There was a brief pause, and Edmund grimaced, shooting an apologetic look at Charles.

“Forgive me, I forgot about your father. That was a careless thing to say. I know you have a tragic reason for cutting short our Grand Tour.”

Charles forced a quick smile, then averted his gaze, staring at the horizon. The sea and sky were so blue that it was hard to tell when one ended and the other began. It was true, they’d seen the most remarkable sights during their travels, and part of him ached at the thought of never travelling again.

Still, he hoped against hope to make it home before it was too late. His younger brother and his new sister-in-law were there, as was his mother, but the idea of never seeing his father again made Charles feel sick.

Or perhaps that was just the motion of the boat.

“Mother has high hopes that Father can hold on until I return.” Charles said. It felt strange to talk about his father in that way. He shifted his position, resting his elbows on the side of the ship where Edmund had so recently been balancing. The wind was getting up, making the rigging slap against the masts.

Edmund leaned on the side next to him, nudging his shoulder.

“Your father adores you; you know. It will be good to return to such an adoring family. I myself will only be greeted by my cousin; I think. She was thrilled to hear that I was returning early.”

Charles sighed, biting his lip. “Whether Father recovers or not, one thing is certain – he can’t run the estates for much longer. I’ll need to become Lord Northwood, in reality if not in name. It’s a great deal of responsibility. Mother will worry – you know how she is – and of course there’ll be William, hanging over my shoulder, convinced that he could do better than me.” Charles snorted. “Sometimes I do wish he’d been born the older son. After all, he’s the one settling down, with a nice wife and a pleasant home.”

“You can’t think like that.” Edmund said firmly. “You simply can’t. There will always be petty jealousies and small issues in even the most loving family. William cares for you, I know he does, even if he does envy your position. Trust him a little more, why don’t you?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, the black curls disarranged from the sea breeze. He wasn’t even wearing a cravat. Society would be shocked to see him now. He grinned at his companion, and Edmund grinned back, nudging his shoulder against Charles’.

They hadn’t been friends for more than a year or two, but Edmund had a habit of diving deep into a friendship. Charles felt as if they’d known each other all their lives. It was pleasant to have a companion to travel with, and it was nice to have Edmund to himself. When they returned, they would be expected to seek out wives. Edmund, as the more handsome of the two – glossy chestnut locks, bright green eyes, and a square, well-featured face – would be immediately snapped by some eager heiress and her mamma.

Charles, on the other hand, often felt out of place in London Society. Oh, it wasn’t that he was not well liked – he was often complimented on his wit, and he was good-looking enough to catch the eye of most young ladies – but he lacked the charm and sincerity which seemed to come so easily to Edmund. He had it on good authority that at least three young ladies had all but broken their hearts upon learning that Edmund was leaving on a Grand Tour.

They made a remarkable pair – tall, athletic, well-favoured, and handsome in a way that did not contradict the other. Charles had large blue eyes to Edmund’s green ones, and a pale, oval face. Charles had often been described in various scandal sheets as having a ‘Puckish expression’, whatever that meant.

“I don’t want to go home.” Charles found himself saying. Edmund laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I know, I know. But once all is settled back home, if your father isn’t on the cusp of death after all, perhaps we can travel again? Not so extensively, I suppose, but still.”

“Perhaps.” Charles said, not really believing it. A fresh gust of wind swept across the deck, making him blink. The air stung with salt, and the breeze was icy now where it had been warm before. Glancing up, he saw that the iron-grey clouds were creeping across the sky towards them, and the sea had lost its idyllic blue tint.

Sailors were dashing to and fro over the deck with growing urgency, and a feeling of dread began to pool in Charles’ gut.

“I think we should go below.” He said, just as the captain strode past them. The man faltered, seeming to see them for the first time.

“Good day, young gentlemen.” He said, sounding breathless and distracted. “Looks like we’re in for a patch of bad weather. Why not go below and return to your cabin? Might be best, I think.”

Charles swallowed, feeling light-headed with panic. On their travels, they’d been remarkably lucky – no real storms. Even the light tossing of the sea had made him sick at first, and he didn’t dare imagine what it would be like to experience a real storm.

Edmund, however, seemed almost gleeful. He nudged Charles in the side, beaming.

“A bit of luck at last, eh? A proper storm.”

Charles glared at him. “Are you mad? Do you actually think you’re going to enjoy this?”

“Oh, no, of course not. It’s going to be truly awful. However, think of the stories we’ll have to tell when we return. We’ll be heroes.”

“We’ll be seasick!”

“Oh, stuff.” Edmund said firmly, leading the way towards the hatches which led below deck. “It’ll be an adventure.”

***

It was not an adventure.

Charles’ stomach heaved in tandem with the heaving of their cabin room. He could swear at times the room was almost on its side.

The cabin was designed for storms, and everything was more or less bolted down and set firmly in place. Everything except Charles and Edmund, of course.

Charles had tried to lie down in his narrow bunk, but that only made the sickness worse. He desperately wanted a breath of fresh air, but that was impossible, of course. There was a bucket set by in case he vomited, but Charles very much did not want to be sick. He suspected that the bucket would overturn with the heaving of the ship, and that would only make things worse.

Edmund, who also looked rather green, perched on the edge of his bunk, bracing his fists on his knees, and watched Charles anxiously.

“You don’t look well. Do you want me to take you to the doctor?”

“And what would he do? There isn’t a great deal you can do for seasickness.”

“He might give you a sedative.”

Charles considered this. There was something pleasant in the idea of going to sleep and waking up when the sea was calm again.

“Alright.” He conceded. “Let’s go carefully, though.”

The two men staggered around the lower decks as if they were drunk. The ship lurched and rolled from side to side, plunging into deep troughs of waves and then climbing just as steeply up the other side. It all combined to make it impossible to walk in a straight line, or to stay upright for very long at all.

They passed one of the hatches which led up onto the deck, and Edmund paused.

“Don’t you want to have a peek?” he whispered.

Charles glowered at him. “No, I do not! It’s dangerous!”

“It’s dangerous to go up there, certainly. But just taking a peek won’t do much, will it? Imagine how powerful a storm might be, out here on the open sea. We are truly at the mercy of nature, aren’t we?”

Charles groaned. “Is that meant to be reassuring?”

“Not particularly. Look, you can stay down here, but I’m just going to poke my head up and have a look.”

There was no point arguing. Charles sighed and shrugged, bracing himself on the ladder-steps while Edmund climbed up. They were forced to pause and duck their heads as some salt-water came pouring in, then Edmund continued on his climb. As promised, he barely poked his head above the hatch, and Charles heard him suck in a breath.

Abruptly, he darted back down, face white and eyes wide.

“Jonny McCurtain is about to be washed overboard!” he gasped.

Charles felt sicker than ever. Jonny McCurtain was a young sailor, one who’d come aboard at the same time they had – albeit to work instead of paying for his passage – and they’d struck up a sort of friendship.

Before he knew what he was doing, Charles was climbing the ladder beside Edmund, boots slipping on the slick wooden steps. He peered above the hatch entrance, and his breath was immediately taken away by the wind.

The deck sloshed with water, and more waves were splashing over the sides at every moment. The ship rocked and heaved, and the grey sea seemed to rise up on all sides.

Then he saw Jonny, where he seemed to have fallen from the rigging. He was clinging onto the side of the ship, only his arms, head, and shoulders visible. His face was bone-white, his hair plastered to his head, and his mouth was moving. Shouting for help, no doubt, cries that no one could hear. With another great wave, he’d be swept off into the sea.

Charles cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed for help, until his throat was sore.

No answer.

“We have to go up there and help him.” Edmund shouted, pitching his voice above the roar of the sea. “There’s no time to lose.”

Fear and dread coiled in Charles’ stomach. “Can’t we fetch help?”

“There’s no time! Look, you can stay below if you like, but I’m going to try and help him.”

Without waiting for an answer, Edmund propelled himself up the final few steps and onto the deck. Cursing to himself, Charles followed.

It was a thousand times worse on deck. The wind nearly pushed him off his feet, forcing him to bow his head against the driving rain, and he was soaked to the skin in seconds. The deck was slick, and he lost his footing more than once.

Edmund was just ahead, forcing his way on towards the side of the ship. Jonny had seen them approaching, and a spark of hope lit itself in his eyes.

Beyond him, Charles saw a huge trough of water opening up, and the prow of the ship dipped horribly.

We’ll never do it, he thought, bile rising in his throat. We’ll never haul him back to safety and get back below deck before that wave hits.

They reached the side, and Jonny grabbed feebly at them with numb, ice-cold hands. Charles hauled on one arm and Edmund the other, and together, inch by slow inch, they lifted him up over the side. The three men collapsed onto the deck, gasping for air, salt-laced water stinging their eyes. Then Charles looked up and saw the wave hovering above them and heard shouts of alarm and shrieks from the men up on masts, still hanging onto the rigging.

“Hold on!” Charles heard himself scream, grabbing for a pile of half-torn rigging left on the deck.

Then the wave crashed down on them.

The seconds stretched into hours. Charles could have sworn that he was underwater, that the ship was scuppered for good, and they were all dead. If it hadn’t been for his hand tangling in the rigging, a knot tightening hard enough around his wrist to cut off the feeling in the limb, he would have been swept overboard.

Then, just as abruptly as it had come, the water receded, the ship bounced up out of the sea like something irrepressible, and Charles gasped for breath. He found himself sprawled on the deck, tangled in the ropes, and Jonny was nearby, hanging onto something, eyes closed, shivering.

They’d been spotted, and a few sailors came running towards them.

The feeling of dread in Charles’ stomach sickened to acid.

“Edmund? Edmund!” he screamed, wrenching his hand free of the rigging, not caring how the rough rope grated against his skin. “Edmund!”

The storm was not over, not by a long shot. When Charles leaned over the side of the ship and peered into the roiling grey waves, the ship all but dropped out from underneath him.

He saw Edmund at once.

He’d been washed overboard and was being carried further away with every passing moment. Somebody screamed, Man Overboard. And Charles was only faintly surprised to realize that it was him.

The captain was at his side in a second, soaked to the skin.

“He’s lost.” He said, his voice hoarse. “We can’t turn the ship around.”

“Let me go.” Charles burst out desperately.

“You’ll drown.”

“I can swim!”

“In this water, it doesn’t matter. We haven’t seen the last of those huge waves, my lad.”

Charles reached out, grabbing his shoulders. “Please, let me go.”

“I’ll not lose you both, lad.”

“Tie a rope around my waist. I’ll dive in and get him, and you can haul him back in.”

The captain deliberated for a second.

“Very well.” He said at last. “But on your head be it.”

They produced a long length of rope, tying it around Charles’ waist tightly enough to pinch the skin. He stripped down to his breeches and shirt, leaving his fine coat and expensive boots crumpled carelessly on the deck. Waves still struck the sides of the ship, making the whole structure shudder, but the waves were not crashing over the deck anymore.

Not yet, at least.

Climbing up on the side, Charles gave himself no time to think. He dived in, the icy coldness of the water hitting him like a physical pain.

The captain had been right about the sea. Charles considered himself a strong swimmer, but he was no match for the sea. Not at all.

He managed to keep himself mostly afloat, pulling himself through the water in a desperate front crawl, the rope around his waist heavy and reassuring at the same time.

He saw Edmund in a trough of waves, just a glittering chestnut head above the waves. Charles shouted his name, and Edmund, clearly at the end of his strength, tried to pull himself towards him.

Just a little closer, Charles thought, a flicker of hope starting up inside him for the first time.

The two men got close enough to see each other, and Charles saw Edmund flash that quick, easy smile that charmed so many people.

“Take my hand, Edmund!” Charles shouted. “They’ll pull us both in!”

Edmund stretched out his arm. He was breathing raggedly and shaking with cold, eyes red and sore from the salt water. The waves were peaking around them again, the water roiling around them as if it were angry that they were there. Charles reached out for his friend, feeling their cold-numbed fingers touch.

“I’ve got you, Ed.” Charles rasped.

Then a wave came crashing down on their heads, so heavy it felt like a house falling on them. Charles was pushed deep under the water, and Edmund’s hand was torn away from him, he turned somersaults, helpless against the currents and roiling waves, and was sure that he was going to drown.

The rope around his waist tightened, hauling him backward through the water. Charles shouted under the water, swallowing mouthfuls of salt water.

No, no, no, he screamed in his head. It’s too soon! I don’t have Edmund!

He flailed, tugging at the rope. If he could have undone the knot, he would have done so, and plunged back into the freezing waters and swam back out to find Edmund. He was out there; he was out there.

But the knot was too tight, tied by experienced sailors, and Charles was pulled through the water, helpless.

His back scraped against the side of the ship, and Charles was hauled above the water. It was slow and uncomfortable, as he hung like a dead-weight on the end of the rope, the knot cutting into his stomach. Another wave shook the ship, and Charles found himself thrown out into empty space, the grey skies above and the roiling grey waves underneath. He banged back against the ship, his body too numb to feel the impact.

He hit his head against something, which made his vision blur and his head pound immediately. The only sign that he’d been hurt was the hot blood trickling down the side of his face, leaving almost enjoyable trails of warmth. Charles wanted to lift a hand to his face to assess the damage, but his limbs wouldn’t obey him anymore.

He couldn’t breathe. The rope was too tight, his entire weight swinging from it. He could vaguely hear men above, chanting and heaving, hauling him up from certain death. Perhaps they thought they were pulling two men up on the end of the line, rather than just the one who’d gone in to try and save the first one.

Edmund. Oh, Edmund, I’m sorry.

He choked and spluttered, gasping for breath, grimacing against the pain. Slowly but surely, he was lifted above the surface of the water, until he was high enough for the sailors to grab him and haul him back to safety.

One of them was Jonny McCurtain, who looked deathly pale and truly miserable.

“Let me go, let me go!” Charles shouted, struggling. “I had him. I had him! I need to go back in. I need to save Edmund!”

The captain crouched before him, gripping Charles’ upper arms hard enough for his fingers to dig in.

“It’s too late, lad!” he shouted, above the din of the wind and roaring sea. “I saw it all. I saw him go under, and he didn’t come up. I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t understand! Let me go back, please!”

The captain’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry, lad. He’s gone. He’s gone.”