Page 21 of Valour

“Chocolate cake, easy,” Hester said. “And you?”

“Scones. Any kind. Cheese, fruit, plain. I especially like a warm fruit scone with cream and jam. And butter.”

“And butter?! You glutton, Charlotte. I didn’t think you had it in you, a waif as you are,” Hester chortled, then looked around furtively for Satan after she’d dared to utter the word and. Luckily, he was nowhere to be seen. “Favourite genre of book?”

“Romance,” Charlotte whispered, blushing. “A guilty pleasure.”

Hester chuckled low. “And me. Although I get Fliss to read them first and mark out the good bits, if you catch my meaning.” She winked, and Charlotte flushed a deeper shade of red.

“I prefer the bits with the declarations of undying love.”

“Too unrealistic. Men lack the emotional intelligence. They don’t talk like that,” Hester said, exchanging a glance with Charlotte. Or at least, she’d never witnessed it.

“I suppose not,” Charlotte agreed, a rueful smile on her lips.

“Favourite season?”

“Summer.”

“Winter for me. Especially when it snows.” The cold always made her tingle, and she especially enjoyed catching snowflakes on her tongue.

“Favourite vegetable?” Charlotte asked.

“Vegetable?! Really? Alright…” Hester huffed. She felt neither here nor there about vegetables. “If I have to choose, I pick…carrots.”

“Mine is red cabbage at Christmastime. Cooked with port and butter and how it goes all soft and delicious.”

She hadn’t even considered that. “That’s a good one. Can I change?”

Charlotte crossed her arms and gave Hester a mock-stern look. “No! You have to stick with the first answer.” Her eyes flicked astern. “Oh my.”

Hester turned to see what had caught Charlotte’s attention. She sucked air through her teeth. The Intrepid. Looming out of the mist.

“Is that…” Charlotte started to say. “Surely not.”

Hester whipped her spyglass from her pocket and snapped it open. A brooding figure stood at the bow. Septimus. He had a yellow and red flag in each hand, and there was a man with a spyglass standing next to him, possibly Victor if the blonde hair was anything to go by.

That he’d chase her halfway across the Atlantic Ocean was utterly insane. What on Earth was he playing at?

“Charlotte,” Hester said. “Pass me the semaphore flags. Quickly.”

“The what? Where are they?” Charlotte’s pale hair whipped about her face as she looked all around.

“Yellow and red flags. In the pocket on the wall in the companionway. Quickly now.” She kept the spyglass trained on Septimus.

Charlotte returned and handed the flags to Hester, who tucked the spyglass firmly between her thighs and raised the flags above her head, then snapped them low.

“This ought to be good,” she muttered, raising the spyglass to her eye once more. “Let’s see what His Lordship has to say.”

Septimus began moving his flags, and Hester translated for Charlotte. “Y-O-U-S-W-O-R-E-O-N-C-R-E-W. Ha. Hold this,” Hester said, passing Charlotte the spyglass and darting the flags around her body to signal back.

“What did you say?”

“I said with fingers crossed,” Hester said, snatching the spyglass back. “I want to see his reaction to that.”

Septimus waved the flags again, more viciously this time. Her cheeks hurt from smiling. Excellent, he was raging with her.

“He says T-U-R-N-B-A-C-K. What do you think, Boss? Shall we do as His Lordship orders?”