The Storm-Grey Sea

Chapter Nine - Midshipwoman Marlowe

Stephen hardly knew himself over the two weeks he was at sea. He spent so very much time very happy that he was utterly unsettled. He was used to being content, to enjoying his work, to enjoying the company of himself and, recently, of Isaac. Stephen had been very assured of his own calm, peaceful life.

Now, he barely dared to be himself for how happy he'd been. He had not wondered at the cause of his joy for very long, for he had quickly found that, though he enjoyed Isaac's company, it was the elegant Miss Marlowe who made him the happiest.

He had never much cared for the company of women, finding them difficult to understand and expecting far too much from him. Not to mention that he had so little in common with him, and so when he tried to converse with them, he found himself unable  - and unwilling - to do so.

Miss Marlowe was a very different woman altogether. She had a lady's breeding, that was true, but she was too much the Vice-Admiral to be one of those waifish, swooning creatures. She spoke and moved with authority; she was kind and gentle, but she never seemed to let anyone forget that there was steel in her soul.

Stephen had seen this steel every time he met Miss Marlowe, and had, upon discovering that Miss Marlowe's cabin was the one adjacent to his, listened one morning, precisely two weeks after they had set out from Plymouth, to a rather interesting display.

He had been heading out of his cabin when there came two carpenters, who, having found some small defect in the ship, had begun to repair it.

From inside the next cabin there came a roar. "You there! 'Vast that goddamn hammering!"

He had paused for a moment, for the voice, though it had a woman's pitch and measure, was, undeniably, the Vice-Admiral's. He'd heard the man roar orders from the quarterdeck, and it was astonishing how much Miss Marlowe sounded like him - all controlled power and sharp anger and abject authority.

He smiled and shook his head as the carpenters scurried off.

"Bloody hell, she's as bad as the Dragon," muttered the carpenter. Stephen, listening in, wondered who the Dragon was. Captain Spenser, perhaps?

"Yeah, well that's our Midshipwoman Marlowe for you. Never met a man who could be sure he wasn't a cuckold as the Dragon. She's him, through and through," replied his mate, shouldering his tools.

"Doesn't stop her from being so damn pretty, though, does it? I'd fancy taking her by the hair and-" began the carpenter once more but Stephen, bristling at the idea of hearing exactly what it was the carpenter wanted to do to Miss Marlowe, coughed loudly.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," said the carpenter, spotting him. "Didn't know you was there, doctor."

Stephen gave both of them a rather cold look and pushed past them, making for the wardroom where he knew Isaac would be taking breakfast.

Much to his happiness, he found Isaac there, consuming far more eggs and ham than could possibly be healthy, a smile on his face, tapping his finger against his thigh to a tune he was humming. Sitting across from him, with his head on the table, was Mr. Fanning. His eyes were closed and he was snoring just a touch, evidently asleep.

"Good morning, Stephen!" cried Isaac, as he entered and sat. He was brought a spoon and a healthy helping of porridge, as he could not stomach the enormous meals that the officers ate at every opportunity.

Stephen nodded. "Isaac, I should like to ask you something," he said.

Isaac waited patiently, but Stephen did not speak. Isaac seemed to catch his meaning and jerked his thumb towards the snoring Mr. Fanning.