Perilous Journey of the Much-Too-Spontaneous Girl by Leigh Statham Page A

she went, when one called out to her. “One towel per person. Washing day is recorded on your bunk door.”
    “Thank you!” She called and hurried to her bunk to change. Excellent. She would have to find somewhere to hang her soaking garments, or she would be stuck in these clothes for another week or so. When she’d followed the boys to Fifi, she remembered seeing a passageway that looked like it cut through to the other side of the ship. The last thing she wanted was to cut back through the farm and end up having to help muck cow dung, or worse, before she was dry.
    She found the passage and only had to deal with a handful of shipmates giving her strange looks on the way to her bunk. She quickly closed the door and prayed that none of her new bunkmates would show up before she got herself decent again. The tiny space was like being locked in a closet. She thought of her old governess locking her in the cellars and shuddered. Small dark spaces were not her favorite.
    She opened her chest and was relieved to see that her clothes were still dry. She peeled off the wet wool suit and hung it on an empty peg on the wall, then carefully took off her pink silk under garments, threw them on the floor, and hurried to replace them. She put on a new flight suit, and then debated what she should do with her undies. They weren’t soaked, but they did need to lay flat to dry.
    “Drat,” she swore. “If Outil were here she’d know what to do.” She rubbed her head vigorously with the towel and laid it over her trunk to dry. Marguerite cursed Jacques then as well. He was such a bastard for putting her in this position. There was no other word for him. True, he could have sent her home, or given her a chute and thrown her over the edge of the ship, but this was only a miniscule step above complete abandonment. She gritted her teeth and stomped her foot for good measure. She was going to get even.
    In the meantime, she decided to try to determine what bed was not being used and laid her things out there. Only, none of the beds had been used yet. They were all made up tight, untouched. She sighed in frustration and just picked a bottom bunk to arrange them on, then resolved to get back in time to put them away before anyone else returned.
    Back at the farm, Louis had finished cleaning up the mess and the whole place smelled measures better. He had found a brush somewhere and was in the middle of rubbing down Fifi, who appeared to be enjoying the whole affair immensely. “Well then, Louis. You’ve done a fine job here. She’s a lovely Abondance, isn’t she?” Marguerite walked to the pen and leaned in to pet her. Fifi stomped her foot and threw her head away from Marguerite’s hand. A stout woman with bright red hair piled high on her head came panting and chuffing into the farm. She spotted Marguerite and Louis and pointed at the pair.
    “You the new help from the Renegade ?” she asked. “Yes, ma’am, I’m Lady Vadnay, and this is Louis,” Marguerite answered.
    “Right, well you are both going to come help me. I’m Lady Cook, and I need at least six more hands to get evening meal on before we hit the preparations for tomorrow’s rounds.” She rolled her eyes as she said lady in a mocking tone.
    “Oh no, I am not a galley worker. I’m sorry. I’m an officer and a Lady, and I do not prepare food.” Marguerite was firm in this point. She stood her ground, hands on her hips. Fifi mooed long and low as if to mock the aristocrat pouting by her pen.
    “You may have been all those things on land or even on the Renegade , but here on the Henrietta , you’re nothing but what Captain B. says you are, and today, that’s a galley hand. Now get those lovely little aristocratic hands off your hips and help me fill these baskets with greens or you’ll get no supper and quite possibly the chute.” The little woman picked up two baskets from a pile near the door and tossed one unceremoniously to the floor at Marguerite’s