"All the Tea in China" - читать интересную книгу автора (Orcutt Jane)

3

You may think me insane to have wanted a future with Phineas Snowe, since he was most peculiar. I marveled at my decision as well, but I can recount with all honesty that Snowe was a different man when he was about the Lord’s work. He spoke gently with the poor, offering comfort and aid.

His assistant, Julia Whipple, also did the missionary society proud. I did not care for the dark brown clothing she wore, but I supposed it was necessary for the required physical labor of a missionary and as good a detriment to a lady’s vanity as anything. Miss Whipple spoke little but dispensed food and medicines and bandages with a shy, cheerful demeanor that greatly lifted the spirits of the destitute, I am certain. I longed to serve beside her in China.

Besides, surely Snowe and I would not have to work in close proximity.

Uncle sent word to him that very night, at my insistence, of course. I am happy to report that I did not resort to tears; indeed I was ashamed that they had manifested themselves earlier. I choose to believe that Uncle Toby thought them merely strong evidence of my sincere desire to serve the Lord in China.

I knew that no answer would be forthcoming from Snowe that evening, yet I waited with keen impatience. One of Uncle’s friends, a dean from another college at Oxford, called on us after dinner. With no family of his own, Erasmus Howe often warmed himself before our fire and exchanged intellectual conversation.

I tried in vain to work at an embroidery Flora had insisted I begin, but the threads refused to lie flat. My fingers, representatives of my inner being I am certain, trembled with eagerness for Snowe’s answer. Normally I enjoyed Mr. Howe’s visits, for he was too old to disapprove of my joining the discussion with Uncle Toby. Tonight, however, I found no pleasure in even their spirited argument about the philosophy of Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

“The development of the sciences and arts have contributed to society’s moral corruption,” Howe said, wagging his finger.

Uncle Toby shook his head. “Old friend, I am afraid you overlook the inherent evil of man himself. His academic and aesthetic reaches are only reflections of corruption, not the root cause.”

“Bah!” Howe crossed his arms. He turned to me. “What say you, Isabella? Will you not side with me?”

I set my embroidery in my lap, sighing. “I am afraid I have no worthwhile opinion tonight at all, Mr. Howe. If I were to choose sides, however, I would say that each of you possesses a modicum of truth in that your belief is so fervent.”

“So then belief is all that is wanted for truth?” Howe twisted further toward me, settling in for further discussion.

“Isabella, would you please ask Flora for some more tea?” Uncle Toby asked softly, gesturing toward the doorway with his eyes.

I gratefully laid the embroidery aside altogether and rose. I would have hurried off to find Flora right away, but something told me to tarry. I was not given to eavesdropping, but Uncle Toby’s dismissal had been extraordinarily abrupt.

“What is wrong with Isabella tonight?” Howe said. “She does not seem quite herself.”

Uncle Toby sighed. “She wants to go to China.”

“China! Whatever for?”

“She has a notion that God intends for her to become a missionary. Because of Phineas Snowe and his fellow servants of the Lord, she is convinced that is her calling, as well.”

“But perhaps it is!” Howe said. “Admit it, Fitzwater. You would welcome the chance to travel again.”

A long pause ensued. “I would,” Uncle finally said. “Even at my advanced age, I wish I could travel to the Continent. With the war on, it would not be safe to take Isabella. But, oh, to visit France again. Germany. Italy.” He sighed. “So many places of historical interest. So much literature to be read in their original languages.”

“Can you not let Isabella decide about the risk for herself?”

I shamelessly moved closer to the door.

“Even so, she would be a burden,” Uncle Toby said. “I would be obliged to look after her welfare to the point that my research would be impeded. No, Howe, I am afraid it is a dream that will remain unrealized.”

I shivered as though someone had pushed me outside into the cold. Poor Uncle Toby. I was apparently an impediment to his resumption of the life he had lost so many years ago when Frederica and I were thrust upon him. Oh, how the reality of my spinsterhood these recent days must have rankled.

“Isabella!”

I started. “Flora. You gave me a fright.”

“Whatever are you doing away from the fire?” She wrapped her shawl closer about her shoulders. “It is a chill night.”

To be certain.

“I… I was looking for you, Flora. Uncle Toby has requested more tea.”

“I was on my way into the study to see if more was needed. I am sorry you were indisposed.”

Hearing Uncle and Howe’s chatter in the room beyond, I drew Flora away, whispering, “It is well that I was, for I have learned an unsettling truth.”

Flora clapped a hand over her mouth. “Phineas Snowe will not take you.”

“No!” I glanced over my shoulder to make certain we had not been overheard. I lowered my voice. “At least, I do not yet know his answer.”

“Then what?” Flora took my hands in hers and rubbed them. “Lord love you, child, you are chilled. Tell me about this dreadful truth you have learned.”

I repeated Uncle Toby’s exact words. Flora ceased rubbing my hands yet still held them. “You know that he did not mean for you to hear that, Isabella.”

“Of course he did not. Uncle Toby would not hurt my feelings for the world. But I cannot ignore his own desires and dreams.”

“His desires and dreams are your well-being. They have been such since the day you and your sister arrived in this home.”

“I heard his words, Flora,” I insisted. “If he would not hurt my feelings, I would not hurt his.”

Flora gave my hands a final pat and released them. “It will all be well, dear one.”

I repeated her words to myself as I lay in bed that night. Just before sleep overtook me, I reminded myself that God had called me to be a missionary in the Far East. Phineas Snowe would send an affirmative answer that I could join his group, and both Uncle Toby and I would have our lives laid out for us. Why did I worry when both our problems would soon be solved?

The letter arrived the next morning. Flora showed it to me, and we examined it together. Addressed to Uncle Toby in florid handwriting and sealed with the wax impression of a cross, it could only be from Phineas Snowe.

I clutched the letter between my hands. “Oh, Flora, this is my future life. Where is Uncle Toby?”

“I believe he’s in the study with one of the students-” I hurried down the hallway.

“Though I do not think he would care to be disturbed!” Flora called after me.

Outside the closed study door, I drew up short. I raised my hand to knock, then took a moment to straighten my skirt, pat my hair, and compose myself. Then I knocked. When Uncle Toby gave me entrance, despite my best efforts, I fairly flew through the door. I am not sure who looked more startled-Uncle Toby or his student, James Beatty. Beatty was an overly anxious young student who often turned red in the face, particularly in my presence. My impression of him was as a large puppy with feet still too big for its bearing.

Uncle Toby adjusted his spectacles and closed the book he and Mr. Beatty studied. “Here,” I said without preamble. “It must be my answer.”

Uncle Toby accepted the paper. “Mr. Beatty, we have studied enough for the day.”

“Yes, sir,” Beatty said. “Thank you, sir.”

Uncle Toby waited until the young man had presented us with a fumbling bow, then stumbled his way from the room. I took the chair he had vacated and leaned toward Uncle while he used an opener to unseal the wax. His expression never betrayed his emotion as he read. How long could the missive be?

“Well?” I finally asked.

Uncle Toby removed his spectacles, rubbed his eyes with one hand, then put the spectacles back in place. “He says no.”

Hope dashed, stomach churning, I reached for the letter. “He said no?”

Uncle handed the paper to me, and I scanned the lines, reading aloud. “… flattered that she envisions herself… however… gently bred… certain she will make a fortunate gentleman a caring wife… sail tomorrow… wish you both God’s blessings… your generous contribution will not go un-rewarded…”

Dazed, I let the paper fall to my lap. This rejection was far worse than David Ransom’s. Or Catherine’s, for that matter.

“I am sorry, Isabella. Surely it is for the best.”

I glanced up. Uncle Toby’s eyes were filled with sadness. Did he mourn my loss or his own?

“This belongs to you,” I said, handing him the letter. Half of the broken seal pulled away from the paper and dropped to the rug. When I bent to retrieve it, I saw it was the half with the top of the cross. I clutched it in my palm to dispose of later.

Uncle Toby peered at me. “It is for the best, Isabella,” he said again. “Do you understand that?”

I nodded woodenly, unable to speak. Perhaps later I would comprehend what he said, but at that moment only shock and disbelief were my companions. I had been so certain of Snowe’s answer, so certain of God’s call…

Uncle accepted my farewell, seeming to understand that I needed time alone. I contemplated seeking Signor Antonio. It would feel good to have a sword in my hand and an obstacle that I could face. Then I remembered that I would have any number of days to practice my fencing and decided instead on a long walk to think matters through.

“Where are you going?” Flora met me at the door.

“I need a walk. Phineas Snowe has refused my request.”

“Has he?” I could tell Flora was trying her best to keep the joy from her expression, but she was not wholly successful.

I headed for the rack and grabbed my pelisse. “I’ll go with you, Isabella,” Flora said, retrieving hers, as well.

“I need to be alone, please.”

Flora set her mouth. “Wounded heart or not, you cannot leave this house unattended. I pledge to walk beside you as quiet as a mouse.”

I could not help smiling in spite of myself. “A mouse who will try her best to give me counsel.”

Flora placed my bonnet on my head and tied the ribbon under my chin, as she had done when I was a girl. “You have always sought my advice,” she said calmly. “Would you cease now, even when you are in such haste to leave me forever?”

I thought about her words as we headed outside. We passed through the quad and Tom Tower, the college’s main entrance at St. Aldate’s Street. A light wind blew, and I wrapped my pelisse closer. Flora and I locked arms, and we headed down the street-toward what, I did not know. They had paved the streets at Oxford when I was a baby, and some said they were as fine as any of the best in London. Not that I traveled even so short a distance with great frequency!

Oxford is a university-and town-with unique architecture. Many of the buildings have spires that reach skyward, nay, toward the heaven of God himself. I longed to raise my arms in mutual supplication. Why was I not chosen to do your work?

As we walked together, silent, I thought long and hard. Flora had often called me impulsive, but my destiny, I was certain, lay in the Far East. Surely this was only a test of my resolve to answer God’s calling. Did he not challenge his children in the Bible? If I were to accomplish my task, however, I would have to evade Flora. She was loyal to a fault, but she would not, I feared, hesitate to alert Uncle Toby if she felt my plans endangered my life. I would have to strike a balance between telling the truth and withholding pertinent points of my plan. It was not exactly lying, I reasoned. Merely omitting some of what Flora might perceive to be an unpleasant truth.

“I do not want to leave you or Uncle Toby,” I said at last. I gestured at the buildings of the university as we passed. “But look around us, Flora. What are behind these walls but men striving to learn?”

“Is that not a noble cause?”

“For men, yes. For me, nothing. I believe God wants me to commit myself to a life of service.”

“Then why not here in Oxford? There are plenty in want of Christian charity. We saw them yesterday.”

“That is true, but I feel called to China. After looking at the Gospel According to St. Luke that Mr. Snowe gave me, I felt a peculiar kinship with the strange marks. I have already learned Greek and Hebrew and several other languages. I feel that I could conquer Chinese as well. Surely they need a woman’s touch in that heathen land.”

“Like Miss Whipple, the lady in Mr. Snowe’s group yesterday,” Flora allowed.

I nodded. “Yes! And when I inquired, she admitted that she does not speak Chinese. Miss Whipple stared at me as though such thought were folly.” I stopped short in the street. “God has given me a brain, Flora. I am certain that he wants me to use it. Did he not give me three instances of China-the slippers, the Gospel, and the tea?”

“The tea, I believe, was mere coincidence.”

“I do not believe it was. Nonetheless, I am determined. I must speak to Mr. Snowe myself.”

“If he still refuses your entreaty-”

“He won’t,” I said firmly. “I intend to meet him at dockside tomorrow.”

“Miss Isabella, no! That is no place for a young lady.”

“That is why you are going with me,” I said. “I knew that if you would not allow me on a walk by myself that you would certainly not allow me to speak to Mr. Snowe alone. Though heaven knows I should be perfectly safe from him,” I added, mostly to myself.

“You want me to go with you?”

“You said yourself that I could not go alone.”

Flora raised one eyebrow. “You are only going to talk to him?”

“I would go today, but I do not know where he is lodging. I am sure to find him at the docks tomorrow.”

Now it was Flora’s turn to stop dead in the street. “You know that there are no docks in Oxford. He is leaving from London. No doubt he is already there.”

“Then we must take a coach.”

“A coach?” Flora recoiled in horror. “Two women alone?”

“It has been done before,” I said mildly. “Really, Flora. What do you fear? I hardly think we need worry about highwaymen.”

“But… but…”

I raised my eyebrows. “Yes?”

“But Mr. Fitzwater… what will he say?”

“He will know nothing about this,” I said firmly. “We will go to London, speak to Mr. Snowe…” I fell silent.

“And then what?”

“And then perhaps he will see that I am in earnest,” I said, trying to sound as positive as possible. I prayed that Flora would not be quick enough to speculate what might happen next, because I did not want to imagine hearing a negative answer from Snowe. Surely my perseverance would please not only him but God, who had called me to a life of mission work.

“How will we get to London?”

“Mail coach, I should think.” I breathed an inward sigh of relief. Flora would follow me anywhere. Indeed, I could not live without her companionship. She was old enough to have been a very young mother to me, but she had always been much more.

“It would be the fastest,” Flora said, thinking aloud. “No stopping to pay tolls along the road.”

“Then it is settled. We must go home and pack some clothes.”

“And tell your uncle.”

“No!” I lowered my voice, aware that we had gathered onlookers. “He would not let us go, Flora. Once we are in London, we will send word that we are well.”

“Or more likely, we shall simply return, errant, and be chastised.”

“Perhaps,” I said, but I knew that Flora was wrong. She had to be.

I packed a few things but was not overly concerned about weighting myself with possessions, including too much money. I took what few coins I had in my possession, but I wanted to rely on God to meet all of my needs. After all, I would start a new life in China. I did take the Gospel According to St. Luke, knowing that it would be useful in that foreign land.

I glanced around the room where I had grown up-my neatly made four-poster bed, the gently worn Aubusson carpet, my writing desk, the cases of my neatly arranged, beloved books… My heart seemed to expand then constrict. I could not imagine living anywhere else but here, but I would meet this challenge with determination, just as I had successfully studied fencing so diligently all these years.

The one possession I almost could not bear to leave was my sword. Signor Antonio had purchased it for me years ago, a sword forged by the finest craftsmen in Toledo. A fencer’s skill is determined not only by talent but also by the capability of his weapon. I daresay mine was one of the finest in England. Yet by leaving it, I acknowledged that I intended to abandon selfish desire and anything short of my calling. So be it.

I penned a note to Uncle Toby, explaining my situation. I asked his forgiveness for leaving so abruptly and begged him to pursue the academic studies and travel he had once hoped to undertake. He should consider me as a newly married woman now, for though I had no husband or family, I was determined to wed myself to helping others.

I left the note on my bed, knowing that I would not be missed until after dinner. Uncle Toby would be teaching students all day, and he knew Flora would take care of me when needed. Yet I did not like to think of the look on his face when he learned I had left…

Flora and I carried our bundles to the Angel, an inn from which coaches left during the day. Oxford was quite the traveling town, a stop between many routes-London, naturally, a primary destination or origination.

“Maybe we should look for Mr. Snowe,” Flora said. “If we are lucky enough to spot him, it will save us a trip to London.”

She spoke a certain amount of logic, so we proceeded inside the inn. When I was finally able to secure someone’s attention, I inquired whether they had seen Snowe. His was an easy description to relay, but unfortunately, no one had seen him. I was not surprised. There were so many coaches going in and out of Oxford that there were several stops. Perhaps he had even left the day before…

We secured our seats in the mail coach. Only four people were allowed to sit inside, even though the seats were abominably small. It was unladylike of me, but I had to elbow a rather ghastly man of corpulent stature to gain seats for Flora and me. I could not imagine that someone would refuse to give up a seat for ladies, but there is no accounting for manners-or lack thereof. Unfortunately, Mr. Corpulent was forced to sit atop the coach, and as we drove off at breakneck speed, I prayed that we would not topple over.

I had no illusions that the drivers or the guard would accommodate passengers. We were secondary to the mail and only allowed to ride with it, Uncle Toby had told me long ago, to help allay the expense of its travel. Passengers on their maiden ride might believe that the nattily scarlet-clothed guard was there for their protection, but I knew better. His presence was strictly to oversee the mail safely stowed in the boot underneath his post at the rear of the coach. He carried a yard-long tin horn to signal innkeepers of the mail’s arrival, as well as to call passengers back to the coach and blow at the toll keepers, who rushed to open the gates.

By the time we reached London some six hours later, I was quite pleased to be rid of the whole traveling arrangement. I thought I might never rid myself of the seemingly constant blare of that tin horn, nor the guard’s continual hastening and corralling of us passengers from each stop back to our seats. The ride itself was no bargain either. Flora and I both felt as jostled as potatoes in a poor man’s sack. I believe Mr. Corpulent fared poorly during his ride atop the stage. His fingers seemed curled into a permanent state from clinging to his seat.

When we had collected our baggage, we found ourselves at loose ends. Flora, of course, had been to London as often as I, yet she could not stop gawking at the ladies who passed us by.

“Look at that darling shawl,” she said. “And the stitching on the hem of that skirt. Why, I could accomplish that with a little work, as well.”

“Flora, we are not here to study the latest fashion,” I reminded her. “We must find our way to the docks. It would be dreadful if we missed Mr. Snowe.”

After much inquiry, we found another coach, this one public, to take us to the East India Docks. It seemed no time at all before we were on the main street outside the entrance to the docks. We watched in awe as carts conveyed loads and loads of spices and tea up the Commercial Road.

“Where are they headed?” Flora said.

“The East India Company has warehouses in the City,” I said. “I believe they sell their wares at auction there.”

Flora gripped my arm and pressed so close to the coach window that I half feared she would hang her head outside like a hunting dog spying its prey. “Look,” she said, her eyes wide.

The street was thronged with vendors, sailors, and people of both dubious and reputable natures. I could not imagine that such sights should provoke her curiosity. “What is it?”

“There,” she whispered, pointing beyond the dock walls.

“Where? I don’t-”

Then I saw where she gestured, above the dock walls, for I, too, could see the masts of many ships. The thought that they conveyed people and cargo beyond our native soil made my flesh tingle. Oh, adventure! Surely it was meant to be mine at last.

When the carriage arrived, we scrambled to disembark, find our luggage, and avoid the crowds that pressed against us, milling to and fro with much more purpose than we seemed to possess. We spent much time gawking until we had the presence of mind to begin inquiries as to the location of Phineas Snowe’s ship.

A kind sailor tipped an imaginary cap. “Sorry, miss, but this here are the West India docks. Ships headed to India. You must be wanting the East India docks, where the East Indiamen sail to China.”

“Yes, of course,” I answered stupidly, grateful that the pleasant worker pointed out the direction where we should be. Normally, the distance-a good half mile, I estimated-might have necessitated that we find another means of conveyance. Our prospects did not look good, so-grateful that we had brought only one bag each- Flora and I hefted our baggage and walked. By the time we had passed between the proper dock walls, Flora was panting with exertion. Sailors and dockhands and even the occasional well-dressed man of commerce jostled us without thought.

I pulled Flora to the side of a vendor hawking food to the workers. She clutched her chest, and I worried that her heart was amiss. I searched her face. “Are you all right?”

“I just… need to… catch my breath.”

“Poor Flora.” I smiled. “I forget that you are unaccustomed to such exertion.”

She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes momentarily. “I will be to rights in a moment,” she said.

I stood on tiptoes and craned my neck, anxious, I must admit, to proceed with our mission. Suppose we missed Mr. Snowe? I was certain that I could convince him of my earnestness-as well as my suitability-for mission work in the Far East.

Flora must have sensed my anxiety, for she patted my arm, smiling wanly. “If you want to go look for the proper ship, I will wait right here. You can come back for me. Perhaps you will even get a chance to talk to Mr. Snowe, and this foolishness will soon be over.”

“Thank you, Flora,” I said, relieved that she had given me permission to leave her. It was uncharacteristic of her, to say the least. Yet no one seemed to frequent this area, so I felt certain that she would be safe long enough for me to investigate the various ships and find Snowe. I would be safe as well, for I did not intend to waste time or risk my welfare by asking questions of anyone other than a ship’s officer. “May I leave my bag in your care so that it will not impede my progress?”

“Of course,” she said. “I will keep them both safe right here and not twitch a whisker until you have returned.”

“Will you be all right?”

Flora straightened. “I had three older brothers, Miss Isabella Goodrich, who taught me to care for myself. Now off with you!”

I gave her a final grateful smile, then headed toward the ships. Oh, what glorious works of man! Each one taller and larger than the rest. My head grew dizzy trying to look up at the top mast. Men scurried to and fro like ants on a hill, loading cargo. I knew that the East Indiamen often took on passengers such as Snowe and his group, so I was not surprised to see women, as well as men who were obviously not sailors.

More ships than I could count weighed anchor at the docks. I would never find Snowe this way. Scanning the crowds for someone who seemed trustworthy, I finally spied someone in uniform. A captain, perhaps? I knew nothing about naval dress or insignia.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said, feeling uneasy about speaking to a man without formal introduction. “I’m looking for a ship sailing to China.”

He smiled. “You have come to the right location, but as you can see there are many ships.”

I tried to keep the shock from my expression. Were all these ships embarking at the same time? “I am looking for an East Indiaman that is leaving today and-”

“Most likely you want Dignity, ma’am.”

Dignity? I knew it was not propitious to approach a stranger, but he was an officer. I hoped. “I… I beg your pardon?”

He pointed down the lane of ships. “The HMS Dignity. See the East Indiaman with the three masts in between the smaller vessels? She is the only ship sailing for China today that I am aware of.”

Good heavens. “Thank you,” I said. “You are most kind.”

“Not at all, miss.” He touched his cap then turned away. I looked back at where I had left Flora, wavering. Should I return for her or press on? Perhaps it would be best to make certain that this Dignity was, indeed, Snowe’s ship.

I pressed on.

The crowds grew thicker as I made my way down the dock. I heard language that made my ears pinken, but I held my head high and lifted my skirts just enough to keep them from being splashed by the standing water. Thankfully my adorable pink slippers were stowed safely in the bag with Flora.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I ran into Phineas Snowe without having to locate the ship and go aboard? I scanned the crowd for him, or at least another fellow missionary, but saw no one who looked likely.

Never did I imagine that ships could convey such grandeur and importance. Why, they were veritable countries unto themselves, it seemed, with sailors climbing the ropes to the dizzying height of the tallest masts, polishing and mopping the decks and their features, touching up the prows of the ships with a bit of fresh paint.

Why on earth were they dragging lowing cattle aboard? Poor Bossy. I should not like to be towed in such manner either, and I would put up just as much of a fuss were I an unwilling passenger!

I reached the gangplank and encountered someone who I felt certain was an officer, though perhaps a trifle young. He was decidedly not a captain! He gave commands in a voice that was still breaking with the change of youth, and I could see his resolve to act as a man in this role. “Excuse me, sir,” I ventured, hoping that the mature title would flatter him into helping me.

“Yes, what is it?” he barked, then, when he saw me, had the good grace to flush. “I beg your pardon, miss, but I am in a bit of a hurry. We are about to cast off.”

“Indeed?” I tried to quell the rising panic. Where was Phineas Snowe? “I am sorry to detain you, then, but I am looking for a… friend. I was supposed to meet him at the ship. Can you help me… Captain?” I blinked my eyes a little in what I hoped was a small bit of flirtation and flattery.

He reddened again, particularly when a nearby sailor stifled a hearty guffaw into a cough. “Miss, I regret for your sake that I am most certainly not the captain. Midshipman Bates at your service. Regarding your dilemma, however, I can tell you that most passengers do not board until Graves-end,” he said. “It saves them some time aboard ship, though with our long voyage, I can’t see that twenty miles makes much difference.” He tipped his hat again. “Begging your pardon again. Most likely your friend will be boarding there, or even at Deal, where we’ll await a good wind.”

“I see,” I said. “Thank you so much. I am quite sorry about the mistaken identity.”

He tipped his hat again, then, obviously suffering from civility’s restraint on my account, he snapped out another order to a sailor hefting a huge burlap bag.

Gravesend! How would Flora and I get there? We were rapidly running short of coinage. Why hadn’t I foreseen the need for a great deal of money? Flora and I would have to pool our intelligence and come up with a way to-

“That’s the last of the stock, sir,” a sailor said, saluting the midshipman.

“Very well, then, thank you, Mr. Green. I shall inform the captain that we are ready to shove off.”

Shove off? I had best remove myself from the ship before-

Oh, Providence, you are the answer to my bumble-bath! I did not stop to think of Flora’s reaction, for my only thought was in getting to Gravesend as easily as possible. The best way to find Phineas Snowe would be to meet him aboard ship, of course! When I did think of Flora a few fleeting moments later, I realized that her worry would only be for a short period. If necessary, I could retrace my steps from Gravesend to London (by carriage this time, naturally) and rejoin her and Uncle Toby.

There was, however, the small matter of the success of my journey from these docks to Gravesend. I had no ticket, and I did not think it likely that they would allow me to work my keep for the twenty-mile journey. I was confident that I could pull and coil rope as quickly and neatly as the sailors doing so at the moment, because fencing had made my arms and legs much stronger than was reputable for a young lady. But it would behoove me to find a hiding place until Gravesend. Surely there I could reveal my presence and be forgiven for my unlawful means of passage. I was, after all, on a mission.

Where to hide? Why, the last place anyone would expect to find a lady.

I headed in the direction I had seen the sailor take the last cow.

Thinking that I would have to skulk to be undetected, I crept behind all manner of woodwork and iron mongery, but the seamen were so busy at casting off that no one seemed to pay me any mind as I made my way to the lower deck.

Until someone clapped a meaty hand about my wrist. My alarm grew as I stared up into the visage of a most unsavory sailor, surely worthy of any pirate novel. “What are you doing, missy?” he said, jagged yellow teeth prominent behind his bared lips.

I forced myself to avert a swoon. “I spoke with Midshipman Bates just a moment ago.” There. That was not a lie.

He narrowed his eyes. “So you know where you’re to go?”

I nodded, fearing that any further words would betray my purpose.

He unhanded me. “Off with you, then. I’ve work to do.”

Alone again, I relieved myself of a sigh and continued my path. Where were those stairs?

At last I reached the lower deck, and aided by the sound of more than one poor bovine bellow, I found the stable area, if that is what it can be called. Cows were separated from hogs like some religious gathering, no, that was sheep separated from goats. No matter. The hogs grunted at me dubiously, but as I had no fear of cattle, I entered their stall and made myself at home.

No doubt it would be a while before anyone bothered to check on the poor creatures, so I settled in. I had no fear of the great beasts, as I had often insisted on helping the dairy man with his chores when I was a girl-much to his delight. Of course I had been forced to cease the practice once I attained the age of young lady, but I could not forget the warmth of a bovine flank nor the gratefulness of expression when the milking had concluded.

“Here now,” I said soothingly, rubbing the shoulder of one overly frightened Guernsey. “You will be cooped up for quite a while before you see true land again, I am sure, but you will be fed regularly and milked. Would you not like to be a Chinese cow? For that is where you are headed.”

Bossy stared at me with large brown eyes as if she understood. The other cows quieted too, but the pigs squealed uproariously.

“Traitors,” I mumbled. “Cowards.” I had never liked pigs. Loathsome, dirty brutes.

After I had tired of admiring the cows, which took all of twenty minutes, I found a tidy corner to sit in and began to consider my present predicament. Poor Flora must be watching and waiting for me. How could I leave her stranded at the dock that way?

Remorse set in with a vengeance. I braced my hand against the wooden rail to rise and was suddenly thrown back to the straw. The ship moved!

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” I muttered. “My decision is made. Again, Providence, I am sure.”

Though my heart felt resolved, I mourned Flora. In the unlikely event that my plan failed, our reunion would be all the sweeter and our laughter all the heartier. She would scold me for being impetuous, then we would be on good footing once again.

But surely my mission would not be deterred.

As the hours wore on, boredom sank in. I had the Chinese Gospel According to St. Luke tucked in my pocket to keep me company, and from my memory of some of the verses, I studied the characters as though deciphering a code. I was pleased to find several symbols repeated in several places. I could learn this language!

When I tired of this, I realized my stomach was rumbling. I had no notion of the time of day nor how I would ease my hunger pains. I weighed the prospect of venturing above deck in search of food, then realized that if I were found, I would no doubt be smartly put ashore at Gravesend, perhaps without ever seeing Snowe. I could not bear the thought of all my efforts ending in vain, so I ignored the rumblings and sang softly to myself.

At some point I realized that I faced danger of discovery on another front. Someone was bound to feed and water the cattle sometime, and then my presence would certainly become known.

“Perhaps if I feed you on occasion,” I murmured to the nearest cow, “anyone coming below deck to check on you will find you already fed and assume that someone else has seen to the task.” I paused. “Perhaps.”

It did seem to be a totty-headed scheme, but it was all I could concoct at the moment.

Surely I would be safe for today, so I would not worry about feeding the cattle until tomorrow. If only I knew for certain when that might be…