Chapter 11
The silence in the galley only lasted until Sin’s boots disappeared above. A murmur swelled to a babble of voices. Verity kept her head down. She”d never felt as vulnerable as she did in this moment, an innocent dove trapped in a cage of hunting falcons.
She could make out a few words above the babble.
‘Th’ lad’s a female?’
‘Mr. Sin brung a woman aboard th’ ship?’
‘She don”t look ‘appy about it. I could fix that.’
‘Aye, and he”d kill yer quick as look at yer I reckon an’ yer lay an ‘and on ‘er.’
Suddenly, Mr Jay and Peggy were standing sentinel at either end of the long galley bench, Mr Jay with a lethal looking carving knife in his hand and Peggy brandishing a meat cleaver.
Good Lord. She”d be surrounded in bloodshed and mayhem in moments and there was no knowing where she would end up in such a melee.
What had started out as a rebellious adventure was rapidly deteriorating into desperate folly. A vision of Mama popped into her head, mourning Liberty for the last eight years. She would completely lose her mind if anything happened to Verity.
And Vic and Angelique—
Her gorge rose into her throat. She”d been thinking it was a wonderful adventure she had to share with them the next time she saw them.
This was no adventure. It was approaching the nature of a dangerous, life-threatening situation.
She closed her eyes and pressed her hands flat against her chest and as it always did, the knowing rose up within her.
Leaping up, she pulled the wooden stool she”d been sitting on to the center of the bench and scrambled up on it, so she stood a little taller than every man in the room, even Mr. Jay.
Removing the cap from her head, she snatched at the pins holding her hair in place. When she”d stuffed all she could find in the jacket pocket, she fluffed two fingers through the silvery tangles and stood tall, staring down at the bickering men until an uneasy silence settled over them.
‘Good evening gentlemen,’ she said in her most refined accents, noting the jumping eyebrows and dropping jaws and waited again for the sudden mutterings to subside.
What did they think she was? A Moll from the stews?
‘I would like to introduce myself to you. I am Mrs Sinclair Wolfenden, as of five days ago.’
That got their attention, every pair of eyes widening and every jaw dropping, but she wasn’t finished. She had a message to ram home.
‘Before that I was Lady Verity Davencourt, daughter of the Earl of Stannesford. As you have seen, relations between my husband and I are not amicable, which—is—no—concern—of yours.’
Verity had long ago learned how to project fire from her luminous green eyes and it was as effective now as it usually was. No one expected the fairy-like creature she so often appeared to be to conceal the fierce persona of a female panther.
The men watched her warily.
‘Whether Mr Sinclair and I choose to fix what is amiss between us or not, and how we fix it—is our concern only. I came aboard with a purpose—and a promise to Mr Jay I would help in the galley. We, your cooks, are in a unique position to—keep you healthy—or not.’
A rumble of unrest ran through the men, but Verity spoke above it.
‘I”m merely pointing out there is a balance of power here. I’d also note regardless I was born and raised a lady. I’m accomplished in the kitchen and capable of making dumplings to go with Mr Jay”s wonderful stew that will melt in your mouth. I also make the best scones you will ever eat—and a steamed ginger pudding to send you about your work with a smile on your faces. In short, gentlemen, you gain more from abetting me than harassing me.’
A solidly built, dark-haired man sitting at the head of table, lumbered to his feet.
‘Welcome aboard the Princess Eloise, m’lady. Bosun Jameson at yer service,’ he said and sketched an awkward bow in Verity”s direction. ‘We hear you and will respect your wishes. Won’t we men?’ he said, letting his fierce gaze rest briefly on each man on the benches.
Mutters of ‘aye-aye, sir’ rumbled around the table.
‘On yer feet, laggards, you”re in the presence of a lady,’ he suddenly barked and the entire watch scrambled to their feet, bobbing their heads and pulling their forelocks.
‘What do yer say to dumplings and scones and steamed ginger pudding, men? Does it make yer tongues hang out?’
‘Aye-aye, sir,’ issued from each man as they shifted uneasily on their feet.
‘Right then. We’ll leave young Nipper to get on with his work. I have a twitchy arm and a dancing cat’o’nine waiting for any as don”t respect that. Above decks. Now.’
As the last of the men scrambled up the ladder the bosun gave Verity a brief nod and followed them.
Peggy and Mr Jay relaxed their vigilant stances and laid aside their hastily snatched weapons.
‘They”re not a bad bunch, th’ crew of th’Eloise. Mr Sin an’ th’ Cap’n ‘ave a reputation for bein’ fair masters, so any as win a space aboard th’ Princess Eloise keeps ‘is nose clean so as not ter lose it,’ Mr. Jay stated. ‘Yer”ll be a’right now, m’lady.’
‘Thank you, Mr Jay. And thank you, Peggy. I am deeply grateful for your protection.’
Peggy mumbled a reply and went back to bashing his dough and Mr Jay fixed her with his black gaze. ‘I’d suggest scones tomorrow.’
‘How about savory ham scones for breakfast?’
‘Reckon I”m drooling meself,’ the big man declared with a grin. ‘N’now I reckon ye”ve done enough fer terday. Ye go find yer bunk, lad. Ye ain”t goin’ back up ter th’ Cap’n’s cabin?’
Verity didn”t allow herself to even think about that. ‘No, Mr Jay, I ain”t,’ she said, managing to follow that bit of stable boy vernacular with what she hoped was a careless grin. She’d been fighting off her whirling thoughts all day.
Sniveling into her pillow like a heartbroken child last night, she’d not really been able to think beyond the deep disillusion with her husband and how far he’d fallen short of the ideal the Comtesse had outlined in her diaries.
She”d been so disappointed, beyond disappointed if she was truthful, in the act she’d come to believe from the Comtesse”s writings would be more—magical—than anything else a woman would experience in her lifetime.
When the tears had finally run out she”d lain for hours staring wide-eyed and despairing into the darkness. There was no knowing what time it was when it finally came to her that her only sanctuary from that husband aboard this ship was Mr. Jay and the bunk he”d said could be hers forward of the galley.
She”d only dared light the stub of candle she’d found on the ledge at the head of the bunk. No point in alerting anyone as to her movements. Least of all her cad of a husband.
Dragging on the rough clothing Mr Jay had secured for her to wear as Nipper, she’d rubbed her finger over the wick of the unlit lamp on the map table and smeared a little on her face, then rubbed the rest on the already grimy trousers.
She’d almost baulked when Mr Jay had first handed her the bundle of clothes more like filthy rags than something someone would actually wear. But he”d reminded her it was the perfect disguise to get her aboard the ship without arousing suspicion.
Once again she reminded herself, most of the grime was on the outside and when she shoved her feet into the ugly, worn boots she could be someone else entirely. Lady Verity could relax and ignore the rules and principles by which a young lady lived her life and allow her tongue to wrap around the kind of slang she heard from the crew and had been the regular cant of the stable boys at home.
It felt deliciously wicked and freeing, while the ugly disguise gave her a sense of protection and invisibility.
Although it had only fooled her husband until he couldn”t find her and put his mind to work on the problem.
But Mr Jay, and even the mostly morose Peggy, had championed her against an angry Sinclair and convinced him to leave her be. Her only regret was the unlikelihood of enjoying another bath, being able to undress and sleep in her underwear, or even being able to change into clean clothes.
But she had scrubbed pots and plates until her soft, ladylike hands were rough and red and her back ached from leaning over the bucket.
Peggy had bashfully offered a dollop of meat dripping on the end of his finger last night.
‘Fer yer ‘ands,’ he muttered.
Although she”d had reservations, she’d taken it and gratefully rubbed it into her maltreated skin.
Falling into her bunk without having to spend an hour in preparation held a definite appeal. At least exhaustion and the lack of sleep the night before should ensure her a few hours of oblivion tonight—if Mr Jay and Peggy didn”t snore.
She hadn”t thought of that until she’d been woken by a grating sound that startled her eyes open from a nightmare in which she was locked in a coffin-like chest and someone was sawing their way into it. Her terrified eyes had watched the sharp teeth of the saw coming nearer and nearer to her face, the rough grating sound getting louder the nearer it came.
Whimpers that had escaped each time the wicked blade plunged close grew to a scream echoing in her head and she bolted upright in the narrow bunk so her head hit the beam above and she yelped in pain.
Although she was awake, the sawing sound continued unabated and she recognized it for what it was. Huddling into a ball under her one scratchy woolen blanket, a great longing rose in her for the comfort of her bed at home and despair there was no way she could reach it. She wanted Nanny, Mama, and Papa. Even grumpy Charity would be a welcome presence right now.
When the raucous monotony of Peggy’s snore was joined by a softer regular purring snuffle from Mr. Jay on the other bottom bunk, in an entirely different rhythm, Verity thought she might actually lose her mind and scream aloud instead of in her dream.
Curled in a ball with her hand jammed over her exposed ear, she tried to lull herself back to sleep by humming lullabies to herself. Inevitably the misery of her situation overcame her and she sobbed silently into the filthy, rolled up jacket serving as her pillow.
Sin forced himself to wait until the night watch had broken their fast and gone off to find their bunks before he relinquished the wheel to Nik, whose chiseled, coffee-hued features were set in lines of somber watchfulness.
What was the bastard waiting for? For Sin to spill his guts like a puling schoolboy?
Not going to happen.
Or was he expecting Sin to ask for the benefit of his experience as a once married man who’d loved his wife?
Not going to happen either.
But the last three words of that thought thrummed in Sin’s head as he climbed down from the wheelhouse and strode across the deck to the galley hatch. Most of the crew sidestepped him or scampered out of his way.
Except for Big Tosser, a mountain of man with tattoos, bulging muscles, a bald head, a gold earring and a patch over an empty eye socket.
He stood with his arms folded in a menacing pose, his one good eye fixed on Sin as if to skewer him by his gaze alone.
Sin stopped and faced the man head on.
‘You got something to say, Toss?’
‘I do, Mr Sin, sir.’
‘And would it have aught to do with the lad, Nipper, who Mr Jay had the gall to bring aboard?’
‘Indeed, sir. T’would.’
Unlike most of the crew, Big Tosser spoke with an educated accent and actually knew a thing or two about sailing a ship. The proper vowels coming from that mouth of broken teeth was so incongruous it caught Sin every time the man spoke. Despite appearances there was a wide streak of civility running through the man who was more lethal in a fight than anyone Sin had ever seen.
Sin cocked an eyebrow at him and waited.
‘The lad’s—a lady born and bred, Mr. Sin. It’s not right she”s working in the galley no better than a kitchen boy. You need to fix whatever is wrong, sir, beg pardon for my forwardness, and get her out of there.’
His wife had more than one champion, it seemed—when he should have been her one and only.
‘I’d be the first to agree with you, Toss, but it”s not as easy as it might seem. Contrary to all appearances, my wife is a strong-minded, opinionated, and determined woman. We got off on the wrong foot, and I”m not sure how to fix that—or even if I can. And if you repeat any of that, I”ll have your hide and use it for sail cloth.’
With a strange little squint of that one bright blue eye, the man turned back to the ropes he”d been coiling with and muttered, ‘Aye aye, sir.’
Sin ground his teeth, continued to the hatch and set his boot to the first rung. Not only had she bewitched him, but it seemed she was in fair way to bewitching the entire crew.
The damned woman was like to start a mutiny without even raising an eyebrow.
His boots hit the deck and he turned, his gaze sweeping the mostly empty benches where only a couple of the night watch stragglers still lingered over the black stewed tea Peggy called the ‘foinest lap-song—a man”s brew’.
Simmering away on the back of the stove in a large black kettle it was, according to Peggy, the next best thing to a whisky and cigar.
Sin preferred the real thing, and then his thoughts floundered as his restless gaze found its quarry. She was grimly concentrating on lifting a huge tray of scones from the maw of the oven, grimy cap, jacket and trews exactly as she’d worn yesterday.
And her shapely feminine arse looked damn fine in those lad’s breeches, and his gaze segued back to the two malingerers at the table to find their gazes riveted exactly where his had just been.
‘Get to your bunks,’ he snarled suddenly, and Peabody and Lomas dropped their guilty gazes and leapt to their feet. He”d like to wipe the drool off their chins with his fists, but he concentrated on breathing easily through his nose instead.
If her presence was to cause any sort of mayhem aboard, it was likely to be himself who instigated it if he didn”t get his head untangled.
Those three words that had entered his mind regarding Nik, hit him again—as if Big Tosser had landed a punch somewhere left of the center of his chest.
Loved his wife.
Nik had, and had been a broken man when she died trying to birth their first child. Watching his friend suffer had only reinforced Sin’s determination never to allow himself to be that vulnerable, that attached to another human being.
So how had it come about that when he looked at the woman who appeared like nothing so much as a grubby pickpocket from the dirtiest back alleys in London, not only did he want like he”d never wanted another woman, but pain blossomed around his heart as if it was being squeezed by a meaty fist.
And when he thought on how he”d irreparably bungled her first experience of intimate relations between a man and a woman and what he”d stolen from her in the process, Sin wanted to castrate himself with the massive bloody meat cleaver hanging above the galley bench.
How the hell did he turn this around?
She looked up as she was about to slide the batch of scones from the oven tray to a cooling rack. Her startled, red-rimmed eyes locked with his, and the scones overshot the rack and slid across the bench. Only Peggy”s quick reflexes prevented the entire batch from cascading to the floor on the other side.
‘Damn, m’lady. M’ mouths bin waterin’ for those ever since ye pulled out th’ last batch. An’ there ain”t none o’ them left.’
‘Th—thank you—Peggy, for saving them. That would have been a terrible waste.’
‘Aye. T’would—if we wasted ‘em, that were. Which we wouldn’. Best put a plate full in front of Mr. Sin. If anything could take that scowl off’n ‘is twisted mug it’d be one o’ they scones, I’d reckon.’
Peggy didn’t call them ‘scons’ like most folk, he made it rhyme with ‘stones’ and Sin noted a tiny lift at the corner of Verity’s mouth as if she might be amused by that fact, but kind enough to hide it.
Then, as if her next thought had upset her, her lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth as if to settle whatever emotion had stolen her equilibrium. Straightening her back, she turned her shoulder to her husband.
‘Mr. Sinclair can scowl all he likes, Peggy. I didn”t get up early and slave like a galley cook in order to feed that ungrateful cad,’ she said loudly enough for anyone in the room to hear and with the obvious intention Sin could not miss the venomous words.
Snatching a plate from the stack at the end of the bench, Sin strode along, broke a whole row off the batch of scones and broke it in half. Depositing half back on the rack and the other half on his plate, he turned his back on his indignant wife and moved to the table where there was still a pat of butter and Lomas’s buttery knife sitting on his plate.
Butter, fresh milk and cream were some of the luxuries to be cherished for a couple of days after being in port.
Cutting his first scone in half he slathered it with butter and bit into it before it could melt and run off.
Ham, onion, cheese, all the best savory tastes encased in the fluffiest hot scone he”d ever tasted.
His enjoyment of the succulent feast was deeply marred, however, by the evidence of tears and misery on his wife”s grime-daubed face. Misery and tears that sat squarely at his feet.
But not the egg-shaped knot that protruded from her forehead.
Where the devil had that come from?
She”d thought she was finally in control of herself—until he clambered down that ladder, helped himself to three of her fresh-made scones, and then sat glaring at her while he ate them.
With every appearance of relishing every mouthful.
As he dashed well should, she muttered furiously to herself. She knew how the savory textures melted in your mouth and how the hit of herbs added the perfect piquancy that pleased most every taste.
But she didn”t care to please his taste and she wished he would stop staring at her with that ugly frown on his face. Even when she turned her back to him, she could feel those eyes piercing her right between her shoulder blades.
If he was going to start throwing orders about telling her what she could and could not do, he”d discover his wife had a temper to match his own. And she knew when and how to use it.
She”d ducked down behind the bench to start rinsing plates in the bucket of sea water Hawkeye had hauled up for her. The wiry lad was surprisingly strong and spent much of his time lugging buckets of clean water down to the galley and buckets of slops up the ladder to ‘feed to they fishes’ as he called it.
When she’d commiserated on the number of times he went up and down that ladder with a full bucket, he”d grinned and told her it was worse before she came aboard. He”d had to wash ‘all them trenchers, as well as all they big bl—p—plurry—witch’s pots.’
No doubt the big black stewpots looked like witch’s cauldrons to Hawkeye.
Unfailingly cheerful and willing, something about the lad tugged at her heart strings. What misery had he known, what deprivation had he suffered, that he considered his current situation cause for such good humor?
It made her look at the deceptively ferocious-looking chef with a deep respect. In fact, she might almost be coming to regard Mr Jay in the light of her savior, much as she suspected young Hawkeye did.
The bucket of hot seawater Peggy had carried over from the stove for her was almost full of rinsed plates when her husband suddenly loomed behind her.
‘Who hit you?’ he demanded.
‘What?’ she asked, startled into looking up at him by the abrupt question and the barely leashed rage in his voice.
‘You have a lump on your head the size of a pigeon’s egg,’ he rasped. ‘Who hit you?’
Typical. She had a bump on her forehead; therefore, someone hit her.
Anger, fueled by hurt, disappointment and frustration, boiled up within her. There was no containing it.
‘The only person aboard this ship even likely to behave in such a brutish manner as to hit a woman is my despicable cad of a husband.’
His whole body went rigid with the impact of her accusation.
‘I would never hit a woman,’ he snapped, his gray eyes stormy with indignation. ‘I”ll take apart with my bare hands the man who did this to you.’
Verity couldn”t help herself. She rolled her eyes.
‘I sat up in the bunk too fast,’ she said, her voice rife with sarcasm. ‘You”ve probably done it yourself a time or too.’
‘Damn it, I”ll chop the bloody beam out.’
With another sideways eye roll and a huff of exasperation, Verity began scrubbing at a plate in the bucket of hot water.
She was determined to keep her head down and ignore the man she could now feel fulminating behind her. His boots shuffled and stamped on the deck, and barely contained snarls of ire tempted her to look back at him again, but she kept her head bent over the bucket.
She was wed to him by a few vows and a wedding ring. He’d earned nothing else from her.
A sudden violent outrushing of his breath told her the moment he lost whatever battle he”d been having with himself, and Verity braced for what would come now.
‘You—are—my—wife. Not a damned scullery maid,’ he suddenly bellowed. ‘I”ll not have you skivvying down here, dressed like that, and all the damned men drooling in their vittles because they can”t take their eyes off your arse in breeches. Upstairs now and get dressed properly.’
Verity set aside a clean plate and began on another, choosing to ignore the tower of the angry male behind her, vibrating with the strength of his anger.
‘Verity!’
The word oozed menace and a temper near breaking point.
Which spiked her own.
Gripping the plate she was scrubbing with both hands, she scooped it through the dishwater and swung it up at her irate husband, words spilling from her mouth as she leapt to her feet to face him.
‘You have done nothing to earn the right to tell me what I can or can”t do. You don”t want a wife, so I will not be one. I”m Nipper, as scrubs pots ‘n’ pans and other lowly jobs someone has to perform in order to keep your men, and your own worthless stomach, fed.’
Water dripped off his eyebrows and nose and darkly stained the front of his jacket and trousers. She could only hope a goodly amount had run inside his boots.
And if he”d been battling temper before, now he was an explosion about to happen.
‘I—don”t—hit—women, but Nipper, the scullery lad, may have earned himself a damned good spanking.’
Verity sucked in a sharp breath.
No one, not even her own father, had ever laid their hand on her backside, and her husband was not going to be the first. All semblance of lady like gentility forgotten, she became Nipper in her mind.
‘You want to wear this whole bucket of water?’ she asked, grabbing up the pail of cold, scummy water in which she”d first rinsed the dirty breakfast plates.
Gripping it with both hands, she swung it up ready to throw when it was caught from behind and easily twisted from her hands.
‘Easy, Nipper lad. Why don’ yer go ‘elp Peggy with cleanin’ down the benches and the stove?’ Mr Jay said calmly in her ear, while pushing her behind him in the direction he wanted her to go.
Verity was having none of it. She ducked back around his massive body and confronted her stormy-faced husband.
‘Not only inept, but a bully. I cannot believe the Universe could get it so wrong in deciding you were to be my husband.’
To her unimaginable horror she barely refrained from the spitting on his boots.
Dear God, what had come over her?
Taking a step back and looking up, she observed a tide of dark red suffuse Sin’s neck and cheeks. Then he spun on his heel and stormed across the deck and up the ladder.
‘You”re as sulky as your nephew was the day we arrived at Pennington. Actually I”d say you haven”t been right in the head since that day. Clearly I should not have gone to Ainslee Court. God damn it, I was only away little more than a week and in that time you made the biggest mistake of your whole life and turned into a right surly arsehole.’
Sin and Nik were the sole occupants of the wheelhouse, both wearing sea-boots and oilskins because the weather had turned foul and they were battling a head wind while trying to get far enough north to turn and run for safe harbor at Amsterdam.
Sin’s watch was finished, but he refused to leave the wheelhouse. Not that he didn”t trust Nik, for the Prince was probably a more capable sailing master than he was. But he knew once he stepped down to the deck nothing would keep him from dragging his sodden, exhausted, sorry arse down to the galley simply to get a glimpse of his wife.
And he”d not set foot on that damn ladder since the day she’d doused him with dish water.
Several days ago.
His wife was a sham. There was no sign now of the childish hoyden he”d first seen on the lawns at Pennington, or even the more sophisticated but still ephemeral and ladylike creature who”d stolen every good sense he”d possessed when she’d arrived for dinner that same night looking like a mermaid in seafoam silk.
Naive? Genteel? Fairy-like? Sin snorted and was grateful the crass sound was lost in the wail of the wind about the wheelhouse.
His mind was a howling mess on a par with the storm that raged about them and tossed the ship from wave top to wave top as if it had no more substance than a leaf. Even some of the hardened crew were heaving up their guts and struggling to stay upright on the wildly canting deck.
Neither he nor Nik ever got sick but he could not argue he was not sulking. He absolutely was, and he couldn”t seem to do a damn thing about it. A week of eating his meals standing up in the wheelhouse, of wearing the same clothes he”d worn since coming aboard, of only talking to whoever was on watch at the wheel had turned him into some kind of maleficent moron.
Everyone who entered the wheelhouse tried to get him to leave. Tried to get him to sleep. To take a bath. To go and talk to his wife. Much good that would do him.
He”d married a damned virago.
A damned sexy virago.
She’d bewitched his every good sense when she”d been gowned and behaving as a proper young lady. Without even really trying, she”d ensnared him, inflamed him, and completely addled his bloody brains.
If he left the wheelhouse, he’d not be able to stop himself from falling down the ladder into the galley to assure himself every report young Hawkeye had given him was correct. He’d brought Sin’s meals up to the wheelhouse and under intense questioning had never veered from his averral that Nipper was ‘just foine’. No more sick than Hawkeye himself, and the men were treating her with respect.
Let any man change that and he”d personally flog the bastard.
God damn, his body was tired, but there”d be no sleep now until they brought the Princess Eloise safely into port at Amsterdam. They”d been fighting all day to get far enough north to be able to run back south into the North Holland Canal where they’d be sheltered from the open ocean and able to relax and take stock.
What daylight they’d had through the gloom of the storm was fast fading and they hadn”t sighted the beacons at the mouth of the canal yet.
Pray God they hadn”t over shot them.
‘There they are,’ Nik suddenly yelled, and began shouting orders Sin relayed down to the hands on the deck. They hauled rope and changed sails with the expertise of long practice. Slowly, groaning and protesting with every degree gained, the ship came about and began running for the canal and shelter.
And when they gained it, Sin knew nothing was going to keep him from the galley and his wife. He would haul her up into his cabin over his bloody shoulder if he had to, and then he’d lock her in. He had to make right the ugly and inept mistake he”d made and he couldn”t leave it any longer.
He”d show her how an experienced and caring man-made love to his wife. To the woman he loved.
If he had to tie her naked to the bloody bunk to gain her submission.