She clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent a shaky sob, but it slipped out anyway.

Benedict glanced over, then stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her, tugging her tight against his chest in an embrace that left her right arm free to steer. His soaking clothes wet her own immediately, but she didn’t care. The sensation was grounding. She melted back against him, took strength from the warmth of him seeping through the fabric, as if he were transferring some of his bravery, his vitality to her.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s all right. It’s over now. Breathe.”

Georgie let out a slow whoosh of breath, then sucked air in, loving the feel of his strong arms around her. Her shivers calmed. She wished they could stay like this forever, just keep on sailing, down the river, across the sea. But the little ship was sinking lower and lower with every passing minute. They’d be lucky to make it to Woolwich, let alone anywhere farther afield.

She glanced down at the water; she did not want to go in there. It looked dark and terrifying, the current too strong to withstand. Pieter had taught her how to swim, but the still, flat waters of the lake at home bore no resemblance to this choppy, angrily swirling tide.

After a few more minutes the buildings returned, and they reached Blackwall dockyards. This part of the river was more familiar. Georgie made out the dark rectangle of the Caversteed warehouse among the bobbing forest of masts. A rogue wave splashed over the deck.

“Is there a bucket to bail?” she asked.

“No.” Benedict glanced mournfully down at his wet footwear. “I could use my boots, I suppose.” He sighed, as if in pain. “Hoby made these, you know. They cost two pounds and sixpence. They were just getting comfortable.”

“I’ll buy you another pair.”

They navigated one final twist of the river, and she angled them closer to the southern bank. “We should be nearly there.” She squinted into the darkness and pointed. “There! That must be it. The naval dockyards.”

A lone sentry was guarding a series of wooden barriers, behind which a cluster of large ships bobbed at anchor. He was slumped half-asleep on a stool by the small hut, but he jolted awake and snapped to attention when Benedict hailed him.

“Ahoy there! Open the gate. Admiral Cockburn’s expecting us!”

The guard sent their vessel—of which only a few feet was now visible above the waves—a curious look but did as he was told. They slid into the calmer waters of the dock pool and pulled up to the side in the shadowy space between two huge navy frigates. Benedict leapt ashore and secured the mooring rope, then grabbed Georgie’s raised arms and hauled her up to stand beside him on the dock.