Page 15 of Miss Debenham's Secret
They’d engaged the enemy over an hour ago and already the stench of gunpowder and blood was heavy in the air.Alistair was grim faced, his skin blackened, as he roared out orders in a hoarse voice, urging his men to greater efforts when he knew they were as exhausted as he.But there was no other option, certainly not surrender.
His Majesty’s navy did not give up and nor did he.
Another blast from the enemy’s cannon almost deafened him.They were coming around, drawing closer, and although that was good for his range of fire it was also good for theirs.Any shot from this close would be devastating and if it holed the ship ...most vessels could stay afloat for a good while, but if a spark reached the gunpowder in the holds below ...well, that would be the end of them.Alistair was determined that wouldn’t happen to the Amazonian, nor to his men.
He had a fleeting thought of Clarissa, her image so clear he could have reached out and touched her.She was smiling, her blue eyes bright and happy, her fair hair brushed by a gentle breeze.Lately, since her letter arrived, he’d been thinking about her a great deal.He’d even been considering whether he should return to Lyme when he was back on shore.Some nights he dreamed of her and he woke with that strange ache in his chest.
Now, in the midst of battle, he was bitterly glad she wasn’t waiting for him.
“Steady!”he roared.“Get ready, wait!Aim ...hold ...fire!”
The cannons on the starboard side roared.He saw some of the cannon balls strike home, ploughing into the decks of the enemy ship.He ran down along the deck, checking that all was well, eyes taking in the damage and automatically assessing what would need to be done later.One of his men lay still and bleeding and he quickly ordered him to be carried below to join the others who lay waiting for help.The ship’s surgeon was frantically doing his best to repair damaged and mangled limbs but his skills were limited and he was forced to choose which of the men he was most able to save and leave the really severe cases to die.
Alistair’s hand went to his pocket and he felt the letter in there.The last one he’d received from Clarissa.It had come all the way from Lyme to Gibraltar, and in it she said that her letters were far more travelled than she would ever be, and she was quite jealous of them.
It made him smile even now, in the midst of all of this hell.
Another blast of enemy cannon and he was back in charge, shouting orders, before he hurried toward the poop deck where the other officers were standing with strained faces.Things were close.They may not win.They may not survive.He knew that in the pragmatic way of any sailor who went to sea, but he also knew he wanted to live.
Before he hadn’t had a reason to stay alive, no one who would miss him terribly much.His sister would mourn, and his friends, but there was no one else.Suddenly there was Clarissa, and his desperate need to get back to her, to tell her that he’d been a fool and he wanted to marry her after all.How she would laugh at that!
Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion.It seemed to be right on top of him.His head rang, and then there was a terrible ripping pain in his leg.
He fell and the sky whirled around him, filled with puffs of smoke from the guns and the tattered remains of a flag.Alistair stared upwards and wondered why everything was so quiet.Just for a moment he imagined himself back in the sailing boat with Clarissa, and the rogue wave coming over them, capsizing them.Only this time he was sinking, down, down, and then there was nothing but darkness.
Chapter thirteen
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Clarissa read the details of the Amazonian’s dramatic encounter in the newspaper, her eyes wide, and a chewed fingernail between her teeth.She’d read it many times already and it was old news, really, but she kept hoping she’d missed something.Some mention of him.
Alistair’s ship had fought hard and although they had won the battle, coming away heroes, there was no further news about casualties or deaths.She prayed he was all right.Lieutenants, as he had told her once, were always in the thick of things, on the gun deck, giving the orders to the gunners.The gun deck was a dangerous place and she didn’t dare to think he might be injured.
Or worse.
Her heart fluttered wildly when she thought of ‘worse’.
She tried to concentrate on her teaching, that was the only way she could keep her mind from dwelling on dire possibilities, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself.Now the day they had capsized in their sailing boat seemed somehow a prophesy of things to come, which was very silly, and so Alistair would tell her next time he wrote.
She missed him terribly, but she’d rather miss him than lose him altogether.
“Clarissa, that is an appalling habit.”
Guiltily she removed her fingernails from her mouth.“Sorry, Father.”
“What are you reading that is so compelling?”
“The story about Alistair’s ship in action, Father.”
He nodded but said nothing.He still hadn’t forgiven Alistair and Clarissa knew he blamed him for making her far more assertive than she used to be.She rather thought her father was afraid that one day she would up and leave him to manage for himself in his old age.He’d probably blame Alistair for that, too.
“I must go,” she said, carefully placing the newspaper in a drawer for next time.“The students will be arriving soon and I haven’t put out the slates or written up the lessons.”
He shot her a look and for some reason she thought he appeared guilty.“I have an old grammar school friend coming for a visit today,” he said, as if it were of little consequence.“You needn’t come home for lunch, Clarissa.I will manage.I’d rather you didn’t interrupt us.”
He was acting strangely but Clarissa was too busy thinking about Alistair to give it much thought as she hurried away.
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