the margins of the dictionaries. He said over his shoulder, “Ring for Biggins. He’ll fill the bath for you with the hot water they have to jettison now we’re under way. There’s nothing for you to do on deck and I’ll be out of here in less than five minutes.”
Meg realized that a hot bath had become the most unlooked for and therefore most wonderful indulgence imaginable. “Thank you.” She let the door close behind her.
“You’ll have to endure Gus’s company. He doesn’t come on deck when we’re sailing in a stiff breeze,” Cosimo said, still bent over the charts. “You can put him in his cage and cover it, if you like.”
Meg glanced at Gus, who was sitting on his perch quietly picking at his wing feathers. “I’ll trust him to keep his eyes shut.”
Cosimo straightened. “Good.” He went to the door.
Meg had the sense that he had almost forgotten who she was and why she was there as he left. She rang the bell for Biggins.
He came within minutes. “Captain says you’d like enough water for a bath, ma’am?”
So he hadn’t forgotten. “Yes, thank you, Biggins.” She lifted her hair away from her scalp. It would be good to wash it. Perhaps she could dry it in the air on deck. With the wind that she could now feel beneath her feet as the
Mary Rose
lifted to the swell, her hair would dry in no time. She went back to the cupboard with the clothes meant for Ana and looked for something suitable for a woman who wanted to be unobtrusive on a nighttime deck.
Biggins reappeared with the youngster who’d helped with breakfast that morning. “Captain says he’ll be dining on deck in two hours when we drops anchor, ma’am,” Biggins said, while gesturing with an impatient hand that the boy should take the jugs into the head. “Looks like it’ll be a nice evening so he’d like to know if you’ll be joining him, or dining in the cabin, ma’am.”
Hadn’t she already decided that her hair would dry better in the evening air? “Please tell the captain that I’d like to join him on deck.”
“Right y’are, ma’am.” Biggins clicked his fingers at his companion, who backed out of the tiny space with the empty jugs. “We’ll be back in a couple of minutes, ma’am, with more hot water.”
Ten minutes later Meg was wallowing in the shallow tub of hot water, while Gus sat companionably in the doorway, keeping up a mindless series of phrases that thankfully appeared to need no response.
Chapter 4
M eg found it difficult to keep her footing as she dried herself after her bath. The
Mary Rose
was skipping over the water under a stiff breeze and the sky beyond the cabin windows was darkening. Wrapped in the towel, her hair in a towel turban, she knelt on the window cushion and looked out. The sea had lost its sparkle and was now the color of pewter, the rolling waves tinged pink by the setting sun. She could see land more clearly now. A small rocky outcrop surmounted by green hills. It looked deserted from this distance.
Cosimo’s now familiar knock came at the door. “Just a minute,” she called, jumping off the cushion. The towel was no substitute for a dressing gown or even a nightgown.
“Forgive me, I thought you’d be finished with your bath by now,” he said through the door and Meg could hear the exasperating lilt of amusement in his voice.
She dropped the damp towel in the middle of the floor and yanked open the clothes cupboard. She grabbed the hooded cloak and wrapped it securely around herself. “All right,” she said somewhat grudgingly.
Cosimo came in. His eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “If you don’t mind my saying so, that’s the most eccentric costume. A turban and a cloak? Is it some new fashion that’s passed me by?”
She glared at him. “You didn’t give me time to dress properly.” She pulled the towel from her head and shook out her hair.
“Why didn’t you say?” He bent and picked up the larger discarded towel from the floor.
“I
Meg realized that a hot bath had become the most unlooked for and therefore most wonderful indulgence imaginable. “Thank you.” She let the door close behind her.
“You’ll have to endure Gus’s company. He doesn’t come on deck when we’re sailing in a stiff breeze,” Cosimo said, still bent over the charts. “You can put him in his cage and cover it, if you like.”
Meg glanced at Gus, who was sitting on his perch quietly picking at his wing feathers. “I’ll trust him to keep his eyes shut.”
Cosimo straightened. “Good.” He went to the door.
Meg had the sense that he had almost forgotten who she was and why she was there as he left. She rang the bell for Biggins.
He came within minutes. “Captain says you’d like enough water for a bath, ma’am?”
So he hadn’t forgotten. “Yes, thank you, Biggins.” She lifted her hair away from her scalp. It would be good to wash it. Perhaps she could dry it in the air on deck. With the wind that she could now feel beneath her feet as the
Mary Rose
lifted to the swell, her hair would dry in no time. She went back to the cupboard with the clothes meant for Ana and looked for something suitable for a woman who wanted to be unobtrusive on a nighttime deck.
Biggins reappeared with the youngster who’d helped with breakfast that morning. “Captain says he’ll be dining on deck in two hours when we drops anchor, ma’am,” Biggins said, while gesturing with an impatient hand that the boy should take the jugs into the head. “Looks like it’ll be a nice evening so he’d like to know if you’ll be joining him, or dining in the cabin, ma’am.”
Hadn’t she already decided that her hair would dry better in the evening air? “Please tell the captain that I’d like to join him on deck.”
“Right y’are, ma’am.” Biggins clicked his fingers at his companion, who backed out of the tiny space with the empty jugs. “We’ll be back in a couple of minutes, ma’am, with more hot water.”
Ten minutes later Meg was wallowing in the shallow tub of hot water, while Gus sat companionably in the doorway, keeping up a mindless series of phrases that thankfully appeared to need no response.
Chapter 4
M eg found it difficult to keep her footing as she dried herself after her bath. The
Mary Rose
was skipping over the water under a stiff breeze and the sky beyond the cabin windows was darkening. Wrapped in the towel, her hair in a towel turban, she knelt on the window cushion and looked out. The sea had lost its sparkle and was now the color of pewter, the rolling waves tinged pink by the setting sun. She could see land more clearly now. A small rocky outcrop surmounted by green hills. It looked deserted from this distance.
Cosimo’s now familiar knock came at the door. “Just a minute,” she called, jumping off the cushion. The towel was no substitute for a dressing gown or even a nightgown.
“Forgive me, I thought you’d be finished with your bath by now,” he said through the door and Meg could hear the exasperating lilt of amusement in his voice.
She dropped the damp towel in the middle of the floor and yanked open the clothes cupboard. She grabbed the hooded cloak and wrapped it securely around herself. “All right,” she said somewhat grudgingly.
Cosimo came in. His eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “If you don’t mind my saying so, that’s the most eccentric costume. A turban and a cloak? Is it some new fashion that’s passed me by?”
She glared at him. “You didn’t give me time to dress properly.” She pulled the towel from her head and shook out her hair.
“Why didn’t you say?” He bent and picked up the larger discarded towel from the floor.
“I
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