The Italian made a clucking noise. “Not personal. And that time has gone.”
The captain’s face was inscrutable. “You shot and killed my mother’s butler.”
Arsenic was fascinated. What an interesting dynamic these two had.
“No no, little cousin, that was one of my men, not me. Sì, if I had known who he was and how important, I would no see him dead. But he is still here. Did you want him to see this?” He gestured at Arsenic imperiously. “I could tell him. Sì?”
“What am I going to do with you?” was the captain’s almost affectionate response.
Really, was everyone aboard this ship slightly mad? Much of Arsenic’s initial conversation with the decklings was beginning to make sense. All the crew seemed, in a word, eccentric.
Mr Tarabotti smiled. “Too late, little cousin. I stay here. You done almost? You maybe do not wish late, no? Your father, he will throw a fop.”
Miss Tunstell said, “Throw a fit, I think you mean, Rodrigo.”
“Sì?”
“Yes. He is a fop but he throws a fit.”
The captain interrupted, “Yes yes. Soon. But this is more important.”
“Sì?” Mr Tarabotti shrugged and left. He said something in Italian to someone waiting in the hallway as he closed the door.
Arsenic turned to look curiously at the cheerful captain. “He tried to kill you?”
“Obviously he wasn’t successful.”
Arsenic nodded. Obviously. “My mother would say that shows a lack of follow-through.”
The captain grinned. “Your mother sounds logical.”
Miss Tunstell added, although not critically, “And a little bloodthirsty.”
It was a fair assessment. “You’ve no idea,” replied Arsenic, because it seemed they really didn’t.
The captain wrinkled her nose. “Old Cousin Roddy there is not so bad. He’s been reformed through excessive reading. Percy was in charge of extensive literary recuperation efforts.”
Arsenic smiled at Professor Tunstell, not quite sure what to make of this explanation, but knowing that books could be good medicine.
The man dipped his head and blushed.
The two ladies looked at him as if he’d done the most unusual thing ever.
Miss Tunstell’s voice was choked in horror or amusement. “Brother dear, are you well? We do currently have a doctor aboard.”
Professor Tunstell said, “Shove off, Tiddles,” and looked at Arsenic from under his lashes.
Arsenic tried smiling at him again. This only seemed to make matters worse. He got redder, stopped looking at her, and took great interest in the tabletop.
Lady Akeldama resumed the interview. Or, more precisely, concluded it. “Well, there is only one more thing to ask, Doctor.”
“Aye?” Arsenic held her breath.
“How do you feel about cats?”
“Oh! I love them.”
“You do, how much?” Miss Tunstell was suspicious.
“Weel, I have yours on my lap at the moment. He’s lovely.”
“What?” Professor Tunstell stood in shock.
Arsenic pushed her chair back slightly so they could see the handsome black-and-white tom curled happily on her.
“Oh good, Footnote.” The captain beamed. “There’s no greater mark of approval. Are we in agreement?”
“Yes,” said Miss Tunstell, promptly, “although there is remuneration to discuss. Leave that to me while you finish getting spiffed?”
“I’ll be fine, stop fussing. Sun hasn’t even set yet. Percy?”
“What?”
“Do you approve of Dr Ruthven for the position?”
Professor Tunstell went wide-eyed. “What position?”
“Of ship’s doctor. Do pay attention.”
“Oh yes, that. Certainly. She seems perfectly capable and overly qualified. That is to say, I can’t think of any reason why not… Not publish? It is, of course, unconscionable, but shouldn’t impact her surgical abilities, should it? Implies a certain lack of ego. Or lack of confidence in her abilities? I’m not sure… Not to publish…”
“I dinna need the world’s approval, I only need to heal it.”
Professor Tunstell gave her a sceptical look. “If you say so.”
There was yet another knock on the door.
Arsenic might have been annoyed by the constant interruptions, but really each one was more interesting than the last. She swivelled about in her chair eager for whatever happened next, but careful not to disturb the cat, Footnote. Such a charming name.
A tall woman of Eastern extraction stuck her head in. Perfect skeletal structure, clear complexion, glossy hair – healthy. A little too healthy? Supernatural, perhaps? Arsenic had always thought her mother stunning. Preshea Ruthven was all English rose and porcelain doll. But this lady was desert sands and ancient sculptures, expensive silks and spices. Preshea was power in the shadows, manipulation and subversion. This woman was sunlight and command – people once knelt at her feet, unashamed.
Actress, maybe? Famous dancer or singer?
“Tash.” Miss Tunstell’s voice was warm and buttery. “Darling, you’re awake.”
The woman’s liquid almond eyes swept over Arsenic, assessing, and then moved beyond her to the others. “Yes, little one, and we all know what that means?”
“Oh heavens, it’s after dark! We must prepare to depart at once! We have a wedding to attend!”
That explained everyone’s excessively elaborate attire.
Arsenic decided it was worth disturbing Footnote. She tipped the cat off her lap and stood. “Oh, I dinna mean to keep you. Who’s getting married?”
The captain was now standing. “Me, unfortunately.” Her lovely ivory gown revealed itself to be a wedding dress.
TWO
Drama Dama Damp
These people are insane and I adore them.
Arsenic hurried to shut her medical kit. “Weel, I’ll make myself scarce then.” It hissed as it folded and spiralled down. “When will you be notifying us all about the position?”
Lady Akeldama was making her way around the table in a cautious lumbering manner. Arsenic’s physician’s eye was caught by her movements. Perhaps her roundness was not dietarily dictated. A bairn, then.
She waddled up to Arsenic. “Don’t be silly. It’s filled.”
“Oh aye?” Arsenic was crushed. Then why have I been sitting here all this time?
“By you, of course!” The captain grinned at her. “Floote approves, don’t you, Floote?”
Much to Arsenic’s shock, a ghost was floating next to her. He was a dour-looking gentleman in clothing from the 1840s. A ghost tethered to a dirigible, who’d have thought?
“Formerly Floote, this is our new doctor, Arsenic Ruthven. Will she do? Yours is the last vote of import.”
The ghost, who seemed a little worse for wear – Arsenic would guess he was edging into poltergeist stage – gave her a regal nod of approval.
Arsenic nodded back.
The captain twirled in a cautious circle. “Do I look like a proper bride, Floote?”
The ghost nodded again. His expression was amorphous but possibly near to sentiment.