Return to the House of Sin. Anabelle Bryant
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Название: Return to the House of Sin
Автор: Anabelle Bryant
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9780008229740
isbn:
England. She had anticipated her return through a different lens, but she’d be forced to make the best of circumstances now. If only she could somehow contact her father and sister. She worried over their wellbeing. Would they continue to France without her? Search for her in Italy? The predicament was wretched and all due to her befuddled mistake. Perhaps confessing this to the captain proved the wisest choice. Still, there was no way to remedy the problem or forward word to her father. Her one small decision had immense consequences.
She sat down at the table to contemplate how she would spend her time and her stomach growled. She placed a hand against her abdomen. Hopefully Crispin would return soon. She needed to think of some way to repay his generosity. A plentitude of unanswered questions bothered her brain. She stalled, restlessness causing ill ease.
How nice it would be to have a book or deck of cards to pass the time. She wondered if Crispin packed any such distractions in his trunks? She could never go through them. But when he returned with food, she must remember to ask. Stopping in front of the mirror, she pulled the pins from her hair and dropped them into the bowl on the desk. As she threaded her fingers through the lengths she fanned out the tangles before setting to work on weaving a large braid as tightly put together as her plans for the future.
Unexpectedly, the ship pitched to the left and she swayed with the motion. During her trip to Italy, the ocean allowed smooth travel and the ship made excellent time into port. She hoped this voyage proved as peaceful. Taking a turn around the interior to occupy her time, she counted how many footsteps composed the circumference of the room. Then she counted each pace across the diagonal until, with a huff of boredom, she plopped down on the bed to try the mattress. It was thin and somewhat lumpy, though she had no right to complain.
Rising from the bed, she walked to the tiny window above the table. If the table weren’t nailed to the floorboards, she would have had a clearer view of the outside world, but as it was, she couldn’t stretch nearly as far as necessary to see anything worthwhile, her line of sight composed of the wooden wall adjacent to the door.
Again, her eyes fell to the trunks against the wall. Could a book be inside? Crispin appeared a knowledgeable and educated fellow. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to breach his trust. If for some reason he changed his mind and rescinded his offer of this room, she would never reach England unscathed. Worse, if the captain made her stowaway adventure public, she would be ruined, her family shamed and maligned by her negligent actions. That embarrassment would become Raelyn’s doomed fate as well and together their future would present a burden to Father, never able to marry his daughters into suitable, respectable futures. The series of graceless episodes that composed her foray into society were mild and amusing by account, but a scandal of magnitude would be tragic and unforgivable.
A shudder ran through her and she settled further on the mattress, weary from the excitement of the morning. Perhaps she should lie down and attempt a nap before eating. Hunger proved an annoying distraction and she was terribly tired. Hadn’t Crispin expressed the same? But now he would have to sleep on the floor, or worse, find some corner of the ship to occupy. This knowledge paled her good fortune by degree.
Sometimes life offered less than desirable circumstances.
‘What are you doing here?’ Ferris answered the door, his shirt untucked and open. ‘I was sleeping.’
‘So I heard.’ Crispin stepped over the threshold and into the room, identical to his own and about to become more cramped. ‘I may sleep here tonight. If you don’t mind.’ He tried for a casual tone, but knew better than to expect his friend would not question this turn of events, most especially after Crispin had made a point of insistence about their equivalent accommodations.
‘What’s wrong with your room?’ Ferris pulled out the only chair and pushed it forward before he dropped to the bed and reclined, his hands folded behind his head, eyes closed.
‘I found a mouse.’
‘Not a rat?’
‘Not a rat.’ Crispin allowed a half-smile to twist his lips. Amanda Beasley. Amanda was an occurrence he hadn’t planned upon. He could only blame himself for what transpired afterwards. Some long-lost resurrected sense of duty had made him suggest she have his quarters, his sister, Sophie, the cause. Despite his better judgement, he knew discovering the lady and agreeing to harbour her couldn’t end well. Worse, he’d volunteered to withstand the punishing sound of Ferrisimo’s snoring.
‘Is this how you plan to spend the afternoon? Lazing about?’ Restlessness spurred the questions. He already had much on his mind with his decision to return to England, and the sudden displacement from his room did more to evoke a beat of tension.
‘Lazy is such a strong word. I prefer selective participation.’ Ferris peeled an eye open and stared at him in profile. ‘You’ll not regret this decision.’
Ferris was glad for the company. One could hear it in his voice.
‘I already do.’ Crispin might have elaborated but the buzzing drone of his friend halfway to slumber eradicated any further conversation. Left to his own devices, he scanned the interior and forced himself to accept the consequences of his rash inconvenience on Amanda’s behalf.
As all the paid private rooms were identical, there was a single bed. The crew slept in hammocks and there were hooks from the ceiling here if one needed to accommodate more travellers, although three weeks’ travel suspended by rope didn’t appeal unless one intended to fashion a noose.
The witty premise prompted him to smirk.
He stood, spared another survey of the empty walls, and then left, intent on finding the saloon. He would fill his stomach first and return to his original quarters with something for Amanda to eat. She was slight of figure, slim through the waist and hips, and while he had no reason to notice, he remembered. Supplying food would become a chore. She’d mentioned a bath as well. How quickly things were becoming complicated. It had seemed a logical solution to offer Amanda the safety of his room. But now, caught between decks, hungry, tired and saddled with Ferrisimo’s constant company, he wondered if he’d created a bigger mess than the one he sought to resolve in London.
These regrets carried him across the waist deck and towards the firebox and working galley, his mood dampened by the undertaking and misty drizzle produced by the waves. The crew no longer scurried across the boards. A few passengers roamed the main deck, but for the most part the ship had settled into the knowledge all would be a-sea for a lengthy duration. Just as Ferris napped below deck, most travellers unpacked their trunks, rested or simply organized what would be their home for almost a month.
He found the stairs to the saloon adjacent to the whip staff where a wiry young man manned the rigging and eyed him with speculative curiosity. He met the lad’s stare before he dropped below, taking a moment to unroll his sleeves and straighten his clothing, though nothing would help the wrinkled mess that was his shirt. Of course, ship travel hardly required formal attire. Crew members worked on most decks in nothing more than a flowing tunic and pair of short pantaloons. With this to assuage his pride and dishevelled appearance, he ducked into the dining room and discovered it near empty. A late meal СКАЧАТЬ