Chapter Six #2
“For a start, ships are larger than boats. Boats are smaller, with a reduced capacity,” said the captain sternly, as though he should have known this and it was a personal affront to her that he did not.
“But the biggest difference between the two is usage—you hear me? A ship has a use, a purpose, a reason for being on the ocean. Ships are there to do a job—haul or transport or fish or carry passengers or cargo. A boat is—a boat is just there. It enjoys the ocean, just as a ship does, but that’s all a boat does.
It’s designed for pleasure, for entertainment—for whelps like you to pander about and pretend you know what you’re doing! ”
They had finally reached the bottom of the staircase and Captain Seaton fixed him with a stern look, the sort Michael’s face had also made when he’d received a poor report from Eton. As he so often had.
“Do you understand now?”
Michael swallowed. “Mostly. But I don’t need to know the difference to immigrate.”
“Immigrate! The man has nothing else occupying his mind!” Phylis glared ominously as they stepped out onto the dock. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re longing for, you salt-crusted ass. No idea at all.”
The breeze gusted and Michael breathed in the scent of freedom.
Of adventure, of change, not the same dry, dull conversations with the same dry, dull people.
Another card party where he could lose a few shillings at whist, another picnic in the park with dry sandwiches and flat champagne, another ball in which he was expected to dance with the same dreary ladies who simpered and said absolutely nothing…
“I am going to immigrate,” he said decidedly.
Captain Seaton scoffed again. “And how will you live, in this magical place that you have invented in your brain?”
“‘Live’?”
“You haven’t thought any of this through, you absolute trollop,” said Captain Seaton with a smirk, walking forward again, her ledger still tucked under her arm.
Michael stared after her, absolutely flabbergasted. ‘Trollop’? ‘Trollop’—him, ‘trollop’?
He rushed forward to catch her, managing to say as he walked alongside her, “I’m not a trollop!”
“You don’t even know what it’s like living on a ship, and if you want to truly immigrate, then you’ll end up being on a ship for a long time,” Captain Seaton said smartly, not even bothering to look at him as she marched onward. “You are barreling into a choice you don’t understand.”
“Then help me.”
Michael had not quite expected the words to flow from his lips, but when they did, it was to see with a surprise and delight that the woman beside him flushed.
“If you think you’re going to proposition me again today—”
“‘Again’?” She had to mean the time in her office chair, for Michael could think of no other time. “Look, I’m asking for your help. That’s all.”
“And I have about a thousand and one other things that I need to do,” Captain Seaton said dismissively.
It was such a ridiculous number that Michael could not help but snort with laughter.
Perhaps it was because they had reached the gangplank, or whatever it was called, of the Dreamer. Perhaps it was his idiocy that made her do it. Whatever the reason, Captain Phylis Seaton halted, turned around, and whacked him on the arm with her ledger.
“Ouch! Hell’s bells, woman!”
“You think that just because I am a woman, I don’t have work to do?” she snapped, glaring up at him with burning derision. “You rum gagger!”
Michael’s eyes widened at the sound of the naval curse. “Women don’t—”
“If you utter one more thing about what I should or shouldn’t be doing,” Captain Seaton warned in a low voice, brandishing her ledger like a pistol under his nose, “then things will go very hard with you, my boy.”
He swallowed hard and tried not to think stiffening thoughts. Damn it, but the woman was attractive when she was angry.
“I have got to run through the ledgers with my first mate and check that all the barrels brought in today have been stacked correctly and match the contracts I signed. I’ve got to speak to Cook about the bills for food, check the fresh water supplies, mediate an argument between two of my crew, both of whom accuse the other of cheating at cards, and tar half the ship.
I need to review the charts for our next journey, review the rigging repairs, turn out laundry that has been left, and order the new adjustment of sails based on wind speed by the time I’ve finished everything else,” she said with a flourish, ire still burning in her eyes.
“And what do you have to do today? Play a game of billiards and eat cake?”
What Michael should have said was, “No, contend with my increasing doom as I am forced to play a role in Society that is draining me of all soul.”
What he actually said was, “I’ve already eaten my cake.”
Captain Seaton made an exasperated sound and shook her head. “The nerve of the man.”
“Look, I can live on a ship. I’m sure I can,” Michael said hastily, trying not to allow his cheeks to burn. “I’m ready to do what it takes to immigrate.”
Perhaps that had been his next mistake, for the woman beside him grinned a sly grin that did not make Michael want to grin at all. “You are ready, are you? Come on, then.”
Without another word, she started up the gangplank.
Michael blinked after her. She didn’t mean—surely, she didn’t mean that he was to follow her?
“You are never to be allowed on my ship. Not ever.”
“Come on, you dolt,” came the voice of Captain Phylis Seaton, now standing on the deck of her ship and glancing back with a wry smile. “If you can’t even board a ship, it’s going to be a long walk to wherever it is you want to immigrate to.”
Michael thrust back his shoulders and told himself there was absolutely nothing to fear. She was just a woman, after all.
The gangplank was harder to walk along than he had expected.
Michael was forced to throw his hands out either side of him to balance, and by the time he had reached the deck and clambered over the side of the ship—something Captain Seaton had done with apparently very little difficulty—he was feeling more than a little nauseous.
He did not feel only a little nauseous within seconds.
“Yes, it’s a strong tide,” Captain Seaton said as though he had spoken. “It’ll rock the Dreamer, but you’ll get your sea legs eventually. That or die.”
“‘Die’?” croaked Michael, grabbing on to the side of the ship, whatever it was called, and hoping to goodness his stomach didn’t decide to empty its contents immediately. “You can’t die of seasickness!”
“You can if it prevents you from keeping food down long enough,” said Captain Seaton cheerfully. “Right, shall I show you where your lodgings would be?”
She marched across the tilting deck with no concerns at all, as though the ground often shifted beneath her feet—which, now that he came to think about it, it probably did.
Michael managed to take two whole steps before almost falling over, but he was saved by grabbing the nearest sailor and clinging on to him with a weak smile. “Don’t mind me.”
The man gave him a thorough onceover, nodding appreciatively. “I don’t.”
Michael swiftly let go.