A Voyage (closed for JayTee69gmx)

Anne Winthrop staggered up the back staircase of the ship, resolved to hold her breath until she was topside. The storm had lasted so long that the hold had begun to smell of its humanity, all the crew and passengers stewing in air that did not circle. No other choice in a storm this size, though. Many of the people could not keep their supper in; that was to be expected. As this wasn’t Anne’s first long sea voyage, she had managed to keep from casting up her accounts. It was strength of will, indeed, what with the choppy motion of the vessel combined with the smell of those who had given into nausea.

She took a great gasping breath of salty air when she hit the ship’s deck. The seas were calm now, but there was still a slight spray in the air. It was bracing, and so much better than the air below deck that she inhaled greedily. She closed her eyes as the air hit her, a small smile on her face.

When she opened her eyes, she saw him.

Her target.

The Earl of Cuthcert, William to his closest friends, a man she had seen across ballrooms twice. She remembered both; she had not been introduced to him either time. Unlike most of his contemporaries, he was not overweight or puffy. He made a waistcoat look as it ought to, not like the other nobles of her acquaintance, who indulged in everything until the buttons of their jackets were pushed to the limit. Taller than his peers, a patrician nose, tousled brown hair getting worse in the wind…he stood alone near the lip of the ship, sails flapping above him. His docket said blue eyes, but that was something Anne could not confirm without being a little closer.

She had not planned on encountering him now. It would have been more convenient if he had drink in him. But besides the crew, they were the only two souls brave enough to be on the deck so soon after the storm. It would be a missed opportunity if she didn’t approach him. He looked so forbidding, as he had across the ballrooms. A serious man, he did not give off the air of the easily fooled.

She was wary. Her previous two targets had been too easy, too willing to let her overhear conversations that might be of pertinence to America’s military. They had thought her bubble-headed without her trying too much and therefore never even suspected that she had been revealing any of their secrets. They were also easily strung along without her having to suffer their embraces.

And they hadn’t been attractive. She had not felt even a flutter when she looked at them. What she felt right now, looking at Cuthcert, was more than a flutter. It was a swarm.

It occurred to her that she should have taken a lover in England. It was no good to be this pent up, it clouded the thinking. She took a moment to get herself under control, remember the task at hand. Perhaps the attraction could work in her favor—if they went to bed together, he might begin to trust her enough to let something slip. Perhaps that was why she had been assigned to him in the first place. If she went to bed with him—for her country, of course—no one had said she could not take pleasure in it.

She straightened her shoulders, which had the effect of pushing up her bosom, her dress cut low enough to draw the eye, and slowly walked toward him. He did not see her at first. She couldn’t guess what he was thinking, looking out at the waves. But now she could see that the docket was right—his eyes were blue. The file that she had on him did not mention their intensity, though. Fleetingly, she had the thought of what that intensity might look like focused on her.

No.

Anne cleared her throat, lightly, put on her fake personality. The one she used to trick men into thinking her a frivolous fashionable widow.

“Oh, my goodness. I shall never get over the feeling of being tossed about.” She whipped out her fan, its appearance meant to show him immediately that she was well off and gently bred. She was no such thing, but she had been playing at it for a long time now. “I have so hated traveling since my husband passed.”

At that moment a rogue wave took the ship almost to her beam ends, and covered them with a fine mist of salt water. Cuthcert grabbed the rail to hold himself, and then wrapped his arm around her waist in as discrete a manner possible under the circumstance. After the ship righted, he bowed,

"Please forgive my familiarity madam, I feared you would be taken by that wave."

He reached into his waistcoat pocket and from it, proferred a card.

"At your service madam." Another slight bow.

The card read:


This was indeed fortuitous. He had wondered how he could devise a way to meet this woman, the one the Admiralty had sent him to watch. It was said she had at various times attempted to secure secrets regarding the development of steam powered warships. An incredible advantage if it could be acheived. Relations between the colonies and the Empire were strained at best, the colonies were suspected of aiding Napoleon, and English warships had blockaded New York, the Chesapeake, and New Orleans to prevent the colonies from sending support to Napoleon. Any day war might be declared, should the colonies suspect they could overwhelm the meager forces in British North America. Battles would be fought in the Great Lakes, and if either side had vessels that did not depend on the wind, they would surely prevail quickly.

Cuthcert proferred his arm to the lady, "If you will permit me to offer you support, we should make our way to the upper aft deck. There it will be drier, and there will be less wind in the lee of the gaff." He smiled gently, looking straight into her deep blue eyes. Not sure what he saw there, but he saw enough to know to be careful of her. She was definitely not what she seemed. Of course neither was he. "There will be more motion of course."

They walked together to the aft companionway, and he helped her up the steep stairs. A few times wind gusts fluttered her skirt and he glimpsed her petticoats, and had a fine view of her slender ankles. As they reached the upper aft deck she slipped a little and as a result made a fine display of her cleavage. He chuckled to himself, 'I wonder if old Cockburn had any idea what a pleasant task he set me.' If seduction was required, this one had ample charms to seduce. First given the assignment he had feared his target would be one of those loud battle axes the colonies were famous for.

Three times he had tried to search her cabin, only to be thwarted by the approach of a steward. What secrets did this woman have? She had been reported attempting to overhear conversations at various social events in London, and there was one suggestion that she had tried to engage whores to pry secrets from the workers at the Admiralty yard. Perhaps she had. Perhaps she had found out about the attempts to transform a walking beam engine to power a ship. But the colonists were working on the same problem. Perhaps by different means. That was his secondary task, to see what secrets could be found at the Brooklyn yards.

She was no engineer, but often womanly wiles could pry secrets no man could find. Perhaps he could turn the tables on her and secure the services of whores to subvert a worker or two in Brooklyn. Risky business though, if he were caught the colonists would not hesitate to hang him. A woman had the advatage there too, far less likely a court would sentence a woman to hang, even on evidence of spying. And once they left this ship, she was safe and he was at risk.

The breeze became distinctly warmer. "Ah we have reached the Gulf Stream, we should be in New York in just a few days now. And north of the squalls too."

She made eyes at him again, and he began to wonder, 'What does she know about me?'

He turned, straightened his broad shoulders, then bowed slightly toward her, with a gentle smile looked straight into her eyes, "Madam, at the moment you have the advantage of me."

It was a manouver he found could set any woman's heart to flutter.

Anne was not prepared for the wave when it hit. She lost her footing almost immediately, but her scream was squelched when the earl's arm belted confidently around her waist. He'd hardly blinked: this was a man who knew the rhythms of the sea intimately. Was he a naval officer? Odd that the docket shouldn't note it. And if there was anyone she trusted less than a noble, it was a noble officer. It only added to her irritation that when he drew her against his body, she felt an undeniable thrill.

She took his card, briefly wondering what the Crows was...his estate, perhaps? Anne's cards were back in her cabin, the storm had caught her off guard. No matter--he did not wait for her card in return, nor ask her name. He let loose a smooth flow of sailing jargon and offered his arm. Somewhat numbly, she slipped her hand through, the wool of his coat brushing the fabric of her glove. His eyes met hers again and two things happened: the first, she saw him trying to read her, and the second, she had been right about the intensity. It nearly burned.

She knew next to nothing about him as a person, because all of her attempts to search his cabin had been thwarted by his ever-present valet. But now, the way his eyes held hers, the way he swept her away quickly...it worried her. How much did he already know about her? It was not paranoid or crazy to think the Empire had someone on her scent.

They reached the upper aft. He was going on about the Gulf Stream, the breeze ruffling his hair, which gave her a distinct urge to run her fingers through it. She squashed the feeling effectively, but then he turned, that low, caressing accent saying: "Madam, at the moment you have the advantage of me."

It was only by way of her training that Anne managed not to blink or flush. If he had not been a target, she might have shivered, with delight or anticipation. Her heart did thump, quite to her surprise, but at least he couldn't see that. Instead, she let a slow smile creep across her face, her lips curling in a frank flirt.

"I should keep the advantage, my Lord, but I confess I would rather hear you say my name." She dropped a small curtesy, but did not turn her eyes to the ground. "Anne Winthrop. Widow of Baron Islay. Do not hold my accent against me, I have been practically English since my age of majority."

Poor Robert, Baron Islay. He had been such a good inside man for the colonies and a good friend. Anne had been truly grieved when he met his untimely end, even if they had never been married.

He bowed and took her gloved hand in his, kissing the fingertips.

"Baroness, it is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance." But one of his fingers strayed and boldly stroked the centre of her palm, albeit through the glove. He closely watched her eyes to see her reaction.

It crossed his mind that if she carried secrets in her head, it would be an easy thing to toss her overboard, or easier to have let the wave take her. But then, what if she had made notes, what if she was carrying drawings, or perhaps she was unable to discover the secrets of the double side beams that the yard near Portsmouth had been working on. Then he would simply lose an opportunity, a way to get to meet people who might know the workings of the Brooklyn yard, perhaps even meet Fulton who was rumored to be close to steam propulsion of ships himself. And for all their strengths a steam powered vessel must have weaknesses too. What were they? How could they be exploited.

The crew began to open the ports on the side of the vessel. Although she was a merchantman with only four cannon for protection, the ports had been painted to look like cannon barrels. At a distance she could be mistaken for a 30 gun warship. This served to keep would be privateers at bay, particularly as they sailed close to the Caribbean on this route. More hatches and ports were opened, The crew were ventilating the ship.

He made small talk about the voyage, the beauty of the sea, the way the ship moved with the waves, the sounds in the rigging, the red sunset forecasting fine weather for the morrow, and hoped for a clear night to see the stars and the moon.

All the while he plotted how to learn her secrets. How to trick her into revealing them. Or how to gain access to her cabin, perhaps with her there. Soon a strategy started to form, but he had only a few days before they made New York. Perhaps if he were to appear open to her, she might sense an opportuinity herself. And if she pressed, she might open herself to counter-attack. Seduction seemed the best way.

"It is unfortunate we did not become acquainted whilst in England. From the Crows I often take rides through the countryside, past the naval yards to see Nelson's ships being prepared to take on Napoleon. I am certain he will see that little man vanquished, why behead the nobility only to replace them with a worst tyrant? I will never understand the French."

"You do ride, I presume? Perhaps when we reach the colonies you might introduce me to someone who could provide a suitable mount to venture into the countryside. I imagine the vastness of the new world to be quite different from stodgy old England. No hedgerows. I wonder does one hunt fox there? We do at Crows. With dogs. Sometimes ladies accompany us, to watch of course, they do not shoot."

When the earl touched her hand, she felt one of his fingers wander further than propriety would allow, stroking her palm in a way that was immediately sexual but unseen to any outside eyes. Her mind presented her with a vivid and unwelcome image at that touch—one of his head between her legs, bowed, her fingers weaved into his hair. She flushed.

A ridiculous image, indeed. The man was a peer and the odds that he cared about a woman’s pleasure were quite low. If they did sleep together, she was sure it would be more like this: he would open her legs, without foreplay, his member would be disappointingly small, and it would be over after a few rough thrusts.

Anne parried his small talk with polite replies. She was thinking about how best to see what he knew about steam-powered ships. The Earl of Cuthcert, his dossier told her, ran in rarified circles and knew many of England’s foremost engineers. They were working on the same coup that her American contacts were: the development of a ship that was not beholden to the whims of the wind.

Her own work, the fruit of months in his country, was a leather bound journal full of overheard plans. Even she had to admit she had done a very good job. When she handed the book to Madison, she imagined the smile on his face, placidly triumphant. That book was safe, so safe that she tried not to think of its location, or she would be tempted to never leave her room in order to ensure its safety.

He insulted the French casually and she kept a smile on her face. She watched him, but his face barely ever changed its mild expression, the ghost of beard growth just beginning on his chin. He probably shaved himself, Anne mused. She could not imagine this was a man that let anyone put a blade to his throat.

“I would be honored to assist you in finding a mount,” she said. She would do no such thing, but he did not need to know that now. Now, what she wanted to accomplish was getting invited to his room. “But you will not find much fox hunting. Other game, yes, but foxes can’t provide much to most colonists. We prefer to shoot what we can use.”

Smoothly, she turned so that their bodies were facing. Her lips were near his crisp collar, his starched tie. She tilted her face up, a flirtatious smile gracing her face.

“You are unused to women who shoot. Pity.” Anne wet her bottom lip, discreetly, with just the tip of her pink tongue. “I love firing a gun.”

She was trying to seduce him! What a perfect turn of events. He leaned forward, closer to her lips, then instead of stealing a kiss, inhaled her scent. Murmured approval and smiled into her eyes.

He suspected she would get him into bed, fake an orgasm or two to trigger him, and hope he fell asleep. Well he had a plan for that. Nevertheless, she was in fact very attractive and seducing her would be a great pleasure. He allowed himself another glance down her cleavage and imagined his hands on those soft succulent breasts. What secrets lay under her skirts? He was certain in a few hours he would know.

The sun set in a blaze of glorious hot pinks, followed by orange, blood red and and dusky glow. At the same time the full moon rose in the east, at first orange, then a cold icy white. The breeze they had been sailing on died, and the sea became very calm, shimmering in the moonlight. As they drifted north on the current toward New York, the boat gently rocked.

"May I suggest I have my man bring us dinner in my cabin? I would be honoured if you would join me. I do have some claret which should help us to digest the last of that sheep they brought on board. And I would have the pleasure of your company. Perhaps 8 bells? I shall expect you. Let me help you to the main deck."

And he proffered his arm to assist her to the steep stairs to the main deck. Once there he bid adieu for the moment, and made his way to his cabin.

In the cabin he took a few pages from his main case, then double locked it and hid it under his bed in a sack of unwashed laundry. But those few sheets were in fact sketches made which would appear to be information about Fulton's work. Wrong information. But close enough to appear valid. He wanted her to imagine he was carrying information fed by Sir Edward Cranston, the spy the colonists had caught and hanged last year. Cranston had hidden his information amongst his private papers, in invisible ink. The colonists, anxious to appear at least to be gentlemen, had sent is personal effects back to England, after executing him as a spy. Which of course, he was.

Those papers he put into a small chest, locked it, and plucked a hair from his head to place on the hinge, that he might know if she had looked in there. When she came to dinner he would feign an excuse to leave her alone in his cabin. He was certain she would search it as soon as she was left by herself, and he planted the information to lead her astray. If she happened upon the actual information he was carrying, it was unlikely she would realize what it was. Only by assembling three of the drawings and holding them up to the light could one see the actual drawings Cranston had made. Drawings that he was to verify and augment if possible. He was no engineer, but he knew that if this indeed was Fulton's design, it was not suitable for open waters. And it would be susceptible to damage from cannon. But for the present, he had to find out what she knew from her journeys around Southampton.

He dressed in his best doeskin breeches, fresh white singlet, vest and jacket, buckled shoes, white hose. His intent was clear. He awaited her arrival calmly, certain his plan would prevail.

As Anne slipped her arm through the earl’s for a second time, she had the distinct feeling that this was all too easy. He hardly asked any questions about her, then invited her to his cabin in a frank proposition. Neither of them could misunderstand the way his eyes swept her, lingering on her breasts, or the way he inhaled her scent as if they had already begun foreplay. An elaborate foreplay, one that had started when their eyes first locked, if she was honest.

She had said yes, of course. Yes, she would be honored to join him for supper, with a small, sensual smile. But by the time they parted ways, she knew it could not be just lust that made him invite her to a private meal. The earl did not appear the type for a sudden dalliance. Certainly, he was as good-looking as any rake she had ever seen, but he did not seem frivolous. His file said that he was a stoic, a thinker, more of the academic type than a society playboy. This led her to believe that he either knew who she was, or at least suspected she was not merely a widowed Baroness.

No matter. If she was careful, she could play it well enough until the ship docked, perhaps get some good information from him, then they would never see each other again. If a few evenings of pleasure were the side-effect of her reconnaissance, she could not be sad about that. The invite back to his room was too good of an opportunity to pass up—she could see if he was carrying anything, specifically the Cranston papers. It was rumored that some drawings still existed, though no one knew where they had circulated.

Anne returned to her cabin to do two things: check her work and dress carefully for the dinner. She stripped down to her stays, then rang for a lady’s maid to help her out of the rest. The seas had calmed, thankfully, getting in and out of elaborate gowns on a ship had not proven the easiest of tasks. When she was in just her chemise, she locked the door and pried up the floorboard she had loosened back when they first boarded.

There was her journal, safe and untouched. It would have been nearly impossible for a random person to re-tie the intricate knot of leather strings that bound the sheaf together. The fruit of all her months in London lay in the pages—lists of principals of projects, men who congregated together, snippets of conversation she did not understand because it was too technical. She was no shipbuilder, but she was very good at transcribing and memory. She nailed the floorboard back in place as quietly as she could and hid the hammer in her lingerie drawer.

She bathed, taking extra time, both to relax and to primp. Rose petals in the water, oils to further soften her already silken skin. She pinned her hair up loosely, leaving some stray curls to fall around her face in a suggestively mussed manner. Then, she put on the dress that was the crowning achievement, a confection she wore sparingly because she had found it was too distracting for any mixed company. A weapon of a dress. For this dinner, she did not bother with the architecture that usually accompanied women’s gowns—she didn’t want anything in the way when the earl touched her. Which she was sure he would. The gown’s bodice, tight in the waist, both molded and pushed up her breasts. It was scandalously low-cut. Only a strip of lace covered the top of her dusky pink nipples, white lace, so that if one looked close enough, there was a peek of flesh. The rest of the dress was a deep, alluring purple.

She smiled at her reflection. Feeling worthy of seduction, she found she hoped for it, craved the earl’s big hands and lips on her. She left her room shortly before the eight bells rang out on the ship’s deck.

Graciously he opened his cabin door to her gentle taps. "My humble abode, mi casa es su casa, please sit. He ushered her to a chair by a small gimballed table. It stayed level as the boat gently rocked. Moving her chair into place he had a fine view of her decolletage, lace on the borders. He was sure he could see the edge of a shell pink nipple. 'She has come prepared' he thought. 'Each trying to seduce the other, it should not take long before the secrets of her body are revealed.'

He sent Jason on his way to get dinner for them and poured them each a glass of claret. Frowned slightly seeing the bottle was nearly empty. They sipped, made small talk about the hardships of a sea voyage. Then he rose, went to a small cupboard, "My lady it seems I am embarrassed, there is no more wine here. One could not possibly digest that mutton without claret. I shall have to fetch some from the galley.I am sure I will be back before Jason brings dinner. A few minutes at most."

Jason had in fact been instructed to wait for a signal before fetching dinner. The earl turned and locked the cabin door, quietly. If asked he would say force of habit. Then he went straight to her cabin, picked the lock, and lit a small oil lamp he found. He stood and stared around him, moved a couple of books, opened a drawer, then he saw it. The pattern of scratches in one of the boards in the floor didn't quite match the board's on either side. 'What a clever idea' he thought. With a small knife he made four additional scratches, almost invisible, then prized up the board with his dagger. A roll of papers presented, but tied with an impossibly complex knot. Again he admired her initiative. He was certain he had found her notes. He was not at all certain how he could see them and escape detection. He replaced the board, careful to match the little scratches he made, and tapped it home with the heel of his shoe. Slipped away as quickly as possible picking the lock closed.

He had no doubt she would be rifling his cabin. He hoped she took the bait.

Just outside his cabin door he recovered two bottles of claret. And nodded to Jason standing in the shadows to fetch dinner. As quietly as possible he unlocked the door. Then said loudly, to warn her, "You! lad what are skulking around here for. Off with you, go go!"

He loudly stomped a ways away, and opened the door, holding two bottles of claret. "Success!

He thought she might have a slight flush to her cheeks.

The Earl looked exceedingly handsome when he opened the door, bidding her to come in, to have a drink. For a moment, it made her wish that they were truly courting, not each trying to fool the other. But Anne knew better--a woman like her could never hope to court, much less marry, and certainly not the nobility. Not after what they had done to her brother.

She smiled and giggled, make light small talk before dinner. When he left the cabin to get more wine, she could hardly believe her luck. She began searching immediately, finding nothing at first. Soon enough, she happened upon a locked box. Surely he was not fool enough to leave important things in the open. She studied it for a moment, seeing the hair he had placed over the lock. Very smart. A trick that might have caught anyone else, save her. She carefully placed the hair aside, then picked the lock.

Jackpot. Plans and drawings, loose sheets. She could not take them, but she had planned for that. She hastily pulled parchment from her reticule and began copying the sketches. It would be a few night's work, she could tell, but the closer they grew, the more access she would have.

She heard his voice, then stomping. Hastily, she shoved her copies back into her reticule, re-locked the case, and placed the hair back.

The chestnut hair, shiny, obviously his hair. Which was beautiful, a thought she swallowed just as quick.

She smiled when he opened the door, hoping she did not look too breathless.

"My lord. That felt forever and a day, I must say. I find I cannot get my fill of your company."

He placed one hand behind her shoulders, and leaned forward and stole a kiss. Feeling the moist softness of her lips on his sent a shiver through his body.

"I assure you madam the feeling is reciprocated."

At that moment Jason came in with their meals. Steaming hot mutton stew with root vegetables.

"Take your sup in the galley, Jason, and mayhap you can find the ship's carpenter, I would speak with him tomorrow at nine bells."

They ate a while in silence using the wine generously. Small talk about the people on the ship, and the Earl wanted to know about New York City. He had never been, and was looking forward to it. "Perhaps you could give me a tour, and I will need to find lodging."

He saw a tiny fleck of gravy had landed on her decolletage, looking for all the world like a mole. He licked his finger and whisked it away. He watched her eyes. And therein saw mixed emotions, lust, honest attraction, duplicity, and perhaps a little fear. Such a complex woman, not at all like those nannies at home intent on using sex to better their families position.

The fashion of the day for men was a pair of skin tight breeches over a singlet with a vest and jacket. For a man like the Earl, who was fit and blessed with substantial 'parts', it was a bold image, and to accentuate it he had worn his best thin doeskin white breeches. Even as he scanned her bosoms, he had caught her glancing down from time to time.

Anne was surprised when the Earl kissed her on his return; surprised, but relieved. He did not seem to suspect her of rifling through his things, not when his lips were on hers, moving gently, his fingers at her back.

Dinner was pleasant, more so with the copious amounts of wine, and she found she had forgotten for a moment that he was the enemy. She had readily agreed to show him around New York, something that she certainly could not do.

When he leaned forward to clean her décolleté, she didn't realize at first what he was doing. She nearly jumped. His finger brushed the swell of her left breast, a strangely intimate and almost affectionate gesture. He was smiling. He hadn't used a napkin, nor was he wearing gloves. The pad of his finger was warm. She thought she murmured 'thank you,' but she was not sure.

Anne bit her lip, her eyes wandering again to his breeches. They left little to the imagination, and she could swear the bulge was growing. The outline of his thick shaft was quite visible. She took a long drink of the wine, felt her chest flush slightly.

"I do hope you'll agree that we should not stand on ceremony--will you call me Anne? I know it is rather familiar so soon, but we Americans are used to less formality."

She met his eyes, her lips turning up on one side, pink and full.

"Anne it is then, and I am William, or Will. But in public I think we should maintain the formal address." Through the rest of the meal, their conversation returned to small talk. They finished up and tidied the dishes for Jason to return to the galley.

"I suppose Jason will return soon, if the weather is still nice, will you take a stroll on the upper aft deck?. The crew rarely visit there, and never when it is calm. There is a lookout partway up the mizzen, but his eyes are on the horizons."

On the way, slowly, arm in arm, they met Jason. Cuthcert broke away and spoke to Jason out of her earshot. "You found the carpenter? Good. Now I want you to also find me the best man onboard for tying complex knots. There is always one makes it his hobby."

Cuthcert returned and took her arm again. But when they mounted the ladder to the afternoon deck, he glanced up and saw white skin above her stockings. He thought she was wearing drawers the last time they climbed this ladder, but he couldn't be sure as the ship was being tossed by the waves then.

They reached the upper deck, and stood by the rail while he pointed out stars, the milky way, and Jupiter. One arm around her, his hand made many small movements on her side, at least once venturing to graze the underside of her breast.

What shall I do, he thought. If I discover she indeed is a spy? Have the Captain throw her in the brig, and take her back to London to be tried. He wondered how good the information she carried was. It might be better to let the colonists think they knew more than they did. And if he challenged her, certainly his own mission to find out if Fulton had devised an ocean going version of his boat would be aborted. No, first find out what she knows, then decide.

Anne was sure now that he knew. Either knew she was a spy or knew she was trying to play him. He spent an inordinate amount of time with his man, talking in hushed tones. He dithered, suggesting a walk. Her thoughts of pleasure fizzled, even as he discreetly brushed the underside of her breast. He pointed out constellations and planets as if she were a dullard and she smiled politely. She was wretchedly tired of men assuming she was stupid or silly, just because she was beautiful. Men always, but always, felt the need to explain things to her.

The blasted nobility were the worst of all. Thank goodness the ship was bound home. She would have to be careful from now on, though she was in home waters, she was technically still in English territory. If Cuthcert wanted, he could surely have her thrown in the brig. Perhaps it would be best to stop poking at him, to gain access to his cabin without his knowing, now that she knew the location of his information.

She had gotten a good start on the plans she found in his room and hoped that once alone, she could study the drawings and see if there was anything Fulton could use. Either way, it was becoming clear, between her months in London and the drawings that she had seen tonight—the English were not a threat to Fulton’s grand project. They were miles behind in development and possibly theory. Anne smiled to herself as the earl nattered on; let him think what he would. He was on a losing side.

She patted her reticule, making sure the parchment was safe, and sighed softly.

“It has been a wonderful evening, my lord.” Anne squeezed his arm lightly. “Thank you for supper, and your hospitality. I shall return to my room now, and leave you to your rest.”

"As you wish Anne." He walked back to the ladder and down to the main deck, and watched as she left toward her cabin. Then went back where they had been, and stared out at the stars to the east. In about 20 minutes the meteor shower started. 'Well there will be no double fireball explosions for you tonight' he thought.

Back at his cabin he undressed to his singlet, climbed in the bunk. Quiet night, no need for the lee cloth. His sleep was erratic, and fitful, and when he woke he felt little rested. Jason brought thick strong sweet tea, and a bit of hard tack. If yesterday had been his finest clothes, today was his roughest. Mottled creamy brown britches, rather threadbare singlet, vest and jacket.

Cuthcert instructed Jason to find the carpenter and the man they thought could tie any knot, and to meet him under the mizzen companion way, lower deck. Few would be down there save rats. The two were taken aback when they realized they were meeting with nobility.

"Your King has given me special rights, and today I am going to ask you to perform a few very easy duties. You will obey. And for your efforts each of you will get and envelope with ten one pound notes. Here, after we finish. But you must never ever for the rest of your lived ever mention to anyone what you did here today. If you did, I would find you and (at this he drew his long hunting knife) drive the point of this knife through your heart and throw you overboard. Simple enough? Come with me."

They made their way to the interdeck area under the cabins. Cuthcert mentally counted ribs from the companionway, and pointed up to the deckhead. "There is where you will work. Jason, up here with me," and he scurried up into a corner well out of the light."If anyone asks, carpenter, tell them you are repairing a crack in a bulkhead brace that opened up in the last storm."

"Now start removing those boards over you, somewhere up there you will see a long scroll of papers held by a knot. Go slowly once you find it, then bring it to me."

There was a period of prying and creaking, they could hear voices muffled above. a head poked around the corner and called "What's going on there?" The carpenter gave him his answer and he went away, seemingly satisfied. Then they found it. "Careful lads, careful, gently now." And it was brought out into the light.

"Ok, here are some more papers and some cord. Duplicate that knot. Mind it is exact." After about five minutes the copy was made. "Good"

"Now go away a bit, all of you, I do not want you to know what is in the bundle."

He untied the knot, spread out the documents and read through carefully. There were some drawings of alternate engine beam connections. It was excellent work. But what she had found was nothing, because that was what the English naval architects had. Nothing. One of the beam sketches was a bit too close to the truth. That one he modified with erasing a few lines, and adding a couple of other ones. Nothing major.

He repacked the bundle, and called them to return. "Retie the knot, and put the bundle back exactly where you found it, Carpenter replace each of the boards in their original locations. Back at the companionway he handed each man his envelope, looked him in the eye and said "You will never ever speak of this" one hand on the hilt of his knife.