by Deryn Lake
“You are a very rude young woman. Now, can you swim?”
“Yes. My brothers threw me into the river when I was very young. It was that or drowning.”
“Then we shall take to the ocean together.” Emilia shivered. “Not if it’s as cold as this.”
“Wait and see. These old salts always know what’s going to happen.”
“I hope so. I wouldn’t like to see you die of a chill.”
“I wouldn’t relish it much either, come to that.”
For some reason John had decided not to tell Emilia about his early morning encounter with Juliana and Richard. Despite the girl’s sarcastic manner, he felt that the Dutchman’s daughter bore a secret and was perhaps involved in something she could not control, so should be pitied rather than disliked. But aware of his bride’s antipathy, the Apothecary chose to keep the latest news to himself and was glad that the present conversation was merely banter. He decided to continue it that way, at least for the time being.
“So where are we going?” Emilia was asking.
“The sea dog told me that Sidmouth was a fine place for bathing and had recently started to become popular with genteel folk.”
“Well that won’t suit you,” his wife commented, roaring with laughter.
“What do you mean?”
“That never in my entire life have I ever met anyone less genteel than yourself.”
“I shall take that as the greatest compliment you have ever paid me,” John replied with dignity. “Now, my dear, hurry up and pack your things. I want to see this miracle of the changing weather for myself.”And so they did, proceeding out of the city on one of the coaching roads to the West, passing a hostelry named the Half Way House, supposedly because it was halfway between London and Falmouth, then travelling several miles further on before they turned down a somewhat evil track and headed towards the sea.
“There,” said John, “I told you.”
“What?”
“The wind’s changed, can’t you feel it?”
“Yes,” said Emilia, “I can. Oh let’s get out for a moment, John. I’d love my first glimpse of the sea to be on foot.”
The Apothecary thumped on the coach’s roof with his great stick. “Stop a minute, Tom. We’re going to walk for a while.”
So it was that they rounded a bend in the track, strolling hand in hand, and saw, gleaming like silver in the sun, a distant dazzling flash of argent.
“It’s glittering,” said Emilia.
“Wait till you get closer,” her husband answered, putting his arm round her shoulders.
They proceeded on slowly, watching the landscape change, seeing it grow more beautiful by the minute as they went downwards into a tranquil valley. Great cliffs cradled the curving bay in their arms, while whitish sands on which several fishing boats had been drawn up, led down to the sea itself. Emilia drew to a halt, turning to her left, gazing in wonderment at the rugged cliff “It’s red!” she said.
“Like the soil of Devon. Haven’t you noticed? In places the earth is the same shade as terracotta.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“But look how green the grass is above.”
“And how peacefully that river flows into the sea.”
They stared at where the Sid, meandering gently past a large rock, met the ocean in a flurry of foaming waves, bounding on top of which were a colony of gulls, their powerful wings as white as the spume beneath.
Together the couple turned in the other direction and exclaimed. For beyond the mighty cliffs which enclosed the cove on the other side, a promonotory of land, capped by fine green meadows, stuck out as a final defence against the world.
Irish Tom who had been plodding the coach along behind them, let out a shout. “B’Jesus, I haven’t seen anything like this since I left Connemara.”
John looked up at him. “There’s a tiny little village down there, Tom. Let’s go and find a place to stay.”
“I hope there is somewhere,” said Emilia anxiously.
“There’s always an inn,” the Apothecary answered confidently. And taking her by the hand again, led her down to where some small cottages and a church nestled beyond the beach.
It was a spot made in heaven, there was no doubting that. With the weather seeming to get warmer with every step they took, John and Emilia made their way up the path towards the church, round which were grouped several buildings. And there, sure enough, was a tavern, The Ship. “Just as I thought,” said the Apothecary.
“I’m sure there is no accommodation.”
“There is only one way to find out. We will go in and ask.”
It was not the most desirable of hostelries at which he had ever stayed but John and his bride were shown into a clean, serviceable room with basic furniture and a large bed. He turned to Emilia.
“Will it do?”
“I think it will be most romantic. Listen,, you can hear the sea.”
The Apothecary turned to the landlord. “Is this fine weather going to last?”
“They reckon it’s here for a week or so.”
“Then I think I’ll go bathing.”
“Very healthy, Sir. Folks are starting to stay here just to dip in the ocean. But wait till tomorrow. Give the water a chance to warm up.”
“Very sound advice,” said Emilia, who clearly did not relish the idea of swimming in chilly conditions.
“I’ll heed it,” answered John, but for all that removed his flannel bathing drawers from his bag and hung them over the back of a chair.
Emilia made rude remarks about their voluminous size, then went downstairs with her husband to settle Tom in a cottage across the way and the horses in a nearby stable.
They did little after that, strolling up the cliff path, sitting on a canvas sheet and watching the great ships heading for Topsham and Exeter through John’s telescope. They saw the tide come in, so far that the sand vanished and only a strip of shingle remained visible. Then, as the sun began to dip in the sky, the fishing fleet returned to shore, heavy with their catch which gleamed silver in the brightness.
“A perfect day,” said Emilia, getting to her feet.
John put out a hand for her to help him and was just about to answer that there was no sign of the trouble which she claimed stalked him, when something stopped him doing so. A frisson at his spine, a sensation that he had experienced before in his life, suddenly alerted him to the possibility that somewhere, somehow, all was not well. A vision of Juliana van Guylder’s pale, furtive face came vividly into the Apothecary’s mind and for a moment or two he just sat silently where he was, waiting till the illusion was gone. Fortunately Emilia noticed nothing, whirling about on the cliff tops like a dancer.
“I shall remember this day as long as I live,” she said joyfully, but even that happy statement brought John no comfort.
* * *
Again he woke early and was instantly restless. It was the dark hour before dawn and, as he had on the previous day, the Apothecary rose silently and went down to the beach. The fishermen were setting out, splashing off into the darkness, taking advantage of the tide. He could hear their voices conversing in low tones and envied them their day at sea, men alone with the elements. Not, he thought, that those would be giving them much trouble today. The water was as flat and calm as the proverbial millpond and there seemed not a breath of wind anywhere. The small sails would be hard put to it to pick up any breeze and John imagined that the oars, kept for emergencies, might be forced into greater use than usual.
“Good luck,” he called out, he didn’t know why. But nobody heard him, the only reply a distant murmur as the fishermen called to one another from smack to smack.
The same odd mood was still upon him and John had to make a conscious effort to shake it off and not spoil Emilia’s enjoyment. For she was up and dressed and clearly ready for adventure when he joined her at the hearty but basic breakfast table.
“Shall we take a repast to the beach?”
she asked, looking delightful in cool muslin.
“If we do am I allowed to swim? Or will you act like a mother hen and make remarks about catching cold?”
She looked contrite. “Is that what I’m like? An old broody?”
“Just.”
“How can you be so cruel?”
But she was laughing and John thought that he had never seen her look so well or so happy. Despite the fact that she protected her angel’s face beneath a shady hat, yesterday’s sunshine had penetrated the barrier and there was a becoming glow about her skin. He took Emilia’s hand.
“I’m making it up. You look absolutely lovely,” he said.
“More beautiful than Juliana van Guylder?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I noticed you observing her at dinner the other afternoon.”
“Emilia, I am an observer,” he answered. “Mr. John Fielding taught me how to be one, though even before I met him I was very taken with the art of scrutiny. I was looking at Juliana and thinking that here was a great beauty marred by some inner unrest. There is a woeful secret in the background of that girl’s life.”
“I thought her rude and bumptious.”
“I know you did. But take my word for it, there is a reason for her acting the way she does.”
“I’ll take your word,” Emilia answered slowly. “But I’m afraid I am yet to be convinced.”
But they could not argue, nor even discuss, on such a day as this. As they stepped outside they saw that the sea and the sky had met one another in a great arc of blue, making it almost impossible to locate the horizon. It seemed that hardly a ripple disturbed the vast expanse of water that lay before them.
“It’s like being inside a bowl,” said Emilia as they walked down to the beach, Tom in front of them carrying a basket of bread, cheese and apples, stored throughout the winter in some sweet-smelling loft.
“A bowl called paradise,” John answered poetically.
Indeed it was as if they were alone in some seashore Garden of Eden. No one else walked the sands and as far as the eye could see not another human being stirred.
Catching the mood, Irish Tom said, Til be off, Sir, to do a little sunbathing meself, that is if you have no further need of me. But should you do so I’ll be round the bend in the cliffs.”
And he set off, walking barefoot through the shallows, the sun gleaming on his copper head and large frame, looking every inch a latter day Brian Boramha, the great Irish chieftan come back to life.
“Swimming,” said the Apothecary, and stripped off his clothes, feeling the sun warm on his skin. Then he ran into the sea and swam naked, luxuriating in the sense of freedom this gave him. If he had been with Coralie, John thought, she would have joined him, rushing into the waves beside him, tumbling and turning in the surf, as bare as himself. But though Emilia did follow him into the water she was clad in long drawers and a flowing chemise.
Even as he compared the two women, the Apothecary felt guilty, sick with himself for doing such a thing. It was cruel to his bride to liken her to the woman whom he had both loved and lost.
“I must never do it again,” he said aloud to the tranquil sea, and turned to see that Emilia was swimming towards him. He swam back to make sure that she did not go out of her depth, then took her hand, pointing to the far reaches.
“See, there’s more wind out there.”
“Is it blowing from the west?”
“It must be. It’s still so warm.”
“Can we stay here as long as the weather holds?”
But John did not answer, his attention caught by something else. Very faintly, almost as if it were an illusion brought about by the water in his ears, he caught the faint sound of voices.
He turned to his wife. “Can you hear anything?”
She stood listening, the sea covering her breasts, the chemise she wore clinging to, them transparently. “No, I don’t think so.”
But there was something, John heard it again, blown inshore by the breeze.
“I must get my telescope.”
“But you’ve got nothing on.”
“Neither have you — much.”
And he gave her a loving squeeze to make the point, then swam back towards the shore, scrambling to his feet in the surf and heading for where their basket sat neatly on a groundsheet. Rummaging in its depth, John found what he was looking for and put it to his eye, training the instrument towards the horizon. Sure enough, two fishing boats were coming into sight, immediately behind them a much larger ship, a square-sailed schooner under full canvas. The Apothecary adjusted the lens to maximum strength and saw that the two smaller vessels had tow ropes leading from them, each fastened on either side of the schooner’s prow. The smacks were bringing the larger vessel into shallow waters, rowing for all they were worth and straining with the effort. Of the crew of the schooner there was no sign, the decks clearly empty and devoid of life except for the helmsman who John recognised as one of the locals gone aboard to steer her.
Certain that something was wrong, the Apothecary threw on his clothes, shouting to Emilia to get out of the water. But she was already hastening through the waves. The sight of that size of vessel coming so close in shore was somehow both menacing and sinister, and the poor girl was acting as if it were coming straight for her. She ran into her bridegroom’s arms.
“What’s happened? Why are they towing it in? Has there been an accident?”
“I imagine so. Dress quickly. We might have to help.”
So saying, he ran to the water’s edge as the first of the fishermen jumped into the shallows and started to secure their smack, followed closely by the crew of the other. “What’s going on?” John asked.
The man turned a taciturn face. “That’s what we’d like to know.”
“What do you mean?”
“The bastard ship nearly ran us down, came within a few inches. We only saved ourselves by rowing out of its path and by Christ that nearly killed us. Anyway, there’s no one aboard. We hailed her, then went alongside and got a rope on a grapple to her. Jeb shimmied up it, but called out that he couldn’t find no one, so I went up after him. It was true enough. The whole great hulk was empty yet there was every sign of life. Clothes in the cabins, even a pot of tea warm on the” table. I tell you, guv’nor, it fair scared the shite out of me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Anchor her up, then send for the quay master from Topsham. She was probably bound for there so he’ll know who the owners are.”
“Can I help at all? I’m an apothecary and if anyone is lying wounded I could assist them.”
“But there’s no devil on there.”
“Did you search thoroughly?”
“As best I could, yes.” The fisherman eyed John up and down. “Anyway another pair of hands wouldn’t come amiss. Can you climb a rope?”
“I haven’t done so for some years.”
“Well you’ll have to if you want to get aboard.”
It was one of the most perilous ventures the Apothecary had ever undertaken. Shoes and shirt had to be shed on the beach prior to swimming out to the schooner, whose draught demanded that she stayed in fairly deep water. Having got out to the bobbing vessel, the next hurdle was to grab the end of the rope, which rose and fell with the motion of the ship, then somehow to heave oneself out of the water and clamber up it. Puffing and panting and feeling like some decrepit ancient, John finally managed to reach the top and, grasping the ship’s rail, haul himself over, realising as he did so that his palms were rubbed raw. A moment or two later he was joined by three of the others, all come aboard to get the ship’s anchor down.
The man who had first spoken to John now issued orders. “Let’s turn the capstan, lads. You, Sir, you search the ship. Jeb, who’s been steering her, can help.”
It was the silence, John decided, that was so eerie. Walking through the cabins there was indeed every sign of recent occupation, and in the dining area places
were set for a meal. The teapot which stood nearby was by now almost cold, yet by touching it the Apothecary could feel that it had only lost heat a short while ago. Cups were out, as was a jug of milk and a loaf of bread, and there was even some cheese, rather hard but edible. Yet no voice spoke, nobody called out, the only sound the lapping of the waves and the seductive west wind playing in the great canvas sails. With his spine crawling with fear, John was glad to get back on deck.
In the distance he could see Jeb searching the stern, on his hands and knees in order not to miss anything, while the other three men were heaving round the capstan with much rattling of heavy chain. John went to the prow, complete with its mermaid figurehead, to hunt there. Then suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, his heart beating fast. For the carving of the mergirl was so fine that it seemed to him, just for a moment, that it had a veil of spun gold hair hanging down. blowing in the capricious breeze. Then his brain caught up with his eyes and he realised that no figurehead, however intricately exectuted, could possibly give such an illusion. That there was in fact somebody there.
“Who’s that?” he called out, not loudly but fearfully.
Nobody answered and John took a step forward. The curtain of hair was streaming outwards like silver gilt, like silk, like that of someone he had seen only too recently.
“Juliana?” he said, his voice only just above a whisper.
She did not move to reply to him and every alarm bell in Christendom sounded in the Apothecary’s brain. Running forward he saw that she lay, face downwards, draped over the figurehead, her arms hanging down on either side of it, the movement of the ship giving them a life they did not possess as they swayed gently, the hands totally relaxed.
“God almighty,” said John, and raising Juliana by the shoulders, stared into her face. She looked asleep, despite the terrible bruising and cuts she had sustained and the blood that had dried round her mouth, yet this was a sleep that surely was the deepest of them all. Gently, the Apothecary put his head to her heart — but there was only silence.
Very carefully, he laid the shift-clad corpse back as he had found it, swiftly kissing Juliana’s brow before turning her face down. Then he walked round to where the fishermen had just succeeded in dropping anchor.
