The Sandalwood Princess (9 page)

Mrs. Gales was saying something, and looking at her rather strangely.

“I beg your pardon,” Amanda said. “I fear my mind wandered.”

“I asked why you didn’t take the statue when you had the opportunity.”

Amanda thrust the valet’s image aside. “Far too risky,” she answered. “Padji, Bella, and I are the only outsiders who’ve entered that cabin, which would make us prime suspects. The instant the theft was discovered, the commander would have to comb every square inch of the vessel. Eventually they’d find the statue, and then it would be only my word against Mr. Wringle’s that the Laughing Princess is rightfully mine.”

The widow sighed. “I see. The captain would probably leave the matter to be settled in England, and…”

“And the Juggernaut—Hedgrave—would crush me.” Amanda swallowed the last of her wine. “The task, you see, wants subtlety, cunning, and patience, at the very least. It wants the Falcon, actually, but as we haven’t got
him,
we shall have to make do with Padji.”

***

“Beg pardon for mentionin’ it, guv, but a body’d think you was turnin’ into a fusspot is what,” said Jessup as he hauled himself up to a sitting position. “Ain’t the damned thing hid good enough? Don’t I have this here pistol under the pillow? Don’t I keep a sharp lookout the whole time the gal’s here? Not to mention which, they do say two’s company, if you take my meaning.”

“You’re in no condition to dally with ladies’ maids,” Philip said. “And do I have to remind you the abigail belongs to the woman I robbed?”

He’d already had an unsatisfactory discussion the day before with Bella, who’d taken umbrage at his offer to relieve her. Two months they’d been at sea, and Jessup, though still weak, was sufficiently alert to take note of his surroundings. That was the trouble. He’d taken note of the plump Bella—and she of him, evidently, for the two were at present behaving like a pair of moonstruck adolescents.

All by himself, Jessup had contrived an explanation for his lowly speech and coarse manner, because, he said, he was tired of giving one-word answers. He had only to “confess” that Mr. Groves had exaggerated his position—he was merely a solicitor’s clerk. Bella would pass along the revelation. Thus, when Jessup at last became well enough to venture among the others, no one would expect anything but the common sort of fellow he was. Meanwhile, he wanted more privacy.

“I ain’t like to forget when you call it to my attention every other word,” Jessup answered grumpily. “Like I ain’t been through half a hundred battles with you, not to mention we been through a deal worse since we left off soldierin’ for thievin’. Leastways in a battle, a fellow gets his leg shot off or his arm, or something clean-like. He don’t get poisoned and drove all the way to Bedlam and back with no hope of dyin’ and bein’ done with it.”

When all else failed, Jessup was not above applying guilt. He was entitled, considering his master was to blame for his condition. The poison had so weakened Jessup’s constitution that many months would pass before he was his sturdy old self again. Now his employer wished to deny him the comfort of a woman: a plump, amiable maid with gentle hands and a soft, soothing voice.

In jessup’s place, Philip would have wanted the same. Besides, this was a man of five and thirty summers, not a callow youth. While perhaps unequal to the rani’s fiendish tricks, Jessup was nonetheless up to every other sort of rig. He knew the wooden statue’s value. He’d not risk his share of the reward for a tumble with any female.

“I suppose I am behaving like a fussy nursemaid,” said Philip ruefully, as he commenced pacing the tiny cabin space.

“Worse,” his servant answered tactlessly. I never seen such a case of fidgets in my life. “Whyn’t you go run about the deck and leave me in peace?”

“I do not fidget,” Philip snapped. “And I have been ‘running about the deck’ as you say, the whole curst afternoon. There is not one thing for me to do, and not one person to talk to except sailors, and they’d prefer spending their leisure jabbering at each other in their incomprehensible argot. Why can’t they say ‘right’ and ‘left’ like normal people? What’s wrong with front and back, forwards and rear? Do you know how many sails are on this ship? A least a thousand, and each with a different name, I expect,” he concluded in exasperation.

“Is she pretty?” Jessup asked.

“What?” Philip whipped round so quickly that the top of his head grazed a beam. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“Miss Cavencourt. Is she pretty?”

“Are your wits wandering again? What has that to say to anything?”

“Just askin’, guv. No need to get your innards in an uproar. I was too sick to notice when she was here, and I ain’t seen her since I been better. Just wonderin’ if she’s plump like her maid.”

“She is not plump at all, so you needn’t drool over both of them.”

“Aye, one of them scrawny ones, I expect. A spinster, I think you said she was?”

“I did not at any time say she was a skinny old maid. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

“We got her statue, so she’s some worry, ain’t she?”

“It was hers for less than an hour. It was Her Royal Hellcat’s for a curst eternity. Or, to be more accurate, it was in her possession. We both know Madam Fiend stole it from Hedgrave.”

“That’s so, but Miss Cavencourt don’t seem the same kind, do she? From what I hear, she was worryin’ over you like a mother hen.”

“Certainly. The lady of the manor always looks after the ailing peasants,” Philip answered irritably.

The servant rubbed his eyes. “Well, I don’t blame you
for feelin’ the way you do. Bound to stick in your craw, it is, havin’ to bow and scrape and be ordered this way and that. Still, it’s in the way of business, and you won’t hurry this ship any faster, for all your fusion’ and fidgetin’.” Jessup sank back into the pillows. “I never seen you so jumpy, like a cat in a tub o’ water. Wears me out, just watchin’ you.”

“What sticks in my craw,” Philip gritted out, “is being trapped on a ship with a carved figure worth fifty thousand pounds, an Indian as like to murder us in our sleep as not, and the woman, supposedly his employer, I robbed. Think, man. She’s breached the security of this cabin. You’re infatuated with her fat maid. Do you wonder that I’m
jumpy?’’

“No,
I don’t wonder, guv,” was the weary reply. “I just wish you’d go be jumpy somewheres else.”

He was not
avoiding her, Amanda told herself as she dragged her gaze from the tall, golden-haired figure prowling the deck. Mr. Brentick was a servant, and he knew his place. Her only excuse for talking with him was to enquire after his master, which added up to no excuse, since he must know Bella would report to her.

Certainly Amanda had no need to lure the valet from his cabin and occupy him in conversation while Bella did her own part. The abigail had at last been taken into confidence. Once she understood what Amanda required of her, Bella had made short work of the valet.

All the same, one could not help feeling uneasy about him, or sorry for him, perhaps. So restless he was, roaming the vessel like a caged cat in the Royal Menagerie. He did remind her of a cat. At first he’d seemed so stiff and formal, even awkward. But that was only on the rare occasions they spoke.

When he wandered, as he did now, it was with the lithe grace of a tiger. He even seemed to exude the same aura of power ... or danger. Amanda was not sure what it was, exactly, only that now and again it seemed to lurk in his eyes as well, and it fascinated her, even as she instinctively shrank from it. Well, really, what had that to do with feeling sorry for him?

Amanda fixed her gaze firmly on the choppy sea. More than three months had passed since they’d left Calcutta. If
the weather held, they’d reach Capetown in another week or so, according to the commander. Then, in as little as a month—though more likely longer—they’d reach England. East Indiamen had been known to sail all the way from China to the Thames in a bit over three months, but that was rare. One storm could drive a vessel far off course, or damage it severely enough to require months of repairs at the nearest port. Furthermore, the
Evelina
had been becalmed twice and could be again. She must not think about time, Amanda chided herself.

The wind seemed to grow stronger as morning gave way to grey afternoon. Certainly Mrs. Bullerham’s usual complaints had increased significantly in volume. Two servants had hauled the obese harridan up, as they did nearly every day. She had, as usual, found fault with them throughout the process. Now, outraged with the ship’s rocking, she was venting her displeasure upon her spineless spouse.

Amanda moved some distance off, where she wouldn’t be able to hear them—or at least not so clearly. The clouds thickened and the vessel rose and fell on the choppy sea. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Bullerham’s booming tones rose suddenly, audible even over the wind and the moan of the timbers.
Blast the woman! Why the devil didn’t she go below if a hint of rough weather so overset her?

Amanda glanced back and drew a sigh of relief. The Bullerhams were preparing to descend. Amanda strolled back to her preferred spot and, gazing idly about, saw Mr. Brentick scowling after the clumsy parade. Abruptly, he looked towards Amanda, meeting her curious gaze before she thought to withdraw it He bowed—no, it was more like a nod—and equally unthinkingly, she smiled. He hesitated a moment, then, to her surprise, crossed the deck to her.

“Does the smoke sicken .yea, Miss Cavencourt?” he asked.

“The smoke?”

“From the galley. The cooking odour and smoke, Mrs. Bullerham declares, is intolerable.”

“Mrs. Bullerham’s toleration is of exceedingly limited quantity,” Amanda said.

“I wish she’d been warned. I had the temerity to suggest she move farther aft, away from the smoke.”

“Did you? I hope you didn’t suggest how far aft. In the vessel’s wake, for instance.”

“Swimming is reputed a healthful exercise,” he said blandly.

“Indeed. I wonder no one’s recommended it to her ere now.”

“Evidently, no one recommends anything to Mrs. Bullerham, as my still-tingling ears will attest.”

Amanda glanced up. His face was devoid of expression, except for those unreasonably blue eyes. The glint she discerned there was not entirely humour. Mrs. Bullerham must have been exceptionally vindictive today.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “She gave you a nasty dressing down, didn’t she? I hope you will not regard her. Discontent has poisoned her mind long since, and the boredom of the voyage makes her even more beastly, though it hardly seems possible.”

“I fear there was too much truth in what she said to be disregarded. She wondered I had nothing better to do than idle about the livelong day, and no better sense of propriety than to accost my superiors with my unsolicited opinions.” He paused, his face stiffening. “As I seem to have accosted you, Miss Cavencourt. I do beg your pardon.”

“You needn’t,” she answered, instantly wishing Mrs. Bullerham at the bottom of the sea. “Whenever she provokes me, I stomp off to vent my feelings to Mrs. Gales or Bella. Otherwise, I should probably throttle her. Rage all you like, Mr. Brentick. You’ll feel better after.”

His blue gaze swept her countenance in a swift, cool assessment that left her unaccountably flustered.

“Thank you, miss,” he answered quietly. “Your indignation on my account is sufficient Mrs. Bullerham would say ‘excessive,’ in that it has led you to tolerate an impropriety.”

Amanda flushed. She’d considered only his injured feelings, not their relative stations. Now she wished she’d left him to stew.

“Mrs. Bullerham would likely add that my grasp of etiquette leaves a great deal to be desired, and I wouldn’t know an impropriety if it bit me on the nose,” she answered tartly. “Though I don’t see why it is ill-bred to commiserate with another human being. I wasn’t inviting you to—to flirt with me, Mr. Brentick, merely to relieve yourself of the string of oaths burning your tongue.” She could have bit off her own tongue then, but it was too late to recall the infelicitous words. Mortified, she turned back to the sea.

“I beg your pardon, miss,’’ he said after a long, tense moment. “Naturally, the thought of flirting never crossed my mind.’’

She understood the words well enough. It was his tone that puzzled her.
Was he laughing at her, a plain, aging spinster who talked of flirting?

“Actually, I wish you hadn’t mentioned it,” he went on. “It’s rather like opening Pandora’s box, isn’t it?”

She threw him a seaming glance. “I was not trying to put ideas into your head. My temper got the better of my reason, perhaps, or I should have chosen less absurd phrasing.”

“It’s too late,” he answered hollowly. “The damage is done. I can’t think of a single remark that would not be construed as flirtatious.”

Incredulous, she turned around lull to stare at him. She’d always found him painfully handsome, but now, with that amused gleam in his eyes, he was . . . devastating.
Gad, what had she done?
Was it the ship rocking so hard, or her heart? She drew a steadying breath.

“Well. Then. At least I have taken your mind off Mrs. Bullerham,” she said.

“Entirely.”

“She’s bored, you know, and when some people are bored, they become ill-tempered—in her case, more ill-tempered than usual. Bella, on the other hand, becomes a fiend for work,” she went on, nervous under his unwinking cobalt stare. “She will clean the cabin a dozen times a day. Mrs. Gales merely switches from knitting to crochet or embroidery.”