The Scent Of Roses

Chapter Fifteen- London, England: 1867

London,                              

England, 1867

                The sailors bustled around on the wooden docks. They were all trying to get together the rest of the supplies for the long voyage ahead.

                Charles stepped onto the plank that was laid down for the passengers to get onto the ship. He turned around when he stepped onto the ship. A pale, slender hand offered itself to me.

                Any other time I wouldn’t have taken it, but Charles had only been able to get us a passage together if we were a married couple. I took the cold hand and smiled my gratefulness. Hopefully it hadn’t looked too fake.

                My feet walked carefully across the wooden board and I stepped onto the ship. I moved to the side to allow other passengers to board the ship.

                A sailor stood in the center of the deck, ordering everyone to get to the bottom of the ship. “All ye better get to the hold,” an old man ordered, his dry brittle voice yelled over all the voices of the passengers.

                I looked over at Charles. He looked around, a bored expression on his face as if he had been on dozens of ships like this one; which he probably had. I looked around, annoyed, trying to find where the entrance to the hold was.

                Charles tugged on my hand. I looked back to him; he jerked his head to where all the other passengers seemed to be drifting to. I rolled my eyes at my own lack of common sense.

                I hung onto Charles arm, trying not to bump into the other passengers. I could practically see the smirk on his face.

                Everyone formed a line to where the entrance was. Two sun-kissed sailors stood on either side of the line. I examined them both; they had to be brothers with how identical their faces looked. Sandy curls stood atop one’s head, while the other’s sun bleached hair fell to his jaw. White tunics clung to their broad shoulders.

                Finally we stepped down the wooden ladder. Charles went down first and when his feet touched the planks, I followed. His hands went to my waist. I was slightly grateful because I would have likely fell without his hands there, but I was also annoyed at his touch.

                After what seemed like a decade of slow steps down the ladder my own heeled feet touched the sturdy planks. I turned around to reveal a plain room. Barrels were the only things that decorated the space.

                Oh, and the chicken crates were also there. I could already tell this voyage was going to be long.