Chapter Four
Lucy loved the click-clack of abacus beads. As soon as she showed a talent with numbers, she’d been apprenticed to a spice merchant. Originally, the master hadn’t believed a girl could calculate numbers accurately. He’d set her to watch for thieves and pickpockets, but she eventually proved her worth. Just as she was going to do now.
And so she click-clacked the beads in a rhythm that usually kept people away. It said, ‘I am working.’
It did not stop Lord Domac.
He reminded her of Grace, unable to sit still, always looking, always thinking. That might endear him to her except that Grace found a use for her energy. Cedric used his energy on her.
‘What does that mark mean? Is that in rupees, silver or pounds? How can you keep track of where something is in the hold? What does that column mean again?’
It was maddening! And it also flushed her body with heat.
She was a girl who’d had to fight for every skill she possessed. Every master, every monk who controlled the purse had doubted her ability with money. She’d constantly had to prove her understanding, and even then, they discounted her. Captain Banakos glowered at her as if she had poisoned his food.
But not Lord Domac. He begged her to explain, to teach, to share. And though his constant interruptions made her want to scream, she felt such joy when he blithely accepted her greater skills. He acted as if it were the most normal thing in the world for a man to learn from a woman, and that made her giddy with pleasure.
He knew exactly what he was doing to her, too. He would touch her arm, and her skin would tingle. She didn’t gasp—not after the first few times—but her body tightened in reaction. Then he would give her a bashful look.
‘I’m being a terrible bother, aren’t I?’
What could she say to that? ‘No, my lord—’
‘No, no. Don’t lie to me. I can see it in your eyes. You love this work.’ He gestured to the account books and her abacus. There was something jarring in his tone. Admiration, yes, but envy, too.
‘It is a pleasure to do something well, yes?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, yes, of course.’
She turned to look at him. She could add up ten numbers in her head, she could see a storage hold and rearrange it mentally to fit everything well, but she could not read his face. People often confused her, but him most of all.
‘You are not happy? With this work?’ she asked. But if that were true, then why did he work so hard to learn it?
‘What? Of course I’m happy. I’m amazed.’
Was he? She watched as he rocked back on his heels.
‘If you were to pick a cargo,’ he said. ‘One to sell in England, what would it be?’
‘I do not know your country.’
‘Right. Of course. But from what you see here.The Integrityhas sold different cargos. Not just tea—’
‘Tea is the most consistent profit.’
‘Yes, but the East India Company controls that. And the Dutch lock down the spices.’ He exhaled. ‘What cargo, do you think, would be best?’
She shook her head. ‘I do not know. I can only show you the profit or loss from what has been sold.’ She pointed at the account book. ‘Those answers are in here.’
He smiled at her. ‘Not a fortune-teller. I understand. But this…’ He pointed to her neat columns of numbers. ‘This is important.’ It was a statement, not a question, and yet she responded as if he doubted what she said.
‘It is,’ she said, her chin lifted. And what she meant by that was,Yes, I am important, too.
‘So teach me how you do it.’
That was like teaching him how to breathe. She knew how to do it. She could explain the mechanics. But there was so much more to how, where and when she worked. And yet, she didn’t mind starting again at the beginning and waiting for him to get frustrated. After all, he was not the first person to learn her tasks. And none of them could do it as well or as quickly as she.
He was no exception.