India’s finest might seek her hand. In the meantime, she helped me in my endeavor, and I with hers. It was a suitable arrangement.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “But nothing more?”
He ceased pacing, standing directly in my line of sight. “It is you, Miss Goodrich, who is ensconced in my cabin. Not Julia Whipple.”
5
I did not quite know what to make of such a statement. Before I could respond, however, he turned away. “I will see that you receive some fresh clothing. Perhaps one of the other women on board can loan you a frock.”
“If there are other women on board, perhaps I should lodge with them rather than continue to be your cross to bear,” I said.
“They are all married women, traveling with their husbands. I do not think they would find your presence acceptable in their cabins.”
“No, of course not. And yet you find it acceptable for me to be in yours?”
He sighed. “Miss Goodrich, I feel responsible for your safety and well-being until such time as you can be restored to your uncle. Is it so difficult to believe that I can act as a gentleman?”
“Would a gentleman keep an unmarried woman in his room?” I countered.
“Perhaps you would rather return to your accommodations with the cattle,” he suggested, “and whoever might choose to join you in the straw. I made a quick decision to claim you as my sister . . . for your protection only. Fortunately, the prevarication was believed, and no one will be the wiser if you act the part. As for me, I assure you that my intentions toward you are nothing but honorable.”
Without waiting for my response, he left the cabin, and I was left to wonder at all that had transpired. He had said that he would have me put off the ship as soon as possible. That could not happen, as I still held to my original belief that I was meant to be in China. Besides, Miss Whipple needed me. Despite the fact that she was a Cyprian, I sensed a goodness in her soul that wanted validation. I had seen her work with the poor; it was no mere pretense. She had been as genuinely concerned for their welfare as Mr. Snowe had been. It had been the generosity of those two that helped me see my future. Perhaps if I stayed close to Miss Whipple during the voyage, we could become friends. After all, I seemed to have left certain social norms behind in Oxford.
I saw the logic in Mr. Snowe’s claiming me as his sister, but I did not think much about it that first day I regained consciousness. I tried mostly to regain my strength, dutifully eating the broth that either Mr. Snowe or Miss Whipple brought me. Indeed, though we spoke of mere triflings during her ministrations, she and I shared each other’s company rather well. I did not know if Mr. Snowe told her that I was aware of her situation, but after an initial wariness, she seemed to realize that I had no intention of chastising her. She smiled at me as before, and like Mr. Snowe, promised to find me some suitable clothes.
“You seem healthy to a fault. You’ll be out of that hammock and strolling about the deck in no time,” she said, handing me a bowl of broth. I had regained enough strength to spoon-feed myself. I tried not to gobble greedily, but I was famished. She pulled the wooden crate close to my hammock so that she might sit while I gorged myself like royalty . . . that is to say, ate.
“What is it like on deck?” I asked between swallows. “I have never been aboard a ship before.”
“There is a variety of activity with the sailors. They are perpetually tasked with myriad activities for the betterment of the ship. They move cargo about, scurry above and below deck, raise the sails . . .” She put her hands around her knees, smiling. “I enjoy watching them climb the rigging, for it’s a feat of daring I can only imagine. I get dizzy watching them so high aloft. They climb as high as the tallest sail sometimes. The captain said we caught a very good wind, so we are on our course, I suppose. I understand
I eyed him suspiciously. “But nothing more?”
He ceased pacing, standing directly in my line of sight. “It is you, Miss Goodrich, who is ensconced in my cabin. Not Julia Whipple.”
5
I did not quite know what to make of such a statement. Before I could respond, however, he turned away. “I will see that you receive some fresh clothing. Perhaps one of the other women on board can loan you a frock.”
“If there are other women on board, perhaps I should lodge with them rather than continue to be your cross to bear,” I said.
“They are all married women, traveling with their husbands. I do not think they would find your presence acceptable in their cabins.”
“No, of course not. And yet you find it acceptable for me to be in yours?”
He sighed. “Miss Goodrich, I feel responsible for your safety and well-being until such time as you can be restored to your uncle. Is it so difficult to believe that I can act as a gentleman?”
“Would a gentleman keep an unmarried woman in his room?” I countered.
“Perhaps you would rather return to your accommodations with the cattle,” he suggested, “and whoever might choose to join you in the straw. I made a quick decision to claim you as my sister . . . for your protection only. Fortunately, the prevarication was believed, and no one will be the wiser if you act the part. As for me, I assure you that my intentions toward you are nothing but honorable.”
Without waiting for my response, he left the cabin, and I was left to wonder at all that had transpired. He had said that he would have me put off the ship as soon as possible. That could not happen, as I still held to my original belief that I was meant to be in China. Besides, Miss Whipple needed me. Despite the fact that she was a Cyprian, I sensed a goodness in her soul that wanted validation. I had seen her work with the poor; it was no mere pretense. She had been as genuinely concerned for their welfare as Mr. Snowe had been. It had been the generosity of those two that helped me see my future. Perhaps if I stayed close to Miss Whipple during the voyage, we could become friends. After all, I seemed to have left certain social norms behind in Oxford.
I saw the logic in Mr. Snowe’s claiming me as his sister, but I did not think much about it that first day I regained consciousness. I tried mostly to regain my strength, dutifully eating the broth that either Mr. Snowe or Miss Whipple brought me. Indeed, though we spoke of mere triflings during her ministrations, she and I shared each other’s company rather well. I did not know if Mr. Snowe told her that I was aware of her situation, but after an initial wariness, she seemed to realize that I had no intention of chastising her. She smiled at me as before, and like Mr. Snowe, promised to find me some suitable clothes.
“You seem healthy to a fault. You’ll be out of that hammock and strolling about the deck in no time,” she said, handing me a bowl of broth. I had regained enough strength to spoon-feed myself. I tried not to gobble greedily, but I was famished. She pulled the wooden crate close to my hammock so that she might sit while I gorged myself like royalty . . . that is to say, ate.
“What is it like on deck?” I asked between swallows. “I have never been aboard a ship before.”
“There is a variety of activity with the sailors. They are perpetually tasked with myriad activities for the betterment of the ship. They move cargo about, scurry above and below deck, raise the sails . . .” She put her hands around her knees, smiling. “I enjoy watching them climb the rigging, for it’s a feat of daring I can only imagine. I get dizzy watching them so high aloft. They climb as high as the tallest sail sometimes. The captain said we caught a very good wind, so we are on our course, I suppose. I understand
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