“Mother!” Clara seized Mum’s shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Papa may have christened this ship in your honor, but that doesn’t make you the captain. Let the man do his job.”
“But his task isn’t honorable. He intends to drown those innocent creatures. Just look at how frightened they are!”
Clara made the mistake of glancing at the rickety cage, where a furry family of stowaway mice huddled together aquiver. Seven little heads with large dark eyes and even larger ears. Drat it all, why must they be so darling?Snuff the flame of sentimentality, Clara. They’re just rodents.Just nasty little beastie rodents.She severed her gaze from the mice only to have Fred nudge her cheek with his twitchy nose, as though to implore on his fellow creatures’ behalf.
She sighed, defeated by darlingness. “Sir, would you please consider—”
“I ain’t got time to haggle with hysterical women.” Squaring his shoulders, the bulldog invaded their personal space bodily. “Shove off afore I make ye shove off.”
“Such a boorish turn of phrase, that.” Awash in a combination of golden lantern and silver moonlight, Mr. Arthur approached with the aid of his crutch and an air of nonchalance. “‘Shove off’ is definitely not the sort of idiom that should be bandied about in front of ladies. Why, I imagine refined women like the Stantons aren’t even familiar with the vulgar term.” He set his gaze upon Clara, green eyes gleaming with a suppressed smirk. “Can I be of assistance, Miss Stanton?”
Heat that not even the crisp sea air could cool singed Clara’s cheeks. “I shouldn’t think so, Mr. Arthur, as we are merely engaging in a civil debate with this gentleman.”
“Gettin’ in my way, more like,” the man growled under his breath.
Mum jabbed a finger at the bulldog’s snub nose. “Your way being the corpse-strewn crossroads of injustice and tyranny.”
Clara swatted her mother’s finger out of the air. “I have this well in hand, Mr. Arthur.”
“That so, Miss Stanton? From what I’ve observed, you might have the clock in hand, but you’re struggling to make it tick. You see, you’ll never convince a pair of gears to work together by trying to force them to agree and turn in the same direction. Gears must be allowed to go their separate ways and thus turn one another through the interlocking process of compromise. Only then will the clock tick.”
The bulldog shifted his glower between her and Mum. “What the devil is he goin’ on about?”
“Just this, my good fellow.” Without regard for health or cleanliness, Mr. Arthur slapped a hand on the bulldog of the sea’s grimy shoulder. “When push comes to shoving off, you’re not opposed to these mice living to see another sunrise. You don’t care a whit about them one way or the other. What you care about is avoiding the boot of your captain, who, I take it, has ordered you to keep this ship rodent-free. A task that is nigh on impossible with faulty equipment, am I right?”
The sailor relaxed into a noncombative stance, broad chest and shoulders slumped. “That’s sure enough. Only thing the cap’in likes more than a clean ship is full pockets. The tight fist won’t give me a farthin’ for proper cages, and since these varmints won’t keep in busted ones, I got no choice but to toss ’em over. I ain’t gettin’ sacked o’er a lot of mice.”
“Nor should you, my man. Hard workers like yourself ought never to fear getting the sack over something beyondyour control. That’s why I want to help secure your employment. What if I were to repair all your cage traps—free of charge, mind—so stowaway mice can be secured on ship and released on land, thereby making your job easier and getting your captain’s boot off your back? Could you find your way to agreeing to that sort of arrangement?”
Clara’s eyes rolled so hard she felt they must have gone right off the ship. Did Mr. Arthur really think he could just saunter up to this obstinate bulldog, change his mind with flattery, and—
“You got yourself a deal.” The sailor extended the cage toward Mr. Arthur.
The ship swayed beneath Clara’s feet. Apparently, he could.
“Right-oh, sir.” Mr. Arthur accepted the cage and gave the bulldog’s free paw a hearty shake. “Always a pleasure to do business with a man of intelligence. Now, with your concerns allayed, let’s attend to those of the lovely lady here. Mrs. S., if this family of mice are assured safe passage and given unto your care for the duration of our voyage, could you abide by the condition of keeping them caged?”
Now Mr. Arthur had found himself an impossible task. Clara crossed her arms. If her experience was any indication, Mum would never consent to leaving an animal behind bars.
“To save their lives, I suppose I can tolerate a temporary incarceration.”
Clara’s arms fell in tandem with her jaw. This never-ending day was naught but madness.
“Excellent, Mrs. S. Thank you for being so understanding. Let’s get this temporary prison secured straightaway, shall we?” Kneeling upon his good leg, Mr. Arthur set the cage in front of him and then laid his overcoat alongside, revealing a lining of pockets nigh bursting with various bits and bobs. Unbuttoning each cuff of his white cotton shirt, he started rolling up his sleeves. “Shine that light here, sir.”
Over the course of a few minutes, Mr. Arthur tinkered and toiled upon the mouse family’s cage whilst Clara stood by, wondering what to do with her useless self. How had the man unraveled the knotted situation with such ease? Why had his efforts succeeded while hers failed? Oh, but he was infuriating. And irritating. And ... remarkably inventive.
She studied his work on the cage more closely. Grand was right about the man’s creativity, at least. Mr. Arthur enacted unconventional solutions with whatever resources could be found within reach, whether it be the expected implement of pliers or the unusual employment of a rubber band. He labored with ingenuity and a surprising amount of care. When Mum requested that he not jostle the mice about in his work, Mr. Arthur altered his methods to set her at ease.
When the cage was repaired, Mr. Arthur stood with the aid of his crutch, reassuring the bulldog that the other cages would be mended at dawn’s first light. Satisfied with that promise, the sailor walked off with a lumbering swagger. Mum clutched the cage to her ample bosom, making introductions between Fred and the “little dears” as she hurried off to their cabin to prepare a banquet of cheese.
Her mother’s departure left Clara quite alone with Mr. Arthur amid a moonlit atmosphere of awkward silence. She gnawed her lip. While she’d like nothing better than to withdraw, collapse on her berth, and awaken to find this whole topsy-turvy day had been but a dream, there was one Herculean task she must perform first.
Presenting Mr. Arthur with a word of thanks.
Clara pried her lip out from betwixt her teeth. “I appreciate what you did just now, Mr. Arthur. For Mum. Thank you.”
Mr. Arthur slipped on his overcoat and offered a bow. “My pleasure, Miss Stanton.”
