Dinner became a moveable feast that took the ham and accessories across the street, where it was joined by a beef roast large enough for a school of hungry boys, another ham and chicken pie. The whole school ate and celebrated the return of five Gunwharf Rats, six if he counted himself, and he did.
Ezekiel Bartleby was equal to the occasion, with bread and a cake with lemon icing. Captain Ogilvie carried the cake, a smile on his face. In fact, he looked more cheerfully normal than Able had ever seen. The trajectory of the captain’s gaze rested squarely on Grace St. Anthony, who was busy helping Meri slice the bread. Blows the wind from that quarter? Able asked himself. This might bear a comment or two to Meri later on tonight, provided he took the time to think about anyone else’s love besides his own.
Ben on his lap – Ben had turned into an amazing trencherman – he ate, enjoyed the camaraderie all around him in this former refectory of silent monks and what used to be frightened, cowed workhouse scum. They had changed. He saw the pride, the intelligence, and bon amie and it thrilled his heart as almost nothing else could.
He saw something else, and pointed it out to Meri, when he snagged her by her apron and made her sit beside him, reminding her there was a whole staff of kitchen help. “Look at the faces of my crew,” he said. “They’ve seen more and know more than the others.”
She gazed where he gazed, her hand resting proprietarily on his thigh, under the protection of the table. He watched her face become contemplative, even a little wistful. “Dare I say they look like men?”
He nodded. “We’ll give little Avon another year or so, but he is a marvel.” He leaned across Meri to Grace, who was carrying on her own conversation with Captain Ogilvie. “Lady St. Anthony, you certainly set me up for a huge surprise with Avon March.”
She turned to him with a genuine, happy smile, a smile he hadn’t seen in months from her. “Able, I’d like to have seen your expression when you discovered he could signal with the best men in the fleet.”
“I was predictably surprised,” Able replied. “He is a wonder.” He leaned back. “They all are.”
Surrounded by good cheer and celebration, Davey Ten’s serious face came as no surprise to Able. He had clambered aboard the captured Spanish man o’ war with him to render aid, and had seen up close what British guns could do. After an initial gasp, Davey had neither flinched nor held back, but worked alongside the Spanish surgeon until one of Admiral Calder’s undamaged frigates sent over a surgeon’s mate to assist. Able knew he would never tell even Meri that Davey Ten had sobbed in his arms back aboard the Mercury, after the other Gunswharf Rats were below deck, except for Smitty, who had taken the helm. Smitty understood.
Davey must have sensed Able’s eyes on him, as he sat beside Smitty and Whitticombe. Shyly, the boy who already possessed the heart and mind of a surgeon gave him a small salute, which Able returned with pleasure. A corner of his remarkable brain was already planning an assault on Trinity House to sponsor David Ten at the medical school in Edinburgh.
His eyes went to Tots now, who sat next to Avon March with the younger class. Tots, who never cared what people thought, still seemed to be protecting Avon, his signalman, who Captain Six had told to guard with his life. “Avon is in good hands,” he said, more to himself than to Grace, who had returned her attention to Captain Ogilvie.
“Can’t Grace find someone less prickly than Angus Ogilvie?” he whispered to his wife.
“Hush, my man,” Meri said, soothing her mild rebuke by sliding her hand much higher up his thigh.
Able was no fool. He hushed. He eyed his crew again, pleased with their competence, then settled his gaze on Nick Bonfort, hoping to see him less disappointed that he had not been selected to crew the Mercury. Master Ferrier sat with him, both of them looking down at what appeared to be a handle of notes.
“Has Nick found more than a teacher in Master Ferrier?” he asked Meri. “I was hoping.”
“Indeed. Master Ferrier is going to compile Nick’s meticulous notes into something approaching a textbook for your seamanship course,” she said. “Nick is less unhappy.” She