Page 23 of Only By Grace
She huffed in frustration. “I do not like this at all.”
While Joy was not happy about what had happened to Grace, she felt responsible for not remembering to make sure she was awake and had departed the ship. However, Joy was delightedto delay going to London, where it meant she would have to go out in Society. She would be quite pleased if that never ever happened.
As if things couldn’t possibly get worse, a huge, fat raindrop landed on her head. She hated bonnets and took them off whenever she could get away with it. As it turned out, now was not a good time to be without one.
“I think it’s raining,” Freddy remarked as Joy was wiping water from her face.
He looked at the sky. “I suppose we should go to the cabin.”
“I suppose we should,” Joy agreed a bit sarcastically, though Freddy didn’t appreciate or realize when she used it.
The ship was not as big as Carew’s, and the Captain had relinquished his cabin to the newly wedded couple, which meant Joy had a tiny one to herself, and Freddy shared one with the Captain.
They squeezed into her tiny one because there was really nowhere else for them to go.
“Shall we play cards or read?” Freddy asked.
It was going to be a very long trip if they were stuck inside the small, smelly hole, Joy realized. Did they never clean? It smelled like a mixture of dirty sweat, urine, and sea-water.
They both had to sit on the berth because there was nowhere else to go. At that, Freddy had to hunch over because the ceiling was so low.
“I think a story. Did we bring any tales of pirates?”
“I do not think so but we can ask the Captain later. We do haveRobinson Crusoe.”
“That will do,” Joy said as she leaned back and settled down to listen with the kitten curled in between them. Freddy did have a very soothing voice.
CHAPTER 8
Grace returned to the cabin sometime later, thinking she could not have devised a more perfect night. Were it in one of her stories, she might even have described it as romantic. To gaze at the stars on a mild evening, alone with the most handsome man she had ever beheld, seemed the ideal moment for him to place an arm about her shoulders and draw her close. Perhaps even to bestow a kiss upon her lips.
But alas, it was not a novel. She had felt gauche and insignificant beside him. Her sisters were often deemed Incomparables, and while she admired them, she had never felt their equal. Why had she even dared to imagine that a man like Carew—elegant and seasoned—would notice her? Most likely he thought of her in the same category as his younger sister. For one fleeting moment, Grace longed to be regarded as a woman, to possess the confidence her sisters exuded. They never doubted they were enough for their suitors. Instead, Grace hid behind them or a book, striving to blend in with the papered walls.
She fell asleep in her tiny cabin, having read by candlelight until the flame flickered out and left a faint trail of smoke.
Grace awoke to the sudden and unceremonious jolt of being thrown to the floor. The wind, which had been so serene, now howled with a vengeance. How could the weather shift so dramatically, from tranquil calm to a squall in an instant? She discovered a newfound respect for both Mother Nature and His Majesty’s sailors, subjected to such capricious elements. As for the crew aboard this vessel, they could sink or swim for all she cared after the way they had treated her.
She sighed. She didn’t truly mean it. Yet she had little doubt they might toss her overboard if Carew were not aboard. At least they were moving now; perhaps that would ease their hostility—one could hope.
The boat pitched and rolled, no longer gliding gracefully but bucking like a restless beast. A wave of nausea overtook Grace, enveloping her from head to toe. She thought ruefully of the expression ‘green about the gills’ and acknowledged its aptness. It was not a delicate shade of green, but rather something hideous and putrid. She struggled to her feet, only to collapse again, this time clutching a chamber pot. The ship’s violent lurching mocked any attempt to retain her composure.
When her stomach had finally emptied itself, she lay curled upon the floor, weak and trembling. She yearned for fresh air, but there was no window, and the thought of venturing beyond her cabin filled her with dread. The acrid taste in her mouth was as vile as her ordeal.
At length, a knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” she croaked.
Paddy entered, lantern in hand, and recoiled visibly at the smell. “Cor, miss, you’ve been proper sick, ain’t you?”
“Could I trouble you for some fresh water, Paddy?” she murmured, too drained to feel humiliated.
Covering his nose, the boy set the lantern down, took the foul chamber pot, and hurried out. Grace collapsed back ontothe floor, relieved to leave the matter in his capable, if reluctant, hands.
When Paddy returned, he bore a clean pot and a steaming cup that smelled faintly of ginger. “Here’s something for your stomach, miss,” he said, offering the cup with a faint grimace.
Grace recoiled at the thought of ingesting anything but was touched by the boy’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” she whispered, taking the cup reluctantly. To her surprise, the ginger-honeyed brew soothed her raw throat. Her stomach convulsed, debating whether to accept or reject the intrusion. She stood quickly, determined to endure the discomfort at least until she reached Carew’s cabin where she might find the solace of fresh air and a window.
With a trembling hand, she passed the cup to Paddy. “Hold this for me,” she said, hurrying to Carew’s cabin and closing the door behind her. She collapsed against the wall, gulping the fresh air like a lifeline. If this was a mere taste of life at sea, the next seven days promised to be a torment.
