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“I am not ‘your’ dear, Mr. Richards.”
Startled, he sputters.
“Euphemism, my dear… I mean, Lady Bentwood, euphemism. No thought to offend.”
“And someone was murdered last night,” she adds.
Captain Harris frowns.
“Murder or justice? Tossing an unwelcome visitor across the beam would not be amiss.”
“Stabbing him first?” I ask.
“This is not a fit conversation for ladies, but yes, if necessary,” he acknowledges. “Judgment at sea is swift and often brutal.”
I admire Lady Bentwood’s tenacity, but it’s a useless discussion, so I change the subject.
“That was a splendid bit of chicken. Do you really keep livestock aboard The Lady Marietta?”
Seated on the other side of Lord Bentwood, I am able to hear when his wife leans over and whispers, “I will not be brought to heel.”
“Of course you won’t.” If that’s laughter he’s fighting, he does a decent job of stuffing it down. “Nor do I want to do such a thing.”
Apparently, Lady Bentwood is mollified. She turns back to Montague, on her other side.
“You really are too much,” she accuses.
“Me, too much? Talk of decorum and station, you have a servant in your cabin. Unseemly, if you ask me,” he spouts off.
I do wish he’d be quiet and let the situation with Jenny drop. Harris is not at all happy to have a servant inhabit staterooms. If you can call them such.
“Jenny has been through quite enough,” Lady Bentwood argues.
“Really, Lady Katherine, I do not care to dine with servants.” Montague turns to the Captain. “Before I left our deck, she was sitting at the dining table, having a meal. It’s distasteful.”
“She could eat in the cabin,” Harris suggested.
“And risk crumbs where we sleep?” Lady Bentwood continues, “I heard rats scrambling along the deck last night. I hate rats.”
She shivers in revulsion, paling with the effort.
“Lady Bentwood to you, Montague,” Bentwood adds, “and our servant would be more comfortable in the foredeck. Unfortunately, that area is beyond my protection.”
“You have other servants there,” Montague reminds, “have them watch over her. Really, Bentwood, you can’t cosset the servants. They’ll take advantage. Apparently this one already has.”
“No.” I put my hand down on the table, rather forcefully. Everyone turns to me. “She is not a servant, she is a companion and assistant, and she will remain in my cabin.”
Montague lounges back in his chair.
“Well, if the great lady says so, it must be so, though I haven’t a clue how you will fit three women and their gowns in such a tight space.”
“Not that it is any of your business, Montague, but my wife will be joining me in my cabin, as she should have been from the departure.”
“Now that that’s sorted,” Lady Bentwood says, rising, “I believe I will retire for the evening. If you’ll excuse me.”
The men rise, Bentwood assisting his wife.
“I will escort Lady Bentwood to our cabin,” he says, implying he will return for port.
