Page 41 of A Modest Independence

But he was already interfering. She should be thinking of Giles—of her adventure—not worrying over her feelings for Tom.

She called for a bath and, after a long soak, wrapped herself in a woolen dressing gown and proceeded to finish packing away her new purchases. There were more than ten sets of linens, a dozen chemises and thin cotton stockings, and a full fifteen bars of fine-milled white Marseilles soap.

Next to so much, the dresses Jenny had brought seemed inadequate to the journey. But there was no time to visit the dressmaker. Her meager wardrobe would have to suffice until they reached India.

She’d nearly finished packing when Mira returned, full of apologies for the lateness of the hour.

“Don’t apologize,” Jenny said, struggling with the latch on one of the new portmanteaus. “But do help me shut this. I believe one of us may have to sit on it.”

When the final portmanteau was closed, the two of them retired to bed only to be awakened a mere six hours later by the sound of a maid rapping sharply at the door.

Jenny sat bolt upright amidst her tangled blankets. Her eyes were bleary, her hair in disarray. But no amount of fatigue could keep her abed. It was time to go. To get up, get dressed, and finally start her adventure.

The Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company kept a veritable fleet of ships. Their fastest steamship, the Valetta, regularly made the mail journey from Marseilles to Malta. Jenny’s stomach was awash with butterflies as she boarded the magnificent vessel.

Ahmad and Mira had gone ahead with the luggage. As on the train, most of the servants were obliged to travel second class. The rest of the passengers—more than one hundred by Jenny’s count—were comprised of well-to-do ladies and gentlemen and their daughters, granddaughters, and nieces. The Fishing Fleet in all its glory.

Tom’s hand came to rest at the small of her back as Jenny stepped onto the deck of the ship. Mrs. Plank was already there, shouting orders to the crew while her daughters looked on with wide, unblinking eyes.

“She’s not the largest ship,” a crewman was saying to Mrs. Plank, “but she has paddles and engines big enough for a vessel three times her size.”

“What use are paddles and engines when there aren’t enough private cabins to accommodate the guests?” Mrs. Plank retorted. “See here, young man…”

Tom guided Jenny past them. “You have a private cabin,” he said when they were well out of earshot. “It’s small. They all are. But it will give you some privacy until we reach Malta. The captain says it should take no more than three days to arrive in port.”

Jenny nodded mutely. She was certain she must look as goggle-eyed as the Plank girls. She’d never been on a ship of this size before. It was terribly exciting. A bit overwhelming, too.

The wind off of the sea whipped at her skirts and teased at the ribbons of her velvet bonnet. It was salty and sharp, and smelled, rather appallingly, of fish. Her stomach recoiled at the pungent reminder of last night’s bouillabaisse. She silently commanded it to settle, having no wish to disgrace herself before the ship had even left the harbor.

In short order, a young crewman approached to take them to their quarters. He was a robust young chap who claimed to have made the journey to Malta more times than he could remember. “The Valetta’s one of the fastest steamers running. Why, last month we made port in fifty-four hours. And that was despite a heavy gale.”

Jenny found her tongue at last. “Is she safe?”

“Safe, ma’am? Why, she’s one of the safest vessels ever built. That’s what the captain always says.”

His assurances did nothing to assuage Jenny’s sudden onset of nerves. But her fears made little matter in the end. By half past ten, the Valetta was steaming out of the harbor at speed, leaving the Port of Marseilles far behind them.

After a brief visit to her cabin, Jenny returned to the deck with the other passengers to watch the city disappear from view. Mira and Ahmad stood beside her at the railing.

“Do you remember this part of the journey?” Jenny asked. “Seeing Marseilles in the distance as you arrived?”

Ahmad was staring out at the water, his expression somber. “We came by a different route. Around the cape. It took four months to reach Southampton from Bombay.”

“Four months?” Jenny had known it was a longer journey around the cape, but she’d no idea it was a full third of a year. Her stomach gave another rebellious quiver. “And all that time on a boat?”

“Most of it. The soldier who took us from India—”

“What soldier?”

“An Englishman,” Mira said. “A colonel retiring from service in Delhi.”

Jenny eyes went first to Mira’s face and then to Ahmad’s. “Do you mean to say, this soldier—this Englishman—brought you here against your will?”

Ahmad shrugged. “We were children.”

“And he just…took you?”

“On sufferance. He only wanted Mira. He was acquainted with her mother before she died.”