But I am making it now.
And in none too shabby conditions. Her cabin, while tiny, was private— the first room she’d enjoyed all to herself since a child. The bed was comfortable, and the washbasin and stand appeared new. Had she still been in possession of her trunk, it would have fit nicely along the wall. And the louvered, circular window at the rear of the cabin let in sufficient light that she might sew or read— had she any books, or anything with which to sew.
Holding back a sigh, Marsali tried not to think of her trunk and belongings left behind yesterday. She was aboard the
Amanda May
,
they would shortly be traveling toward America, and that was all that mattered. In a few short hours the ship would be underway, and she would be reading Charlotte’s letter and learning all about America and Virginia, where her sister lived.
The common room was empty, and Marsali worried she’d missed breakfast. But it couldn’t possibly be eight o’clock yet. She’d watched the sky turn from dark to pink through her window this morning.
I am early. That is all
, she told herself, then walked the length of the room and stepped outside into the morning sunshine.
The air felt warm and muggy already, and she guessed it would be another hot day.
And I shall not have to spend any of it hidden beneath my winter cloak.
Marsali shuddered, yesterday afternoon’s frightening situation still all too close.
She pulled the door closed behind her and set out to explore the ship. The majestic smokestack was almost directly to her right, and this she stared up at, impressed already by its height and girth. She would have liked to see the pipe installed and imagined that it must have been quite the feat to set it in place.
A short distance past the smokestack was the wheelhouse. It was this feature that had helped her locate the ship last night, as none of the other vessels at dock had any such contraption. Moving to the rail, Marsali leaned over the side, studying the immense wheel and trying to comprehend what it would take to set such enormous paddles churning. She’d no doubt that once they were, the ship would move in record time. Rather than feeling frightened by this, she found the sight and possibilities exhilarating.
“You’re up early.”
Marsali looked over her shoulder and found Captain Gower standing behind her. She turned to face him, her back against the rail.
“I am
always
up early. I do not believe I could sleep late if I tried.”
“That is well, as you’ll not have much opportunity for that beyond this voyage.”
Marsali forced a smile, though she did not appreciate the reminder of the period of servitude that awaited her. She hoped Captain Gower would not treat her differently than the other passengers, that he would not continuously refer to her indenture, but it seemed that perhaps he would.
No matter
, she told herself.
I will simply have to earn his good graces.
“Your ship is splendid,” she said sincerely.
“I rather think so.” Captain Gower smiled, and it changed his face completely, giving Marsali hope that there was a fair man within.
“Mr. Thatcher has asked for a tour of her once we are underway. You may join us in that if you like.”
“Yes, please.” Marsali’s hopes soared. Perhaps the captain
would
treat her as the other passengers.
And I should like to see Mr. Thatcher again.
The thought caused a queer little flutter inside, as had his unexpected kindness the previous night.
“Breakfast will be served shortly, and you can meet the other passengers. Perhaps you and the young Miss Cosgrove will get on well. She looks to be about your age.”
Marsali’s smile broadened. This was more than she had hoped for. To make a friend on this voyage would be lovely— to have idle hours in which she might enjoy visiting with another female.
To sit at tea and live as I once did— even if only for a few weeks.
“I should like that very much.”
“Then let us go in.” The captain held his arm out to her, and Marsali hesitated but a second before she placed her hand upon it.
How long has it been since a gentleman offered me his arm?
She had not expected such a courtesy from the captain, of all people, but she took it as a good sign— that perhaps he regretted being so gruff with her the evening before.
They returned to the common room and found that the table closest to the captain’s quarters had been set with linens, plates, and silverware. The captain seated himself at a lone chair at the head of the table, and Marsali slid onto the bench to his right, uncertain of where she should sit. It seemed odd that just this one table had been set when there were so many cabins.
Where is everyone else to eat?
Mr. Thatcher’s door opened, and he stepped out into the hall. “Good morning, Captain, Miss Abbott.” He nodded to each, then joined them at the table, sitting directly across from her.
She had not realized or noticed last night how tall he was or how broad his shoulders were. He wore the clothing of a gentleman, but his stature somehow bespoke a man used to physical labor. Neither had she noticed the deep blue of his eyes— eyes that held a hint of good-natured mischief as they met hers briefly, giving Marsali the impression that he knew she’d been appraising him.
“Good morning, Mr. Thatcher,” she murmured, keeping her gaze downcast and noticing that his hands did not have the finely aristocratic look her uncle’s and his associates’ did. In spite of herself and her inherent wariness of men, she felt intrigued by Mr. Thatcher. At the least she wanted to thank him again for his kindness but sensed she should not say anything in front of the captain. After all, it had been he who had scolded her as if she was a child and then sent her to bed hungry.
The doors closest on either side of the captain’s quarters swung open, and two ship’s boys entered, each bearing a large tray laden with various bowls and platters. The smaller of the two boys struggled under the weight of his tray but managed to set it safely on the table.
The captain pulled a pocket watch out of his vest. “Eight o’clock sharp. Good work, lads. You may tell Mr. Tenney I said so as well.”
“Yessir,” they said in unison and left the same way they had come.
Punctuality
, Marsali realized,
is of great importance to the captain.
No wonder I incurred his wrath last night.
She would make certain not to do so again.
The captain removed the lid from a platter and began dishing eggs onto his plate. Marsali’s stomach grumbled with hunger, and she glanced away, taking her time with unfolding her serviette so as not to appear too eager. She doubted she could expect a hearty breakfast like this every day throughout the voyage, but this morning, at least, it appeared they were to eat very well.
So long since I have done that either.
The captain finished with the platter of eggs and passed it to her.
“I’ve already explained to the other passengers that we’re not as fancy as some are used to here. The men I’ve hired to crew this ship have better things to do than stand here and pull out chairs and pour drinks. And I don’t see the need for washing more dishes than necessary. One plate, one fork, one knife, one cup per meal. Keep it simple, I say. And we’re all able-bodied and can fend for ourselves, aye?”
“Of course,” Marsali said, feeling only gratitude that
she
was not expected to serve. But she wondered about the other passengers, as it was obvious the majority had yet to take their meal.
Who will serve them, and where will they eat?
At the far end of the room, the second to last door on Marsali’s side banged open. A woman emerged, her petticoats making their entrance before she herself did. Trying not to stare, Marsali watched from the corner of her eye as the frilly, canary-yellow dress and the woman in it made their way toward the table.
“Ah,” Captain Gower said. “Miss Cosgrove has decided to join us. Her mother informed me yesterday that an eight a.m. breakfast time was unacceptably early, but perhaps at least half of their party has changed her mind.”
Marsali followed the young woman’s progress toward them, noting that her excessively full skirts barely fit between the benches and the wall. Marsali could see what it was that had likely changed Miss Cosgrove’s mind about breakfasting at eight. Her eyes at once sought out Mr. Thatcher and were now riveted upon him. Somehow, Marsali doubted he had shown Miss Cosgrove the same kindness he’d shown her in offering food, but he must have done something— aside from being dashingly handsome— to attract her keen interest.
This disappointed Marsali, though she couldn’t exactly say why or even feel justified in her disappointment. She was also discouraged to realize this was the young lady Captain Gower had suggested she might be friends with. Already Marsali could see that prospect was doubtful.
The way Miss Cosgrove’s hips swayed as she walked begged to be noticed— as if her bright dress was impossible to ignore. And she wore nearly as much powder on her face as some of the women Marsali had seen on Lime Street yesterday. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her nails groomed, and an almost overbearing scent of lilacs announced her arrival lest her other tactics failed.
Captain Gower rose from his chair and went to greet her. “Good morning, Miss Cosgrove.” He bent over her hand, kissing it briefly. “May I present Miss Abbott, who joined us late last evening. Miss Abbott, this is Lady Cosgrove’s daughter, the lovely Miss Lydia Cosgrove, whom I was telling you about.”
“Hello.” Marsali smiled, then rose from her chair in unison with Mr. Thatcher. She braced herself for rejection as she turned to Miss Cosgrove.
It is apparent I am only a servant.
But for these few weeks at least, she longed to be treated as equal with her fellow passengers. She’d been beneath everyone and everything— including her aunt’s dogs— the past four years, and she was dearly tired of it.
To Marsali’s surprise, Miss Cosgrove returned her smile, and it appeared genuine. “Oh, I am ever so glad you’ve come. What a dreary voyage this would have been with only Mama for company.” She clasped Marsali’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “I hope we shall become the dearest of friends.” She released Marsali and, with a flounce of skirts, seated herself on the bench.
Somewhat dumbfounded at such a hearty, enthusiastic greeting, Marsali followed suit.
“There,” Captain Gower said as he returned to his seat. “Just as I said. You’ll be good for each other.”
Marsali was not at all certain about that, but she could not deny that it felt pleasant to not have been instantly looked down upon. None of the ladies who visited at her aunt’s house had ever said they were glad to make her acquaintance, and certainly none would have reached out in a gesture of affection as Miss Cosgrove just had.
And surely she had to have noticed my simple, far-less-expensive and less-fashionable dress
.
Yet she does not seem to be judging me for it.
Nonplussed by such unusual behavior from a woman of an obviously higher social class, Marsali began passing the platters of food her way.
“I slept ever so well, Captain,” Miss Cosgrove said. “I know we’re not at sea yet, but I felt the water rocking me all the same. It was so
very
peaceful and soothing. I just love it. I believe I shall love every moment of this voyage. What time shall we be off today? Might I stand beside you at the wheel, Captain, as you direct us out of port? Shall we require a tug to tow us out, or will we steam out on our own accord? Do you think many will come to watch us depart? If so, I think I should like to be at the rail waving a handkerchief at them all. Oh, aren’t we all so fortunate to be here?” She glanced around the table at each of them in turn.
Her smile was infectious, and Marsali’s initial—
and unjustified and unfair
, her conscience scolded— assessment of Miss Cosgrove changed. “We
are
fortunate,” she agreed, feeling suddenly light and happy. England was all but behind her, and a great adventure lay ahead. Being a lady’s maid could not possibly be half as difficult as serving in her aunt and uncle’s home had been. And Miss Cosgrove, with a personality as bright as her frilly morning gown, promised to be great entertainment during the voyage.
“Would that more people had your optimistic outlook,” Captain Gower said, raising his glass to Miss Cosgrove. “Would that they do in the near future, or I shall very shortly cease being the captain of anything larger than a rowboat.” He seemed in jest, yet Marsali detected an undertone of seriousness.
“Not everyone is as impressed by your ship?” she asked warily.
The captain set his cup on the table and faced her. “I had forgotten that you were unaware of our lack of passengers. I explained to the others as they boarded yesterday afternoon.”
“You were not able to fill all of the cabins on this native voyage?” Marsali guessed, wondering if this might have contributed to his irritation at her tardiness.
Captain Gower scoffed. “We did not even come close. Those you see here— excepting Lady Cosgrove— are the sum total of our passengers. It is rather the opposite reaction I had hoped to receive, given the success of the American steamer, the
SS Savannah
,
several years ago, though I gather she was not well received at first either. She made the voyage from shore to shore in thirty days, and it has baffled me since why no one else has rushed to follow suit. Why must we be at the mercy of the wind and weather when we might have a capable engine with which to propel ourselves? Why waste additional weeks when both cargo and passengers might make the journey more quickly?
Why
”— Captain Gower pounded his fist upon the table, causing the plates and silverware and glasses to jump— “are the English so blasted superstitious and afraid? So much so that I could not fill even a fourth of this ship’s cabins?”
“You answered that yourself, Captain.” Mr. Thatcher managed to respond before Miss Cosgrove, though her mouth hung open with whatever she had been about to say.
“We’re a superstitious lot,” Mr. Thatcher continued. “Your ship claims to travel faster than the weather— to no longer be at the wind’s mercy, or Mother Nature’s. I would venture to say that there are many who see that as challenging God Himself. And what is to stop Him from destroying a ship that claims to be able to outrun His forces?”