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It wasn't love that Catherine had married for but nor was it money: "He'll keep me well enough, and he's kind," she said, and her voice was kind as well. William took a last look around their father's house — it was his father's now and only his, William's brief leave soon to end and the Wanderer to depart again, this time to Chinese waters, and Catherine to move in with her husband. Marylebone had been home, but it held little for him anymore, and Catherine deserved to be kept well.
"Of course," he said. "Of course you have my blessing."
—
The captain's cook was too clever for his posting and knew it, and William had some knowledge of the kitchen beside; if Mc'Bean would rather have William wash the china than do it himself, William would rather do that than holystone the deck.
"You've got nimble hands," Mc'Bean said, and William looked up from polishing the silver. Mc'Bean had been watching, but William had found he didn't mind.
"Do I?" he asked, and smiled wryly at the cook as he set the forks down. He had some idea of what else Mc'Bean might want him to put his hands on.
—
That all his years in the service meant nothing, that wars fought and lives saved were not enough to merit him the Passage: it was nothing but code and custom but it smarted all the same.
"You could join as a domestic," Henry Peglar said. He crouched down next to where William sat, looking at the water. "Steward, maybe. It's not the same, but it would take you north. Take you away from this."
"You want to get away?" William raised an eyebrow, but Peglar only grinned at him.
"Nah," he said. "Not away. I'm going toward. Come with me?"
—
The caulker's mate was an odd one, that was clear from the start. Lieutenant Irving didn't trust him, for one thing; admittedly he was wary of most, but not usually enough to say it where William could hear. Peglar didn't trust him either, which William found at least as interesting.
"He's too … chummy," Peglar said. "Acts like he knows you when he doesn't. Doesn't know much at all, really."
William hummed like he was listening, but he could see Hickey looking at him from across the deck: an invitation to look back. He hadn't decided yet if he'd take it.
—
"Close your eyes," Cornelius said.
Even with them shut, he could feel the weight of Cornelius' smile. He could feel Cornelius' fingers as they twisted round William's own. He could feel the smooth metal as it slid down his pinky, caught on his knuckle; it would have been too small if any of them were well fed these days.
"Your ears, Billy," Cornelius said. "Unbutton them."
He had said no to Cornelius these past months, said no to him time and time again. He looked down at the ring on his finger, and smiled. He didn't say no this time.
—
Among friends, Cornelius said, but William wasn't sure. He didn't … insinuate himself as Cornelius did, didn't weasel his way into dark and intimate places. The faces of the men around him weren't trusting, but they weren't closed off either.
"We could make a go of it for ourselves, couldn't we? A smaller group." He knew what he was suggesting, what he was saying; he knew also that his words were true.
"That gives us time then, to think things through," Cornelius said. William looked again at the men around them, and knew they didn't need that time. They'd already decided.