Page 17 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
D ocila made her way slowly through the market stalls.
They had put into port at Bridgetown for a few more supplies.
It was her first time on land in about two weeks, and it took her a long time to get her land legs back.
It struck her as highly diverting that she was feeling seasick on land.
She hadn’t even realized that her seasickness had finally passed, and she was no longer feeling nauseous on the ship.
But now that they had finally found land, she was feeling nauseous once more.
Shaking back her hair and straightening her shoulders, Docila chose to ignore the unwelcome sensation.
Finally, there were new scents and fresh things to feast her eyes upon.
What drew her the most was the appealing aroma of fresh bread baking somewhere nearby.
That was the thing she missed the most on the ship.
They could not risk a fire, so there was nothing baked on board.
They did cook very carefully on occasion, but nothing like an oven existed on the boat.
The bustle of sailors and vendors yelling to one another distracted her from her discomfort, and Docila was determined to enjoy every second of her free time before returning to the ship.
She kept her eye carefully divided, ensuring that Captain Peters or his first mate were always close enough to hear her if she needed to yell for help.
She knew Captain Peters was worried about her; he didn’t like her presence on his ship.
Part of it was superstition, but mostly, she knew, it was his concern for her safety.
If she could only tell him her full tale, maybe he would trust her presence and her ability to help.
But she didn’t trust him enough to tell him all the details.
She crept a little closer to him as he, too, was browsing the vendors. He hailed someone that he seemed to know, much to her surprise. Of course, he was an experienced ship captain, so she shouldn’t be so surprised; he likely stopped here on many occasions.
“My good fellow!” Captain Peters cried in greeting.
“Quite a pleasure to see you again. May I ask,” he said, leaning closer to the gentleman, making Docila strain her ears to hear what he might say, “might I ask, do you know of any discreet ships that could provide passage back to England? Someone trustworthy?” he added.
Docila stifled the gasp that threatened to escape her.
He was trying to get rid of her! She thought they had set these arguments to rest, but clearly not if he was still trying to pawn her off.
Despite her enjoyment of the port market, she quickly made her way back to the ship.
He couldn’t leave her behind if she was hiding on the boat.
The port town buzzed with activity around her as she hastened back toward the harbour.
Under different circumstances, she might have delighted in exploring the colourful market with its exotic spices piled high in woven baskets, bolts of vibrant fabric that merchants unfurled to tempt passing ladies, and stalls filled with trinkets and curiosities from across the known world.
It was a feast for the senses — the kind of place her father would have spent hours with her, pointing out the origins of each fascinating object.
But now, all she could think about was Captain Peters’ betrayal.
Her stomach churned worse than it had during her first days at sea.
How could he? After all she had done to prove herself and earn her place among the crew, he was still determined to be rid of her.
What stung most was that she had begun to believe he saw her value, that perhaps he even admired her spirit. Apparently, she had been mistaken.
Docila dodged between the crowded stalls, ignoring the merchants calling out their wares.
The stiff breeze from the harbour carried the scent of salt and tar, growing stronger as she approached the docks.
Ships of various sizes bobbed in the water, their masts creating a forest of wooden spires against the cloudless blue sky.
The Seraphim stood proudly among them, her sleek lines and well-maintained appearance setting her apart from the more weathered vessels surrounding her.
A small gathering of crew members lounged on the dock beside the gangplank, enjoying their brief respite from the confines of the ship.
Young Harrison was among them, his face alight with excitement as he examined a carved wooden figurine he must have purchased in the market.
Fletcher stood nearby, keeping a watchful eye on the men while they rested.
“Miss Archer!” Fletcher called, spotting her hurried approach. “Back so soon? I thought you’d be taking full advantage of your time ashore.”
“I’ve had quite enough, thank you,” she replied, hoping her voice betrayed none of the turmoil she felt. “I find I prefer the stability of the ship after all.”
Fletcher’s weathered face creased with concern. “Are you feeling unwell? You look rather pale.”
“Just my land legs betraying me,” she assured him with a forced smile. “I’ll be fine once I’m aboard.”
She hurried up the gangplank, ignoring Fletcher’s puzzled expression.
The deck was quieter than usual, with most of the crew either resting or taking advantage of the port’s offerings.
Docila moved swiftly across the familiar boards, making her way below to the cargo hold where she had first hidden herself away when stowing aboard.
The hold was dimly lit, the afternoon sun filtering through the hatch above casting long shadows among the crates and barrels.
The space was just as crowded now as when she had first hidden there, since the men were filling it with fresh supplies from the port.
Her old hiding place was still there, a small space between sacks and barrels.
Docila squeezed herself into the small space to conceal herself.
It wasn’t the most comfortable position, crouched between barrels of salted pork and casks of water, but it would serve.
Let him search for her when he returned to the ship.
Let him wonder if she had run away into the town, perhaps seeking passage on another vessel.
The thought gave her a small, petty satisfaction even as she acknowledged its childishness.
Time passed slowly in the dim hold. Her legs began to cramp, and the nausea she had felt on land persisted, though less intensely.
Docila shifted position, trying to find some comfort without making enough noise to reveal her presence to any passing sailor.
She had not thought beyond this point — had not considered what she would do when the ship sailed, or how long she would remain hidden.
Pride had driven her here, and pride kept her silent even as discomfort grew.
She must have dozed, for the quality of light filtering into the hold had changed when she was startled awake by the sound of footsteps.
Heavy, purposeful strides that she recognized immediately.
Captain Peters had returned, and from the directness of his approach, he knew exactly where to find her.
“Miss Archer,” his voice called from just beyond her hiding place. “I know you’re there. Come out, if you please.”
For a moment, she considered remaining silent, pretending she wasn’t there. But what would that accomplish? Sooner or later, she would have to face him.
With as much dignity as she could muster, Docila emerged from her hiding place, brushing dust from her skirts and raising her chin defiantly. Captain Peters stood before her, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
“What are you doing down here?” he asked, sounding puzzled.
“What are you doing here?” she countered, seizing the offensive. “Never mind, I suppose you have the right to be wherever you’d like. But I am staking my claim,” Docila said fiercely.
When he only looked at her with his eyebrows elevated as though awaiting further explanation, Docila couldn’t keep her tongue still.
“How could you try to get rid of me?” she demanded, surprised to see his cheeks staining a light pink.
“You heard that, did you?” he said before sitting down on a barrel nearby and sighing. “You know you’re a liability on this ship. I cannot honestly trust that I can accomplish my mission and keep you safe at the same time.”
“My safety is not your concern,” Docila insisted. “I will not be sent home! I want to help!”
“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” Sidney insisted.
“Did you find somebody that you are going to entrust me to?”
Sidney sighed. “They said it would take a couple of days.”
“So, did you make the arrangements or not?”
Captain Peters shook his head. “I noticed someone watching far too closely. I didn’t trust their presence, and it made me decide that it wasn’t worth trying to get rid of you.
For a while, I thought it would be better for all of us if you were to head home.
But I cannot risk a delay at this point.
I think someone is determined to interrupt, and it’s either directed at you or at me. In either case — I’m stuck with you.”
Docila felt her indignation rise like a tide. “Stuck with me? As if I were some unwanted parcel mistakenly delivered to your ship? I have earned my place here, Captain, through hard work and determination. I have made myself useful in ways you never expected.”
“That is not in dispute,” he replied, his voice maddeningly calm. “You have indeed proven yourself capable. But capability does not change the fact that your presence complicates matters in ways you cannot fully comprehend.”
“Then help me comprehend,” she challenged. “Explain to me what great mission demands my removal, what task is so important that you would abandon someone under your protection.”
“You are contradicting yourself, Miss Archer,” the captain pointed out.