Dreaming by Jill Barnett Page B

his head slightly, then appeared to think long and hard. He shrugged at the room in general and turned toward Richard. “Sorry, yer lordship. The crew ate everything and there be no meat left to stew.”
    Richard slowly faced them and, through a tight humorless smile, said, “We could always stew Gus.”
    Gus looked up from his soup bone and smacked loudly.
    “He doesn’t mean that,” Letty told the man. “He wouldn’t stew Gus.” She looked back at them and wondered which one of them was going to outlast the other, Richard or Gus. At that moment it appeared that Gus was winning.
    She crooked a finger at the newest brother. He shook his head vigorously and hugged the door a tad closer to his stocky chest.
    She moved closer, not minding too much when he took two steps backward and raised the gun a notch, the knuckles on one hand turning white from gripping the door. She supposed he had his reasons. She glanced back at the repaired wall. The blast had shaken the entire ship.
    “Perhaps you could bring him something to eat—bread, water, something.” She leaned toward the smuggler and lowered her voice. “I believe that then Richard might stop sulking.”
    “I am not sulking.”
    “Oh.” She spun around. “What do you call it?”
    He glared at her, then at Gus. “I call it hell.”
    “You’re quibbling over words because you’re angry at Gus and at this situation. And probably hungry. I understand.” She looked at the smuggler. “He is usually a perfectly wonderful man. He acts as if he doesn’t care about anything, but he does. Why, he saved our lives . . . Gus’s and mine. Yours too. He did put out the fire. Isn’t there some saying that there is nothing more feared by sailors than a fire at sea?”
    “Aye, but since last night, some of the men might be arguing that a fire aboard ship can’t be as bad as a woman.”
    “I’d suggest, then, that you throw us overboard,” Richard said, still looking at Gus. “Him first.”
    Letty watched Richard tentatively. “I do believe he needs to find his sense of humor again.” She swung back around to the older man. “He is very witty, you know.” She paused, then asked, “What is your name?”
    The man crinkled his eyes suspiciously, and his gaze darted back and forth between Richard and her. “Why do ye want t’ know?”
    “Because it would be easier to converse, and I can’t very well call you ‘ Phelim ’ or ‘ Philbert .’ Since you all look so alike, I daresay that people must call you by the wrong name constantly. And if I address you by your family name, then that would be the same as your brothers, Mr. So and So, and any one of you could answer, now couldn’t you? Of course you would all answer to the same name, so you could all answer at once. I imagine that must be terribly confusing, mustn’t it?”
    “Probably no more confusing than this conversation,” Richard said under his breath.
    “Are you confused . . . Mr. . . . ” She stopped and turned toward the man.
    The musket hung forgotten from his hand and his mouth gaped open. “ Phineas ,” the man answered, trancelike.
    “Oh, truly? I had a great uncle named Phineas .” She glanced from Phineas to Richard. “He was the brother of an earl, just as you were. But now you’re not, because you’re earl, but before you were—his brother, that is. He was so terribly interesting.”
    Richard looked up and asked, “My brother?”
    “No,” she said. “You aren’t listening very closely.”
    “It wouldn’t help if I were.”
    She looked at him glowering and gave him a smile. He didn’t smile back. She sighed. “Now where was I?”
    Richard just gave her a telling look.
    “Oh yes, I remember. We were speaking about my great uncle Phineas .” She took a breath and looked at the smuggler. “He has the same name as you do.”
    Phineas was scratching his head.
    “He had very large ears—which was strange, because he studied frogs.” She looked from one to the