He smiled and returned to his game as Harriet made a beeline for Lady Persephone. Recognition dawned on her face when she saw Harriet.
“Harriet Baldwin, what a treat,” she said. I saw warmth in her eyes, but her reaction to the surprise was controlled, as if any overt display of genuine affection would be unseemly. “Wait till Richard learns that you and Charles are on the voyage; he’ll be so gratified to hear. He won’t be joining us tonight, hasn’t quite got his sea legs yet, but this news will cheer him.”
“It’s a delight to see you again, Lady Persephone.” Hari reached over and gently touched the older woman’s arm. “I’m afraid I shall have to disappoint your dear husband. Charles was unable to make the journey. So busy with his work at home.”
“Oh?” A wrinkle appeared on Lady Persephone’s brow. “Richard tells me that issues in the colonies should be made a priority if the empire is going to continue to thrive. Perhaps we can persuade Charles to join you for a while? He can gather some firsthand knowledge. I’m sure I could get Richard to write and urge him.”
“A wonderful idea,” Hari said, and I could tell she was delighted how easily her plan was falling into place. “I don’t believe you’ve met my sister, Miss Charlotte Harding?”
“Miss Harding, yes, I’ve heard of you.” There was a pregnant pause while Lady Persephone looked long into my face. I could only hope she hadn’t heard the gossip.
“How do you do?” I said.
She nodded in reply, then turned to the other woman in our group. “Allow me to introduce Mrs. Gertrude Burk, wife of Reverend Burk.”
She gestured to the card table and the short, round man seated there, and I realized that the Burks were the very stout couple I had witnessed directing their flock of young women to the lower decks earlier in the day. They had the look of two people married a long time, such that they closely resembled each other. Both were plump from every angle, and their bulbous flesh in various shades of pink strained the seams of their clothing. I thought of the crate of pigs I had seen loaded on the deck when we boarded.
Mrs. Burk shook mine and Harriet’s hands. “Happy to make your acquaintance,” she said with a north England accent. “I’m sure we’ll all become good friends before this voyage is through.”
“Yes, indeed,” Harriet said.
The dinner chime sounded, and we all made our way to the table. Hari and I consulted the name cards and found our seats on either side of Captain Hellyer. He appeared and seated Hari while one of the other men pulled out my chair for me. I looked up over my shoulder to thank him and met the gaze of a very tall man with startlingly blue eyes.
“Th-thank you,” I stammered as I sank into my chair.
“You’re welcome,” he said, then took a seat opposite me.
I pretended to examine the menu on my plate while surreptitiously glancing across the table to read his name card. Reverend John Crossman. He didn’t remind me at all of Reverend Smithson back home. Everything about him seemed larger than life. His head was covered in thick, wavy black curls that extended uninterrupted into wide muttonchop sideburns. Dense whiskers ran down his cheeks into his jawline. The darkness of his hair and eyebrows made his cobalt-blue eyes all the brighter, while his Roman nose added just a touch of the patrician.
On my left was Dr. Carson. Of average build, the doctor had very short, sandy hair with just a hint of matching facial hair. His face and body were wiry, the skin pulled tight over its frame with little or no fat to pad it. I guessed him to be in his late thirties, still young enough to be considered youthful, but something about the way he held himself, the back straight enough but with shoulders and neck pulled forward, suggested age beyond his years.
“Will you do the honours, Reverend Burk?” Captain Hellyer said once we were all seated and the last of the introductions had been made. “The cook gets in a foul temper if we don’t stick to schedules.”
We lowered our eyes as Reverend Burk cleared his throat and in his broad northern accent began what was to be a very lengthy beseech of the Lord to guide us through the perils that lay ahead. He did us the service of naming and expounding on each and every jeopardy one could possibly imagine afflicting our voyage. While I had plenty of things I was very fearful of, Burk’s endless list, delivered in his melodramatic style, soon began to seem a tad overdone.
“Save us, Lord, from the frightful, savage gales that threaten to overturn our sturdy ship and toss us into the boiling hell of the sea. Save us, Lord, from disease and pestilence, smallpox, diphtheria, yellow fever, scarlet fever, rubella, dengue fever, polio, and cholera. Find it in your mighty power, Lord, to prevail upon the trade winds to blow so that we may not rot in the doldrums of the midlatitudes and finally die of scurvy. Bless our food so that weevils and worms do not spoil it and leave us, your devoted flock, to shrink to nothingness from malnutrition and eventual starvation.”
As if to punctuate this last comment, the aroma of freshly roasted mutton wafted from the kitchen, but the reverend droned on, showing no sign of letting the meal begin. I peeked up at this harbinger of dire misfortune. I reckoned that he, and Mrs. Burk, could rest easy. Any threat of starvation was a long way off for them. I caught Reverend Crossman’s eye and saw the corners of his mouth twitch.
“And what of the innocent young women you have entrusted into our care, dear Lord?” Burk continued on. “What evil lurks at every turn if, by your good grace, we should survive this voyage and reach the foreign shore? Spare them
