“No – my Lord,” stammered Verena, utterly embarrassed. “I was passing – and I saw ze door was open. I thought maybe – Monsieur Arthur was in here.”
There was an agonising silence.
‘What is wrong with me? Why can I not speak to this man?’ she wondered, as the long seconds ticked by.
Pete the cabin boy was still at her elbow, holding the large sack of potatoes that smelt musty.
“Excuse me, my Lord,” stammered Verena, before exiting swiftly with Pete running after her dragging the potatoes.
“Oi, wait for me!”
‘What a curious fellow,’ muttered the Marquis, as he resumed reading his book. ‘I think he may be overawed by his new surroundings. Maybe he has not travelled by sea before.’
Below deck, Verena noisily banged her pots and pans furious at herself.
“I am an imbecile. A half-wit. Wh
