After the crew were in bed – by 8pm- the brunette washed and put away the cutlery and crockery, leaving the cast iron cooking pot to soak in a bucket of hot, soapy water. Drying the palms and the back of her hands on the leg of her trousers, Sandra carried Maxwell’s meal to his quarters. There were no lights inside. She knocked on the door.
“Mister Bayne? It’s me. I brought your meal. My apologies for disturbing you at this hour.”
Silence.
“Ahem! Good evening, Mister Bayne! Is anyone there?”
Giving up, the ex-maid left his meal on its tray in front of his door, underneath a napkin. She turned heel, instinctively reaching for a skirt that she no longer wore.
“Miss Swift. How was your first day on the job?”
Anger boiled in the pit of her stomach.
“It was good enough. Where were you?”
“On the deck. Ensuring the rigging is set to sail in the morning. Nights like these are perfect for…walks.”
Her heart fluttered as he leant in.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I brought you dinner. As agreed.”
“Wonderful. Would you care to join me?”
“No, I already ate. Thank you.”
Maxwell extended his palm to the brunette.
“That is not what I meant. Would you care to walk with me?”
“Yes please.”
Sandra laid her hand in his. His hand closed around hers as gently as the embrace of sand around bare feet. She hesitated, drawing her hand back, resting it over her heart.
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can’t a man want to talk to a beautiful woman?”
Sandra shook her head.
“Not without an ulterior motive. What do you want from me? I do not have any money or status to my name. You cannot have my body. I’m not THAT type of woman. I cook and I clean.”
“You are not like the others. You are an intellectual individual. All I want is to talk – to get to know you. We are going to see each other quite a lot during our voyage.”
“You cannot change my mind, Maxwell. I am not going back to Isolation Bay. Not until I am satisfied.”
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
“What would it take to satisfy you?”
His thin, golden brows waggled. Sandra inhaled sharply and backed away.
“You should learn to wait your turn like everyone else.”
“I am a very patient man, Miss Swift.”
The blonde strode towards her with that disarming smile that sent the butterflies in her stomach erupting skywards. His boots thumped over the deck like her heart throwing itself against her ribcage like a prisoner desperate to escape. Sandra met his advance with a grounded stance.
“I am sure you are, Mister Bayne. What are you waiting for? I am right here.”
“So close…” He murmured on the precipice of breathlessness. His husky, masculine voice sounded utterly intoxicating.
“To what?”
He smelt warm and sweet. She closed her eyes. His gloved hand slipped around Sandra’s waist. Hmmn. her lips parted. Her throat parched. Her brain starved of oxygen and rationality.
“Would you like help removing those gloves?”
His muscles tensed, sending a shiver riveting down her spine.
“You are attractive, Miss Swift. Which is why I say this with such a heavy heart. Not tonight.”
“Very well. Will that be all?”
She wanted to stay in his arms for the rest of her life. It physically hurt to tear herself away. He did not try to stop the brunette. Maxwell clasped his gloved hands behind his back.
“If not tonight, some other time then. Goodnight to you, Mister Bayne.”
“Same to you, Miss Swift. Sleep well.”
He sighed as she pivoted. Sandra was visibly done with this conversation and done with him.
“Such a shame. It sure is a gorgeous night.”
“It would be if it were not so cold.”
“It would not be so bad if you had someone to share it with.”
“No thank you, Mister Bayne. You have done quite enough.”
“Here. Borrow my coat.”
He shrugged out of the deep blue work of art. He held it out to her with that goddamn smile. She wanted to twist her fingers through those golden locks. To feel those lips mash against her own.
“Thank you. Again.”
“You have the grip of a vice, my dear.”
The corner of her lips curled with pride.
“What is on your mind?”
“You don’t want to know. I’m not thinking very lady like thoughts.”
“We should converse some other time. For now, you and I both ought to rest. We have a lot of open ocean to traverse tomorrow.”
“As you wish.”
Sandra folded her hands in her lap, bowing her head. For the first time since becoming a maid, Sandra pivoted without having to hitch a skirt. Freedom at last!
***
A few days passed. Nothing important happened. It was a relaxing change from coordinating a hundred servants and cleaning, from the moment that the sixteen year old woke to bird song and children’s laughter at dawn, to the moment that she finished reading bedtime stories to Ester and Darcy, followed by her head falling into the embrace of her pillow late in the evening.
Sandra stirred to shouting from the deck. After rubbing sleep from her brown eyes, her fingers prowled for a ribbon to secure her disobedient hair with.
“Is that…gun fire?!”
The shouting intensified.
Curious, she pressed her ear against the wooden door. She tried turning the handle, planning to peep out, but someone had locked her in while she was fast asleep. Sounding braver than she felt was becoming a specialty of hers - a TRUE lady.
“Well, that’s rude! You think I cannot look after myself?”
The ex maid paced up and down the confined space, running her fingers through her brown hair to calm her nerves. Amidst the ruckus of the crew running across the deck, she heard grunting. Swords clashing! Maxwell taunted his opponent, pausing to duel.
“Hold still, ya rascal!”
“Haha! Not likely.”
Maxwell’s feet scuffled in an energetic dodge. A man of many talents. Maxwell was proving himself to be as mad as a pirate. It was like a last stand from stories drunken sailors – who never left the harbour- shared about running afoul of pirates. Sandra had no idea why a merchant would need to know how to wield a cutlass. His touch was too gentle for such violence. Or was that side of him reserved for their banter? This whole situation was maddening. If the man attacking didn’t hurt Maxwell, she would.
Her heart leapt into her throat as someone was knocked over above her head, landing with a resounding THUD. The floorboards creaked. The aggressor, as perturbed as she was, turned and ran. Shouting for a long boat. What the brunette presumed to be Maxwell’s crew cheered.