The Storm-Grey Sea

Chapter Six - Pitch and Roll

On the morning they sailed from Plymouth, Rosalind took her breakfast in the Great Cabin with the captain and, not surprisingly, her father. She'd been up on deck, pacing back and forth on the quarterdeck, pleased to finally be out at sea, when the word had been passed along that the captain sent his compliments and wondered if she would join he and her father for a spot of breakfast.

Rosalind, who, over the few days they'd been at port, usually dined in the wardroom or in her cabin - the captain often invited her father to dine with him, but not Rosalind - was a little surprised but was undeniably pleased. It was not as though she particularly wanted to share the captain's company, but she was flattered to know that she was esteemed enough to be asked.

"Send the captain my regards, and tell him I will be there presently," said Rosalind. The little midshipman who had brought her the message nodded, doffed his hat and scurried off.

Giving a sigh, Rosalind turned her head from the most pleasant view of the pitching sea and back to the deck. As she did so, she noticed a man bound up onto the deck, his stride nimble and energetic.

It was Dr. Byrne, and he looked somewhat irritated, though Rosalind had come to learn that peevishness was common for him. From her experience with him in the wardroom, where he dined, she found him to be most interesting.

In fact, Rosalind had been quite surprised by Dr. Byrne. Based on Isaac's description, she would have thought him one of those querulous little academics, all bumbling manners and neurotic outbursts.

He was nothing of the sort. His manners were not good, that was true - either from ignorance or apathy, or, she suspected, both - but he was not a neurotic little creature. Instead, he was tall, whip-lean, with bright blue eyes and hair inclining toward auburn. 

His voice was pleasant, he was of a bright intellect, and he enquired most charmingly after her, she was told.

"Listen, Rosalind," Isaac had said one afternoon in the wardroom, when Dr. Byrne was seated at the table, a medical treatise open before him. "He's asked after you - hush, don't start! He's asked me about your destination, and seemed most interested to find out."

Rosalind had not replied but had smirked just a touch, letting herself feel that tiny bit of smugness. She had glanced over at Dr. Byrne, whose head was bowed and cushioned on his hand.

He was nothing to the captain's face and figure, of course, but Rosalind cared very little for that. The captain was a man of very good looks and very good manners, indeed, but he was far less fascinating than Dr. Byrne.

Now, she turned and as he made his way up to the quarterdeck, made sure that she was walking by him as he circled about the starboard side.

"Good morning, Dr. Byrne," she said, and gave a pert curtsey.

"Good morning, madam," replied Dr. Byrne. Hatless - for Rosalind had noted he appeared to care little for decorum in any sense, including in his clothing - he had no hat to doff, and so simply inclined his head.

"It is a lovely morning, is it not?" she said.

"Is it not a bit...windy?" said Dr. Byrne.

Rosalind very nearly laughed aloud at him. "Not at all, doctor. The wind is at fifteen knots, a moderate wind, and I am told that the Dauntless likes a lively breeze. The captain might have to shorten sail in the afternoon, perhaps, for the wind will doubtless become stronger."

Dr. Byrne nodded somewhat absently and smiled at Rosalind. "I am indebted to you for that, Miss Marlowe."

She smiled politely, hearing the sailor next to her give a snort and an admiring look.