Justine yawned again. “Don’t worry. If the men don’t return within the hour, we’ll form a search party. With our particular gifts, I’m sure we can make short work of the captain and his crew.”
I removed my wet cloak, laying it on the end of the bunk. “What good will that do if the two of them get thrown overboard while we’re sitting down here unaware.” A muddy boot came off next, which I tossed on the floor.
My aunt didn’t even open her eyes from the thought of losing both men. “Trust me, Selah, Captain Lynch would never risk the lives of two well-born passengers unless it proved to his direct advantage.”
The other boot followed. “How can you be so sure? For all we know they could already be bobbing in the sea.” Assuming they could swim, of course. Otherwise they’d be headed straight to the bottom, dressed as they were in so much clothing.
A knowing smile curved Justine’s mouth. “I assure you, Lord Stroud and Mr. Roth are perfectly safe.”
“But how do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen the captain’s type a hundred times before.”
I scooted back against the wall for more room to stretch. My feet dangled over the side of the bunk, waterlogged inside the wet stockings. “And what type is that?”
“Shrewd as a devil and twice as greedy. We’ll need to watch our pockets once we make port, but in the meantime he gains nothing by harming us.” Opening her eyes, she chewed her bottom lip in thought. “It’s that Calhoun I don’t like. I’m not sure what, but he’s got something brewing under that ugly cape of his.”
She was right about the cape, but between the two men, I would have guessed Captain Lynch to be the greater threat. “You seem awfully sure.”
“Live as long as I have, and you learn to trust your instincts.”
I stared at her for a moment, debating the wisdom of my next question. “And just how long have you lived, Miss Rose?”
She rolled her eyes. “We’re family, Selah. Call me Justine, for heaven’s sake.”
It was an easy concession, and not entirely unreasonable. “Very well. How long have you lived, Justine?”
“Not half so long as Cate and Tom,” she said with a sigh. “I was born in Paris during the reign of Charles VI. There was hardly a dull day with that one in charge. Some called him the Beloved, while others considered him the Mad. I guess it all depended if you were around to witness one of his frequent bouts of insanity.”
Charles VI...
My brows knotted together. I could name the English kings back to Alfred the Great, but knew only a handful of French monarchs. Another Louis held the title at present, the XV if I had it right. And the Sun King before that—
Justine laughed at my apparent consternation. “Charles VI ascended the throne in 1380 and ruled for more than forty years.”
I blinked at her, my mind switching from names to basic sums. “Three hundred and fifty years,” I breathed.
“Three hundred and eighteen, to be precise. I was born in 1412, the same year as Joan of Arc.”
“Did you ever meet her?” Awe filled my voice as I stared unabashedly.
“We met a time or two before the English got ahold of her. It’s a pity what happened, as she had more mettle in her than most seasoned soldiers.”
The lantern flickered, throwing wild shapes on the floor and walls. “I imagine you’ve met all kinds of interesting people.”
“Everyone’s interesting in one way or another. You just have to look in the right place.”
The flame flickered again, and I watched the shadows move across her face. Whether a trick of the light, her expression appeared pensive, and she slowly twisted something in her hands. Looking closer, I saw it to be the linen kerchief.
To be sure, she had plenty of folks to consider, being three hundred years my senior—nearly five lifetimes for most people. On the heels of this thought, another question formed on my tongue. “What is it like to live so long?”
Despite my curiosity, I regretted asking the moment the words had left my mouth. Justine’s expression turned from pensive to achingly sad, and I dropped my gaze, embarrassed by the lapse of judgment. “Never mind,” I muttered to my knees. “I’ve no right to ask something so personal.”
She replied at once, her voice somber. “You’ve more right to ask than anyone else.”
My head popped up in surprise.
“And more reason,” she added. “Do you really want to know?”
I nodded. More footsteps thudded overhead, but they seemed a world away as I watched Justine, waiting for a clue to my possible future.
Smoothing the kerchief in her lap, she drew a deep breath. “It’s lonely.”
The simple answer hit me with the force of a blow. Three hundred years—five full lifetimes, and Justine was alone. “Did you...” The words stuck in my throat. I swallowed hard, needing to ask this last question. “Did you love Henry?”