the boy blew out a breath. “These clothes. They itch and are uncomfortable, and I look like a proper prig.”
Bartholomew pressed his lips together to prevent a grin lest the child assume he was making jest of him. “If you’ll look closely, I’m wearing clothing along the same lines.” At least the child didn’t have cuffs and neither did he have a cravat, but the navy velvet jacket, the linen shirt, and his gray trousers made him into more than the waif he’d begun life as even if each piece was a tad outdated and a touch small for the boy’s thin frame. To say nothing of the boots that were too big with wadded socks in the toes. There hadn’t been many choices for him while onboard the schooner, and he grew like a weed. “Once we arrive home, I’ll have the tailor in and fit you up with proper clothes. It’s what my mother will expect.”
The boy’s expression turned to worry as he perched upon Bartholomew’s trunk. His own bag—small due to the fact he had no possessions to speak of—thudded to the floor. “What if I don’t fit in, Captain? What if the proper people don’t think I’m good enough?”
“I won’t lie to you, for there’s always that chance.” With a tight chest, Bartholomew went down on one knee before the boy and caught his gaze. “Just like while on the ship, we will continue to be honest with each other, correct?”
“Yes.” Luke nodded. Vulnerability shadowed his young face and reflected in his brown eyes.
“Right now, it’s the Christmastide season, and that means folks are a smidgeon more kind and polite… but not by much. I wouldn’t worry about fitting in. Once the winter holidays are over, I’m hoping you’ll be able to attend school. That’s where your mettle will come into being, for you’ll have to make it a point to be yourself and have your peers accept you for that.” He shrugged. “We all must do the same in whatever walk of life we’re going through.”
“You included?”
“Absolutely.” It was his turn to feel ill-at-ease. “I’ll admit, I haven’t needed to mingle within English society for quite some time. Life in London is much different than tarrying and doing the pretty in port cities .” He stared at the boy whose world would soon be upended. “As for being good enough? Well, that’s largely up to you. If you listen to the opinions of others, you’ll never be that, but if you’re confident in who you are—for yourself—then you’ll have the world at your feet. Add in some charm and your way will be much easier.”
Please God let the lad have learned how to behave and not to make a fool of him or me.
Slowly, Luke nodded. “You won’t leave me, will you?” Though he’d not spoken much of his past, Bartholomew had gleaned enough of his history to know he was fearful of being abandoned again.
How well I can relate.
“Of course not.” Bartholomew levered to his feet. As much as he’d like to reassure the boy with a hug or some other show of affection, he held back. For as long as he’d known him, Luke didn’t encourage physical touching. He held himself aloof from everyone, including those he’d known onboard ship, the ones he called family, no doubt for fear of being left behind. “You are under my care and protection. Adopted, more or less.” It had been a natural progression, for he couldn’t very well leave the boy to his own devices now that his stint in the Navy was over.
The boy continued to look at him, but his expression didn’t brighten. “I ain’t got a surname, Captain. That makes me less.”
Bartholomew sighed. “You don’t have a surname.” Perhaps changing things would take more time than he thought. “That’s no longer true. You’re a Grayson now, and that should make you proud.”
“I’ll try not to disappoint you.” Luke gave him a salute and then hopped off the trunk. “When do we eat? My belly’s empty, I’ll wager.”
This time Bartholomew allowed himself a chuckle. “Mine too. As soon as we arrive at the townhouse, I’ll order tea while I introduce you to my mother.” No doubt she’d be in shock, for he’d not mentioned his plans regarding Luke in his last letter. That decision hadn’t been fully made until weeks after the missive had been posted.
The sound of bootheels outside his cabin door alerted him to the presence of another person. When Bartholomew glanced up, he frowned at his first officer. “What’s amiss, Mr. Farmington? I assumed you’d left.”
“I was on my way out.” The man’s black hair almost blue beneath his hat gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. A knapsack lay slung over one shoulder. “However, there is a woman on the docks who’s demanding to see you.”
