Chapter Sixteen
“Charades!” Agatha Templeton-Rath announced, as soon as everyone was seated in the circular embrace of her drawing room. “But with a twist! Tonight’s game will be limited only to the names of ships that we’ve seen in various docks, harbors, and trade routes. The odder the better, I say.”
“But we’ve eight,” Miss Templeton-Rath pointed out, tapping her finger to count all assembled. “We usually play in teams of three.”
“Yes, well, your mother has accounted for that, as it happens,” her father put in with a little smile at his wife. “Ladies’ choice of teammates, and as the game is hers, she will choose first and only once.”
“Oh, of course,” said Miss Rath, shaking her head. “And she’ll choose you, Uncle John, and then there’s no game at all.”
“Nonsense,” said Mr. Templeton-Rath, gesturing toward Libba, Lem, and Jasper. “We’ve a new element in our midst. What say you, guests? Does this game sound worthwhile?”
“Oh, indeed,” Libba agreed, clapping her hands together. “Shall we say only ships with names in English? For I have seen some very clever ones in other tongues.”
“As have I,” Miss Rath replied with an arch of her brow. “In Yoruba.”
“English only,” Mrs. Templeton-Rath said, holding her hands up. “And yes, I choose your father. Princess Xandine, you are our only lady guest, so you may choose next.”
“Splendid!” Libba said, grinning and considering the room. “I choose Miss Templeton-Rath, of course. She will have seen all the same ships as the rest of your family and possesses a canny mind. I can tell.”
Jasper stared at her, wondering just what in the name of God she was playing at.
“Well, that skips me, then,” Miss Templeton-Rath said, rising from her spot between her cousin and uncle to join Libba on the chaise. “Ayo?”
“Mr. Lem,” Miss Rath said so quickly, it made her father’s eyes narrow. “For the same reasons, of course.”
Lem gave what sounded like a swallow of effort and also stood, crossing the room to take the seat Miss Templeton-Rath had vacated.
“We ought to choose Mr. Townsend,” Miss Templeton-Rath told Libba in a loud whisper. “Since we are next, and he completes a trifecta of knowledge. No one here has seen all the boats he has.”
“Ah, but it is true,” Libba agreed, fluttering her lashes at Jasper. “Come, my hero, you are to join our little militia.”
He sighed, resisting the urge to either massage his temples or snag an entire bottle of port to nurse throughout this ordeal.
“I suppose that means Ayo and Mr. Lem are stuck with me,” Mr. Rath announced, a bit more tartly than Jasper thought strictly necessary, as he shot both of his teammates stern looks. “I’m certain that will only add to the dynamic.”
His daughter frowned but did not respond.
“Excellent!” said their hostess. “Everyone take three slips of paper each and jot down your ship names with the graphite pencils provided. Fold them once and put them in the top hat and we shall commence!”
“They must be real ships, Uncle Paul,” Miss Templeton-Rath said suddenly, pointing across the room at the man. “No fanciful creations of your mind.”
“Oh, but how would you know, dear one?” he replied, grinning widely. “You did not accompany me to the far reaches of the globe.”
“I will know,” Mr. Templeton-Rath put in, chuckling. “And I agree with my daughter.”
“Fine,” said his brother, shrugging. “But you know I’ve a talent for it. I named both tugs, you know.”
“Yes, we know!” echoed the rest of the family, a final lingering note echoing in the room as everyone was drawn to their slips and forced to come up with something to write down.
Jasper, mercifully, did not struggle with this task. He could likely recite twenty ships with ridiculous names without pausing, should the occasion call for it. It was, perhaps, the one mercy the evening was deciding to show him.
“No peeking!” Libba whispered, bending down over her own slips of paper in such a fashion that the low neckline of her costume gripped against her bust and presented a tantalizing glimpse of what was hidden below.
She glanced up at him as her quill scratched along the paper, right through her darkened, smoky lashes, and smirked.
His own pen stroke jerked to the side, blotting out the name he was writing and forcing him to start again. He didn’t know if he was angry or incredulous or impatient or even a little bit amused with her.
He didn’t know.
And at least that wasn’t one of the charades.
“Your own ship has a strange sort of name,” Libba said, waving her slips to dry in the air and then leaning forward to purse her lips and blow a cool stream over the letters she’d made. “Shade of Port Royal. In my homeland, sailors are quite superstitious. Perhaps it is not the same everywhere.”
“Oh, no, that is universal, my dear,” Mr. Rath told her with a chuckle, glancing up from his own, hand-shielded efforts. “But the doom of Port Royal is a special sort of omen. Honoring it is meant to grant you the protection of the pirates and privateers of old.”
“And,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, cutting her eyes to her brother-in-law, “the ship was built in Kingston. Which might be the whole of it.”
“It isn’t,” Miss Templeton-Rath said absently. “They mounted a surfaced galleon under the wheel. The captain showed me.”
“A real galleon?” her father asked, looking intrigued. “Wonder how old it is!”
“Into the hat, if you please!” Mrs. Templeton-Rath said loudly, shaking the top hat, which now contained her three slips. “The night does not grow any younger, my friends, and neither do I.”
“Thank heaven for that,” her husband replied, making her click her tongue and roll her eyes, though color also rose on her very sharp cheeks as he passed her to drop in his own entries.
“I almost included the HMS Spanker,” he confided to the room.
“But then I realized what pantomiming such a thing might look like, so if anyone else had the impulse, perhaps reconsider, hm?”
Libba laughed openly, shaking her head and grinning up at Mr. Templeton-Rath. “Also because it is too easy, yes?”
Jasper considered balling up his own slips of paper and throwing them at her.
She’d likely just claim that was a Bedouai form of affection and ruin it anyhow.
“I loaded cargo onto the Spanker during the war,” he said pointedly, getting her attention for long enough to clench his jaw at her. “Usually, the navy isn’t so fanciful.”
“Well, when else but wartime is levity quite so necessary?” Miss Templeton-Rath said, tilting her head to the side. “Though I’m sure the military frowns upon fun.”
“Not so,” Jasper said with a small smile. “There is also the HMS Tickler.”
“Among others,” said Mr. Rath with a raise of his dark brows across the room.
Jasper met his eye and both men began to chortle under their breath.
It would not do, of course, in mixed company, to mention the HMS Cockchafer.
“Oh!” Miss Templeton-Rath exclaimed. “I’ve got a good one! Sorry, sorry, I know I’m always last.”
“Speaking of last,” said her mother. “Last chosen is first to pull. Paul, dear, that is you.”
“Capital,” he said, standing and dusting off his jacket. “That will give our guest a little more room on the settee, hm? So he is not forced to squish against my daughter.”
Lem blinked several times and quickly scooted to the opposite edge of the sofa. He did not look at either Rath, though they were glaring quite pointedly at one another for the duration of Mr. Rath’s trip to the hat and withdrawal of his slip.
“Do we all guess?” Libba asked, raising a finger. “Or is it one team at a time?”
“It is a melee,” Miss Rath said to her with a little smirk. “Which is why we do not separate the clues. Whichever team guesses will win the point, and half a point to the actor. Half a point lost if no one guesses.”
“Mercenary,” Lem said softly, sounding impressed.
It was the first time he had spoken since before dinner and it caused a moment of silence as everyone turned to gape at him.
Jasper bit his tongue, but thought it served him right.
Mr. Rath picked up the tiny handbell next to the hat and rang it, signaling he was ready to begin his pantomime. He rotated on the balls of his feet and showed three fingers to the assembled crowd.
Three words.
So far, so good.
They quieted and watched as he mimed tossing a long mane of hair and then bent down toward the table to lift something round from it and place it on his head.
“King!” barked Mrs. Templeton-Rath.
“Monarch,” Miss Rath guessed.
“Princess?” said Libba.
He grinned and reached for an imaginary orb and scepter.
“Queen,” Jasper said, and immediately, Mr. Rath released his posture, pointed to him and nodded.
He held up two fingers and tugged on his ear to indicate the next word would be a rhyme, and then spread his fingers flat over his face and began to wave them rapidly back and forth.
“Fan!” Mr. Templeton-Rath said immediately, getting another pointed finger.
Mr. Rath grinned and held up three fingers, giving a meaningful look at his team for not having yet guessed correctly. He lifted one hand and rubbed his fingers together before miming a sort of swaying flight with his hand and then landing on his own forearm.
He opened the hand and immediately swatted it, as though killing a mosquito that had bitten him.
Everyone was silent for a moment, which made him frown and perform the mime again.
“Vengeance,” Lem decided in his calm, steady baritone.
“Oh!” said Miss Rath, perking up to the point of nearly bouncing on the sofa cushion. She gripped the upholstery over the arm of the thing and shouted. “Queen Anne’s Revenge!”
Mr. Rath grinned widely, showing every tooth in his mouth, and rang the bell again.
“That is one and a half points to us,” he said, turning and bowing in a gloating fashion at his brother. “And we go again. Off to a terrible start, brother.”
“Ayomide,” said Mr. Templeton-Rath, raising his brows. “Temper your sire.”
“I cannot,” she said with an apologetic shrug as she rose from the couch and then matched his grin. “One and a half points!”