“Not really,” the captain whose name she could not remember said. “But in this moment I do not care about people in general. I only care about you.”
Thump, went Amelia’s heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. She could feel the heat rising on her cheeks. I only care about you. God, she’d wished for so long for someone to say such a thing to her. She’d wanted and wanted, and the more she’d wanted, the more invisible she had seemed.
I only care about you.
He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Not like that; he wanted to employ her.
She’d been offered employment before; somedays it felt as if she could scarcely meet a British man who looked her up and down without him offering a certain kind of employment. But since Captain Who Knows came bearing a letter from Leland, this employment was not for immoral purposes.
Which was a good thing. Amelia didn’t want to be employed for immoral purposes. She’d never understood the appeal of the act once she’d finally done it. Perhaps one far corner of her mind whispered that immoral purposes with this man might prove useful as an additional point of experience. But one did not need to dwell on all one’s stray thoughts.
“So you’ll hear me out before you agree to anything?” he asked, bringing her back to the present.
Amelia shut her eyes. “Yes,” she told him because she was foolish and undoubtedly as bad at negotiation as he was good at it. “Of course. But I really must be going.”
He raised a hand. “Farewell for the moment.”
She took hold of her ruined gown, clutching the split edges together before returning his jacket to him. Then she fled round the back of the house.
The back way was clear from entry to staircase. Amelia retreated to her room, her heart pounding, the sliced edges of her gown clutched in her hands and her mind full of the letter from her brother in her pocket.
There was no reason for her heart to beat so, stupid organ that it was. There was something about the captain—the way he looked at her, maybe, or the words he said or something undefinable in the air that followed him. She didn’t know what it was, but look at her, fool that she was—he’d asked, and she’d promised. Why?
She closed the door to her room behind her as quietly as she could and shed her ruined gown.
How bad were matters? The bamboo had snapped and slit a hole right over her buttocks. Bad. Luckily, the bamboo shard had been sharp, so the slit was a single, clean line. A clever needle would fix it almost as good as new. Her needle was more competent than clever, but as long as the fabric wasn’t examined closely, she might not be found out at all.
How bad were matters? Amelia shut her eyes and thought of the look in Captain Something’s eyes, dark and compelling. That roil in her stomach started up again.
No, no. She took a breath. She’d promised not to agree to marry Mr. Flappert until after she and the captain had spoken. She hadn’t made promises beyond the space of a conversation. Her duty was simple: Speak to Mrs. Flappert. Be as encouraging as possible. Ask for time to pray? Yes. Time to pray about the matter. Surely that could not be faulted.
She hadn’t promised to speak seriously with the captain. She had only agreed to let him say words in her direction, and people did that to her all the time without asking for her permission.
She nodded to herself, having justified her enormous breach of protocol with such bare reasoning, and rewarded her own mental chicanery by opening her brother’s letter.
My dear Amelia,
I know this letter will come as a surprise, as we have never spoken of this before. I have already apologized for not attending your anticipated upcoming nuptials to Mr. Flappert; allow me to do so again, but more honestly.
I have not bowed out of your wedding simply because I am busy. I have made myself busy on purpose so as not to attend your wedding. You see, if I have to sit through another ceremony like the last one, watching you tie yourself to a man who doesn’t know you, let alone value you, I will punch someone, and I do not believe in violence. I hope you understand the moral dilemma that has led to my absence.
Captain Hunter is going to offer you employment. I didn’t tell him you were a woman—just about the code you came up with in Hyderabad. He’s seen a few of your letters describing it. This is the spot where I am supposed to offer you reassurances, things like, “He is a good man” et cetera et cetera. I cannot offer those. Alas, I understand Captain Hunter too well. He is utterly ruthless in his dealings and has not one iota of mercy for those who oppose him. I know full well that setting him on you, telling him what you can do, is an utterly cruel thing to do to my dearest sister because Hunter tends to get what he wants.
But employment only lasts as long as both parties wish it. By contrast, marriage is forever. Consider this a wedding present then, or preferably a not-wedding present. On the eve of being shipped off to another man, I want you to have a choice. Whatever you choose, I will always care for you.
Hunter is not a good man, but he values what is valuable, and I’ve never known him to do anything to anyone without their full and willing consent. Watch out for that latter, and you will do well.
Your very worried brother,
Leland
She stared at her brother’s big, loopy signature.
Postscript, he had written beneath this. His name is Captain Grayson Hunter, in case you forget it.
How well he knew her.
Yes, Leland had come up with some reason why he was unable to make the journey from Hong Kong for her possible wedding ceremony. Beyond the disappointment in not seeing her brother, she had accepted it. Of course he was too busy to see her. But—
A single rap on the door interrupted her musing.
“Amelia!” The word was a whispered hiss.
Amelia shot up straight and looked about. She was still in her shift; her split dress and the bamboo cage were in full view. She yanked them up. The bottom of the wardrobe was a mess—fallen garments mixed with some fossilized teeth from her megalodon stage that she’d tossed in last night when her mother told her she couldn’t keep such things out for anyone to see.
She shoved the evidence of her morning crimes in her wardrobe, swiftly grabbed replacements, and eased the wardrobe doors shut so they wouldn’t slam and cause suspicion.
“Mother?” Her heart was pounding.
“Mrs. Flappert is here. Where have you been?”
Amelia did not consider herself a liar, but she was a pointed teller of insufficient truths. “Out for a morning constitutional. The Flemings have those puppies. I wanted to see them.”
The exhale that followed this could have blown a less sturdy door down. “Amelia. I have already said. Dogs are messy, noisy, horrible beasts. And Mrs. Flappert will expect you to leave with her in any event. You can’t bring a dog on a ship.”
“But these puppies are—” She cut herself off. They’d had the dog conversation multiple times. Small! Yellow! Squirming! Cute!
None of these things moved her mother.
She tried again. “I had not realized Mrs. Flappert was set to arrive so early.”
An exasperated sigh. “Of course she was set to arrive early. The tide was in overnight.”
“Was it?” Amelia wrestled her bustle—the one made of heavy horsehair, not the bamboo replacement—into place, securing it as best as she could. The river Min, which cut through Fuzhou, was only navigable by larger vessels when the tide was high; traffic and visitors had a natural ebb and flow. “I’m sorry. When the, um. That tall couple? When they arrived, the tide was in around midmorning.”