5. In which words are marked and there is a whisper of fear
IN WHICH WORDS ARE MARKED AND THERE IS A WHISPER OF FEAR
Charlotte’s jaw dropped.
Septimus roared in fury, and in a swift movement that was almost too quick for her to follow, he had Hester by the neck and against the wall.
Hester thrashed, scratching and kicking like a wild animal.
Sudden heavy rain lashed against the tall windows.
That was strange. Charlotte hadn’t noticed any grey clouds.
Was certain the sky had been blue moments before.
The pair had stilled, noses almost touching, but Septimus’s hand was still at Hester’s throat. There was an intensity between them, a scorching heat, snaps of static bouncing around the room. Charlotte had an odd feeling that she shouldn’t be there.
And then Marjorie flew at Septimus, sinking her teeth into his wrist until he shook her off, then attached herself to his backside so hard that he shouted out in pain. Hester pushed back against him, and he staggered backwards, Marjorie still attached, his handsome face twisted with pain and anger.
“Call the dog off,” he shouted, grabbing Marjorie’s collar. She clamped her teeth into his wrist instead. “Call it off.”
“Marjorie, heel.” Charlotte held the edge of the desk to steady herself, her eyes wide.
She hardly knew where to look or what to say.
Marjorie returned to her side, hackles up, lips pulled back from her teeth.
A shock of thunder rumbled outside, and the ferocious hound tucked her tail between her legs and hid under the desk.
Hester dusted off her shoulders, then slid a hand into the top of her dress, rearranging her bosom with no shame. “As I was saying, before we were rudely interrupted.” She threw Septimus a glare. “Captain Hester Orn and the Valour, at your service, ma’am.”
Charlotte, a little enraptured, found herself reaching her hand forward and shaking Hester’s. “A pleasure to meet you properly, Captain Orn.”
“You cannot possibly believe that Orn is a serious candidate,” Septimus growled, tearing a strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt to bind his bleeding wrist. Charlotte could not help but stare at the bronzed skin or the packed stomach muscle.
How a man had the right to look like that, she had no idea.
“And whyever not?” Hester winked at Charlotte.
“Look at you!” Septimus raged. “You are without doubt the most unscrupulous, disrespectful, arrogant cur I’ve ever had the displeasure to know.”
Hester hooted a laugh and slapped her thigh, clearly delighted by the insults.
Outside, the rain stopped, sunlight bursting between the clouds and casting shadows across the room.
“I am also the most skilled sailor in Havenport, have the most sea-worthy vessel and the hardiest crew, and I had planned this expedition with Ernest before he passed—my heartfelt condolences, Mrs Bailey.”
Charlotte bowed her head. Then wrinkled her nose. The wafts of vomit and whiskey coming from Septimus turned her stomach. She handed him a cloth from the desk drawer.
“Regardless, you have never sailed to the Southern Continent.” Septimus swiped the cloth and cleaned his breeches of Hester’s vomit, a look of utter disgust on his face.
Hester stuck her hands to her hips. “I have sailed to the Arctic, and some of my crew have travelled south. I am confident that navigating to Antarctica would pose us no problem. Ernest believed in my skills.”
Charlotte’s mind was whirring. Yes, she believed that Captain Orn would have no problem doing just about anything she set her mind to.
She was the brightest, boldest thing Charlotte had ever laid eyes upon.
It was like gazing upon flames. Flames that would either dance merrily or combust everything in their vicinity. And she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“See, Mrs Bailey? Arrogant. She has never been south, and I have. Many times. The choice is clear.”
It was very clear to Charlotte. Very clear indeed. She had no desire to spend time with a man who hurt women. Her thoughts flashed to a dark alleyway two years earlier, to another dark-haired man.
“It is cowardly to harm someone weaker than yourself,” Charlotte said, her voice quiet, a quaver in it.
Hester’s eyes widened, and Septimus stiffened.
“Captain Orn can hold her own in a fight, let me assure you,” Septimus said. He pointed a finger to a jagged scar that ran along his cheekbone and addressed Hester. “Do you want to tell her how I got this scar, or shall I?”
Hester smirked. “It further improves your rugged good looks, my lord.”
Septimus folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “She attacked me with a bar stool, and when it bounced off my face, it hit her squarely in hers, knocking her own tooth out.”
Hester hooted a laugh, a gold tooth glinting. “Now that was a good night. And in my defence, it wasn’t a totally unprovoked attack, was it?”
Charlotte’s neck hurt as she looked from one to the other of them. She could barely keep up. What an odd pair they were.
“It was a year ago. I’m not getting into this,” Septimus said.
Hester threw her hands in the air. “You started this conversation!”
Charlotte cleared her throat. “My decision is made. It was Ernest’s wish that Captain Orn should lead this expedition, and so I am offering the position to her,” Charlotte said, her eyes meeting the sparking green of Hester’s.
“An excellent choice, ma’am. You won’t be disappointed. Now, Septimus, I believe that is the end of your interview.” Hester’s face was a mask of triumph as she pointed to the door. “Good day to you.”
Septimus’s entire body seemed to clench, and he shot Hester such a glare that Charlotte feared for the captain’s life.
“Lord Septimus, thank you for your time, but you may leave now,” she said, and emboldened in Hester’s presence, added, “and if I hear of any foul play towards Captain Orn because of my decision, I shall involve the constabulary.”
“Neither of you have a clue what you’re doing,” he said, his voice raised, a slight quaver in it. “This will end in disaster, mark my words.” And with that, he swept from the room.
Charlotte hardly knew what to say next. In the silence, Hester’s stomach growled, and she clutched the back of the chair, holding her hand to her forehead, her skin growing paler by the second.
Goodness. She looked as if she might faint. “Are you quite well, Captain Orn?”
“Not really, ma’am. I haven’t had a thing to eat since yesterday, not after Septimus locked me in his cellar last night.”
Charlotte’s jaw hung loose. She surely had not heard correctly. “He did what?”
“I did something which…mightily displeased him,” Hester said, the corners of her mouth turning up.
Charlotte found herself desperately keen to know what Hester had done to elicit being locked in a cellar. She rang the bell for Alma. “Let me call for refreshments.”
Hester sagged, still holding onto the back of the chair. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Do have a seat, and please, call me Charlotte.”
Hester slid into the chair. “As you wish, Charlotte.”
This woman was wholly fascinating. Everything about her seemed larger than life.
Dazzlingly vivid. Eyes—green as the sea—sparkled with mischief, smudged red lips, golden-brown hair cut just above her shoulders, countless gold hoops in her ears, tattoos all over her hands, arms, chest. A chest which was very much on show within a ripped red dress.
Her skin was bronzed by the sun, a smattering of freckles across her cheeks.
Alma appeared at the door. “Yes, mistress?” The housekeeper did her best to hide her shock at the draggletailed appearance of Hester, but her face was still a picture.
Charlotte dragged her eyes from Hester. “Could you fetch tea and some of those excellent cheese scones you made earlier, Alma?”
Alma nodded and hurried off.
Charlotte had a thousand questions burning in her mind. “Now, while we wait, I’m dying to hear more about you, Captain Orn. How did you come to own the Valour at such a young age?”
“It’s a fine story and no mistake,” Hester said with a grin, crossing her ankle over her knee and settling back into the chair, just as Septimus had done earlier. “But it’s much better told over ale. It involves cards, whores and unfathomably stupid men.”
“Goodness,” Charlotte whispered, transfixed with the woman opposite her. She’d never met anyone quite like Hester before. She had no doubt that she might learn a thing or two from her about being bold, about standing up for herself.
Later that night, Hester dragged Fliss through the door of The Black Harpoon, her coin purse heavy with the seventy-five gold coins she owed Septimus, taken from the funds Charlotte had signed over that afternoon.
A hand grabbed Hester’s upper arm as she entered the tavern, spinning her around. She found herself nose to nose with Victor.
“He’s in the worst temper I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t go near him,” Victor said, moving his body to shield Hester from view.
“I have the money I owe him,” Hester said with a shrug.
“Let me deliver it then.”
“That’s ever so chivalrous, but I insist on paying back my debts myself.”
There was a crash from the back of the room, followed by a guttural scream. Victor stiffened. “Seriously, Hester. You’d be a fool to go near him right now.”
Was she a fool? Hester weighed up her options. But oh, she really did want to see the look on his face when she gave him the coins.
Fliss laid a hand on her shoulder, brown eyes pleading. “Listen to him, Hess. Please.”
“But—”
Victor took the coin purse and when she reached out for it, Fliss grabbed for her wrists.
Hester ground her teeth. “Outrageous! Give that back—”
“Come now, this way is safer,” Victor said. “Trust me. You haven’t spent weeks at sea with him like I have. I know him. It’s safer if I do it.”
Safer.
Hester struggled free of Fliss’s hold on her, snatching the coin purse back from Victor. Doing the safest thing was no fun at all.
She dodged around Victor, pushing through the crowd, keeping ahead of Fliss. As Hester neared the back of the room, she caught a glimpse of Septimus, sitting at his usual table, head in his hands, black hair unbound and hanging down. He looked undone.
Poor privileged man, thwarted in his plans for glory. She rolled her eyes, strode over and dropped the coin purse on the table in front of him. “The coin I owe you, my lord.”
He looked up slowly.
She couldn’t help it. A smile crept over her face. “And commiserations on losing to me. I suppose the best person for the job was chosen after all.”
Fliss groaned from behind her.
Septimus stood quickly, a snarl on his face.
A sublime thrill raced through her blood as he rounded the table. She wasn’t afraid of anything, but this was the closest she ever got. And the soaring high this little whisper of fear gave her was so much better than anything else. It was utterly addictive.
She backed away a few steps, and the crowd around her parted, until she was left alone in the middle of the room with him glaring daggers at her.
Hester’s heart pounded. “Oh, how I shall enjoy being the first to cross the Southern Continent. Such a shame it won’t be you they sing songs about. What a hero I will be!”
He started to move, and she laughed, running for the open door as he charged forwards, the noise of the crowd rising.
Out in the street, Hester hesitated for a moment too long.