Salvation of Ignorance - Chapter 7.1: Not Ceased His Rampage

Salvation of Ignorance - Chapter 7.1: Not Ceased His Rampage

“Two months?”

“At the minimum.” The First Lieutenant failed to ease Phoebe’s discomposure.

Phoebe stepped aside to allow a sailor, with cargo, to pass by. Her arms instinctively wrapped around her torso during the passage, which she allowed continued residence, after its commencement, to aid the onset of nausea. Early mornings often plagued her with sickness and an accompaniment of headaches. Though, the sea breeze, screeching rats with wings, and recent sighting of Mr. Claremont—pardon, Lord Claremont--joining in the two-month-minimum voyage were of equal guilt.

Mr. Talwin had confirmed Lord Claremont's voyaging on the same vessel as she (one of the Talwin's best vessels, he informed her upon multiple occasions). She simply made the assumption that Mr. Talwin's friend would not join them on the excursion. After all, he had only invaded--visited--her homeland for two days (excluding the additional week that passed since the incident that shall not be discussed). Yet, there the lord stood, instructing a crewman with his luggage. His back was to the vessel’s railing. A perfect position to cast his deviously-gorgeous face out to the fathoms below.

“If it’s any consolation,” The First Lieutenant started again, “my employer has arranged a special room for your travel.”

Phoebe thanked him and followed, as he was gentlemanly enough to direct her personally to the room. Speaking of gentlemanliness, in order to reach the stairs that lead to the sleeping quarters, she had to pass by its antonym.

It was just her misfortune that the antonym should pay attention to the party that crossed his path. The misfortune was accompanied by Phoebe's mistake of inspecting his general direction. This lead to the discovery that he had chose to make the same mistake. He stiffened and her frown became perpetual.

Then he bowed glacially.

There were two options that Phoebe could contrive in the time allotted her: she could snub his gesture or reluctantly return it.

As tempting as it was to justly smite him, Phoebe was cursed with an over-active conscious that told her that her reluctance was an easier battle to conquer. She foolishly succumbed to sloth, which rewarded her with an inevitable escape from her conscious as her curtsy in mid-walk induced a stumble. The voice of her conscious furthered in prowess when such stumble was ceased by the back of the first lieutenant and she was now dependent upon her daily practice of apologies to convince him that she had not intentionally assaulted him.

To keep the voice at bay, she mentally repeated her declaration of hatred for Lord Claremont.

“I hope the arrangements are to your liking,” Mr. Talwin mused during the walk about her first return to the deck since her second exhibition of grace.

“Quite lovely, thank you for the arrangements,” Phoebe choose rather than to admit the lack of spaciousness and distasteful bunkmates. Both of which helped to convince her to take advantage of Mr. Talwin’s offer to enjoy the mostly empty deck as it had taken a week for her to comprehend its rarity.

“I know it’s not quite the roominess you’re accustom to,” Mr. Talwin started again.

Phoebe knew the excuse he was about to produce as it was the same Homer used to hamper her departure.

“Those vessels are not built for comfort, you know. You will be sleeping in the bare necessities.”

“But I personally visited a seamstress, before departure, for new linens,” Mr. Talwin added to his rendition to Homer’s quote.

“Thank you, but you didn’t need to trouble yourself.” Though she was grateful he did so regardless.

“Oh, it was no trouble at all, I assure you. Not that I mind enduring troubles for you. Simply that it was no trouble to trouble myself on your behalf.”

She nodded her head and smiled with closed lips during his monologue. It was her best tactic thus far.

The sensation of his examination of her face unnerved her. Not in the way his friend’s did, thank omens, but in a way where the only production of heat was to be the result if she chose to relieve the itches with an application of friction. But her hand was in the crevice of his arm, so the itching was allowed to manifest.

“Not that this was my incentive to do these things,” Mr. Talwin spoke after they reached the end of the boat and turned to continue the infinite retracing of steps, “but I’ve been meaning to speak with you these past weeks.”

“Oh?” She feigned curiosity despite knowing only a plethora of blasphemous topics lied at the wake.

“I would like to clarify that I’m not an advocate of what my friend did that night.”

Phoebe released a breath she was unaware of having been holding. His friend had kept his word. Not that his word would’ve been a valid one, but an impossibility to clarify.

“He simply asked me to dance. Perhaps we should not fault him for being the unlucky revealer of my secret.” Truthfully, she blamed Lord Claremont for the cataclysm of nature and he had laid claim to willfully exposing her shortcoming. Phoebe simply preferred to avoid mention of it as she was certain slighting Mr. Talwin’s friend would be less favorable.

“Yes, but he did, and it was most unbecoming.”

Phoebe noted that he did not deny her shortcoming. “Well, as I said, it wasn’t as if it was known prior.”

"Oh, no, of course it wasn’t,” Mr. Talwin answered immediately. “I would have intervened if it had been.”

She nodded, uncertain as to the proper reply he was fishing for. Choosing to await for his start of another topic, she occupied herself in viewing the perpetual, flat-lined ocean to the side of her.

There was a rapt to her freely exposed elbow and Phoebe was midway through an eye-roll before she caught herself. The gesture had been committed by her payment to receive Homer’s approval for travel: Mima.

For the same reason Phoebe couldn’t unleash a well-practiced speech of her distaste for the recently acknowledged baron, she was forced to succumb to Mima’s warning rapture in spite of Phoebe’s desire to give a groan of frustration.

“Thank you for the potential gesture, then,” Phoebe attempted to say through a smile rather than gritted teeth, for the statement was ridiculously unnecessary.

“I’m sorry,” was Mr. Talwin’s reply, confusing Phoebe with its origin until he continued, “we’re neglecting…your, uh…”

Phoebe assessed her posture and realized that she had directed her gaze behind them and had been glaring at the water to the left of Mima.

Mr. Talwin seemed to be looking at Phoebe for a proper address for Mima, despite the earlier introduction.

“Governess?” She supplied.

The gap between his lips did not fill immediately. “Uh…yes.”

Phoebe nodded when she realized he was unable (or lacked the desire) to fill the silence. She then turned to Mima to give her permission to speak, but the coal-faced, old maid stood unnecessarily formal.

Suppressing a nostril sigh of annoyance, Phoebe succumbed again, “Mima is familiar with Greek mythology, if you are a fan, Mr. Talwin.”

As they turned to retrace their steps, Mr. Talwin chose to cease momentum and properly address their third wheel, “I could always use a refresher course.”

Despite having merely a view of his profile, Phoebe could see his eyes widen after the completion of the sentence. The action became more obvious when he still adorned it after turning to address Phoebe, “Not that I neglect my studies, of course, and I’m generally well enough at retaining what materials I’ve acquired, of course. Simply that I would love to hear the mythology from someone different.”

Phoebe was genuinely impressed to see his eyes grow any wider as he turned to Mima.

“Not to imply that you are different, madam,” Mr. Talwin paused and placed a finger to the renewed gap in his mouth. “Yes, ‘madam’.”

Mima curtsied.

Phoebe smiled sincerely at the English gentleman, “So, you are interested in hearing them?”

“Yes, of course,” He quickly returned her smile.

Phoebe turned to Mima, hoping the statement was permission enough.

“Do you have a personal favorite?” Mima finally complied.