Treadway had come aboard to speak his farewell to her, but it was formal enough. The two had kissed, of course; and they had called one another "cousin"; but Adam, who had steeled himself to witness a tearful leavetaking, thought the business downright brusque. Nor had she stayed at the taffrail, waving an idiotic small handkerchief, for more than the few minutes it took to row Treadway ashore; and then she had gone promptly below, where her boxes, baskets, hampers, chests, bottles, bedrolls, and bundles had been put.
Perhaps an hour later the slide went back and the Honorable Maisie de Lynn Treadway-Paul's head appeared. She tossed Adam a smile.
"La, Captain! Would you be good enough to dispatch the valet de chambre to me, pray?"
He bowed—in part to hide his face.
"Sure will, ma'am."
The head disappeared, the slide was closed. Adam and the man at the wheel looked at one another.
"What in Hell's a valet de chambre?"
"There's no need for profanity," Adam said. "It— It's a kind of servant, I think."
"Didn't know she had a servant with her."
"Hasn't. Reckon it's up to us to supply one."
Thoughtful, he went forward. Goodwill carried no regular cook. Just abaft the foremast there was a sandbox made of bricks, and anybody who wanted to could cook anything he drew from the larder at any time he wished—subject, naturally, to regulations the captain might announce from time to time. It worked out well enough. Salt pork and Poor John and jerked beef, with bread when they could get it, and fish when they could catch any, made up most of their diet; and these things don't call for a fancy kitchen. It was understood that the skipper, mate and bosun did not have to cook their own food but could order anybody else to do so at any time; but in fact each of these officers took a hand now and then as circumstances suggested. There were no set meal times. They ate when they got hungry, that's all.
The whole crew was there this noon. There was a spitted goat Mr. Treadway had given them as a farewell gift. It had been roasted a luscious golden-brown. Yet when Adam was first offered some he shook his head. He was studying these men.
At first he thought of Seth Selden, who, in his middle forties, was, with Jeth Gardner, by far the oldest person aboard. Seth was spry, but no man at that age could nimble it like an ordinary hand. Which is to say, Seth could be spared, except in a blow. But could Seth be trusted in a lady's bedchamber? Probably not. Not off soundings anyway.
Adam then went to the other extreme, his gaze falling upon Abel Rellison, who at thirteen was really a boy and was only being paid a boy's wages, though often enough he did the work of a man. Abel was a good lad, earnest, not flip. Adam stabbed a finger at him.
"You!"
"Aye, sir," and Rellison rose.
''You're the valet de chambre."
"What's that?"
"I don't know. Go to the cabin and find out. Don't forget to knock before you go in. And after that do whatever she tells you to."
"Empty her pottie, I expect," said Seth Selden.
This was in plain truth what Abel was told to do, for Lady Maisie had brought with her, among so many other things, a private close-stool, a contraption that folded in an ingenious manner, not looking at all like what it was; but so long as he was there, she had set the lad about other duties as well, helping her ladyship to get the cabin straightened up. When he returned he was agog.
"Never saw so many bottles of perfume! Shelves of 'em! And there's all kinds of jars and bowls of stuff that looks like bear grease, only it don't smell that way. Now she wants the steward. Who's he?"
"You again, I guess," Adam said. "You seem to be doing all right."
"Sure!" And he raced aft.
"Why not take her a handful of goat?" somebody called.
She came up on deck two hours later. How all the unguents and ointments and patches and powder had been disposed, Adam was sure he did not know; for though she did smell sweet—it could have been her natural smell, at that—surely she had not painted her face like the wicked Jezebel, who got thrown out of a window for it. There might have been a smitch of powder, but there was no pigment. Adam looked.
She was dressed in drugget—a flaring bodice, a wide-spreading skirt, the color of salmon—and wore a white petticoat swagged with rosepoint. She wore dark green doeskin gloves. Her head was bare.
The Rellison boy had been sent away some time before. He was still telling the crew about it. Adam himself was at the tiller, for two reasons. He feared that a seaman stationed there might be tempted to peer down past the scuttle into the cabin, spying out the wonders Abel Rellison had prated of, maybe spying something else, too. The other reason was that Adam Long wanted to peer down there himself and see if he couldn't find out what she had done to his cabin. He believed he could do this without appearing to, but he didn't want any witnesses while he tried.
She had some difficulty getting up, what with the hoop-petticoat, and he helped her. She was wearing dark green stockings and small soft yellow shoes with crimson velvet roses at the instep.
She thanked him cheerily. He did not bow. He had thought this.out. If he bowed every time he encountered his passenger—well, he'd be bowing a good part of the time. And bowing was not so easy when you were bowling along on a careless sea with a tomboyish wind behind you.
He was not accustomed to bare-headed women, and the sight fussed him even more than the sight of her stocking had done.
They stood there for a time, talking of this and that, Adam didn't rightly remember what. She told him that she was sure she was going to be comfortable and that she did hope she wasn't putting them to any inconvenience; and he cried "Oh, no!" She said that this seemed the pleasantest part of the boat, right back here where they were; and Adam said he would rig an awning for her here tomorrow.
Adam raised his eyes, but they encountered the upper part of the lady's bodice, which, very low, was trimmed with muslin, maybe not enough of it; and his temples pounded, and sweat sprang out around his mouth, so that he put his gaze down to the deck again in a hurry.
"The sailors—didn't I hear them singing a while ago?"
"There was a chantey, while they were having the hook up."
"It was a charming little thing. So— So pastorale."
"Well-"
"D'ye suppose they could sing it again?"
They did, and with glee. They sat along the taffrail and kept time with their hands, and for the most part they remembered never to start the verses that were not proper to this occasion, though at least once they slipped.
"Magnifiqiie!" cried the passenger, and she laughed so hard that they all had to laugh, too. She and Adam were seated on the scuttle, and she put her head on Adam's shoulder a moment.
She had a mouth that seemed small in repose, though it was not often in repose; yet when she laughed it was seen to be large, but at all times it was well formed, full; and she had exquisite teeth.
"La, la. Captain, 'tis good for the gizzard not to have to be a lady of ton quite all the time!"
She pulled away, patting his arm and looking up at him, laughing. She had a mouth—
"Must be," said Adam.
"You there, Rellison. In my room you'll find a brace of bottles of French brandy, in the locker on the left. Fetch 'em up. I want you to give them to the boys, as a reward for their singing."