In the Eye of the Storm (Storm and Silence 2)

‘What is it you want, Mr Linton? Do you want to wear these dresses?’

‘I want for you to not call me ‘Mister’ all the time! I want to be myself!’

‘Does being yourself involve wearing women’s clothing?’

‘Yes, but-’

‘Then I suggest you hold your tongue before I change my mind and take these back,’ he told me, with a jerk of his hand towards the open cases. ‘Do you understand?’

I opened my mouth to argue.

‘Do you understand, Mr Linton?’

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, I forced my mouth shut again. ‘Yes, Sir!’ I managed to get out between clenched teeth.

‘Adequate. I shall see you at dinner.’

And with that he whirled around - How does he manage to whirl in a place that isn’t big enough to scratch your nose in? - and stalked out of the room.

I glared balefully after him. Then, deciding he was not worth my attention, I slammed the door shut and directed my baleful glare at the dresses instead. Dressing up as man who dressed up as a woman! Bah! How did he imagine that? Did he think I was going to walk around in the heat of the desert in women’s clothes with a complete set of men’s clothes underneath? Or did he just mean some sort of mindset, wherein I never forgot that although I was wearing girl’s clothing, while I was in his employ, I was still technically a man?

Well, if that’s what he meant, he could jolly well stick his opinions about gender where the sun didn’t shine! I was a girl! Basta!

Maybe it’s time to show him that.

My gaze focused on one of the dresses in particular, and turned from baleful to thoughtful. Should I? Should I not? Should I? Should I not?

I hesitated, gazing down at the fabulous dress. Then, suddenly, I dashed forward and grabbed it. Oh, to hell with Mr Ambrose and his breezy skirts! I was going to show him that a girl could fare just as well on a ship as a man could!

I was just finished with dressing, and was gazing self-satisfactorily at myself in the mirror, when a knock came from the door.

‘Yes?’ I called. ‘Enter!’

The door swung open, and a sailor stuck his head into the cabin. ‘Mr Linton, Sir, the captain just sent me to tell you that dinner is almost ready and that-’

It was then that he noticed the lack of masculinity in the room. His eyes went wide. I turned towards him with a charming smile.

‘That dinner is almost ready and that…’ I encouraged him.

‘Um… excuse me, Miss, I… I was looking for Mr Linton.’

‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘So now that you’ve found me, what is it?’

‘Err… you are Mr Linton?’

The sailor was clearly having trouble rearranging his world view.

I shrugged and gave him another encouraging smile. ‘In a way. Though it would probably better if you called me “Miss Linton” from now on.’

‘Um, yes, Si- err, Miss.’

‘Now, what was it the captain sent you to tell me?’

‘The captain??

? The sailor blinked. He had apparently quite forgotten the existence of his superior officer, and needed a moment to retrieve his memories. ‘Ah. Of course. The captain. He wanted me to tell Mr Linton - you, that is - that dinner is almost ready, and he intends to open a box of his best Virginia Cigars today, if you would care to join him for one.’

In his frazzled state of mind, it took the poor man a moment to realize he had just offered a lady in silk and satin the opportunity to smoke cigars. When it dawned on him, he clutched the doorframe, and almost fainted.