A sailor jumped onto the wharf and assisted them aboard the schooner. “Just in time.” The marquess said at the rail. “We have perfect conditions. If this fine wind remains at our back, I expect to arrive in France in a matter of hours.”
Henrietta tugged her hat low over her face and followed Verity.
The bosun gave orders as the crew scurried around the deck, raising the topsails. They flapped in the strong, briny breeze. A boy shimmied up the foremast. The bow and stern ropes were released and coiled onto the deck. “Weigh anchor,” the bosun yelled. With a loud rattle and a whoosh, it emerged from the water. The helmsman took the wheel, and with a shudder, the wind caught the sails and the boat surged forward.
“Stow that trunk in the cabin,” Ramsbotham ordered. “Show Madame’s page to the crews’ quarters.”
“I prefer my servant to remain with me,” Verity said.
“You French have strange ideas of propriety.” He considered her with an eyebrow raised. “What name does he go by?”
“Pierre.”
“Pierre, come here. I want to look at you.”
Henrietta ignored him. She remained at the rail, staring down into the surging waves.
“He cannot hear you. He is deaf, my lord,” Verity said.
“A deaf page? You grow more interesting by the moment, Madame.”
“It happened while in my husband’s employ. He suffered a complaint that left him unable to hear. I should have replaced him, but I’ve grown fond of him.”
“I have seen him take orders from you.”
“The youth knows my wishes well and can read lips a little.”
Ramsbotham shrugged. “Escort them to their quarters.” A sailor and the cabin boy snapped to attention. A big burly sailor hefted the trunk as if it weighed as little as a bandbox. The marquess turned to Verity. “Please join me in the salon after we leave the harbor.”
Henrietta and Verity followed the cabin boy down into the bowels of the ship. He opened a door, winked at Henrietta, and scampered away. The sailor stowed their trunk in the tiny cabin.
When they were alone, Henrietta poked at the top berth. “That Ramsbotham suspects something.” She steadied herself against the tilt of the boat and went to peer out the porthole.
They sailed out of the mouth of the harbor, driven along by a stiff wind as Ramsbotham had predicted.
“I’ll deal with him.” Verity removed her cloak and hat. She smoothed her gown and opened the cabin door.
“Be careful. I don’t trust him,” Henrietta said.
“I’ve met worse.” Verity went out into the passage.
A bell sounded the quarter hour. White-frothed waves swirled past the porthole. Loud creaks and groans rent the air as the boat rose and fell in the heavy swell. The cabin reeked of rum and stale pipe smoke. Henrietta didn’t feel well. She swallowed, longing for fresh air.
***
Verity entered the elegant, roomy salon paneled in oak. Ramsbotham sat on a damask seat, legs crossed, drinking wine, while a servant attended him. “There you are.” He came and kissed her hand, then gestured for her to join him. “May I offer you wine?”
“Merci, but I would prefer coffee.” Verity took the crimson velvet bench beneath the port hole rather than the one beside him. She accepted a cup from the servant and took a sip. It was good coffee. When they were alone, Ramsbotham studied her.
“Where were you born, Madame?”
“Rouen.”
“What was the reason you came England?”
“My husband, may he rest in peace, was an English merchantman.”
“Do you have children?”
