Page 83 of Valour

“You didn’t look very hard for me.” Hester snatched her arm back and stalked off again. A team. Maybe they’d been close to that. But not close enough.

“Stop being infuriating!”

“It is you who is the infuriating one, let me assure you,” Hester shouted, stabbing a finger towards him. “I have just abandoned my ship. Did you feel like talking to anyone after the Intrepid sank? No. So leave me alone.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone for now, but in future I will be included in the plans.”

“Fine,” Hester said with a sneer.

“Fine.”

“You already said fine.”

Septimus turned away. “Shut up.”

Hester flipped her middle finger up at his back and left him standing there. She shook a canvas tent and poles from a bag and stomped her way over the ice to spread the canvas, yanking at it with venom.

She seethed, hissing like Satan. Knew she should have involved him, but the stunt he’d pulled two days ago when he’d lowered her boats had left her reeling. She couldn’t understand why he’d done it. An unwanted vision of him pressing her against the wall in the Ritz stole across her thoughts, and she kicked at the snow again and again until Winston came over and stopped her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

His grey eyes met hers. “That’s not going to get the tent up, is it?”

“No,” she huffed, her chest heaving.

“I can’t imagine how you must be feeling, but let us help.”

He was right. None of them could imagine how she felt. Apart from Septimus. Which was galling because she could hardly go to him. She laughed hysterically at the idea and gazed back at the Valour, lying mortally hurt in the ice. And as the ship sank further into the sea, so did Hester’s hopes and dreams for her future. There would be no more adventures. No shimmering sense of endless possibility. Who even was she without the Valour? She closed her eyes and dropped to her knees.

Crunching footsteps drew closer, and someone crouched in front of her. She opened her eyes to find Mei there, and her eyes held a softness she had never seen before.

“Hester,” Mei said gently. “I’m going to light the stove and make hot milk, and we’re going to put the tents up. That’s all you have to think about right now. Putting the tents up. The rest will come later. Come on now. One step at a time.”

Mei and Winston hauled her to her feet, and Hester numbly began erecting the tent, blocking out all thoughts as she worked.

Half an hour later the tents were up, and the crew stood around waiting to be assigned to quarters.

“Alright,” Hester called, hardening her heart against her woes. “Tent number one, Myself, Winston, Mei and Rufus.” She supposed she’d have to ensure that her back was covered when she slept, to hide the wings that seemed to appear every night. “Tent two, Fliss and Emlyn.” She glanced up at Fliss, whose eyes were red and puffy. Emlyn had his arm wrapped around her, heads leant together. Fliss would be devastated about the Valour too. But what comfort could she offer that Emlyn couldn’t? Her throat tightened, and she continued, “Tent three, Betty, Peggy, Valerie. Tent four, Arnold and the Boss.”

Hester’s eyes darted to Arnold and Charlotte. It was a gamble. If she was wrong, Charlotte would be rightly enraged. But Hell, she wanted someone to be happy. Maybe forcing the matter was crude, but she knew Charlotte. Knew she would never make a move, and Arnold was being far too chivalrous—it wasn’t like him at all, which only cemented the idea she had that he was hopelessly in love. Arnold’s glee at the announcement was poorly disguised, but Charlotte hurried towards her.

“Hester—did you get that right? It seems most inappropriate,” Charlotte whispered.

“Marjorie won’t fit anywhere else. You’ll have to share with Arnold,” Hester said. The look of panic on Charlotte’s face almost had her going back on the decision. But no, she cared about Charlotte. Wanted her to find happiness. “There is no other option. It’ll be fine, don’t fret.” She turned away before Charlotte could argue.

The Intrepid’s crew were wandering over after setting out their own camp, and Mei was passing out hot milk.

Hester dredged up her finest attempt at bravado and addressed the crews, “Firstly, thank you all for the steadfastness and good morale you have shown over the two-hundred and eighty-one days that we have been stuck in the pack ice.” A cheer went up, mugs of milk clinking together, though Septimus glowered on the edge of the group, arms folded and shoulders hunched. “We are three-hundred and forty-six miles from Paulet Island, where the Argentine government keeps a supply shed. We will aim there.” She put her hands on her hips. “And then we go home.”

27

IN WHICH THERE IS ONLY ONE BED AT THE INN AND A NOVEL FEELING

She could not believe Hester would do this. It was mortifying.

Charlotte knelt on her sleeping bag, head in her hands, breath ragged. The tent kept the wind off, but oh, it was so cold. Marjorie fussed at her face, trying to push her snout between Charlotte’s hands.

The tent flaps opened behind her, the wind stealing her breath for a second before Arnold crawled through and the flaps fell shut.

“Are you alright?” he asked, dropping his hood. His hazel eyes softened as she peeped between her fingers at him.