Rue wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting. I was eight!”
“The second duck pond incident, you idiot. Why else do you think he stayed aboard?”
“To see the world? To get away from his mothers?” Rue was flushed with annoyance but tried to keep an impassive demeanour. She was learning much from Aggie’s diatribe.
Aggie scrunched up her face. “Well, yes, that, too, but also he’s in love with you.”
Rue’s thoughts whirled. Is Aggie right? Is it really more than a lust-filled whim? She shied away from the word love. It was too bold, even in her own head. The very notion that Quesnel properly loved her was slippery with impossibility, like an oiled ferret. Could they really have that honest constant kind of love? The kind that meant he might stay the whole night in her bed and wake up next to her? He hadn’t acted like it so far.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, don’t you understand anything?” Aggie huffed, her tone modified in her own confusion at Rue’s persistent unwillingness to rise to the bait.
By this point, Rue was halfway up the spiral staircase.
“Apparently not. Thank you, Miss Phinkerlington, for a most educational conversation. I may come down and have you yell at me again, next time I need my relationships explained to me.”
Aggie put her hands on her hips and glared up. “You do that.”
“Now, if you will excuse me, I should get back to the man in question.”
“You might want some clothing.”
“Yes, thank you, Miss Phinkerlington.”
Things were quiet on deck.
Rue, wearing a perfectly respectable brown paisley robe, hair loose but thick with orangeish goop, found the group around Quesnel busy planning to relocate him to his quarters.
Primrose was in charge. “I think we can improvise a litter. It’s better to move him to an environment where we can keep him safe, out of the way, and clean. Oh, Rue! Thank goodness. Tasherit said she felt her tether snap. We worried you might be dead.”
“Thought Aggie killed you,” said a weak voice.
Rue was on her knees next to her chief engineer instantly. “You’re awake.” She grabbed his left hand. “How are you feeling?” It was an utterly inane question to ask, but everything else she thought of was impolitic.
“Like I’ve been shot, strangely enough.”
“It’s no joking matter. You just collapsed. It was horrible.” Rue felt the prickles around her eyes from that memory. She shook herself and went on. “Smart of you to choose the right kind. Apparently through-and-throughs heal best. We doused you in cognac as well.” Rue caressed his palm with her thumb.
“Percy’s?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Still, it’s a bloody waste.” Trust a Frenchman to lament lack of cognac.
“It is not! What better use? We’re going to move you below now.” Rue let go of his hand.
The two footmen hoisted Quesnel up, trying to keep him as steady as possible. The ship was not made for this kind of transport, but they managed to get him down the main stairs and into the guest room previously occupied by Rue’s parents. It was closer to engineering and easier to get to than his actual room.
By the time Quesnel was set on the bed, he’d turned an unbecoming yellow colour and was sweating heavily.
Fortunately, Anitra reported no additional blood loss had resulted.
Rue tried to be nice about it. “You’re doing a wonderful job, Miss Panettone. Please don’t take this amiss, but did you ask the other Drifters if they had a surgeon aboard?”
Anitra nodded. “I did indeed. I don’t want this kind of responsibility. All I’ve got is limited herb lore and some training for the woman’s balloon, when those times come.”
“Midwifery?” Rue reached for the outdated term.
“Something like. This is beyond my limited skills.”
“We will all do our best. Hopefully Percy has a book on bullet wounds.”
Quesnel gave a weak snort. “I doubt it. Books on badminton, possibly, but nothing more useful.”
Anitra finished checking on everything. “Are you comfortable?”
“Feeling rather spoiled. Two beautiful ladies tending to my every need.”
“He’s flirting. He must be feeling better.” Rue smiled.
Anitra reached for a small bottle of clear liquid. “Laudanum, for the pain. It’ll put you to sleep. Don’t take it on your own – we want to keep track of how much.”
Quesnel wrinkled his nose. “No fretting there. I loathe the stuff. Makes me feel like I’m being smothered slowly by a flock of malevolent robins, red breasts first, all pushing in against the sides of my eyes.”
That was oddly specific. “When have you had laudanum?” Rue bustled about, making certain there was water next to his bed, and a book, and some biscuits.
“Believe it or not, in my childhood I was prone to explosions.”
“Liked to experiment, did you?” Rue smiled again, imagining a tiny Quesnel running around mixing noxious chemicals and destroying his mother’s laboratory.