Page 10 of Valour

“Or the best woman for the job,” the mate countered. “Surely the commission still stands. She shouldn’t have to advertise.”

He raised a thick, dark eyebrow. “I cannot make any exceptions. If Mrs Bailey wishes to hire a ship from my dock, she must abide by the rules and advertise.” He pointed to a wooden board down the quay.

“Fine, I shall do just that,” Charlotte said, a flush creeping over her cheeks.

The first mate bristled up on the deck. “I shall inform Captain Orn upon her return.”

The lord shot a venomous look at the woman.

Charlotte stepped back onto the quay, eager to be away from him.

“Now, can I escort you home, Mrs Bailey?” he asked, offering his arm again.

She would rather poke rusty nails in her eyes. “I shall be perfectly alright. Good day to you.”

“And to you.”

Charlotte marched past him, not liking how inferior he had made her feel one little bit. She snuck a glance back at him, wondering why the first mate had appeared so disdainful of him, and what he had to do with the unknown whereabouts of Captain Orn.

Hester alternated between chuckling at the image of Septimus’s face when he’d seen what was written on her backside, and seething at his inability to take a joke, at how seriously he took himself.

She was lying on the floor of the cellar with her eyes closed. She wasn’t asleep, but it was so dark that it made little difference whether her eyes were open or closed. The only light came from a tiny sliver along the cracks at the edge of the door. He had kept her down there all night. Hester was parched, pissed off, and her stomach growled with hunger.

She had tried everything. Banging, kicking, rattling the handle, searching for something—anything—to break the door down with, but the room was empty.

Maybe she had gone too far this time.

She should have listened to Fliss.

Fliss.

Was her friend safe? She’d tear Septimus limb from limb if he so much as touched a hair on Fliss’s beautiful head. She clenched her fists and pummelled at the door once more. Her magic spilled out into the world alongside her anger. Up above, a shutter banged as the winds rose.

Surely he’d come and let her out soon, or at least send water down. Because with water, she could free herself.

When Charlotte returned home from the docks, she was met with utter chaos. Alma was standing at the open front door shrieking. Footmen dragged bags down the steps. Trunks were stacked next to a horse-drawn trap.

“What is the meaning of this?” Charlotte demanded of a footman.

“Your mother sent us to fetch your belongings, mistress.”

Charlotte’s mouth fell open. No. Surely she wouldn’t. But then, of course she would. Of course she would do this. Charlotte’s vision tunnelled, blackness trapping her, a band tightening around her chest.

Her mother appeared in the front doorway. “Charlotte, there you are! We’re nearly done, just a few more trunks and cases to bring down.”

Charlotte raced to the nearest trunk, hauled it into her arms and started up the steps. “Put it all back. Put. It. Back. NOW. I want to stay in my own house.”

Her mother tutted. “Nonsense. You’ll be lonely, darling.”

“I demand that you put everything back as it was right away. I am a grown woman, and I wish to stay here. Honestly, mother. This is the final straw!” She could hardly breathe. The trunk in her arms dropped to the floor inside the hallway, narrowly missing her toes. How dare her mother do this without her permission? How dare she!

“Dearest, you’re hysterical. You don’t know what you want. Go and have a nice cup of tea and then we’ll go, alright?”

Charlotte’s face turned hotter and hotter. Through her teeth she said, “I am not hysterical, and by the time I return, everything will be as it was.” Charlotte snatched a pen and a sheet of paper from the side table in the hallway and scribbled words she had seen in a newspaper clipping advertising one of Ernie’s past expeditions, ‘Ship and crew wanted for Antarctic expedition. Bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger. Safe return doubtful, honour and recognition in event of success. Interviews to be held this afternoon, June 15th, from 2pm-5.30 pm at Amery House, Farthing Street, Havenport.’

“I swear it, if everything is not back as it was by the time I return, I shall—” Whatever could she threaten? Ah. “I will tell the bridge ladies how you serve them from the cheap tea set because Lady Witten chipped the Wedgwood set.”

Her mother gasped, eyes going round, hand pressed to her bosom. “You wouldn’t!”