Chapter 1
January 1802
"It's settled Jonathan, you are coming home with me." Lionel Thockmorton declared smugly. "You are in no condition to fend for yourself in Havant and since you haven't had word from your uncle there is no other alternative."
Jonathan looked imploringly at Peter Crittenden hoping for support but the Lieutenant sided with Thockmorton.
"Lionel is right Jonathan. You shouldn't be on your own right now. Stay with him and his family at least until you hear from your uncle regarding your inheritance." Peter winked at Jonathan and grinned trying to soften his apparent betrayal. "It wouldn't hurt to curry a bit of favour from Lionel's father either you know. With Lord Babsworth's influence you might be able to secure another berth as a midshipman."
Jonathan sighed in resignation. He had very few options left. Since Kerrison's death he'd had to contend with one blow after another. First it was the lack of communication from his uncle, his only remaining relative. Although his mother had been dead but a few weeks before his return, during that time Matthew Riley had been the sole beneficiary of the house in Havant and the small bank account held in Jonathan's name. It was unlikely that the house had been sold or leased, or that the money had been spent, but until Jonathan heard officially about the state of his finances he was in limbo. No home, no money.
To make matters worse, Jonathan and the rest of the Indefatigable's surviving crew were formally put ashore. Surgeon's mate Pike had been lucky to secure a berth aboard the Nightingale as an assistant to their surgeon. Ned Grayson had been taken home to London by his father, pale and silent to the end. Jonathan was not sad to see him go. Ned had become a painful reminder of Jonathan's inability to save Jack Kerrison from the noose.
Lionel had announced plans to return to his family estates in Bedfordshire and had suggested Jonathan accompany him. No amount of protest from Jonathan could dissuade Lionel in his endeavour and now Peter had taken Lionel's side also.
"The Nightingale has had no new orders either Jonathan, and it is quite likely that we, too, will be put ashore soon." Peter's voice softened. "If there was a spare Mid's berth I know Captain Bell would take you on. But there isn't room, I'm sorry to say."
"I wouldn't expect that Peter," Jonathan replied. He'd given up any pretence of addressing Crittenden formally. Peter didn't seem to mind. If anything the young Lieutenant encouraged the familiarity. But that was as far as it went. In his darkest moments since Kerrison's death when he'd sobbed out his hurt in Crittenden's arms, Jonathan had fleetingly wondered what it would be like to take Peter as a lover. He knew it was his grief that made him entertain such thoughts, but ecstasy would be a soothing balm for his heart and a momentary easing of the pain of reality. Tempting but unforgivable afterwards.
So Jonathan had allowed his thoughts to go unheeded and now could only wonder if Peter was even aware of what might have been. One thing was certain between them and that was a deep friendship, far stronger than it had ever been in the past. It gave Jonathan pause, for he didn't understand why. Peter should have far more cause to hate him for replacing him in Archie Kennedy's affections. Yet here he was even now apologising for being unable to help more.
Perching himself on the wardroom table, Peter touched Jonathan's shoulder drawing his attention to those startlingly green eyes. "Jonathan, you need people around you. People like Lionel here," he nodded towards the young aristocrat. "People who care for you and who WILL care for you for a while. You may not realise it, but you have not fully recovered from your head wound or the..." he broke off for a moment, his eyes softening, his voice becoming suddenly gentle. "You haven't recovered from the distress of losing Kerrison. Please go with Lionel?"
"All right," Jonathan answered before he even thought about it. He smiled as he realised how easily he had come to rely on Crittenden. "I'll do it for you Peter," he added, thinking how much he was going to miss this man.
Chapter 2
The coach journey seemed unending. It was the furthermost by far than Jonathan had ever travelled on land. Strange really because he had sailed so far at sea and yet had scarcely been outside Havant other than to go to Portsmouth.
"Not long now Jonathan, we are just entering the park." Huge stone pillars flanked the road. From the gatehouse erupted a gaggle of children followed by their rotund father who opened the massive gates, bobbing and touching his forelock. Lionel waved one hand nonchalantly at the man as their carriage went through. Jonathan strained his neck to see Lionel's home. Nothing, just rolling meadows dotted with sheep, a woodland to the east and the road winding onwards. "All this is yours?" Jonathan asked in amazement.
Lionel laughed. "Oh no, we have been travelling through our lands for some time now, but we don't like to overlook the tenants and the villages so we keep this part private."
Jonathan began to feel uneasy. Surely all of this land could not belong to the Thockmortons? As if reading Jonathan's mind Lionel continued smugly, "Our lands in Yorkshire are much larger of course, but the house is rather cold this time of year."
Jonathan settled back against the leather seat and tried to smile. In all the time he had known Lionel, he had never fully appreciated what being an Earl's son really meant. And here he was, penniless and destitute except for the clothes he wore and a spare set of cast-offs from the Nightingale's midshipmen, about to meet a family who owned more land than the whole of Havant. More even that the whole of Portsmouth!
"Ah there's the house, through the trees as we come around this bend." Lionel pointed and Jonathan caught his breath. It was huge. Far bigger than the manor house in Havant. Three stories high and of stone. It overlooked a lake. A new wing had been added too, Jonathan noted, the clean white sandstone standing out in stark contrast to its weathered cousins.
As they clattered up the drive, Jonathan saw a brace of liveried servants hurry to attend them. His mouth went dry, his heart began to hammer in his chest. I don't belong here was all he could think.
"Oh and by the way Jonathan, my father is under the impression that you have lands in and around Havant. Try to play along, will you?"
"What?" Jonathan asked, dumbfounded. Lionel patted his arm and smiled.
"Don't look so worried. He's more impressed with your status as a naval hero than the details of your fortune. It's just for appearances sake that I had to tell him you were from the landed gentry, you understand? Besides, father has more than enough to worry about trying to find a husband for Honoria. That girl will land herself in serious trouble if she doesn't cool her heels!"
Before Jonathan could reply the carriage slowed and halted, the coach door was opened and Lionel alighted, beckoning Jonathan after him.
Jonathan stepped down into a sea of smiling faces. He recognised Lionel's father, the Earl of Babsworth from a brief meeting in Portsmouth two years earlier. The earl was an elderly man, grey of hair with massive whiskers that were somewhat out of fashion. He seized Jonathan's hand and pumped it enthusiastically.
"Ah here is the young man we have heard so much about! Pleased you could join us Mr Riley. My, you have grown since we last saw you."
Jonathan stumbled over his words, forgetting what was customary when greeting a peer. Likewise Lionel's brother the Viscount, who proudly introduced his new wife Lydia, a pale insipid creature, so at odds with Lionel's descriptions of the breathtaking creature who had been stolen from him, that Jonathan wondered if she was even the same girl.
"And you remember my sister Honoria, Jonathan?" Lionel beamed.
Jonathan looked around for the young pigtailed girl he had previously met in Portsmouth but failed to find her.
"Why Mr Riley, I hardly recognised you! How you have changed. Is this what becoming a hero does to a gentleman?"
Jonathan blinked and blushed at the petite young woman who stood staring up at him in a rather forthright manner. He opened his mouth to reply but couldn't. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had changed in two years. Honoria, for that was who this pretty young woman must be continued to gaze at him with her big blue eyes, smiling at his discomfit. Gone was the little girl he remembered, replaced by an exotic creature decked in sheer muslin and lace that left little to ones imagination. Pale hair, blue eyes, red lips and the hint of something fragrant wafting through the air towards him. Jonathan suddenly felt faint.
"Good grief Honoria, can't you see you are embarrassing Mr Riley!" Lionel's brother, the Viscount, muttered.
"Surely not Rupert! Mr Riley must know he is the talk of London and be used to such attentions. Why Lady Sarah Fenmore and Jane Winslow were simply green with envy when I told them he would be staying with us." One small white hand reached out delicately to touch the sleeve of Jonathan's blue coat and Honoria bent towards him, the neckline of her gown dipping so low that Jonathan was afraid something would fall out. "It's such an honour to have you here, Mr Riley."
Jonathan could only blink for a moment as he brain struggled to make his mouth form words and his body fought the strange new yearnings that had unexpectedly surged to life. "Thank you," he blurted out, feeling himself blush even more and wondering if anyone else had noticed the state he was in.
"Oh there is so much we can do together Mr Riley, I can hardly contain myself," Honoria declared, withdrawing her hand and placing it on her small bosom which suddenly heaved like the swell at Spit head. Jonathan could not help but follow the motion.
And then it happened! Despite his weariness from the long journey, despite the ache in his heart for Jack Kerrison, Jonathan felt a surge of arousal that sank from his stomach to his groin and from there took on a life of its own. He looked around, panicked, wondering what was happening to him and how he was going to hide the growing evidence of his unwitting attraction to Honoria from the crowd around him.
Lionel came to his rescue. "I think that is quite enough for the moment Honoria, Mr Riley needs his rest. He is still recovering and we have had a long and tedious trip." His large hand gripped Jonathan's elbow, breaking whatever spell Honoria had cast and pulled him roughly up the massive stone steps. "Come along Jonathan, I'll see you to your room. You do not look at all like yourself! Are you feeling well?"
Chapter 3
Dear God, how could this happen?" Jonathan was still reeling from his unexpected reaction to Honoria as Lionel led him through Babsworth Manor. Up the massive staircase, along the unending hall, passing door after door after door. Jonathan was oblivious to it all and only half listened to Lionel's chatter about the portraits of his ancestors and ordering new clothes from the tailor. His mind was firmly fixed on Honoria as he wrestled with his new found awareness.
This was what Jack Kerrison had spoken of, this thing that had struck him so hard that it felt like a blow. Girls, women, this is what Jack had meant when he said he fancied them too. Fancied...the word seemed oddly apt for that was what Honoria was...fancy like a small bird in pastel plumage with soft downy feathers that would fit neatly into his hand. He wondered what she felt like.
"Jonathan are you listening?"
"What?" Jonathan looked up, embarrassed. Dear God! This was Lionel's sister he was thinking about!
Lionel shook his head slightly. "I was just saying that you need not worry about the cost of the clothes. You are our guest and as such it is important that you look the part. Please don't be offended Jonathan, it's the least I can do to repay you for saving my life." Lionel raised a hand when Jonathan made to protest. "In the mean time I will loan you some clean shirts and fresh linen."
He swung open the door they had stopped at to reveal a bedroom. It was a large room, almost as large as the whole top floor of Jonathan's home in Havant. A huge canopied bed took pride of place. Off to one side was a smaller dressing room where Jonathan could see a large hip bath. There was a writing desk and a chest of drawers and several small tables scattered here and there. On the other side of the room two glass doors opened onto a small balcony.
"I will have someone send up some water so that you may refresh yourself before dinner. It won't be for another two hours, so try to get some rest too." Lionel patted Jonathan's shoulder and grinned. "And do try to compose yourself," he said with a wink. "You look quite flustered!"
When the door was closed Jonathan threw himself down on the bed. How could this happen, he asked himself again as he stared at the ceiling. How could a GIRL ignite such a response? Even as the thought materialised he felt his body react again. Oh no! Jack had said this would happen!
He rolled over and tried to think of Jack Kerrison but the thoughts came unbidden; Jack naked in his arms, his mouth, his hands...It only made it worse.
So he steeled himself and brought to mind a grimmer scene, Jack dangling by his neck, dead upon the yard. It wasn't right that he should feel this way when Jack lay cold and stiff in the frozen ground of the Havant cemetery. It wasn't right that he could be touched by lust when he had so recently lost his lover.
A sob built in his throat, tears pricked at his eyes and he found himself longing once more for the haven of Peter Crittenden's arms.
Chapter 4
His eyes were still red, he knew they were, and yet he had to sit down to dinner with Lionel's family while they made small talk. The Earl was seated at one end of the table, the Viscount at the other. Lydia, on her husband's right, sat meek and silent. Lionel sat beside her, his eyes darting towards her at every opportunity.
Jonathan was seated on the other side of the table, Honoria an undeniable presence by his side. But that was fine, for at least he didn't have to look at her. He kept his eyes firmly on his plate.
At the moment, Lionel was explaining to one and all the cause of Jonathan's red eyes, pale complexion and gaunt face. "Severe concussion, unspeakable treatment at the hands of those pirates, the unexpected death of his own dear Mother, persistent bouts of dizziness, a dreadful lack of appetite..."
That last almost made Jonathan laugh in disgust. There seemed to be nothing wrong with his appetite at all. He was acutely aware of Honoria beside him, her perfume stealing towards him, her small hands caressing the silverware. He reached for his wine glass and took a large mouthful.
"What you need is a good hard ride Mr Riley!"
Jonathan choked and his wine splashed into his lap.
"Honoria, I don't think that would be wise. Jonathan has no experience at all! He'd probably do himself an injury just trying to mount!" Lionel replied in disgust. "Isn't that right Jonathan?"
"What?" Jonathan spluttered out as he frantically wiped at the wine that was soaking through his breeches.
"It wouldn't have to be fast Lionel. I could take him at a leisurely pace." Honoria continued, turning to flash a smile at Jonathan and examine the stains in his lap.
"Old Betsy would be the best one for him." The Viscount interrupted. "She's small and she'd probably appreciate the chance to stretch her legs again. She doesn't get out much these days."
Jonathan stared in horror, looking from one Thockmorton to the other. The Earl nodded sagely. "Good idea!"
Surely they couldn't be serious? Was this how the aristocracy lived? At least it explained Lionel's preoccupation with sex!
"Good grief Rupert, I don't think that's advisable at all!" Lionel shook his head. "You know as well as I that Betsy bit the ear of one of the grooms last summer. And she likes to kick!"
"But Lionel, we both started out with her when we were learning." Rupert defended.
"Jonathan hasn't survived tempest, mutiny and fire only to fall foul of a bad tempered Dartmoor pony. Have some sense." Lionel noisily attacked the roast beef on his plate in disgust. Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief. Horse riding, whilst not among his accomplishments was a far safer option than what he had imagined the Thockmortons had planned for him. He set about thinking of ways to avoid the activity.
"I think it's a good idea." The faint voice of Lydia had Lionel on the edge of his seat. "Perhaps we could all go?"
"Splendid idea, Lydia," Lionel agreed, melting like butter on a crumpet. "It's settled then. We all go riding in the morning.
Jonathan opened his mouth to plead his indisposition but was stopped short by Honoria dabbing her napkin at the wine stain on his thigh.
"It might help your head, Mr Riley. The motion you know, up and down, up and down. I always find one's senses feel most heightened after a good ride. I am sure you will enjoy it."
Jonathan could do little more than nod in agreement.
Chapter 5
"So what do you think of Lydia?" Lionel asked, taking a sip of his brandy and leaning his lanky frame against the mantelpiece. "Is she not the pinnacle of womanhood?" His other hand held a large cigar, the tip a dull red ember that flared to life as he sucked hard.
"Err well," Jonathan stammered, taking a draw on his own cigar. Lydia was hardly a woman to turn heads, in fact she seemed to pale into the furniture. Her looks were nothing when compared to her vibrant sister-in-law, who shone like a small flame, bright and hot. "I really don't think I am...qualified to comment, Lionel." Jonathan said diplomatically. He coughed suddenly as smoke filled his lungs and took a large gulp of his brandy to hide his indisposition.
Lionel clucked his tongue and shook his head. "You need more...intercourse with women Jonathan. I fear your education has been sadly lacking in that regard. I have been remiss in my duties towards you but I intend to make it up now that we are at leisure."
"There really is no need Lionel." Jonathan protested. "You were more than helpful that time in Gibraltar, helping me to choose that ... er... girl and then paying for it too!"
"Jonathan a young man should never have to pay to lose his virginity. That is what his friends are for! Mind you I thought you'd be better with that." Lionel nodded towards the cigar that Jonathan was trying once more to smoke.
Jonathan blinked, his eyes watering from the noxious fumes. "I've never had one before," he exclaimed lamely.
"Hmmm, but I would have thought you'd at least get the sucking motion right,"
Lionel declared with a wink. He grinned at Jonathan's resulting discomfit and changed the subject back to women.
"One day you will marry some sweet young woman, Jonathan, and you can't expect HER to know what goes where on your wedding night."
"Marry? But I..."
"So it IS important that you gather a little more...experience with women Jonathan. Do you see what I mean?" Lionel swirled the brandy around in his glass as he considered his next word. "Honoria is quite taken with you, you know."
"Lionel, I don't think ...I mean I haven't..."
"Jonathan will you stop this stammering! Good grief, anyone would think you were a callow youth from some provincial town who has never seen a real woman before!"
The words were not that far removed from reality.
"A young man in your delicate financial position must always be on the look out for ways to further his lot. Honoria has quite a large inheritance held in trust for her, not to mention that small estate in Cornwall and the house in Oxford. If you married her all of your troubles would be over."
"Marry your sister?" Jonathan drained his brandy glass in one gulp. "But I hardly know her, Lionel."
"That does not matter Jonathan. Father is keen for her to marry before she lands herself in strife." Lionel bent a little closer and dropped his voice. "She is a little hot blooded in case you hadn't noticed. A fine thing in a man, but unforgivable in a woman. Father refuses to allow her to leave the park for fear of what she may get up to. She gets frightfully bored here of course. Marriage would put an end to everyone's worries. She clearly favours you and besides I can tell you find her...engaging."
Jonathan blushed to the roots of his hair. "I...she..."
Lionel laughed. "You see, she has you stammering like some love sick fool already!" He raised his glass in a mock salute. "Ah women! Where would we be without them?"
"At sea I suspect!" Jonathan muttered, wishing he was back there now.
Chapter 6
"You pull on the left rein for a larboard tack and the right rein for starboard. Pull both if you want to drop anchor. And don't walk to the stern or you may be hit by the rudder. Now come aboard from larboard...that's always the entry port."
"Good grief Lionel," Honoria declared, sounding surprisingly like her brother. "All this navy talk! Why next you'll have Mr Riley pressing seamen and hoisting his rigging while they pump their bilges! Enough!"
Lionel rolled his eyes at his sister. "Really Honoria, try to remember you are a lady now."
"Your brother is right, Honoria," Lydia added sweetly, her grey eyes turning towards Lionel like a daisy towards the sun. It was Honoria's turn to roll her eyes.
"Come Mr Riley, let us mount together and be at it!" She swung into the saddle as easily as if she were sitting down to tea.
Easy for her to say, Jonathan cursed to himself as the pony side-stepped away.
"Be firm with her. If she knows you are inexperienced she will take liberties." Lionel called out. Jonathan wasn't sure if Lionel meant the pony or Honoria.
They had gathered in the stable yard, the four of them. Lionel's brother, the Viscount had sent his apologies pleading pressing business with the tenants' cesspits. Neither Lionel nor Lydia seemed upset by his absence.
"You don't have a good seat, do you." Honoria proclaimed looking Jonathan up and down in frank appraisal. Some of Jack Kerrison's more wicked comments came to mind and Jonathan smiled to himself.
"That's not what I have been told in the past, Miss Thockmorton,"
She raised her fair eyebrows at that before asking, "So you have been in the saddle before, I take it?"
"Just once, when I was much younger. All I really had to do was hold on and the mare did the rest." Jonathan replied, remembering the time he had been given a ride on one of the local cart horses. "It was all over rather quickly."
"Hmmm, we will have to make sure you do a little more this time. I hope you are up for a bit of work." Honoria looked over her shoulder at Lionel and Lydia who were gazing into each other's eyes and whispering quietly together. "Come on, no use waiting around for those two. They'll be cooing to each other like that for hours."
With that she flexed her riding crop and hit Jonathan's mount across the rump. The beast lunged forward. Jonathan held on for grim death. This was worse than reefing a sail in high winds.
Honoria shot past, her blue velvet riding habit little more than a blur. Jonathan's horse broke into a gallop as it followed the flying tail ahead.
In no time at all Jonathan's hair had pulled free and drips of perspiration were running down the back of his neck. Fear was the most likely cause or perhaps the sheer physical exertion required to stay upright and secure. He pulled at the reins gingerly, but the helm would not obey. The horse had its head now and it sensed the nervousness of its rider. All Jonathan could do was hang on and hope it would eventually stop.
It was not the horse that finally stopped, but Jonathan. One moment he was in the saddle watching Honoria's seat as she crouched to jump a hedge, then he was flying through the air, aware his horse had jumped, unseating him in mid flight.
He landed face down in wet mud in the ditch before the hedge his horse landing somewhere on the other side. He lay there assessing his injuries and was pleased to find that other than a few bruises, the only serious damage was to his pride.
Carefully he pushed himself up out of the mud, rolled over and tried to wipe the dirt from his eyes and mouth.
But then Honoria was there. Her small hands fluttering around like birds, her blue riding habit foaming like a wave around her, as she knelt in the mud beside him. "Oh Mr Riley. Are you all right?" she asked, her small bosom heaving as she caught her breath.
"Yes," Jonathan squeaked as he wiped away more mud as it melted down his face. He was suddenly was very glad that he was sitting in a cold puddle.
"You should have taken the road. You are far too stiff to try jumping. Why you could have been killed." She leaned in closer, her blues eyes fluttering with concern.
Jonathan stared into her eyes, then down to her small lips, red and glistening. He leaned closer.
"I say, is everyone all right here? May I be of any assistance?" They sprang apart and Honoria jump to her feet revealing a flash of a shapely calf.
"Why Lord Eversleigh, how timely! You must take a look at Mr Riley, he has had a terrible fall!"
The newcomer was in his early thirties, tall and strong with a mass of thick dark hair. He was wearing the red dress uniform of a Colonel in His Majesty's Army. As if suddenly remembering her social obligations, Honoria made some hurried introductions.
"Lord Eversleigh, may I present Mr Midshipman Jonathan Riley, lately of His Majesties Ship the Indefatigable. Mr Riley, this is our neighbour, Mr Alexander McBride, Earl of Eversleigh, Colonel 136th Regiment."
Dear God, did everyone here have a title? Jonathan remained silent as the Earl dropped to his knees. "Where are you hurt?" he asked hurriedly, his dark eyes running over Jonathan's body like a caress.
"I'm fine, my Lord. There is no need to... uuuhhh" Jonathan gasped as the Earl took hold of his ankle and slowly ran his hand up the length of Jonathan's leg.
"It's best to make sure. And please, call me Alexander."
"Lord Eversleigh is very good with horses," Honoria added. "Is anything broken?"
"Doesn't seem to be." Much to his discomfit, Eversleigh had started on Jonathan's other leg, his strong hands and fingers burning through Jonathan's riding breeches. When he had finished he casually left one hand resting on Jonathan's thigh as he ran the other over Jonathan's shoulders and down his arms. "Nasty scar you have there on your temple Mr Riley, or may I call you Jonathan?" He didn't wait for an answer but pressed on. "Recent too, I'd say? Have you seen some action?"
"Yes," Jonathan breathed as the hand on his thigh slipped a little higher. Something unspoken passed between them, something that smouldered in Eversleigh's dark eyes as he held Jonathan's gaze.
"Can you ride?" Eversleigh asked.
Jonathan's mouth went dry. "...Yes," he stuttered. What was happening here? Was he mistaken or was there more to the Earl's examination and questions than there seemed.
"Good, then allow me to invite you both to my home." Eversleigh turned his dazzling smile on Honoria. "It is much closer than Babsworth Manor. Mr Riley may get cleaned up and we shall all have some refreshments."
"Why that is so kind, Lord Eversleigh." Honoria replied, placated by the Earl's attentions. Eversleigh helped her to mount and then turned back to Jonathan.
"Allow me." One strong hand pulled Jonathan to his feet and almost into Eversleigh's very arms. They stood like that, Jonathan looking up into Eversleigh's dark eyes while the Earl held his hand firmly. Then Eversleigh stepped back and Jonathan was released. "Let's take this at a leisurely pace, shall we, Mr Riley?" The Earl whispered. "We wouldn't want any further accidents, now would we."
Chapter 7
"We must be very careful of ourselves, Jonathan. The Earl has a dreadful reputation you know." Honoria was riding close beside Jonathan her voice pitched low as they watched the figure of the Earl riding ahead of them.
"Really?" Jonathan asked, his eyes never leaving the tight white breeches straining across the neat arse ahead. "A terrible reputation for what?"
"I have no idea, but he is the talk of every drawing room between here and London. It's said that if he wasn't so incredibly wealthy he would be hardly fit to keep polite company."
Jonathan tore his eyes from the Earl's long firm thighs and stared at Honoria.
"He's frightfully rich though and one of the few eligible men of title left." She frowned a little before pressing on. "Although I did overhear Lady Adelaide Brassingthwaite-Morton say that a man such as his Lordship would be of little use to a woman."
Jonathan raised his eyebrows in speculation. He was fascinated by Eversleigh; intrigued by his manner that boarded on flirtation. "Oh, whatever did she mean by that?"
"Well it's obvious, isn't it, Mr Riley? He's tight!"
"Tight?" Jonathan doubted that. He bit his lip to stop his laughter. The Earl seemed well experienced if he was any judge of men and given the chance he suddenly realised he'd be happy to test his theory. A slow heat spread through his body and he thrust his mind back to what Honoria was saying.
"Yes, with money. I hate to think what his future wife's dress allowance would be. Just look at the way he decks himself out. That coat with all it's guilt braiding, those breeches with their gold buttons. You can see he is simply showing off his assets!"
Jonathan nodded in agreement as he took in the masterful way McBride's legs gripped the sides of his saddle, his arse rising and falling in time with his mount.
"A man like that would NOT want to be overshadowed by his wife, so he would make certain that she could not dress herself in such a grand manner. It would be simply dreadful." Honoria's tone of voice was a clear indication that she, for one, did not see the Earl as a potential husband. "Of course that doesn't stop most marriageable young Ladies throwing themselves in his way whenever they are able. It's quite shameful really."
"Yes a real shame. A real shame." Jonathan muttered and the words brought with them a return of his own personal shame. How could he have these feelings, first towards Honoria and now the Earl, so soon after Kerrison's tragic death? But a new thought suddenly broke through like a ray of sun through a clouded sky. Jack Kerrison would find this whole situation rather funny. He'd tease Jonathan no end if he were here to see what was happening. Are you watching me Jack? You were right you know! Somewhere Jack Kerrison was laughing, Jonathan was sure. But the laugh was a kind one, an appreciation of the strength of the human spirit to go on even after great adversity. Jonathan looked up to the blue sky above, closed his eyes and smiled.
Chapter 8
Eversleigh Ramble, or The Ramble as it was more commonly know locally was a dark grotesquerie that seemed in complete contrast to its owner.
"Been in the family for generations, since the time of one of the Edward's I believe, but I confess I have little thought for such nonsense. I spend most of my time in London." Eversleigh threw his scarlet colonel's jacket to a mute manservant revealing beneath it a fine white shirt. Jonathan tried not to stare at the broad shoulders and finely chiselled chest that strained against the soft silk. He was acutely aware of his own dishevelled appearance as dried bits of mud continued to fall from his breeches.
"Show Miss Thockmorton to the drawing room, Crichton, and have someone bring tea. I'm taking Mr Riley upstairs to get him out of these clothes. I imagine we will be a while."
Jonathan opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked to Honoria in alarm, then back to the Earl who stood frowning slightly. "Not afraid are you Mr Riley? They haven't been telling you tales of my mad great-uncle, the notorious philanderer with a weakness for red heads, that we keep locked in the West Wing, have they?"
Jonathan shook his head.
"Go on, Mr Riley," Honoria leaned over and whispered. "Do not fear for my safety or my reputation. I am certain nothing will befall me while you are upstairs."
"She's right, now come along dear boy, I haven't got all day!"
Jonathan took a deep breath and followed the Earl up the creaking staircase.
"You don't say much do you?" The Earl cast a sideways glance at Jonathan from under his dark brows. "Friend of Lionel's?"
"Yes," Jonathan answered nervously. "We served together." Despite his attraction to this man he was hesitant as to where everything was leading so quickly.
Eversleigh suddenly stopped and threw open a dark mahogany door. "There you go. I'll have someone bring up some warm water in a moment. Help yourself to whatever clothes you can find that fit you. We'll await you down stairs. Do you think you can manage the way back by yourself?"
"You're not staying?" Jonathan blushed when he realised how it sounded. But the Earl cracked a smile and shook his head. "I think you'll be able to manage quite well by yourself Mr Riley, although you are probably used to having someone give you a hand when you are at sea." He winked and whispered, "Don't be too long or the tea will get cold."
Jonathan stared after Eversleigh's retreating back before closing his eyes with a groan. Had he simply imagined the invitation in the Earls' words or was Eversleigh playing some kind of game with him? Perhaps Honoria was the cause of this? Honoria, who seemed to muddle his sense so much that he had almost kissed her in the mud.
There was a reason for all of this, there had to be. Was it some strange after effect of losing Jack that suddenly had him as horny as... as a midshipman who had been at sea for months? Perhaps it was as simple as that? Not since that blissful week in Havant with Kerrison had Jonathan enjoyed any sort of physical release. I should have realised before now, Jonathan chided himself. THAT was the reason he had felt so drawn to Peter Crittenden who was merely offering him friendship. That was the reason he wanted to run his hands all over Honoria and see if she felt as soft as she looked. And that was the reason he wanted to strip off all his clothes and throw himself at Eversleigh like a...
"Water sir!"
Jonathan jumped as a sprightly young woman swished into the room with a pitcher of water and poured it into the basin in the wash stand. She looked him up and down, her gaze pausing a little too long on his groin and what he was trying to hide.
"Do you need any help Sir?" she asked politely bobbing into a small curtsey.
"Err, no thank you, no." Jonathan said. He breathed a sigh of relief when she left the room.
Chapter 9
The Earl's clothes were too large on him and he felt like a little boy dressing up as he made his way back to the drawing room. Eversleigh and Honoria were seated facing each other across a little tea trolley spread with delicacies. They both looked up as Jonathan entered.
"Ah, have a seat dear boy. You probably need a good strong cup of tea, or do you prefer coffee? I know you naval types are often contrary in your tastes.
"Tea will be fine, thank you Sir," Jonathan replied trying not to blush. Was it just his imagination, or did everything Eversleigh say have a second meaning?
"Thank goodness you are all right, Mr Riley. I was just telling Lord Eversleigh how disappointed all the young ladies would be if you had been injured and unable to dance at the ball."
"The ball?" Jonathan asked, his teacup jangling in his hands.
"Yes, the ball. Surely Lionel mentioned it? We are holding it in your honour."
Jonathan choked. "MY honour? But I... I... I...I simply can't! We don't have balls in the Navy!"
Honoria stared and blinked her big blue eyes.
Eversleigh tried to hide his grin. "I've heard it said before, but never believed it. We have them in the Military, you know, quite big ones." Jonathan blushed.
"Lionel said that when he was aboard the Neptune the Officers were always putting on plays or dressing up AND they would dance with each other as partners!" Honoria looked from one man to the next.
"I think it all depends on the Captain," Jonathan said quickly. "Some Captains DO encourage such frivolity, others do not. Captain Pellew was a rather serious man and he certainly did not encourage such ...intimacies."
"So does that mean you don't know how to dance?" Honoria asked solemnly.
Jonathan had attended dances in Havant at the local hall when he was about 12 or 13. Dancing had consisted of grabbing your partner's two hands and charging from one end of the hall to the other as fast as possible. He doubted such a performance would suffice. His mother had tried to teach him the more fashionable kind but he had been a reluctant student.
"I fear I may be a sorry disappointment, Miss Thockmorton." Jonathan said quietly.
"I'm sure you won't be Mr Riley," Eversleigh declared. "I doubt any of the young ladies present will be disappointed and it will give them a fine excuse to teach you a new step or two. I think your lack of dancing skills might actually prove to be a bounty." Eversleigh winked and grinned and Jonathan had to restrain himself from sighing in desperation. Why did everyone think he wanted women?
The afternoon wore on and Jonathan had to content himself with listening to Honoria and Eversleigh chat about things unfamiliar to him. From time to time they would endeavour to bring him into their conversation but it became more and more obvious that he had little in common with their level of society. Finally Eversleigh turned the talk to the war and his regiment.
"I can not say that I miss the fighting and the killing, but there are elements of military life that I miss. The friendships, the camaraderie of your fellow officers, those are things that are not always easy to find at home."
Jonathan nodded. "Yes, it is hard to come back to life ashore after being so long away. I see things differently now."
"When you have lived through war, seen friends die, killed men and tasted death yourself, then it is only natural that you find yourself changed." Eversleigh's words offered sympathetic understanding. It was as if they were alone together in the room, Honoria but a dim memory.
"Life and death are linked," the Earl continued. "The more we experience death, the greater we strive to enjoy life. I think it is something that only men truly understand."
Their eyes locked together, held. Jonathan felt his breathing start to race. Here was someone who might understand what was happening to him. How, in the very face of Kerrison's death, he could find himself so overwhelmed by life as never before.
Honoria interrupted. "It's getting late Mr Riley, we really must be leaving."
Suddenly Jonathan didn't want to leave. "Will I see you again?" he blurted out, quickly adding, "Your Lordship," when he realised how forward he sounded.
Alexander McBride smiled and his eyes glowed with pleasure. "Oh I am sure you will Mr Riley. Quite sure."
Chapter 10
Never before had Jonathan experienced anything like the ball at the Babsworth Manor. As each new guest arrived, Jonathan was introduced as a close friend and naval hero. It seemed everyone wanted to either shake his hand or dance with him.
Jonathan soon found himself amid a flock of fluttering young women, exquisitely clad in pastel shades of silken finery, twittering around him, each hoping he would sign her card for a dance. He barely tasted the chilled champagne in his glass as he listened to their endless chirping. The evening had only just begun.
From a distance he watched Lionel flirt with the older women; married, no doubt, their husbands still at sea or posted to the far reaches of the colonies. "Safer by far," Lionel had explained earlier while he inspected Jonathan's new clothes. "Married women know what they are missing, Jonathan, and are oft times even more eager to get it than I am. Their husbands are no doubt sampling the local women where ever they are posted so why should these charming ladies live like nuns? It's accepted!"
In Jonathan's eyes there was something morally wrong with that reasoning but he'd kept that observation to himself.
Before long the coterie of eligible young women which had gathered about him became unbearable. Each one appeared intent on catching his eye and laying claim and showed more single bloody-mindedness than many a Naval Captain in pursuit of a prize. Jonathan began to fear them more than the French. Desperately he sought a suitable excuse to escape their clutches. "A call of nature," he muttered delicately and watched as a dozen soft cheeks blushed in unison. Fans were raised, eyes averted. Jonathan fled.
It was cold on the terrace and Jonathan was quite alone. From the darkness he gazed into the brightly lit ballroom, one thousand candles glowing in the crystal chandeliers, illuminating the colourful dancers. It was something out of a fairy tale.
He turned his back on the giant windows and looked out at the sprawling grounds lit here and there by small lanterns. Overhead a half moon struggled from behind a lacy veil of high cloud. The weather would hold.
"We meet again, Mr Riley!" Jonathan spun around. He had not heard the intruder approach.
"Your Lordship," Jonathan inclined his head.
Eversleigh smiled and looked around. "You are alone?" he asked sounding somewhat surprised.
Jonathan nodded. The Earl raised an eyebrow. "I had expected to find you out here with a young lady."
"Oh no!" Jonathan shook his head. The Earls thin lips curled up into a slightly crooked smile making him look rather boyish.
"Perhaps you were waiting for someone then? Young Miss Babsworth or...Lionel?"
It was Jonathan's turn to look surprised.
"He IS your friend, isn't he?" the Earl inquired, leaving no doubt as to what he implied. "You shared the...what do you call it...COCKpit aboard ship?"
Jonathan let go a little laugh at the absurdity of the suggestion. "Lionel's not like that."
"But you are?" It was said gently, no sneer or accusation accompanying the words. Too late Jonathan realised he had left himself open.
"Is it that obvious?" Jonathan asked, his champagne clouded brain forgetting all caution.
"Only to one who is like minded, Jonathan," The Earl replied. "A handsome young man like yourself could have your choice of any of the young ladies inside and yet you hide away out here, gazing at the moon. What else should one think?"
"So you, too...?" Jonathan whispered, surprised more by the Earl's openness than by the admission.
"I had thought perhaps you might have guessed that time we first met. I must admit I was rather captivated by you." Eversleigh moved to stand beside Jonathan at the balustrade and stood looking down at him. "You are quite striking, but I am sure you have been heard such flattery before."
"No," Jonathan answered, thrilled by the compliment. The Earl continued.
"I thought I detected a faint interest from you too, but I told myself that I was mistaken. You are very young and I didn't want to presume."
"I'm not young, I'm...eighteen!" Jonathan wasn't exactly sure why he chose to lie, only that he was tired of being treated like a child. The look on Eversleigh's face told Jonathan the Earl was wise to his deception.
"Are you a virgin?" Eversleigh asked slowly.
Jonathan swallowed, unsettled by the directness. "No, I've been with a man...and a woman...several men actually," he added hastily.
"A shame, but not surprising. One rarely finds a midshipman who hasn't been breached. I half expect that you are all ritually deflowered on the quarter deck by the Captain when you first come aboard!" There was a mischievous glint in Eversleigh's eyes and Jonathan grinned back.
"Fortunately no, but I dare say there are a few Captain's who would think it a grand suggestion." They both laughed, an easy companionship sprouting between them.
"So, these 'men' you speak of, do you still see any of them?"
"No, not now," Jonathan replied, his voice sounding a little hollow as he thought of Kerrison.
Eversleigh did not allow him time to become maudlin. "Will you be staying long at Babsworth?"
"I have no idea. I'm here solely on the kindness of Lionel and his family. I...I really am in rather dire financial straits. I am waiting to hear from my uncle regarding my inheritance."
Jonathan was glad when Eversleigh didn't ask further. Instead the Earl pressed forward. "I'd like to see more of you, Mr Riley." The smile was now licentious. "Figuratively speaking, of course. I find you rather refreshing."
Jonathan looked up into the dark eyes that smiled down at him. "I'd like to see more of you too, Your Lordship."
Eversleigh leaned closer, the faint smell of cigar smoke and wine wafting in the air around him. "You must call me Alexander." Very slowly their lips met in a long sensuous kiss that left Jonathan dazed.
"Until we meet again, dear Jonathan."
He closed his eyes and leaned against the balustrade, only half aware of Eversleigh slipping away. He pushed his erection against the cold hard stone, lost in the memory of their kiss, the way Eversleigh's tongue had caressed the inside of his lips...
"What on earth are you doing out here with that man!"
Lionel Thockmorton's angry outburst jolted Jonathan from his dreams.
"We were just talking," Jonathan said, hoping it was too dark for Lionel to see his blush.
"Talking?" Lionel asked as he strode across the terrace to stand beside Jonathan and look him up and down. "That's hardly likely! Don't forget I know you, Jonathan." Lionel threw his hands in the air and started pacing.
"Here you are, surrounded by beautiful, rich young women and you manage to find the only sodomite in the ballroom!"
"Lionel! We were merely talking!
"Quite frankly it won't make a lot of difference. If your name should be linked to his, then your future would be in ruins. Eversleigh can get away with buggering boys because he is rich and he has a title and friends in high places. YOU, on the other hand have no such advantages. You would never be offered another berth aboard a decent ship and you'd have to take your chances with some poxed old bugger of a Captain who was more interested in your arse than your arithmetic."
Jonathan blinked, surprised and angered by Lionel's outburst. "If you have quite finished, Lionel I think I will retire to bed."
"You can't go to bed. This ball is in YOUR honour Jonathan, in case you have forgotten. The least you can do is have the decency to dance with Honoria and the other young women you promised."
Jonathan felt chastened. He was hardly behaving as a guest should. Lionel and his family had been very generous and this was no way to repay them.
"I'm sorry, Lionel. It's not that I don't appreciate your kindness, it's just that I find it all so ...overwhelming. I'm completely lost."
Lionel's look softened. "Jonathan I know this is hard for you, but you must let me guide you. Once you understand our ways you will feel right at home. You might even find that you actually have a good time. Now come inside. The dancing is about to start."
Chapter 11
The rest of the night passed in a whirl of music and champagne and women. Jonathan passed from one partner to the next as they moved through the dance sets. There seemed to be an endless stream of young girls passing him by as he tried to keep up with the steps and movements. Thankfully he avoided doing anyone serious injury.
The room was hot and stuffy, fires burning and windows closed to prevent the heated dancers catching chill. Jonathan felt light headed from the heat. He envied the women in their flimsy gowns of silk and muslin as he sweated beneath shirt, waistcoat, cravat and broadloom coat. During the short intervals between dances, he drank champagne, trying in vain to quench his thirst. It only served to make him hotter and even more dizzy.
Although he only danced with Honoria briefly, he was acutely aware of her presence in the room. Her eyes followed him as he moved about the floor and he had only to look up to find her watching him intently.
Jonathan found himself wishing he could dance every set with her despite Lionel's earlier warning of never dancing more than two sets with a young lady in case she took it as a proposal of marriage. He thought about Honoria's hand in his, small and delicate, and the fragrant scent that wafted towards him whenever she stepped close. He had held her for one brief moment as they danced, his arm around her tiny waist and was captivated by the feel of her warm skin beneath her gown.
When they broke apart and came together again, face to face, Jonathan found he could almost see down her gown into the murky depths between her breasts. He fantasised about what lurked there, just out of his sight. Memories of what he had found between a whores parted thighs in Gibraltar mingled with his own champagne fuelled fantasies and he spent the long hours in a delightful state of arousal. He wondered if Honoria was aware?
She certainly seemed to have some notion of it for during the next break she led Jonathan behind one of the screens erected to guard the room from draughts. The dancers had stopped to partake of more light refreshments but Honoria wanted different fare. She stood so close that Jonathan could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Her nearness was almost overbearing. Slowly Jonathan reached out and pulled her against him. He was acutely aware of the curve of her waist and found his fingers roaming up and down with a life of their own. The thin layer of muslin that separated his fingers from her bare flesh proved no barrier to his fevered imaginings.
Honoria struggled for a moment but then sank against him, not minding that their thighs brushed together or that her breasts were firmly pushed against Jonathan's coat. In fact she seemed most eager to rub herself against his crotch.
"Really Mr Riley, you must unhand me." Her lashes fluttered and her lips pursed. The words were confusing.
I must?" Jonathan murmured as he watched Honoria's breasts rise and fall, their delicate skin glistening faintly with sweat.
"This is really most unbecoming and you shall be the ruin of me if you persist with your lust in this manner." Despite her protestations she made no move to escape.
"I will?" He gazed into her sparkling blue eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were parted. She rubbed against his erection again and Jonathan moaned. From the other side of the screen Jonathan heard Lionel calling his name.
"One kiss is all I may give you, Sir. Nothing more, do you understand, no matter how tirelessly you beg!" With that Honoria raised herself onto her toes, pursed her lips, closed her eyes and waited.
Jonathan grabbed her, crushed her mouth to his. She struggled, but at the same time kissed him back with a ferocity and skill that left no doubt as to her talents.
"Unhand me Mr Riley, you forget yourself!" she declared when she finally broke free.
"Huh?" Jonathan stared, not understanding what he had done wrong.
"I am not one of your Portsmouth whores, Mr Riley, and you must contain your passions. I forgive you of course for I know that men's appetites can be savage, however you will not slake them with me."
"I...I...I'm sorry...I...too much champagne." Before Jonathan could think, Honoria leaned in again and kissed him passionately. It left his head whirling.
"Perhaps another time Mr Riley," she whispered as she stepped around the screen and out into the crowed ball room.
Another hour passed before the carriages were called and the guests began to depart. During that time Honoria all but ignored him. Jonathan was left to try and hide his painful state of arousal. He wondered about seeking out the Earl of Eversleigh before he left. A goodnight kiss would be quite appealing; a goodnight fuck would be even better. Jonathan giggled. The champagne had done its work. Unfortunately Eversleigh was nowhere to be seen and Jonathan knew it would look odd if he started asking after the man.
Around him servants were beginning the arduous task of cleaning up and the musicians were packing away their instruments. From the hallway, Jonathan could here Lionel's voice bidding farewell to the last of the guests. He meandered out, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Eversleigh, only to come face to face with Honoria.
"Goodnight Jonathan," she whispered, her breath caressing his face, her lips red and soft and begging to be kissed. He leaned in to kiss her, only to feel the sharp slap of her tiny hand on his cheek. Then she turned quickly and was away up the stair before he could recover. Jonathan stood and watched her go.
It was all so confusing. Hadn't Honoria encouraged him all evening? So why then would she appear offended when he returned her attentions? Surely a kiss couldn't hurt or could it? Jonathan bit his lip, he really didn't understand women at all.
But he did know about men and he knew he would never rest until he had taken care of his own aching need for release. Once in his room, clothes were discarded and left lying where they fell. He ignored the night shirt that was waiting on the bed and slid between the cold sheets, naked. He spat on his palm and slid his hand down to seize his erection. Thoughts of Jack and Archie and Eversleigh all tumbled together in his mind as he worked away at his passion. Vague images of Honoria intruded. Her warm thighs and stomach pressing against him through her flimsy gown. The feel of Eversleigh's tongue in his mouth, the touch of his lips, Jack's hands upon him, Peter's warm arms about him.
He came with a shout and lay panting in the dark, warm and heavy and alone.
Chapter 12
His head was full of sand and it throbbed with a dull ache. Jonathan opened one bleary eye as a maid pulled the curtains back to let sunshine stream into the room.
"Will you be wanting anything, Sir? It is past noon."
Past noon? "No, no thank you." Jonathan groaned and rolled over. The maid left.
Slowly the events of the previous evening returned to haunt him. His meeting with Eversleigh on the terrace and their steamy kiss; Honoria's forwardness and then her icy refusal. Not surprisingly Jonathan found himself growing hard again. Best take care of it now and then he might have some respite for a while at least. He rolled onto his back again and closed his eyes.
"What ARE you doing in here, Mr Riley? I have been waiting all morning for you to arise so that we may go riding!"
Jonathan's eyes snapped open and his hands sprang up to grab the sheets. He hauled them up to his neck covering his bare chest.
"Nothing!" Jonathan glared at Honoria who hovered in the doorway. He had not heard her come in.
Honoria's crystal blue eyes darted up and down before she stepped into the room and closed the door soundly. She looked at the night shirt that still lay folded on the bed, then back to Jonathan who was now blushing furiously.
"Whatever are you wearing Mr Riley? Is this some sort of naval custom?"
"I think you should leave Miss Thockmorton. I have nothing on and I don't think it would be ...proper if you were found here in my bedroom."
Honoria smiled like a cat that had just sighted cream. "That's not the impression you gave me last night, Mr Riley." She crossed the room and seated herself on the edge of Jonathan's bed. "I will leave only when you promise me to take me riding every day for the next week?" she purred.
"Riding? But I ...I would rather not. I am still a little sore from that fall."
"Please Mr Riley?" She leaned closer and brought one small hand up to rest on Jonathan's thigh. "It is ever so dull here and Father refuses to allow me to go to London or out riding with Mr Hepple from over at Littlemore. I get so bored." She moved her hand in a gentle caressing motion up and down his leg. "And you would not want me to tell Father and Lionel what you did last night, now would you?'
"Honoria, please..."
"Please what?" she breathed.
"Please stop this. I...you..." Perhaps he should simply be direct with her.
"You are causing me to...become...flustered!"
Rather than be put of by the admission, Honoria seemed even more interested. Her brows raised in question? "Flustered?" she asked fluttering her fair lashes.
"Yes, " Jonathan replied, trying not to squirm. Thank God the bed had sufficient covers on it to disguise what was hiding beneath.
"You men! You think we women know nothing of what goes on, don't you. Well Lady Sarah Fenmore told me that men were built just like horses and if you had something that big under there I think I would know it!"
"HONORIA!" Jonathan was appalled.
"Show me then!" Honoria demanded and clutched the bedclothes with her small hands seeking her quarry.
"Stop that!" Jonathan squeaked, grabbing at her hands and wrestling them away. In the process the sheet he had modestly covered himself with slipped down to his waist.
"Oh Jonathan," Honoria raised one small hand to her brow. "I feel quite faint at the sight before me."
Hastily he pulled the sheet back into place. "Just leave Honoria! I will go riding with you every day if you will just leave now!"
Honoria smiled. "Thank you Jonathan, I knew you would see it my way." With that she rose and left the room.
Jonathan sank back onto the pillows and breathed a sigh of relief. Dear God! What was he going to do? Perhaps he should talk to Lionel about Honoria? If anyone would know what to do it would be Lionel. There was something else that needed attention too and he had better be taken care of it rather quickly. He reached down beneath the sheets again just as the door opened once more.
"Honoria, I told you..." Jonathan blurted out.
Lionel Thockmorton narrowed his eyes and glared at Jonathan.
"Please tell me that my sister, whom I just passed in the hall, hasn't been visiting you room whilst you are...in such a state!" Lionel's voice rose slightly till it was just short of screaming. He did not look pleased and Jonathan wasn't at all sure what he meant by 'state'. It could simply be referring to his state of undress or it might also be referring to his state of arousal. Lionel was too astute at times.
"Lionel she just asked if I wanted a ride... er, I mean go riding...to go riding, every day...She was very persistent."
Lionel rolled his eyes. "I know what she is like, Jonathan, so you don't have to defend yourself. BUT this does highlight a growing problem. Not only are you in danger from Alexander McBride, but now my sister is causing you to forget all your common sense. And do you know WHY these things are happening Jonathan?" Lionel raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for Jonathan's reply.
"No?"
"Sex! You need sex!" Lionel gestured to the bundle of blankets covering Jonathan's lap. "And don't think frigging your yard is going to alleviate the problem. THAT is why I have decided to take you to London for a while."
"Sex, London?" Jonathan's voice was rising now. "Not whores Lionel, I simply won't do it!" he declared folding his arms.
"Not whores Jonathan, ladies and we won't have to pay. I know several who will be more than happy to make your acquaintance and...entertain you in return for a little company. Tit for tat you might call it."
Jonathan paled. "But I don't want to go to London. And besides, I think I might disappoint your friends. As you keep telling me I am not particularly experienced when it comes to women."
"Don't worry about a thing. I will make sure I give you some instructions before hand so that you know just what you are doing. AND while we are there we can call at Admiralty House and speak to a few Captains. I am sure you would like to find yourself another posting, wouldn't you?"
"Well yes...but,"
"Then it's settled. We leave this afternoon. Finish whatever it was you were doing. I'll send a maid to help you."
Jonathan raised his eyebrows in shock. "LIONEL!"
Lionel rolled his eyes and laughed. "With the packing Jonathan!"
Chapter 13
London: April 1802
"The most important thing to remember Jonathan is that your partner will be looking for satisfaction as well. Women have needs too!"
"They do?"
Jonathan hoped he didn't look too shocked by Lionel's revelation. They were sipping brandy in the small drawing room of Lionel's rooms just off St. James Square.
"Of course they do. THEY will be looking to enjoy the experience as much as YOU! Why do you think these ladies are so eager for the company of young virile gentlemen?"
Jonathan shrugged. He had no idea. Obviously it wasn't for their conversation.
It was April and they had been in London for several weeks. Up until now Lionel had been content to play the host and show Jonathan around. After first visiting several exclusive tailors, they had embarked on numerous visits to the theatre and the opera. Lionel was also fond of certain gentlemen's clubs where gambling and cards seemed to be the favoured past time. Jonathan had been dismayed as he watched Lionel fritter away more pounds than he usually saw in his yearly allowance.
During the day they would go driving in St. James Park, stopping here and there to pass the time with other well to do people, all of whom seemed to know Lionel by sight. Most of them were women. Several times they had been invited to afternoon tea by these ladies, where once again, card playing seemed to be the order of the day. But tonight's invitation to a small gathering at the home of one of Lionel's lady friends promised entertainment of a different sort.
"You DO know how to give a woman pleasure, don't you?" Lionel asked, bringing Jonathan back to the matter at hand. Jonathan raised his eyebrows doubtfully. When Lionel saw that no answer was forthcoming he pressed on.
"There is this certain spot that you need to..."
"Oh I know about that!" Jonathan interrupted, sounding relieved. "But I never imagined that women would let you do it to them like that too. This makes it so much easier!"
"Jonathan! Whatever are you talking about?" Lionel's eyes suddenly opened in shock. "You don't mean...? You CAN'T do THAT to a woman! My God, she'd scream her head off if you even suggested it!"
"But you said..."
"I think we must be talking about two different 'spots'." Lionel dipped his finger in his brandy and began drawing a map on the mahogany table. "Sail NORTH Jonathan...leave the windward passage behind, so to speak. Keep going until you reach...deep water." Here he drew an oval shape. "THAT'S where you anchor your frigate. I am sure you can manage THAT much." More brandy on the finger and he continued. "NOW keep sailing north, up the long shallow...inlet. It's surrounded by a lot of brush, you won't get lost. There's a rocky bit at the end with a...fairly prominent buoy. You can't miss it. THAT'S what you want."
Jonathan studied the diagram. "And what do I do with it?" he asked uncertainly.
"Just rub it a bit...but gently! They enjoy that."
"How will I tell if they are enjoying it?"
Lionel shook his head in exasperation. "They will probably make a lot of little gasping noises and shiver a bit. That's usually a good sign."
"And do I do this before or after I sink my anchor?" Jonathan asked again, wondering if he should be taking notes. Perhaps he should have asked Kerrison about all this when he was alive. Jonathan was sure the mate would have had a better way of explaining it all.
"Before and during if you can manage it. And don't forget the rest of them!"
"The rest? How much more is there?" Jonathan downed his brandy and poured another. He was going to need it.
"Oh Jonathan!" It was clear that Lionel was becoming frustrated with Jonathan's repeated questioning. "You have to make love to the WHOLE woman, not just the bits that feel good to you."
Dear God, it sounded like hard work! Jonathan rubbed his chin. "So what will she be doing to me while I am doing all of this?"
"Why lying there of course! These are ladies after all and you can't expect them to work up a sweat! Although, you do strike the occasional one who likes to move about." Lionel winked and dropped his voice low. "I had one once who like to climb on top and take charge, but she was a bit of an exception." Lionel straightened up and finished his brandy. "These women are not whores Jonathan. If you want anything athletic you will have to pay for it."
Jonathan frowned. It was sounding more and more like a very bad idea. "Lionel, I am not really sure I am up to this. I mean I might have trouble rising to the occasion. It's beginning to feel like a navigation examination."
"The day you can't get it up Jonathan is the day Britannia will no longer rule the waves. Now stop worrying and come along. Just let nature take it's cause."
Chapter 14.
What a nightmare! Jonathan stood in the corner and drank down another glass of wine. His head was spinning slightly and he worried that he might fall over if he tried to move too quickly. From the moment he and Lionel had arrived he had been accosted and mauled by one woman after another. These women were nothing like the young ladies who had surrounded him at the Babsworth ball. These women were hunters and Jonathan was the prey. Most were married, some were widowed. A few were old enough to be his mother.
They thought nothing of touching him, draping their arms around him and even running their hands up his leg when they thought no one else would see. Several had patted his bottom. One had stroked his crotch. He'd had no end of invitations to accompany Lady This or Mrs That upstairs so she could rest a little. At least he wasn't naive enough to misunderstand their intentions. So far he had managed to allude their clutches without offending their sensitivities, but the night was still young.
Lionel had disappeared a while ago and Jonathan had sought courage in wine. There were other men present, mostly young, but no one had so much as stopped to introduce themselves or offer a friendly word. Jonathan felt very much alone. Perhaps he should find somewhere to hide for a while until Lionel was ready to leave. That was IF Lionel intended to leave. He seemed to be on very close terms with their hostess, Lady Thistleton. It was quite likely that Lionel would simply stay on after all the other guests had gone.
"Young man, you look alone. Let me keep you company for a while." Jonathan groaned inwardly as a well dressed woman of striking looks stopped in front of him. "What is your name?"
"Midshipman Jonathan Riley Ma'am, late of His Majesties Ship the Indefatigable."
"Ah, a Midshipman, my husband is an Admiral. He is often away. I live in Portsmouth but it is so cold and damp this time of year. I much prefer London. Where are you from Mr Riley?"
"Havant Ma'am," Jonathan muttered. Perhaps if he sounded dull she might leave in pursuit of livelier prey.
"Please, call me Maria. My full name would be too much of a mouthful for you."
Maria? Jonathan stared at the woman a moment and remembered Pip and his dying words about a married woman with whom he had spent a rushed shore leave in Portsmouth just before that last ill fated voyage. Her name had been Maria and her husband was an admiral, according to Lionel. He'd mentioned his name, something long and distinguished, Jonathan remembered. Was this the same woman? If so, Jonathan had promised to deliver Pip's last message to her.
"Excuse me Ma'am, but would you happen to be acquainted with a young midshipman by the name of Pip Moseby? He was in Portsmouth on leave last November?"
The playful eyes suddenly took on a guarded look. "It is possible, for I meet many young men through my husband's connections. I can not say I remember all of them by name." She tilted her head a little, considering. "This young man, has he spoken of me?"
"He did Ma'am, as he was dying." Jonathan took a shaky breath as the memories returned. "He asked me to give you a message. He wanted you to know that he loved you."
There was silence between them for a moment.
"I do recall the young gentleman in question, a darling boy. You say he is dead?"
Jonathan nodded. "Yes, he was my friend and he died in my arms." He knew his voice was shaking and he fought back his tears.
"How sad for you Mr Riley." She placed one long fingered hand in Jonathan's sleeve and leaned closer. "I share your loss. Perhaps you and I could retire together upstairs and console each other?" Her eyes sparkled again, hard and brittle like diamonds. There was no sorrow in their depths, no trace of regret that Pip was gone. He had meant nothing to her.
"I'm sorry, no. Please forgive me." Jonathan shrugged off her hand, desperate to get away. He grabbed another glass of wine from the sideboard as he passed and made his way to the hall. Once there he sought a place to be alone with his grief. He found a darkened room, empty and small. He leaned against the wall, his head aching and spinning from sorrow now as much as from the wine he had consumed.
"We really must stop meeting like this." Jonathan opened his eyes and pushed himself off the wall, stumbling. A firm hand reached out to steady him and Jonathan found himself looking up into the laughing eyes of the Earl of Eversleigh. "All alone again Jonathan?" McBride whispered as he pulled Jonathan into his arms.
"Not anymore," Jonathan whispered just before the Earl's mouth descended and Jonathan lost himself in a breathless kiss. The Earl's arms were like a safe harbour after the storms he had been navigating.
"What are you doing here?" Jonathan asked when they broke for breath. They were still close enough to read each other's eyes in the semi-darkness. Jonathan didn't want to let go.
"Are you not pleased to see me?" Eversleigh asked, feigning disappointment.
"Of course I am pleased," Jonathan gushed, any reticence washed away by the numerous glasses of wine he had been drinking. "I just wondered at such luck. You have no idea how much I needed to see a friendly face."
"No luck about it dear boy. I spent the last few weeks trying to find out where you had gone. As soon as I knew you were in London I came here right away. As for why I am at this gathering, that's simple...I was invited."
Jonathan smiled. "I'm glad you came, so glad." He reached up and gave Eversleigh another clumsy kiss. All thoughts of Pip and sorrow were swept away by a new emotion that surged like a tidal wave. Lust.
"You're a little drunk, aren't you."
"Hmmm, just a little, yes...I was having such a terrible time and these women, they simply wouldn't leave me alone. They kept touching me, like this." Jonathan slid his hand around to rest on Eversleigh's arse.
The Earl laughed. "You must be drunk, dear Jonathan, to take such liberties with me. Although I will admit I DO like this side of you." To prove his point the Earl slid his own hands around and grabbed Jonathan's arse, pulling their groins close together. There was no mistaking the Earl's interest.
"What say you, would you like to come back to my rooms?" As an enticement, Eversleigh commenced to nibble at Jonathan's neck.
"I'm here with Lionel. He might worry if I simply disappear."
"Lionel Thockmorton wouldn't notice if the entire house fell down around him. He is quite happily ensconced between Emma Thistleton's thighs and will most likely stay that way until tomorrow morning!"
"Well if you put it like that," Jonathan murmured as he leaned back against the wall again. He still felt as if he might fall over at any moment. "I suppose it would be all right then." Eversleigh seized his mouth once more and crushed him against the wall. Jonathan wondered if they would be able to wait.
"Come along then. We shall leave the back way so as not to arouse suspicion."
He was glad he had Eversleigh to lean on and guide the way. Jonathan found he was in no condition to navigate. He was vaguely aware of the Earl making their excuses and bidding goodbye to someone or other and then he was seated in the warm darkness of Eversleigh's coach, the leather upholstery pungent and rich. Eversleigh's hands and mouth were upon him and his were on the Earl. Clothing was loosened, fingers sought bare flesh, tongues duelled, teeth nipped and soon Jonathan was panting and trying hard not to come.
It was the Earl who pulled away first. When he spoke his voice sounded strangely even. "Best not to get too carried away with it. I wouldn't want it to be all over before I even get you home." Jonathan was breathing too hard to reply. Eversleigh straightened his clothes then helped Jonathan with his.
"We're here, Sir." The coachman's voice drifted from afar.
As they alighted from the coach the cold air made Jonathan's heads spin even more and he suddenly felt a fleeting sense of nausea overtake him. He swayed and Eversleigh grabbed his elbow. Then he was bustled up the stone steps and through into a hallway where servants waited. He had the unsettling thought that he must look quite a sight. But no one seemed to worry or comment and after giving a few orders to his staff Eversleigh assisted Jonathan up the stairs and into a sumptuous bedroom. A manservant laid a bottle and two glasses on a sideboard and left quietly, closing the door.
Jonathan could do little more than sprawl on the bed and watch the Earl pour out two glasses. He managed to kick of his shoes and made a half hearted attempt at the buttons on his breeches.
The Earl sat down beside him and offered the glass but Jonathan shook his head. "Think I'ff had inuff," he slurred. Eversleigh took a mouthful of whatever was in his glass and then bent down to kiss Jonathan. He tasted of brandy and Jonathan giggled under the kiss. He tasted like Archie.
"Wan me to suck yer prick? Promisss I won' bite it." Jonathan declared, reaching for Eversleigh's breeches. The Earl stilled his hands and bent down to kiss him again, stretching out so that he lay full length upon Jonathan's supine figure, pressing him into the bed.
"I had a little more in mind if you don't object." Eversleigh whispered. He looked down at Jonathan as if waiting for some sort of reply.
"Hmmm fine, fuck'n's good too." Jonathan said sleepily. The bed was spinning now at an alarming rate.
"Do try to stay awake Jonathan, I much prefer my partners to be conscious." Jonathan closed his eyes, felt his stomach heave and let oblivion take him.
Chapter 15
He would have to stop drinking so much. Since coming to stay in London with Lionel, there had been far too many mornings where Jonathan had awoken hung over from the night before. It was becoming a habit, but this morning was a little different. With a jolt Jonathan looked around, wondering for a moment where he was. Slowly his memory returned, or enough of it to know that he was in the home of Alexander McBride. In his bed to be precise; naked.
With a feeling somewhere between relief and regret, Jonathan ascertained, as best he could that he had not indulged in anything sexual. He remembered kissing Eversleigh, remembered wanting him so badly in the coach on the way here. But the rest was a blurred confusion. He thought he remembered being sick and hoped he was mistaken.
"Ah, awake. Here this is what you need." Eversleigh bounced into the room a little too cheerily for Jonathan's abused head. He offered a weak smile.
"How are you feeling?" Eversleigh asked, as he set tray laden with tea pot, sugar bowl, creamer and two cups and saucers down beside the bed and proceeded to undo the velvet robe he was wearing. Underneath he was quite naked. Jonathan stared for a moment before dropping his eyes.
"I feel fine, thank you, your Lordship."
"So formal Jonathan," Eversleigh chided. He slid into the bed beside Jonathan and leaned up on one elbow. "Have some tea, you will feel better after that."
Jonathan did as he was bid. The sweet tea did wonders for his unsettled stomach. "Where are my clothes," he asked as he sipped the tea quietly.
"They are being cleaned. Do you remember what happened?" Eversleigh reached out to brush at a stray curl from Jonathan's eyes. The gesture was a gentle one.
"I think I embarrassed myself. I do apologise. I had far too much to drink. I hope I didn't cause you too much inconvenience." Jonathan replaced the teacup and turned to face Eversleigh. The Earl's eyes began to glow.
"No need to apologise, dear. No harm done, although I will admit I was severely disappointed that we could not...consummate our friendship." Eversleigh's fingers slid down Jonathan's throat until they reached the pale skin of his chest. Once there they made lazy twirls and whirls that soon had Jonathan shivering. "Perhaps if you are feeling up to it we might continue to our mutual satisfaction?"
It was the last thing Jonathan felt like, but he had already disappointed this man once and did not wish to do so again.
"Yes, I'd like that too," Jonathan whispered trying to muster some enthusiasm. He leaned forward for a kiss.
"Rinse your mouth out with some more of that tea first. There's a dear."
Once more Jonathan did as directed, spitting the tea back into the cup after he had swirled it around in his mouth a few times. Eversleigh was quick to take control, pushing Jonathan onto his back and pinning him to the bed. He let Eversleigh pull him along towards passion, let him be the aggressor, the instigator. Jonathan struggled to keep up.
Eversleigh rolled him over onto his stomach and lifted his hips in a one efficient movement. A little applied spit and the Earl was ready to ride. Jonathan drew a sharp breath. Eversleigh was certainly a well endowed man, there was no disputing that! It hurt almost as much as it had the first time. What was it that Kerrison had said...'go easy because it's been a while'? Jonathan winced again. Perhaps he should have said something.
"Are you all right?" Eversleigh must have noticed his discomfit. "You HAVE done this before, haven't you?"
"Yes, it's been a while though. I didn't realise." He sounded like a whining child. Jonathan buried his head in the pillow hoping to hide.
"Easy there." Eversleigh was patting his rump and whispering in the same tone he had used when settling Jonathan's horse after the fall. "Hold still a little while."
Jonathan waited, taking deep breaths as he tried to relax. Eversleigh tried again and Jonathan flinched.
"Wait there a moment and I will find something better to use." Eversleigh offered.
Jonathan shook his head. "No need, spit's fine. That's what I'm used to. Go on, I'm all right now."
The Earl took Jonathan at his word and continued. It was hardly a memorable experience. As he lay on his back afterwards Jonathan added a sore arse to his list of discomforts. Eversleigh on the other hand seemed contented.
"Interesting tattoo you have. Is it a souvenir of some kind."
The words brought with them a stab of guilt as thoughts of Kerrison came rushing back. He'd told Kerrison he loved him, told him there would be no others; that he would never love anyone the way he loved Jack. Yet here Jonathan lay, in another man's bed, a man he hardly knew. Perhaps it was only right that he had found no pleasure in the act. This was his punishment for being unfaithful.
Eversleigh lay waiting for Jonathan's answer, a slight frown on his brow. He tried again.
"Jonathan, are you all right? I don't think you were quite up to that, you know. We can try it again in a little while...I'll make sure you enjoy it more next time."
It had been foolish of course to come home like this with Eversleigh but Jonathan didn't know how to extricate himself from the situation now without sounding ungracious. Yet he really must be getting home for Lionel would be worried. He was bound to have fit when he heard. But how could Jonathan ask to leave now, when the Earl was looking at him in such a concerned fashion.
"Is it something to do with that tattoo, dear? I am sorry I mentioned it if it is a source of sorrow."
Jonathan closed his eyes, conscious once again of his aching head and sick stomach. It wasn't right to talk about Jack while he lay abed with another man. With a flash of insight Jonathan understood why this felt so different. He could never love Eversleigh as he had loved Jack. Eversleigh may have possession of his body, but he would never touch Jonathan's heart.
Finally he opened his eyes and stared at the man who lay beside him.
"Forgive me please, but I still feel a little ill. Could I rest a bit longer?"
"Why of course dear, sleep for a while, I'll be here when you wake."
Sleep...the advice was good, for at least in sleep Jonathan could hide.
Chapter 16
Something wet in his left ear awoke Jonathan with a start. "Do you like that?" the Earl asked, before his tongue resumed it's sensual slide in and out of Jonathan's ear.
Jonathan stumbled for what to say. "Yes, but I really should be going. Lionel will be worried."
"I sent word to his rooms earlier, Jonathan. You need not worry. He knows exactly where you are."
The thought was not reassuring. Jonathan sighed.
"What's wrong my dear? I know you didn't enjoy my attentions earlier...no, don't deny it. But let me make it up to you now? What do you say?"
Eversleigh didn't wait for Jonathan to answer but dived under the bedcovers and commenced licking at Jonathan's groin like a dog. Jonathan pushed the covers back and watched, feeling the first sparks of reluctant arousal start deep in his stomach. The Earl knew his business. As Eversleigh's tongue became more daring he pushed one of Jonathan's legs up and to the side to gain better access. He tongue darted behind, searching, seeking, probing. Jonathan caught his breath.
"Do you like that, perhaps?" Eversleigh asked, his voice somewhat muffled. Jonathan couldn't reply.
Eversleigh's warm tongue withdrew and one long wet finger was slowly inserted. With deliberate intent it felt around. Jonathan jumped, and jumped again. He cried out and semen shot all over his stomach.
"Better?" Eversleigh asked, looking quite pleased with himself. He moved up to bend over Jonathan waiting for a kiss. Jonathan turned his head away.
"I'm sorry...I just couldn't. Not after...what you just did." He felt like a fool, a na�ve, prudish little fool but he couldn't bring himself to kiss Eversleigh when the man had just had his tongue in his arse.
Eversleigh didn't seem to mind. He laughed softly. "Ah Jonathan, you are so sweet." Gently he caught Jonathan by the chin and turned his face back. "Do I shock you?"
"A little," Jonathan conceded, mesmerised by Eversleigh's eyes.
"There are many things I would like to show you Jonathan, things beyond your wildest imaginings, things that men may share with each other. Would you give me that chance?"
Jonathan nodded. "Yes, but not now. I really should be getting back to Lionel's."
"You are welcome to stay here with me, Jonathan. I rather enjoy your company. And please, call me Alexander."
"That is very generous...Alexander...but I simply couldn't. Thank you all the same."
The Earl looked disappointed. "Well then DO say you will be my partner tomorrow night at a rather special gathering. I think you will find you have far more in common with these gentlemen than with Lady Thistleton and her friends."
"Er, well I really should speak with Lionel, first."
"Nonsense, Thockmorton isn't your keeper. I'll have my coach collect you at six."
The Earl rose and picked up his robe.
"I'll have the maid bring your clothes. It's been a pleasure!"
Chapter 17
"Dear GOD Jonathan, do you have any idea what you are doing?" Lionel's face was red with anger. They were in the drawing room, the door was shut, but Lionel was shouting so loudly that Jonathan was sure all the staff must be able to hear. "Well? Do you have ANY-thing to say?"
Jonathan said nothing. His own sense of guilt weighed heavily enough without Lionel's censure.
"The man is notorious Jonathan, I've told you that before." Lionel ranted. "You simply must NOT be seen with him again. With any luck the rumours have not yet spread too far."
Not see Eversleigh again? Jonathan's chin shot upwards. "But I am seeing Alexander tomorrow night. We are attending a..."
"No you are not Jonathan." Lionel placed his hands on his hips. "We must send word that you have changed your mind. It's the only way."
A slow anger built inside and burned its way to the surface. "Lionel you are not my keeper!" They were Eversleigh's words but Jonathan didn't care. Who was Lionel to think he could decide what Jonathan did or didn't do? He wasn't his father, or even his guardian.
"No, I'm not your keeper, but I am your friend and what you are about to undertake is very, very foolish. I have explained it all to you before! As long as you are staying here with me Jonathan, you will have no further business with the Earl. Is that clear?"
"Quite clear Lionel." With all the defiance of youth Jonathan plunged ahead. "I will pack my things and leave. I don't need you charity when it comes at such a high price."
Lionel opened his mouth to protest, but Jonathan pressed on. "I am not you Lionel, nor can I pretend to be. Alexander understands that and accepts me as I am. Besides, I can't see what is so different between me going home with him and you fucking a woman twice your age whose husband is risking his life in India for his King and Country!"
"Why how dare you..."
Jonathan didn't wait for the reply but turned his back and flew up the stairs to his room. Lionel Thockmorton did not follow.
There was not much to pack. Jonathan had little that he could claim as his own. Most of his clothing had been bought by Lionel and Jonathan vowed to leave it all here.
On the bed he gathered his few possessions. There was the uniform that Peter had bought for him to wear at the court martial. Jonathan fingered the blue coat remembering. He'd have to wear it as it was the only complete outfit he possessed. Two cast off shirts and a pair of worn drawers from the Nightingale's mids, an old razor that Pike had given him, and a hair brush that had been Peter's.
He dressed in his uniform, and tied the rest in one of the shirts. If only he had a little money. He would look rather pathetic turning up at Eversleigh's door penniless. But Jonathan still had no idea if there was any money coming to him or even how to go about getting at it. Damn his uncle for taking his time!
With one final glance around the room, Jonathan left.
Chapter 18
May 1802
Jonathan had to admit that life with Eversleigh was far more to his liking. Eversleigh had been right. The people he knew thought nothing of two men being seen together. In fact they thought nothing of most things that one would hang for anywhere else in London. It was exciting and Jonathan soon found himself drawn into a world that he had hitherto not known existed. Most of the gatherings were small, but there were always the most interesting people present, most of whom were always eager to pay him compliments. Eversleigh basked in the attention, proud to display Jonathan on his arm or on his lap, like a fond possession, secure in the knowledge that Jonathan was his.
Once they were alone in Eversleigh's bed, another world opened up for Jonathan, one that left him breathless and intoxicated. There seemed to be nothing the Earl didn't know or wouldn't try. Time and again Jonathan was left blushing at the Earl's daring, but Eversleigh never chided him if he refused or failed to reach the same heights.
Time passed in a whirl of carnal pleasure with Jonathan content to live for each day or night, giving little thought to the future. Eversleigh provided everything he needed, from food to clothes to friends. Reality made an abrupt arrival one morning late in May.
The black silk blindfold was still firmly in place when Jonathan awoke. He'd been too exhausted to remove it the night before and had fallen to sleep with it on. Alexander had been thoughtful enough to untie his hands although Jonathan couldn't remember him doing so. He could hear the Earl breathing slowly by his side, still asleep.
A cold hand running down his naked chest brought Jonathan fully awake. He jerked off the blindfold and stared up at a blond haired stranger.
"Good morning. Is this a private party or may anyone join in." The hand dipped lower under the sheets. Jonathan grabbed the wrist to stop its movement.
"James love, whenever did you get back?" Eversleigh sat up rubbing his eyes. He leaned across Jonathan to give the newcomer a passionate kiss. They were obviously well acquainted.
"Just now, I came straight here. I couldn't wait to see you, Alex." He hadn't taken his eyes from Jonathan. "Who is this?"
"Mr Midshipman Jonathan Riley, late of his majesty's navy. Jonathan, this is Lieutenant James Cavanagh of my Light Company."
Cavanagh's gaze made Jonathan feel uncomfortable. The cold blue eyes looked him up and down again. "Pretty! Where did you pick him up? St James' gate?"
"He's not a whore, James. He's a friend who is staying with me."
"My mistake, sorry." Cavanagh reached out and brushed Jonathan's cheek. His eyes glanced towards Eversleigh. "I've missed you, Alex." The fingers moved down to Jonathan's neck. "What say we have a little fun, all of us, together."
Jonathan was shocked. He looked at Eversleigh only to find that the Earl was smiling. "Well Jonathan? Would you like that?"
"No!" Jonathan protested. Cavanagh's hand was on his chest now, the fingers rubbing idly over his nipple. Jonathan tried to move away.
"Jonathan is a little...shy when it comes to some things James. You understand, don't you."
Cavanagh raised one eyebrow and glanced at the blindfold and rope that was still laying on the bed. "Really? I would never have guessed." Suddenly he tweaked Jonathan's nipple so hard that it elicited a gasp. The hand withdrew.
"Wait for us downstairs, James." Eversleigh's tone was firmer. "Have Pickering prepare something for us. I'll be down in a few minutes."
"Of course."
Jonathan watched Cavanagh leave then turned to face Eversleigh. "Who is that and what is he doing here?"
Eversleigh swung out of bed and went in search of his dressing gown. "I told you, his name is James Cavanagh. We have been friends for years. He lives here with me. He's been in the country at the barracks." Eversleigh paused and beamed a smile at Jonathan. "Don't worry, dear, you'll like him. We will all get on famously."
Jonathan was not so certain.
Chapter 19
The arrival of James Cavanagh brought changes to the Eversleigh household. No longer did Jonathan spend the days basking in the Earl's attentions. Instead it was Cavanagh who now stole the limelight, always on hand, always talking to Eversleigh about this or that, sitting with him, laughing, sharing a cigar or a joke. Jonathan was often left to sit in silence, waiting, watching, hoping to find some opportunity to join in their conversations and make his presence know. The world that Eversleigh and Cavanagh shared, the brotherhood of the Military, was alien to Jonathan. Although they both served his Majesty, life in a British Regiment was far different to life in the Navy and try as he might Jonathan could not cross the great divide that separated the two.
Jonathan may have been relegated to third place during the day, but Eversleigh more than made it up to him at night. In bed the Earl's attention never wavered. Not that Cavanagh didn't continue to try and insinuate his way in there as well; on several occasions he suggested to Eversleigh that they all retire to bed together. Eversleigh had smiled and looked to Jonathan for final confirmation. He had not seemed disappointed when Jonathan declined.
Being left out of Eversleigh's bedroom games was obviously new to James Cavanagh. Slowly, Cavanagh began to turn his attentions towards Jonathan. It soon became Jonathan with whom Cavanagh spent his time talking. He'd stand closer than was needed, his fingers brushing at Jonathan's coat or hair or hand. He flirted outrageously, paying compliments to Jonathan's looks and youth. Cavanagh's sudden attention went to Jonathan's head like fine wine. He flirted back, confident in the knowledge that the young Lieutenant wanted him. He suspected that the Cavanagh was playing some sort of game in which he was the prize. That Jonathan held the upper hand in the game gave him a sense of power that he was not above using. He soon had Cavanagh at his beck and call.
Far from being disturbed by Cavanagh's attentions to Jonathan, Eversleigh appeared pleased that the two were becoming friends and would often leave them alone together whilst he attended to business.
It was on one such occasion that Cavanagh suddenly turned serious. "You know he'll tire of you quickly enough when he runs out of novelties, don't you?" Cavanagh said one afternoon. They were seated together in the small drawing room whilst Eversleigh was out seeing his bankers. "Alexander loses interest when he has tried everything. The secret to keeping him is to do the unexpected." Cavanagh leaned forward, blowing cigar smoke in Jonathan's direction. "Invite me in and you'll have him until Christmas."
"Are you sure it is not YOU who is worried about losing him?" Jonathan retorted trying to recapture the playfulness that usually pervaded their conversation.
Cavanagh laughed but his eyes held no hint of humour. "I've been with him for over twelve years. I've lost count of the others who have come and gone. But he'll not part with me. We understand each other."
The lieutenant's words came as a shock as Cavanagh looked to be scarcely in his middle twenties. He must have been very young indeed when he first met the Earl.
Cavanagh continued. "You, on the other hand, are just a momentary diversion. Why all I would have to do is bring home another pretty young thing and Alexander wouldn't think twice about turning you out." Cavanagh narrowed his eyes. "What would you do then, darling Jonathan? I know you have nothing. Where would you go, what would you do?" He sat back watching Jonathan intently, waiting for his reply.
Cavanagh's words were unsettling. "I would manage quite well thank you." Jonathan replied solemnly. He wondered at this serious side of Cavanagh, so different from the flirtatious young Officer he was accustomed to.
"You'd end up on the streets, love. I have seen it before." Cavanagh stood and crossed to where Jonathan was seated, slowly lowering himself to sit close.
"But it need not happen, for we are both fond of you, darling." Cavanagh drew his hand down Jonathan's cheek. "Just say yes to me and you won't have to worry about anything ever again."
A hesitant knocking on the door made then both looked up surprised. A servant entered. "Mr Riley, you have visitors, Sir. Shall I show them in?"
"Who is it?" Jonathan asked hesitantly. "A Mr Matthew Riley and a Mr Lionel Thockmorton, Sir." Jonathan paled.
With a sly look, Cavanagh excused himself. "I'll leave you alone Jonathan, it might be best."
"But..." Jonathan began as Cavanagh left. He bit his lip and waited.
Lionel Thockmorton and his uncle, Matthew Riley were shown into the drawing room. Lionel spoke first. "How are you, Jonathan?"
"Fine, thank you Lionel. And you Uncle, it's good to see you again. How are you?"
Matthew Riley said nothing. He stared at his nephew, looking him up and down, his eyes cold.
"I did not believe it," he said shaking his head. "But this..." he gestured around him at the room, the house. "Your father has got what he deserved! The navy, that he so loved, that he chose to enter against our father's wishes, has proved to be the corruption of YOU, his beloved son!"
"Sir, I do not know what you have been told, but I..."
"Silence!" Matthew Riley shouted. "I do not need to listen to tales...I can see with my own two eyes what has been going on here. Do you think I am ignorant of such things? Why the perversion that lives in this house is infamous even as far away Plymouth! And that I should find YOU, my only nephew, LIVING under this roof. Pahhhh!" Matthew Riley turned away. "The house in Havant is yours. There is a sum of eighty-five pounds in the bank that is held in trust for you. You will be given an allowance of twenty pounds a year until it is gone. If you are to survive on your own you must seek work or rent out Rose Cottage. I came to London to offer you a position in my business. I need a clerk and I supposed you could at least read and write." Matthew Riley looked back. "But I wash my hands of you. You are not welcome you in my home again. I hope you rot in hell!" With that he left.
Jonathan was too stunned to speak for a moment. He turned to Lionel. "What have you said to my uncle, Lionel? Surely you didn't tell him that I ..."
"I told your uncle nothing, Jonathan. But I did warn you that Eversleigh had a reputation. He IS well known throughout the country. Your uncle already knew where you were living. He came to me and asked me to accompany him here. Under the circumstances I thought it best to do so."
"But what am I going to do now, Lionel?" Jonathan implored.
Lionel gave a tight smile. "You have made your bed Jonathan, now you must lie in it."
Chapter 20
"I don't feel like going out Alexander, do we have to?"
"It will lighten your spirits Jonathan," Eversleigh held up first one coat and then another in front of Jonathan to see how they looked. He frowned, "You've been like a thundercloud all afternoon, dear. I told you not to worry about your silly uncle. You're welcome to stay here for as long as you like. And besides, I could always find you a position on my Regimental staff if you feel you must earn your keep. I'd be happy to buy you a commission." Eversleigh threw one of the coats onto the floor. "There, that one, it matches your eyes better anyway. Put it on."
Jonathan did as he was ordered, pouting and sullen. "I don't want to join the army, Alex. I'm a midshipman, I belong at sea."
"You were a midshipman! The streets of London and Portsmouth and Southampton are thick with them. No one wants a midshipman now that peace is here." Eversleigh slid his hands under Jonathan's silk shirt. "Except me dear boy. I'll always have room for you." His lips caressed along Jonathan throat to his collar bone.
"Shouldn't we be getting ready?" Jonathan asked with a sigh.
"Oh don't stop...I was enjoying that." James Cavanagh entered the room and drew Eversleigh away. He gave the Earl a quick kiss before turning back to the door and beckoning in a newcomer. "Alexander, this is George Avery. He's looking for a post as Ensign and I knew you needed one for your staff. He comes well recommended. He's Sommerville's nephew."
In the doorway stood a young man of about Jonathan's age with fair hair and blue eyes. He blinked nervously before speaking. "How do you do, your lordship. My uncle sends his regards."
"A pleasure to meet you Mr Avery" Eversleigh held out his hand and took Avery's, holding it. Jonathan could do little more than stand and stare.
Cavanagh came to stand beside Jonathan. He slipped his arm around Jonathan's waist. "Going out?" he asked softly as they watched Eversleigh fuss around Avery.
"Yes, that was the plan." Jonathan answered.
"Good. Perhaps we will all go. What say you George?" Cavanagh called to the boy who was still holding Eversleigh's hand. "Fancy attending your first London party?"
George Avery smiled.
Chapter 21
"I told you this would happen, darling Jonathan." Cavanagh handed Jonathan another glass of champagne and looked across to where Eversleigh and George Avery were talking. Their heads were bent close together and the young man's eyes were alight as he listened to whatever the Earl was saying. Jonathan watched the scene. Only a short time ago that had been him.
"Damned bad timing of course, what with your uncle turning up and all. But I knew young Georgie was coming and I wanted to...prepare you for his arrival."
Jonathan said nothing. In the back of his mind he wondered if Cavanagh was somehow behind his uncle's sudden visit. There was no evidence of course and it seemed a little far fetched but there was still a uneasy feeling that Jonathan could not dispel.
"You could get him back you know. I'd be happy to help you." Cavanagh continued. He was standing very close, whispering into his ear. It made Jonathan shiver. The champagne he had drunk was beginning to make him maudlin. The crowded rooms, the noise, the gaiety only added to his depression. What did it matter anyway? Let Avery warm the Earl's bed for the night. Jonathan told himself he didn't care. Alexander didn't love him and he didn't love Alexander... not like he'd loved...Jonathan pushed the thought away. He didn't want to think about Jack now. Jack was gone and it was his fault. He should have tried harder to save him, should have spoken to Ned and asked him...Perhaps he deserved this, perhaps...He reached for another glass of champagne as a waiter passed by.
"Jonathan, will you be all right here for a while?" Eversleigh wandered over, his arm around Avery. The young man's cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright. "I'm going to find somewhere quiet to talk to Georgie about the regiment. There is too much noise and too many interruptions here. James will keep you company, won't you James?"
Cavanagh slipped his arms around Jonathan's shoulders. "Of course I will, Alexander."
Eversleigh smiled and bent down to kiss Jonathan on the lips. His mouth moved around to whisper in his ear. "It's time you got to know James a little better, dear. Have some fun with him. I won't mind and I know how much he wants you. But if not him, then I am sure you will find someone else to interest you. Go on, look around and enjoy yourself." Eversleigh raised his head and waited for Jonathan's reply.
"You wouldn't mind then? I could choose anyone?"
"Choose anyone you like, my dear. That is how these gathering go. It's share and share alike, Jonathan. That is what you are here for."
For a moment the words would not register and Jonathan blinked, waiting for the Earl to explain himself. Although he acknowledged that Eversleigh did not love him, Jonathan had imagined the Earl held at least some regard for him and would be sorry should he go. It had been a mistake.
The Earl smiled and patted his cheek. "Ah, you are so sweet when you are drunk Jonathan." He turned to Cavanagh. "I'll leave him in your hands then James. I am sure you can keep him amused." Eversleigh winked and walked away. Avery followed like a dutiful puppy.
"Come now Jonathan, don't look so sad. You still have me." Cavanagh said tightening his grip on Jonathan shoulders. "Is there anything I can get for you, love?"
"Yes, some more champagne please." Jonathan leaned against the wall and watched Cavanagh wander off. He felt hollow. Eversleigh obviously didn't care if he shared Cavanagh's bed. And Cavanagh wanted him badly enough to set up this elaborate ruse. Why he was putting up such resistance? It wasn't as if the young Lieutenant was unattractive. Cavanagh was handsome and strong. His moustache would probably tickle. Jonathan closed his eyes. What did it matter anyway?
Chapter 22
"Jonathan? Jonathan Riley? Is that you?"
Jonathan blinked at the slim, fancily dressed young man who had called to him from across the room. "Peter?" he asked as the figure came closer. Peter Crittenden was barley recognisable. His long black hair was loose and hung in elaborate ringlets to rival Jonathan's own. He was dressed in lace and finery, with a tightly fitting pair of black trousers that left little to the imagination. His eyes were lined in black and his lips and cheeks were painted with rouge. The effect was quite fetching.
Jonathan giggled. "Hello Peter. You look very pretty tonight."
"And you look very drunk," Peter declared, one slim hand going to his hip. "Whatever are you doing here?"
Jonathan tried to focus on Peter's words. "Enjoying myself." He hoped the words sounded convincing.
Peter continued, "Who are you with? Who brought you here?"
"The Earrrrl of Evvvvvvverslllllleigh," Jonathan slurred proudly. "We are friends. I live with him."
Peter muttered something under his breath and pushed back a handful of dark curls. "I know Eversleigh, not personally, but by reputation." Peter did not sound impressed. "Where is he?"
Jonathan shrugged, reluctant to admit he had last seen the Earl disappearing with a young blonde would-be ensign tucked firmly under his arm.
"Jonathan, it's not...wise...for you to stay here by yourself while you are in this condition. You have no idea what things might befall you. You're...fair game and there are those here who wouldn't have a qualm about taking advantage of you." Peter leaned closer, taking Jonathan's arm. "Come home with me. I'll look after you."
"Peter!" Jonathan spluttered with laughter. "This is unexpected! You always said I wasn't your type. Changed your mind, eh?"
"It wasn't that sort of invitation Jonathan. I am here with Robert Bell. But as your friend, I feel it my duty to look out for you. Eversleigh has abandoned you for other sport and..."
"No he hasn't. " Jonathan leaned closer and whispered in Peter's ear. "Regimental business, you know. He's interviewing the new Ensign. Besides, he said James would keep me company."
Peter raised one dark eyebrow. "James?"
As if on cue, James Cavanagh appeared, champagne in hand. His eyes flicked from Peter to Jonathan and back again. "Who might this be, Jonathan?"
"Llleffftenant Peeeter Kittenden," Jonathan slurred, taking a glass from Cavanagh. "Offf Hisss Majesty's NNNavy!"
As fast as a snake Cavanagh reached out and caressed Peter's cheek. "Ahh Kitten, is it?"
"Crittenden!" Peter hissed, jerking his head from the cold fingers. "Kindly keep your hands to yourself."
Cavanagh smiled. "You're Robert Bell's latest, aren't you?" He looked Peter up and down in a slow assessment. "I've heard about you! I can see why Bell is so taken, Kitten. I bet you like to scratch and bite too?"
Peter bristled, his green eyes flashed, but he ignored the comment and turned to Jonathan. "Come, let me take you home. If you don't want to come to my place I will find you a room for the night." He reached for Jonathan's arm again.
Jonathan shook him off and staggered unsteadily. Cavanagh caught him and slipped his arm around Jonathan's waist once again.
"I'm all right Peter. Don't fuss. You are just like Lionel and I don't need you... I don't need anyone." Jonathan closed his eyes and leaned against Cavanagh. "James will look after me. A pleasure seeing you again Peter." Jonathan allowed himself to be led away by Cavanagh, leaving Peter looking worried.
"I have some friends who are dying to meet you Jonathan." Cavanagh whispered as they walked. "I'll find us somewhere quiet where we can all talk." Jonathan was vaguely aware that Cavanagh's hand had slipped down and was fondling his arse.
"Hmm... like that." Jonathan giggled at his own words, not sure if he meant the thought of meeting Cavanagh's friends or the touch.
They left behind the noise and the glitter of the chandeliers for the dark quiet of a plush drawing room with a single lamp and several comfortable settees. A group of men in the red jackets of Cavanagh's own regiment stood around drinking. Jonathan smiled as James introduced him to his fellow Officers.
Jonathan sat down and Cavanagh thrust a glass of something brilliant and green into his hands, urging him to drink. Jonathan watched the liquid swirl and coalesce in the glass before taking a large mouthful. It flowed through his body like liquid fire setting his senses alight. He drained the glass. Then Cavanagh's hands were upon him and Jonathan gave himself up to the feeling. He returned Cavanagh's kisses, his skin awash with the strangest sensations. He wondered what the other men were doing and when he opened his eyes there were faces looking down at him. He was sprawled on the settee, although he couldn't remember lying down. He struggled to sit up for a moment, sensing something was wrong. But then James was back by his side, touching him, kissing him, loosening his clothes and Jonathan lost himself in the sensations. He wondered briefly where the others had gone but when he opened his eyes he could not focus. The room was like a dark kaleidoscope, spinning and changing. A strange sensual lethargy was creeping through his limbs and overtaking him. The last thing he heard was James Cavanagh saying, "Someone help me turn him over and get his breeches off."
Chapter 23
His head was aching, his mouth was dry, his stomach felt sick. Slowly Jonathan opened his eyes and squinted in the daylight. He was in someone else's bed, without his clothes. Again.
He could remember little of the night before. But he felt sore. Very sore. There was no doubt this time as to what he had been doing. Carefully he rolled onto his side and his eyes came to rest on a red robed figure asleep in a chair beside the bed.
"Peter?" At the hoarse croak the figure jerked awake. Peter Crittenden looked very different this morning. The rouge and eyeliner were gone and the curls now hung in limp twists. A distinctive purple bruise coloured one side of Peter's face.
"How are you feeling Jonathan?"
"Sore."
"It's to be expected. Do you remember what happened?"
"No, not really." Most of last night was a meaningless blur of images and sensations. Jonathan struggled for a moment to untangle them. "I...I've ...been with someone. Was it you?"
Peter's eyes flashed in anger. "NO! It wasn't me."
Jonathan was relieved. He could not imagine Peter being so rough. Slowly the disjointed memories returned.
"It was James, wasn't it."
Peter nodded, his eyes hard and brittle. "Yes it was Cavanagh. He raped you."
Jonathan felt his stomach turn. "No! You're wrong. It wasn't like that," he declared shaking his head. "I knew what I was doing."
Peter snorted. "But you were hardly in any condition to give your consent, were you."
"I knew what to expect when I went with him...I could have said no and..."
"And what about his friends?" Peter threw back. "Did you expect that too?"
Jonathan began to shake. "I'd remember something like that. Wouldn't I?"
"Not if they drugged you with something first. That IS what they did, isn't? Gave you something to smoke or drink?" Peter clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Although it wouldn't have taken much. You were already very drunk when I saw you."
Images and sensations from the night before came filtering back like a waking dream. Jonathan nodded. "Yes, I think it was the drink they gave me. I have never tasted anything like it."
"Hmmm, well it was enough to take away any ... reticence that you may have had about being passed around Cavanagh's friends. That was their intention, in case you are still wondering."
Jonathan stared at the bruise on Peter's face again and suddenly understood. "You stopped them, didn't you."
Peter looked away. "That was my plan, however Cavanagh had other ideas. That man is an animal! But he'll think twice before he treats ME that way again. At least I made enough noise to attract attention." Peter came to sit on the bed. "Are you sure you are all right Jonathan? They were very rough with you. Robert knows a physician who is discreet. I could send for him if you would like."
"I don't need a ...Doctor!" Jonathan insisted, his voice rising sharply. "There is nothing wrong with me! I knew what I was doing." He looked away from Peter's steady green gaze.
"Then what WERE you doing Jonathan?" Peter's slim hand on his chin forced Jonathan to look back. "Have you no pride? Do you think Jack Kerrison gave his life so that you could become the regimental whore for the 136th Foot?"
"You bastard!" Jonathan's fist caught Peter on the side of the mouth. He leapt out of bed, flinging himself at the startled Crittenden. They landed on the floor, Jonathan astride the slighter figure.
Peter tried desperately to throw him off. It was no contest. "Get off me." Peter shouted when Jonathan raised his fist again. "If you are angry with anyone then be angry with Cavanagh and his friends. Or with yourself. You're on the road to self destruction if you fall in with the likes of them. You're worth more than that, Jonathan. Jack thought so and so do I."
Jonathan paused and looked down at the slim figure beneath him; dark hair spread all over the floor, pale chest visible where the robe had fallen open. The strange fiery sensations that he had felt last night returned. His head spun, his skin tingled. His eyes were drawn to a small drop of blood at the corner of Peter's lips. It looked like a dazzling ruby. Jonathan caught it on his finger. It danced in the light, pulsating, glowing, growing. He raised it to his lips.
"Jonathan?"
Beneath him, Peter's body undulated in an almost sensual rhythm. Jonathan groaned and pressed himself against the warmth.
"Jonathan get off me."
The dream snapped. Peter's eyes, wary and frightened were looking up at him.
"Oh God...I am sorry Peter." Jonathan sprang back and sat on the floor, knees to chest, arms wrapped around himself, shaking. "What am I doing, what is happening?"
"It's all right." Peter replied, sitting up slowly. "I was trying to get a reaction out of you, but that was a little more than I had anticipated." He wiped his bloody mouth. "Whatever they gave you is probably still affecting you. You were calling out all night in the throws of some sort of delirium."
"Was that why you slept in the chair? Were you worried about me?"
"No, this is the only bed made up and I didn't fancy being strangled in my sleep should you wake and think I was the one who..." The green eyes flicked up and down. "Get back into bed. You're shivering." Peter looked uncomfortable.
Slowly Jonathan looked down at the bruises that covered his skin. Like Ned, just like Ned. Except he couldn't remember any of it only a strange, strained pleasure like a half dream, half nightmare. He remembered hands on him and mouths, too many to be real, seductive whispers and touches. It had felt so good...
"Jonathan?"
Startled, Jonathan looked up. His head spun for a moment as he grappled with reality. Peter's hand on his bare shoulder anchored him to the present again.
"Where am I Peter? Is this Captain's Bell's house?" It was a little late to ask.
"No, it's mine, although I rarely use it." Peter gathered his robe about him and tied it firmly before sitting down on the floor beside Jonathan. "I thought it best to bring you here last night. I wasn't exactly the most favoured guest after breaking up Cavanagh's little orgy. Robert was still trying to smooth everyone's ruffled feathers and somebody had to take care of you after Cavanagh and his friends left."
"And Alexander? Where was he?"
Peter scowled. "I have no idea, although I am sure he will hear what happened and where you are."
"I've really made a mess of things." Jonathan turned away and stared at the wall. Tears pricked at his eyes but he refused to give in to them.
"Come now Jonathan," Peter took his arm, insistent. "Get back into bed and I will send for the physician."
"I'm fine Peter. It isn't that bad." The last thing Jonathan wanted was some stranger poking at him and making him think about what had happened. All he really wanted to do was hide his face and cry with shame.
"You are not fine." Peter said. "You are hurt and you are still half out of your head from whatever drug they gave you. Besides any one of those bastards might have been poxed. Frankly you don't want to take the chance."
Chapter 24
For a time Jonathan drifted in and out of sleep, restless and troubled by dreams and memories. Peter came and went, bringing a small tray of refreshments and leaving the red robe he had been wearing earlier. "It's all I have that might fit you, I'm sorry," Peter explained. "Call when you have finished and I will take the tray away."
Jonathan wondered where the servants were.
In due course the physician arrived and did what physicians do. Jonathan would not speak to him. It was too humiliating, too personal and it made him think about things he would rather forget. It was left to Peter Crittenden to answer the doctor's multitude of questions.
Finally the physician left and Peter tucked the covers of Jonathan's bed back into place. When he saw Jonathan watching he said, "The drug is still working in you. Dr Grosvenor said you will feel unsettled for a while longer. You are most likely still suffering hallucinations from time to time."
"I know, I heard what he said."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Well forgive me for thinking otherwise. I was quiet sure you were somewhere else whilst the doctor was here."
"I didn't want to see him!"
Peter patted his shoulder. "I know." His voice was gentle. "I understand your reluctance but it had to be done."
"No you don't understand, Peter!" He didn't need, nor deserve, Peter's pity. "I might not remember much of what happened or the specifics of it, but I remember this much; at the time I ENJOYED what they did to me. All of it!"
Peter said nothing, his face a blank page.
"Did you hear what I said? I ENJOYED their attentions!" Jonathan almost shouted this time.
"Yes, I heard you Jonathan." Peter said slowly, his voice soft. "And now here's a question for you. Despite how good you felt at the time, would you do it again?"
It was Jonathan's turn to remain silent. He dropped his eyes. Peter continued as if nothing was out of order. "While you think about your answer may I get you anything? More tea perhaps? The pantry is rather empty I'm afraid."
"I'd really like to wash, Peter." Jonathan replied without looking up. "Could you have someone draw me a bath, please?"
Peter frowned. "Ahh... there is a slight problem. I don't have any servants. The house is quite empty you see." But he brightened, suddenly all business-like. "But I will do it myself if you don't mind coming down to the kitchen. I don't fancy carrying the hip bath up here all by myself, not to mention all that water. Rest a while longer and come down when you are ready."
Jonathan was glad when he left.
Chapter 25
Peter's house was like a tomb, Jonathan discovered, as he tiptoed down the stairs a little later. Most of the rooms were shut up and those that were opened showed a few scattered pieces of furniture covered in dust sheets. It was cold too. Jonathan pulled the red dressing gown tighter around himself. His bare feet echoed on the polished wood of the floor boards as he made his way along a hall.
"Peter?" he called, his voice echoing through the house. No wonder Peter chose to live elsewhere. The house was huge, too big for one person. And empty. There were no paintings on the walls, no mirrors or ornaments, nothing that might give a house a feeling of warmth and make it a home.
"In here," Peter's voice called and Jonathan stumbled into the kitchen, as cold and empty as the rest of the house. The stove was alight, water was boiling and on the table stood the used cups and plates from earlier. Peter had his sleeves rolled up and was pouring another kettle of water into a large hip bath.
"There's a towel over there and here's some soap."
"Thank you." Jonathan felt rather foolish standing in the cold kitchen wearing Peter's outlandish robe. He waited for Peter to leave.
"Will you be all right?" Peter hesitated in the doorway, looking back.
Jonathan nodded. "Yes, thank you."
It was just a bath, nothing more. Despite what he had told Peter the incident with Cavanagh had left him feeling soiled. He sank into the water, refusing to look at the bruises on his thighs, refusing to think of Ned or the way he had tried to scrub off his skin with that damned cloth. He wasn't like Ned. Ned had had no choice.
Memories of another bath in a room not unlike this one came flooding back, reminding Jonathan of happier times. He remembered the way Jack had sat watching him with his laughing hazel eyes. What would Jack think if he saw him now? "I'm sorry Jack," he whispered as he ran the soap over his skin, hoping to wash away his infidelity. Tears ran down his face. He splashed water onto it then ducked his head down under the water and held it there until his lungs felt like bursting. He surfaced, eyes stinging from the soap, hair trailing in his eyes.
There were voices outside somewhere, Peter's voice and another. Captain Bell, that's who it was. Jonathan listened, grateful for the distraction. They were arguing, their voices rising and falling in a discordant melody. Jonathan heard his name mentioned. He climbed from the bath and began drying himself. The argument went on.
He was drying his hair in front of the stove when Peter knocked on the door.
"All finished?" he asked, his voice showing nothing of his previous anger. "Robert brought us some food," he continued, holding up a covered baking dish. "Apple pie. Are you hungry?"
They sat at the kitchen table, Peter in his shirt sleeves, Jonathan in the red robe, and ate the pie straight from the dish. It reminded Jonathan of their days together in the Mid's berth aboard the Indy.
"Eversleigh will be coming by later to see you and bring you some clothes. Robert called on him earlier."
Jonathan didn't reply. Peter tactfully changed the subject. "What happened between you and Lionel? I thought you were staying with him?"
As briefly as possible Jonathan told Peter what had happened since they last saw each other at Portsmouth. In conclusions he said, "So I have a house and a small allowance, but I doubt it will be enough to live on. I really must find some way to support myself."
Peter raised an eyebrow in question and Jonathan pressed on. "And not as Eversleigh's rent boy either! I know I've been rather foolish Peter. I have made so many mistakes."
"Perhaps we both have." The look in Peter's eyes was not one of censure. "Haven't you wondered what I was doing at that party last night?" Peter didn't wait for an answer. "Robert is part of that circle. I was there as his companion. I know what goes on at those gatherings because I have been to them before. I've been living here in London with Robert since we were given leave a week after you left. It's been an interesting three months, but not an experience I think I would repeat. After a while one becomes a little disillusioned with such casual exchanges. One does expect one's partner to at least remember one's NAME the next time you meet."
Peter waved his hand as if to dismiss his experiences. "I would rather mean something to my lovers, Jonathan, rather than be seen as just another tasty morsel for them to sample and throw away. There's a lot to be said for exclusivity."
Jonathan considered the words. In the past Peter had seemed a little flighty in his attractions, flying from one partner to the next. But perhaps beneath his flippant exterior, Peter was simply looking for love.
Peter continued. "We all make mistakes and live to regret things. But we must move forward and not dwell on them. I know you are still grieving for Jack but throwing yourself away on the likes of Eversleigh and Cavanagh isn't the answer.
"You need something to do, Jonathan; something to fill your life, something to give it direction. Robert and I are returning to Portsmouth shortly and are due to sail at the end of the month. I have spoken with him and he has agreed to take you on as midshipman. He can squeeze in one more."
"Peter I couldn't." Was that what Peter and Bell had been arguing about? "You have already been too kind to me."
"That's what friends are for, Jonathan. Please think about it but don't take too long to give him your reply. The streets are full of midshipmen who would kill for a posting at present. But in the meantime I suggest that you do not return to the Earl's lodgings. You should leave London for a while and return to Havant. You have a home there and you can think about things without...distractions." Peter paused, his eyes dropping in an uncharacteristic manner. "Or you could stay here if you would like. I don't mind. I'd make sure you had anything you needed."
"Peter, I..."
"Oh please, Jonathan, don't start thinking I am making a play for you," Peter declared, eyes rolling, lashes fluttering. He waved one hand in the air as if to dismiss the suggestion entirely. "It's quite obvious that you are in no condition to look after yourself. I consider it my Christian duty to provide you with a bed if nothing more!"
Jonathan hid his smile.
"Thank you Peter, I'll think it over. I promise."
"Good, now let me comb out your hair before it dries like that." He flicked the remains of his own ringlets over his shoulder. "Curls are more trouble than they are worth!"
Chapter 26
"You have a visitor Jonathan." Peter announced as he ushered the Earl of Eversleigh into the room. "Just call if you need anything. I won't be far away."
Eversleigh smiled as he seated himself on the edge of Jonathan's bed. "Red suits you Jonathan."
Jonathan grimaced. He had just woken up again and was still wearing Peter's ridiculous robe. Outside, the last rays of the afternoon sun were fading.
"Are you ready to come home, dear? I've brought some things for you to put on."
"Home?" For a moment Jonathan wasn't sure what Eversleigh meant. He'd been dreaming of Havant and Jack; vivid dreams, sensual dreams. The sheet felt damp where he was lying.
"My home, Jonathan. I want you to come home with me. I'll look after you." Eversleigh took his hand. "I am sorry about the misunderstanding between you and James. I've spoken to him and sent him north again. He can cool his heels at the barracks for a while. If I had known that you were unaware of what he was intending I would never have left you with him." Eversleigh placed a gentle kiss in his brow. "You really are such an innocent at times."
The words sounded sincere. "It wasn't your fault Alexander. I don't blame you."
"Good, then come home with me. I've missed you terribly. The house seems so quiet without you."
"No, I am sorry, Alexander, but it is time for me to return to my home in Havant. I have things I need to do. Thank you for being so...generous. I appreciate everything you have done for me."
Eversleigh folded his arms across his chest. He did not look pleased. "I suppose Crittenden has put this ridiculous notion into your head?" he asked. "Really Jonathan, I wonder at your choice of friends! Do you know he bit James' hand so badly that the surgeon had to put a stitch in it? AND he has a reputation to rival Jezebel's. I know you served together at sea, but do you have any idea of what Crittenden has been up to on land? He's a schemer and an arse-licker and he has served under more Admirals in the last month than the oldest tar in the navy."
Eversleigh stood and strode to the window, hands behind his back. "He's after promotion, that one. And he will do anything to get it. He'll make captain before he is 21 but the only action he will ever see is in the bedroom on his hands and knees." He turned back to Jonathan, his face red with rage. "They call him The Quarterdeck and do you know why? It's because there is always an Officer atop him!"
"He's my friend, he's been very kind to me." Jonathan whispered.
Eversleigh's accusations sounded far fetched, but perhaps there was some truth to them. By Peter's own admission, he had been caught up in promiscuous dealings. And Peter was a survivor. He had a habit of landing on his feet and he didn't seem to care what others thought. There was a single-mindedness about him too and Jonathan suspected that Peter was capable of just about anything if it served his purpose. Jonathan rubbed his eyes. He was too tired and confused to try and sort truth from falsehoods.
"I've arranged for you to have a room to yourself," Eversleigh said as he led Jonathan from the coach. "You can rest, take things slowly. I don't want you to feel ...pressured, Jonathan. You are dear to me. Please say you will stay?"
"I am sorry, but I really can not."
"Fine!" Eversleigh strode to the door. "I will send over your pitiful possessions. Don't think you'll be getting nay one the things I bought you. Georgie Avery is staying with me for a bit and you and he are about the same size. I am sure he will appreciate them!" With one final glance Eversleigh turned his back and opened the door. "It was interesting my dear, but I won't lose any sleep over you. You were a little too...prudish for my tastes."
Jonathan lay abed after the Earl had left. Nothing, it had all meant nothing to Eversleigh. He was just another dalliance, just another boy, picked up to warm his bed and pass the time with. As a single tear slid down his cheek, Jonathan made a silent vow to himself. Never again would he take up with another man so lightly. Never again would he share his bed with someone that he did not know well and first consider a friend. He'd been warned, but like a fool he'd had to learn that lesson for himself. It was one he would not forget.
He owed Lionel an apology. He'd write to him when he was home. He'd write to his uncle too and beg his forgiveness although he doubted it would do much good.
And after that? Was it fair to trade on his friendship with Peter and expect Captain Bell to take him on as midshipman? He suspected he had already been the cause of trouble between Peter and the captain and didn't want to cause more. It might be better if he tried to find his own position, although that would be hard in peace time. But there was always the merchant service, the East India Company and Trinity house to try.
A soft tap on the door announced Peter's return. Jonathan bid him enter.
"Well I am glad to see that you at last showed some sense and sent Eversleigh on his way." Peter announced curtly. His breath was coming in small gasps as he struggled to contain his anger. "But you were far too easy on him Jonathan! I doubt I would have been quite so ...diplomatic about it all. You should have told him what a bastard he really is!"
Jonathan stared, less startled by Peter's outburst than by the fact he had been eavesdropping. "You were listening?" he asked in disbelief.
"Of course I was listening! Did you think I was going to leave him up here alone with you? Knowing YOU and knowing the Earl, there was the distinct possibility he would have had his prick up your arse before you'd asked him if he wanted tea!"
"How DARE you say such a thing to me!" Jonathan replied, scrambling up from the bed. "Who do you think you are."
Peter backed away, hands up. "Don't even THINK about hitting me again Jonathan. Your fists have spoiled my looks quite enough, thank you." The words released the tension. Jonathan sat down again. "Peter, I wish you would realise that I am NOT a child and despite my recent actions I am quite capable of doing the right thing. I appreciate what you are trying to do, but I really don't need you to look out for me all the time."
Peter looked away. "Well I am sorry I listened, but I don't trust Eversleigh. I know what he is like." He turned back and grinned. "And lets face it, Jonathan, you DO tend to let your heart run away with your head at times."
"Not anymore...and it was never my heart that was the problem with the Earl. It was my prick!"
They both laughed.
"So you are going home?" Peter asked as he came to sit on the bed.
"Yes. I think it would be best. Eversleigh is sending over my things and then I will leave as soon as I can."
"And how are you going to get to Havant?"
Peter, practical as always had named the one obstacle that Jonathan had not thought about.
"Ummm, well...I haven't really ...decided yet."
Peter raised done eyebrow. "You don't have any money do you?" he asked.
"No." Jonathan admitted. "But I think I can draw some from my account. I don't really know much about banks. Ummm...is there one here that I could see?"
Peter leaned back on his elbows and smiled. "Are you asking for my help Jonathan?" he asked, fluttering his dark lashes?
Jonathan sighed. "Yes Peter." Would he ever cease relying on Crittenden? It was embarrassing to say the least. But Peter was so much more worldly than Jonathan. He really must ask Peter about his past and his family one day. It was sure to be an interesting tale.
"Well I suppose I could take you down to my bank and make some arrangements for you. You DO know where your money is held, don't you?" Jonathan nodded.
"Good. Now all we have to do is wait for you things to be sent over so that you can get dressed. What you had on last night is not fit to be worn again. In the meantime, come downstairs with me and lets have some supper." Peter's green eyes twinkled. "All of this...aggression, has made me hungry!"
Chapter 27
By noon the following day Jonathan was on his way to Portsmouth with his meagre bundle of possessions. Before he left, Peter implored him once again to think about Captain's Bell's offer. "Don't wait too long to give him an answer, Jonathan. Robert has other takers for the post."
"I will think about it Peter," he promised. But it was not foremost in his mind. There were other things to face first before Jonathan could look to the future.
He spent the night in Portsmouth in a small inn. He chose a different one to that where he had stayed with Kerrison. Being back in Portsmouth brought with it too many memories as it was without facing the ghosts of lost dreams too. THEY could wait for Havant.
Although he had enough money to pay for a ride to Havant, Jonathan chose to walk. He didn't have much to carry and the day was fine and hot. The dry road shimmered in the heat. In the fields, bees buzzed filling the air with a drowsy droning.
Jonathan stopped at the rector's house to collect the keys to his home. He stood silently while the rector expressed his sympathy and spoke of eternal life and what awaited the truly pious. He assured Jonathan that his mother was at rest.
The house looked neglected, the gardens left to run wild through spring and summer. His mother's roses, her pride and joy, had spilled from their trellises and had fallen to the ground where they struggled in vain to find footing.
The front door squeaked as Jonathan pushed it open. A thin layer of dust covered the floor. The house was quite empty. In the parlour a dust-sheet had been thrown over the settee. The clock had stopped. Time stood still. Jonathan walked from room to room noting the small things; a book left abandoned on a side table, a vase of flowers, brown and brittle and dead.
In his mother's room a dainty pair of shoes peeked out from under the bed. The wardrobe door was slightly ajar. Jonathan fingered the dresses wondering which one was missing, the one that Minerva worn to her funeral. Her hairbrushes lay scattered on the dressing table, strands of her red hair caught in the bristles. Jonathan lay down on the big bed that still held the faintest hint of his mother's perfume and he cried. He cried for his mother and his father. He cried for Jack Kerrison, hung by his neck upon the yardarm. He cried for Pip and Charlie and Ned. And finally he cried for himself, for his loss and his loneliness and for the legacy of so many deaths. He cried because he knew that he had to go on when all he really wanted to do was lie down and die.
But once again Kerrison's sacrifice nudged at him, reminding him that Jack had loved him and had wanted him to live.
Jonathan rose from the bed and wiped his eyes. There was one more room to visit; the attic. He paused at the bottom of the narrow stairs, looking upwards at the closed door. Behind there lay the room where they had whispered their love and cried out their passion. Their initials were on the wall just as Jack's initial was forever tattooed on Jonathan's skin.
Jonathan put one foot upon the stairs and paused, interrupted by a hesitant knocking on the back door.
"Mr Riley, are you in, Sir?"
Jonathan wiped his face again as he hurried down to the kitchen. There, waiting patiently was Jerusha Tyler.
"I'm sorry to trouble you Sir," she said, "But I just wanted to give you my condolences and let you know that it was I who straightened up the place after your mother passed away, may God rest her soul." The young woman shuffled uncomfortably on the step. "Mrs Sharpels was too upset to do much and afterwards she went to her sister's house in Chichester. She's not been back since."
"Thank you Jerusha," Jonathan replied. He looked the young woman up and down. She was with child, that much was blatantly obvious. Was she hoping for money for herself and her new husband and the forthcoming child?
"Ummm, did my mother owe you wages or..."
"Oh no Sir, that's not why I came." Jerusha interrupted. "Mrs Riley was always good to me, Sir and I considered it an honour to do for her in the end. I just wanted you to know that she went to her grave looking decent and well dressed, and with her hair as she liked it and all her friends and neighbours were there to say goodbye." Jerusha looked at her feet and her voice wavered. "I was wondering too Sir if your friend Mr Kerrison might be visiting with you again? If he is, I'd like to have a word with him, if I could Sir?"
"Mr Kerrison?" There was no reason to feel this sudden chill that spread from his heart to his fingers and toes...no reason...no reason at all. "Why Jerusha?"
Jerusha's face was solemn. "Well, Sir, you see, it's his child that I am carrying and my father would like me to get matters sorted with him before the birth. Is he here Sir? He said he'd be coming back with you again."
The world tilted and turned and spun for a moment. Jonathan blinked. "Jack? Jack Kerrison is the father of your child?" Surely he had misheard or perhaps the young woman was lying? "How could that be?"
Jerusha blushed. Jonathan continued. "I mean, when? There was no opportunity. He was with me most of the time and when he wasn't you were always here working."
"It was the last night you were here Sir. Your mother came home from her Sabbath visiting and I fixed supper for you all. Afterwards you and Mrs Riley were in the parlour talking and Jack walked me home down to Langstone. He had a way with words, Jack did. He'd been stealing a few minutes everyday to talk to me while I worked until Mrs Sharpels would chase him away. Well, it was that night Sir, just the once. He said that he was coming back again or I'd not have let him have his way."
Somewhere overhead a gull cried. Jonathan looked up squinting into the brilliant sunlight. He wanted to scream; he wanted to cry. Instead he said, "Jack Kerrison is dead. His body lays in Havant churchyard close to my mother."
"That's Jack? The dead sailor? He's been lying here all this time and I didn't know?" The young woman looked on the verge of tears. "Well what am I to do, Mr Riley? My father won't let me stay at home much longer. I have no where to go."
"I'm sorry." Jonathan replied, "But that is not my concern." Jerusha Tyler had always seemed so much older and wiser. Yet here she stood suddenly looking smaller and more vulnerable than he remembered. But what could he do? Was the problem his? "Now if you don't mind I have things to see to. I will come by when I have looked into my mother's affairs. I am sure she would want you to have a small memento...or something."
Jonathan watched Jerusha walk away, down the road to the harbour. The sharp odour of sea and salt and fish was strong in the air. It was the smell of summer and childhood, of days spent playing on the shingles or down by the millrace.
Today it offered no comfort.
Chapter 28
Jonathan marched to the graveyard, through the gate and searched up and down the rows. It wasn't hard to find Jack's resting place. Pike's directions were very clear. Kerrison's grave was still unmarked as was his mother's. Between them, three small crosses bore the names of dead babies. Jonathan shivered despite the heat. He stood before Kerrison's grave and looked down at the hard packed earth, devoid of grass or flowers.
"You Bastard!" Jonathan shouted. "You said you loved me that night! You said we would always be together. Did you say the same thing to her? Did you promise to marry her so that you could get into her skirts? You...BASTARD!" Tears flowed down his face. Tears of anger, tears of rage. He kicked at the dirt then picked up a handful and flung it at the ground. "I loved you! I mourned for you. I HATE you!" Jonathan fell to his knees, fists clenched, sobbing. "Why? Why?"
"A-hem, Mr Riley? Mr Jonathan Riley?"
Jonathan spun around to find a nervous looking sexton waiting a respectful distance away.
"I am sorry to disturb you in your moment of grief, Sir," The sexton blinked and pointed. "But I should tell you that your mother lies there, Sir. You are weeping in the wrong location.
For one brief long moment Jonathan fought an irreverent urge to laugh out loud. But he gathered himself together, rose to his feet, dusted off his knees and thanked the sexton before making his way down to his mother graveside. He sat, silent and drained until he was alone once more.
Alone. It was an apt description for his heart felt empty now. Kerrison's betrayal had left him gutted. And yet was it all that surprising? How often had Jack spoken of his fondness for women? Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later, it was only a matter of time.
Then why was it so hard to forgive Jack this transgression? Jonathan had forgiven him for what he'd done to Ned Grayson. Was it simply that this hurt more because it was personal? Was it to do with trust and truth and loyalty and love? He rolled onto his side and looked across at the bare earth where Jack Kerrison slept. "Why Jack? Would you have told me? What would you have done the next time we came home?" There was no answer.
His eyes were drawn to the little white crosses, bringing to mind Jerusha's expected child. It would not be too long before the child was born, if Jonathan's rough guess and calculations were right. It took less than a year for them to grow, he was sure of that, but more than two seasons. New life was so fragile. It would be here by winter and Jerusha would have to face the cold alone with her child. Jack's child.
The thought of Jack Kerrison as a father was a strange one. What would Jack have done had he lived? Would he be pleased? Jack had hardly known his own parents, orphaned when he was but five years old. His shipmates were his family. No, Jack wouldn't have abandoned his child. He would love it and provide for it in whatever way he could. Jack cared.
And despite his transgressions Jack Kerrison had cared about Jonathan too. Although he could not yet find it in his heart to forgive Kerrison, Jonathan knew that he had not lied. Jack had loved him and the words they had spoken, the promises they had made to each other were the truth. Jack had risked everything in his misguided attempt to protect Jonathan from harm. He'd paid the price for his love with his life.
"And can I do any less for your child, Jack?" It would not take a sacrifice on such a grand scale to ensure that Jerusha and her child had a roof over their heads. That much Jonathan could provide. As to money, well he could barley support himself but he'd make sure they were given some of what he had. At least it was a start.
Jonathan lay back and stared up at the small puffs of cloud that drifted across the blue sky like white caps on the ocean. He missed the sea. The thought brought a smile to his lips. Going to sea had been his always been his dream. For a short time he had lived it too, the excitement, the fear, the rage, the sorrow and the camaraderie. But somehow in the last few months he had lost sight of that dream. Perhaps it was time to look for it again.
Jonathan rose again and shook the dust from his clothes before saying goodbye to the dead. He had business with the living.
Chapter 29
As he walked back through the streets of his childhood, Jonathan made plans. He would go back to sea. The Nightingale was in Portsmouth with a berth waiting for him. He'd not have much to take aboard, but somewhere amongst his father's possessions would be sufficient to throw together a makeshift kit.
With determination he climbed the attic stairs and opened the door, He did not look at the bed, stripped and bare like an old skeleton. He did not seek out the carvings behind the desk. Instead he found his father's sea chest and opened it.
Inside lay the remnants of James Riley's life at sea. Most of the possessions came from his days as midshipman. The battered hat was out of date, but the cravat and the threadbare shirts would do. There was a cup and plate; a knife, fork and spoon. The remains of an old sewing kit lay in a battered leather case. There was an old shoe brush and a clothes brush and a pair of much darned cotton stockings.
And there were books. Old and tattered and stained with sea water but priceless to Jonathan who doubted he could afford newer ones. Among the titles were Elements of Navigation by Robinson and Falconer's Marine Dictionary.
At the very bottom lay an old journal. With shaking hands Jonathan opened the book and for the first time in five years James Riley spoke to his son.
The first entry was dated June 1767 and gave the ships heading, the set of the sails and what had been served in the midshipmen's mess that day. The final line read, 'RB and I were mast-headed for the whole of the afternoon watch on account of being caught by the second lieutenant Mr G whilst seeing who could piss furthermost along the cat head. I won.'
Jonathan laughed. Such antics were familiar although it was hard to imagine his father doing them. James Riley had been thirty five when Jonathan was born; ten years older than his wife, Minerva. Yet here was his father, a young man of fifteen as undisciplined and mischievous as all midshipmen of that age. Jonathan read on.
Another entry caught his eye. 'RB was caned for failing to read the sextant correctly for the fourth day running. He is in such pain and I suffer with him.'
RB. Those initials were familiar. They were the same as those carved into the wall under the window. Could this be the same person?
Another thought intruded; the initials also stood for Robert Bell. But Captain Bell would be too young by Jonathan's estimate. Jonathan felt relieved. Somehow he could not imagine his father being friends with a man like Bell.
Jonathan spent the afternoon sharing his father's time at sea, reliving the dramas, the storms, the battles, the trials and the achievements. He laughed over the anecdotes like the time his father and the ever-present RB locked one of the ship's cats into their fellow midshipman's sea chest. The resulting smell had made the cockpit almost unliveable.
The journal ended when the pages run out. Jonathan wondered why this journal was the only one his father had kept and what had become of the others. He'd never know, but he was grateful for this small opportunity to share a part of his father's life. His father had always seemed so remote; loving, but rarely there. Perhaps they were not so different after all? His father loved the sea and his life aboard ship. Jonathan felt again his own yearning to recapture what he had lost. There was a freedom at sea; a freedom that surpassed the discipline and the orders and the rigid hierarchy. It was the freedom to grow into a man, to learn, to strive, to achieve.
Jonathan dragged the sea chest down stairs and finished packing it with his own few things. Then he dressed in his blue midshipman's coat and inspected himself in front of Minerva's mirror. What he saw there gave him pause.
He was no longer the boy who looked into this mirror just before he had gone away to sea at 15. Nor was he the youth who had been aroused by the reflection of himself in his mother's under-shift, with his lover's arms around him. He was a man now, turning seventeen in a few weeks time. And from now on his decisions would be made as a man and not a boy.
He felt in the pocket of his coat, his fingers finding the silken handkerchief that he knew was there. Peter Crittenden had given him that handkerchief in which to wrap a fragile keepsake; Kerrison's plait. He'd placed it here, in this pocket and not looked at it since. It was simply too painful. Now Jonathan withdrew the handkerchief and carefully unwrapped it's precious contents.
As his fingers stroked the dull brown hair, he saw for the first time, the unevenness of the work. For a man so deft with his hands, so familiar with rope and knots, the plait was hardly what you would expect. Jack must have been shaking when he did this, shaking with the fear of death and damnation. Or crying because the end was here and this was the last thing he could give, the last sign. Had he planned his words of goodbye as he plaited the hair? Had he thought about the good times they had spent together or had he regretted his actions and feared for his soul?
Jonathan looked at the hair in his palm, remembering the times he had run his fingers through Kerrison's locks and knew what he must do.
Chapter 30
When he had finished packing, he locked up his home and, leaving his sea chest by the front door, walked down the road to Langstone Harbour.
The Tyler house looked to be deserted, but he called out and a young boy poked his head through the door.
"Here, what do yer want with me sister? You'd better get going `cause if me Father catches yer he'll gut yer like a fish, he will."
"Your father has no cause to do that to ME, Tom Tyler." Jonathan declared. The youngest of the Tyler clan was little better than a half wild street urchin.
"Oh yeah? You sure that's not your bastard she's carrying?"
"Quite sure! Your sister is old enough to be my... er... well she was my nursemaid! Why would I even THINK of her like...THAT?"
Tom Tyler scowled and was about to reply when Jerusha grabbed him by the ear and shook him harshly. "Leave Mr Riley be, Tom. He's not the one and it's not his fault."
Tom muttered something profane and Jerusha shook him some more. "Go watch that Father isn't coming." As Tom ran off she turned to Jonathan. "He's right though. My father would lay the blame at your feet as soon as anyone's. You'd best not be seen here."
"I came to offer my assistance Jerusha. You have always been a faithful employee and since I was the one who brought Mr Kerrison into the house I feel it is somehow my fault, that you are, er...rather, that he..." Jonathan waved his hands around, unable to find the words he needed. A slow blush spread up his neck and face. He gathered himself together and began again. "Therefore I would like to make you this offer. You may live in my house in the servant's rooms at the back in return for looking after it while I am at sea. When I come home you will keep house for me in the same way Mr Sharpels did for my mother. I can't offer you much in the way of pay at present, but I will see that you are given a small wage to help with your upkeep while I am away."
Jerusha was speechless. It took her a few moments to find her voice. "You are too generous Sir. I...I..."
"Nonsense. Besides, Jack was my friend and I know he'd want me to do this. He wouldn't have abandoned you Jerusha." Jonathan's words were sincere.
"Thank you Sir, I don't know what to say." She shuffled her feet and wiped her eyes.
"Just say yes. And here, I thought you might like this also."
Jonathan withdrew the silk handkerchief again and handed Jerusha the plait. "It's only a small keepsake, I know, but all of our possessions were lost at sea. This is all I have left to remember Jack by."
Jerusha eyed the hair. "Then I couldn't take it, Sir. You have more right to it than I. You knew him longer and better. Jack was your friend."
"But his child has an even greater right. And besides, it's safer with you than with me. You keep it safe for the child. It will be the only thing it has from its father."
Jerusha shook her head and smiled wryly. "NO Sir, Jack gave it life. That's the greatest gift of all."
Jonathan smiled too because he knew she was right. They shook hands and Jonathan promised to make arrangements with the bank about paying her a wage from his funds.
As he walked back up the road he realised he was still holding the black handkerchief. He went to put it back in his pocket but paused. It was made of the finest silk, black and shiny. Like Peter's hair. On impulse, Jonathan held it to his nose and breathed in the faint scents still clinging, sweet and fragrant, reminding him of Peter's embrace, of the soap he'd used and the red dressing gown. Peter had been right. He needed something in his life, a direction, a meaning, a purpose.
Jonathan thoughts turned to Portsmouth and what awaited him; the Nightingale, a new voyage to look forward to, new friendships and challenges; the chance to start again.
And Peter was there.
The End
February 2002