The Serpent's Shadow

Chapter Sixteen

I THINK I may be the happiest man in the world.

Peter had forgotten his original intention of warning Maya about the mysterious deaths the moment she flung herself, sobbing, into his arms. When he’d seen her in the light from the hallway, dressed in her exotic sari with her hair down and her eyes as wide as a frightened deer’s, the last thing he would have said to her, had he had time to think about what he was saying, was how beautiful she was. But the exclamation had been startled out of him, and it had resulted in this—

He stroked her hair and said nothing as she wept and raged alternately, during which time he gathered the gist of what had happened to her at the hospital. He didn’t know a great deal about women, but his instincts on this were that the best thing he could do for her right now was to listen. And meanwhile, he was beginning to have some glimmerings of what to do about this Simon Parkening.

What he wanted to do, of course, was to march over to the cad’s flat and punch him in the nose. Maya’s distress had awakened a number of very cavemanlike feelings that were not altogether unfamiliar to him—but he knew very well that what might pass for reasonable behavior on the deck of a ship would only lead to a great deal of trouble in this case. He hadn’t worked his way up to captain by punching everyone who offended him.

Much as I would like to smash his face to a pulp, whoever this Simon Parkening is, I don’t think that’s the best tactic for getting him out of Maya’s life.

No, satisfying as that would be for both of them, that was not the answer. Nor was showing up at the hospital and conspicuously carrying her off as soon as her duties were over every day. Given this canard’s filthy mind, he would probably decide that Maya was Peter’s mistress, and not rest until he had gotten her thrown out of the hospital on charges of immoral behavior. No, that would not work either, satisfying as it would be to demonstrate that Maya was his property.

First of all, she isn’t my property. Secondly, she might punch me in the nose for presuming. And third, in the long run, that will only make more trouble.

No, no, no. Peter was fast building a much more involved and detailed plan in his mind.

Finally Maya pushed—reluctantly, he thought—away from him, and sat up straight, smoothing her hair away from her face with both hands. Her tear-stained cheeks and red eyes looked adorable to him at this moment. Her hair was loose on her shoulders, half-veiling her forehead; her eyes gazed at him in distress. “Oh, no—” she said, looking utterly appalled. “What you must think of me!”

He laughed, and caught her hands in his before she could push her hair back. “I think that if I had been in your position, this blackguard would be singing in a higher key,” he replied. “And I understand exactly why you are in such distress. You’re in an intolerable position, and if you were alone, you would have very few ways to escape. But I think that, between us, Almsley and I may be able to maneuver you out of it.”

She started to protest. “I cannot involve you, you have done too much for me already—and as for your friend, he owes me nothing, in fact, it is I who am in his debt in the matter of that young man!”

“When was there ever a question between us of debt and repayment?” he asked, not releasing her hands, and noting that she did not try to pull them away either, noting the flush in her cheeks. “I told you before; what I’ve done in the way of instructing you is the duty of a Master to someone who has the power to become another. And, in your turn, you will teach the ones you find—or who find you. There is no repayment, there is only duty to the future.” He smiled at her; with her hair down, she looked so vulnerable. What a change from the controlled and subdued Doctor Witherspoon he had first seen! “I should think that you would be familiar with that as a doctor.”

“I suppose—but—” She took a deep breath. “Parkening is a sneak. Worse than that, he is a wealthy sneak. He’ll never forgive me, and if you get involved, he’ll never forgive you; he’ll do his best to ruin us both and he’s rich enough to succeed.”

“He may be rich, but I’ll bet my last shilling that old Peter is richer,” Peter replied. “Almsley may owe you nothing, but he owes me a very great deal. Or perhaps it would be safer to say that we’ve helped each other out so often that there’s no point in reckoning favors owed.” He pursed his lips in thought a moment. “Actually, he might well consider that he does owe you something of a favor. That young man you put in his path—Paul Jenner—is proving to be worth his weight in gold, according to my lord. You’ve no idea what a relief it is for someone with his fingers in as many pies as Almsley has to have a secretary he can trust with even the oddest of correspondence. And the fellow began working the moment he arrived at Heartwood House; he didn’t even allow his invalid status to keep him from working. You don’t think Almsley’s likely to forget that, do you?”

“I… suppose not.” Peter noted that the despair had left Maya’s tear-reddened eyes, to be replaced by hope. “Do you really think he would be willing to—go so far out of his way as to—”

“Oh, my dear!” Peter laughed, squeezing both her hands. “All you have to do is look appealingly up into his eyes, and you shan’t be able to stop him! There is a very great deal of the repressed knight-errant in Peter Almsley.”

“And in another Peter as well,” she retorted, squeezing his hands back. “But I’m serious; Simon Parkening is a mean-spirited creature, and he will try to ruin you! I can’t let you take that risk.”

“Which is why I won’t be on the scene—visibly,” Peter told her. “Now listen; I’ve dealt with cads like this fellow before. I am much older than he, and old age and hard-won experience—and just a wee touch of treachery—will trump even the cleverest of callow young sneaks.”

“You aren’t old!” she interrupted.

It was his turn to flush, with pleasure. That had been a spontaneous protest. If she thinks me something less than old enough to be her father—I think I just became happier. “The point is, my dearest, that I am older than he is by a good many years, and I know how to handle him and use his weaknesses against him. Now, what do you think the first thing that he will expect out of you will be, come the morrow?”

Think, my love. I want you thinking. I refuse to take advantage of your fear to make you dependent on me.

She frowned. “I suppose—I don’t know. I can’t think—that I’ll go to his uncle? No, he knows I won’t, because I didn’t when he made that scene in the operating theater. Besides, there is no question of whom Clayton-Smythe would believe in a choice between his word and mine. Then he must suppose that I’ll run to some male for help.” She flushed a painful-looking scarlet, and made a tentative attempt to remove her hands from his. “And now I have—”

“Oh, no, you haven’t. I came to you, remember?” He let her hands go immediately, sensing that an impression that he was trying to keep “control” of her was the wrong one to give at this moment. “But do go on—that wasn’t the whole thought. You’re much wiser than he is. I suspect you can calculate exactly what he’ll think and do long before he knows his own mind, so long as you distance yourself and look at it as an intellectual problem.”

That’s the ticket to restore her confidence; get her to think logically again.

Her brow furrowed deeply, but this time it was in thought. “Yes, he thinks any woman in trouble must run to a male, I’m sure, since he can’t imagine a woman depending on herself—I don’t have a father to run to—so I’ll run to a lover!” She flushed again, but this time there was triumph mixed with the embarrassment. “And when I do that, he’ll know who that lover is! He’ll want revenge, and revenge not just on me!”

“My thought precisely.” Peter nodded. “So what you need to do is to throw him off guard entirely. You don’t want to avoid him. That will give him a taste of satisfaction, which will only make things worse for you. Now, you know him better than I, so what possible way could you act toward him that would confuse him, rather than angering him?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in puzzlement.

“You aren’t going to hide from him, so how will you act when you have to greet him?” he replied. “For instance—oh, you could treat him with the same kind of gentle condescension you would a naughty, but feeble-minded child.”

“That would puzzle him then, but it would infuriate him later,” she objected. “But I do see what you mean. Oh, I wish I knew more about him—I think the reason he’s about the hospital so much is because he’s up to something, but I don’t know what it is.”

Peter laughed. “Never mind, you don’t have to! That’s the jolly thing about having to outwit someone like him, with things to hide. All you have to do is throw out a vague hint and his own mind will fill it all in. He’ll be certain you know what he’s been up to! And that’s our key, and the place where Almsley can help us out, because Almsley is welcome in every sort of social circle, and he knows exactly the kind of person we need to help us out. A high-ranking churchman.”

“A what?” she asked, now completely lost.

“A high-ranking churchman. Someone important, as high as a bishop by preference.” The plan all fell into place now, and Peter was as delighted with it as a child with a new toy, and just as eager to share it with his chosen playmate. “Firstly, we need to establish you in Doctor Clayton-Smythe’s eyes as not only completely above reproach, but as someone to whom Clayton-Smythe is indebted. Now what does a hospital need above all else?”

“Money,” she replied instantly. “Always money. And I think I can see where you are taking this; high-ranking churchmen are in charge of a great deal of charitable money and have access to people who can supply a great deal more if pressed. I already know that Clayton-Smythe wants money for a larger charity ward; it will make him look so very admirable and high-minded. Having a bigger hospital makes him look more important. He might even get that knighthood he’s been hoping for.”

“For that matter, being able to refer to a bishop familiarly will appeal to his vanity as well,” Peter pointed out. “So Almsley will find us one of his tame churchmen who is currently feeling the need to feed the sheep. You’ll have tea with the dear old gent, talk about your experiences in India with your father, charm him, then point out that the need right here in London is just as great, if not greater, than in India. You will be the one to take the gentleman around the hospital, then turn him over to Clayton-Smythe like a good little girl. I will arrange for Parkening to be there at the same time.”

She shook her head a little, but only in puzzlement. “I don’t know how you’ll manage that.”

“Well, I won’t, Almsley will,” Peter amended. “Don’t worry, he’ll do it. Your job will then be to stay with Clayton-Smythe and the padre until you run into him. Then you go to work on Parkening with your hints.”

Puzzlement became understanding, then matured to what was definitely a variety of unholy glee. “Yes,” she said simply. “I think I can do that.”

The bishop was a much wiser and kinder man than Maya had expected; she had the feeling from the twinkling in his eyes that Peter Almsley had told him something of the truth about the situation, and also that he wouldn’t have betrayed her for the world. And what was completely unexpected and delightful, he and her father had been at both the same public school and at Oxford. Not in the same college; that would have been too much to expect—but the bishop knew her father at a distance at least, and was able to tell her one or two anecdotes about Roger Witherspoon’s misspent youth among Oxford’s hearty gamesmen. By the time they went off to the hospital, he felt like an old family friend.

Clayton-Smythe had tried to be rid of her twice, but the bishop had managed to somehow dismiss the effort without Clayton-Smythe noticing—and now the Head was convinced that having her along on the tour was his idea.

“Doctor Witherspoon is an immense asset to the Poor Children’s ward,” he was saying, with a kind of too-hearty condescension that made her grit her teeth. “The woman’s touch, don’t you know. Little b—babies aren’t afraid of a strange woman the way they are of a strange man, of course. And the young woman that’s her protégée is a positive genius with ‘em; she’ll be a fine children’s doctor in time.”

“That would be my friend Miss Amelia Drew,” Maya said helpfully. “She’s studying at the London School of Medicine for Women. Her teachers all expect her to earn her medical degree within the coming year.” She looked earnestly up at the bishop and the Head, clasping her hands together as if in entreaty as she noticed Simon Parkening approaching from behind his uncle. Yes, I think now is the time. “It would be so good for sick children if someone like Amelia was in charge of them; she could devote herself entirely to them and their ailments! If only this hospital had a new Poor Children’s ward by then, there could be a place for her in it.”

The bishop recognized his cue and came in on it like the seasoned professional he was. “Well, there are some Royal grants at my disposal—or perhaps I should say, my direction,” he said. “Their Majesties—Queen Alexandra in particular—are very keen on improving the lot of our poor children, and if you not only have the services of a fine physician like my young friend here, but the prospects of obtaining a second lady doctor like her, I cannot think of a better place in which to bestow the Queen’s grant.”

The Bishop beamed, Clayton-Smythe beamed, and Simon Parkening looked as if he’d been struck. At just that moment, his uncle noticed he was there.

“Ah, Simon!” Clayton-Smythe boomed expansively, prepared at this moment to be pleased with anyone who came within his purview, and feeling generous enough to share the reflected glory of his exalted new acquaintance. “Bishop Mannering, this is my sister’s son, Simon Parkening. Not a doctor, I’m afraid, but we can’t all be physicians, or there wouldn’t be enough patients to go around!” He laughed at his own witticism, and Maya and the bishop joined in politely.

Simon did not. He was looking rather pale, in fact.

A little difficult to accuse someone of immorality who happens to be the “young friend” of a bishop isn’t it, you filthy swine? she thought triumphantly. But she wasn’t done with him yet, as he was about to discover.

“Oh, Mr. Parkening is in and out of the hospital quite as much as if he was a doctor,” Maya said, with a light laugh and a penetrating glance at Parkening. “Some of the staff can’t quite understand what he finds so fascinating, but I think there are one or two of us who’ve penetrated his secret!”

Parkening actually blanched; he went so white even his uncle noticed. “I say, nephew,” the Head began.

But Maya was already offering a solicitous hand to help Parkening to a nearby chair. “Goodness, Mr. Parkening,” she said, in tones of false sympathy. “Didn’t your physician tell you that after a heat stroke like the one you suffered yesterday, you should never exert yourself? You really should not have come here today—the wards may not be as dreadful now that the heat has broken, but you should still be taking cooling drinks on a breezy veranda, not tottering about here! I’m sure your business here could bear your absence for a day or two!”

“Heat stroke?” Clayton-Smythe exclaimed in surprise. “Simon? You suffered a heat stroke here?”

Maya prevented Parkening from explaining by answering before he could. “Oh, my, yes, Doctor! I found him on the floor of the linen closet in the Women’s Charity Ward and had him taken straight up to the Men’s Private Ward where he could be properly cooled down with ice and alcohol rubs.” She dropped her gaze modestly—so that Clayton-Smythe would not see the malicious glitter in them. Let the uncle make what he would of his nephew being found in one of the women’s wards—and in a storage closet, no less!

Parkening looked positively green.

“What quick thinking, Doctor Witherspoon!” the bishop said cheerfully. “I must say, I should not worry a jot to find myself in competent hands like yours!”

“I am only one of many who are just as quick-thinking and competent, Bishop,” Maya replied, raising her eyes again. “Doctor Clayton-Smythe attracts only the best, and I venture to say that those he allows to serve in his hospital are the cream of those. I am just glad he considered that I was good enough to practice in his hospital.”

Clayton-Smythe positively swelled; any more compliments, and Maya was afraid he might burst. There was no doubt now that Maya was not only in his good books, but had risen so far in his eyes that Parkening would not dare molest her now, nor accuse her without absolute and irrevocable proof of misdeeds. And to a certain extent, Maya was not offering empty compliments. This hospital was one of the best; she would not have tried so hard to practice here if it hadn’t been.

Parkening had evidently figured out that he was in a dilemma he could not get out of without giving up any hope of revenge on her—and that he would be fortunate if she chose not to play the cards in her hand. The bluff had worked. He could not possibly have looked any greener.

“Mr. Parkening, I really must insist on you seeing your physician,” she chided. “Please, you simply must go up to the Men’s Ward.”

Feebly, he waved her away. “No, no, I’ll be fine. I’ll go home, just as you said. Send a messenger to the office—they can do without me, as you said—” He got up and staggered off, much to the surprise of his uncle and the bishop.

“My, my!” the bishop murmured. “Do you think it’s wise to allow him to wander off in that state?”

“Probably not,” Clayton-Smythe replied in irritation. He signaled to one of the orderlies, and murmured to the man, who hurried off after Parkening, as his uncle scowled after both of them.

Maya somehow managed to keep her face set in a mask of serenity, while inwardly she was convulsed with delighted laughter.

Peter had arranged to meet Maya near the boat house on the Serpentine in Hyde Park; he stood up from his bench and waved to her when he saw her walking briskly toward him in the distance. She picked up her pace, hurrying as well as her skirts would allow her. She had more sense than to wear one of the fashionable hobble skirts, at least, but Peter couldn’t help but wish she was costumed as she had been last night. She had looked the very spirit of freedom in that sari.

She took the last few steps between them in a kind of running walk, and caught both his outstretched hands in hers, her teeth flashing whitely in an enormous smile.

“I take it the plan worked?” he asked archly.

“To perfection!” she crowed, hardly able to contain her glee. “Oh, if only you had seen him! I don’t know what he really has been up to, but the thought that I knew had him white to the lips!”

She related the entire exchange so vividly that he had no difficulty in picturing it. It had not surprised him that Almsley had managed to dig up an actual bishop, but the fact that he had found one who either had known Maya’s father or was willing to pretend he had was something of a corker.

It’s the Oxford connection again. Old School ties and all that. The easy way that University men exchanged favors and backed each other up made him a little irritated and a bit jealous sometimes, but there was no doubt that this time the connections had served a higher purpose than usual.

“Well, since the enemy has retreated in disorder, that is at least one worry disposed of,” he replied, then sobered. Drawing her over to the bench, he indicated she should be seated, and sat down beside her. “I would like to tempt you to a victory celebration, but before we even consider that, I need to tell you about something serious that has been happening. Four men have died of magical causes—”

Now it was his turn to explain, and he gave her every bit of information he had. And to his relief, although she listened attentively, there was no recognition in her face when he described the signs, and the way the men had been killed.

When he finished, she shook her head. “I know that your Lord Alderscroft is certain India is the source, but I’ve never seen or heard of any magic in India that could reach halfway around the world, Peter!” she exclaimed. “And if the Separatist movement had someone with powers like that at his disposal, don’t you think they would do something more to the purpose? You know, all they would have to do would be to send a plague through all the barracks in India and there wouldn’t be a single soldier or policeman able to counter a native uprising. With all of the government officials and their families held hostage, the King and the Prime Minister would have no choice but to give in to the Separatist demands.”

“How would a magician do that?” Peter asked, his blood running a little cold. “How could one person send a plague to take the soldiers and not the natives?”

“Well, he couldn’t; that’s the point,” she said with a shrug. “It would take too much power. But I can think of ways to do it if you had the power. You’d just send plague-carrying rats into the barracks full of fleas and bubonic plague, or you’d get at all the wells and poison them with cholera and typhoid, or you’d bring the rains early and use your power to make the mosquitoes that carry yellow fever breed faster. But I’m a doctor,” she added. “I think of these things. It doesn’t follow that the Separatists would. I suppose there are plenty of other ways to use magic to strike at the Colonial Government, if one wanted to. My point is that it doesn’t make sense to use magic against little nuisances here when you could do much more damage on big nuisances in India.”

“That was exactly what I thought,” he sighed, relieved that she hadn’t seen the four reported deaths as a sign that she was in danger from anything.

“There are plenty of people here from home, and some of them might very well have had grudges against these particular men,” she added. “I think your gentleman is overreacting, to tell the truth. Well, perhaps not that. Four men did die—but I think he’s seeing a menace to everyone that just isn’t there.” She shook her head and smiled again. “Now, didn’t you say something about a victory celebration?”

“Indeed I did! Can your household spare you for the rest of the evening?” he asked, dismissing the matter from his mind for the moment.

“With no difficulty whatsoever,” she replied, as he rose and offered her his hand. “What did you have in mind?”

“Better to ask, what did I have planned?” he smiled. “And it’s a surprise, so come along and don’t ask questions.”

To his delight, she laughed, took his hand, and got to her feet. “Whatever it is, I hope it’s cool,” she told him. “It may not be quite as hot today as it has been, but it’s still too hot for these ridiculous clothes you English insist on wearing.”

“You know what they say. Mad dogs and Englishmen.” She didn’t reclaim her hand, so he tucked it into the corner of his elbow as they walked toward the street. “I can promise that it will be cool; whether you’ll like it or not, I can’t pledge.”

They caught a ‘bus for Southwark; he brought her carefully up the stairs to the exposed upper deck—dreadful in bad weather, but crowded now. He found two places on the benches and sat beside her, pointing out obscure landmarks and answering her questions with delight.

The docks and his warehouse were a short walk from the ‘bus stop. She took in everything around her with great interest and no fear at all. Of course, she had been going into and out of a far worse neighborhood than this for months now, but it was still good to see. Most women would have protested at the smells, the condition of the street, and turned up their dainty noses at the rough characters at work here.

He pointed out the customs house, told her what each of the warehouses held and explained which firms imported what goods. If she wasn’t interested, she was the best actress he’d ever seen—and cared enough about him to pretend she was interested.

“This is my warehouse,” he said at last, with pardonable pride. “Would you like to see my imports?”

“Goodness, yes!” she exclaimed. “You know, you know all about what I do, but this is the first time you’ve ever talked about yourself and your everyday life. I had no idea you had a wonderful shop and brought in things all the way from Egypt!”

He laughed. “You make it sound far more glamorous than it is.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Don’t you realize that it is the highest ambition of hundreds of Indians who emigrate to London to one day own a shop or a restaurant of their very own and never work for anyone else again?”

He had to laugh as he opened the door for her. “We’ve been called a nation of shopkeepers before, but I don’t think that was intended as a compliment.”

He unpacked some of the crates, showing her the creations of his craftsmen, and in the end, insisted that she take an alabaster toiletry set she particularly admired. By then, he had heard the sounds of an engine followed by those of his men mooring a small boat up to his dock, and knew his surprise was ready.

“I hope you’ve an appetite,” he said, as he took up the parcel he’d wrapped for her, and conducted her toward the door. “And I hope you don’t suffer from seasickness.”

“Why, no,” she laughed. “But why—”

Then she saw the boat moored up to the dock, a handy little craft crewed by what was clearly a family: four rugged men with faces sculpted by storm and sea, one middle-aged, three of twenty, eighteen, and sixteen years.

“Hello, Captain!” shouted Andrew, as the other three men waved at him. “Ready for your jaunt?”

He waved back, escorted the delighted Maya to the dock, and helped her step across the plank into the little fishing boat crewed by Andrew and his three grown sons. Andrew had been another of his officers on his last ship, but had longed to go back to the life of fishing he’d known before he lost his boat in a storm. Peter had put him in the way of a few little money-making schemes, and when Peter had retired, Andrew had done the same, for he’d stuck on once he had enough for a new fishing boat only as long as Peter was his captain.

It wasn’t pretty, but it was stout, and as Andrew and his sons put her out onto the Thames, heading for Thames mouth and the ocean, Peter saw that she was trim and steady, and answered neatly to the helm. She had sails, but also a motor for working in and out of the harbor, which chugged along with no hint of cough or hesitation. Once they were in a position where they had a good bit of breeze, Andrew, like the thrifty fellow he was, cut off the motor and went under full sail.

Maya’s eyes were as wide as a child’s and she looked around her avidly, drinking in everything with untrammeled delight. Peter, for whom all this was no novelty, caught fire from her enthusiasm, and when the engine was shut down, pointed out all the sights with as much pleasure in telling her about them as she took in hearing about them.

“I promised you that this would be cooler,” he reminded her, as they passed Thames mouth and the breeze quickened to a wind that made the boat leap forward into the open ocean.

“You did, and it’s wonderful!” she caroled. “It’s like flying! Are we going to fish for our dinner?”

“Only if you want to eat it raw,” he laughed. “This is no pleasure craft, and no cod fisher either. We’ve no way to cook on board. This little lady is an inshore fisher; she goes out before dawn and back by midday, and her catch is in the fishmarkets by teatime. Here.” He reached under a tarp and brought out a stout basket. “Let’s see what Andrew’s good wife has put up for us.”

Andrew’s wife was a good plain cook, and though the victory feast was all victuals meant to be eaten cold, they were nonetheless appetizing for all that. Knowing her boys and her man, she’d packed enough food for a dozen in Peter’s estimation. Maya paused halfway through her second sausage roll to exclaim over the youngest who had come back for his sixth.

They tacked along the shoreline, close enough to wave at the children who came down to the sea and the fishermen who were putting up their nets to dry overnight. Peter used the smallest bit of his magic to make sure that the sea stayed pleasantly calm—and then just a little more.

As Maya leaned out over the bow to see the bow wave pushing up, she suddenly exclaimed with surprise as a dolphin leaped out of the water just in front of her nose. The dolphin was swiftly joined by another, and another, until there was a school of twenty or more playing in the bow wave, leaping and gamboling in the water alongside. This, of course, was what Andrew and his boys saw, which to their minds would be enough to make a landlubber girl laugh and point. What Maya and Peter saw, however, was another matter.

Along with the dolphins had come the merfolk of the open ocean, the neriads, the tritons, the hippocampuses, all of whom (whatever they had been in the past) were now creatures of pure spirit to be seen only by those who had the special sight to do so. They were as clear and seemingly solid to Peter as the dolphins; they were probably less so to Maya, since they weren’t of her Element, but she saw them well enough as they played among the very physical dolphins. She was enchanted, and the look on her face, her wide and shining eyes, the smile on her generous lips made his heart sing. The neriads winked and tossed their hair at him flirtatiously, but he only smiled at them briefly and returned his gaze to Maya—who laughed with delight at the swimming coquettes.

They finally came back into the harbor as sunset turned the sky to a blaze of crimson, and all of London was silhouetted against the fiery clouds, with the great dome of St Paul’s looming over all. It was a sight perfect enough to make even Peter, seasoned sailor that he was, catch his breath. And Maya, completely enraptured, clasped her hands at her breast and drank it all in.

We’ll do this again, he vowed to himself. Often. And I’ll take her out alone one day, perhaps up near Scotland, and introduce her to the Selkie—

Too soon they nipped in to the dock; too soon Andrew threw the mooring rope to one of the hands on the wharf, and put out the plank. Maya said good-bye to all of them, shaking their hands and thanking each of them individually, and with such charm and warmth that even old Andrew blushed and allowed that it had been a pleasure.

Then they were safely on the dock again, and the boat moved out into the river, heading for its home dock nearer Thames mouth than this.

“Well?” he asked her. “I hope you weren’t too disappointed.”

“Disappointed!” She made a face at him. “If you think that, you must be the stupidest man who ever lived! It was wonderful!”

“Even when your hat blew off and we had to fish it out with a gaff?” he teased.

“Bother the old hat!” Her eyes shone and her cheeks glowed with pleasure. “This was worth a hundred hats! How can I ever thank you enough?”

He shrugged, and her eyes narrowed; she suddenly looked so impish that he wondered what she was thinking of.

Then, with no warning at all, she went on tiptoe and kissed him full on the mouth. And no little peck either—

“There!” she laughed. “Does that convince you?”

It took him a moment to catch his breath and his wits. “Ah—yes—” he managed.

“Good.” She took his arm firmly, and linked hers into it. “Now, Captain Peter, will you be so kind as to escort your lady home?”

My lady? My lady? If the kiss had blown his wits to the four winds, her words blew them back. “I would consider it the highest honor in the world, lady mine,” he replied to her manifest delight, and together they set off in search of a cab as the blue dusk enclosed them in their own little world.