The poor woman had been unable to retain one morsel of food within her stomach since leaving the port at Gibraltar. Indeed, they had been only thirty minutes into the journey when her normally creamy complexion paled. By the Saturday afternoon her skin had taken on a greenish tinge and had stayed that way ever since. None of Georgiana’s ministrations seemed to make the slightest difference and even Nathaniel declared he had never seen such a bad case. Such was the lady’s malady that Georgiana was unable to leave her, spending the night-times in a hammock strung close by Mrs Howard’s narrow cot in the first lieutenant’s cabin. John Anderson had gallantly offered to share with Cyril Pensenby since the ladies had come aboard. The small room was crushed enough with only Georgiana and Mrs Howard in it. Heaven only knew how Lieutenants Anderson and Pensenby were coping. The hammock reminded Georgiana of her time amidst the midshipmen and ship’s boys, with only fourteen inches separating each man, or boy for that matter.
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