The welling pity so poignant seconds earlier vanished without a trace. “Should you not be scrubbing pots, or boiling water, or something else appropriate to a scullery maid?”
Jane rose to begin collecting pots from the adjacent pile. “If you will pardon me, sir, I must earn my berth.”
She swept past him with a handful of pots and began loudly restoring them to the appropriate hooks, nooks, and crannies. She spoke not a word during the process.
“Again, Mr. Ashford, may I assist you in some manner?” said Hester.
“Tea. I need tea. And a spot of hardtack, if you please.”
Hester nodded and began to comply with his request. While both women worked, Adam wondered why Jane could not be more amenable like her aunt. He shook away the thought. No sense in considering a lark. Jane was a typical Hancock after all.
Chapter Seven
Jane lugged her bag down the gangplank at breakneck pace, anxious to be free of the torture device innocuously called theWayfarer. The frenetic docklands of Newcastle-on-Tyne at midmorning seemed a veritable paradise compared to the galley where she had spent most of the last fifty-two hours. Those hours did not include, of course, the necessary time spent hanging over the gunwale making offerings to the god of reconstituted food.
“Wait for me, Jane.” Aunt Hester’s call carried an undertone of exasperation unusual for her. “Don’t leave an old woman behind.”
“You are not an old woman, Auntie. You are only four and thirty.”
“Five and thirty next month and widowed for half my life. Too old for consideration is old enough, it seems.”
Jane laughed as if Aunt Hester was joking, but the truth of the statement pained her. How had an entire generation of men missed the fact that Hester was a rare prize? Her aunt’s poor luck had all but destroyed Jane’s faith in the intelligence of men and bolstered her belief that she would never find a worthy suitor. Debtor’s prison would snuff even flickering hope. While Jane tried in vain to ignore the prospect of losing her future before the age of one and twenty, Hester squeezed her arm.
“Chin up, my dear. Your scowl will frighten the dockhands.”
She forced a smile. “Of course, Auntie. I prize above all things the approval of dockhands.”
A laugh drew Jane’s eyes to the gangplank where she found Adam and Barlow descending alongside a stout sailor. The sailor grinned while in animated conversation with Adam. Jane huffed. Apparently, Adam had managed to charm even the uncharmable. She watched intently as the two men drifted within range of hearing. The sailor slapped Adam roughly but affectionately on the back.
“If the life of a gentleman ever becomes too onerous, Ashford, you can always scrub chain and swab decks.”
Adam slapped the man’s back in return. “If my current venture fails, I may have no choice, McPhee.”
They shared a last laugh and parted. Adam joined Barlow as they came to stand beside Jane and Aunt Hester. Barlow bowed to them before addressing Hester sheepishly.
“I hope you did not find the arrangements too difficult or demeaning, Mrs. Byrd. I feel rather like a cad for suggesting it, now that I have witnessed the difficulty of it.”
Aunt Hester flashed a brilliant smile. “Do not fret over it, sir. If a little hard work is good for the soul, then shouldn’t an abundance of hard work make one a saint?”
Barlow laughed. “Hard work seems to have produced the desired effect on you.”
“Then you have known precious few saints, Mr. Barlow.”
“True, until now.”
Jane’s eyes went wide when her aunt blushed and tucked her chin. Why, she was acting like a witless schoolgirl! She glanced at Adam to find him cutting his eyes at her, apparently as amused as she was. Jane shrugged and waited for Aunt Hester to respond. She never got the chance.
“You worthless collection of rotting flotsam!”
She nearly jumped through her skin at the sound of Mr. Pugh’s insult. The iron man waded into their circle of conversation with a scowl that could blister paint. “Every creature, short of the rats infesting the hold, finds it both customary and necessary to request permission of the bosun before leaving the ship.”
Everyone recoiled from the withering assault. Perhaps due to her exhaustion, Jane bridled with indignation. As she called up a scorching retort, her eyes found Adam. His growing smirk seemed to anticipate her intended response. She became abruptly determined to prove his assumption wrong and instead dropped a curtsy to the bosun.
“Our deepest apologies, Mr. Pugh. We are indeed worthless as you so rightly noted. As we remain deeply uninformed in these matters, we beg forgiveness and humbly ask your permission to depart the ship.”
Mr. Pugh’s eyebrows lifted. After a moment, he emitted a low chuckle not unlike the sound of heavy chain scraping over pavement. “Nobody ever apologizes.” He swung his scrutiny to each of them in turn. “I was certain one or most of you would die along the way. Considering your survival and general pathetic ignorance, and in light of the girl’s refusal to cower, I grant you leave.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pugh,” they all said in some form or another. The bosun turned away but stopped short. He leveled a finger toward a man loading a large wagon drawn by four mules.
