by Jessica Dall
Lisbon: 1755
In the quick break before the next round of bodies arrived, John rubbed his shoulder. He had worked with worse injuries, but somehow this one was paining him worse than anything in his past.
The next load was deposited, and John steeled himself to hoist yet more corpses into the sea a few leagues off the Portuguese coast.
“Bates,” Aloisio Durante called from his place at the helm. “A moment.”
John nodded, more than happy to take the excuse to leave the festering bodies. Thank Christ Cecília isn’t here, he tried to tell himself, though his chest tightened as always at the thought of her waiting for him in that sorry excuse for a camp. He tried to put it out of his mind. The sooner they finished, the sooner he could return with her uncle Aloisio, as she’d asked.
John did his best to wipe his thoughts from his face as he stopped by the wheel.
“Shoulder troubling you, Bates?” Aloisio asked before John could speak.
“Nothing I can’t handle, sir.”
“You’ve been running yourself hard.”
“I’m more than happy to help.”
“And to wander all over Lisbon, it seems.”
Though there hadn’t been any bite to the statement, John still gritted his teeth. Aloisio had been too irate to talk when John had returned from helping Cecília look for her family, not wanting to hear anything beyond if everyone was well. John hadn’t been under any delusion that he’d escaped that conversation, though. He could only hope that it happening out on deck meant Aloisio didn’t intend to entirely rip him apart.
“You said my nieces are east of the city?”
John relaxed slightly at the practicality of the question. “Yes, sir. And your nephew.”
“And they requested me?”
“Ce—” He caught himself, turning the sibilant into, “Senhorita Durante asked for you to bring a cart, if possible. Her sister is… well, she’s unwell. Senhorita Durante wished to use your cart to take the girl to Loures.”
“Cecília now wishes to go to Loures?”
After all the trouble she had gotten into to stay away from her grandparents’ in the country, John couldn’t blame Aloisio for his skepticism. “That’s what she said, at least. And, I admit I haven’t known her long, but it’s been my experience that she’s generally forthcoming. She may not follow orders, but she will tell you what she intends to do instead.”
Aloisio remained silent for a long beat, his critiquing expression making John suddenly feel like a child about to get his knuckles rapped. Aloisio’s tone remained level, however. “And what do you intend to do, Bates?”
“Me, sir?”
“It seems our original plans have been torn asunder.” Aloisio glanced at the shell the earthquake had left of Lisbon. “Will you be returning to London?”
“Oh…” For the past three weeks, thinking beyond the next day, or even the next hour, had felt absurd. Get to safety. Find Aloisio. Find Cecília. Don’t die. He hadn’t begun to consider what would happen when there was time to look beyond the immediate. “I’m not sure.”
“I’d be happy to help you find passage home, once possible.”
John hesitated. He knew he should say thank you, but the thought of just sailing away, leaving everything, felt wrong. “Perhaps it might be best if I stay, sir? I could find work—”
“I imagine there won’t be much work of note here for a good while. Your prospects would no doubt be better in London.”
“But…” He trailed off, not certain where he’d intended to go with that sentence.
“Do you have other reasons to stay?” And there was that critiquing look again. John attempted to swallow but found nothing to say. Aloisio finally continued, “After everything we have gone through, Bates, I trust, if I ask you a question, you will give me the truth?”
Dear Christ did John not like where this conversation was headed, but he answered, “Yes, sir.”
“How far have things gone between you and my niece?”
The bluntness of the question made John stutter. “S-Sir?”
“You are not some blushing maid, Bates. I’m certain you’re clear on my meaning.”
“Sir, I wouldn’t… I… You…”
“I know you were both alone for a fair while, after what happened.”
And they’d certainly been in no shape to do what Aloisio was implying, even had John wanted to. As if you didn’t want to. A flash of that night, kissing her on that settee, certain he would have pushed for more if their injuries hadn’t snapped them back to reality. He had never wanted anyone as much as he had her in that moment. And how wrong that was. She was a good five years younger than him, so beyond his station it was laughable, and grieving her entire life being torn apart. And he’d nearly taken advantage of that. “On my honor, Senhor Durante, I haven’t…” He let the rest of the sentence imply itself.
Aloisio studied him for another moment before apparently deciding he believed that was the truth. “Well then, if there is no worry of those potential consequences, I can’t see much that is holding you in Lisbon.”
“But, sir—”
“Bates, that girl has lost more in her short life than anyone should ever have to bear—even before all this horror. She doesn’t need whatever is happening between you two, just to then have it pulled away when you leave. And you will have to leave.”
James’s first instinct was to argue, but even he had to admit Aloisio hadn’t said anything untrue. He dropped his eyes, not able to deny it, but not able to bring himself to agree.
Aloisio clasped John’s shoulder, holding lightly as though offering his sympathies. “The world has gone insane, but I have no doubt you will find yourself back on your feet once it rights itself. You always do.”
John hummed. It would just be nice if I didn’t have to, one of these days.
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