Page 40 of Valour

Septimus laughed heartily, then stopped when he realised that Hester was not laughing, her face deadly serious.

“You? An angel?” he asked, raking a hand through his hair. “That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Hester smirked. It was, she agreed. “And yet, I saw the whole thing. I knew what happened even when you lied. And then another angel appeared and told me it wasn’t my time. And then I woke up.” The whole thing was rushing back to her.

“Your subconscious must have heard what transpired. That happens.”

“It’s true!” Heat coursed through her veins. She hadn’t dreamt it. She was damn sure of that.

“Alright, alright,” Septimus murmured, holding up his hands.

“You don’t believe me,” Hester huffed, then fixed him with a stare. “But I saw it. How do you explain that? I saw you trying to revive me. I saw you telling Victor he was a coward. I saw the surgeon announce my death.” She slid down from the bed and stood before him. “Get up,” she demanded, her hands on her hips, holding the breeches up. She had an unequivocal piece of evidence.

Septimus raised an eyebrow and rose from his seat. Hester took a step closer, mere inches between them. Her eyes swept over him, and then her hand shot out to his breeches pocket.

She plucked his pocket watch out and held it between them. “See? I saw you stop your watch, and it still reads eleven fifteen. How do you explain that?”

Septimus was silent for long moments as they both stared down at the watch in her palm. “I can’t explain that, little witch.”

She smiled, and it wasn’t a smirk. She reached for his hand and slipped the watch into it, closing his fingers around it with care. “You ought to restart it.”

He slipped it back into his pocket. “Later.”

She looked up into his blue eyes. He had saved her. He had risked his life to save her. “I don’t know how I can ever…” She paused and chewed her bottom lip. “I mean to say—thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” She laid her hand over her heart, over the tattoo that meant everything. She didn’t know what else to say, or how she could express her gratitude.

“Don’t mention it,” he murmured. “Though perhaps you could take it easy on me from now on.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and Hester’s gaze lowered to the curve of his perfect lips. She grinned wide and whispered, “Where would be the fun in that, my lord?”

11th December 1914, Weddell Sea

“Oh, God,” Charlotte moaned, rolling off her bed in the most unlady-like manner possible. She stumbled to the looking glass that hung on the wall and peered at her reflection, expecting to see a ghastly appearance. She rubbed a hand over her eyes and did a double take. Her skin was no longer pale, but rosy, and there was a twinkle in her ice-blue eyes that had not been there before.

She passed a hand over her forehead, over the headache that pounded there. In all of her twenty-five years, she had never drunk so much, or stayed awake so late. It had been four o’clock in the morning when Arnold had helped her to bed. She cradled her head in her hands as recollections of the party drifted back to her.

“Oh!” she cried, reaching for the ends of her hair, hacked much shorter than she usually wore it. She flung the door open and raced to the galley. Rufus was asleep with his head on the table, his hair shaved close to his head.

Hair and bottles littered the galley floor.

“Rufus,” she whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Rufus. Wake up.”

He sat bolt upright and groaned. “My head. Oh my god.” He went to rake a hand through his hair, through the very scant amount left. “What the Hell?”

Charlotte stifled a giggle. It did look funny, after months of hair growth, to see his tight salt-and-pepper curls gone.

Arnold and Winston entered the galley with similarly shorn heads. Charlotte covered her mouth, her eyes widening. They had all cut their hair? She couldn’t remember a thing.

Rufus laughed at the men and slapped a hand on the table. “It was a good party, then?”

Arnold smiled sheepishly and shoved a woollen hat over his head. “I can report that the rum stocks are sorely depleted.”

“And look at you, Boss!” Winston said, leaning against the wall.

“I quite like it. It’ll be much less of a hassle to wash now,” Charlotte said, pulling her fingers through her new shoulder-length hair. Yes, perhaps she would keep it like this.

Fliss was the next to slope into the galley, her black waves also chopped to shoulder length. “We women all look like the captain,” she said, laughing when Mei staggered in behind her, her straight black hair cut just the same.

“Speaking of which, shall we go and collect her?” Winston asked. A rousing cheer went up, stopping quickly as they all covered their ears and grimaced at the loud noise.