Page 20 of Valour

Hester thought back to the day the cat had been delivered, a year or so ago. He had been a sweet orange kitten in a little basket with a ribbon tied on the top. She had doted on him, letting him eat from her plate and sleep on her pillow. She had originally called him Mr Plumpkins because he was orange like a pumpkin, and plump from all the scraps she would feed him. However, after a few months the cat’s demeanour changed somewhat. Fliss swore it was Hester’s influence. His favourite pastimes included using her pillow as a toilet and bringing gulls into the ship. Fliss had renamed him Satan and the name had stuck.

“I honestly thought I’d managed to leave him behind this time. Blast him!”

Satan sniffed at Charlotte’s outstretched hand, then brushed his cheek against it, his tail ramrod straight, quivering in the air.

Hester flinched. “Now, get up very slowly and back away.” But upon hearing the word and Satan whipped around to face her, arched his back and hissed loudly. Hester swore and ran down the corridor. She took the companionway two steps at a time, her hands covering her head.

“He’s on board,” she cried to Fliss, whose face fell. Hester ran to the kennels on the lower deck and let all of the dogs loose, then crouched in the middle of the pack. Satan would surely never brave a whole pack of dogs.

“Above you!” Fliss called from the wheel.

Hester looked up, and her smug smile faded as a ginger streak leapt down towards her from the rigging. The dogs darted out of the way as the ginger tomcat landed directly on her head. His claws dug into her, slicing her scalp. Yelping, she batted at the scratching beast. Oh, he was going to make her life Hell.

“Come here, Satan,” Arnold said, appearing through the crowd of dogs. The cat was dragged from her head, and Hester jumped to her feet. A bemused Arnold held the cat like a baby. “I’ve honestly no idea why you two can’t get along. Whatever did you do to him?”

Satan hissed in Hester’s direction again, then sped off to God-knows where.

“I did nothing to him. Nothing!”

“Perhaps you’re too similar.” Arnold chuckled. “He’s the only thing you’re afraid of, isn’t he?”

Hester narrowed her eyes. She hated to admit being afraid of something, but if she was afraid of anything, it was him. “If I ever find out who sent me that cat, I’ll throttle them.”

8

IN WHICH THERE IS A PURSUER

31st August 1914, Atlantic Ocean

“Look at you, Boss, steering so well.” Hester patted Charlotte on the shoulder, the fabric of her shirt slightly damp from the early morning mist that enshrouded them. “You must have had a mighty fine teacher.”

Charlotte had come a long way over the last few weeks, and the sadness in her eyes was fading, the curve of her spine straightening. Hester congratulated herself. She was certain Charlotte’s metamorphosis from grieving society widow to semi-confident expedition leader was entirely her doing. Fliss had scoffed and said she couldn’t take all of the credit, that change came from within, or some such nonsense. But Hester knew the truth, and the truth was that she was an inspiration.

Charlotte laughed and turned the wheel slightly to port. “I have had a most excellent teacher.” She paused. “If only Ernie could see me.”

Hester tilted her head up to the foggy sky, as if she might see Ernest looking down on them. “I’m sure he’s very proud, wherever he is.” It was the first time Charlotte had brought him up. “How did you come to be married to him?”

“I’m afraid it’s no love story. I had long been frustrating my mother with my lack of good marriage prospects, and Ernie and I found ourselves at the drinks table at the Autumn ball, and we got to…jesting about the ridiculousness of it. And the next ball he was there again, and that time we spoke of his expeditions. We became friends. And then…well,” she paused, grappling with something. “I did something ever so foolish, something I shall always regret. He saved me from a fate I did not wish to have. And it suited him to have someone to leave his belongings to, to take care of him as he grew older. We were great friends. Nothing more.”

She hadn’t been expecting that, but it made sense, she supposed. She couldn’t imagine Charlotte doing anything foolish, but if she did not want to talk of it, she wouldn’t force the topic. “It sounds as though you were a comfort to one another.”

“We were,” Charlotte said, smiling, her eyes lined with tears. “Perhaps we could talk of happier things.”

Hester bundled Charlotte into a hug, squeezing tight. “Of course. In fact, we have a special game we play at the wheel. It’s called What’s your favourite? I’ll start. What’s your favourite colour?”

Charlotte’s lips curved ever so slightly upwards. “Pink.” She reached down and tugged Marjorie’s pink collar. The dog’s belly had started to fill out with pups, due early October.

Hester scoffed. “Pink, indeed. Mine is green.”

“I suppose it’s a bit stereotypical, but I like it all the same,” Charlotte said. “My turn. Which animal would you most like to be?”

“Oh umm a bird of some kind. With a sharp beak. I’ve always felt an affinity with birds. Maybe that’s why I dislike cats so much. You?”

“A dog, of course,” Charlotte said. “Although I can see the appeal of a bird. Flying would be wonderful.”

“Sometimes when I sit up in the crow’s nest I can just imagine I’m flying,” Hester said, sighing. It was her favourite place on the ship, up high, with the wind blowing in her face.

“Favourite food?” Charlotte asked, the wheel passing through her hands, eyes fixed straight ahead, concentrating.