Miss Minerva's Pirate Mishap by Maggie Dallen (to read list .TXT) 📗

opposite in every way, far preferring the fictional world than their own real one. Minerva glanced back toward the house. Even now, she suspected Hattie had walked only as far as the stables, where she would disappear for the remainder of the hour with her nose in her book.

Minerva sighed. She should likely go and fetch her. Remind her that this was their time for exercise, not for reading.

She turned back to the sea. She didn’t have the heart for it today. Let the girl have her fun, and she would do the same.

With a grin she rarely let her father see, she made her way to the little path that had been worn into the side of the cliff and found her way down to the beach with careful steps, threading back and forth across the steep incline until she reached the sandy shore.

Once there, the wind seemed to beckon to her. Saying hello, she fancied.

Welcome back, it seemed to say.

She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders and pulled up the hood, lest her hair get whipped into a wild crown of stray curls about her head. With careful steps, she made her way through the rocks and shells that littered the shore to her favorite haunts, the deep caves that dotted the cliffside.

She headed toward her favorite cave out of habit. In her more fanciful moments, she thought of the hollowed-out space as her own personal drawing room. One that rarely included her four sisters, a maid, or her father.

She smiled at the idea of decorating the space. What would Sally say if the next time she swam along the shore, she came upon this cave and found it fitted with drapes and a settee?

The thought made her laugh, but the sound was carried away by the brisk ocean breeze. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the sound of men’s shouts from the fort that hovered above. The naval officers going through their afternoon routines, no doubt.

The sound blended with the crashing of the waves, the wind that made her hood flutter, and the sound of crunching beneath her feet.

All combined, it was the symphony of her life. She smiled at the thought. Well, add in the cacophony of her sisters bickering and laughing, perhaps her father’s snore when he inevitably fell asleep as Hattie read aloud in the evening...

The sounds of her life were as predictable as the crashing of the waves. But it was a good life, no doubt. One where everyone, including her, had their place and their responsibilities.

Minerva’s sigh was slightly sappy, a little bit sad, and utterly bittersweet as she reached the edge of her cave. She leaned down to observe a Pagurus bernhardus—better known as a common hermit crab. Minerva still found them fascinating even if they were common. Unlike others of the crab species, the Pagurus bernhardus did not have a hard shell of its own and had to use the shells of others to survived. A clever adaptation, if a bit sad.

She straightened with a little laugh as it waved its claws as if in greeting. Then she made a mental note to ask Rebecca about her progress in biology. Her father would no doubt wish to quiz her soon and it would not do if she were unprepared.

Their father’s untraditional take on teaching his daughters everything he’d been taught, and what he expected his men to know—from geology to mathematics, from Latin to philosophy, from knot-tying to marine biology—this was why the townsfolk of Billingham had taken to calling the captain’s daughters his bluestocking battalion.

She suspected it was true that when he had led them into town—in formation back when they were younger and he was afraid they might get trampled by passing carts and carriages—they likely had looked like a small female regiment of some kind.

Her sappy little smile froze in place when a new sound cut through the usual background noise. She froze, her lips pursing and her brows drawing down in consternation as she listened intently.

There it was again.

A scraping. Then a clunking. Then a sort of...dragging sound coming from the cave’s mouth.

Someone was in there.

Her heart rate picked up with excitement—no, not excitement. Fear. Obviously. But even that was silly. It could have been Sally—but no, Sally had left after her and gone off in the opposite direction, and none of the other girls would venture down here during their daily afternoon walk.

It was probably just a local fisherman—who’d taken a wrong turn and found himself stranded on the cave’s edge?

No, that made no sense at all.

She frowned as she moved closer, choosing her steps carefully so she did not make much noise.

Why? She wasn’t certain. Perhaps it was just foolishness, but a voice in the back of her mind urged caution. She tiptoed along the outskirts of the cave until she caught sight of a rowboat lodged in the sand on the other side of the cave’s entrance. But no one was in it.

No one was visible, at least.

But someone was making that ruckus in the cave.

She paused, half of her itching to dive right in there and find out who was there, and the other half urging caution. Reason told her it was likely a townsperson, or a fisherman, or perhaps even one of her father’s men on a routine patrol of the coast.

Her gut was telling another story entirely.

Her heart raced with excitement as though this was Christmas and her birthday all rolled into one.

But, no. That was ridiculous. She turned. Forced her brain to take charge over her silly, silly heart. Emotions never led anywhere good. Only reason could be trusted. And logic told her that there was likely no big mystery at play.

“Minerva!”

Her name echoed against the cliff walls. It was Sally’s booming voice and the reminder she needed that even if she wanted to explore further, her time was nearly up.

She’d be expected back at the house, back to her duties soon enough. She’d best hurry; she’d likely