Another Life

by Sara MacDonald

  My father nods. ‘I could not have worked the men so hard if it had been for anyone but Sir Richard, who is generous with his bonus.’

  Yesterday I took Isabella down to the quay to show her the inside of Lady Isabella. Newly fitted, pristine, ropes curled and ready. Foredeck, aft deck, cabins and hold, gleaming and waxed, swabbed and polished. Isabella explored every little nook and cranny of the ship, fascinated by the order of everything and the smell of new wood and glue which filled her nostrils.

  I leave my father now and go back to the top boatyard to tidy and pack my tools away. My next commission is in Falmouth, then St Malo. I walk up the cliff and make for the cove where I am meeting Isabella. The heat of the day has driven her into the water and she stands up to her ankles, trying to keep cool. She has on a large straw hat and a thin white dress which suits her dark skin. As I approach she runs towards me laughing and I catch hold of her and whirl her round.

  We move into the lee of the cliff where there is shade, and lie on a rug. Isabella takes off her dress to keep cool and lies in her petticoats. I take off my shoes, shirt and trousers and we lie holding each other, skin touching skin, talking.

  Then we are both silent, and I say, because I cannot believe it, ‘The day after tomorrow you will be gone from here, Isabella.’

  Isabella closes her eyes and leans against my hand.

  ‘I feel as if I have been here forever.’

  I take a strand of her hair and hold it to the light.

  ‘I have been working so long on your likeness, now I am going to lose you both … My wooden angel and my real one.’

  Isabella’s small face closes. She does not want to hear these words.

  ‘Tom, are we never to see each other again? You told me you were coming to Falmouth, to …’

  ‘I am. And no doubt I will see you with your husband … but never like this …’ I push her gently backwards onto the rug and kiss her. ‘It will never be like this again. It will seem like a dream … and one day I will see that you are mortified at the memory of me and you will look through me … turn away …’

  ‘Never!’ Isabella cries vehemently, kissing my mouth. ‘Do you hear me? Never …’

  I touch her warm dark skin. ‘Never?’ I smile, wanting to hear it again.

  I roll with her back onto the rug. Our lovemaking has the urgency of a leave-taking. This is our last time in the cove, where the cliffs rise high above to hide us and the seabirds mew and wheel overhead, resting in the thermals. The sea is violet, reflecting the sky. From high above on the cliff-top path, Isabella and I would look as small and insignificant as the stones on the shore or the driftwood. Cliff, sea, sky and cove will remain much as it is, but nothing will remain of these moments of our life here.

  Shielding Isabella’s nakedness, I want to tell her all that I feel for her has gone into my carving of the figurehead. I will do other carvings, some beautiful, some clever, I know this, but there will never be another moment when my heart and hands come together to make a whole and almost perfect piece. I know this.

  I know that if the small schooner makes old age she might lie on the bed of some creek and her figurehead be taken to adorn a public house or sold to a naval establishment. If the ship is ever wrecked in a wild sea or on some far shore, a part of me will sink to the ocean bed and be lost forever. A part of Isabella and I lost in the deep.

  I would like to express what I feel to Isabella but I do not have the flow of words, only these fleeting thoughts, only these hands to carve feelings men cannot speak of.

  When I look up I see she is crying without sound.

  ‘I love you, Tom. I love you. I believe I loved you from the first moment I saw you with Mama.’

  I am wretched in my turn for I can do nothing about our situation. I try to make her smile. ‘Why, you were “no’ but a child”, as my father would say.’

  I wrap my jacket about her shoulders, draw a finger across her wet cheek.

  ‘Isabella,’ I say gently. ‘Come, we must start walking. It is late.’

  Isabella gets to her feet but she is watching my face for the something I cannot give her: hope. Desperately I take her hand.

  ‘Love is something we dare not think about, Isabella. We have different lives. I have nothing to offer you, even … Come …’

  We walk up the steep incline silently, hand in hand. At the top Isabella takes her shoes off to remove the stones and leaves them off. She always likes to walk with the wildflowers under her feet.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I say eventually, ‘your husband will see the figurehead for the first time, and in position. How does it feel, Isabella, to see your likeness set up there on the prow?’

  ‘Strange,’ Isabella says after a while. ‘Proud, and not a little guilty for although Richard called the schooner after me, the figurehead up on the front of the ship will always remind me of you.’

  ‘Then you will not for get me?’ My voice gives me away.

  Isabella turns to me. ‘You know the answer, Tom, for I have already declared myself. I do not know how I am going to bear my life. It is so empty and you have been my friend. I can talk to you about anything.’

  Her words strike me with sudden dread, for I realize the truth of them. With Isabella I have been myself. We have talked and loved and been together so much that the emptiness she speaks of opens up before me like a gaping mineshaft. I put my hand over my heart and I can hardly speak for this sudden knowledge in me.

  ‘When you doubt my feelings, Isabella, look at the drawing I gave you of your face. Look into the face of my figurehead. All that I feel for you is there, and here …’ I place the flat of my hand across my heart.

  Isabella smiles and places her hand over mine. It is enough. We turn and walk on, careful now not to touch on the path. At the fork to the village I leave her.

  ‘Lisette will be home before you. Do you have an excuse ready?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I will see you tomorrow, Isabella. When you are sad, remember these were our days, yours and mine.’

  ‘How lucky we were to have them, Tom. How very lucky.’

  ‘Indeed, my Lady. Indeed.’

  I cannot let her go. ‘Isabella … when you feel alone, I am somewhere thinking of you. You know … what I feel … Run home, Isabella, run home …’ I say fiercely and turn abruptly away.

  Isabella runs from me down the path and I can hear her little intakes of breath as she cries. A curlew above me calls out sharply. The weather is going to break. The seabirds are coming inland. There will be a storm.

  Isabella reached the gate of the house and stopped dead. There were two horses outside and Richard’s groom was leading them round to the old stables. Richard was back early, he was not expected until the morning.

  Isabella replaced her shoes and moved swiftly round the side of the house, up the servants’ stairs and into her room. She took her sandy clothes off and washed carefully, and changed into a dark dress with a high neck to hide where the sun had caught her skin. She tied her hair back tightly into a knot, but there was nothing she could do about the brightness of her eyes or the sense of well-being that gave her a radiance that would not last, unless she guarded it carefully.

  She went slowly downstairs. Richard turned as she came into the room and he was stopped by her beauty.

  ‘My dear Isabella …’ He rushed over. ‘You look wonderful. The heat must suit you …’

  He kissed her cheek. ‘Have you missed me?’

  ‘Of course,’ Isabella smiled, her heart sinking at the look in his eye. Covetous, as if he was reclaiming a prize, which of course he was.

  ‘Have you ridden all the way from Falmouth?’

  ‘No,’ Richard turned for his whisky, ‘from Truro. It is a special day tomorrow, is it not? Is Tom Welland pleased with his work?’

  ‘I believe he is.’

  ‘I asked for the figurehead to be covered. I will not look until the morning when we are together. Are you excited, my love?’

 
‘I am. It is not every day that I have a ship named after me, or my likeness carved.’

  She went and kissed Richard’s cheek. ‘I thank you for it, Richard.’

  Richard took her hand and kissed it fervently. ‘There is nothing I would not do for you, or for our children, once they come.’

  ‘Come,’ Isabella said gently, ‘let us go into the dining room or Cook will give in her notice.’

  As Lisette helped Isabella to get ready for bed she exclaimed over the amount of sand in the room.

  ‘Lisette, you know I cannot resist going into the water. I am sorry.’

  Lisette stopped turning down the bed and sighed. ‘I believe it is time you grew up, Isabella. You cannot recapture your childhood or the times here you had with your mama. Life is not all that we wish it to be. You lead a comfortable life. Sir Richard is a good man who loves and respects you. What more could you want?’

  Isabella said in a small voice, ‘I do not love him, Lisette … I …’

  Lisette stared at her. ‘I know you do not love him, but he asks so little of you. Love grows, if you let it, Isabella. If you tried harder …’

  ‘I do try.’

  Isabella climbed into bed and leant against the pillows. A small tear of self-pity trickled down her cheek. Lisette relented and sat on the bed.

  ‘Miss Isabella, I know that you find the … married relationship difficult. I try to help … It gets easier, especially once you have children. The demands get less and it is just something you get used to.’

  ‘It will not get easier for me, Lisette. I will never get used to it, I know this.’

  Lisette smiled. ‘You cannot know, Miss Isabella. Children change everything.’

  Lisette was fighting with herself, for she did pity Isabella with her beautiful body, for Sir Richard might be kind, but she doubted he was skilful in bed, being a bachelor so long. She said astutely, ‘It is of no use you comparing a young man with an older man. We all do this when young …’

  ‘Even you, Lisette?’ Despite herself, Isabella was laughing.

  ‘Even me.’

  ‘What would I do without you, Lisette?’

  ‘Sleep, now.’

  At the door, Lisette turned. Isabella was lying, eyes closed, dark against the white pillow, a suspicion of a smile on her lips. Isabella’s looks seemed somehow to have changed this summer, but Lisette could not fathom in what way this change had taken place.

  A small shadow eased its way into her mind and she hastily dismissed it. As she shut the door, she thought, I am afraid sharing a bed with Sir Richard is something my mistress is going to have to learn, for it is a duty like any other.

  Chapter 55

  Ben rose early to go down to the quay and make sure that all was ready, that nothing had been forgotten. He knew Sir Richard would inspect it with an acute and critical eye and anything missed he would surely notice.

  He looked up at the sky. It was a deep, bruised purple, colouring the sea, and the morning was strangely muted, as if poised, waiting. Even the birds, sensing the change in the weather, seemed to be lulled into silence.

  ‘The weather is going to break,’ Tom said.

  ‘Aye. Let us hope it keeps off till this afternoon.’

  Something in the brooding morning made Ben uneasy. The bakery was lighting the ovens up early, for Sir Richard wanted all the men to celebrate with a pasty and beer, and the smell of warm bread hovered over the quay, filling the still air.

  Isabella too had woken early and threw the window wide onto the airless day. She chose her dress carefully and picked out the brooch that Richard had brought her from London. This was his day and Isabella wanted it all to go well.

  Richard was already having breakfast when she went downstairs and Isabella took fruit and tea. Then they left the house with Lisette and Cook holding umbrellas, and the kitchen girl, the groom and the gardener all following behind them as they made their way down to the harbour.

  There was a little trail of people walking down the hill and they greeted Sir Richard and Isabella with a cheerful air of excitement at this small holiday. The quay when they arrived was festive, with chairs and tables laid out around the harbour and a small brass band all ready to start playing.

  Isabella laughed. ‘Why, it is as if someone famous or royal is about to arrive to launch my ship!’

  Richard smiled and looked down at her. ‘My dear Isabella, to me you are both famous and royal, and I would have no other to launch your namesake properly now the refit is completed but you.’

  His eyes were so full of devotion that Isabella had to look away, for she could not return his look with the same feeling. She turned away and met Tom’s eyes, for he was standing with his father ready to greet Sir Richard. He held her eyes for a moment before looking away.

  Richard had not yet looked up at the schooner and the covered figurehead. He was almost afraid to have her uncovered. He had had a vision of her in his head for so long that he was afraid of disappointment and his inability to hide it. He saw the bottle on the small table, tied with ribbon and attached to the ship for Isabella to throw, and he felt the sudden stillness in the small crowd as they waited for the figurehead to be unveiled.

  He nodded at father and son and they turned and signalled to the two young boys holding the ropes of the cover. They let the ropes go and the figurehead was revealed.

  A sudden wind got up and swung the ship round on its moorings. The face of Isabella veered round to the quay and Richard and the villagers gasped, for the beauty of the carving far exceeded anything imagined. It was a work of art, and yet …

  Richard stepped forward and peered across the small stretch of water at the likeness of his wife. It was not … somehow … an expression he had ever seen on her face. He searched in his mind for a memory that eluded him, then the wind turned her slightly profile and it was his Isabella exactly, and he turned relieved and beamed at Tom and went to shake his hand.

  ‘Well done, lad! I couldn’t have asked for more. Well done, I say.’

  The carpenters lined up on the quay clapped and the crowd joined in. All except Ben and Lisette, who were standing a little apart. Neither could take their eyes off the wooden face of Lady Isabella.

  Lisette’s hands flew to her mouth. She saw so clearly what the sensuous curl of Isabella’s mouth and the lazy heaviness of her eyes meant, and she could not believe that no one else could interpret that expression. Yet they did not seem to.

  Then she saw Ben Welland’s face. It was tight-lipped and shocked. Their eyes met briefly in recognition of impending disaster.

  The band started to play softly, and Ben, collecting himself, handed Isabella the bottle of champagne. Two men pulled at the ropes to swing the Lady Isabella closer to the quay, and Richard touching Isabella’s shoulder urged her to swing the bottle hard in order that it broke.

  Isabella swung it as hard as she could, crying out, ‘I name this ship Lady Isabella. May God go with her!’

  At that moment there was a huge clap of thunder, and lightning streaked across the sky. People gasped and scattered, the bandsmen leaving their metal instruments. Richard hurried Isabella into the lee of the cliff by the bakery, followed by everybody exposed in the open on the quay.

  There was another huge clap which rumbled and roared across the black sky and they waited for the lightning. No rain, just the violent breaking-up of the heat-wave, the dry cracking of the sky. For ten minutes the storm flashed and then was gone. The air was clearer, but the sky, though no longer so violent, was a strange clouded and threatening mauve.

  ‘Right!’ Richard called out, holding Isabella’s arm. ‘Let the band play and refreshment be brought out, in thanks and celebration of a fine and finished vessel. I thank you all for your good work.’

  There was mumbled applause and a few claps and the bandsmen resumed their places, but the older, superstitious villagers crossed themselves. It was a bad omen this sudden storm, no two ways about it. They looked towards the ship with the beauti
ful figurehead silhouetted against the brooding sky. So much work in her. So much labour … But a bad beginning …

  Yet when everyone was full of beer and pasties the good humour that comes with a day off work returned and the storm faded into proportion. Those sailing in the schooner that afternoon with Sir Richard got themselves ready, for there was extra money in the short sail and a story in The Cornishman. Richard, who had not yet sailed in the Lady Isabella, wanted to take her out to gauge the feel and pace of her before he handed her over to her skipper.

  Tom, watching Isabella from a distance, saw how Sir Richard must touch his wife all the time. He gritted his teeth. He could not bear the thought of her husband pawing her, could not bear to think of him … It was wrong, an old man and a young woman … She should not have to bear it …

  He threw his beer back angrily and did not notice his father following his eyes, reading him all too clearly. Ben wanted to believe that weariness had made him fanciful. Now he knew for sure that what he saw was the truth. The beer tasted sour in his mouth and he put his glass down. There was no way he could swallow a pasty. He was not a particularly superstitious man, but he knew disaster when it faced him and he prayed it might be diverted.

  ‘Let’s get on board and be ready. Call the crew,’ he said abruptly to Tom.

  ‘I will leave you, my love. I want to inspect the ship before we sail. Lisette, will you see Lady Isabella keeps dry if the weather breaks? If there is another thunderstorm she must not go out, lightning is dangerous …’

  ‘Do not worry, Sir, I will see Lady Isabella home safely.’

  ‘I will see you in Truro tomorrow, I sabella. We will fetch up in Newlyn or Penzance tonight. It is too precarious to sail back here in the dark.’

  ‘Take care, Richard, for she is a new ship and you are not used to her.’

  Richard laughed heartily. ‘I have been sailing in ships new and old all my life, my dear, I do not think much can happen between here and Penzance …’

  Isabella knew it was tricky sailing out of the cove, and a while later she stood with Lisette and the villagers and watched the schooner turn gently on small reefed sails until they were free of the harbour and outlying rocks.