by Eva Leigh
True, Greenland wasn’t where she had ever pictured herself. The Arctic was not teeming with reptiles and amphibians.
But to go there meant getting away, occupying herself with something that wasn’t her own grave miscalculation.
“I need to consider it,” she said.
“Naturally. I imagine your parents will need to be consulted, as well.”
She looked over at the case that held a variety of diminutive, stuffed Rodentia. What fragile creatures they were, these little animals with fur and tiny hands and delicate bones. They fed the majority of predators. Their lives were brief.
The world needed them. Without the voles and wood mice and other such beings, there’d be no hawks or badgers or foxes.
Everything was a great cycle, life and death intertwined for eternity. Somewhere in the middle of all this, she existed, and she tried to take comfort in that, in making herself very small. Small enough that she could curl up and simply disappear.
“Greenland?” Disbelieving, her mother stared at her across the tea table in the parlor. “That is rather far, is it not? And cold.”
“A warm coat and stout boots could remedy that,” Grace said gently.
“Why do you want to go, dearest? You’ve had a perfectly splendid few weeks. Mr. Fredericks has been quite attentive. And Mr. Holloway.”
Simply hearing Sebastian’s name made Grace’s stomach knot with regret and sadness. “They were merely being kind.”
She swallowed, too, any words telling her mother that Mason had proposed. Since she’d no intention of marrying him, introducing the possibility to her mother—and especially her father—was pointless and would only cause confusion and hurt.
“I’ll write to Papa and tell him . . . I’ll tell him that it’s my intention to remain a spinster. I hope he isn’t angry with me,” she added gloomily.
“My love,” her mother said, leaning forward to cover Grace’s hand with her own. “He would rather see you unmarried than bound to someone who does not make you happy.”
Grace desperately wanted to believe that. Tears stung her eyes. “But . . . his wishes for my security?”
“We’ll make certain that after your father and I pass, Charles will take good care of you. However,” her mother added worriedly, “haring off to Greenland is not quite what either Edmund or I had in mind when considering your future.”
“I need to leave England for a while,” Grace said, her voice bleak. “Forgive me, but I can’t say more. Just know that it’s something I must do. I have . . . so much to learn.”
All of this was true. She did need the chance to learn. Everything that had happened these past weeks was proof enough that she needed growth. She had been horribly myopic about her own feelings, and she had been terribly unkind to both Sebastian and Mason. Her determination and single-mindedness in pursuing her objective meant she hadn’t taken notice of anyone around her. She hadn’t even asked herself what it was that she truly wanted.
At the very least, Sebastian had grown more comfortable in social settings and with strangers. He seemed, if not happy to be amidst unknown people, then a little less wretched. That was something.
Maturation was a hell of a thing, painful as it was. If only she could shed literal skin as she transitioned from one self to the other. Surely that had to hurt less.
“I will have a companion,” she added. “I’ll face trials, but I can endure them.”
“But will you be happy?” her mother asked.
Tears swam in Grace’s eyes, but rather than brush them away, she let them trace cool paths down her cheeks.
“No,” she said. “Happiness is something I’ve ensured I can’t have. Yet this expedition will give me purpose, and that is something I need most desperately right now.”
“Oh, my dearest.” Her mother sighed. She set her cup down and rose to circle the tea table. As she had when Grace was but a small girl, crying over the loss of the pond on the family estate, she placed her palm atop her head and kissed her forehead. “When you’re ready to speak of what troubles you, know that your father and I are here. Until then, if you truly wish to go to Greenland—”
She did not. But she had to go somewhere. “I do.”
“—then neither he nor I will stand in your way.”
Coming to her feet, Grace embraced her mother.
She was a fortunate woman, to have parents such as she did. To have the benefits and privileges of wealth and rank. In so many ways, she was blessed by Providence. She had to remember all this, had to hold to that light, because her soul could not lift itself up from the shadows in which she’d mired herself.
“Grantham!” the coachman shouted. “Stopping for the night at Grantham!”
The coach lurched to a halt. Passengers groaned as they stepped down into the inn’s yard, stretching their cramped muscles after the day’s long journey. A twilight sky hovered over the muddy quadrangle, and light from the inn’s taproom illuminated the passengers’ haggard faces.
Seb was the last to disembark, and as he unfolded his body to climb out, he stifled his own groan as his limbs protested hours of confined, jostling inactivity.
There’d been a time, not long ago, when he’d gladly accepted these pains as an essential evil he had to endure before the pleasures of a wander. Tonight, however, he wanted only ale, food, and an oblivious sleep.
He shook out his arms and legs, moved his head from side to side, and then, when his aches lessened, he moved stiffly into the inn. He didn’t glance at the name. It didn’t matter where he was—they’d stopped at a similar place yesterday at . . . Bedford? Peterborough? One town and inn was as good as another.
“Oi, watch it,” someone growled behind him.
“Pardon.” He hadn’t realized he’d come to a stop, and he stepped to the side to permit a ruddy-cheeked man entrance to the inn.
Shock reverberated in waves—he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. He’d barely seen the landscape as it rolled by mile after mile. He hadn’t asked questions about the local area’s customs. He’d done nothing.
Except yearn for Grace. That hadn’t stopped.
He saw her smile in the sunshine, and her eyes in the glint upon rivers. He heard her laugh in the wind, and in the depths of his body he still felt the wonder of holding her in his arms.
God, but he was a disaster.
Shaking his head, he approached the innkeeper, a Black woman with her hair wrapped in cheerful printed silk. “A room for the night, please.”
“I’ve one room left, in the attic.” She eyed his height. “It’ll be a squeeze. You’d be right under the roof, and the bed’s not so big.”
“So long as it has a mattress and relatively clean linen,” he said, “it will suit.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, which he dropped into her waiting hand.
She smiled. “We have a fine taproom where you can take your supper, sir. I’ll have your key brought to you whilst you dine.”
“Have you a private room where I might eat?” He wanted silence and solitude, and the cheerful din of the taproom did not suit.
“I’m afraid not, sir. The local chicken farmers meet there once a month and tonight’s their night. I could bring your food up to your room, but there’s not much space there to dine comfortably.”
“The taproom will serve.” With a nod, he moved on to the inn’s crowded common area.
Heavy tables that were scarred from use but spotlessly clean filled the space, and at them sat passengers from the coach as well as other travelers and locals. Servers who looked to be the right age to be the innkeeper’s children hurried between the tables, bringing bowls, plates, and tankards. The smell of ale and stew filled the air.
Seb exhaled tiredly. There were no empty tables, only a free seat here and there. He’d no choice but to sit with someone.
A pale elderly chap from the coach sat alone as he spooned stew into his mouth and read from a small volume.
Seb approached.
“Might I join you?”
The man glanced up at him before returning his gaze to his book. “Suit yourself.”
“Many thanks.”
Seb had hardly taken his seat before an adolescent girl with light brown skin and serious gray eyes approached. “What will you have, sir?”
“An ale.”
“To eat?” she asked.
“Anything.” He honestly didn’t care. At this point, he only wanted to fuel the clockwork of his body. Food now only tasted of dust, anyway.
The girl eyed him with puzzlement, but after a moment, she shrugged and went off to fetch him his meal and a drink.
“You ain’t going to talk, I hope,” Seb’s tablemate grumbled. “I don’t want no nattering.”
“I’ve no intention of engaging you in a dialogue.”
“Good. Just leave me to my book.”
Seb peered at the little volume in his hands. A Treatise on the Benefits of Effective Drainage. Yes, he could see how that topic might preclude all conversation.
Seb dug from his pack one of his own books, this one on the marriage customs observed in the cultures ringing the Mediterranean. He snorted softly. Most likely, the old man with the tome on drainage would find Seb’s choice of reading matter impossibly dull. Therein lay the mystery of taste.
This wasn’t the first time he’d read this particular book, but he found it so engaging, the subject matter so endlessly fascinating, that he could read it a dozen times and find something new within it.
Yet when he turned to the opening chapter, he saw only lines of type that meant nothing. The letters swam before his eyes before arranging themselves into a sentence: she loves someone else.
He snapped the book shut.
Hellfire. Could he find tranquility anywhere? Or was that a dim and hopeless cause?
The girl approached with a bowl full of something rich and savory. She set it down in front of Seb along with a tankard and a key, and he pressed a coin into her palm. She curtsied before moving on to another table.
The stew smelled delightful, yet when he took a bite, he tasted nothing.
Still, he knew logically that if he didn’t eat, he’d grow weak and ill, so he made himself finish his meal. The ale washed everything down but had no effect on dulling the continuous pain that split him from the top of his head to the soles of his boots. Once his bowl and tankard were empty, he pushed up from the table.
“Good night,” Seb said to the man across from him.
A grunt was his only response.
He wove through the taproom and plodded up the steep stairs. Close on his heels was a giggling couple, who, mercifully, found their room on the first floor. Seb continued up and up, until he reached a narrow door at the very top of the stairs. He unlocked the door before stepping inside.
“Fuck.” Stars exploded behind his eyes as his head connected with the sloping ceiling. He’d forgotten the innkeeper’s warning.
In the darkness, he fumbled around until he found a lamp, which he lit. The glow flared brighter, and he saw that the room was as described: hardly more than a closet, with a bed that he could already tell wouldn’t contain him. His feet, and some of his calves, would hang off the end.
It hardly mattered. In a daze, he pulled off all the garments covering his upper body. He poured water from a pitcher into a basin and hurriedly washed. With that task completed, he tugged off his boots, and doused the lamp before collapsing onto the bed.
Tired as he was, sleep would not come. The phantom shape of Grace curled against him, warm and soft, while her breath fanned over his torso.
He wrenched himself onto his back, draping his arm over his eyes.
How far will I have to go to outrun her?
The answer came, cold and brutal.
There’s no distance great enough. She will always be with you.
Chapter 26
Even at this early hour, the docks teemed with activity and noise. Stevedores loaded cargo onto waiting ships, crews made their vessels ready for sail, while passengers stood prepared to embark. An air of anticipation and urgency hovered over the docks themselves and floated on the surface of the slick gray water. Everyone was in a fever of anticipation, eager to leave.
Grace tried to cling to this sense of excitement, struggling to grasp it like a salamander. But it squirmed away, leaving her with an echoing emptiness.
“You needn’t stay until the ship departs,” she said to the group of people who waited with her. “The crew has our baggage aboard. There’s naught to do.”
“We’ll wait,” her father announced. He’d recovered sufficiently to come back to London, and had insisted that he accompany Grace to the docks. She was relieved to see that his cheeks were pink with health and he appeared to have more vigor than he had in years.
The others, consisting of her mother, her brother, his wife, and Jane and Douglas all nodded in agreement. For once, Katie did not have her nose in a book, since Grace’s hired companion, Mrs. Poulton, had taken it upon herself to lecture Katie on the proper way to serve her mistress whilst at sea. Poor Katie—but Mrs. Poulton had come highly recommended, having worked as a companion for ladies traveling abroad for over a decade.
Grace felt no obligation to feign happiness for Katie and Mrs. Poulton. They would see her nearly every hour of every day for a minimum of six months, and it would be impossible to pretend she was happy for that span of time. Jane and Douglas knew of her heartbreak over Sebastian. But her family worried for her, and for their sake, she needed to behave as though she truly wanted to trek to Greenland.
Mason was already aboard, standing on deck as he supervised the loading of his gear. Relations between them had been cordial and professional. Mercifully, he had not attempted another marriage proposal. Perhaps she and Mason might become true friends, after all.
“To be without you for so long.” Grace’s mother dabbed at her eyes. “I don’t know how to endure it.”
“That Fredericks better keep you safe,” Charles muttered. “Or I’ll sail to Greenland myself and wallop him.”
Despite Grace’s sadness, a soft feeling spread through her at her family’s concern. “I made good use of these past weeks. Learned how to shoot a gun and construct a shelter. I can build a fire, too, in the most adverse conditions. So there’s nothing to fear.”
“What if you don’t want to come home?” her mother asked plaintively.
“I’ll return.” She couldn’t exile herself from England forever.
“You’d better,” Jane said with a scowl. “The library will be so dreadfully dull without you.” She stepped close and pulled Grace in for a hug before whispering in Grace’s ear, “Should I say anything to Mr. Holloway, if I see him? About your true feelings?”
Heat prickled Grace’s eyes. “That would only make everyone miserable,” she whispered back. “I appreciate the thought, however.”
“Darling friend.” Jane kissed Grace’s cheek. She moved back and wiped at her eyes.
“Everyone aboard!” a sailor yelled from the ship.
Here it was. The last moments on England’s shore. She drew in a breath as she straightened her spine and fastened a smile into place.
“Time to go,” she said with considerably more excitement than she felt.
Grace’s mother burst into sobs.
As Katie and Mrs. Poulton walked up the gangplank, Grace embraced and kissed each member of her family. She let her mother hold her for a long time, patting her back as the countess wept.
When the last hug had been given, and many promises to write as often as she could were made, she took a step back from her family and friends. Their dear faces all looked back at her. Never had she felt more like a fraud.
Well. She was a different woman now. She saw now that she’d been careless with too many—Sebastian, Mason, herself. Never again would she barrel ahead, determined to have what she wanted, without thought for the consequences or who she might hurt along the way. Her maturity had been hard-won. But she
wore it now like a reptile’s tough scales.
“I love you all,” she said, trying to give each syllable the sincerity she felt. Fearing that she might begin to weep loudly like her mother, she hurried up the gangplank.
She exhaled when she stepped onto the deck.
“Welcome aboard,” Mason said. He gestured to the barrel-chested man beside him. “This is Captain Collins.”
“My lady.” The captain bowed. “We’ll have good sailing this time of year.”
“You’ve my thanks and my trust,” she said.
Captain Collins touched his fingers to the brim of his hat. He moved on to speak to another sailor, presumably the next in command, although Grace’s understanding of the hierarchy of a ship was minimal. By the end of this voyage, she’d likely be much more familiar with the running and structure of a sailing vessel.
Mason peered at her. “We’re not yet departed. If you have any second thoughts—”
“I don’t.” Which was true.
“I must take your word for it.” He gave a small smile. “Expeditions are marvelous things. You’ll learn less about the land and fauna you’re studying, and more about yourself.”
“Looking forward to it.” Again, she spoke the truth. “Might I . . . be alone for a bit? This is my first time away from home and I need a few moments to myself.”
“Understandable.” He bowed and walked away.
As the sailors went about their tasks to get the voyage underway, Grace went to the railing. Her family and the Argyles waved to her from the dock. She waved back, and blew them each a kiss.
It did not take long for the gangplank to be raised, and the anchor followed suit. In a matter of minutes, the ship pulled away from the dock. The deck pitched slightly beneath her, but she adjusted her stance to move easily with the motion of the ship. Despite her deadened emotions, a tiny spark of anticipation flared to life within her. She was truly going on an expedition. Granted, the conditions were not ideal—they were, in fact, terrible—but she’d find some way to make the best of it.
She was a natural philosopher. She would do her duty to her discipline, to the rare privilege of representing her gender in the field.