flicking scratch into the fish. Marguerite followed the line of the pond to pipes at one side and a pump that appeared to distribute water to all of the greenery, and then alternately, it caught the runoff and returned it to the pond.
It was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen, but as she took a deep breath, as she was used to doing when she wanted to appreciate something fully, she nearly gagged on the smell of Fifi.
Marguerite walked up to the beast and entered her pen. Having grown up with free reign of a working estate in the country, Marguerite knew a thing or two about all things flora and fauna. She examined her from all angles, patting Fifi on the soft white forehead and rubbing her back. Then Marguerite made her way around to the steaming pile of manure that lay on the floor at the lovely animal’s hind quarters.
“Who is in charge of mucking this stall? This is atrocious. No animal should have to stand around in this, and humans shouldn’t be forced to endure the smell! It’s absolutely wretched on every level.”
At that moment Captain Butterfield walked in, picked up a flat-ended shovel and threw it at Marguerite’s head.
“For goodness sake!” Marguerite cried as she caught the shovel with two hands saving herself and Fifi from a nasty blow. “I don’t think that was necessary.”
“You are,” Captain Butterfield said with a smile.
“I am what?” Marguerite asked.
“In charge of the cow.” Captain Butterfield laughed heartily then turned to leave. “Get to scooping.”
Chapter Twelve
When the two boys were finally done laughing behind their hands at the soaking wet lady holding the shovel in front of them, they showed her the trap door for the excrement. If she hadn’t been completely mortified, the contraption might have impressed Marguerite. It had a lever she could step on that retracted a space in the floor right next to Fifi’s small pen. She could then shovel with both hands while her foot held the door open.
Pierre demonstrated and then handed the shovel back to Marguerite, who reluctantly took it from him and demonstrated a quick mastery of the chore. A bell rang overhead. Pierre stood to attention and turned to Louis. “We better get going. That’s the deck boy’s call.”
“I’m assigned to help Lady Vadnay. I’m staying right here.” Louis stood tall and immovable at her side.
“Suit yourself,” Pierre answered, and then he ran off, placing one hand on the top of the fence and vaulting over it in a single bound. Louis immediately reached for the shovel and took it from Marguerite’s hands.
“The laundry is over there, m’lady. I’ll finish up here while you get a towel and swap clothes.” He blushed a bit as he smiled.
“Well, thank you, Louis. That is very kind of you.” She started to walk toward the door opposite the fence they’d entered in but stopped and turned to the small boy who was now furiously scraping refuse out to sea. “Are you certain you don’t need to be somewhere else, Louis?”
“Captain Laviolette ordered me on this ship to help you. Those are my orders, and I plan to follow them.” He put the shovel to his side like a musket and saluted her with two fingers to his forehead.
“Well, lovely then.” Marguerite turned and left Louis to shovel without a second thought.
She found the laundry easily enough. It was a tiny room directly opposite her bunk on the other side of the ship and was filled to bursting with two women, two large copper pots of boiling water, and several overhead-drying contraptions. One woman stood on mechanical stilts while hanging rags to dry high above the other woman who was stirring a pot of grey suds. Marguerite wondered what they could possibly have to wash so early in their journey, but decided not to ask.
Both women took one look at her wretched state and motioned to the stack of dry towels without a word. Marguerite thanked them and turned to leave, toweling her rain-soaked hair as
It was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen, but as she took a deep breath, as she was used to doing when she wanted to appreciate something fully, she nearly gagged on the smell of Fifi.
Marguerite walked up to the beast and entered her pen. Having grown up with free reign of a working estate in the country, Marguerite knew a thing or two about all things flora and fauna. She examined her from all angles, patting Fifi on the soft white forehead and rubbing her back. Then Marguerite made her way around to the steaming pile of manure that lay on the floor at the lovely animal’s hind quarters.
“Who is in charge of mucking this stall? This is atrocious. No animal should have to stand around in this, and humans shouldn’t be forced to endure the smell! It’s absolutely wretched on every level.”
At that moment Captain Butterfield walked in, picked up a flat-ended shovel and threw it at Marguerite’s head.
“For goodness sake!” Marguerite cried as she caught the shovel with two hands saving herself and Fifi from a nasty blow. “I don’t think that was necessary.”
“You are,” Captain Butterfield said with a smile.
“I am what?” Marguerite asked.
“In charge of the cow.” Captain Butterfield laughed heartily then turned to leave. “Get to scooping.”
Chapter Twelve
When the two boys were finally done laughing behind their hands at the soaking wet lady holding the shovel in front of them, they showed her the trap door for the excrement. If she hadn’t been completely mortified, the contraption might have impressed Marguerite. It had a lever she could step on that retracted a space in the floor right next to Fifi’s small pen. She could then shovel with both hands while her foot held the door open.
Pierre demonstrated and then handed the shovel back to Marguerite, who reluctantly took it from him and demonstrated a quick mastery of the chore. A bell rang overhead. Pierre stood to attention and turned to Louis. “We better get going. That’s the deck boy’s call.”
“I’m assigned to help Lady Vadnay. I’m staying right here.” Louis stood tall and immovable at her side.
“Suit yourself,” Pierre answered, and then he ran off, placing one hand on the top of the fence and vaulting over it in a single bound. Louis immediately reached for the shovel and took it from Marguerite’s hands.
“The laundry is over there, m’lady. I’ll finish up here while you get a towel and swap clothes.” He blushed a bit as he smiled.
“Well, thank you, Louis. That is very kind of you.” She started to walk toward the door opposite the fence they’d entered in but stopped and turned to the small boy who was now furiously scraping refuse out to sea. “Are you certain you don’t need to be somewhere else, Louis?”
“Captain Laviolette ordered me on this ship to help you. Those are my orders, and I plan to follow them.” He put the shovel to his side like a musket and saluted her with two fingers to his forehead.
“Well, lovely then.” Marguerite turned and left Louis to shovel without a second thought.
She found the laundry easily enough. It was a tiny room directly opposite her bunk on the other side of the ship and was filled to bursting with two women, two large copper pots of boiling water, and several overhead-drying contraptions. One woman stood on mechanical stilts while hanging rags to dry high above the other woman who was stirring a pot of grey suds. Marguerite wondered what they could possibly have to wash so early in their journey, but decided not to ask.
Both women took one look at her wretched state and motioned to the stack of dry towels without a word. Marguerite thanked them and turned to leave, toweling her rain-soaked hair as
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