Page 9 of Valour

“It was a joke, Septimus. Let go.” Hester tried to dislodge his fingers from her hair, scratching at him with her fingernails. “Would you harm a lady?”

“You’re no lady,” he huffed, tightening his grip. “You dare to make a mockery of me? Again?” He twisted his hand in her hair and Hester yelped, searching the faces of the crowd for Victor, locking pleading eyes with him as Septimus pulled her to a door at the back of the taproom. Victor smirked and shook his head, his arms folded across his chest. No chance of a rescue there, then.

Hester was thrust through one door, then through another, and down a flight of steps.

She thought he would chase her. But she hadn’t quite got as far as planning what to do if he caught her. “You stabbed my ship, broke into my room. You thought I’d take that lying down? It was a joke. You take everything so seriously. I was merely trying to teach you to laugh—where the Hell are you taking me?”

Septimus opened a final door, and without saying a word, shoved her through it into a dark cellar. The door slammed shut with such violence that dust fell from the ceiling.

Hester leapt for the door handle, wrenching at it to no avail.

And then the key turned in the lock.

4

IN WHICH THERE IS A FINAL STRAW AND RUNNING AND WHISKEY DON’T MIX

15th June 1914, Havenport

Charlotte had dithered in the hallway for so long that Marjorie had started to whine and scratch at the front door. Then nudge at her legs. Then bite the door handle. And somehow, the dog had managed to get her to open the door. She had dragged Charlotte by the sleeve out of it. And now they stood on the quayside before the Valour, where a passing sailor had told her she would find Captain Orn.

Charlotte marvelled at the ship. She was a fine, sturdy vessel, and not displeasing to the eye, either. The morning sunlight made the fittings gleam, and not a thing was out of place. It seemed, however, that the ship was deserted. Perhaps she had come too early? Too late?

“Hello?” Charlotte called, standing at the edge of the gangplank. Marjorie voiced her own greeting, in a much louder manner than Charlotte. It was as if the dog were taking matters into her own hands. Charlotte huffed a laugh, ruffling the ears of her friend.

A door banged and quick footsteps pattered.

Charlotte peered around the deck, taking a step onto the gangplank. “Good morning? Captain Orn?”

A door opened a crack, and a woman with black curling hair peeped her head around it, sighing with relief. “Who are you?” the woman said, stepping onto the deck.

“I’m Charlotte Bailey. I was looking for Captain Orn,” Charlotte said, taking another step onto the gangplank, her hand outstretched.

The woman’s eyes raked over her black mourning dress, flashing with interest. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Bailey, and my sincere condolences.” She shook Charlotte’s hand with a strong grip. “Hester left last night on an errand and has not returned. In fact, I’ve looked all over Havenport for her this morning, and there is no sight nor sign of her.”

“Goodness,” Charlotte said, letting her hand drop to her side. How disappointing that Captain Orn should vanish just as she wanted to meet her.

The first mate looked expectantly at her.

“It’s just that—my husband was helping her plan an expedition to the Frozen South, and I wondered if Captain Orn would still be interested in going ahead with it.”

The mate’s face lit up. “Yes! We absolutely would. I’ll tell her to call on you when she returns from…wherever she has gone.” The dark-haired woman turned to go, but then spotted Marjorie and beckoned her forwards. “I like your dog. She reminds me of the sled-dogs we took to the Frozen North.”

Marjorie snuck past and allowed herself to be petted.

“Mrs Bailey, isn’t it?” a deep voice rumbled behind her. Charlotte spun to find an enormous man with dark hair and beard standing with his arms crossed on the stone quay. He looked like a sailor—he had the build of one, the tattoos, but his clothing was certainly fine.

He continued, “It’s not safe around the docks. You’ll have your purse cut. I saw you from over the road. I would be happy to do Ernest a favour and escort you home again. My deepest condolences for your loss.” He offered his arm.

Charlotte hesitated. He knew her name. Had he known Ernest? Perhaps he was right. Perhaps it was all a dangerous idea. Marjorie pressed into her side, as if lending her strength, her hackles raised and a growl rumbling in her throat.

Then again, she had made it this far and nothing bad had happened. She really ought to keep going, to keep being brave. “No, thank you. I’m looking for Hester Orn.”

“Perhaps His Lordship can tell you where she is,” the first mate said, folding her arms to mirror the man, her chin jutting out.

His Lordship. Goodness. “Ernest was sponsoring an expedition of hers. I have decided to go ahead with his plans.” She faltered. “If Captain Orn is still interested, that is.”

The lord shook his head. “That is not the way we do things here. If you wish to commission an expedition, you must give each captain his fair interview before deciding who is the best man for the job.”