A/N: I know, this is just a short chapter and nothing much happens, but I'm overdue to publish SOMETHING and I hope it's OK for now.
Not my characters, not my boats, not my lake.
"John, I do hope you're not planning on taking Swallow out today, because if you drink any more of that beer I believe you're going to be more than a bit squiffy!"
John smiled tolerantly at his mother. His second bottle was perhaps half empty, and there was a good deal left in the enamel mug he was drinking from. Perhaps Father had never told her how much ale was smuggled into the cadet blocks at the Naval College, and how often glasses of port - sometimes even rum - were handed out on parade to division sportsmen. He well remembered the first whaleboat race he'd taken part in, how helpful the miles he'd rowed Swallow had been, and how his eyes had watered when his winning crew had been handed their half-pint mugs of grog and ordered to down them in one in front of the assembled cadets. It was fine to buy a bottle of lemonade in Rio and call it grog; the real thing - half water, half Navy rum - had been a bit more startling.
"I'm sure I'll be fine, Mother, but in any case I've done my sailing for the day. Titty and Roger want to race to the head of the lake and back, and us elders would only get in the way. Oh… I say, Mother, you've had three bottles yourself!"
Mother looked down at the empty bottles and chuckled. "I have, haven't I? Well, in Australia they started us in our cradles. Yes, even the ladies. In any case I'm not a captain. I'm just a passenger. Isn't that right, Mr Jackson?"
Mr Jackson looked up from the pipe bowl he was carving. "Do you say so, Mum?" he said uncertainly. He wasn't a quick thinker and after rowing up from Holly Howe in this heat he'd enjoyed a bottle of Mr Turner's beer himself, although he was drinking tea now. In general he didn't take to the summer people; taking in guests had been Mrs Jackson's idea, and though he'd admit that the house was big enough, and the money from renting out the spare bedrooms was right welcome in the months before the sheep went to market, he'd never been happy having to talk to the quality when he came home of an evening. The Walkers were different though. Aye, they were quality sure enough and they had some right queer notions - imagine those children being let to go off anywheres in that old dinghy of his, at the ages they were when they first came - but they didn't have their noses in the air like most of the summer folk and they'd always been friendly to him and the Missus. Well, they had their ways and maybe not such bad ways they were. He dredged his memory and came up with something from the summer of '30. "You wouldn't hardly be just a passenger, Mum, what with you being Queen Elizabeth, if I mind it straight?"
Mother chuckled again, and Titty's delighted laugh pealed out over the water. "So you were!" she said, "And we sang Spanish Ladies to you as we sailed away on our first voyage to the mysterious island. Oh, thanks ever so much for reminding me, Mr Jackson! Wasn't it splendid?"
"It certainly was," said Mother, "And I was especially pleased when, before you crowned me as Queen Elizabeth, you said that it didn't matter a bit about me not having red hair."
Mr Jackson forgot his reticence enough to laugh at that, and raised his mug to toast Mother as she stood and curtseyed elaborately. John took advantage of the distraction to top up his own mug, but then a surprising voice rang out.
"Two bottles is enough, John Walker, so don't be sneaking any more! A Captain has to set a sober example to his crew, as I'm sure you get told a hundred times a week."
Startled, John looked over to where Nancy sat, her long legs curled demurely under herself, on one of Beckfoot's old tartan picnic rugs. Why was she suddenly lecturing him about alcohol? After all it hadn't been his idea to filch that bottle of claret from the Sea Bear's hidden store and vanish for an afternoon to drink it... although it had turned out to be a very pleasant day, and the others had never wondered too much where they'd been.
Nancy met his eyes and winked.
Captain Flint - who'd drunk seven ales himself but what the hell, he had more hold space for it and besides he needed some hair of the dog, damn that Ransome - swayed to his feet and picked up a handful of bottles. Mary Walker was a fine woman, and Captain Walker - he smiled as he remembered meeting that thin, hard and humorous man - was damn lucky to have her. He'd never presume to offer her his affection, but she accepted his beer - and his friendship - and that would do for him. He could admire her from afar.
Jackson? A bloody good fellow. When the children of his summer guest had wrecked his boat he'd have been quite entitled to call an end to all sailing adventures. That would have been a small thing for Jackson - and maybe a relief for Mary Walker - but a disaster for Jim's young friends. He held out a bottle. "Have another, Jackson. I can't ever tell you how much you've earned it." The farmer looked questioningly at Mother, who smiled and nodded.
"We're all friends here, Mr Jackson, and you don't have to ask my approval. And as for what Mr Turner said, yes, my children will be forever in your debt. They're not the Walker children any more, you know; they're the Swallows, and Swallow is your boat! I drink your health, Mr Jackson, and you're not required to return the toast in tea. Between us we can row straight enough back down the lake, eh?"
Mr Jackson took the bottle from Captain Flint, then nodded to Mother. "Aye. You've been right good to us all these years, and it's been a pleasure having you." He tipped out the dregs of his tea, opened the bottle and filled his mug with beer. "She's my boat, Mum, but she were just a toy for the summer folk and a fishing boat for me. Your children made her a ship. I was that happy for her, Mrs Walker, when she raced the Blackett lasses in '31 and skimmed in home as winner. Tell you what? I'm a sheep farmer, and boats is nothing to me (Titty cringed at this blasphemy) but you and yours made me right proud of Swallow."
John looked at Nancy. Nancy looked at John. Titty looked at both the Captains and wondered that they had nothing to say. And then, drawing up her courage, Peggy filled in for her silent skipper. "We're all proud of Swallow, Mr Jackson. She's a fine ship, and the best partner Amazon could have ever had." Peggy raised her mug - as befitted a 16 year old Mate it contained one part beer and three parts lemonade - and toasted the farmer. Mr Jackson gravely lifted his mug in return. The Blackett lasses? Not as black as they were painted, not by a long shot. Welcome for tea at Holly Howe any time, they were.