“Ought we?” Caroline eyed the room, having second thoughts. “There is precious little space.”
“Why, it will fit! This is one of the most spacious packets you’ll find anywhere in English waters.” He sounded defensive and a little offended. “TheLady Maryis eighty-four feet from stem to stern, and you won’t find better anywhere, no matter what Mr. Bell says of theFrancis Freeling.”
Captain Wentworth seemed to be struggling to suppress a smile.
“Er, I wouldn’t know—” Caroline said
“Eighty-four!” he repeated. “While theFrancisis only eighty feet and a handful of inches. Not a mite more. It can’t rightly be called even eighty-one, and well Bell knows it!”
“Really? I had heard eighty-two.” Captain Wentworth’s eyes were dancing, and Anne squeezed his hand warningly.
“Eighty-two—” the captain repeated in stentorian accents.
“We bow to your better knowledge,” Anne cut in. “I should be glad of the instrument if you think it won’t discommode the others.”
“Yes, quite,” Caroline added. “I am not a good judge of tight—er—confined spaces.”
The captain bowed. “It shall do, ma’am. Excuse me.”
When Richard joined them, Caroline grimaced. “I think I offended our captain. I inadvertently cast aspersions on the length of the ship.”
Captain Wentworth succumbed to a laugh. “Don’t feel too bad! I should not make game of him, but it was bound to happen. A captain might abuse the size of his ship to himself or his cronies, but to hearanotherdo so… You had as well insult a lady’s face or character.”
Caroline shook her head. “I shall keep that in mind. All eighty-four feet of it.”
The supper farewas better than Caroline had feared. The lamb was well cooked, the vegetables lightly boiled, and the braised cod sweet and flaky. A layered trifle finished the meal, and it also was very tasty. Caroline made a heartier meal than she expected, despite the ship rocking more than she liked.
The captain sat at the head of the dining table, clearly pleased at the quality of his guests. “Many packet ships offer only a meager galley on which guests cookfor themselves,”he said, “but not on theLady Mary Pelham! No, on theLady Mary, we can do a little better than that. I fancy you won’t have any reason to say that the food wasn’t capital!” His remarks were addressed ostensibly to Sir Mark and Lady Marston, but from his many glances to Captain Wentworth, impressing the naval officer was his real goal.
Captain Wentworth complimented the food quite sincerely, both for its own sake and because he was glad to see Anne eating well. “Many’s the voyages I’ve had with mealy bread and hard-tack by the end!” he said. “But I had an excellent cook on theLaconia—a dragon of a man who somehow frightened the temperamental ovens into good behavior—and what must my friend Captain Harville do but try to lure him tohisservice! I told Harville, I said, ‘I would walk on coals for you, but if you scalp Hurley, it’s pistols at dawn.’”
Anne shook her head as they laughed.
Mrs. Scott did not seem to eat more than a few bites, but Sir Mark made up for it by consuming vast amounts of lamb and potatoes and claret. “This is something like,” he said, a little roughly as he swallowed. “Capital, indeed, my fine fellow.”
Caroline stared to see the usually elegant man belch following his meal. Sir Mark was a bit of a character, but always gentlemanly and impeccably dressed.
Lady Marston flinched. “We may be away from English soil, my dear, but we are not yet heathen.”
Mr. Belvedere patted his stomach. “I’m sure I don’t mind. My cronies and I once played the most wonderful trick on the bagwig. He was mad on the subject of cheese, how it was terribly unhealthful and injurious to the bowels. And what did we do but switch his plate of chicken, which was drowned in a plain white Béchamel sauce, with another of the richest Mornay! He raved about the quality of the sauce, but towards the end he began to look mighty uncomfortable, and he let out such a belch that the bells practically rung to it. There was dead silence and then he did it again! He retreated in disorder, I can tell you, belching all the way.”
Lady Marston took a severe view. “That was a schoolboy’s trick, and not one a gentleman should be proud of.”
“But it was not our fault he could not tell a Béchamel from a cheese sauce!” His fair eyes were laughing. “I’m sure you yourself would know in an instant, ma’am. And he always hectored us about his superior palate.”
“I don’t like Béchamel sauce,” Sir Mark said. “Give me a hearty stew or a bread pudding and I shall do.”
“But, sir,” protested the captain. “I understand all the nobs—excuse me, all you gentlemen—prefer French cooking with their Béchamel,velouté,andespagnolasauces…”
“What do you say, Mrs. Scott?” Mr. Belvedere asked. “Was our trick not somewhat justified by his obstinacy and ignorance?”
“I cannot be an impartial judge. Having been at school for many years,” a gleam broke through her calm demeanor, “I may have played a trick or two myself.”
“Why, a confession! You all heard her. You must tell us the rest now, ma’am. We are companions on an ocean voyage and custom demands that all good stories be shared. It is a maritime regulation, or ought to be.”
Lady Marston cleared her throat significantly. “I’ve no desire to be bored by naughty schoolgirl antics.”
Mrs. Scott inclined her head. “I won’t lacerate Lady Marston’s feelings. Schoolgirl antics are even less acceptable, for people look on young men who are—er—ripe for a spree, more leniently than they do on young ladies.”
