10. In which there is no time for a dalliance and a close call
IN WHICH THERE IS NO TIME FOR A DALLIANCE AND A CLOSE CALL
Hester couldn’t get the image of Emlyn and Fliss out of her head. A deep ache had nestled inside of her; insistent, demanding. She loitered by the Intrepid, hidden in the afternoon shadows.
Victor walked across the gangplank with James, one of the deckhands and the navigator, Frank. She raced to catch up with them as they hurried into the crowded streets and caught the back of Victor’s shirt.
She had to have him.
He spun to face her, his eyes widening. “Hester. Now isn’t the time.” Victor slowed down to lose his crewmates in the crowd.
“I have a proposition for you,” Hester said, winking and puffing her chest forwards. She glanced down an alleyway, tugging him towards it.
Victor stopped dead in the street, grasping her wrist. People jostled around them, tutting. “We have a ship to provision, because apparently Septimus has gone mad and believes he can mount an expedition in two days to beat you across Antarctica. I’m afraid I don’t have time for dalliances.”
Hester stilled. “You truly have nothing on board?” This was utter lunacy.
“We have the cold weather gear, and the sleds from the last expedition, and we brought some dogs, but not enough. There is no food, no coal. The hull needs some repairs, and the rigging too, if we are to sail into the Southern Ocean.”
“Good God,” Hester breathed. “This is folly.”
Victor let go of her wrist and smiled ruefully. “If we are to survive this, I’m afraid I have no spare minutes to spend with you.” He brought her hand up to his lips, kissed her knuckles and then disappeared into the crowd.
Hester groaned. Even the kiss on the hand stirred heat in her core. She turned and made her way morosely back to the Valour.
So, Septimus was planning to leave in two days. She chewed the inside of her cheek. Two days was not enough time for the men to be ready.
She needed Fliss.
Hester found her first mate consulting lists of provisions in the hold of the Valour, a pencil tucked behind her ear.
“By tomorrow morning we’ll be fully stocked and ready to sail,” Fliss said, rolling the list and stuffing it into her pocket.
“Good. Excellent. I’m taking Winston, Rufus and Betty over to the Intrepid to offer our services.”
“What? Why?”
“They need help.” She couldn’t stand by and watch the Intrepid’s crew flounder. If it were to be a race, she wanted an even footing, to prove to Septimus that she could do just as well as him.
Fliss snorted. “That’s really their problem. If they want to compete with us, let them. But we shouldn’t help them.”
“It’s the sporting thing to do. We go. No arguing.” She left Fliss amongst the boxes of stores and made her way through the ship and out onto the deck. Hester called Winston, Rufus and Betty over.
“We’re going to help with the Intrepid’s repairs,” she told them, hands on her hips. The others exchanged glances. “Septimus will never ask for help, but they clearly need it, and what’s the fun in a race if we’re so much further ahead of them?”
Winston grinned at that. “Fine. Now?”
Hester nodded and led the way off the Valour and to the Intrepid.
“What do you want?” Emlyn asked from the deck, arms full of timber.
“To offer our services.” Hester marched across the gangplank and spotted Septimus knelt on a plank of timber, saw in hand. She sidled over to him, and he sat back on his heels, a furrow between his eyes.
“The crew of the Valour, at your service, my lord,” Hester said sleekly. She knew he would refuse. She didn’t care.
“We don’t need your help,” Septimus rumbled, brushing sawdust from his thighs.
Emlyn walked up and set the timber down. “We could use some extra hands to make the repairs, my lord.”
Septimus took up the saw again and sliced viciously through the plank in front of him.
God, he was stubborn. Stubborn and proud. “It ought to be a fair race,” Hester said.
He glowered up at her. “Fine.”
“You’re so welcome,” Hester chirped, then turned to Emlyn. “Tell us what to do.”
Charlotte walked into the galley to find Arnold with his shirt off and Mei bent over his arm beside the long dining table, stabbing at his skin with a needle.
“Oh!” She halted. He was certainly well-built, dark hair curling on his chest. She followed the line of hair under his belly button, to—she covered her eyes with her hands, heat creeping up her neck. “I’m so sorry.”
“Wait, Charlotte. Come and hold my hand through the pain,” Arnold said, smiling and reaching out for her. “Mei is inking a new swallow—argh!”
Charlotte hesitated and then stepped towards them, peeking through her fingers.
“I thought you said it didn’t hurt.” Charlotte peered over Mei’s shoulder to see a bird taking shape beneath the needle.
“It doesn’t. I just…slipped,” Mei said, smirking.
Arnold laughed. “Slipped, of course.”
Charlotte pulled up a chair and settled down to watch.
She tucked her hand into Arnold’s still outstretched palm, a tingling creeping up her arm, heat rising to her cheeks.
She’d never seen how a tattoo was made, but Arnold didn’t seem to be in too much discomfort.
He was positively beaming now her hand was gripped in his, in fact.
“Does it mean something? The swallow?” She could see he had more than one. A veritable flock. He also had Valour in the face of fear on his arm, not his chest, like Hester. All the crew seemed to have that motto on their arm.
“The swallow marks five thousand miles at sea. You could get one after that crossing,” he said, winking. “Or a King Neptune for your first equator crossing.”
Charlotte bit her lip.
“I’m almost done,” Mei said, wiping a smear of blood and ink away and cocking her head, then bending back over Arnold, dipping the needle in a pot of black ink and poking at the bird’s outline.
“Surely it hurts if you’re bleeding.” Charlotte eyed the bloody cloth Mei was wiping his skin with.
“Well, it can get a bit sore, but it’s not that bad,” Arnold said. “Are you sure you don’t want one? I’ll sit with you while Mei does it.”
Charlotte was tempted to say yes. She chewed more thoroughly on her bottom lip. “But—what will people say?”
“Is that what you’re worried about? Get it somewhere no one will see. A leg, perhaps.”
“My first tattoo was on my upper thigh,” Mei said, sitting back and wiping at the swallow on Arnold’s bicep again. “All done.”
“Be brave, Charlotte. What do you say?” Arnold asked.
Charlotte swallowed. She clenched her fists and nodded once. “On my upper thigh. A swallow. Only small!” Good Lord, was she really going to do this?
Mei smiled and pointed to the chair that Arnold had just vacated.
“Take a seat.” She wiped the needle and then held it over a candle flame.
Charlotte watched, her hands clasped in her lap, her foot bouncing on the floor.
Was this a terrible idea? She thought of what her mother would say if she found out. And that thought spurred her on.
Arnold pulled up a chair to sit beside her, and Charlotte’s eyes widened.
“You’re staying?” she asked, her voice high.
“Would you like me to leave?”
Charlotte’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t want you to see my leg,” she whispered.
“I’ll look away, if you want me to stay.”
She hesitated, but not for long. “Well…alright.” Charlotte rolled up her breeches, and Mei wiped down an area with soap.
“Ready?” Mei asked, needle poised over skin.
Arnold picked up Charlotte’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Ready,” she said.
As Mei started poking the outline of the swallow, Charlotte sucked in a breath through her teeth and gripped Arnold’s hand. “You lied,” she hissed.
His face broke into a bright smile. “Be brave, Boss.”
Hester marvelled at the tenacity of men. How she could spend months planning, and they could waltz in with their privilege and self-confidence. It was galling, to say the least.
They had made good progress on the repairs, but there was still a lot to do. She rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn as she walked across the Valour’s gangplank and made her way below decks to the galley, where the crew were assembled around the table with a red-faced Betty in their midst.
“What’s all this?” Hester asked.
“Guess who got her wicked way with the Intrepid’s engineer?” Fliss crowed, pointing at Betty, clearly delighted that the attention had been taken away from her earlier exploits.
“Betty, you scoundrel!” Hester cried.
Winston appeared at her side and draped an arm over her shoulder. Her nostrils flared as the scent of musky sweat hit her, and she eyed him sidelong. In the absence of Victor, perhaps Winston would do.
“Winston, I need your help with something,” Hester murmured in his ear.
“Oh?” he asked. “Now?”
“Now,” Hester said, marching off in the direction of her cabin, Winston attempting to keep up. Yes, they were friends, but it was just sex. As she’d worked under the sun all day, surrounded by men with their shirts off, her thoughts had gone from mere pleasant imaginings to downright filthy.
“Whatever could be so urgent, Captain?”
Hester smirked as she opened the door and closed it behind them. “Do you recall that kiss we shared all those years ago?”
“Yes…” Winston winced and rubbed the side of his neck, where a crescent-shaped scar of pale skin showed.
God, she was shaking, hot under the collar. Imagining her naked skin pressed against his. “Do that again.”
“Hester, no!” Winston backed into the door, his palms up, shaking his head.
“No?” Had she misheard him? She stepped towards him, and he flattened himself more thoroughly against the door.
“That was a mistake—I thought you agreed!”
She had agreed at the time. “Things change.”
“Look, I know, it’s been a while for everyone. I understand, but…no,” Winston said, his hand reaching for the door handle at his back.
He had not just refused her! Maybe he thought she wanted a relationship? “It’s just sex, Winston. Come on, no strings attached.”
Winston shook his head. “I think you need to cool off, Hess. Take a swim or something.”