The Blog of Roon

I haven’t done any face-to-face roleplaying in years. Practically forgot how much fun it was!

Our Dogs in the Vineyard group assembled at my place this afternoon. Only the GM had experience with the game, so we spent the session putting characters together. My Sister Abigail is a stubborn woman with a knack for jerry-rigging mechanical things just good enough to get by. Her besetting sin is that she hates the work assigned to her as a woman of the Faith. (Not specifically because it’s women’s work; she just happens not to like or be good at it.)

She’s got a mutual dislike on with Brother Naphtali, who’s of the opinion that everybody should pitch in at whatever work is to hand; she’s none too sure his faith will hold up to close inspection. We were cautioned against putting too many dice on this, as “they’ll either end up dead or married!” so we settled for a d8 each.

Sister Abigail’s opening conflict had to do with a dislike of authority. The GM cleverly twisted it into a situation where she had to exert authority, and she learned that without rightful authority, there is chaos.

It’s a fun group—no teenyboppers, no rules lawyers, no idiots. I look forward to next session!

Me: “‘Feathers’ is a damn silly last thought, by the way.”

Well, hey, I may just be joining a new face-to-face Dogs in the Vineyard campaign after the first of the year, thanks to FindPlay. This is not uncool.

I haven’t forgotten about poor Monrroyo. I have to refamiliarize myself with characters and situation, come up with some curveballs to throw at people, and make sure my old players are willing to give me another try. Soon, I hope.

And I haven’t talked about Dragonhunt in ever so long. Shall have to remedy that, because as John Kovalic knows, gamers just love to talk about their characters.

Inside, he tidies both himself and the room quickly and quietly, donning his jacket once again with a shudder at its chilly damp. His stomach is gnawing at him; he shrugs off the hunger, knowing there will be scant chance to assuage it for some time. He sits in the desk-chair, his back to the bunk and its inhabitant, closes his eyes, and says a prayer of gratitude under his breath.

She goes down to her cabin and retrieves dry clothing, but does not put it on. Instead, she carries it into Esperanza’s cabin. She knocks lightly, so as not to startle Shirley.

“Doctor? Come in.” He gets up from the chair as she enters. “She is still asleep.”

“Good. I thought she would be. How are you, my dear? I’m going to get into dry clothes; would you like to do likewise? I can stay with Esperanza, and we can talk when you’re more comfortable. Oh, and I brought this for the bruises” handing him a small pot of angelica and marigold salve. Once her hand is free, she reaches up to give his shoulder a slight squeeze.

He winces involuntarily—wrong shoulder—but kisses her cheek with cold lips after a glance through the open door. “I could be warmer, but dry clothes should mend that. Thank you for this; I will return it shortly. How are the injured sailors?”

She catches the wince, and moves her hand quickly, with a murmured “I’m sorry, love.” The kiss gets a soft smile in response. If she can, she’ll stand on tiptoe and return it. “The sailors will mend, although the one who caught a spar on his head is badly hurt. That will wait, though… go, love, you’re freezing!”

A short time later, he scratches at Esperanza’s door rather than knocking. “Doctor? May I return you your salve?”

She opens the door smiling. She is also reclad, and has hung her dress on a peg to dry. “Better?”

“Yes, rather. Thank you.”

“Good. You did look rather miserable; I was worried.”

“I am a comfortable creature, Margaret; cold and wet, in especial combined, hold few charms for me.”

“Or for any reasonable person, I should think!” She nods toward the chair, but once he is seated, instead of sitting on the edge of Esperanza’s bunk, settles herself on the floor so she can lay her head against his knees. “Thank you. Do you have any idea what a relief it is, that there is one person with whom I need not be always strong and sure of myself?”

He stiffens momentarily, then gives way with a little sigh of a chuckle and passes his hand over her hair. “My dear, this charade of ours simply must end. Tell Esperanza and your brother whatever you must; I cannot pretend any longer that I am anything but utterly in love with you. Let the sailors think it an effect of the storm; let the Times give us a full column; I care not one whit.”

He tips up her chin to look her in the eyes. “Now then. Are you all right, sweetheart?”

She is thunderstruck, almost speechless, this is such a complete reversal of everything she’s seen from him. “I—I—yes, I think so, I’m just very tired. Are you sure, love? Nothing could make me happier, but are you very sure?”

“If you recall, my dear, the initial reason for discretion had less to do with propriety or concern for public or private reaction than with the perceived necessity to conceal our—specifically, my—movements from Herbert Addison. That reason no longer obtains—and I grow weary of watching my surroundings like a wrongdoer every time I wish to offer you some endearment!”

She laughs very softly. “Yes, I can see that. But you were *very* concerned with propriety, at least to start with!” She turns her head a little to kiss his palm.

“Well, I still am,” he protests. “I simply think that at this juncture we risk our reputations more by a fruitless attempt to conceal our — mutual regard — than by honesty.”

“Which is a good reason for doing as we wish to do anyway.” Her grin invites him to laugh at themselves with her. “But is there anything to tell, really? People don’t usually announce that they have grown fond of each other, although that is enough to tell Esperanza. We can simply stop the charade without another word said, and let people draw their own conclusions.”

“Done. That is really all I meant us to do. Just — we are all-too-public figures now; I am ready to face the gossipers and scandalmongers, but only if you are also.”

“I’ve been ignoring them for years, my dear. Very little is as scandalous as a female physician, in some circles. But yes, if you are ready, I certainly am.

He sighs. “You have waited for me, is that not so? I am a coward.”

“Yes, I’ve waited for you, but you are not a coward. You have had to be far more cautious about drawing attention than I; that is all.”

“Well, I—I should not like you to believe that I am somehow shamed by you, by loving you. Nothing could be more wrong.”

“Do you know, that never even entered my mind. I thought you were being protective, of me as much as of yourself. It’s rather endearing…and how you manage it without making me feel as if you must protect me simply because I am a woman and inherently weak is quite wonderful!”

Shirley clears his throat softly, peering at Esperanza to be sure she
still sleeps. “I rather think a certain likeness between us in that regard
might be an answer to that question,” he says drily.

She quirks an eyebrow at that, and nods, following his gaze. “Now, I don’t think I shall have to tell Esperanza,” she says. “She has already told me. I believe her exact words were ‘anyone who sees him look at you would know he will not be seeing anyone else.’”

“Dear me. How fearfully indiscreet. You see the necessity of disclosure, I hope; clearly I am not to be trusted to restrain myself,” he says, embarrassment mixed with irony in his tone.

“My dear, you managed to restrain everything but the look in your eyes…and I doubt anyone but she was was watching us that closely.” A slight giggle: “Certainly Lady Oglethorpe couldn’t have been!”

“Bah! that wretched woman. I will not tell you what I thought when Lady Collins’s cat brushed by me underneath the table!”

She blushes and laughs. “I can imagine!”

“My brother may also have read between the lines, though,” Margaret remarks, sobering. “I have never mentioned any man by name in my correspondence before.”

“Ah, is that so? Well, we were properly introduced in London at the Ellipsoids’ Ball, and have improved on our acquaintance in reasonably acceptable fashion, considering the circumstances. Better we should make it known ourselves than have it revealed involuntarily.” He laughs. “I expect my background is receiving yet another thorough investigation. What Judge Remington must think! I daresay some quite curious telegrams await us in Osaka. I hope we shall not be too much delayed; your brother doubtless knows what ship we are on, and will worry.”

She smiles back. It is quite the most open smile Shirley has seen from her; it lights her whole aspect. “I am curious to see what the telegrams say, also. And you are quite right; I shall have to call at Stafford & Sheffield Osaka at least long enough to telegraph Arthur and reassure him that we survived. I should also let him know what a gem this Captain is; the family needs to keep him in our employ.”

“I doubt there is another like him anywhere. When the ship turned on its side—I thought it was all up with us, Margaret, all but the actual drowning.” His hand, which has been stroking her damp hair, finds her shoulder and tightens on it.

She shudders and leans into his leg, biting her lip. “So did I.” She drawas a deep, rather shaky breath, lets it out. “So did I, love. I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified. I was glad you were there, and trying quite desperately to think how I could save Esperanza, and…” this time it is she who can’t go on. She brings her hand up to cling to his, but looks down. He can feel her trembling.

“My poor love. How thoughtless of me. Here, you mustn’t sit like that.” He gets to his feet, careful neither to step on her nor loose her hand, and pulls her up as well. Much as she had done for him the night before, he draws her head onto his shoulder and puts his arms round her, his battered old black topcoat practically hiding her from view. “All is well, love. Cry if you like; I will never tell, never think the less of you. But we are safe, and we will be ashore soon, and this will dwindle into a story we can tell to astonish a salon or two.”

She clings for some minutes, and Shirley can feel that she is relaxing gradually. Then she laughs a little into his shoulder. “This is so silly. You are right, it’s over and we are safe. I’ve never understood it; I’m perfectly fine through the crisis, then shiver over might-have-beens once it is past. Thank you, my love.”

“I have known the same reaction in the constabulary, faced with emergency,” Shirley answers with a slight shrug. “Quite a practical adaptation, I should think; work now, worry later.”

He can feel her nod. She is fairly calm now, but stays, nestled against his shoulder and hidden in his coat, for a long time. Shirley feels an improbable yet irresistible well of joy fill him, a joy of life greater than he could guess a weak human heart capable of withstanding. He brings his arms even closer together around Margaret, and bends his head toward hers to breathe in the salt-sea scent of her hair. “I love you,” he whispers once, too lost in unfamiliar elation to say anything more.

She hears him and smiles, although he can’t see it. She has been revelling in the unaccustomed wonder of simply being held. She tighterns her clasp as he had, bringing her hands to rest flat on his shoulder blades, underneath the overcoat, and nestles, if possible, even closer. She thinks she ought to say something, but cannot quite form the words. So she lets her hands and her presence say it for her, rubbing his back lightly for a moment, and pressing him close. Then, with a slight sigh, she lets go and looks up at him. “Thank you seems inadequate, but it is all I can think of.” She glances over to see if Esperanza is stirring.

“I have done nothing, really,” he says with a remarkably cheery burst of laughter.

She grins back. “I would not call it nothing! Do you have any idea how happy I am, in this moment? That is a priceless gift!”

Then she blinks, and leans back. “Dearest? You slept through dinner and breakfast, and the storm was on us before lunch. You’ve been half drowned and half frozen, and you must be half starved. Forgive me, please, for not thinking sooner! She releases herself from his arms, and finds the picnic hamper. “There should still be some fruit and hard cheese in here… ah, yes, there they are! Love? Eat something. I don’t want you to fall ill from our adventures! What would you like?”

“Anything,” he says, now a touch shamefaced. “I am hungry, but it seemed trivial after everything that’s happened.”

She pulls out packets of figs and dates, a chunk of hard cheese, and some slightly stale steamed buns, and lays them on the desk. Then she digs a bit further through the hamper and finds a small knife, which she unwraps. “Good; a veritable feast. It’s not trivial; what we have endured is strain enough upon the body. Come; we have warmed ourselves and comforted our spirits; now let us attend to the comfort of the body as well.” She is smiling at him, warm and open. She looks the same, damp hair escaping its pins and all, but there is something—some edge about her—that is gone. He had not realized it was there, but now the change is subtle, but very clear.

He accepts it, turning his attention to fruit and cheese. The good there
is no need to question. He picks up a fig and toasts her with it. “Salud! Or should I say, na zdarovye?”She just laughs.

When his stomach no longer clamors to be filled, he tucks a tendril of loose hair behind Margaret’s ear and says shyly, “You know, I did learn somewhat of hairdressing—a necessity, given my earlier employment. I was even detailed to put up Elizabeth’s hair, as we had no maid; she had lovely hair, almost as long as my arm. May I do Esperanza’s office, this once? I heard the sailor’s foolish doubts; perhaps a neater appearance may help mend them.”

The touch behind her ear is so pleasant it startles her and makes her shy in turn. She looks down, but nods. “I would like that, if you don’t mind.” She nods toward the remains of the food. “If you’ll tidy that a bit, I’ll go retrieve my brush and combs.”

He clears away crumbs and pits with despatch. She goes to her room, finds the brush in the trunk where it had been tossed early in the storm, along with a small inlaid wooden box she keeps her combs in. She takes a deep breath and pauses, considering. Then she laughs at herself; if she has not worried much about proprieties so far, then why start now? She goes back with the brush and the box, closing Esperanza’s door carefully behind her. “Well, where would you like me to be, master hairdresser?” Her smile is purely impish.

“Sit down,” he says, standing up himself and taking the brush and combs.
“The sailors will simply have to forgive us, as our usual haunts are
occupied.” He lays the brush aside, saying, “You ought not use a brush on wet hair; it only tangles worse.” He finds and removes all the hairpins in short order, so neathanded that Margaret hardly feels them go. He separates out sections of hair with a large-toothed comb and, holding each section near the scalp with one hand so as not to cause pain, combs them free of knots with the other. A smaller-toothed comb, wiped on Shirley’s handkerchief between times, removes the worst of the crusted salt.

She closes her eyes and relaxes under his ministrations. At one point, she comments “I shall be grateful when we can wash properly.” And somewhat later, “I believe I am coming to understand why cats purr.” At which Shirley hushes her, scandalized despite himself. She just chuckles a little.

“There. Better. I will put it back the way you had it.” And he does, quickly and neatly. The whole operation, despite the continual motion of the ship, takes something under ten minutes. “Now, would you care to salvage our reputation by opening the door, if it is safe to do so?” This time, he is amused, not censorious.

“I daresay if anyone has even noticed, we will cause great confusion. Doesn’t the lady always come from a private interlude with the gentleman with her hair mussed? I am much more presentable than I was, and far more comfortable as well. Thank you, dearest.” She smiles at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“Mmm. Such liberties you take with the hired help, madame,” he murmurs in her ear, and kisses her in return.

“Somehow that didn’t seem like an objection. I shall put these away—” picking up the brush and combs— “and I should probably check on the sailor with the head injury by now, anyway.” She pauses to look carefully at Esperanza in passing, but the girl is sleeping peacefully. The pain-lines have relaxed out of her face, and she is breathing evenly. Margaret nods to herself, smoothing the blanket over Esperanza’s shoulders with a caressing motion, then goes on out. This time, she carefully leaves the door open a trifle.

Shirley takes the opportunity to pace the hall; three in the confines of Esperanza’s cabin felt a tight fit indeed. He closes Esperanza’s door while he walks, and does not stray too far from it in case she should stir.

There is a loud knocking on the hatch, and a voice calls out “Stand back down there!”

Margaret scrambles to her feet, then turns so that she can climb over Esperanza’s legs and get below the girl. That should give Shirley room to get out of the way, also.

“Half a moment!” Shirley shouts back. As quickly as he can, he descends the stairs, hopping over the one on which Esperanza lies. He kneels on one knee next to her and gets his arms under hers such that her head will lie on his shoulder. “Drop the bag at the bottom and get her feet, will you? Her room should be safe now.”

“Yes, all right.” But she moves to support Esperanza under knees and shoulders, so that she and Shirley are carrying more from the sides. “Can you start through her door, do you think?”

“Right, here we go!” calls the voice on deck. A waterfall cascades down the recently-vacated stairs, puddling and sloshing as it seeps into the bilge. A drenched sailor carefully descends the stairs, gripping the railing with one hand and leaning into the opposite wall with the other. His face takes on a look of concern as he sees Shirley and Margaret carrying Esperanza.

“Is she all right?” He notices that the three of them are wet. “Has there been a leak? An accident?”

Shirley does not trouble to answer until Margaret and Esperanza are
safely tucked into Esperanza’s room. “No lasting harm done, no leaks,” he
says as he fetches Margaret’s bag, shaking his head at how it has gotten
drenched, and his own sodden jacket. He throws the latter over his shoulder before he turns round again. “The doctor’s ward suffered a severe attack of headache, so the doctor dosed her with laudanum. We dared not leave the girl in her room lest we should have to abandon ship quickly; we got wet waiting on the stairs, that’s all. Any injuries abovedecks? I daresay the doctor would be glad to assist.”

“That’d be welcome. One of the lads took a knock on the head when a spar came down, and the third mate’s got a broken arm. None lost, none killed. Our cap’n’s right clever, and a lucky man besides. None better in the Orient.”

“I believe it!” Shirley says fervently. “And I am very glad to be
sailing with you, all of you. A moment while I fetch Doctor Byrd.”

He knocks on Esperanza’s door. “Doctor? A broken arm and a blow to the head await you abovedecks, if you can leave your ward. I have your bag here, and I can keep an eye on your ward if need be.”

Margaret checks Esperanza; she seems none the worse for the moving about. She gets a dry nightgown out of Esperanza’s trunk, and goes about getting Esperanza out of her wet clothing, into her nightgown, and under blankets as quickly as she can. “I’ll be right out; I’ve just got her settled and into something dry.” She comes out, very much the physician, and takes her bag from Shirley. “If you could sit with her, it would best. She should sleep awhile yet, but if she wakes she is likely to be confused and frightened. Hopefully I shall be back before she wakes.”

Then she turns to the seaman on the stairs. “Is there a place out of the rain where I might care for the injured men?” And as she goes up, Shirley hears “Please give my compliments to your captain and crewmates. Getting us through that storm was a masterly display of seamanship!”

The sailor nods. “I’ve sailed this route for ten years and never seen anything like it! Lucky for us, the Cap’n knows these seas better’n anyone.” He leads Margaret down the corridor as he speaks. “The boys
are in the mess; we didn’t have the time to get them to their bunks.”

“That’s best, anyway. Their bunks would not provide me sufficient space to work. Have the lamps been relit yet? I shall need some light.”

The sailor nods, and moves the lamps closer to the tables where the men are lying. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but…” he seems nervous, but takes a deep breath and continues. “Some of the
lads are sayin’ that a… lady of quality such as yourself ain’t a proper doctor. You can help them, can’t you?”

She’s used to it, so she only sighs a little. “I won’t know until I see them, but most likely I can. I assure you, I am quite a ‘proper doctor’. I have been in practice in London for five years now.” The cordial, gracious lady reading on deck has vanished utterly; Margaret is every inch the dignified, confident professional. “Now, let me see to the man with the broken arm first. I need to give him something for pain and give it a little time to work before I can examine his arm properly.”

As she speaks, she is setting her bag down, opening it out, and reaching for the bottle of morphine. Every movement is absolutely sure; obviously, she’s done this so many times she barely needs to think about it. She administers the dose to the sailor, telling him what she’s giving him and that the pain will be much less shortly, assuring him that she will do her best to be sure his arm mends good as new. Then she tells the man with him “Let him lie down, but do not allow him to toss about. There will be less damage if the arm remains still.” She turns to the other sailor.

The sailor nods. Any doubts he might have had about a lady doctor have been banished by Margaret’s obvious competence. He stands next to his comrade with the broken arm, ready to assist as necessary.

The head injury appears to be a nasty one; the assisting sailor tells Margaret that the man was hit in the side of the head by a falling spar. In
addition to a nasty scalp wound, his skull has an obvious swelling behind the temple. The patient is unconscious, but breathing regularly.

She takes a brief look, turning the man’s head very gently with a hand on his chin. Then she turns to the nearest man. “I shall need a basin of water which has been boiled, if that is possible, and another to put soiled cloths in. If there is some left in the kettle from this morning’s tea, that will do nicely.” She fishes bandage lengths, cotton wool and iodine out of her bag, and sets them on a nearby table.

When water arrives, she first carefully pours a little iodine into it. Then she rinses her hands, pouring water from the basin carefully into the other bowl. It’s not ideal, but it will do. She’ll refill the first bowl, if necessary. Then she’ll dip the cotton-wool in the iodine-and-water, and sponge the blood away from the gash. Then she’ll lift a lamp and hold it close, opening each of the man’s eyes gently with the other hand to check his pupils.

Then she’ll reduce the fracture, winding the arm carefully with wet plaster bandages and holding it steady while they dry. She tells the sailor that she will remove the plaster and rebandage it before they disembark in Osaka, when the swelling will have gone down. Then it just needs to heal…about an 8 week process. (She’s adding a couple of weeks because she doesn’t want it to break again the minute the cast is off.) After that, it will take some time to get the strength back, but the arm should be quite sound.

And then she excuses herself, saying that she would like to get into dry clothing herself. “It wouldn’t do for the doctor to get sick because she was careless, now would it? And is it safe to heat some water for tea yet?”

As the Mako approaches the Tsushima Strait, heavy clouds gather on the horizon. Esperanza takes to her bed with a throbbing headache, ready to swear in court that her head has suddenly become three sizes too small and is destined to explode at any moment. The wind picks up, snapping the Mako’s sails violently as the crew attempts to trim them. The sky goes a sulphurous green-yellow, and a heavy rain beings to fall. The two Ellipsoids can see massive arcs of lightning flashing across the sky, followed by the loudest thunder either has ever heard. Just as they reach the slick steps, they can see a spiraling cloud descend from the sky, and suck vast quantities of water up to lower level of the clouds.

Shirley stops to watch, fascinated, until a violent yaw of the ship
throws him hard onto the railing. Margaret stops in her tracks, clutching Shirley’s arm. “My G-d, Shirley! Have you ever seen anything like that?” For the first time since he’s known her, her face is white and her eyes wide. She is genuinely frightened by this evidence of the power of such a storm.

Rubbing at a bruised side, Shirley tears his eyes away from it to reassure her. “I never have, no, but I cannot say I am sorry; it is an impressive phenomenon,” he says calmly. Blue-white lighting forks across the sky, briefly illuminating the purple-grey clouds. “Come, now, we need to stay out of the sailors’ path. My cabin is just under the stairs, and I can wedge the door open; come sit with me, and we will be able to hear what is happening. Unless you need to look in on Esperanza?”

“Yes, yes of course.” His calm demeanor allows her to collect herself. “I should check on her; I would not want her to be injured as the ship tosses.” And she heads for Esperanza’s cabin to secure anything loose from flying around. When she is done, if she can, she will do the same in her own cabin. Her face is still rather pale, but she is in command of herself.

The good news is that the Mako’s crew—and Stafford and Sheffield’s warehouse employees—have done a very good job of packing, and there is very little in the way of loose items to secure. Almost everything can be quickly deposited into the trunk secured to the
floor of the ship at the end of the bunk.

The bad news is that Esperanza appears to be in abject misery. She has reverted to Spanish, and fights back tears as she explains to Señora Doctor that her head aches so; she can feel immense, throbbing pressure behind her eyes and in the roots of her teeth. She is
apparently unaware of the severity of the storm; she has mistaken the pitching and rolling of the ship for her own faintness and vertigo. She begs Margaret not to leave her, to give her something for the pain. Her
dark eyes are hugely dilated, and she seems on the verge of a very uncharacteristic panic. Across the narrow corridor, Shirley can hear her shaky, fearful voice.

Shirley braces himself in the doorway of his cabin, unwilling to enter Esperanza’s unless invited. “Can you put her to sleep?” he asks Margaret in English, pitying the Spanish girl’s misery and fear. “It might be kindest.” The ship yaws violently, nearly tossing Shirley into the corridor. Margaret is left reeling, and Esperanza clutches the edge of her bunk, realizing for the first time that perhaps it isn’t all in her head.

Margaret has set her own fear aside entirely; Esperanza needs her, both as physician and as foster-mother. She responds first to Esperanza in Spanish, taking her hand and sitting very carefully on the edge of her bunk. “Of course I will stay with you, dear heart. Do not be afraid. There is a bad storm on the sea; it affects some people with headaches like this. I know you feel as if you would have to get better to die, but it truly will do you no lasting harm.”

And then to Shirley, in English, “In the normal course, I would; laudanum is the specific for this type of headache. It dulls the pain and puts the patient to sleep, and usually the headache is gone by the time they awaken. But I am concerned that it is not safe. Should we need to abandon ship, she must not be insensible. I shall try a reduced dose first, I think, and then we can stay with her. Will you please get my medical bag out of my cabin? I don’t want to make her let go of me. And if anything is lying about loose, would you toss it into the trunk? That would be a huge help, and one less thing to worry about.”

“As quickly as I can,” Shirley answers, navigating the treacherously
swaying floor. Several stumbles and bruises later, he returns with the bag.

And then, turning her entire attention back to Esperanza, she tells her, “I have sent Mr. Addam to get my bag; I have some medicine in it that should help. In the meantime, close your eyes; the light will only cause you more pain.” And with her free hand, she rubs Esperanza’s temples gently, trying to ease the pain by easing the tension and panic.

When Shirley returns, she will gesture him in. “My dear? She will be calmer if she can tell by touch that one of us is near. Will you come sit by her and hold her hand, while I ready a dose?”

“Certainly,” says Shirley, resisting the impulse to question the propriety of Margaret’s term of address—all that can wait until after the storm. Margaret tells Esperanza “I need to pour the medication, but Mr. Addam is here. He will sit with you a moment, and then I shall be right back.” She trades places with Shirley, talking quietly to Esperanza in Spanish the whole time, trying to reassure the girl with her voice and Shirley’s hand. He perches on the edge of the bunk, bracing his foot against the wall by the head of the bed to keep his balance, and very gently teases Esperanza’s hand away from Margaret. “Oye, ni a, no te preocupes de nada,” he says kindly. “Nosotros dos cuidaremos de ti.”

Margaret moves quickly and carefully, pouring a half-dose of laudanum into a small glass, which she hands to Shirley, turning back just long enough to stopper the bottle and wedge it back into it’s padded nest in her bag. She is trying to get everything set and done before the next roll of the ship.

As soon as she has her bag secured, she crosses to Esperanza’s bunk. “All right, little one. I shall help you to sit up a little, so you can swallow this. It tastes dreadful, but it will help. Sitting will make the pain worse, for a second; do not be ashamed if you cry a little. You have been very strong and brave, but it is alright. Now,” slipping her arm behind Esperanza’s shoulders and head, and taking the dose from Shirley “up, and drink.” And when Esperanza is done, she lowers her back to her bunk, seating herself and taking the girl’s hand again. She nods to Shirley to take a seat in the chair by the desk. “Best if we stay together, I think.”

Shirley is a little less than sanguine about sitting in anything not fixed to the floor, but he conceals his minor worries and does as Margaret has asked. He cocks his head to listen to the shouts abovedecks. Another earsplitting burst of thunder convinces him that he will not be able to hear enough of the sailors’ shouts to get a sense of the proceedings. He turns his attention back to doctor and patient. “How is she getting along?” he asks. “For that matter, how are you?”

Margaret looks down at Esperanza. Her breathing has evened out considerably, but when she touches the girl’s forehead lightly, there is still a lot of tension. “She’s better, but still fairly uncomfortable. I think she’s dozing. It would be the best thing for her.” Then she looks up, a trifle embarrassed. “As for me… suffice it to say that I do not care much for thunderstorms.”

“Really? That is too bad. I rather like them. A few nights before I went up for the bar, I went and studied myself into an absolute stupor. If not for a providential thunderclap, I might not have Esquire after my name today.” His smile is a little tight, but it is something that he can smile at all. She smiles back, as best she can. “How about a Russian verb or two?” he suggests. “I shall start—let me see, how about gavarit’, present tense. Ya gavaryu, ti…” He is quite capable of drilling her unmercifully by way of distraction until the storm blows over or some other action is needed.

This time the smile is more genuine. “Ya panemayu, y spasebah.”

The ship rolls sickeningly, and everything that is not fastened down slides across the floor and attempts to climb the wall. Margaret and Shirley suddenly realize that it must be nearly on its side. The ship teeters on the brink of rolling over, then slowly rights itself.

Margaret braces herself hard against the wall, entirely in control of herself again… as much as anything because there is no time to be otherwise. She turns her body so that she herself braces Esperanza from falling. Shirley tucks his feet into the chair legs, and reaches out to hold
Margaret’s shoulders against the wall.

A massive bolt of lightning is followed, barely a heartbeat later, by the loudest thunder yet. The entire ship shudders with the force of it. The ship rises precipitously, as if riding a storm swell, leaving Margaret with a touch of vertigo. The rise is followed by an equally sudden drop, a surge forward… She turns to scoop Esperanza up, grateful that the girl is so slight for her years. She doesn’t know what to expect, but she is preparing to head up to keep them from being trapped belowdecks. To Shirley she shouts “get my medical case if you can, but don’t risk your life for it. We can replace anything but ourselves.”

Shirley’s long arm hooks the case with no difficulty whatever; he drops it between his feet as he stands up. “Nonsense,” he tells her. “You mustn’t be separated from your tools. Take it; I will mind your ward for a bit.” He gets Esperanza into an awkward shoulder-carry—the best he can do given the bizarre motions of the ship—and shoves Margaret’s case toward her with his foot.

“You first,” he insists. “We are behind you—go!” She stands not upon the order of her going.

He settles Esperanza on one of the lower steps, her poor aching head pillowed on his own hastily-folded coat. He leaves her feet to dangle off the side, mindful of what Margaret said about sitting upright causing pain. Margaret takes a place on the step above, medical case under one arm, the other reaching once more for Esperanza’s hand. She takes the chance of putting the case down for a minute, to give herself the opportunity to check Esperanza carefully.

The ship’s gravity-defying motion slowly subsides, although Shirley and Margaret can hear that the intensity of the storm has not slackened. The ship still rises and falls considerably, but stays upright. The extreme pitching and rolling has lessened considerably. Clearly, the ship has, at least for the moment, found a protected area. The various loose items settle on the floor, rolling around underfoot.

This frees Shirley to creep up the stairs and listen for activity. When he thinks it safe to do so, he opens the hatch and looks about the deck.

A waterfall of rain pours down the stairs as Shirley opens the hatch. Rain is still coming down in sheets outside, with lightning arcing across the chartreuse sky, followed by booming peals of thunder. Wind howls across the deck, occasionally blowing the raindrops sideways.

Through the pounding rain, Shirley sees no obvious disaster on deck, although the sailors are drenched and shivering. A couple of small spars appear to have been broken off, but the masts are intact. The storm
makes it hard to see much further than the deck of the ship. The captain is waving his arms, giving signals to supplement his voice as he strives to make himself heard above the storm.

Shirley closes the hatch quickly, hoping he himself caught the worst of the drenching. “If you will believe it,” he says, “we do not seem badly off at all. The ship is in rather better condition than I would have thought, and the crew looks lively; I saw no injuries. I suspect, Margaret, that as usual one may have confidence in the judgment of your brother and of Stafford and Sheffield.” Margaret simply nods and gives a heartfelt sigh of relief. He sits on the highest step he reasonably can, wrapping one arm about the railing and the other around his knees.

Margaret leans back against his knees. Appearances be damned. “Are you sure you care to do that?” he asks. “I am wet through.” His actions tell a different story: the hand that had been on his knees reaches down to caress her cheek and rest on her shoulder.

She laughs a little. “I’m not exactly dry either.”

Esperanza is dozing lightly in fits and starts. She has relaxed as much as possible under the circumstances, and has quieted down. She murmurs in Spanish “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to be a bother.”

Margaret smiles, and does not correct her. “Shh, dear heart. You’re no bother, and I’m here.” Her thoughts tangle around themselves; the only one that is clear is the realization that she has indeed treated Esperanza as a daughter, and loves her as if she were. She has, as she told Shirley, resigned herself to the likelihood that she will never bear a child, but—it is a revelation—it no longer matters. She already has one.

Shirley offers the lightning-riven darkness a thoughtful smile. “Voilà tout,” he murmurs. Margaret looks up at him. She’s glowing again; it’s obvious even in the dim light of the stairwell. “Careful, heart of my heart,” he cannot forbear to warn. “She is not entirely lucid, and may have a different tale when this is through—ow!” A lurch of the ship slams his shoulder into the railing. “I need not have spent so much time in the sun; much more of this and my skin will be another colour entirely!”

Margaret winces in sympathy, even as she moves to keep Esperanza from being battered about. “I think we’ve all taken a few knocks. I’ve some ointment in my bag we can all use, once this settles out. It’s good for bruising.”

The ship still rocks rather more than is comfortable, but nothing like the earlier extreme pitching and rolling. The thunder is no longer directly overhead, nor does the ship shudder with every thunderclap. Margaret and Shirley can hear that the rain is still coming down heavily, but they can also hear the shouts of the crew.

Shirley does not appear for breakfast next morning. When Margaret looks in, he is dead to the world, curled up in his bunk like a cat with his back against the wall of the cabin. He does not even stir at the creak of the sea-rusted doorhinges. His clothes from the day before lie next to his bed, haphazardly folded; he is wearing high-collared pyjamas of undyed linen. He has the sheet pulled over him, clasped tight in his hands under his chin, but they are far enough north now that the mornings are chilly, and his blanket is still folded at the foot of his bed.

She steps in, closing the door behind her as quietly as she can. Then she steps over, shakes out the blanket, and pulls it up over Shirley, smoothing it across his shoulders softly. He stretches out his legs and sighs without awakening. She watches him sleep with a tiny, tender smile, bends to place a feather-light kiss on his cheek, and turns away. She listens at the door; if she hears nothing, she will slip out again. She will check again in an hour or two, but will not be surprised if he sleeps the clock around.

When next she comes down the narrow corridor, she hears the thump-and-rustle of someone wrestling with the contents of a trunk in tight quarters. She nods to herself and goes on her way, retrieving her Russian grammar and some sewing from her own cabin and heading up on deck. Shirley will find her when he’s ready to face the day.

She hears him exchanging greetings with a ship’s officer not long after. “Yes, quite recovered, thank you,” he says in response to the inevitable polite inquiry. “It’s this Russian, I tell you—impossible language, I’ve no notion how the Russians themselves manage it. Good day, sir.”

Beside Margaret is one chair, across from her another. Shirley looks from one to the other with a droll, “Is this a test of some sort?” before taking the one at her side. She giggles. He drops his own Russian grammar and his notebook in his lap and leans toward her to lay his hand over hers, screened from view by the high chair-backs. “You are a healer, you blessed woman,” he says. “I am whole. Very likely the first time.”

Her answering smile lights up her whole face, but all she says is “Good. I’m very glad to hear it.” Then she holds up the Russian book and adds “or should I say ‘ochen harashoh?’”

When Margaret returns, Shirley has come down from his perch and leans against the crate with his head bowed. “You will not like to hear this, and you may call me all the hard names you wish when I have done, but I must say it, and you are the only person alive I can say it to,” he says, without raising his head.

Whatever it is, she is ready. She simply nods, standing very close.

“One last piece of the talk I had with Jimmy I have neglected to mention. Just before he left, he offered to come with me on the Ellipse. He would have done anything needing doing, he said. Well, I—obviously I could not—it was quite impossible, out of the question. But, Margaret, to have gotten him out of London—I am haunted by the hope I saw on his face, I cannot escape it! And so—when I see you so very adamant about not leaving me—I—” His voice fails him; his shoulders shake like those of a frightened horse.

Margaret moves very quickly; one arm going around his shoulders, the other coming up to press his head very gently into the hollow of her shoulder, stroking his hair. He stands rigid, arms at his sides, fists clenched, fighting not to make a sound. “Oh, dearest… and to have carried that all this time! No wonder you have felt all along this was your burden. I wish I had understood sooner.” She stands holding him for a time. Slowly, his hands loosen; tentatively, he brings them up behind her back to curl his fingers over her shoulders. When she does not protest, he draws yet closer, close enough for her to feel his ribcage shudder at breaths too long held in, and contract violently with each gasp for air.

She lets him choose, but as he draws closer she tightens her clasp. She knows how long it has been since anyone has touched him, let alone held him. She can guess how he must be fighting what he has taught himself, long and hard. But she tries to tell him, with her arms and herself, that he is welcomed, is wanted, is safe and loved.

Then she says, very gently, “My dear? You didn’t know; you couldn’t have known. There is no comparison between me and Jimmy. His choices were entirely circumscribed by his circumstances; so were yours. I have the good fortune to be able to make my own choices. It isn’t that you didn’t want to help him; it is that you could not. And if you say that you would have found a way… you would first to have known what awaited him.” She realizes that he probably hasn’t heard a word she’s said, in the midst of the storm. It has been a long time building, she knows. So she stands, and holds him as tightly as she can, and simply whispers, over and over “I am here. You need never be alone again, Shirley. I am here.” And finally, a bare whisper of breath, “I am here, Elizabeth.”

The sound of that name looses the tempest. The head nestling into Margaret’s shoulder is thrown back to give a thready cry of anguish, fortunately so like the shriek of a distant seabird that it occasions no alarm. Then comes the rain of tears, shed in fierce silent bursts that shake them both, as the hands on her shoulders clutch at her nearly hard enough to cause pain.

Though intense, the storm blows over quickly, leaving Shirley limp as a rag. He disengages himself from her slowly, his knees hardly willing to hold him upright. When he pats his pocket for his handkerchief, he realizes she still has it; he ducks his head into his arm like an awkward boy to wipe his face on his sleeve. Margaret realizes then that she has tucked his handkerchief into her sleeve. She pulls it out, wordlessly reaching to dry his face as he so recently did for her. Her shirtwaist is wet, and so is the handkerchief. Both will dry.

The crate again serves to prop himself against; he stands with his face in his hands, quiet, to recover himself. She thinks randomly that there was far more in this than just regret for Jimmy. There must have been the terror engendered by Addison, and his brother’s loss, and all the years of fearing discovery… yes, and fear of the vulnerability she had brought to him. She leaves one hand, very lightly, on his shoulder.

When he raises his head he is almost presentable, though his eyes are yet reddened and his hair is disarranged. “I hardly know what to say, except to thank you,” he says. “Not even my own brother was ever so good to me as this.”

She shakes her head, with a tiny smile. No thanks needed, it says. Aloud, she says only “Your brother was a boy, and younger. I’m sure he did his best.”

“Oh, G-d, Margaret, I am tired. If I sleep through dinner, will you tell them I have a touch of seasickness?”

“Hmm, you’re not known for seasickness. I’ll tell them you have a bit of a headache. I’d venture to guess you do, at that. A ten-year storm is bound to leave some leaves strewn in its wake. You’ll sleep through the night, I should say. You’ve been running on sheer nerve at least since Alexandria, and probably long before that. But if you sleep through breakfast, I may exercise my physician’s prerogative and check on you.” As she is talking, she is walking with him to his cabin. No one is in sight, so she whispers “sleep well, love” and gives him a swift, very gentle hug at his door.

He reaches for her hand as she turns to leave, but, nearly asleep on his feet, misses his hold. “Wait,” he calls softly after her, gathering what little lucidity he has left. “Check through your papers; you will find something I left there. I leave it to you what to do with it. I doubt it will be needed, now.” Without additional explanation, he opens his cabin door and half-stumbles inside.

Margaret is of two minds whether to believe him; he sounded half-drunk, half-dreaming, tongue weighted with lead. She turns, shakes herself a little, and goes looking for Esperanza. She is quite certain the girl is bubbling over with questions. She realizes rather wryly that she is nearly as exhausted as Shirley. Certainly she will sleep well tonight!

Still, when she riffles through the welter of telegrams, maps, schedules, and notes that Esperanza has tried valiantly to bring to order, she finds a fair-sized sealed envelope with her name written on it in Shirley’s tidy lettering. When she opens it, she finds a letter and two smaller envelopes.

Margaret reads it through several times, with tears in her eyes. It has brought home to her just how much he expected to die. But she does not understand why he wants her to see this now, when he did not in—she thinks back—Bahrain, it must have been. She conceals all three letters in the false bottom of one of her trunks, and resolves to ask him directly.

Shirley spends considerable time teaching himself Russian on the way to Osaka. Patiently, methodically, he copies out declensions, conjugations, and wordlists until they fix themselves in his memory. He constructs the wordlists himself; they omit such vocabulary as seems less than perfectly applicable to their coming journey. As particularly useful snippets of grammar or vocabulary arise, he builds questions and sentences applying them, and records the whole in a small notebook.

If Esperanza was still curious about how ordinary people learn language, she knows more now than she did. Considerably more; in fact, she is happy to help Shirley with speaking if he helps her with writing. Speaking a new language is one thing–writing it is something else entirely.) Chinese characters drove her to distraction until she started painting them into her sketchbooks. (”At least now they look properly drawn, even if I am not entirely certain what they mean.”) However, her reading and writing skills are still only slightly better than rudimentary.

Margaret is doing something remarkably similar, although once she is past conning the alphabet, she seems to rely considerably more on her memory, murmuring words over and over to herself. At one point she looks up at Shirley and Esperanza and observes rather ruefully that for all her efforts, she is likely to be barely comprehensible at first, as there is no one to correct her pronounciation.

“We are all in that boat, I believe,” Shirley answers. “Once we can
place sounds with letters, however, we should prove understandable.”

“I know. It is only rather disconcerting.”

After a while, though, while the Russian grammar still rests in her lap, she seldom turns a page. She is instead staring out over the water, humming so softly it is impossible to determine the tune, obviously thinking something through.

Speaking of Esperanza’s sketchbooks, they now include very detailed sketches of landscapes from the route to Hong Kong, along with small studies of architectural details, patterns recognizable from local textiles and art, exotic plants and animals, and a creditable portrait of a certain feline. She is going through paper and pencils at a rate that seems to surprise even her.

–

When he tires of Russian, Shirley busies himself extracting records of their travels since Alexandria — ticket stubs and the like. On a fresh page of his little notebook, he works on an accounting. When his memory fails him, or he was not present to witness an expense, he asks Margaret and Esperanza for details. He does not insist on absolute accuracy, a reasonable estimate sufficing him; but he does insist politely but obstinately upon honesty. Should he guess that they are intentionally lowering their estimates, he will simply shrug and in plain sight enter the
double of what they tell him.

He needn’t resort to such tactics. Margaret may be high-handed, and take her wealth utterly for granted, but she will not patronize Shirley by giving him patently absurd numbers. If he protests on the subject of, for example, train tickets, she will point out that they did not travel first class across India, nor have they stayed in upper crust hotels. For the most part, they have stayed as guests, or on board whatever conveyance they were using at the time, so there has been no extra expense involved. As for food, she has kept to simple, practical viands that would travel well, and shopped the local markets as they passed. The only luxury foods they’ve eaten have been as guests of various Ellipse officials.

An hour or so of figuring later, he slides the notebook across the deck toward Margaret. “By my reckoning, I owe you approximately half a year’s worth of my salary from Lady Hester,” he says quietly. “Check my figures if you care to; I added everything up twice, but I am by no means immune to error.”

The sum owing is circled neatly at the page bottom. Margaret finds it absurdly small, both as debt and as six months’ salary. “That is probably fairly accurate, and thank you for making the effort. And yes, I take your point quite clearly. I’d no intention to make you feel ‘kept’, you know, and I am well aware of the difficulties and obstacles.” She says no more than that, turning to look out over the water again.

“I did not suspect you of any such thing,” is Shirley’s mild protest. “I
simply ought not take advantage of your generosity. Would you care to be
more specific about the difficulties and obstacles you mention?”

“I was thinking ahead to our return. If you cannot accept what you call my generosity, then the chasm between wish and reality may be rather too great… that was your point, was it not? And there are other things to think about, but this is not the time to discuss them.” Then she shakes herself and smiles “And here I chide you for going looking for trouble! I am doing the very same thing. I shall stop now.” But the smile is a little shakey, and does not reach her eyes. After a second, she turns resolutely back to her Russian. She still isn’t turning pages.

Shirley laces his fingers together in his lap and stares at them. “I could do better than I am, I daresay,” he says heavily at last. “The Ellipse would give more than sufficient notoriety for a successful private practice. I am not given to expensive masculine pursuits; I do not hunt or game or—” he coughs— “flirt. But no practice I could possibly sustain, no matter my personal industry or thrift, could equal what you are accustomed to.

“If you were only spendthrift, something might perhaps be done. But you are not. You are generous; you delight in what your wealth brings to others. I admire it. I admire you for it. I’ve simply no way to support it, I fear, and I can easily see how wretched you would be if you had to give it up.”

Little lines are gathering at the corners of his mouth and between his drawn-together brows. “Perhaps it is time to throw over the impudent young pup of a barrister, before the Times gets hold of this,” he says, voice sinking. “Addison is gone now; I am safe, as far as that goes.”

Margaret continues to look down, but she has begun to shake her head “no” in absolute refusal before he has even quite finished. Hands clenched in her lap, she continues, wordlessly, for a bit after he has finished. When she finally answers him, her voice is quite steady, but so soft he has to strain to hear her. “I don’t believe that is truly what you want” she tells him. Once again, you are trying to do what you think is best for me, only this time you are trying to convince me of it as well.” The characterization is too apt for him to do anything but nod silently
and allow her to go on.

She turns her hands palms up—a sort of shrug. They curl into loose fists. “I have found myself wishing the impossible. I have wished you could be as openly a barrister as I am a physician. If we should then choose to share a home, it would be quite unremarkable, and no one would expect you to support me in any fashion. I never did expect that of you, you know.”

“I know. But there are other expectations than ours.” He pulls out his
handkerchief and lays it against the heel of her closed hand. His own eyes
are dry, but he has been watching her closely, and sees the tear-tracks
lining her face.

She does not use it to wipe her face, but clutches at it. “You are right that I delight in giving, and that it would be difficult to give it up. More…I have made promises, and I cannot break those. But do you understand? It would make me wretched to have to give you up, too.” She gives a very brief chuckle; it sounds appallingly forced. “Besides, I seem to recall some sort of plans regarding a joint legal and medical clinic? I cannot bring that to fruition without the legal half of the partnership.”

“It was a pretext to stay near you. You know that.”

“I did not take it as pretext, and in any event it is still a good idea. But it might perhaps be possible to bring you into my family, rather than take myself out of it. I am quite certain my brother would be delighted to find a reliable individual to run the family business and allow him to be a ‘gentleman solicitor.’ He has said as much to me. But I cannot make such suggestions to him or to our father when they have not even met you! They would accuse me of thinking with my heart. There is a long-standing tradition of bringing a daughter’s husband into a family business, if he was suitable in all ways save wealth.”

Shirley says nothing. Finally she looks up; no matter how steady her voice, she has been weeping steadily and silently for some time. Her face is wet, but she is ignoring it. “You know,” she tells him, in an attempt at humor, “I had wondered what it would be like to receive a proposal of marriage. And now that someone is thinking of me in that light, it is to tell me why it isn’t feasible! That seems rather backwards, somehow.”

“How perfectly callous of me. I am a wretch,” Shirley says, appalled. He picks up the handkerchief lying unregarded in her lap and carefully wipes the tears from her face himself. “I am sorry beyond what I can express.”

She simply shakes her head; she sees nothing he need apologise for. “Addison is off the board, but he was never the only player. I still believe safety for all of us lies in concealment. I will restrain my affection for you, if that is what you truly desire… but I think travelling separately would be premature.”

“You know what I desire, Margaret,” he answers, meeting her eyes for the first time. “No wish of mine would ever—but if you think with your heart, I have never been able to let mine rule my head, save when you forced me to.” He looks away. “I am terribly afraid I am only prolonging pain for both of us, but in all honesty, I do not believe I could leave unless you asked it of me.”

“And I do not think I could ask it. There seems to be nothing for it but to stay together, and see what we can cobble out of this.”

He leans back, wearing what Margaret now knows to be his thinking face. “Somewhere in Ovid, I believe, there is a young woman who petitions the gods to be made a man to avenge an injury—and when the revenge is complete, the young man goes happily away, fully content with his new form.”

“That wasn’t quite how I recalled the story… I thought he became a young man and got the girl of his dreams as well.”

“If I could—” He breaks off and sits bolt upright, staring into the distance. “Wait. Wait. Perhaps there is another way. Yes, if I—with all this fuss, they’d never—and Siberia is a wasteland—see here, Margaret, what if we were to kill Shirley in the steppes? Freeze him to death, let the Mongols murder him, whatever comes handiest. I could make my own way back to England, grow my hair back in the meantime; no one would ever suspect. And who is to think twice if Doctor Byrd takes on a steady, reliable young woman as attendant for the Fleet Street clinic?”

For a long moment—or two or three—she just gapes at him with her mouth open. Finally, realizing that she is doing her best imitation of a fish, she closes it by conscious act, but continues to stare. “But—you can’t—your work—all your training and the life you’ve made for yourself—and to throw it all away for me—good G-d, Shirley! And you say I think with my heart!” She is gasping as if she has run a race, corsets and all.

Shirley’s face falls. “I did not think it such an irrational idea.”

“It isn’t. That’s what makes it so terrifying.” After a bit, she takes two or three slow, deep breaths and calms herself. “I don’t think either one of us is thinking terribly clearly at the moment. Siberia is some distance away as yet. Let us think this through more clearly; it is too irrevocable a step for you to take lightly.”

He shrugs. “I have had to live with the possibility that someone would
discover me. My plans in that event are not dissimilar to what I just
outlined, Siberia aside. I have uprooted myself once; I see no reason I
should not do so again.” He picks up her hand in both of his. “Especially
considering the reward I earn thereby.”

“I — I hardly know what to say — no, I do. I love you, too.” She turns her hand a little; just enough to return the clasp. He raises it to kiss it, and holds it against his cheek a moment, his eyes closed. Then she smiles at him; it is genuine, if still rather tremulous. “What a pair we are… each trying not to let the other sacrifice.”

“Do not mistake me for my brother, Margaret.”

“How could I? I never met him.”

“I am what I am because of a hasty decision made a decade ago. I never carved my fate into stone. I can still change it.”

“I know. It is, in the end, your decision to make, and certainly you need not fear your welcome at my doorstep, ever. But think; you have a position in society, a profession, a reputation and a name. You move through your world with an ease no woman will ever be granted. It is one thing to lose that to mischance; quite another to walk away from it. I am afraid you would find the strictures of a woman’s life unbearable, after all this time without them. You are not the same person you would have been had you chosen otherwise ten years ago; you cannot be. My dear, I do not want you to be miserable, any more than you want me to be… and I fear it greatly. I am not worth such a sacrifice. I am only plain-spoken, strong-willed, stubborn, unwomanly Margaret.” She isn’t fishing; clearly, that is how she perceives herself.

“Now who is calling herself names?” he chides, smiling. “A woman of valor… When I first heard of you, I was fearfully envious, you know. You were everything I ever wished to be, quite the perfect specimen. And when you found me out, I could not imagine why you took such a liking to me—you who had fought so hard for what I gained by means of deceit. A position in society. A profession. A reputation. A name. You ought to have denounced me, not for a fraud, but for a traitor to my own kind.”

“No. No, never. Who would better understand despair at being bound, at having a mind taken as lesser because of an accident of birth? Not a traitor, at all. When I heard of the kind of legal work you did, I was so surprised, because it was so much more a woman’s way of doing good than a man’s. It made more sense after I knew, really. You had found a way, in a man’s world… that was all I saw.”

Now it is Shirley’s turn to feel unworthy of the description bestowed upon him. “Fairer to say that the way found me,” he says. “Really I only ever made the one great leap. Everything since has been one plodding step after another—and in the end, all I am is one more barrister, of which England has quite sufficient, if not a superfluity.” He smiles again. “I daresay I keep as busy as I do precisely because I am desperately lazy at heart.”

“Shirley, that doesn’t make a bit of sense.”

“I am sure that for you it does not.” Shirley’s smile fades; he is thinking again. “Perhaps I have indeed taken too much for granted,” he says soberly. “Even so, I must say I can see certain advantages to the step I have suggested. One grows weary of deceit, so very weary of the constant terror of discovery—do you have any idea what would be done to me? I should end my days in Bedlam, Margaret!” His hand, still holding hers, has gone cold.

“Not if I have anything to say about it… and I do.” Momentarily, she has recovered her accustomed crispness. Her hand holds his tightly; she is trying to assure him that she will never leave simply leave him to his fate.

He collects himself, shifts his slight weight a little way toward her. “And—if we—I cannot help but consider that I cannot give you children, my dear. If we were only companions, you would still be free to marry.”

“Would I be? What husband would understand such a relationship as this? But the question is moot anyway—for one thing, no one aside from yourself has ever been interested in me that I am aware of, and for another, I am too old to bear a first child safely. I won’t say I wouldn’t like to have children, but I have resigned myself that it will not happen.

“But I do see your point… and to have one person who knows you entirely must make the contrast with the rest of the world all the more striking; the strain all the more evident. We can think about it a while yet; indeed I think we should—once taken the step would in all likelihood be irrevocable.

“But please, my dear, if you determine to do this, not in Siberia. That is a place people do not survive easily, and I should be terrified to lose you in truth. As well vanish on a walk in Archangelsk—I should search for you for a time, for verisimilitude—but so long as you had money enough with you, I could go on in fair faith that a young woman with a familiar face would one day ring my doorbell, or seek me out at the Fleet.

“And I can’t believe I’m accepting this scheme! My dear—my love—wait, please. Let us see what Osaka brings, and Vladivostok. Then if you decide you truly wish to vanish, I will help you.”

“I will wait,” he answers, giving the three words the force of a promise. “I think I am rather fond of Shirley Addam, for all his odd crotchets.”

“So am I.” It is a soft murmur, requiring no reply.

“I am not at all sure what a woman with his face would be like. I—I would like there to be another way.”

“Then we will look for one. What is the expression? ‘Two heads are better than one’?”

He sighs. “Who knows?” he says mournfully. “Perhaps a small fortune will magically fall upon me and erase all difficulty.”

“Or you will win the Ellipse. I suppose we’ve left it rather late to begin trying in earnest for the prize, but we can attempt it, for all that.”

“Who will win the Ellipse? I assure you, I haven’t the face to walk into Lord Martin’s office with you a step behind. Utterly out of the question.”

“Then either I shall suffer a sudden attack of feminine nerves in Edinburgh, or we shall walk in side by side and I shall insist you sign the register first. The Times will record that we arrived together, and have a field day with it, I don’t doubt. That is more than enough acknowledgment for me. I assure you, I really don’t want a private audience with Her Majesty!”

“Oh, no. I shan’t allow that. We shall walk in side by side and sign the same line on the register. Let Lord Martin determine what to do about it! As for Her Imperial Majesty, I doubt it makes much difference to her whether she receives one Ellipsoid or two.”

Margaret laughs. “Well, I suppose we can attend to that bridge when we come to it; we needn’t figure it out now. Talk about counting chickens! So far both Lord Percy and Lady Bonnet are ahead of us, and the young aeronaut is catching up quickly. Of course, either the Yard or the Mongols may do for His Lordship; I can’t imagine he’s making particular friends of the natives in Siberia, with his manners.”

“I don’t know. They might find him a kindred spirit.”

“Possibly. But it does not do to tell those who consider themselves the heirs of Genghis Khan that they are inferior.” She smiles. “But to win, you will probably have to accept my chartering ship one last time, from Osaka to Vladivostok. Do you think you can manage that?” By now it’s an open grin, inviting Shirley to laugh with her.

“If you can manage helping me keep proper accounts.” He returns her
grin. “As Lady Hester is about to win a substantial amount of money from
Lord Percy, I imagine she can afford a few unanticipated Ellipse expenses.”

“I’d imagine so. Very well then; I shall tell you what I have spent when I do, and I promise not to conveniently forget anything larger than the price of an apple. Will that suffice?” By now she is positively twinkling. Shirley may not realize it, but he is in dire danger of being hugged out of sheer exuberant relief.

“Quite.” Shirley hoists himself onto a crate behind him and draws up his knees to his chin. As relieved as she, he regards her with fond and grateful eyes. “As long as my tongue is loosed—do you have any idea, love, what a blessing you have been to me since Alexandria? I do believe that without you I should have gone as mad as Lord Percy.”

Her words are a little garbled by her laughter, but still clear enough. “You couldn’t. You don’t have the arrogance, the stupidity, or the brute insensitivity to approach Lord Percy… thank G-d!” She looks at him for a minute. She’s absolutely glowing; he has called her “love”. “But as for blessing… after you’ve done everything you could to convince me to leave… Oh!” And lacking words, she pushes herself off and leans over. She clasps his shoulders and lays her head against one with her eyes closed, just resting there for a brief second. Then she takes a deep breath and lets him go. “I’m glad, dearest. You are my blessing, as well.”

He accepts the caress, even leaning into it the tiniest bit. “You are, as always, too kind to me,” he says. “I have lost the habit of accepting kindness with grace. I can see I shall have to re-educate myself.”

“Yes. I do not intend to stop.” This is said with a smile.

Margaret’s family’s associated business firm Stafford & Sheffield has a ship, the Mako, heading directly to Osaka in two days’ time. Three small cabins are available for extremely reasonable rates, as the Byrd family has an interest in the cargo. S & S would be happy to make arrangements with Captain Maguire on your behalf.

“My dear, I am still inclined to be cautious,” Margaret tells Shirley, when he asks if any transport will leave sooner. “We know that the captain of the Mako is trustworthy. We would know nothing about another ship, and Hong Kong is notorious for being a place from which people vanish. Addison is out of the game, but I have no faith whatsoever that no one else is on the board. And I truly think the time we lose waiting for the Mako we will make up by foregoing stops en route.”

“Well, never let it be said that I am past all convincing. The Mako it is. Where shall we stay in the meantime?”

“Thank you, my dear. As for where we stay, I don’t have a particular preference. Do you?”

“Clean and quiet, by choice—but otherwise, not particularly. Sir Japheth has offered to put us up; I see no immediate reason to decline.”

“Nor do I. Sir Japheth’s guestrooms it is, then.”