The Rogue's Return

by Jo Beverley

  Though it was unlikely the ship would up-anchor and sail before their eyes, they hurried toward the wharf and along it. The Eweretta was huge and very grand with its fresh paint and gilding. Even the plank for them to go aboard was solid and had a handrail, with a smartly turned out sailor at top and bottom as guide and guard.

  Once on board, however, Jancy saw the main deck had little more free space than the Ferret and was as crowded with crates and barrels. Some might be going below, but most seemed to be lashed in place. She saw pens containing animals.

  “Pigs?” she asked Simon.

  “Roast pork on the trotter.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Didn’t you have fresh meat on the ship you came over on?”

  “I fell sick so soon. Perhaps some of the hellish screams I imagined were real.”

  “Squeamish? But then you’re a town girl, aren’t you? Used to your meat already dressed.”

  “I suppose so,” she said, remembering helping skin rabbits and gut chickens. Stolen chickens.

  A blond, fresh-faced man hurried over and introduced himself as Lieutenant Jolley. Once Simon identified himself, he said, “Very glad you’ve arrived, sir. We can be off. Kirkby!” he bellowed.

  This summoned the cabin steward, whom Jancy knew would be chiefly responsible for their comfort. The steward on the Wallace had been a dour young man who seemed to resent anything demanded of him. Kirkby appeared a little old and thin for the job, but he was sprightly and cheerful as he led them directly off the main deck into a large room. Jancy saw what people meant about the Eweretta.

  She and Jane had been cabin passengers on the Wallace—the ones traveling in style. The Wallace, however, had been primitive compared to this.

  Kirkby proudly showed off the central common room, or cuddy, and it could have graced a fine home. Three large, curtained windows lit its white-painted walls, and a carpet lay upon the floor. No, she realized, the carpet was painted on, but skillfully done. A carpet would certainly be difficult, for in an ocean storm, water could slosh in here, even over the raised barrier at the doorway.

  The thought of ocean storms stirred her stomach, but she commanded it to behave. She’d been fine on the Ferret.

  A gleaming mahogany table and chairs ran down the center of the room but left space for some easy chairs, a couple of small tables, and a desk. There was also a glass-fronted bookcase and other cupboards with solid doors. The room was warmed by a large stove covered with blue and white tiles. In her cloak and gloves, she was already hot.

  Six doors opened off this room, three on either side, and Kirkby opened one. “Neat as you like,” he declared, gesturing them into their stateroom.

  A way of saying “small,” Jancy decided, but their bedroom was still astonishingly elegant, and passengers were expected to spend most of their time in the cuddy or on deck.

  Unless ill.

  Don’t think of that.

  This room had only a small porthole for light, but the walls were glossily painted, and a mahogany washstand was built into one corner with a mirror above it. Only hooks were provided for clothes, but there was also a polished wooden chest for their possessions. When closed, as Kirkby demonstrated, it made a convenient seat.

  The beds were provided with clean mattresses and bedding, he assured them, but in other respects they were like the ones she and Jane had used on the way out—narrow and one above the other. Suddenly the dirty bed on the Ferret seemed like paradise.

  “You just let me know, sir, if there’s anything you want,” Kirkby was saying. “We prides ourselves on our passengers’ comfort, we do, on the Eweretta.”

  “I can see that,” Simon said. “Are there any cabins with larger beds?”

  His eyes met Jancy’s with a smile.

  “Bless me, sir, but no. We’re full, and the two family cabins have been taken by Colonel and Mrs. Ransome-Brown. They have their children with them, you see. Mrs. Ransome-Brown has one room, with her older daughter, her infant, and the governess. The colonel has the other with his two sons and his batman.”

  “Clearly their need is greater than ours. Whom else do we travel with?”

  “Well, sir, apart from your party, we have Mr. Shore, a clergyman, and we’re to pick up a Mr. and Mrs. Dacre in Quebec. An excellent company, as I’m sure you’ll find.”

  When he left, Jancy smiled. “Does he protest too much?”

  “Perhaps the colonel is a tartar, or his children monsters. Or the Reverend Shore a prosy bore. The hazards of sea travel. I’m more concerned about the beds.” He eyed them. “I do believe two people could sleep in one if they had no objection to being very, very close.”

  Their eyes kissed again, but she said, “Your ribs?”

  “Are fine. And besides, you’d stop me rolling about.”

  “There’s a high board on this side for precisely that purpose, sir.”

  “All the better to tuck us together, my dear. We could test it out. . . .”

  Jancy laughed as she drew him out of tempting privacy. “You are to behave. I’m quite in awe of all this and determined to create the right impression.”

  She said it lightly, but she meant it. The Wallace had been a much simpler vessel, and her fellow passengers simpler people. She’d not expected this grandeur and knew she had neither the wardrobe nor the training for it. It couldn’t be helped, but she’d insist on best behavior to compensate.

  “Perhaps we have time to go to the shops,” she said as she led the way out onto the deck. A new bonnet. A fancy shawl. Some pretty caps. Some items to smarten up her plain clothes.

  The ship was now a merry dance of sailors doing mysterious things under barked commands. A rotund, rather hard-faced man with short, brindled hair marched up to them. “Captain Stoddard, sir, ma’am. Welcome aboard. If you have no objection, sir, I intend to get under way as soon as your luggage arrives.”

  Jancy wondered whether to beg for a little time, but Simon said, “No objection. The weather?”

  “Reports of freezing in the gulf, sir. No problem if we leave promptly, though I’ve not seen a year like this. That infernal volcano.”

  Simon nodded. “Astonishing how widespread an effect an eruption in Asia can have. I gather parts of Europe are in a bad way.”

  “Aye, sir. I hope it doesn’t affect the price of furs. I’ve summoned the rest of the passengers from shore and I had them on orders to be ready, so we should be under way shortly.” As if he could read Jancy’s dismay, he added, “You’ll find everything of the finest on board the Eweretta, ma’am. Fresh bread, meat, eggs.”

  Jancy realized that clucking and squawking was coming from the longboat that hung the length of the deck. It was packed with crates of poultry.

  Somewhere a cow lowed.

  “Milch cow and nanny goat,” the captain boasted. “Goat at the request of Colonel Ransome-Brown’s lady. She prefers goat milk for her youngsters. If you have any special requests, ma’am, do not hesitate to make them known. We can delay long enough for a last-minute purchase or two if you will allow me to send a man. Can’t afford to lose you.”

  “Do you have a doctor aboard, Captain?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am, but the bosun is quite skilled and we keep good medical supplies. And I assure you, you will not find us lacking for such things as fresh fruit and good wines.”

  She suppressed a sigh. “Then no, thank you, Captain. I think we have all we need.”

  He nodded and marched away to bark orders at someone.

  “He seems eager to please,” she said.

  “That’s because we’re his perquisite.” When she looked a question, he said, “Didn’t you know? The carrying of passengers on a merchant vessel is at the captain’s discretion and to his profit. He fits up the accommodation, provides the amenities, and pockets the passage money.”

  She wanted to ask how much passage on the Eweretta cost but didn’t even dare.

  They worked their way around the busy deck to look out for Hal and Nor
ton and saw them coming along with a small army of barrows. They paused to let another party come aboard, led by a stately lady in a green fur-lined cloak, an enormous fur muff, and a large tartan Scottish cap tilted modishly to one side.

  Jancy wanted to slide down out of sight. Mrs. Ransome-Brown, for sure.

  Simon leaned to murmur, “A Grand Panjandrum herself.”

  Jancy saw that the beret had a button on top and bowed her head to hide an explosion of laughter.

  When she’d recovered, the lady was aboard, accepting the captain’s bow as her due and revealing a sinewy man behind her, presumably the colonel. He was escorting a young man and woman who looked to be perhaps twelve and fifteen but were dressed in the latest adult fashion. The lad’s starched shirt collar covered his ears, and the girl’s flower-trimmed bonnet added a foot to her height. The procession was completed by a soberly dressed woman carrying a toddler, a maid with a child by the hand, and a soldier who was presumably the batman. They all disappeared into the cabin area.

  “Oh, dear,” Jancy said.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “She looks as grand as the queen.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be a source of great amusement, she and her Picninnies, Joblillies, and Garyulies.”

  Deliberately or not, he was deflating her panic. She laughed, greeted their friends, and set to arranging what boxes should go below and what to their stateroom, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that she was plunged into high society before she was ready.

  She hadn’t planned to wear her best black on the voyage, but she pulled it out of the chest that was going down to the hold. She was tempted to keep out some of her Carlisle dresses, but she knew they’d be too tight, and even at their best they’d not been up to Ransome-Brown standards.

  She sent the chests away. “Will we keep your papers here?”

  “No, Hal has them. He’s sharing his cabin with Treadwell and Oglethorpe, so they’ll keep an eye on them. It’s hardly necessary in any case, unless you think the Grand Panjandrum was playing Guinevere to Lancelot McArthur.”

  It made her laugh, but she wouldn’t feel entirely safe until she was sure that none of their fellow passengers had links to York.

  She was finding a place in their cabin for an extra box when the ship’s whistle blew. She took Simon’s hand and they hurried on deck to witness the end of her time in Canada. With a noisy rattle, the gangplank came up and was neatly stowed below the rail. Then the Eweretta was towed out into the river to begin her great journey home.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They didn’t meet their fellow cabin passengers in any formal sense until dinner, which on the Eweretta was to be served at the fashionable hour of five. There would be breakfast at eight, nunch at, of course, noon, dinner at five, and a supper at eleven for those who cared for it. Apart from supper, they were all expected to be at the table on time if they wished to eat because the cuddy had to alternate between dining room and drawing room.

  After a struggle, Jancy had decided not to wear her black for the first evening. She wanted to make a good impression, but as she could hardly wear the black every night, there seemed no point. Gentlemen had an easier time of it, she thought. Simon’s simple brown coat, fawn pantaloons, and plain waistcoat would suffice, especially when Treadwell arranged a neckcloth for him.

  “I can do a tolerable job,” he told Jancy, chin raised, “but it still hurts to flex my right arm that much. For a slight wound, it’s proving to be more trouble than the ribs.”

  With dismay, she watched him transform before her eyes. In York, his neckcloths had been soft and casual. Now Treadwell deftly arranged folds and tucks in a stiffer one, and fixed the arrangement with a jewel-headed pin she’d never seen before. What was that golden stone? A topaz?

  She glanced at herself in the mirror, in a dress no better than the Ransome-Browns’ servant’s, her hair simply pinned up and without cap or ornament. She had no ornament, and she knew her style of cap would consign her to the servant class. She pinned the amethyst brooch to the front of her gown and added the pearl earrings. They gave her some dignity.

  She turned and found Simon watching her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have thought. I traveled across on a naval vessel.”

  She liked the fact that he wasn’t ignoring reality. He raised her chin with his finger. “You are Jane St. Bride of Brideswell. That is enough.”

  She smiled. “Very well. Let’s face the Grand Panjandrum herself.”

  The captain presided at dinner, explaining that a pilot had charge of the ship for the first little while. He began the meal with a toast to the Eweretta and the company and to a smooth, fast journey to England. They all said, “Hear, hear!” with sincerity.

  Then the formal introductions were made.

  The colonel, in his scarlet, braided uniform, introduced his wife, in low-necked, dark blue satin and a matching turban set with a feather spray of jewels. Pasha, Jancy thought and became terrified of losing her composure. She dared not even glance at Simon. At least her fears about McArthur conspirators were laid to rest. The Ransome-Browns had been in Canada for only three years, all spent in Montreal.

  Miss Ransome-Brown was present, in pale pink, with curls clustering around her sulky face, as was Master Ransome-Brown, in an even higher collar and a brightly striped waistcoat. Apparently the younger children and governess would eat in one of the cabins.

  A shame, Jancy thought. She felt she might have more in common with that lady.

  The Ransome-Browns, the colonel explained, were returning to England to take up a position in London. A smirk on his wife’s face indicated that it was an excellent one.

  “Reverend Shore,” said a tall, thin man with wispy white hair. He looked over seventy and frail. “I have spent my adult life ministering to the Anglican settlers of Quebec, but now age carries me homeward for my final years. I intend to spend the voyage writing my reminiscences from my diaries and notes.”

  In other words, leave me alone. A less likely McArthur associate was impossible to imagine.

  Hal and Captain Norton introduced themselves, and then Simon said, “Simon St. Bride, and my wife, Jane. We are returning home to Brideswell, Lincolnshire.”

  Jancy had gathered that “Brideswell” was a magic word, and that was confirmed by the way Mrs. Ransome-Brown’s bosom expanded. He’d done it deliberately. A kind of raised, warning sword.

  Do not discount me or my wife.

  If she didn’t already adore him, she would have done so then, even if the Grand Panjandrum was staring at her with disbelief.

  He added, “We’re both in mourning for my wife’s uncle, but as he didn’t approve of lengthy gloom, we won’t cast a damper on the company here.”

  “Excellent, excellent,” said Captain Stoddard. “My passengers generally enjoy card parties, music, and have been known to stage theatricals. All as you wish, of course. Some of my guests prefer a quieter time of it. In clement weather we have even had dancing on the deck, but I fear that will not be on this voyage. Excellent soup, what?”

  It was excellent soup, but Jancy’s throat was tight.

  Card parties, theatricals, and dancing? Before arriving in York the only skill she’d had with cards was in fortune telling. She’d never acted—Martha would have fainted on the spot—and though Martha hadn’t actually objected to country dances, they hadn’t had occasion to dance any. She suddenly felt much as she had when she’d arrived in Castle Row in rags.

  At least conversation became a masculine affair with much talk of Canadian and British politics, economics, and the weather. On the state of Europe, Hal was the best informed and he had bleak things to say about the effect of the cold spring and harsh summer in many parts, adding to the depression caused by the end of the war.

  The meal drew to a rather somber close. Reverend Shore retired early, but the rest seemed inclined to linger, talking of these problems, and income tax, and the new currency. Colonel Ransome-Br
own was concerned about the fate of ex-soldiers but had no sympathy for what he called the “idle poor.”

  Simon said, “With respect, Colonel, the newly unemployed can’t be thought idle by choice.”

  “True, true, but there’s always some who don’t want steady work.”

  “Very few, I suspect.”

  Oh, Simon, you should meet my family. Jancy suppressed that thought and then noticed Mrs. Ransome-Brown’s attention.

  “You are from a York family, Mrs. St. Bride?”

  Jancy’s heart jolted in alarm, but she said, “No, ma’am. I’ve been there only a year.”

  “Ah, so in England, you come from . . . ?”

  There seemed no way to avoid it. “Carlisle, ma’am.” To get it over with, she added, “My father was a schoolmaster there, but he died some years ago. When my mother also died, I went to live with my uncle in York.”

  “I see. And now your uncle, too, is dead. How very unfortunate.” Jancy heard a suggestion that she was in some way to blame for fate, but no increase in disdain. Perhaps a schoolmaster was respectable.

  “And you, ma’am?” Jancy asked. “Where is your family home?”

  Not in the north, she prayed.

  “Rutland, but we will be purchasing an estate near London, as my husband’s position will require him to be there most of the time.”

  And Reverend Shore was from Devon. She was safe but newly aware of dangers. She’d foolishly imagined that her life with Simon would be similar to her life in Carlisle, within a limited circle, even if it was limited to an important family in Lincolnshire.

  But in Simon’s world she would meet people from all over. She could, would, meet people from Cumberland, even from Carlisle. The chance of meeting anyone who had known her in Carlisle was remote, but it still set up a nervous twang of alarm.

  She was safe on the Eweretta, at least, unless one of the officers was a danger, but she would have to prepare for future encounters. To develop some sort of defense. As soon as it was excusable, she claimed tiredness and retreated to the stateroom, where she sat on the chest to think.