Whirlwind by Cathy Marie Hake Read Free Book Online Page B

Fairweather started to rise. Daniel assisted her. He turned loose of her hand as soon as she gained her feet. For the remainder of the trip, he’d stay away from the suite. Discretion required distance, and besides, Arthur needed the room to romp.
    “Thank you.”
    Daniel nodded, then strode out of the cabin without another word.
    After ascertaining the door had a lock, Millicent looked about. The top drawers of a hand-carved dresser held Arthur’s necessities. A cursory search showed room for her small clothes in the lower drawers, the armoire held far more hangers than she required, and her bed boasted a luxurious satin-covered down duvet.
    Millicent popped Arthur on the bed. She removed her traveling jacket and the mutton sleeves of her gray-and-white-striped blouse puffed out to give her more ease of movement. “I need to unpack my clothes. When I’m done, we’ll play.”
    Arthur jabbered. As she shut the armoire, he crowed, “Jumpy, jumpy. Me jumpy!”
    Swiping him from the mattress, Millie scolded, “We don’t jump on beds. Ask Bunny—he likes to hop on the floor.”
    With Arthur hopping along, Millie inspected the parlor. A few books stood between a pair of golden fleur-de-lis bookends. Two chairs, a small settee, and the table formed a pleasant grouping that left sufficient space for Arthur to frolic. Another door branched off from the parlor, but Millicent didn’t open it.
    A tap sounded and Mr. Tibbs opened the door. “Supper, Miss Fairweather.” He set the tray on the parlor table and lifted the silver domes to reveal two plates. “Veal, haricot verts, and potatoes au gratin for you, miss. The chef provided simpler fare for Master Arthur—diced meat and vegetables. Bread pudding and clotted cream for dessert. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
    “This is delightful. Thank you, Mr. Tibbs.”
    After supper, Millie played pat-a-cake and peek-a-boo with the little boy. When Mr. Tibbs returned for the tray, Arthur begged, “More!”
    “Is the boy still hungry?” Mr. Tibbs glanced at the plates.
    “Oh gracious, no. He’s asking to play more pat-a-cake. Supper was delicious.” Millicent dared to add, “I feel guilty, wasting so much.” Arthur curled his fingers around her smallest finger, but Millicent kept her attention on the steward. Something else was tugging at her heart. “Actually, Mr. Tibbs, my sister and brother-in-law are down below. Supper there was . . . scant.”
    He stared at the tray. “We don’t give leftovers to anyone in steerage. Might cause unrest.”
    Disappointment washed over her. “I suppose it might.” She glanced toward the nursery. “Could you please tell me about how I can wash the nappies? Arthur will go through every last one by morning after next.”
    The man’s complexion went a sickly shade of green. “I’m to see to that.”
    “Unless . . .” Millicent’s heart raced. “You provide me with the necessary water and soap, and somewhere to dry them. I’m more than willing to wash them if you can make a way for Isabelle and Frank Quinsby to have my leftovers. Or perhaps Isabelle could wash them . . .”
    He moved a fork, then put it back where it had been. Next, he shifted the still half-full cup of milk. “I can’t. The captain could fire me.”
    Millicent rose and propped Arthur on her hip. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tibbs. In no way did I mean to threaten your livelihood.”
    “I know, miss. Let me think on it.”
    “Thank you. That’s more than I should ask.”
    Mr. Tibbs left, and Arthur started rubbing his eyes. Millicent prepared him for bed, then rued the lack of a rocking chair. She held him, swayed, and sang a song. He fought sleep. Soon, though, his head rested heavily on her shoulder and his body grew lax. “There, that’s a very good boy.” She laid him in his cot, tugged Buddy beside him, and tucked a soft blue-and-purple-striped flannel blanket about them.
    Silence descended. After a day in the chaos of steerage, this solitude ought