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With their necessary stores aboard the Robert, along with three cases of the Royal Navy’s favorite Plymouth gin and plenty of limes, they weighed anchor and left Stanley Bay midday with about five hours of light left.
For Miss Angsley’s sake, Philip had even procured a gown from an English colonist since, more than once, she’d expressed her discomfort wearing her grubby garment. Philip couldn’t believe she was so uncomfortable she couldn’t wait a few days until they reached the Wellesley. For his part, he had easily become accustomed to wearing the same shirt, trousers, and coat for weeks.
And some of his crew had only one pair of pants!
However, when he saw her emerging from a room on the barracks with a clean dress, he could see it pleased her tremendously, and, for some reason, her happiness lightened his heart.
Moreover, the new gown, which he surmised was nothing like the à la mode fashion in Paris or London, exposed her long graceful neck and the creamy, smooth skin of her décolletage. He doubted it was meant to spark desire, as the woman who’d owned it was the middle-aged wife of a clerk on the island. All the same, its simply cut design displayed more of Miss Angsley than her own fashionably high-necked traveling gown she’d discarded.
For the first time, Philip could see she wore a gold chain with a green pendant. The Chinese pirates would have taken it in an instant if they’d seen it.
She probably hadn’t even thought of that. Had she understood how much danger she had been in? He found himself belatedly feeling a little appalled on her behalf at what might have happened.
Miss Beryl Angsley didn’t belong here in the Orient, and he thanked the lucky sailor’s stars he’d found her in the pirate junk. Even with the Chinese pirates’ code, she would have been wedded against her will within days so the pirate captain, or Chui-A-poo if she’d been captured for him, could enjoy her thoroughly.
Now, if he could only get her back on board the HMS Wellesley.
***
DESPITE THE CASES OF gin, Rufus scowled upon seeing his captain return with their unwanted guest. Philip also noticed his first mate’s gaze take in the newly revealing gown.
“Trouble,” Rufus murmured as Philip sent her immediately to his cabin.
“Trouble,” Rufus repeated under his breath when they stood on the quarter deck later, laying out a course for Hai Phong.
Normally, Philip and his first mate would be in his cabin seated at the table. Instead, they’d spread the charts on the deck and were considering any potential dangers.
“Speak of the devil,” Philip said as Leo sprang onto the center of the map he was examining, sitting practically on top of their destination.
“You know the cat isn’t what I was referring to,” Rufus protested.
“No matter. I couldn’t leave her here. Who knows how long it would be before the navy finished fighting with Shap-ng-tsai and realized she wasn’t captured by him? And what if her father got himself killed? Then what would happen to her?”
Rufus stared at him. Philip stared back.
“What?” he asked finally, but he knew what his first mate was thinking, that he had grown a soft spot for the lady. More likely, he had something hard for the lady rather than soft, considering her shapely figure and kissable mouth.
Kissable mouth?
Pointless yearnings in any case, seeing where they were — in the middle of the China Sea and about to turn her over, with any luck, to the Royal Navy. Undoubtedly, he would never see her again.
Shaking his head, Philip glanced again at the chart, nudging Leo with the toe of his boot until the animal hissed and ran off.
“We could go straight through, be there in about thirty hours.”
Rufus shrugged. “Not worth the risk, is it?”
Probably not, Philip thought. Sailing at full speed in the pitch black was a fool’s journey. Besides, with the clipper’s capabilities, they wouldn’t be far behind Lord Angsley when they reached Hai Phong. Maybe they could stop the captain of the Wellesley from engaging with the pirates at all.
“We’ll try to reach Shangchuan Island tonight, and tuck in at Shadi Bay if we make it that far.”
Rufus was still grumbling when he went to give the crew their orders.
Philip tried to ignore the twinge of misgivings he’d had since first seeing Miss Angsley on the junk in Bias Bay. It seemed, though, he was destined to be with her for a couple days longer.
***
BERYL DECIDED TO ACQUIESCE to the captain’s wishes and remain in the cabin. Besides, it was late and growing cold and windy on deck. When she mentioned this to the sailor who brought her some supper on a tray, he laughed.
“The wind is our best friend, miss. Without it, we’d be dead in the water.”
She didn’t like the way he emphasized the word dead. She’d noticed the line of canons on the Robert, as the ship was called. She knew it was named for Captain Carruthers’ dead brother, which seemed an ill omen. Nevertheless, the weaponry reassured her they weren’t relying only on speed to outrun danger. It appeared they could fight if need be.
A scratching at the door alerted her to the cat wanting to enter the cabin, and she opened the door.
“Leo,” she greeted when he rubbed around her ankles, able to get close to her legs since she no longer had on her layers of petticoats. Her “new” dress, in pale green silk, was simple but clean, which felt like an absolute luxury. Anywhere else in the world, she knew the plain gown would be made of mere homespun for the woman the captain bought it from was not wealthy by British standards. In China, though, the silk was as cheap as cotton.
Her old dress of cream brocade with blue panels and gold thread, she’d left on the island with the clerk’s wife, who was only too happy for the fabric. And as soon as she’d returned to the privacy of the cabin, Beryl had removed her petticoats, stained with seawater. They now lay discarded in a heap in the corner.
After a few moments of letting her rub the top of his head and even under his chin, Leo wandered toward the bed. Beryl was glad of the company, assuming she would be alone until morning. The captain had mentioned books in the small chest of drawers beside the bed, so she followed the cat.
Rummaging through the drawers, she found a small collection of stories by the American Edgar Allan Poe, which she tossed aside as too unsettling. There was also a well-read, thick tome of Shakespeare. However, she settled on a translation of Homer’s Odyssey, a fitting story for her own strange journey.
Earlier, she’d quite enjoyed perusing the maps on his table, but he’d taken them along with the bag he’d slept beside when he’d first brought her to his ship the night before.
Was it truly only the previous night? It seemed as if it were a lot longer. Moreover, she felt as if she’d been traveling for days, getting nowhere, from the moment the infernal rice sack had been yanked over her head, ruining her impeccably dressed hair.
Captain Carruthers had called her irresponsible, but she’d been only a few yards away from the barracks, and she’d been told Hong Kong Island was safe. How was she to know pirates lurked about by the shore like water-snakes?
And then, she hadn’t understood a thing anyone had said, until one of the Chinese pirates said “Lady Brit” and later pantomimed they’d been watching her, showing her a spyglass. She supposed she and her father had been visible enough in their travels on the mainland. If someone had taken a liking to her, there wasn’t much she could do.
Then the same pirate with the long, tightly braided queue had said, “You make wife,” pointing off the junk’s deck into the darkness, and her blood had run cold.
Thank God for Captain Carruthers. She didn’t fancy gaining a pirate husband if that was what the man meant. What’s more, she had a fiancé back home, chosen from the group of perfectly good suitors she’d met during the Season.
When London’s social events were winding down, she’d accepted the proposal of Lord Arthur Wharton, only a couple years her senior. He was nice. His family was nice. His manners were nice. He even had a nice horse when they went riding in Hyde Park together. And, of course, he had a very nice yearly income from his father’s estate so her parents were pleased.
Thus, even though she’d felt no compunction to marry him when first partnered on the dance floor or at a dinner party, eventually, when faced with another Season, she’d decided she was simply being too fussy. How could she ask for more than kind, good-looking, and wealthy? Besides, he’d declared he had great affection for her.
Though as soon as she’d said yes to Arthur, it felt very much like a rice sack was put over her head — now that she knew what that felt like. In order to enjoy a few months of freedom before becoming the Viscountess of Wharton, Beryl had begged her father to let her go with him.
Now, though, after this terrifying excursion, marriage to Arthur was looking more and more desirable.
The vessel was sailing very smoothly, and the sailor who’d left her meal had lit the two lamps. She noticed with a small smile the candlestick had disappeared. Apparently, she was not to be trusted, but she no longer felt she needed it, either. Perhaps it was the fluffy orange cat or perhaps because the captain had bought her a clean dress.
Who would ever believe her outlandish adventure? She hoped her journal, written diligently every single day of her travels, was still safe in her trunk with her father on the Wellesley. A lump formed in her throat, thinking of him somewhere up ahead searching for her.
Sipping the wine that came with her meal, Beryl swallowed her sadness, heartened by the knowledge she was even then sailing toward him. What a pity, though, the most exciting part of her travels wouldn’t be in her journal. Maybe she should commit her story to paper immediately while she could still recall the scent and rough feel of the horrid rice bag. More than that, she could remember in detail the interior of the Chinese pirate’s cabin on the junk, with the ornate teapot on his table and two fancy swords hanging over his bed.
Studying her surroundings, neither overly stark nor luxurious yet comfortable with a few niceties, such as a mantel clock and a washing bowl, she wouldn’t be surprised if the captain had writing implements.
Glancing at the cat, her only company, she said, “Tell me, Leo, are there pen and paper here?”
Idly, opening the large tin cannister in the middle of the table, she discovered it contained metal balls. Strange. She picked one up, then another, and then gave up trying to decipher their use.
Hoping the captain wouldn’t mind, she decided to search the cabin for what she desired. She’d already retrieved books from the small dresser and had seen no paper, not even a journal the captain was keeping. There wasn’t too much other furniture beyond a trunk, the table at which she sat, and a small wardrobe.
Opening the latter, she found a few thick sweaters and a couple pairs of pants, and not much else. Unfortunately, nothing to write on or with.
Shrugging, Beryl turned to the chest, but, to her dismay, it had a padlock on its latch.
Hmm. She supposed she could ask for paper, but it was hardly worth going on deck this late. She could wait until morning, for as she understood it, she would be on the Robert for another two days. For now, she would read the Odyssey, quell her curiosity over the trunk’s contents, and keep company with the cat.
***
PHILIP NEARLY WENT to his cabin half a dozen times — simply to check on Miss Angsley — but then it was too late. She would be asleep, and he didn’t wish to awaken her. Indeed, he could think of no believable reason to do so.
Except he rather liked talking to her. It must be the general longing for home and all she represented. True, the choice to miss home had been his own. He’d left England of his own accord, seeking to drive out the sorrow over his twin’s futile and senseless death.
Robert’s reckless carriage racing had spilled out of Hyde Park onto Oxford Street, and right into the unfortunate Earl of Cambrey, who also very nearly lost his life that day. Trying to avoid the earl’s vehicle, as witnesses said, Philip’s twin had overturned his carriage, dying instantly when his head struck the street. His lifeless body was dragged until his horses stopped.
And his brother had been considered the responsible one.
Philip didn’t take his own ease and find a bunk until the Robert was safely anchored in Shadi Bay. Though darkness had overtaken them, still, they’d made it to the southwest side of Shangchuan Island.
And they would leave as soon as there was a hint of dawn creeping over the horizon, and sail all day with the light, perhaps eleven-and-a-half hours.
Confident the lookout would keep a keen eye on the sea around them, Philip fell into a deep slumber as soon as he lay down.
When he was awakened the next morning by the boatswain’s whistle, he realized he’d slept in. The sun had already crested the horizon, and by the feel of the vessel beneath his boots as he swung his legs off the bunk, Rufus had weighed anchor and left Shangchuan Island behind.
Thinking kindly on his trustworthy and capable crew, Philip went on deck, still rubbing the crick in his neck and stretching out his back. The first thing he saw was Miss Angsley amongst a huddle of sailors.
Exactly what he didn’t want to see — her surrounded by drooling crewmen!
She was seated on a closed hatch with a mug of tea in her hand, as if she were in her own drawing room learning the day’s gossip. What’s more, his men were ignoring their duties and any potential danger.
So much for trustworthy and capable! An entire pirate fleet could come upon them and they wouldn’t notice. Scoundrels, all!
Philip let out a roar of rage, causing all eyes to settle upon him. Even the blasted cat who was sitting at her feet, looked up. Smarter than his crew, Leo startled, sprang away behind the small deckhouse, and disappeared from sight.
Frozen, his men stared at him as if he were the kraken itself, then taking a hint from the ship’s cat, galvanized into action, scattering to their posts.
“Yes, you’d better run,” Philip yelled churlishly.
Rufus appeared from the galley, cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand and saw the problem. Instead of looking as annoyed as his captain felt, however, Rufus sent Philip an I-told-you-so smirk and resumed his post on the poop deck at the wheel.
Stalking over to Miss Angsley, the one person who didn’t seem at all affected by his outburst, Philip stood before her, blocking the sun from her face.
“Good morning, Captain, and isn’t it a lovely one?” She offered him a dazzling smile.
“What do you think you are doing?”
Tilting her head, she asked, “Do you always come upon deck in the morning and create such a fuss? Is bellowing your way of clearing your lungs and getting a good dose of sea air? You made quite an exhilarating sound. I think I shall try it.”
She stood up, took a deep breath, and — to his amazement — yelled loudly. Then she laughed, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight.
Was she deranged? Or merely mocking him?
“It does feel good, Captain, I must admit. You’ve got a grand idea with that.” She resumed her seat, mug still in hand. “Perhaps tomorrow, you can get everyone to join in at once. They might be able to hear us back in England.”
She was mocking him. Undoubtedly.
“I asked you to stay in the cabin,” he reminded her, “precisely so you wouldn’t distract my crew.”
“Pish.”
“Pish?”
“Yes, Captain. I was a good guest and stayed in there nearly all of yesterday except for our brief time on shore at Stanley, and I didn’t even come out last night when I wanted paper and pen. However, this morning, I decided some sunshine would be lovely.”
Was he gaping at her? He felt as if he were. She was simply so engaging and so utterly unusual on board the ship. Sunshine and paper? Would she demand some wool so she could knit them all caps, too?
No wonder the men had gathered around her like bees to honey. They wanted to know what she might possibly say or do next. As did he.
As if knowing his thoughts, she surprised him by pointing over his head and behind him.
“What does it say on your pirate flag?”
Philip didn’t need to look at the top of the foremast to answer. He flew two flags, a Union Jack and a bright red and yellow pennant with the Carruthers’ coat of arms and its motto, promptus et fidelis.
“There is no pirate flag,” he said through gritted teeth. “As for my family’s motto, it translates as ready and faithful.”
She was quiet a moment, pondering his words.
“Ready for what and faithful to whom, I wonder,” she said at last.
He crossed his arms, although in truth he’d never considered the what and the whom of it before. He assumed the Carruthers considered themselves ready for anything and faithful to the rest of the family.
“If you will go back to the cabin, I will ask Mr. Churley, my quartermaster, to procure some paper, pen, and ink.”
“I will.”
Philip sensed she’d agreed too easily. Sure enough, she smiled at him, another rather impressive smile, at that.
“Just as soon as I’ve finished my tea. Actually, I wouldn’t mind another cup if you’d care to join me. Perhaps some more porridge, too.”
“This isn’t a park in which to have a picnic.” He knew he was starting to sound like a prudish governess instead of a bold swashbuckler, but he couldn’t help himself. Perhaps because he’d spent two years on his ship with every last soul doing what he said, when he said it.
And Miss Beryl Angsley was defying him. It couldn’t be tolerated, not in front of his men. He had to be firm. He had to show her he ruled his ship with an iron fist.
She gazed up at him, her brown eyes optimistic.
“Another mug of tea,” he heard himself agree. “But no porridge!”