To Catch a Bride (21 page)

Everything was fixed to prevent it moving in case of storm; a small desk-cum-table was lowered from the wall and several chairs hung on hooks, to be taken down when necessary.

The cabin was quite luxurious and even had a separate, though tiny room for washing, and next to it a Bramah’s water closet with a saltwater flush.

“Everything of the most modern and convenient,” Higgins had declared proudly, obviously a little disappointed his master was not there to be impressed, too.

It was the best cabin on the ship, Higgins explained. It had been fitted out for the ship’s owner and his wife when they traveled and was not normally available for passengers, Higgins told her, with a smug look. He’d done well to get it.

The timber lining of the cabin was painted white, and the brass hinges and handles, hanging oil lamp, and other fittings gleamed with a recent polish. Two windows over the bed, looking out the back of the ship, and a large porthole on the side wall let in plenty of light.

The ship had been a warship but was converted by the new owners, and though some of the cannon ports had been kept for guns in case of pirates, many now were fitted with windows—portholes—to let light and fresh air into passengers’ cabins.

She shook out the dresses she’d bought. Rafe had been very clear that she was not to worry too much—just get some clothes to travel in. She’d be clothed in the latest fashions once they got to London. “Half a dozen dresses or so and the usual feminine folderol,” he’d told her.

The trouble was she had no idea what “the usual feminine folderol” was. And six seemed an enormous number of dresses to her. Still, it had been such a long time since she’d had anything new, she was happy to take his purse and spend his money. She’d put on one of Laila’s all-over robes, and veiled, she’d had a lovely time, choosing fabrics and haggling over prices to her heart’s content.

She’d never done that sort of thing before, and it occurred to her she could have slipped into anonymous women’s garb before this, but her concentration had been so wholly on not appearing female that she’d never done it.

The seamstress had boggled with amazement when she took off the outer robe and showed herself to be a boy, and then took off her outer boy’s clothing and revealed herself to be a girl. She told the woman to say nothing, but she knew gossip would eventually spread.

It didn’t matter anymore; she was going to England.

She looked at the dresses spread out on the cabin bed. In the short walk to Rafe’s cabin she’d passed several Englishwomen, a Frenchwoman, and a few more whose nationality she hadn’t been able to identify. None of them wore dresses quite like these. Hers, she decided, were prettier.

The Cairo markets were wonderful, and she’d bought shoes and scarves and shawls, but there were no European-style dresses to be had anywhere, so Ayisha had chosen the fabrics and taken them to a seamstress. She’d never made Frankish dresses before, the woman told her, but she was sure she could manage.

So Ayisha had drawn some pictures and described what she wanted—going on vague memories from six years ago and glimpses of Englishwomen in the street—and the seamstress had done her best.

They were very simple. Two days were not enough to make anything complicated, so they were all basically the same design: simply cut, with wide enough skirts to move easily, a plain, round neck, elbow-length sleeves, and tied under the breasts with a ribbon or a cord. But the seamstress had added extra little touches that made each dress special: a band of contrasting fabric, a fringe, some beads. Ayisha was thrilled with everything, even the underwear.

She wasn’t at all sure what English ladies wore under their dresses. When she was a little girl she’d just worn a chemise, but she was sure ladies must wear more than a chemise. But there wasn’t time, so she’d just bought short, cotton Turkish-style pantaloons that ended at the knee, and some simple cotton chemise-like garments.

It was getting late, so she donned a wheat-colored dress with a pretty pattern of green leaves and blackberries, and slipped her feet into the red leather Turkish slippers she’d bought. She loved these shoes with their contrasting black design and red tassels on the toes.

She opened the door to the washroom and peered at the reflection in the small, round looking glass, but it was screwed into the wall at head height and she couldn’t see much.

She combed her ragged hair and pulled a face at her reflection. She looked like a boy. She should have bought some sort of lady’s hat, to hide how short her hair was. Would it grow to a respectable length before he met her grandmother? She hoped so. Maybe a scarf . . . Hadn’t Rafe said in England ladies wore turbans?

She was looking through the half dozen scarves she’d bought when there was a knock at the door. “It’s Higgins, miss.”

She flew to open it. “What do you think of my new clothes, Higgins?” She twirled so he could see.

Higgins looked her over gravely, then nodded. “Very nice, miss.” His gaze wandered to her hair and a crease formed between his brows. “Miss, if I could be so bold—”

“I know, it’s my hair, isn’t it? I didn’t think to buy a hat, but Ra—Mr. Ramsey said that in England some ladies wear turbans, so I thought perhaps . . .”

“Only the older ladies wear turbans, miss,” Higgins said. “Many of the younger ones are wearing the more fashionable short crop these days.”

“Short crop? Does that mean . . . ?” She touched her hair tentatively. “Not like this, surely?”

“Not quite, miss, but . . .” He looked a little self-conscious. “I’ve never cut a lady’s hair, miss, but I cut sir’s, and all his friends when they come to visit.”

“You cannot mean to make it shorter . . . can you?” She placed a protective hand over what hair she had left.

“Not so much shorter, miss, but giving it some shape. I venture to suggest with a little shaping, it could look quite pretty. It’s good and thick and with a nice bit of curl to it.”

Ayisha looked at Higgins’s neat person and made up her mind. “Do it,” she said. It couldn’t look any worse, and if Higgins cut Rafe’s hair, well, Rafe always looked so elegant.

“Right then, miss, if you would sit in this chair, please?” Higgins sat her on a chair and draped a sheet around her. From Rafe’s shaving kit bag he took a pair of scissors and a comb. He combed her hair a few different ways, seemed to come to a decision, and began snipping.

Bits of damp hair fell all around her. The more hair fell, the more anxious Ayisha grew. He was a man’s valet. He would be giving her a man’s haircut. The best she could hope for was to look like a very elegant boy.

Snip, snip.

She forced herself to be philosophical. If it was as bad as she expected, she thought dolefully, she would simply wear a turban. Like an old woman. It would give her added maturity.

Snip, snip.

She had been a girl dressed as a boy. Now she would look like a boy dressed as a girl. She knew which one would look more ridiculous.

“There now, miss.” Higgins carefully drew the sheet away from her so no hair fell on her new dress. There was an alarming amount of hair on the floor. “Have a look in the looking glass, miss.”

Trying not to let her trepidation show, Ayisha looked in the glass. And looked.

“Higgins . . .” She turned her head this way and that.

“Higgins . . .” She stared at her reflection in disbelief, then whirled around. “I was so certain you’d made me look like a boy!”

Higgins grinned. “It’s even more successful than I imagined, miss. You look very pretty.”

She looked back at herself in the mirror. “I think I do, too. It’s . . . amazing.” She turned back to him, misty-eyed. “Thank you, Higgins, thank you!”

He frowned. “But, miss, you’re—”

She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes. “Oh, don’t mind that. It’s silly I know, but it’s so long since I’ve felt pretty. Oh, Higgins, you’re probably going to hate this, but—” She hugged him, hard.

He emerged from the swift embrace looking embarrassed but pleased. “Don’t mind at all, miss,” he said gruffly. “Though you shouldn’t make a habit of it. Anything I can do to help. It’s difficult for you I know, without a maid.”

“Maid?” She laughed. “I haven’t had a maid since I was a little girl. I wouldn’t know what to do with one.”

“You’ll learn, miss,” Higgins assured her. “But in the meantime, if you need anything, you tell me. Now, miss, while I tidy up here and remove your things to your cabin, how about you go up on deck and see if Mr. Rafe is coming? It’s getting mighty late.”

“I’ll take my things.” Ayisha began to repack them in her bundle.

“It’s my job, miss—” Higgins began.

“No, it’s my maid’s,” said Ayisha happily. “The lazy creature! Now, let me do it—I’m not a fine lady yet.”

Higgins hesitated. “You are, you know, miss. No matter where you’ve been living, or how, you’re a lady born—in the best sense of the word.”

His words took Ayisha’s breath away. “Thank you, Higgins,” she said. “Sometimes I wonder how I’m going to manage in England.”

He began to sweep up her shorn locks. “You’ll be all right, miss. Best country in the world. Just that you need to learn the rules, that’s all. Every place has its odd little rules, don’t they?”

“That’s true,” she said thoughtfully, folding her bundle up. Not just every place, but different groups in the same place. As a little girl there had been Mama’s friends—ladies, none of them English—and then there were Papa’s English friends and visitors from all over the world—men of affairs, mostly. And then the servants. And with each the rules had been different.

And on the streets there was a whole new set of rules. There, learning had been a matter of survival. This should be much easier. Higgins was right; it was just a matter of working out the rules.

Higgins finished tidying and started unpacking Rafe’s things. “I had to learn how to get on in a big house myself, miss. Very different from how I grew up, and different again from the army. Servants in a big house, well, they can be just as snobby as the toffs—some more so.” He winked. “But I’m flexible, on account of having been sir’s batman when he was at war.”

“I’m flexible, too,” she said.

“So you are, miss. I expect you’re a quick study, too. You’re quality, miss, through and through. Now, here’s the key to your cabin. Mrs. Ferris wasn’t there before. Maybe she’s up on deck. Most of ’em will be there, waiting for the ship to cast off.” He pulled out his watch and shook his head. “Cutting it very fine, he is, this time.”

Q
uality through and through? A lady born? Ayisha thought as she carried her things to her cabin. If he only knew.

Still they were very heartening words.

She knocked, but there was no answer so she went in. It was smaller than Rafe’s cabin, with one porthole instead of two. Two beds were screwed to the wall, one above the other. The lower bunk had a shawl and a book resting on it. Mrs. Ferris’s, no doubt.

She looked at the title of the book.
The Mysteries of Udolpho
, by a Mrs. Radcliffe. She glanced inside and saw it was a story and wondered if Mrs. Ferris would lend it to her after she had finished. It had been such a long time since she’d read anything.

Ayisha was pleased. She rather liked the idea of sleeping on the top bunk. She could look out of the porthole. She glanced out and saw most of the activity on the wharf had stopped. There were just a few people standing around, waiting. The ship would be leaving soon. And where was Rafe?

She quickly stowed her things and hurried up on deck, grabbing a shawl at the last minute. Nearly a dozen people were gathered along the rail at one end of the ship—passengers, she assumed from their clothing. She felt a little too shy to join them just yet. And besides, there was no sign of Rafe.

The breeze picked up, snapping the fabric of the sails and Ayisha’s clothes. Her short hair blew in the wind and after wearing a head covering for years, it felt lovely and free, but her skirts flapped around her legs in a disconcerting manner. The feeling of wind against her legs made her feel very exposed. English ladies’ clothes were very thin. She was glad she had the shawl and not only because of the breeze.

She’d hardly noticed she had breasts while she was a boy—only that they were a danger and had to be kept invisible. The bindings kept everything flat. Now nothing was keeping anything flat and it felt most . . . peculiar.

She glanced down as she walked along the deck, keeping away from the other passengers. There wasn’t much bounce, but still . . . She bounced on the balls of her feet, experimentally. The shawl bounced with her.

She would have to get a corset. She hadn’t even thought of one before. Not that any were for sale in the market.

She leaned against the rail and gazed out to the city. The sun was appreciably lower in the sky. He’d been gone almost two hours. Where on earth was he?