“If the captain needs you, we can manage,” she said. “We have Henrietta and Karen, the two maids. But Mr. Turner prefers a man to serve.”
I said that I was probably not so useful that I could not be spared, and that I would try. Vail’s suggestion had come back to me, and this was my chance to get Williams’s keys. Miss Lee having spoken to the captain, I was relieved from duty, and went aft with her. What with the plunging of the vessel and the slippery decks, she almost fell twice, and each time I caught her.
The second time, she wrenched her ankle, and stood for a moment holding to the rail, while I waited beside her. She wore a heavy ulster of some rough material, and a small soft hat of the same material, pulled over her ears. Her soft hair lay wet across her forehead.
“How are you liking the sea, Leslie?” she said, after she had tested her ankle and found the damage inconsiderable.
“Very much, Miss Lee.”
“Do you intend to remain a—a sailor?”
“I am not a sailor. I am a deck steward, and I am about to become a butler.”
“That was our agreement,” she flashed at me.
“Certainly. And to know that I intend to fulfill it to the letter, I have only to show this.”
It had been one of McWhirter’s inspirations, on learning how I had been engaged, the small book called “The Perfect Butler.” I took it from the pocket of my flannel shirt, under my oilskins, and held it out to her.