Page 4 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)

The thought soured Sidney’s mood further. This voyage was supposed to be his triumph, the culmination of years of careful planning and investment. The treasure was rightfully his to claim, or at least, that was what the documents in his strongbox suggested. But if Blackwell reached it first...

Sidney wanted something in the middle for himself and the much-imagined future family he would set up.

For his own future, he wanted to be surrounded by books, loved ones, and comfort.

He didn’t desire opulence — that sounded messy in a different way.

But after spending so many years cramped either with his large family in their small home or here on his beautiful ship, Sidney wanted space for himself and every single member of the family he was going to create one day.

He had already learned through his time with Roderick Northcott and his scholarly friends at the institute that you could create a family of your own, ones who felt the same or similarly as you did.

That is what he wanted for himself, but on a more permanent basis.

Just thinking about all his friends marrying themselves off assured Sidney that he needed to do the same, so he wouldn’t be left behind as he had been now.

Sidney forced the thought from his mind.

He would not allow himself to be outmanoeuvred, not when he was so close to achieving everything he had worked for.

The Seraphim was faster than Blackwell’s vessel, and Sidney knew the waters around St. Augustine better than most. They still had the advantage, assuming they could depart on schedule.

With renewed determination, Sidney strode across the deck, calling out orders as he went. The crew, sensing their captain’s mood, redoubled their efforts, moving with the practiced efficiency of men who had sailed together for years.

“Mr. Turner!” Sidney approached the quartermaster, a stocky man with arms like tree trunks. “How are we situated for charts?”

Turner straightened from where he had been supervising the stowage of rope. “All updated as of last month, Captain. Including the new soundings off the Florida coast that you requested.”

Sidney nodded approvingly. “And our navigational instruments?”

“Chronometer is wound and keeping perfect time. Sextant was checked just yesterday. We’re ready for whatever course you set, sir.”

“Good man.”

Sidney clapped him on the shoulder and moved on, methodically checking every aspect of the ship’s readiness. It was a ritual he performed before every voyage, but today it felt more necessary than ever. Nothing could be left to chance, not with so much at stake.

As the morning wore on, Sidney found himself growing increasingly tense.

Every delay, no matter how minor, set his teeth on edge.

When a crate of salted beef was discovered to be spoiled and had to be replaced, he nearly lost his temper — something the crew had rarely witnessed in their usually composed captain.

“Easy, sir,” Fletcher murmured as Sidney stalked away from the offending provisions. “We’re still on schedule.”

Sidney took a deep breath, forcing himself to regain his composure. “You’re right, of course. I apologize for my impatience.”

Fletcher’s eyes crinkled with understanding. “No need, Captain. We all know you’re anxious to depart.”

Did they? Sidney wondered. Did they truly understand that this was not merely about profit, but about securing his future? About finally having enough wealth to establish himself properly, to be accepted on his own terms rather than as an oddity — the gentleman who chose the sea over Society?

Wasn’t he just turning into a maudlin young debutante?

He scoffed at himself, rolling his eyes as he turned his head sharply at a strange movement just off to the side.

But when he stared, he saw a large fish leap out of the water, and he shook his head.

Obviously, he was far too anxious and seeing things that didn’t exist.

With these thoughts weighing on his mind, Sidney returned to his cabin for a brief respite.

The room was spartan but comfortable, reflecting its occupant’s practical nature.

A narrow bunk, a desk bolted to the floor, shelves lined with books and navigational instruments.

And in the corner, the strongbox containing the charts and documents that would lead them to their destination.

Sidney ran his fingers over the box’s ornate lock, feeling the cool metal beneath his skin.

Inside lay the culmination of years of research, bribes, and careful detective work.

The location of a Spanish galleon that had sunk off the coast of Florida nearly a century ago, taking with it a king’s ransom in gold and gems. A ship that many had searched for, but none had found.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Enter,” he called, straightening and composing his features into their usual mask of calm authority.

It was the ship’s doctor, a dour man named Franklin who had been with Sidney since his first command.

“The men are asking about our destination, Captain,” he said without preamble. “There’s talk in the crew quarters.”

Sidney frowned. “What kind of talk?”

Franklin shrugged his thin shoulders. “The usual superstitious nonsense. Some say we’re hunting pirates. Others think it’s a smuggling run. But there are a few who have mentioned treasure, and that has them excited. And nervous.”

“And what do you think, Doctor?” Sidney asked, curious despite himself.

Franklin’s thin lips curved in a rare smile. “I think that whatever we’re seeking must be valuable indeed, to have you checking your pocket watch every five minutes. But unlike some, I’m content to wait and see.”

Sidney returned the smile, appreciating the doctor’s candour. “Your patience will be rewarded, I promise you that. As for the men, tell them we’re headed for the Caribbean on a trading expedition. It’s not entirely untrue.”

“Very well, Captain.” Franklin turned to go, then paused. “Oh, and that business with the beef has been sorted. Cook says we’re fully provisioned now.”

“Thank you, Doctor. That’s welcome news.”

As Franklin departed, Sidney checked his watch once more — a habit he seemed unable to break today. Four hours until the tide turned. Four hours until they could finally leave port and begin the voyage that would change everything.

Returning to the deck, Sidney found the ship buzzing with activity. The last of the cargo was being loaded, ropes coiled, decks swabbed. Everything proceeding according to plan, and yet Sidney couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over him since receiving Harrington’s note.

As if summoned by his anxious thoughts, a tall figure appeared on the dock below, dressed in an expensive coat despite the growing heat of the day. Sidney recognized him immediately — Harold Simmons, Blackwell’s shipping agent and sometimes spy.

“Well, well,” Sidney muttered. “Speak of the devil’s associate.”

Fletcher followed his gaze and cursed under his breath. “Want me to send him packing, sir?”

Sidney considered it, then shook his head.

“No. That would only confirm his suspicions. Let him look. There’s nothing to see yet.” He straightened his shoulders and called down to the dockside. “Mr. Simmons! What brings you to our humble vessel this fine morning?”

Simmons looked up, affecting surprise at being noticed. “Captain Peters! I was merely admiring your ship. The Seraphim is looking particularly fine today.”

“She’s always fine,” Sidney replied evenly. “But I thank you for the compliment. Will you give my regards to Captain Blackwell when next you see him? Tell him I hope his... business is prospering.”

The double meaning was not lost on Simmons, whose smile turned slightly brittle. “I shall indeed, Captain. He’ll be most interested to hear of your imminent departure. Off to the Colonies again, I understand?”

It was a fishing expedition, and a clumsy one at that. Sidney smiled thinly. “Our destination is wherever the wind and profit take us, Mr. Simmons. As always.”

Simmons nodded, as if Sidney had confirmed something. “Of course, of course. Well, I shan’t keep you from your preparations. Fair winds, Captain Peters.”

“And to you, Mr. Simmons,” Sidney replied, watching as the man turned and strolled away with deliberate casualness.

“He’ll report back to Blackwell before the hour is out,” Fletcher predicted darkly.

“Without doubt,” Sidney agreed. “But he learned nothing of value.” He paused, considering. “Still, perhaps we should move up our departure. The tide will be favourable enough by one o’clock. I see no reason to delay until evening.”

Fletcher brightened at this. “I’ll inform the crew at once, sir.”

As his first mate hurried off to spread the news, Sidney returned to his surveillance of the harbour.

Simmons had disappeared into the crowd, but the damage was done.

Blackwell now knew they were preparing to sail, and while he might not know their exact destination, he would certainly make educated guesses.

The race had begun, even before they left port.

With renewed urgency, Sidney threw himself into the final preparations. He strode forward decisively. He would help the men finish the loading, and they would be next in line to catch the tide.

“All hands to stations!” Sidney called, his voice carrying across the deck. “Prepare to cast off!”

The crew scrambled to obey, taking up positions at the rigging and along the rails.

Sidney took his place at the helm, feeling the familiar surge of excitement that always accompanied the beginning of a voyage.

Despite the pressure, despite the race with Blackwell, there was still the thrill of the open sea, the promise of discovery.

As the last lines were cast off and the Seraphim began to edge away from the dock, Sidney allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. They were on their way at last. The treasure, and the future it represented, was within reach.

The ship glided smoothly through the harbour, sails catching the light breeze that would carry them out to open water.

Sidney kept his eyes fixed ahead, already planning their course once they cleared the headland.

They would have to be cautious, watching for any sign of pursuit, but he was confident in the Seraphim’s speed and his crew’s abilities.

It was only as they were passing the harbour mouth, the town of Portsmouth shrinking behind them, that Sidney noticed something odd.

A movement at the corner of his eye, a flash of colour that seemed out of place among the weathered wood and canvas of the ship.

He turned sharply, catching what appeared to be the flutter of fabric disappearing down the forward hatch.

“Mr. Fletcher,” he called, frowning. “Did you see that?”

The first mate, busy overseeing the setting of the mainsail, glanced over. “See what, sir?”

Sidney hesitated, suddenly unsure. It had been just a glimpse, a momentary impression easily explained by a fluttering sail or a crewman’s shirttail. And yet...

“Nothing,” he said finally, shaking his head. “A trick of the light, I suppose.”

Fletcher nodded and returned to his duties, but Sidney continued to stare at the hatch, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. He had spent enough years at sea to trust his instincts, and right now they were telling him that something was not quite right on his ship.

But with Blackwell potentially on their trail and the treasure waiting to be claimed, Sidney had more pressing concerns than chasing shadows. Whatever he had seen, or thought he had seen, would have to wait. The voyage had begun, and there was no turning back now.