Gowse crammed his battered cap back on his head. “Ye still are a friend to me, sir,” he said. “Ma’am. Miss.”
“Ashby will do, I suppose,” she replied. “It is still my name, after all.”
“Ashby then.” Gowse grinned and sketched a salute, then ducked down the ladder to join the rest of his mess.
*
With Gowse’s departure, Arabella found herself at a loss. Surely she could no longer mess with the men, yet she had no idea where she would eat. But Watson soon appeared on deck, saying, “With the captain’s compliments, Miss Ashby, you are invited to join the officers for dinner.”
Arabella soon found herself at a table in the great cabin—a table she’d often set up, as captain’s boy, but had never seen set with food. The officers gathered round, each bowing to her with a deference that would have been entirely incomprehensible even one day earlier, then fitted their legs into the leather straps on its underside to present a semblance of seated manners. After some embarrassed confusion, the straps at Arabella’s place, to the captain’s right hand, were fastened together into a single, longer strap that passed beneath her skirted thighs.
The cook’s boy, whom Arabella had never before seen in a buff coat, now served the officers their dinner. The fare was much finer than that given to the men, but the portions were smaller, the number of courses greater, and the ceremony entirely different. Rather than the current captain of the mess calling “Who shall have this?” the captain carved the joint and portioned it out himself.
It seemed to Arabella that the system used by the men was actually superior. A captain who was less than scrupulously fair could easily create discord by apportioning the meat unevenly. But, as she’d known he would be, Captain Singh was unfailingly precise, and each one present received an equitable share of the meat, beans, and pudding.
Some part of her, she realized, had hoped that she might have a slightly larger or choicer portion, as an indication of the captain’s feelings toward her. But to even hope for such a thing, she chided herself, was foolish. He was the captain of this ship, and as such could show no undue favor to any one.
The conversation was strained, at first. The officers, recently freed from imprisonment by mutineers, had much of import to discuss, but plainly held themselves back for the sake of Arabella’s tender ears, restricting their talk to such safe topics as the weather and the set of the sails.
Arabella did her best to make herself small and silent, to stay out of the way as she had when she’d been captain’s boy. She did not wish to interfere in the running of the ship, and she hoped by listening to understand it better. But the same frock that made her invisible to the men made her all too visible to the officers, and they continued to defer to her no matter how devoutly she wished otherwise.
Finally she could stand the situation no longer. “Gentlemen,” she said, and set down her fork, fitting it into its clip on the table-top. “I appreciate your desire to respect my delicate sensibilities, but I must remind you that until very recently I served in your crew as an ordinary airman. I am just as eager as you are to see the mutineers dealt with, and as far as I am concerned you may discuss whatever topics you find necessary for the safe and efficient running of the ship without deference to me.”
An uncomfortable silence followed her words. Finally Stross, the sailing master, spoke up. “Whilst we recognize that you were … formerly, under an, er, assumed identity, a member of this ship’s company, you must understand that the situation has changed.” He did not, she noticed, meet her eyes. “And we must all keep in mind that any … conversational liberties taken in your presence under that previous … pretense, were in fact inappropriate at the time, even though none of us were aware of it.” On that word “us” he did look pointedly, perhaps even accusingly, in her direction. “So I must, on behalf of the officers and crew, apologize to you for those previous improprieties.” He cleared his throat and returned his gaze to his roast. “Furthermore, I believe that we should continue to moderate our words and behavior in your presence … in deference to your sex, if not to your personal desires.” He looked around the table. “I believe I speak for all of the officers and crew in this?” No one contradicted him, though the captain’s face betrayed a great deal of discomfort.
A quiet whir and click from the far corner drew Arabella’s attention. It was Aadim, whose head had tilted and eyebrows lowered in an apparent expression of negation or disapproval. But Aadim was only an automaton, and as such carried even less influence in this company than Arabella herself.