Peggy Henderson Adventures 3-Book Bundle. Gina McMurchy-Barber
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kissed me goodnight and headed up the stairs. “Oh, by the way, Aunt Beatrix hopes you’ll take her to see the petroglyphs tomorrow. I told her I was sure you’d be ecstatic!” I heard her giggle after she’d turned off the light. I groaned and flung the pillow at her. Aunt Beatrix may want to see Heron Park tomorrow, but I was starting scuba diving lessons. I also needed to come up with the second part of my plan — how to make sure Mom let me go on the search for the Intrepid.
Happy to finally have time to myself I snuggled down in the sleeping bag and opened Captain Whittaker’s journal.
October 18th, 1811
By all estimates we shall reach St. Catherine’s in a fortnight. It will do us all good to get off the ship and stretch our legs. The island is a serviceable destination to take on fresh supplies, for it abounds with plantains, oranges and bananas, and abundant good spring water. I have ordered Mister Carver to stock us with enough to reach the Sandwich Islands. The last time I made this same voyage it took us nearly a month to sail round the Horn for the winds were fierce and tempestuous and drove us back nearly two hundred miles. If luck be on our side we will get past her before winter sets in.
We have on board a fine band of musicians and they play most nights. This is a great source of comfort for us all. Besides singing and dancing the men occupy themselves in the evenings with card playing, chess, and a few of the lads who are able enjoy reading. There are some who would like it very much should I allow more consumption of rum and gambling. However, since the voyage when we lost our master gunner, who threw himself overboard when he had gambled away a year’s pay and his father’s pocket watch, I have kept the spirits and gambling to a minimum.
I am pleased to see an alliance has sprung up between one of my young clerks, Mister Albert Smedley and Mister Lockhart. The boy was educated in Brighton and as such is good company for the gentleman. The two frequently engage in lively discussions at mealtime. Most recently I enjoyed their debate regarding Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Art of War — Smedley much more the pacifist than the other gentleman. Nevertheless, perhaps this new friendship is evidence that Lockhart is finally settling into the rhythm of sea life. Should this be the case it would put my mind at rest.
I have made a point to remind Cook to set out the salt dish at mealtimes. I prefer it as a savory over the salt water he uses, which seems to make the meat tough.
Captain James Whittaker
October 27th, 1811
I recently learned that my boatswain, Mister Douglas, had forfeited an entire month’s pay over a gambling debt. It is in fact the second such incident in recent days and in each case it seems there was a liberal outpouring of cheap gin that preceded the gaming. It is a well known fact that Mister Douglas cannot hold his liquor nor afford to lose a month’s pay, what with a family of seven at home. When I learned of the loss I was indeed very angry and immediately sought out my first mate, Mister Carver. He conducted a brief investigation and learned that it was Mister Lockhart who not only provided the men with excessive gin, but is the man to whom Mister Douglas was indebted.
Mister Lockhart’s actions constitute treachery and are a threat to the success of this voyage. Out of respect for Mister Astor, I chose to approach the matter as a gentleman. When Lockhart appeared before me I strongly suggested he release Mister Douglas from his debt. At this the man scoffed at me heartily, saying such action would undermine the men’s respect for him and he would never be able to command them. At this I reminded him that it was my job to command the crew and his to oversee the trading. He was mildly contrite and agreed never to give them liquor without my specific permission. He did not yet commit to releasing Mister Douglas from the debt.
A note to self: Instruct Mister Carver to convey to the crew the need to wash their bodies more regularly. Besides the innocuous odour, I wish to see them remain healthy and fit for the duration of the voyage.
Captain James Whittaker
Monday morning I woke feeling queasy — almost like I was seasick. When I rolled out of bed I forgot I was on the sofa and landed on the floor with a loud thunk. Mom poked her head into the living room.
“You okay, kiddo?”
“Groannnnn! Other than the fact that my back hurts from this coil in the sofa poking me all night, and cramps in my legs from not being able to stretch them out, and an upset stomach — I guess you could say I’m hunky-dory.”
“Good. I left cereal on the table for you. I’m just going to dive into the shower and when I’m finished you can have the bathroom. Okay?” I nodded sleepily and was about to get back under the covers. Wait — did she say “dive”? I sat up abruptly, forgetting all my aches and pains.
“Yahoo! I start diving lessons today.” Mom’s head shot around the corner.
“What? Did you say you’re starting diving lessons today?” Oh right, I’d decided to put off telling her yesterday about the start date to avoid setting Aunt Margaret off again … who for some reason was determined now that I take Aunt Beatrix off her hands every day. “Sorry Mom, the plan changed a bit. TB has something he has to do later in the month so we had to start this week. My lessons are at four o’clock.” Mom plunked down on the sofa looking dazed.
“I’m sorry I won’t be able to entertain Aunt Beatrix after school today. It’s just too bad she has to leave next weekend. I was starting to enjoy getting to know her.”
“Really? Well, I’m glad you feel that way. I did notice how well the two of you get on.” Was she blind? It was just out of necessity that I let the old bird boss me around and teach me useless stuff like table setting. But soon she’d be gone and I’d be off the hook. I began folding up the sleeping bag.
“Actually, Peggy, yours aren’t the only plans that have changed. You know how Aunt Margaret and Uncle Stewart have been thinking of taking that Caribbean cruise for a long time, but the timing just never seemed right? Well, they are finally doing it … and they leave this Saturday for three weeks.”
“This Saturday? That’s great,” I chirped. Now I knew why she was so busy and stressed lately. Then I realized three weeks without Aunt Margaret on my heels would be like having my own holiday.
“Yes, it is great. They so deserve something like this after all they’ve done for us. And the reason we all feel so free about them going is knowing you won’t be home alone waiting for me to get back from work.”
“Right, because I’ll be taking scuba diving lessons.”
“Actually, no, it’s because Aunt Beatrix has agreed to stay on.” I jumped off the seat and hit my knee on the coffee table.
“Ouch!” I yelped. “Mom, what were you thinking? I don’t need a babysitter.” How could they think I needed looking after — and of all people they chose the Grim Reaper of children? “I repeat, Mom, what were you thinking?”
“You just said how it was too bad she wasn’t staying longer. And besides, it’s not all about you. She’ll be able to get the meals started, keep Duff company, and be here if you should — as completely unlikely as it could be — get into trouble and need help. And on the bright side, you’ll have scuba lessons to focus on and you’ll get your room back after Aunt Beatrix moves into Margaret’s room.”
The bright side, right! How was I ever going to survive another month with the only person in the world more uptight than Aunt Margaret? This is exactly the kind of thing that could give a kid nightmares or a nervous tick. Just then I remembered the trip to find the Intrepid. School would be finished and maybe if I just played along with all this I’d have a better chance of getting Mom’s permission to go with Dr. Hunter and his research team. I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and then quickly shifted gears.
“Okay, Mom. That’s cool.” I could tell my sudden change of attitude surprised her.
“It’s cool? Well, good. Quite honestly I thought you’d put up more of a fuss, but I guess this means you’re growing up, and getting more mature.”
“Sure, that’s it, Mom.