8. Get Your Dog Off Of Me!

5 March 1889

"Where are we going?" Maximilian asked, trying not to lose Edgar as he walked quickly through the crowd, pushing past men in bowler hats and tailcoats and women in hoop skirts and carrying large leather-bound trunks that he had to dodge. They were at the Port of Tilbury, loud foghorns and conversation making it difficult for the wind to barely carry his question into Edgar's earshot.

"Nowhere you need to be concerned about, boy." Edgar still rarely called Maximilian by his name. It was something he had grown used to.

In the past few months of staying with the Wakefields in their London town home, he had discovered many an interesting thing about the family. First of all, Daisy Wakefield, Caro and Gideon's infant daughter, liked to crawl and sink her teeth into anything she could get her hands on-which sometimes included Maximilian's ankles. Second of all, Edgar Wakefield was a drunk.

Though he had been taught by the nuns not to say anything that was disparaging of others, he had also been raised to speak the truth. And the truth was, that in addition to his constant smoking of meerschaum pipes, he also liked the bottle a great deal. When all the others had gone to sleep, sometimes Edgar would force Maximilian to stay up with him and look over accounts or small trinkets, and during those times, Edgar would be drinking late into the night, the pungent aroma of whiskey on his breath palpable.

In the mornings, however, he would be up bright and early, having bathed and rinsed off the scent of alcohol so that it no longer clung to his clothes. He would behave as though nothing were wrong, but even when Aunt Caro discussed putting brandy in a sauce or someone else made the slightest mention of alcohol, something shifted in Edgar. His expression became hungry, his posture stiffening. Maximilian wondered how he afforded all the liquor that he drank. Though he had never touched the stuff himself, Maximilian always noted Edgar's expensive bottles of gin, sherry, wine, and whisky. That was in addition to the flashy waistcoats, gilded pocket watches, and heavy rings that adorned his person.

The Wakefields' family business, he knew after looking at the accounts, was moderately wealthy. They had made enough to be comfortable, but Aunt Caro instead of relaxing and becoming a lady of leisure as he had assumed a rich man's wife would, kept busy. She chased after her own child and was constantly sewing, cooking, or managing some other household affair. Did it mean that they were not as rich as Maximilian thought, or did it simply mean that Aunt Caro disliked being idle?

The smell of saltwater splashed against his face, the clammy sensation of damp fog sending a shudder down his nape. It was constantly grey in England and the poor weather was compounded by the fact that they were now by the docks. Were they meeting a client here? That would not make sense, not when Edgar constantly harped on about the importance of appearances and how significant it was to always meet someone at a location of sufficient luxury that would sufficiently impress them.

"What are we doing at the docks?" Maximilian asked, hopping over a puddle in an effort to keep up with Edgar's long strides. He carried a large trunk, one that Maximilian had not seen before, and a leather portfolio tucked under his arm.

"One more question, boy." Edgar glowered down at him, but Maximilian would not be so easily cowed, especially since the man had never finished his threat. He had escaped Mistress Masterson's watchful glare relatively unscathed, and he would fight this, too. They finally stopped at a gangway that led to a large ship with a mermaid as the figurehead on its prow. A man stood there, glancing down at his watch and tapping his foot. "Here are the papers you requested, Captain."

"Are you sure this lad is old enough?" The man asked, his large hat obscuring most of his face. Maximilian could make out a hooked nose and green eyes. He swallowed nervously. Why did it matter how old he was?

"Sixteen is plenty old," Edgar said. Sixteen? Maximilian was merely fourteen. What was happening?

"Well, then, I'm certain you've packed his things there," the Captain said, rummaging in his pockets. He extracted a billfold and passed ten fifty-pound notes to Edgar. "For your... expenses, Mr. Wakefield."

What was the Captain paying him for?

"Well, boy?" the Captain said, peering down at Maximilian. "Were you not apprised of your new profession?"

"I-What?" He turned to look at Edgar, then at the Captain.

The captain chuckled, revealing a gold tooth among a row of yellowing ones. "Did you not tell your son?"

"He isn't my son," Edgar said at the same time that Maximilian denied Edgar as his father.

"Well, this boy, then. Did you not tell him of how much you are being paid to sell him into my service?" the Captain asked.

"I shan't be sold," Maximilian said, his heart pounding. All around them, people rushed by with baggage in hand, their chatter loud and almost deafening, yet here, he felt as if a bubble surrounded the three of them, drowning out all other noises. "I won't go!"

Edgar had already tucked the bills into his pocket, and made to grip Maximilian's arm, but he squirmed away, taking off at a speedy clip, doing his best to disappear into the crowds.

***

Maximilian tucked himself into the cargo hold of the RMS Etruria, not caring that a rat was nibbling at a shoe a few feet away from him. He had dealt with worse than rats. He would stow away on this ship if only to avoid Edgar's backhanded dealings. At least now he knew how the man could afford to consume such vast amounts of rum. Shivering, he tucked his jacket more closely around himself. If only he had also grabbed Edgar's trunk that was doubtless full of his things, but as it was it would have weighed him down and prevented his escape. Surveying his surroundings, he crammed himself into a more inconspicuous position behind a pile of colourful hatboxes when he heard heavy footsteps.

"I paid for a boy to join my naval crew, and a boy I shall have," the Captain's voice bellowed. "Have you seen a scrawny lad of about sixteen, with dark hair and sallow skin?"

Maximilian bristled at the comment. He was not scrawny, and though neither swarthy nor pale, he would not describe himself as sallow. Still, he stayed still, listening to the reply the Captain received.

"I have seen no such lad, Captain. Now if you could please remove yourself from my ship, I would highly appreciate it." The impatient voice of another man reached him, ringing throughout the small hold filled with crates. "We are already running behind schedule. The RMS Etruria was supposed to have departed half an hour ago."

"Listen here. At least allow me to search the cargo hold if you really have no stowaways. I saw him run in this direction!" the Captain hollered.

The man sighed. Maximilian tensed, hoping that the other man would not allow the Captain to search the hold. "Very well, but I shall be with you the whole time, to ensure that you do nothing reckless or improper."

How would he escape now? The Captain would haul him off this ship and Maximilian would be press-ganged into naval service... Suddenly, a yip reached his ears. Then another bark.

A girl's voice cried, "Minnie, get back here at once!"

Then, an older woman's resigned, long-suffering voice rang through the hold. "Rosalie, you really mustn't raise your voice so. It is most unbecoming for a young lady of your rank."

Light, scurrying footsteps reached him. He tensed, backing up against the wall and trying to remain invisible. The Captain's heavy clomps as he made his way through the hold increased Maximilian's pulse with each step. He tried to make as little noise as possible, but it felt near impossible when his breathing became shallow pants. Suddenly, a whimper reached his ears, and he looked down. It was... a dog.

Was this Minnie?

Moments later, a blonde girl in a blue dress squeezed next to him in the cargo hold. "Minerva, there you are!"

He stopped breathing for a moment at the sight of her. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head in careful curls that were slowly coming unpinned, her blue dress now stained, her slippers scuffed. But the flush in her pale cheeks made her look vivacious, alive.

"Who are you?" she asked, lowering her voice.

He held a finger to his lips as the captain and the purser made their way over to where he was hiding, cautioning this Rosalie to be silent. She nodded, quickly understanding, and, gripping her small dog to her chest, she snuck out from in front of the crates. He could hear the sounds of a scuffle. A bark and a shout reached his ears as the Captain began hollering in earnest. "Get your dog off of me, you... you!"

Maximilian hid his laugh behind his handkerchief.

"I am so sorry, sir! It isn't my fault... Minerva is only a few months old... She hasn't been properly trained, you see..." Rosalie said, her apologetic tone not genuine in the least. "I am sure she didn't mean to attack you."

The captain made a noise that sounded like a growl. "How dare you bring an improperly trained mongrel onto the ship, girl?"

"Captain, you forget yourself." The purser's tone gave off warning signs. "This girl is not any child, she is the only daughter of Lord Winthrop."

Lord Winthrop? The name sounded familiar...

"I do not care if she is some hoity-toity lord's brat. Her mutt attacked me. I have scratches all over my face."

"Then let us get you off this ship and to see a doctor right away, hmm?" The purser said, sounding relieved for an excuse to expel the captain from his ship.

Their footsteps retreated until there was nothing but the sound of crashing waves. Rosalie returned, a smile on her face. She burst into laughter. "Oh, you should have seen the look on his face when Minerva leaped up at him! I had no idea she could jump so high..."

He broke into laughter as well. "I'm Maximilian Walker."

She curtsied. He awkwardly bowed. "Rosalie Winthrop. It is a pleasure to meet you."

click the link to keep reading! https://yonder.onelink.me/6vpb/46a0c21e