Chapter 3
Caroline was a little curious to see Mr. Belvedere’s bona fides herself, but she would content herself with asking about it later. On returning to the dining room, a large wooden case distracted her. It was about four feet by two, an odd shape that was reminiscent of—
“Why, a folding harpsichord! How quaint,” Anne said.
Caroline noticed the captain just leaving his own quarters, the door closest to the ladder stairs. “Excuse me, Commander Smythe. Is this a harpsichord? Whose is it?”
Packet Commander Smythe looked a gentleman and wore a uniform very like a British naval captain, although this was not a military ship.
His sparse gray hair and coarse red features showed that he had spent many decades in sun and wind.
“Why, it is mine, ma’am! You may call me Captain Smythe, if you like—Packet Commander Smythe is a mouthful.
Anyway, I keep this little musical beauty stowed, but when I have ladies aboard, as on this trip, I have it set up. ”
“How considerate! I do love music,” Caroline said.
“Do you play? Or you Mrs. Wentworth? We all love a concert.”
Anne smiled. “I play the pianoforte, but rarely the harpsichord. I shall need to practice.”
Wentworth had just come down, and he put his arm around her. “Very considerate, Captain, we shall all enjoy it. I have been admiring your ship above. How many crew?”
“Thirty, sir, although we could do with twenty in a pinch! I know it’s none of your frigates—but she’s a good, tight ship.”
“I don’t despise it, I assure you. Many’s the time I’ve been thankful to have a schooner or a sloop nearby. Not as many guns, but there’s nothing to touch them for maneuverability.”
“Exactly, Captain Wentworth! You’ll have noticed the guns. Six cannon and two swivel guns. My own addition.”
“A very wise precaution.”
The captain doffed his hat. “I’ll have two of the men set the harpsichord up for our journey.”
“Ought we?” Caroline eyed the room, having second thoughts. “There is precious little space.”
“Why, it will fit! This is one of the most spacious packets you’ll find anywhere in English waters.” He sounded defensive and a little offended. “The Lady Mary is eighty-four feet from stem to stern, and you won’t find better anywhere, no matter what Mr. Bell says of the Francis Freeling.”
Captain Wentworth seemed to be struggling to suppress a smile.
“Er, I wouldn’t know—” Caroline said
“Eighty-four!” he repeated. “While the Francis is only eighty feet and a handful of inches. Not a mite more. It can’t rightly be called even eighty-one, and well Bell knows it!”
“Really? I had heard eighty-two.” Captain Wentworth’s eyes were dancing, and Anne squeezed his hand warningly.
“Eighty-two—” the captain repeated in stentorian accents.
“We bow to your better knowledge,” Anne cut in. “I should be glad of the instrument if you think it won’t discommode the others.”
“Yes, quite,” Caroline added. “I am not a good judge of tight—er—confined spaces.”
The captain bowed. “It shall do, ma’am. Excuse me.”
When Richard joined them, Caroline grimaced. “I think I offended our captain. I inadvertently cast aspersions on the length of the ship.”
Captain Wentworth succumbed to a laugh. “Don’t feel too bad! I should not make game of him, but it was bound to happen. A captain might abuse the size of his ship to himself or his cronies, but to hear another do so… You had as well insult a lady’s face or character.”
Caroline shook her head. “I shall keep that in mind. All eighty-four feet of it.”
The supper fare was better than Caroline had feared.
The lamb was well cooked, the vegetables lightly boiled, and the braised cod sweet and flaky.
A layered trifle finished the meal, and it also was very tasty.
Caroline made a heartier meal than she expected, despite the ship rocking more than she liked.
The captain sat at the head of the dining table, clearly pleased at the quality of his guests.
“Many packet ships offer only a meager galley on which guests cook for themselves,” he said, “but not on the Lady Mary Pelham! No, on the Lady Mary, we can do a little better than that. I fancy you won’t have any reason to say that the food wasn’t capital!
” His remarks were addressed ostensibly to Sir Mark and Lady Marston, but from his many glances to Captain Wentworth, impressing the naval officer was his real goal.
Captain Wentworth complimented the food quite sincerely, both for its own sake and because he was glad to see Anne eating well.
“Many’s the voyages I’ve had with mealy bread and hard-tack by the end!
” he said. “But I had an excellent cook on the Laconia—a dragon of a man who somehow frightened the temperamental ovens into good behavior—and what must my friend Captain Harville do but try to lure him to his service! I told Harville, I said, ‘I would walk on coals for you, but if you scalp Hurley, it’s pistols at dawn.’”
Anne shook her head as they laughed.
Mrs. Scott did not seem to eat more than a few bites, but Sir Mark made up for it by consuming vast amounts of lamb and potatoes and claret. “This is something like,” he said, a little roughly as he swallowed. “Capital, indeed, my fine fellow.”
Caroline stared to see the usually elegant man belch following his meal. Sir Mark was a bit of a character, but always gentlemanly and impeccably dressed.
Lady Marston flinched. “We may be away from English soil, my dear, but we are not yet heathen.”
Mr. Belvedere patted his stomach. “I’m sure I don’t mind.
My cronies and I once played the most wonderful trick on the bagwig.
He was mad on the subject of cheese, how it was terribly unhealthful and injurious to the bowels.
And what did we do but switch his plate of chicken, which was drowned in a plain white Béchamel sauce, with another of the richest Mornay!
He raved about the quality of the sauce, but towards the end he began to look mighty uncomfortable, and he let out such a belch that the bells practically rung to it.
There was dead silence and then he did it again!
He retreated in disorder, I can tell you, belching all the way. ”
Lady Marston took a severe view. “That was a schoolboy’s trick, and not one a gentleman should be proud of.”
“But it was not our fault he could not tell a Béchamel from a cheese sauce!” His fair eyes were laughing. “I’m sure you yourself would know in an instant, ma’am. And he always hectored us about his superior palate.”
“I don’t like Béchamel sauce,” Sir Mark said. “Give me a hearty stew or a bread pudding and I shall do.”
“But, sir,” protested the captain. “I understand all the nobs—excuse me, all you gentlemen—prefer French cooking with their Béchamel, velouté, and espagnola sauces…”
“What do you say, Mrs. Scott?” Mr. Belvedere asked. “Was our trick not somewhat justified by his obstinacy and ignorance?”
“I cannot be an impartial judge. Having been at school for many years,” a gleam broke through her calm demeanor, “I may have played a trick or two myself.”
“Why, a confession! You all heard her. You must tell us the rest now, ma’am. We are companions on an ocean voyage and custom demands that all good stories be shared. It is a maritime regulation, or ought to be.”
Lady Marston cleared her throat significantly. “I’ve no desire to be bored by naughty schoolgirl antics.”
Mrs. Scott inclined her head. “I won’t lacerate Lady Marston’s feelings. Schoolgirl antics are even less acceptable, for people look on young men who are—er—ripe for a spree, more leniently than they do on young ladies.”
“I was at school in Bath for a time,” Anne put in. “I disliked it, but I did make one very good friend there.”
“I went to a ladies’ seminary in London before I came out,” Caroline said. “I enjoyed music and languages, but I was eager to join society when the time came.”
Mrs. Scott only smiled, and Caroline regretted pointing out the differences in their station. Most likely Mrs. Scott was not of a class to enter society, and certainly not the ton, as Caroline had done.
Sir Mark, now done with his meal and after looking sadly at his empty glass and the empty bottle, surveyed the rest of them through his quizzing glass. “I say, Colonel Fitzwilliam, I do rather like that coat. Who made it?”
“No one you would have heard of. Only a tailor who caters to former army men. Not a Stultz or Weston.”
“Ah, you’re an army man?” Mr. Belvedere said. “I thought very seriously of joining a cavalry regiment several years ago, but nothing came of it, sadly.”
Caroline frowned at Mr. Belvedere. “You must’ve been a mere baby several years ago.”
“Why no, ma’am! I’m older than I look, I assure you. It’s this dashed round face I’m cursed with. I’ve rarely met a lady yet who doesn’t end up wanting to mother me.” He shuddered.
Sir Mark gave a crack of laughter. “Learn to accept it, dear boy. It’s only a step from that to, er—better things.”
Caroline compressed her mouth at this course jesting. The older generation really had no manners at all. And they accused her generation of being squeamish!
Mr. Belvedere, to do him credit, turned it off. “Now, Mrs. Fitzwilliam mentioned cards earlier and then nothing came of it. One really mustn’t dangle cards in front of an avid player like myself and deny me! Who is in for a game? Piquet? Whist? Hazard?”
Sir and Lady Marston decided to retire, and Wentworth and Anne did also. Mrs. Scott rose uncertainly.
“Stay, Mrs. Scott,” Mr. Belvedere begged. “Do please make up a fourth for us, for Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Fitzwilliam have agreed to play. It would be too cruel to refuse for the trip has only just begun. Leave your scruples on land and do your fellow travelers a good turn.”
“If I’ve left my good scruples on land, why should I do you a good turn?”
“Oh, no, I’ve walked into a what’s-it—a syllogism or fallacy of some sort, haven’t I?”
“Yes, but I will play,” she said. “I do not think Lady Marston needs me just now.”
The game was lively, particularly when Mrs. Scott forgot her quiet manner and showed some of the shrewdness and intelligence that lurked beneath. As Caroline partnered with Richard, Mr. Belvedere partnered with Mrs. Scott. He was full of compliment for her play and even tried to get a wager going.
“No, no,” said Richard. “You won’t lure us into gambling on our first night at sea. That’s bad luck.”
“Is it?” Mr. Belvedere said. “Then never mind. I always pay attention to superstition because I fancy it’s the kind of thing that likes to take a man by surprise. If I look it in the eye, I figure it’ll give me the go by.”
“I don’t believe in luck or fortune,” said Mrs. Scott, discarding a four. “Things that will be shall be, and we make our own fortune within it, by our own choices.”
“That sounds very Methodist of you,” Richard said.
She laughed. “I am a good Anglican, sir, or I try to be. And now we are at the last hand; I believe my partner and I have got you.”
“We do,” Mr. Belvedere crowed. “A riposte! You are at our mercy.”
Caroline shook her head. “You are both very skilled players indeed, for Richard and I are not beginners. We shall have to have another match tomorrow.”
Caroline went to their cabin first, and her maid, Susan, helped her remove her muslin dress and shake it out.
Then she unhooked Caroline’s slim petticoat—sleeveless, with a low neckline—down the back, followed by unlacing her short stays.
In her chemise, Caroline took up the dressing gown Susan had laid out, while Susan poured a little water from a pitcher into a basin for Caroline to wash herself.
Finally, Susan brushed and smoothed Caroline’s curls, which were recently cropped and quite wild after her time in the wind.
“Thank you very much, Susan. Just my muslin night cap—yes, that one. That’ll be all for tonight.” She paused. “Are your own accommodations adequate? Is everything well enough with you and—er—the other girl, Lady Marston’s maid?”
“Minnie, ma’am. And yes, we are well.” Susan was a slightly plump woman of perhaps thirty-five or forty years of age.
She and Caroline were relatively unknown to one another, as Susan had only been with her since her marriage.
Caroline did not quite have the measure of the maid yet, but the woman was competent and quiet, and Caroline did not ask for much more.
It had been arranged that Susan would split her service between Caroline and Anne, since there was minimal space, and a minimal amount to be done on board.
Minnie, the maid for the Marstons, would share the last cabin with Susan, since it had a double bed like this one.
“She’s—a bit of a silly young thing,” Susan added, “but there’s no harm in ‘er. I think the motion of the ship has taken her badly, though. She went to bed afore—before supper.”
“Oh, no. I hope she won’t be sick for long. How do you feel?”
“Mm, I don’t love the upness and downness, ma’am, but I wouldn’t think it my place to be sick.” Her lip suddenly curled. “However, them black beetles are another matter.”
“The what?” Caroline tucked her feet up under her on the bed.
“Them—er—cockroaches, ma’am. Haven’t you noticed? Not so bad as most ships, from what a few of the sailors did say, but—ugh. I do despise them creatures, ma’am.”
“Well,” Caroline tried to slow her racing heart. “I suppose Anne would say that if that is the worst trouble we have, we should count ourselves lucky.”
Susan looked skeptical and Caroline did not blame her at all.