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

5

I did not quite know what to make of such a statement. Before I could respond, however, he turned away. “I will see that you receive some fresh clothing. Perhaps one of the other women on board can loan you a frock.”

“If there are other women on board, perhaps I should lodge with them rather than continue to be your cross to bear,” I said.

“They are all married women, traveling with their husbands. I do not think they would find your presence acceptable in their cabins.”

“No, of course not. And yet you find it acceptable for me to be in yours?”

He sighed. “Miss Goodrich, I feel responsible for your safety and well-being until such time as you can be restored to your uncle. Is it so difficult to believe that I can act as a gentleman?”

“Would a gentleman keep an unmarried woman in his room?” I countered.

“Perhaps you would rather return to your accommodations with the cattle,” he suggested, “and whoever might choose to join you in the straw. I made a quick decision to claim you as my sister… for your protection only. Fortunately, the prevarication was believed, and no one will be the wiser if you act the part. As for me, I assure you that my intentions toward you are nothing but honorable.”

Without waiting for my response, he left the cabin, and I was left to wonder at all that had transpired. He had said that he would have me put off the ship as soon as possible. That could not happen, as I still held to my original belief that I was meant to be in China. Besides, Miss Whipple needed me. Despite the fact that she was a Cyprian, I sensed a goodness in her soul that wanted validation. I had seen her work with the poor; it was no mere pretense. She had been as genuinely concerned for their welfare as Mr. Snowe had been. It had been the generosity of those two that helped me see my future. Perhaps if I stayed close to Miss Whipple during the voyage, we could become friends. After all, I seemed to have left certain social norms behind in Oxford.

I saw the logic in Mr. Snowe’s claiming me as his sister, but I did not think much about it that first day I regained consciousness. I tried mostly to regain my strength, dutifully eating the broth that either Mr. Snowe or Miss Whipple brought me. Indeed, though we spoke of mere triflings during her ministrations, she and I shared each other’s company rather well. I did not know if Mr. Snowe told her that I was aware of her situation, but after an initial wariness, she seemed to realize that I had no intention of chastising her. She smiled at me as before, and like Mr. Snowe, promised to find me some suitable clothes.

“You seem healthy to a fault. You’ll be out of that hammock and strolling about the deck in no time,” she said, handing me a bowl of broth. I had regained enough strength to spoon-feed myself. I tried not to gobble greedily, but I was famished. She pulled the wooden crate close to my hammock so that she might sit while I gorged myself like royalty… that is to say, ate.

“What is it like on deck?” I asked between swallows. “I have never been aboard a ship before.”

“There is a variety of activity with the sailors. They are perpetually tasked with myriad activities for the betterment of the ship. They move cargo about, scurry above and below deck, raise the sails…” She put her hands around her knees, smiling. “I enjoy watching them climb the rigging, for it’s a feat of daring I can only imagine. I get dizzy watching them so high aloft. They climb as high as the tallest sail sometimes. The captain said we caught a very good wind, so we are on our course, I suppose. I understand that with fair weather, the voyage should last only five months.”

“I should like to know the stops we are intended to make,” I said, thinking of Snowe’s vow to put me ashore. “I can’t say that I know of them, except for Cape Town, of course.”

I stopped with the spoon halfway to my mouth. “Cape Town,” I whispered. “It sounds so exotic.”

“I have heard of it but do not know where it is.”

“Why, everyone knows that it is at the southernmost tip of Africa on the Cape of Good Hope,” I said, then blushed with shame. Miss Whipple probably had not been given the education I had received. “I am sorry for speaking so knowingly. Mr. Snowe has called me a bluestocking, and I suppose he is right.”

She leaned back, smiling. “I have heard of Cape Town for many years, but no one bothered to tell me its location. It has always sounded a bit exotic. What do you know of it?”

“Only what I have read. It has been in existence for some two hundred years. It is a business town where ships stock up on provisions. There is also lodging, I believe, and families who live there year round. It is located between two oceans, the Atlantic and the Indian. Oh, and some call it the Tavern of Two Seas because there is apparently no lack of strong liquor.”

“Really?” Miss Whipple seemed amused by my last statement, her eyes taking on a calculated expression that worried me.

“I hope that you will tour the town with me,” I said hastily. “As we seem to be the only two unmarried women aboard ship, I would enjoy your company.”

She stared at me, and I felt that my impulsiveness had gotten the better of my speech. I should not have forced her to give me a cut. “Forgive me, Miss Whipple,” I said. “I did not mean to presume an acquaintance that you may not desire.”

“That I may not desire?” She continued to stare at me, and I felt quite unnerved.

I slurped the last of the broth in my anxiety then handed her the empty bowl. “Thank you so much. It was delicious. I appreciate your bringing my food.”

“It is Phineas who secured it for you.”

I made a face. “Then I thank you doubly for your service when he has thought himself either too busy or too important to bring it to me himself.”

Miss Whipple broke into a smile. “You don’t care much for him, do you, Miss Goodrich?”

“I care for his charitable work, but I cannot say that our personalities are well suited for each other. We seem to rub each other like flint and steel.”

“I have noticed the sparks,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

I flushed. “I should learn to curb my tongue. He has been kind to me of late, but I must convince him of the necessity of my staying aboard ship. He did promise to put me off at the first possible convenience.”

“Most likely Cape Town, then.” Miss Whipple rose. “I would like to hear more about your plans, Miss Goodrich. Especially what you hope to accomplish once we arrive in China.” She turned when she reached the door. “I feel certain that if we chat a bit, we can arrive at a plan to convince Phineas to keep you aboard ship. For I am quite certain that you could be a valuable asset to him in the future.”

“Since you have known him longer than I, I would appreciate any insight,” I said. “You have been kindness itself, Miss Whipple. I am certain that God led us both to this ship for a reason.”

“Let us hope that we both still agree to that thought by the time we have reached the end of our respective voyages-no matter where that might be,” she said, then left the cabin and me to my own reflection.

Well fed and refreshed, I fell into a dreamless sleep that night. The ship no longer seemed to rock beneath me but rather soothed me like a babe in a cradle. It is a wonder that someone does not invent a device whereby people may fall asleep in the safety of their own homes, yet lulled to dreamland on gentle water’s wave. I slept so deeply that I heard nothing save perhaps the ocean’s rhythm.

I must confess that I gave but the barest moment of a thought to Mr. Snowe’s presence in the cabin that night. Yet I saw him only once after Miss Whipple brought my dinner, then not again. When I awoke in the morning, feeling completely like my normal self, he was not present either. However, laid fast on the wooden crate upon which Miss Whipple had perched was a brown dress and various undergarments.

I rose to examine them. The porthole to my right was still open, and I could see that the cabin was located at the rear end of the ship. A bit of wet salt sprayed my face from the hypnotic wake trailing our mighty ship. I drew a deep breath. This was preferable, indeed, to solitude in the dark with the cattle.

I paced the cabin’s length and width, if such it could be said to have, to regain my footing. I paused briefly at the large trunk on Phineas’s side of the cabin. What could that large leather box possibly store? It looked quite big enough to hold several dead bodies, which, I realized, I would not put past Phineas Snowe.

At last I felt that I had use of what I supposed would be vulgarly referred to as my sea legs, and I determined to relieve myself of the nightgown, dress in the provided clothes, and survey my new home outside the cabin. The undergarments were acceptable, though far from fancy, but I wrinkled my nose at the dress. It was of coarse cotton-cotton!-and had not a shred of beauty to adorn it. Flora would have said that she’d see me naked rather than in such attire. I knew such talk to be mere jest, but I did believe that she would find the cotton dress highly unsuitable. I would acquire no more notice than a common wren.

Thankfully, my own black shoes had been salvaged from my feet after my discovery, but I did pause a moment as I slipped them on to remember the beautiful silk pair that were now, apparently, forever left behind in Flora’s care. I would have taken some comfort in knowing that she, at least, could wear them herself, but as my feet were twice as small as hers, I knew the thought to be mere fancy.

The door opened. “Miss Goodrich!”

Thankfully, it was only Julia Whipple. I did not feel capable of seeing Phineas Snowe just yet. She approached me, concern furrowing her brow. “Are you quite well?”

“I believe that I am. And how fortunate that you have arrived at only such a moment, as I was about to venture forth from this cabin.” I leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper. “I fear I might need a steady arm yet, though I have managed tolerably well taking several turns around the cabin.”

“I shall be only too happy to lend you my own,” she said, crooking her elbow. “It’s a beautiful day, and I know that the captain will want to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh dear. I rather hoped that there would be no need for me to meet him before the voyage was concluded. I am sure he is quite displeased with my behavior.”

“And I am certain that he is a Christian man full of forbearance and willingness to see only to your current welfare.”

With that hope tucked away, I allowed Miss Whipple to lead me from the cabin. We passed through a dining area with a long table bolted to the floor. “This is the cuddy, the dining salon,” she said. “The captain eats here every night along with some of the officers and invited passengers.”

“Are there many passengers aboard?”

“Two married couples and you and Phineas.” She paused. “And me.”

“Yes, of course,” I murmured. I wondered whether she preferred being the only unattached female, but then I remembered that I was unattached as well, so I held my tongue on that subject. “I thought I heard footsteps overhead, but perhaps it was just people here in the dining area.”

“I’m sure it was people overhead, for your cabin is below the poop deck. I understand there is quite a lot of noise.”

“Where is your cabin?” I asked. “Are you not near mine?”

She shook her head, smiling. “I sleep in the great cabin, which is just below this dining area. I do not hear much noise at night, however, I have no window.” She opened a door, and we stepped out. “And this is the deck.”

The great ship lay before us. Men in sailor outfits bustled to and fro, moving barrels and crates, climbing the rope ladders that led up higher than I could see to the topmost masts. The sides of the ship creaked, and water seemed to lap on all sides. A sailor swabbed a portion of the deck with a mop and bucket amidships, and a higher deck stood at the bow. Behind us stood a similar raised deck, though not as large as the one at the front. “That is the poop deck?” I asked, recalling Miss Whipple’s words.

She nodded. “Would you like to see it first?”

“Of course! I want to see everything on board the ship.”

We climbed a small ladder and stood on the poop deck. I shivered. The sun shone bright, but the wind chilled. Overhead flew an East India Company flag, its Union Jack in the corner and red and white stripes snapping in the breeze. I felt somewhat disappointed, for other than the boards of the deck itself, there were only crates of squawking chickens and ducks. So I had not imagined their noise!

“Good morning, ladies,” a sailor said, tipping his cap.

We nodded, watching as he fed grain to the chickens through their wooden cages. “Is it your job to tend to them regularly?” I asked.

“Yes, miss,” he said, tipping his cap. “I am the poulterer, John Swinney.”

Miss Whipple and I watched as he gave them their grain and made certain they had water, making soothing noises that sounded oddly akin to their own. I felt somewhat amused by the thought of fowl riding on water. “Do they have a great need for chickens in China?” I asked cheerfully.

“No, miss. These birds will depart from us long before we reach the Orient. They’ll be food for the captain’s table.”

“I see.” I wondered that I had not been intelligent enough to deduce this for myself.

Several large lanterns hung at the end of the ship. “Excuse me, Mr. Swinney, but what are these for? They are not intended as a side dish with the chickens, are they?”

Mr. Swinney grinned, rubbing his hands together to disperse the leftover grain. “No, miss. They are for signaling other ships. Excuse me, miss, but I wouldn’t want the captain to find me dawdling about.” He departed with a slight bow.

During our exchange, Miss Whipple had ventured to the edge of the ship. She stood transfixed, scanning the horizon behind us and the divided path of the water our ship made. “If you don’t mind the fowl, it’s quite beautiful here.”

“It is interesting to see the wake of the Dignity,” I said. “To think of where the ship has gone, and no one to know we were here… unless we are spotted, of course.”

“And we pray that does not happen,” she said. “I have heard tales of French privateers boarding East Indiamen. I have no desire to see crewmen or passengers killed in such an exchange.”

“Of course not,” I murmured.

“But come,” she said, linking arms with me again. “Let’s put such horrible thoughts behind us and examine the rest of the Dignity. Who knows but that we might run into Phineas Snowe?”

The thought made my nerves jump. Naturally, I should thank him properly for rescuing me, but seeing him now somehow seemed too soon. “I believe I could travel the entire voyage and not miss his presence,” I murmured.

Miss Whipple squeezed my arm playfully. “And yet you long to serve alongside him as a missionary?”

I could not respond. Uncle Toby and Flora had each told me-on separate occasions-that spontaneity was my dear friend but a more potential worst enemy. I sometimes rushed headlong like an adventurous calf but took no notice of the gate securing my safety.

I found walking a trifle precarious, but Miss Whipple assured me that I would quickly gain my sea legs. Amidships, she paused beside the lifeboats lashed to long, thick poles. “What are those?” I said.

“Spare spars. They can be used to replace a mast or boom or gaff.”

“The poles that hold the sails?” I struggled to remember any nautical terms I might have learned.

“Yes,” she said, then drew a deep breath of air. I did the same, thankful to be outdoors instead of cramped below deck or even in a cabin. The sun shone warm and the air held a tang of salt that tickled my nose in a not unpleasant manner. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” she said. “I can understand why men long to go to sea.”

“Have you been aboard a ship before?” I asked.

A peculiar expression crossed her face. “No, but I was raised in Portsmouth. I am familiar with ships and those who sail them.”

Remembering her own reason for being aboard the Dignity, I endeavored to change the subject. “Perhaps, then, you can tell me the names of some of the sights, for beyond the three masts that I see, I am at quite a loss.”

“I thought you had learned much from books?”

“I confess that I know a smattering of names and a general idea of their location aboard ship, but I cannot place the two together.”

As we slowly made our way forward, I found myself clinging to Miss Whipple as my legs found their bearing on the unsteady deck. I also needed her emotional support as well in these unfamiliar surroundings. She, however, walked gracefully with her head high, nodding at the sailors, some of whom politely responded and others who only grinned and went about their business.

“Where are the other passengers?” I whispered. At Oxford, I was accustomed to being the only woman in sight, but there I was around gentlemen. Here I felt like a scholarly lamb among wolves, though Mr. Swinney, the poulterer, had been naught but polite.

Miss Whipple smirked. “The last I saw of the husbands, they were tending their wives below deck. Seasickness, still. You are fortunate to be past that. The sailors told me that sometimes passengers go ten days before they are well. At least the captain’s table will be empty for a few days yet. Besides the officers, Phineas and I have been his sole companions since we set sail.”

Canvas flapped above my head, and I stopped short. Miss Whipple released my arm, and I leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse of the highest sail. “I feel like a child beneath a laundry line,” I murmured, feeling small and insignificant. “I am sure each sail has a name, does it not? And however do those sailors manage to climb the ropes?”

“It is called the rigging,” she said. “And as for the sails, I am not quite certain. We shall have to ask the captain. Hello, sir.”

Startled, I jerked my gaze downward to its normal level. A man of some three score with a white wig and resplendant uniform stood beside Miss Whipple. Fortunately, his ruddy complexion and poorly suppressed smile told me I had nothing to fear. “So this is our stowaway, eh?” he said, affecting gruffness.

I trembled nonetheless. “Y-yes, sir. I am sorry, sir.”

“Miss Goodrich, this is Captain Stephan Malfort. Captain, this is Isabella Goodrich.”

I curtsied.

“At your service, miss,” he said with a bow. “Pray tell me what was so urgent that you risked life and limb to be with your brother?”

This I could answer without fear. I explained about my calling from God and how I must get to China. “It is a burning in my heart,” I said, then pressed my case. “I am certain that it is not unlike your passion for the sea.”

He smiled. “My passion is somewhat more pecuniary than yours, but aye, there is something wanting in my soul that being at sea fulfills. Still, I can’t imagine following a sibling to the detriment of my own health, not to mention avoiding fare passage, as you have done.”

“I am sorry about that, Captain,” I said. “I hope I can repay the money to the East India Company.”

A shadow fell across the deck. “No need to worry about that, dear sister,” Phineas said, looping an arm through mine. “I have already paid the captain for your rather unexpected passage. At least for the portion of the trip during which you will be aboard ship. But I must say that I am delighted to find you in better health.”

I tried not to cringe at his touch. Miss Whipple looked on in amusement.

“Ah, Mr. Snowe,” Captain Malfort said. “It is indeed a delight to meet your sister at last. But one thing troubles me.”

The muscles in his arm seemed to tense. “Yes?”

“Why is it that you and your sister have different last names?”

He relaxed. “In truth, Captain, we are only half brother and sister, raised by different parents, of course.” The lie sprang a little too easily from his lips. Not an admirable quality for a man of the cloth! “Miss Goodrich was raised by an uncle at Oxford, Mr. Tobias Fitzwater.” That, at least, was not prevarication.

“Ah,” the captain said, as though it explained everything. To my taste, it certainly did not.

Miss Whipple smiled. “Captain, just as you joined us, I told Miss Goodrich that we should ask you for the names of the many sails above us. Would you do us the honor now?”

Snowe released my arm. “As I am familiar with such terminology, you will excuse me if I take my leave then, Captain. Miss Whipple.” He bowed, and upon rising, looked directly at my eyes. “Isabella.”

The sound of my name in his voice bred confusion in my soul. He headed aft, and I wanted to follow him, for I had many questions yet for Phineas Snowe. Captain Malfort, however, was already pointing up high. “The upper sail is called the main topgallant, below that the main topsail, and the one nearest us is the mainsail. That one is the main topgallant staysail, and the one aft is the mizzen topgallant.”

Miss Whipple strolled forward, moving our group in the opposite direction Snowe had gone. “And the sails at the very bow are called…?”

“The flying jib, the jib, the fore topmast staysail, and the fore staysail. That one there…”

I only half listened thereafter, for even if I were put off ship at Cape Town, I would no doubt have a long time to learn the intricacies of the Dignity. And perhaps other information, as well. I did not know if I could maintain my forbearance.

Though Captain Malfort had to leave us soon, Miss Whipple and I strolled the deck for several more hours. We tried to stay out of the sailors’ way but also to observe their business from a distance. Even when Miss Whipple declared that her head ached and retired to her cabin, I lingered on deck. I found everything fascinating, from standing at the battered rail to scan the horizon to watching sailors tying knots. The last observation occurred courtesy of Mr. Calow, the young midshipman who had directed me to Phineas at Gravesend. The lad seemed surprised to see me, though I was certain my presence aboard ship had become common knowledge once my place with the cattle was discovered.

He and the other five midshipmen had just concluded a lesson with Captain Malfort, who apparently quizzed them on finding latitude and longitude. Mr. Calow seemed to fare the poorest of the young class and was near thorough humiliation during a knot-tying competition. Captain Malfort seemed particularly harsh on the young lad, but I understood the need for the midshipmen to learn their lessons and learn them well. These were not mere studies on Greek and Latin; the lives of all aboard might hang on whether a sailor had properly tied a line.

Left to practice on his own, the dejected Mr. Calow worked doggedly with a bit of rope, tying and retying several mysterious knots. I dared a chance to sit beside him on the bench. He sprang to his feet, hastily swiping his eyes. “Miss Goodrich!”

“May I join you, Mr. Calow, to observe your work, or would that disturb you? I know nothing of knots myself, so I shall be in no position to comment.”

“I don’t mind if you sit here.”

We sat, and he worked with the rope. I could see the frustration on his face, and I knew above all else that he would not allow himself to cry. He could scarce have been above twelve years of age, probably not long from home, but he was obviously making a Herculean effort to appear the young man he was expected to be. Two senior officers stood at a distance, watching us, and their presence seemed to have a detrimental effect on Mr. Calow’s confidence. His breath came in quick gasps, and his eyes appeared moist.

I could bear to see his suffering no more. “Do you have some extra rope for me?” I asked. “Perhaps I could learn.”

He retrieved an abandoned line and handed it to me. “What knot is the easiest?” I asked. “I should probably start there.”

With a minimum of words, he showed me how to tie a figure-eight, a square, then a clove hitch. He seemed to gain confidence as he explained them to me, and when I was capable of executing them with no help, I calmly asked, “What knot were you working on when I interrupted you?”

“The bowline.” His shoulders slumped, and he jerked the knot free in his line.

“How does it begin?”

He held out his line to demonstrate. “There is an old story to remember how to tie this knot. Imagine that the free end is a rabbit, and the other end is a tree with a rabbit hole at its base.” He twisted the rope, and I did my best to follow. “The rabbit comes out of the hole, goes around the tree, and back down into its hole again.”

I laughed, letting my tangled line fall into my lap. “My rabbit apparently ventured to the backside of the tree, where he was promptly eaten.”

Mr. Calow stared at the rope in his hands. “I did it,” he whispered. He raised the rope higher for my scrutiny. “I did it!”

One of the officers moved beside us. “So you did, Mr. Calow. Job well done. But I’ll not warn you again about speaking of those furry things on board ship.”

Joy diminished from the lad’s face. “Aye, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Carry on, then.” The officer tipped his hat and moved on.

When he was out of hearing distance, I turned to Mr. Calow. “What did he mean by ‘furry things’? And why are you not permitted to speak of them?”

Mr. Calow leaned closer. “He means those animals in burrows,” he whispered, then made a hopping motion with two fingers. “You know”-his voice dropped lower still-“bunnies.” He clapped a hand over his mouth and looked around to make sure no one had heard. When he was not reprimanded, he relaxed.

I laughed. “Do you mean rabbits? Why ever are you not to mention them?”

Mr. Calow flushed. “Sailors believe they bring bad luck. None are allowed on board, even for food. We’re not to mention their names, either, which is also bad luck.”

“But Mr. Calow, surely you were raised in a Christian home. You do not believe in superstition, do you?” I was appalled that grown men should pass on such myths to a mere child. What foolishness was this?

“There are those who believe Christianity itself to be superstition, Miss Goodrich. The lad is merely following orders.”

I looked up. Phineas Snowe stood beside me. Again I felt the intensity of his gaze, and I longed for him to retrieve those spectacles-no matter how horrid-and put them to good use on the bridge of his nose.

Though he said nothing further, he seemed to desire a private conversation. “Mr. Calow, I have intruded upon your time long enough,” I said. “Thank you for sharing your knot-tying skills. I should like to discuss latitude and longitude with you some time. At your convenience, of course.”

His mouth gaped. “You know about those things? Why, you’re only a woman.”

I raised my chin a trifle and rose.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, rising alongside me. He touched his cap. “Good day, miss.”

Mr. Snowe walked to the ship’s rail, out of the way and out of earshot, for the moment, from anyone aboard ship. “I confess that I thought to reprimand you for bothering the crew, but I was present long enough to find that you accomplished quite the opposite.”

I suppose that was his way of paying me a compliment. “Mr. Calow only shared his knowledge, and by so doing, he increased his own. As for bothering the crew, I am pleased that you find yourself in the wrong. I am determined to be of no consequence to anyone aboard ship.”

I lowered my gaze. Oh, how Phineas Snowe could irk me, but he was a man of the cloth. “Unfortunately, I realize that I have now forced you to bear the burden of my decision to become a stowaway.”

He leaned both elbows against the ship’s rail, studying me like a lazy cat to a trapped mouse. “Indeed?”

Oh, I was a miserable wretch! Must I say it so plainly? “Yes.” I nodded. “I am in debt to you not only for my fare, but for your efforts to protect me. I find them gallant, and I thank you for your efforts at offering me your protection as my, er, brother.”

“I am not without chivalry.”

“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “However, you should know that I am prepared to defend myself physically, should the need arise.”

“From me?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Miss Goodrich, I have already informed you that I have no intention of-”

“I was thinking more of an untoward advance from any stranger aboard ship,” I said, flushing. “You are a missionary, Mr. Snowe, a man dedicated to holy work. It is true that you and I do not always see eye to eye, but your character must be impeccable for the London Missionary Society to accept you.”

He waved a hand. “We were speaking not of my character but of your-what did you say?-your preparedness to defend yourself?”

I nodded. “Until recently it was a well-kept secret that I trained in martial arts.”

“Indeed? Pray continue.”

I could not tell if he mocked me or expressed genuine curiosity. “I have studied with a fencing master for nearly twenty years now, Signor Eco Antonio. He himself studied under the great master Domenico Angelo… but you probably have not heard of him.”

“Actually, I have. Most impressive, Miss Goodrich… if it is true.”

“Believe me, Mr. Snowe, I mention it not to impress but to alert you that I have little fear of caring for myself on this voyage and in China, as well.”

“And yet you brought no sword for the journey.”

So he did mock me! “I thought it best to leave it behind. A missionary should have no need of such training, is that not true? Particularly when it involves violence.”

“Yet even Jesus remarked to the disciples that a man should sell his garment and buy a sword.” He straightened. “Miss Goodrich, you are an enigma to me, yet one thing is clear. You have a heart for helping others, and for some reason, an earnest desire to serve in China. But I must insist that it is no place for the fairer sex.”

“I was led to believe otherwise when I thought Julia Whipple part of your group. Nevertheless, I am determined to convince you that I am quite capable. Surely there are ladies and children in the Orient whom I could reach.”

“You cannot speak their language.”

“But you could teach me! I still possess the Gospel According to St. Luke that you gave me at the Ransoms’ party, do you remember?”

He nodded.

“It is a long voyage,” I pressed. “Could you not teach me even the basics? As my uncle informed you, I am learned in several languages already… French, Italian, German, Greek, Latin-”

He held up his hand. “That is enough, Miss Goodrich. I am familiar with your studies.”

“Then you will teach me?”

He paused for a great while. Why must he deliberate? Was his time so valuable aboard ship that he could not spend it with me? If I failed to learn any Chinese (and of course that was unthinkable!) would it have inconvenienced him so greatly?

“Phineas Snowe, I have been looking for you.” Julia Whipple stood beside him. “And you, Miss Goodrich.”

“Are you feeling better, Miss Whipple?” I said.

She frowned. “Better?”

I tapped my temple. “Your headache? You left earlier to retire to your cabin.”

“Oh yes. That. I am much better, thank you for asking.” She glanced at Snowe, then at me. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”

“Not at all,” Snowe said, smiling. “We were merely having a brother and sister chat.”

I sighed. “Miss Whipple is aware that we are not related. Must we continue the pretense?”

“But I think of you as a sister, Miss Goodrich,” Snowe said. “Are we not related in our desire to do the Lord’s work?”

Miss Whipple coughed delicately into her hand. “Excuse me. Phineas is correct, Miss Goodrich. It is better to keep up the pretense even with me. Dining with the captain tonight will be a good test… won’t it, Phineas?” She brushed his shoulder. “I am rather looking forward to the meal. I am certain the conversation will be interesting. The captain is much concerned with truth and is knowledgeable about many things, is he not?” She gave him a decidedly pointed look.

“As is Miss Goodrich,” Snowe said smoothly. “She has informed me that she is schooled in many languages.”

“She and Captain Malfort will have much to talk about then, I imagine.” Miss Whipple smiled at Snowe, then turned to me. “Miss Goodrich, if Phineas can spare your presence, I thought it might be interesting to show you my cabin. I brought quite a collection of embroidery with me, as I find it helps to pass the time. I would be delighted to share my cloth and thread if you enjoy such arts.”

“I do, Miss Whipple. Thank you. It would be nice to stitch something that might be of use in the Orient, as well. Perhaps a cuff or a handkerchief?”

Miss Whipple smiled at Phineas. “Please excuse us.”

Snowe bowed. “Miss Goodrich, we will speak again.”

“I daresay we will, as we share a cabin,” I said dryly. “Perhaps in the meantime you will consider my request?”

“What is that?” Miss Whipple said.

“I would like Mr. Snowe to teach me the Chinese language during our journey. I want to prepare to help in some manner once we reach Canton.”

She cast a sidelong glance in his direction. “And he has refused?”

“Indeed, he has not answered. But I am sure it is not for lack of opinion.”

Snowe said nothing, his face expressionless. Miss Whipple smiled at him then turned me away. “Come, Miss Goodrich. We will leave him to think, then, for though we have a long journey yet, every second brings us that much closer to our destination.”