A horse-drawn cart was barreling down on them, Callista and Professor Whitten stepped behind a wall of crates and barrels.

A heavy silence descended.

They both stared at the ground between them.

Callista put her basket on the ground behind her. Her breathing was shallow and her palms felt damp. She scrubbed her right hand on her skirt then held it out to him. “Professor Whitten.”

He raised his head and when he saw her hand held out to him, his eyes went wide in surprise. “Yes.”

“I want to thank you…for bringing me to London today. I mean I would not have known how to get to the waterfront.”

He took her hand.

It was warm, and his grasp firm.

“I also want to say thank you for teaching me mathematics. If it was not for you, I would not have this opportunity.”

He gave her hand a squeeze and let go.

“Early on you showed a gift for it,” he said. “A facility with numbers and an uncanny, innate understanding of logic. It would have been a sin not to train a mind like yours, even though it exits inside a female body.”

They held each other’s gaze and the animosity of the past two weeks seemed to evaporate.

Callista felt her throat tightening. She had to get the words out, it was her last chance. She cleared her throat. “I think I inherited my fondness for numbers from my father.”

“What did you say?” Professor Whitten’s eyes narrowed and a pink flush rose out of his collar and was spreading rapidly across his cheeks.

Callista stared at him.

“Who told you?” he was angry.

“No one. I figured it out.”

He laughed mockingly. “Of course, you would, with a mind like yours, how foolish of me not to realize.” Then he leaned in and through gritted teeth he asked, “how long have you known?”

She opened her mouth to reply.

“No!” He quickly lowered his voice. “Do not utter another word,” his hand shot out like he was going to strike her.

Callista startled and stumbled backward, kicking her basket as she tried to dodge his blow. Out of the corner of her eye, horrified, she watched the basket topple and roll away. 

“Not another word. You could ruin everything for me.”

Ganymede came sauntering out from behind her skirts.

The professor looked down. “You stole my cat, you wretched girl!” He leaned over and snatched up Ganymede.

Callista reached for the cat.

Professor Whitten clutched Ganny to his chest and turned his body sideways, creating more distance between Callista and Ganymede.

“Please, he is my only friend. I could not leave him behind.”

“Well, you shant have him,” he stormed away. Over his shoulder he said, “Goodbye, Miss Rhywun.”

---

“What is going on over there?” Killian pointed to a pile of crates and barrels off to their right.

Moses turned around. “Where?”

“There,” Killian pointed.

“All I see is an angry man in dark clothes…I think he carries…yes, he has a cat. I like cats.”

“How do you know he is angry?”

“His face,” Moses said, then squinted his eyes, leaned forward, and frowned.

“I see what you mean, but no,” Killian pointed first at the man, “not him,” then swung his arm and pointed at the pile of crates, “her.”

Killian watched as a small female pulled an ugly straw bonnet from her head and threw it away, presumably on the ground. She next pulled off her mop cap and tossed it down as well. She pulled at her fichu around her neck, then she fumbled with something on her chest.

“She is takin’ off her clothes,” Moses said.

“Yes,” Killian said, “intriguing, is it not?”

“Is she mad in the head, Hood?” Moses tapped his temple.

The breeze carried her grunts of frustration.

For a moment she was lost from view, buried under a large swirl of ugly brown cloth, because she’d yanked her dress over her head.

“Not, like you mean, Moses. I think she is angry and frustrated.”

Her head popped free from the neck of her dress. A long brown braid fell down her back. The sun glinted off the crown of her head. As a boy, Killian had lain under some rose bushes in his mother’s garden and watched a butterfly struggle from its cocoon, she reminded him of that butterfly. She wasn’t old as he’d first thought, but young, and from what he could see of her now, rather shapely.

She ducked down and disappeared from view.

They waited and watched.

“Where did she go?” Moses asked.

Killian shrugged.

A few moments later, she walked out from behind the crates, her arms full of her old clothes. She walked to the edge of the pier and threw them in the water. Her bonnet didn’t make it over the edge but landed at her feet. She kicked it and it sailed high, arching out over the canal, then dropped from sight. She tipped her head back and the breeze brought another sound, her heart-breaking sobs.

“Something bad has happened, Hood?”

She swiped under her nose with her sleeve. She was wearing a modest blue dress. The blue was the color of the sky. There was some sort of trim around the hem, but at this distance he couldn’t tell what it was. But without a fichu he could see the upper curve of her breasts. Very nice, Miss Butterfly.

She shook herself then leaned down and picked up an old shawl and wrapped herself in it. She bent to pick up her basket. She must have heard something because she looked up. There was the cat the man had carried away springing towards her. She fell to her knees, opened her arms and the cat leapt into her embrace. She hugged him tight.

“They belong to each other,” Moses nodded with such a sage look on his face.

Killian thought he wouldn’t mind being hugged like that, especially by her—whoever she was.

---

Callista threw her arms around Ganny and buried her nose in his fur. “Oh, you came back.” More tears.

Ganny pulled his head away. “Mrrrr.”

“Yes, I know, you hate water. I do beg your pardon.” She sniffed and grinned at him. She lifted the cloth on the basket and Ganny hopped in. “Now, stay put, you rascal until we are on board.”

He curled up in her basket and closed his eyes.

She gazed around.

Men were waiting by the thick ropes that tied the ship to the dock.

“Oh, dear,” Callista grabbed her basket and dashed toward the long plank that rested on the dock and led up to the deck of the ship.

---

“Ah, good news,” Killian said, “she must be a fellow passenger. Let us go meet this intrepid butterfly.” Killian walked away.

Moses caught him up and jumped in front, stopping Killian’s forward movement. “No, my friend. I think this a no good time. She is sad.”

“I think it is the perfect time,” Killian said.

Moses rolled his eyes heavenward and shook his head.

Killian chuckled and side-stepped his friend and headed for the gangway.

“If yer comin’ aboard, miss, best be quick about it,” one of the sailors at the top of the gangway said.

Killian and Moses stood behind the two men on the ship’s deck, who were standing ready to withdraw the narrow plank.

She stood at the foot of the board eying it.

Moses stood behind Killian and whispered, “she full of fear, I think.”

She took a deep breath.

“Do not look down,” Killian shouted.

Her head shot up. She scowled at him.

“Raise the gangway!” the second in command ordered, he was walking toward them.

“Not yet, someone’s comin’ aboard, sir,” the man who’d told her to hurry said over his shoulder.

“Would you like a hand?” Killian smiled at her.

“My predicament amuses you, sir?” Miss Butterfly was angry.

“She has gumption,” Killian said to Moses.

“You made her angry,” Moses said.

“That was my intent. Now, her anger has eclipsed her fear,” Killian said and winked at Moses.

She squared her shoulder and stiffened her spine then stepped up and walked forward with quick steps. More than halfway up she jerked to a halt.

“Something is wrong,” Moses said. He pointed to her feet.

“I see,” Killian said, “her hem appears to have caught on something.”

She swayed.

All the men gasped.

She bent her knees and regained her balance. Grabbed her skirt and yanked.

Fabric ripping.

She looked down. “Blast.”

She swayed.

Her arms went wide flapping, trying to catch her balance. “Ohhh, ohhh.”

“You sure you do not want my help?” Killian teased.

The sailor beside him scowled. “Leave her be, ye cods head. Canna ye see she is scar’d witless.”

“Indeed, my friend. That is why I am helping her focus on something else.”

She stopped flapping and calmed herself, then shot Killian a murderous look.

He wanted to laugh. He beckoned her. “No going back now, I am afraid.”

Miss Butterfly got her feet moving. When she reached the top of the gangway the sailor standing beside Killian offered her his hand, for there were no steps and the drop to the deck was at least three feet.

Killian elbowed him out of the way and held out his hand. “May I have the honor of helping you descend, Miss? Miss a….”

Her eyes narrowed and she scowled down into his open palm. “I shall give my permission when pigs fly through the air with their tails forward. Now, step aside.”

Killian put said hand over his heart, “You wound me.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “I doubt that.” She bit her lip, and stared at the deck, judging the prudence of jumping, no doubt.

“Then I withdraw my request and insist on doing my gentlemanly duty.” Killian circled her waist with his hands.

“What?!” she shrieked.

He lifted her up and carried her a few feet away from the gangway.

“Put me down, you great lummox.” She bashed Killian in the side of his head with her basket.

“Ouch.” For someone so small she packed a powerful punch. The blow caught Killian off guard.

Her cat, and several small items, sailed out of her basket.

“My cat,” she cried.

No woman had ever assaulted him before. He stumbled sideways, still holding her. His little butterfly seemed to have a temper as well as a powerful right arm. He lowered her feet to the deck.   

The sailors chuckled as they pulled up the gangway.

The cat landed on all fours.

“That could have ended quite badly. You should learn to control your impulses,” Killian rubbed his sore ear.

“The same to you,” she stuck her nose in the air and marched toward Moses.

Killian watched her walk away. She had a round backside and nice long legs. Standing beside her, she’d barely reached his chin. He was a good six feet, so that put her a little over five feet.

Moses plucked the cat up from the deck. He tucked it against his chest, stroking and crooning to it.

When Miss Butterfly stood in front of Moses, she pulled back the cloth and held the basket out to him.

“Stay with you mistress, lil one,” Moses put the cat into her basket. Then he plucked her other items from the deck, a small, lumpy, handmade pouch, a bundle of foolscrap tied with a string, and a stub of a pencil. He handed those to her as well.

She placed those items into her basket, pulled the cover over her belongings, whispered ‘behave’ to her cat, then gazed up at Moses and smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

Killian felt a spurt of jealousy. He wanted to be smiled at by her. Thanked. He rubbed his sore ear again.

The second in command walked up to the woman. He tipped his hat. “Are you, Miss Rhywun?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We have been waiting for you.”

“I am sorry if I have held you up. We…I mean, I just arrived from Cambridge.”

He nodded. “Lady West told us as much. She had yer trunks delivered. They are in your room. Let me show you the way.”

Lady West? My, my, you have interesting friends, little butterfly.

Moses stepped up beside him. “Well, Hood, you wanted an introduction to the lady, instead you got an introduction to her basket.” He started to laugh. His laugh was infectious.

Killian chuckled and rubbed the side of his head. “Yeeeesss.”