Page 12 of Valour

The door splintered, and Hester poured the last dribble of water from the tankard into it, then froze and thawed it. She gave the wood a push, and it collapsed under her hand. She cackled, thrusting her boot against the wood, kicking a hole in the lower half of the door, and squeezing through, splinters scraping against the bare flesh of her arms, her dress tearing. No matter. She was out, and she had payback on her mind.

She let loose a crow of triumph as she scrambled to her feet, then ran into the deserted bar of The Harpoon. Rows of bottles winked at her from a shelf behind the bar. It would be rude not to relieve Septimus of some of his alcohol. He could count it as part one of her payback. Part one of many. She vaulted over the counter and grabbed a bottle of whiskey in each hand. And not just any old whiskey, but the fancy bottles.

She strolled out of the front door and into the late afternoon with a spring in her step. Grey clouds marred the sky, but with a flick of her wrist, they parted, and the sun beamed down upon her. She swigged the whiskey and sauntered towards the docks, smiling to herself. No one could cage her, Hester Orn.

Back onboard the Valour, she called for Fliss, who was nowhere to be found. In the distance, the town hall clock struck five times. Hester took a deep gulp of whiskey for each peal of the bell, chuckling to herself for her cleverness, and then lay on the deck sunning herself and drinking the first bottle to completion.

“Hester! HESTER.”

She sat up.

Fliss was sprinting down the quayside, waving a piece of paper in her hand. Hester stood, swaying as the liquor took hold of her empty stomach, and marched across the gangplank towards Fliss. What could be so urgent?

“You need to get to Farthing Street—NOW.” Fliss thrust the piece of paper into her face. Farthing Street? Hester’s eyes widened as she read the piece of paper. It was an advertisement for a ship and crew to sail to Antarctica.

She spluttered, “Fliss, this is Ernest’s wife. This is my expedition!”

“Where have you been?! I snatched the advertisement from under Septimus’s nose, but he saw it and is there now. You must make haste. Before Mrs Bailey hires him,” Fliss said, bending over at the waist to catch her breath.

If Septimus was there, she didn’t have a moment to lose.

Hester sped off down the quay and towards the fancy end of town, racing for Farthing Street and Amery House as fast as her very, very drunken feet would carry her.

“You have so much experience, Lord Septimus,” Charlotte said, pursing her lips and glancing at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. It was a quarter past five. Captain Orn had not appeared, and it seemed that Septimus had the experience and the right ship for ice work. And what was more, he had sailed with Ernie.

It would be foolish not to offer him the position. She was forced to conclude that Captain Orn was not interested after all.

Charlotte reached out a hand across the desk as she said, “I’d like to offer⁠—"

The door of the study crashed open.

A dark-blonde, green-eyed woman in a torn red dress stood framed in the doorway. She staggered forwards, panting and clutching her stomach. Septimus turned, his fingers inches from Charlotte’s outstretched hand. His eyes widened, and then a snarl crept over his features.

The woman in red grasped for the back of his chair, her tanned face tinged a pale green. She retched once, twice, and on the third heave, emptied the contents of her stomach into Septimus’s lap.

Charlotte stifled a gasp as the woman wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grinned and said, “Captain Hester Orn and the Valour, at your service, ma’am.”

5

IN WHICH WORDS ARE MARKED AND THERE IS A WHISPER OF FEAR

Charlotte’s jaw dropped.

Septimus roared in fury, and in a swift movement that was almost too quick for her to follow, he had Hester by the neck and against the wall. Hester thrashed, scratching and kicking like a wild animal. Sudden heavy rain lashed against the tall windows. That was strange. Charlotte hadn’t noticed any grey clouds. Was certain the sky had been blue moments before.

The pair had stilled, noses almost touching, but Septimus’s hand was still at Hester’s throat. There was an intensity between them, a scorching heat, snaps of static bouncing around the room. Charlotte had an odd feeling that she shouldn’t be there.

And then Marjorie flew at Septimus, sinking her teeth into his wrist until he shook her off, then attached herself to his backside so hard that he shouted out in pain. Hester pushed back against him, and he staggered backwards, Marjorie still attached, his handsome face twisted with pain and anger.

“Call the dog off,” he shouted, grabbing Marjorie’s collar. She clamped her teeth into his wrist instead. “Call it off.”

“Marjorie, heel.” Charlotte held the edge of the desk to steady herself, her eyes wide. She hardly knew where to look or what to say. Marjorie returned to her side, hackles up, lips pulled back from her teeth. A shock of thunder rumbled outside, and the ferocious hound tucked her tail between her legs and hid under the desk.

Hester dusted off her shoulders, then slid a hand into the top of her dress, rearranging her bosom with no shame. “As I was saying, before we were rudely interrupted.” She threw Septimus a glare. “Captain Hester Orn and the Valour, at your service, ma’am.”

Charlotte, a little enraptured, found herself reaching her hand forward and shaking Hester’s. “A pleasure to meet you properly, Captain Orn.”

“You cannot possibly believe that Orn is a serious candidate,” Septimus growled, tearing a strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt to bind his bleeding wrist. Charlotte could not help but stare at the bronzed skin or the packed stomach muscle. How a man had the right to look like that, she had no idea.