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Feet firmly on the deck, Lady E. adjusts her skirts as the young boy starts climbing down the ladder, her small medical trunk on his shoulder. Bentwood frees him of it before he is halfway down. A reminder that Bentwood is considerate of everyone, not just me. I am nothing more than one of his ‘unfortunates’.
“How is she?”
Lady E.’s agitation distracts my foolish thoughts. I’ve witnessed her discussing murder with ease yet this… She’s discomfited.
“She isn’t responding to my knock,” I admit.
“I will get to the bottom of this,” Bentwood declares, furious. Obviously, he heard the story.
I state the obvious, as it is up to me to make the invitation.
“She’ll have to move to our quarters.”
“Yes, thank you, it’s the only solution,” Lady E. agrees.
“Will you see to it,” Bentwood asks the lad, “that a hammock be added to the ladies’ cabin, and the items in this cabin moved?”
“Aye, aye!”
The boy sets off immediately.
“Wait!” Bentwood calls after him, but before he can say anything more, Lady E. says, “She won’t be needing a hammock. Lady Bentwood will move in with her husband, and his cabinmate can move in here. You had him moved from steerage for Jenny, is that not right?”
This silences everyone. Bentwood starts to say something, but Lady E. shoots him a warning, her expression daring him to counter her.
He nods, and calls out to a cabin boy down the passageway, “We need a key for this cabin.”
Lady E. shushes him.
“No bother, I have a key.”
“You have a key?” Bentwood echoes, bemused.
She pulls a small pick from that hidden pocket.
“Not a key, precisely, but it works just as well.”
She bends down, fiddles with the lock, and pulls the lever down. The door unlocks but is blocked.
Bentwood pushes forward, but I shoo him away.
“What?” He frowns. “I came to help.”
“Not yet,” I scold. “For now, you are to guard.”
Between the two of us, Lady E. and I push the door, toppling a tower of baggage, and manoeuvre our way inside. Jenny is curled up in her hammock, wild and pale. Lady E. squeezes through the opening and goes straight to her.
“Nothing to worry about, Jenny dear. It’s just me.”
Chapter Six
Travel Plans
There are three calms when you sail: the doldrums, pockets of sea where the wind doesn’t blow, and the calms before and after a raging storm. It is calm now, that sweet innocent calm that comes immediately after a terrorising squall. I’d been worried about the doldrums, notorious for waylaying travel to the Southern Hemisphere. Obviously, that is not an issue now. We aren’t going to the bottom of the world. We are still in the English Channel or, as the French and Germans call it in their own languages, The Sleeve.
We must thank the Captain. With all that needs doing after the storm, he had the crew fashion a sail-cloth roof over chairs and a table for idle travellers, such as myself. Except I am not idle. I am searching for Bentwood. There has been a murder and an attack. He needs me to watch over him.
I stand at the rail, looking out over the other decks, trying to spot him. Montague has recovered. He is with the Captain at the wheel, no doubt discussing our position and expected arrival dates. Odds are, we’ve been blown off course.
