Penchley had intended to use this trip across the Indian Ocean to cement the attachment begun during the trip through Egypt, but how could he when she treated him with the polite indifference owed a stranger, and refused any overtures?
She blamed him for her doubts about Harburn's intentions, though that dirty dog's purchase of a houseload of furniture to send to Italy was hardly Penchley's fault.
He had learned his lesson, though, about disclosing such stories directly to the lady. Once he'd won back her trust, he'd be more careful.
He'd been careful in Cairo. His skilful manipulation of the British Consul made him smile, even all these days later. He really was an excellent diplomat.
Mr Finlayson, in a dither over his coming interview with His Grace, the Duke of Haverford, had been grateful for the background on the duke's decision to take his daughter to the other side of the world. "The finest of women, I assure you," Penchley had said, "and you must decide for yourself what kind of cad has enemies who would attack an innocent lady, and one of such high estate. One of the slanderers was Harburn's own cousin!"
Finlayson expressed appropriate horror, and Penchley hastened to disclaim the rumour that Harburn and Lady Athol had once been very close, a circumstance that explained Lady Athol's hasty marriage. "I have no evidence to confirm that story," he said, "but I know for a fact that Harburn and the villain who attacked Lady Sarah fought over a woman in Paris. Something to do with... irregular practices, if you know what I mean."
"I should mention none of this to His Grace, I suppose," Finlayson said, and Penchley assured him that the facts were known all over England. "His Grace will be pleased to know the truth of Lady Sarah's innocence has reached as far as Cairo," he explained. "Especially after the incident in Alexandria." He explained about the fight.
"But it hasn't," Finlayson protested. "I have heard nothing about any of the parties in this scandal, except from you."
"That's good then. Although... Never mind."
Penchley allowed himself to be persuaded to share his concern that—since the rumours had clearly reached Egypt—Finlayson was not as in touch with local sentiment as he should be. "I am sure His Grace will understand," Penchley said. "Your focus on your family, and your relationship with the local people—that is important to the British Empire too, I am sure."
Finlayson, who had married the daughter of an Egyptian notable and been shunted out of all further promotions as a result, chewed at the side of his lower lip, his brow creased. "I suppose I should know what the local British residents are saying," he agreed.
"And any travellers passing through. Over to you, sir, but if I might offer a little advice? It can never hurt to keep such a dignitary happy. You don't need to mention me at all, and if the duke assumes you collected the information in the streets, using your own sources? All to the good."
Finlayson fidgeted nervously with his pen. "I couldn't do that. Could I?"
"Perhaps you could reassure the duke, father to father? Your eldest daughter is a little younger than Lady Sarah, but still... Yes. That will work nicely, I think."
The duke arrived then, interrupting their little tête-à-tête, but it had done the trick. Within minutes, Finlayson was expressing his sympathy for the wronged lady and the distraught father. His Grace enquired, with distant politeness, about the source of Finlayson's information, and Finlayson claimed multiple informants in Cairo—some travellers, others residents. His Grace became colder, stiffer, and more polite still.
Before long, he rose to his feet. "I regret that I must take my leave, Finlayson."
"Of course, Your Grace." Finlayson was on his feet too, bowing, his face screwed into an anxious frown.
"We cross the desert tomorrow," Penchley explained. "I understand we leave early to avoid the worst of the heat."
Finlayson bowed them out of his office and then his residence, catching Penchley by the arm to whisper, "I thought that went well, didn't you?"
Penchley was able to answer with complete sincerity. "Very well, indeed."
It was time to deploy similar tactics here on the Seventh Seas ship that had been waiting in Suez by some alchemy of messaging. Penchley had already picked his rumour carriers: people who could be depended upon to share any secret they were told in confidence; people who would protect their own reputations for knowing everything by not disclosing their sources.
Penchley would need to be cautious; his enemy, Harburn, was the son of the owner, of course, who enjoyed near-goddess status on her own ships. But he'd found the trigger point for each of the people he'd selected—the man who blamed the duchess's pet captain, Hawley, for his own failure to rise in the ranks; the youth who compared his pay with the fabled wealth of the owner and resented both her and her son as parasites growing fat on his labour; the mercenary in Haverford's employ who had fallen in love with Lady Sarah and wanted to believe the worst of Harburn.
He would tailor his stories to each and sit back to see the results. With luck, the rumours would take on a life of their own, growing and changing as they swept the ship from the topmost to the scuppers. With more luck, the duke would hear them. Or even better, Lady Sarah.
***
Sally found the first officer, Lieutenant Mandeville, an excellent companion. For one thing, he was very knowledgeable about navigation and good enough at practical mathematics to be able to explain the reasons behind calculations unfamiliar with her. Up on the command deck with her sextant and the stars above her, Sally could forget the world existed and immerse herself in the joy of learning.
More important than his intelligence and his willingness to treat her mind as worthy of respect, he was a married man, happily devoted to the wife and two children who waited for him in Kalicut, this ship's next stop.
She was with him one evening, having been promised stars new to her. This close to the equator, on a course that would round the toe of India, the season and the cloudless sky would allow for her a first sight of the Southern Cross.
They were early for their appointment with the universe and sat in silence waiting, so the conversation below drifted easily to Sally's ears. Several voices, perhaps as many as half a dozen, were sharing stories about some mutual acquaintance—gossiping, they'd call it in a woman. She wasn't really paying attention, most of her mind calculating time and trajectories, but a few phrases caught her ear. "...half the whores in France, and now Italy... ," "...promised to marry at least two different women... ," "...breaks their hearts and leaves them... ," "...likes it rough, whether the woman want it that way or not..."
The man sounded like a right bastard.
Then came the sentence that caught her full attention. "Poor Lady Sarah. Someone should tell her."
Toad? They were discussing Toad?
Mandeville was watching her, his eyes warm with compassion. "Perhaps we should go in?" he murmured.
Sally had no compunction about letting the scandalmongers know they had been heard. She pitched her voice to carry. "Not at all, Mr Mandeville. I have been promised the Southern Cross, and I intend to see it. No matter what lies idle people see fit to repeat in my presence."
Silence from below, followed by the scuffle of feet and then rapid footsteps retreating.
They were lies. They had to be lies.
"Mr Mandeville, you have heard the rumours?"
A cautious nod.
"Those men were referring to Lord Harburn?"
Nod again.
Sally hesitated before her next request, but she needed to know. "I would be grateful if you repeated them to me. That man was correct. I need to know what is being said."
When he did not respond, she raised an eyebrow and her chin, defying not so much poor Mr Mandeville, but the entire universe that seemed to be conspiring to separate her from her beloved.
At last, he gave his reluctant agreement. "If you insist, my lady."
"I insist." She picked up the telescope that was the successor of the one she had been given when she was ten; the one she had been using that day more than a decade ago when she fell in love with her best friend. The stories couldn't be true. They just couldn't.
"But first, the Southern Cross."