A Broom at the Masthead (The Drowned Books Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

those big green eyes,
sighed meltingly, and said, “Shut up, Thankful.” 
    And Russell, who
might have been an officer and accustomed to the unquestioning obedience of
men, once, but who knew his new place in the world and rather liked it, had
shut up, meekly.
    He’d tried
again, later – Zee with one elbow propped on his knee and her hair tickling his
nose, working her way industriously through his plate from the wedding supper,
marvellously, wondrously unladylike. “What?” she said indistinctly, delicately
dabbing pastry crumbs from her lips.
    He still
expected that one of these mornings she’d wake up and look at him and change
her mind, but she hadn’t so far, and since he’d been Thomazine Babbitt’s
plaything since she was two years old, he was a fool for her, he always was,
and he always would be. And now here she was, twenty-one, beautiful, very
slightly drunk – he was not going to meet her father’s sardonic gaze across the
table, because if Hollie even suspected that his eldest daughter was
tipsy, he was more than capable of up-ending her under the stable-yard pump,
big as she was.
    Actually, take
that back, because Hollie was nuzzling his stout, middle-aged lady’s ear in a
way that Russell suspected might be the result of a comfortable degree of
inebriation on his own part, and Het was squirming without much conviction.
“She’ll end up in his lap before long,” Zee said happily, following her
husband’s gaze. “How old is mama, d’you know?”
    “Your mother? Um
– fifty- something?”
    “Too old for
another baby, I suppose. Well. That’s a relief.” He probably should be shocked.
Instead, it made him laugh.
    "Russell."
She settled herself comfortably against him, her bare shoulders warm against
his arm even through the layers of linen and sensible wool. "Russell , will we have babies?"
    "What?"
    "Every -" she
straightened her back, "every time I've seen mama get - that friendly -
with daddy, she - um - I end up with a sister."
    "Would you
mind?" He wouldn't. God help him, he wouldn't.
    "What -
another sister? Well, no, but -"
    "No, Thomazine,
our own baby."
    "No. It
would be nice. Is that why mama does it?"
    "What?"
She wasn't wearing scent. She didn't wear scent. She smelt of clean skin, and
fresh air, and very slightly, of rosemary. He couldn't think straight.
    "Is that
why she does it - for the babies?"
    "Um.
No." He had no idea what Hollie was doing to his wife under the table, but
Het had a particularly glazed expression on her face and Hollie looked very
well pleased with life. Not precisely smirking, but - "I - Thomazine -
it's - it's, ah. not something I can really explain, it's, ah -"
    "Ahhh."
Enlightenment dawned. "You have to show me."
     
     
    5
     
    He didn't want to hurt her, or frighten
her. He wasn't sure he wouldn't do both.
    She sat on the
edge of the bed wearing only her prettiest shift, running a comb through her
hair. Looked up at him and smiled, that loving, wide smile that lit up her
whole dear face, and he sat down on the polished boards right where he was and
put his head in her lap. "Oh tibber, I do love you," he said softly.
    She loosed the
ribbon out of his hair and ruffled it onto his shoulders, and he shivered.
"Cold?" she said. And scooted up the bed and turned the covers back,
sitting up against the pillows with her hands round her knees.
    And then he took
a deep breath. "Thomazine - wife - I -"
    No, she was
absolutely unfazed. Not frightened. Not intimidated. Curious, but no more. Why
should she be? God knows her parents were all over each other - a miracle that
Het Babbitt wasn't knee-deep in children, by now. No, Zee knew what loving
looked like, in a most real and passionate sense. (If Russell was any judge,
he'd just sat across the table from Het whilst that unregenerate ruffian she
was married to had done the loving. In a most real and passionate sense.)
"I think I should be grateful for a hug," he said feebly, and she
scooted back down and put her