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‘What is it you want, Mr Linton? Do you want to wear these dresses?’
‘I want for you to not call me ‘Mister’ all the time! I want to be myself!’
‘Does being yourself involve wearing women’s clothing?’
‘Yes, but-’
‘Then I suggest you hold your tongue before I change my mind and take these back,’ he told me, with a jerk of his hand towards the open cases. ‘Do you understand?’
I opened my mouth to argue.
‘Do you understand, Mr Linton?’
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, I forced my mouth shut again. ‘Yes, Sir!’ I managed to get out between clenched teeth.
‘Adequate. I shall see you at dinner.’
And with that he whirled around - How does he manage to whirl in a place that isn’t big enough to scratch your nose in? - and stalked out of the room.
I glared balefully after him. Then, deciding he was not worth my attention, I slammed the door shut and directed my baleful glare at the dresses instead. Dressing up as man who dressed up as a woman! Bah! How did he imagine that? Did he think I was going to walk around in the heat of the desert in women’s clothes with a complete set of men’s clothes underneath? Or did he just mean some sort of mindset, wherein I never forgot that although I was wearing girl’s clothing, while I was in his employ, I was still technically a man?
Well, if that’s what he meant, he could jolly well stick his opinions about gender where the sun didn’t shine! I was a girl! Basta!
Maybe it’s time to show him that.
My gaze focused on one of the dresses in particular, and turned from baleful to thoughtful. Should I? Should I not? Should I? Should I not?
I hesitated, gazing down at the fabulous dress. Then, suddenly, I dashed forward and grabbed it. Oh, to hell with Mr Ambrose and his breezy skirts! I was going to show him that a girl could fare just as well on a ship as a man could!
I was just finished with dressing, and was gazing self-satisfactorily at myself in the mirror, when a knock came from the door.
‘Yes?’ I called. ‘Enter!’
The door swung open, and a sailor stuck his head into the cabin. ‘Mr Linton, Sir, the captain just sent me to tell you that dinner is almost ready and that-’
It was then that he noticed the lack of masculinity in the room. His eyes went wide. I turned towards him with a charming smile.
‘That dinner is almost ready and that…’ I encouraged him.
‘Um… excuse me, Miss, I… I was looking for Mr Linton.’
‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘So now that you’ve found me, what is it?’
‘Err… you are Mr Linton?’
The sailor was clearly having trouble rearranging his world view.
I shrugged and gave him another encouraging smile. ‘In a way. Though it would probably better if you called me “Miss Linton” from now on.’
‘Um, yes, Si- err, Miss.’
‘Now, what was it the captain sent you to tell me?’
‘The captain??
? The sailor blinked. He had apparently quite forgotten the existence of his superior officer, and needed a moment to retrieve his memories. ‘Ah. Of course. The captain. He wanted me to tell Mr Linton - you, that is - that dinner is almost ready, and he intends to open a box of his best Virginia Cigars today, if you would care to join him for one.’
In his frazzled state of mind, it took the poor man a moment to realize he had just offered a lady in silk and satin the opportunity to smoke cigars. When it dawned on him, he clutched the doorframe, and almost fainted.
