Read Online The Fever Tree by Jennifer McVeigh - Free Book Online

clutched her shawl and demanded to know where she would find her luggage. Casks, barrels, and crates were being loaded onto the deck by sailors whose voices carried above the racket. Wire boxes stuffed full of squawking chickens were stacked one on top of another, and a cow, supremely calm, licked the fresh paint from the balustrade.
    “Miss Irvine?” Frances turned to see a florid-faced gentleman with orange whiskers bearing down on her. “Well, what about this!” he cried. “I didn’t know you were traveling on the
Cambrian
.”
    “Mr. Nettleton.” She gave him her hand, and he turned to the group standing behind them at the stern.
    “Liza!” He waved to his wife. “Look who I’ve found!”
    Mrs. Nettleton, a friend of her cousin Lucille, was easy to spot. She was a tall woman with a manicured beauty: no eyebrows, and a neat, fashionable hat trimmed with brightly colored parrot feathers, now beading with the rain which blew in under her umbrella. The hat looked pathetically jaunty against the iron-gray sea. She was talking to a broad-shouldered gentleman whom Frances recognized as the man who had helped her in the station. He had made the train after all. Neither of them looked up, although Frances was sure Mrs. Nettleton had seen her.
    “Liza!” her husband called again. “It’s Miss Irvine!”
    His wife said something in a low voice to her companion, and stepped over to them. She gave Frances a thin smile. “How do you do, Miss Irvine?” She didn’t offer her hand. “I was sorry to hear about your father.”
    “Thank you.”
    The gentleman joined their group, gazed at her, and—when she caught his eye—winked. His eyes, dark lashed and heavy lidded, weren’t black, as they had looked in the gloom of the station, but a rich amber flecked with green, like stones glinting underwater. She smiled at him. There was an awkward silence while everyone waited for Mrs. Nettleton to make introductions. After a moment, Frances realized that Liza Nettleton, who had known her since she was a very young girl, was refusing to introduce her. She froze in embarrassment and felt a deep flush rising up her neck.
    Ignoring her, Mrs. Nettleton turned to her husband. “Can you believe they still won’t show us to our cabin? I think you should have another word with the steward.”
    The other gentleman ran a hand over his jaw and looked at Frances. “We have already had the pleasure of making each other’s acquaintance, but there wasn’t time to ask your name.”
    “Ah, so you’ve met already,” Mr. Nettleton said, looking pleased. “Miss Irvine, this is Mr. William Westbrook. Mr. Westbrook, Miss Frances Irvine.”
    Frances gave the man her hand. He didn’t look English, though his voice carried no accent. He had a well-trimmed beard, wire-black. His nose was straight and fine-boned, but his nostrils flared slightly and his mouth had a wide fullness which was curling into a smile as he looked at her. She realized he understood her awkwardness and it amused him.
    “Miss Irvine is Sir John Hamilton’s niece,” Mr. Nettleton said, glancing anxiously at his wife, who was looking unhappy. Then he said to Frances, “Did I miss your name on the passenger list? Who are you traveling with?”
    “I have assisted passage to Cape Town.” Her hand went to her throat, where it began to pull nervously at the soft skin of her neck. Awkward questions were sure to follow the revelation that she was traveling second class.
    Mrs. Nettleton glanced over at the huddle of girls by the balustrade. “With the Female Middle Class Emigration Society?” Frances nodded. “I’ve done some charity work for them in London. A wonderful organization. In fact,” she said, laying a hand on Mr. Westbrook’s arm, “Mrs. Sambourne, who chairs the society, is a very good friend of mine.” She gave Frances a smile, both sympathetic and dismissive. “You must let me know if I can help with anything. Mrs. Sambourne asked me specifically to