He leaned up on his elbow. “We drink both in our household, though Papa is dead set against drinking tea.”
“Good. I knew I liked him for a reason.”
She went back to the fireplace and picked up the kettle, sloshing it about to check for water. “Hmm, there isn’t enough in here for the two of us. I shall get dressed and go and get some water.”
Francis swung his long legs over the side of the bed. “If you do that, I will get the fire going properly again.”
A little extra kindling and a small log soon had the fire crackling back to life. While Francis waited for Poppy to return, he dressed and raked a brush through his hair.
Poppy still hadn’t made her way back to the warehouse by the time he was fully clothed, and the breakfast cups ready.
She must have dropped in next door to pick up something, I am sure of it.
When another five minutes had elapsed and she was still nowhere to be seen, Francis put on his coat and headed outside.
The first thing he saw was a sailing ship—a huge three-masted clipper, fleet and slick—berthed at the dock where Poppy’s ship belonged.
“She is going to be livid,” he muttered.
A steady procession of boxes, crates, and barrels were being lifted off the ship and placed on the Basden Line side of the wharf-side pavilion. Francis turned, in a hurry to alert Poppy.
“Francis!”
He stopped mid-stride and spun on his heel. At the top of the gangplank of this newly arrived, enormous ship stood Poppy, waving to him.
She strolled down the walkway, and Francis rushed to meet her at the edge of the road.
“I shall go to the superintendent’s office immediately and demand that this vessel be moved,” he said.
The grin on her face had him confused. Why wasn’t she angry?
“Not until Captain Lewis says it is ready to sail,” she said. Poppy pointed back to the ship. A thin, grey-haired man was making his way toward them. When he arrived at her side, he bowed to Francis. “Good morning. Captain Jeremy Lewis at your service.”
A still confused Francis offered him his hand. “Francis Saunders. Whose ship is this?”
“The Tarragona is mine. I own it and the Empress Catherine,” replied Poppy.
Captain Lewis looked from Poppy to Francis, then back again. “Is there a problem, Captain Basden?”
“No. Mister Saunders wasn’t aware of the existence of this ship. Not until the last few minutes.”
He caught Francis’s eye and a definite sizing up moment quickly followed. Whoever Captain Lewis was, he was trying to figure out where Francis stood in all of this.
“Where is Jonathan?” Captain Lewis asked.
“Somewhere off the coast of Portugal I expect. Jonathan and I agreed to end our business partnership. He signed articles for a ship sailing to Cape Town.”
Francis held the other man’s gaze confidently, but without threat. He was doing his best to take his cue from Poppy’s signals.
Poppy brushed her hand against Francis’s arm and smiled up at him. “Mister Saunders and I are forming our own partnership.”
I think her message is clear, Captain Lewis.
The captain’s face softened. “Good. I am glad that Jonathan has gone. He is not a bad chap—just not good enough for you. George made a mistake in choosing him—not that he would admit it.”
Whoever this man was, Francis liked him. And Captain Lewis seemed to have a close personal connection with Poppy.
“Speaking of George. Could I have a private word with you, Poppy?” Captain Lewis asked.
