Week Four Excerpt
Even now, her stomach flipped at the memory. The hairs along her arms raised on end. She shivered and flopped onto her back again.
Mr. Collingsworth had steadfastly refused to expound upon his occupation—or anything else concerning himself for that matter—for the duration of the voyage.
Yes, indeed, Mr. Collingsworth was a most disturbing man.
The quiet slap, slap of the Thames lapping against the ship’s hull reminded her they’d reached London and docked during the night. Mrs. Pettigrove slumbered on, now as silent as a newborn babe. The matron hadn’t slept this peacefully throughout the entire journey.
Yvette glanced at the porthole. What time is it? The sky remained slate without. It was well before dawn then.
Muted bangs and thumps, and an occasional curse or shout, suggested the Atlantic Star’s crew stirred in preparation for the debarkation of her passengers and the unloading of the ship’s cargo.
Stretching, she stared at the porthole. The cabin was stifling. Despite the heat, Mrs. Pettigrove, afraid of catching the ague, had insisted the small window remain shut tight.
Did Yvette dare defy her and crack it open for some cool air? She huffed a breath of frustration. She might awaken Mrs. Pettigrove.
A notion took hold. That might not be a bad thing. No indeed, not a bad thing at all. The sooner they were dressed and packed, the sooner she could call on Papa’s solicitor. By noon, she would have access to her inheritance and be relieved of Mrs. Pettigrove’s trying company, once and for all.
The idea pleased Yvette no end. A wide smile curved her lips. She had never claimed patience as a virtue. Decision made, she scrambled from the berth, banging her toe in the process. Lord have mercy, it hurt!
Clutching her foot, she hopped about the cabin on one foot, determined to put the past, and Massachusetts, behind her.
Just as soon as she could walk again.
