Silence is Golden

16. Welcome to Argentina

The sun burned down on my face with an intensity that made it very clear I was no longer in England, or anywhere near its shores. And what was I doing? Lying in a hammock, enjoying the warmth on my skin?

Not bloody likely!

'Faster, Mr Linton! Haven't you ever tied a stopper knot before?'

'Much as it might surprise you, Sir,' I grunted, tugging at my hand with all the force I could muster, trying desperately to free it from the tangle of rope around my fingers, 'sailing knots are not considered an essential part of the education of an eligible young London lady!'

'You don't say.'

'Will you just keep standing there annoying me, or are you going to bloody help?'

'I thought I was going to just focus on the annoying. But since you evidently won't get the work done alone...'

Letting his words trail off, he stepped forward and gripped the entangled knot of rope and fingers that held my hands captive. Strong, elegant, long fingers closed over mine. I wanted to shout a warning, wanted to threaten him with bodily harm if he accidentally ripped one of my fingers off – but before I could get a word out, the knotted rope fell apart and slipped to the ground.

I stared at my freed hands.

'How did you do that?'

'Practice, Mr Linton. Try again.'

'Why do I have to? You have plenty of sailors on board.'

'Yes. But if you know how to sail, I will have to pay one less crew member on our next voyage.'

I threw him a disgruntled look. 'You really are the most abominably stingy skinflint in the history of mankind, aren't you?'

If there had been such a thing as expressions on the stone face of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, one might almost have said he looked pleased.

'Yes.'

'That wasn't a compliment!'

'Indeed, Mr Linton?'

'Indeed, Sir!'

'Why haven't you started tying knots yet, Mr Linton?'

Grumbling something I hoped was too low for him to hear, I grabbed the nearest rope.

That was how much of the days passed: during the day, I was on deck, drudging like a peasant under Louis XVI just before the Revolution, while during most of the night I had to work on deciphering the manuscript. The only difference was that, unlike Louis's poor peasants, I wasn't going to rebel. After a while, I found that I actually enjoyed working on the ship. I was doing something useful for a change, and learning things in the process. Mr Ambrose was right. London ladies should learn how to tie sailing knots. Not that I'd ever admit as much to his face, of course!

I was busy scrubbing the planks of the poop deck (which, thank God, didn't really deserve its name) when I heard the shout of the lookout, far, far above me:

'Ships ahoy!'

Jumping up, I whirled around, scanning the sea. The water was of such a bright blue here that it almost hurt my eyes to look at it. But with a bit of squinting I could just manage to look, and after a few moments, I saw them: three dark spots on the horizon. Slowly, my eyes became used to the light, and the vague shapes solidified into ships. One small boat, one two-master, and one sizeable three-master that moved just a little bit faster than the other two.

They all were heading straight towards us.

I whirled again and spotted Mr Ambrose standing a few dozen feet away, straight as a rod of iron, his hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the ocean. I started towards him, pointing to the ships that were closing in on us.