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A Different Hunger

Page 2

by Lila Richards


  And ran straight into his father, who was standing on the first-floor landing, puffing on his pipe with every evidence of impatience.

  “Ah, Rufus,” the Earl of Ravenglass greeted him in a bear-like growl, emitting clouds of cloying tobacco smoke. “Where the devil have you been? I’ve been kicking my heels here for the best part of an hour.”

  “P-Papa,” stammered Rufus, feeling every bit as foolish as he sounded. Why did his father always have that effect on him? “S-sorry I w-wasn’t here sooner; I’ve been out for b-breakfast.”

  Lord Ravenglass made a point of consulting his gold pocket watch, his pursed lips showing just what he thought of young men who took their breakfast in the middle of the afternoon. “Well, are you going to leave me standing here for the rest of the day?”

  “N-no, sir. Sorry.” Rufus fished in his pocket for the key, and with fingers that seemed to have turned to jelly, wrestled it into the lock.

  His father took in the jumbled room in one contemptuous glance, sniffing the stale air with distaste. Rufus hurried to open the window, and offered him the only chair in the room not covered with the detritus of daily life, an elderly armchair that had once belonged to his Aunt Maude Sangster.

  “I think not,” murmured Lord Ravenglass, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his camelhair coat with a fastidious hand. He removed his hat and hung it on the stand near the door, then strode to the open window, from where he regarded Rufus with an air of profound disappointment. “Well, Rufus, I had rather an interesting visitor this morning.”

  “D-did you, sir?”

  “One Jeremiah Cleave, claiming to be acting as second for a Mr Joseph Winter of Garrick Street, called on me with a tale to rival those penny dreadfuls your mother used to delight in. I don’t recall any mention of a ghost or a dungeon, but the opera singer and her youthful paramour were a nice touch, I thought. I was rather hoping you could shed further light on the subject.”

  Rufus subsided into the chair he had offered his father, feeling suddenly faint. His father’s dulcet tone did not deceive him for a moment. He gulped in a lungful of air in a fruitless effort to slow his racing heart, and stammered, “P-Papa, I...”

  Lord Ravenglass interrupted him with an impatient scowl. “Oh, for God’s sake, Rufus, I don’t give a damn who you choose to have affairs with. I was young myself once, unlikely though you might find the notion. What I do expect, however, is that a son of mine will refrain from bringing shame on himself and his family, and let me tell you, you’re proving to be a considerable disappointment on that score. When you were sent down from Oxford in disgrace, I was prepared to put it down to youthful high spirits, and after all, the university isn’t the only place a man may gain an education. I was even willing to be persuaded to overlook that business with Elizabeth Fane – at least she wasn’t the toast of London, and she wasn’t married.”

  Rufus bit his lip. “I didn’t know she was married, Papa. She didn’t say…”

  “Good God, boy, you might have asked. Or even used your eyes, instead of embroiling yourself in something as tawdry – and illegal, I might add – as a duel.”

  “I—I didn’t. It was him, Mr Winter. I tried to apologise and explain to him that I didn’t know Charlotte – M-Mrs Winter, that is – was married. I even offered to meet him in a fair fight if that was what he felt his honour demanded, but he insisted on c-calling me out. I’m sorry, Papa, I just didn’t know. I thought she loved me as I loved her.”

  “Love!” Lord Ravenglass rolled his eyes heavenward. “Need I remind you, Rufus, that you’re twenty-three, not seventeen?”

  “Yes, sir, I mean n-no, sir.” Rufus’s voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “Wh-what did you say to Mr Cleave?”

  “I sent him away with a flea in his ear, of course. Told him in no uncertain terms that his Mr Winter now had me to deal with, and not just my callow fool of a son.”

  Rufus released a breath he had not realised he was holding. “Thank you, sir, that’s very good of you. I-I’ll—”

  “You’ll damned well listen to me,” his father interrupted in a voice like a thunderclap, making Rufus jump. “This really is the last straw, Rufus. I blame your mother, you know, she was always far too lenient with you.”

  Rufus remained silent, thinking better of pointing out that, since his father had sent him away to Eton at the age of eight, bare weeks after his mother’s death, any influence she might have had on him was unlikely to have had a lasting effect.

  “And then there’s your sister,” Lord Ravenglass went on. “You know Sophia is to become engaged to Lord Offord’s son?” Rufus nodded. “It’s a damned good match, but you know what Offord’s like. The slightest hint of scandal and he’ll put an immediate stop to it. And in this day and age, scandal is precisely what will follow anything so damned foolhardy as a duel, regardless of whether or not you survive it. If you die, everyone will know why. If you survive, you’ll likely be sent to prison, or worse. Either way, the family name will be dragged through the mud. Then what will Sophia do? Who do you think’ll have her then?”

  Rufus, judging this to be a rhetorical question, remained silent as his father strove to master his rage.

  At length Lord Ravenglass spoke in calmer tones. “Fortunately, I’m tolerably sure I’ll be able to deal with Winter. Like most men involved in commerce, he’ll no doubt be persuaded to accept money as the solution to his loss of honour. However,” he went on, his voice taking on a harsh tone, “since you seem determined to spend your life in bringing shame on your family, I’ve decided you must henceforth be kept as far out of harm’s way as I can manage to contrive.”

  He emphasised the word ‘far’ in an ominous fashion that made Rufus quake with trepidation.

  “I have decided,” his father continued, “that you shall join your Uncle Oliver on his estate in New Zealand. I shall book your passage today, and until you leave, you’ll stay with your Aunt Fordyce in Scotland. In the meantime I shall, of course, deny all knowledge of your whereabouts.”

  Rufus stared, open-mouthed, at his father. “New Zealand?” he managed to blurt out at last. “But—but that’s on the other side of the world.”

  “Quite,” said his father with a grim smile. “Whatever trouble you may bring on yourself there, it will not besmirch the family name. And now,” he took his hat from the stand and placed it firmly on his head, “I’ll bid you good day. I advise you to pack what you need. We leave for Edinburgh first thing tomorrow morning, and I don’t expect to be kept waiting.”

  * * * *

  Glencrae House, the home of Aunt Jane Fordyce, a bleak, grey-stone structure situated at an inconvenient distance from such diversions as Edinburgh might have offered, was damp, cold and uncomfortable. Aunt Jane, tall and bony with skimpy grey hair dragged back into a tight bun and a voice like a crow’s, had converted to the Church of Scotland following a close brush with the Grim Reaper some years earlier, and took positive pride in an austerity that would have done credit to a hermit. And if living her Spartan lifestyle were insufficient, she insisted on Rufus accompanying her on her frequent visits to nearby Saint Ninnian’s church.

  “We must pray that the good Lord will forgive your sins,” she told him, though her narrowed lips and the glint in her filmy blue eyes suggested she doubted this would prove sufficient.

  Rufus had no way of telling whether a cold church, hard pews and lumpy hassocks could assuage the guilt he still felt for his foolishness and cowardice, but if sheer misery counted for anything, he felt he must surely have earned a reprieve.

  Lord Ravenglass insisted on driving Rufus to Glasgow himself, the better to supervise his safe boarding of the Orion, the ship that was to carry him to New Zealand. As his father’s carriage drew within sight of the tall-masted ships, the shipbuilders’ yards, the rows of warehouses, and all the hustle and bustle of a busy port, Rufus could not help feeling a surge of excitement.

  The Orion itself, however, when he finally caught sight of it, prove
d a great disappointment. Instead of a dashing clipper, such as he had seen pictured in the pages of the Illustrated London News, reading with fascination of their dramatic races across the Atlantic to America, he found himself confronted by a sturdy, three-masted auxiliary ship, so-called, as his father explained at tedious length, because a steam-driven engine assisted her sail-power, so they wouldn’t have to stand off-shore for days waiting for a suitable wind, or languish for weeks at a time in the doldrums. Rufus, surveying the squat, black hulk, found himself less than convinced.

  Somewhat to Rufus’s annoyance, as though he expected his son to abscond at the first opportunity, Lord Ravenglass also personally supervised the safe loading of his luggage. This consisted of a brassbound sea chest that carried most of his worldly possessions as well as a letter of explanation for his Uncle Oliver and a sum of money his father judged sufficient until regular remittances could be sent to him. Rufus had begged to be allowed to take his piano on board, but in vain. His father had flatly refused to undertake the extra expense of conveying it to Glasgow and paying for its passage, declaring that Rufus should count himself lucky to be having a cabin to himself.

  For two nights, they stayed at a local inn while the steerage-class passengers were taken aboard and settled in their accommodations below decks. Lord Ravenglass busied himself reading the newspapers or catching up on his correspondence, but Rufus, anxious to avoid having too much time to think about his situation, made his way each day to the dockside to watch the steady stream of humanity boarding the ship via a precarious-looking gangway. They seemed to represent every aspect of life, from families, many with young babies, some with even a cat or dog in tow, or a bird in a cage, to groups of single young men or women, to quite elderly folk, alone or in twos or threes. Many were accompanied by family or friends come to bid them farewell. All carried boxes or bags containing their possessions and provisions for the journey. To Rufus, these appeared woefully inadequate for a voyage of three months or more. He decided his father was right – he was, indeed, lucky to be travelling first class, with his own cabin and meals and other amenities provided.

  On a leaden day at the tail end of winter, Rufus and his father made their way to the Orion. The decks seethed with passengers taking tearful leave of family and friends, children running about shouting and laughing, sailors striving to avoid them as they rushed about preparing the ship to weigh anchor, and officers shouting orders and oaths at the hapless sailors. All this mingled with the cries of the chickens, pigs, cows and sheep that would provide fresh milk and food during the voyage, and the competing strains of at least two bands playing popular and patriotic tunes from the dockside. There were even several preachers dispensing moral advice and religious tracts with equal enthusiasm.

  Such was the noise and confusion that Rufus was relieved to find his cabin under the poop deck. Not much more than six feet square, with a ceiling claustrophobically low, it held a bed, a small bedside cabinet, a washstand with an enamel bowl and jug, and several wooden pegs set into the panelled walls for the hanging of clothes. His cabin trunk, lashed securely down against the rocking of the ship, stood against the wall opposite the bed. There was also a round porthole, at present closed by a polished brass cover. Despite its tiny size, and the air of gloom imparted by its dark wood panelling, the cabin did afford a modicum of privacy from the bedlam above and below decks.

  At last, it was time for the visitors to return to shore. Up on deck, the Babel seemed worse than ever. The bands played louder, the sailors sang raucous shanties as they pulled and heaved on ropes and chains, and passengers and visitors alike wept for the family, friends and lovers they might never see again. Rufus, suddenly aware of the magnitude of his venture, and of what he was leaving behind, could not help weeping along with them. Even Lord Ravenglass had to clear his throat several times as he strove to give his son a few last words of advice in a voice gruff with unaccustomed emotion.

  “Rufus, my boy, I’m sorry it’s come to this, but I hope you’ll look on it as an opportunity to start afresh, to make something of yourself. Many a man before you has left England under a cloud, yet through hard work and diligence has been able to make a good life for himself in the colonies. I pray you will do the same. Goodbye, my boy, and don’t forget to write.”

  Rufus nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His father clasped his hand firmly in both of his for a moment, then strode away through the crowd. Rufus stood gazing after him until he became lost in the throng.

  Finally, all the visitors were ashore. At the shrill of the boatswain piping ‘all hands up anchor’, the pilot boats started up their steam engines, and a great cheer went up as the Orion began to move away from the quay.

  As Rufus felt the motion of the ship through the water, a sudden excitement seized him. Anything was now possible, and despite the friends, family and the familiar life he was leaving behind, it seemed to him he was embarking on a great adventure. Perhaps, in his new home on the far side of the world, he could, indeed, forge a new life for himself.

  THREE

  Rufus’s initial exhilaration was soon cast down by seasickness. For what seemed an eternity, he clung miserably to his narrow bed as the ship bucked and rolled. Day and night, his unwilling ears heard the cries of the ship’s officers shouting orders, the heavy tread of the sailors running to obey them, and the relentless half-hourly ringing of the bells that marked out the sailors’ day. How many days he lay thus in the gloom of his airless, noisome cabin, he would have been hard pressed to say, but one morning he awoke early to a miraculously calm sea, feeling quite well again, if a little fragile.

  He slid out of bed, pulled some clean clothes from his trunk and dressed as quickly as he could, then found his way to the dining salon. Unlike his tiny cabin, the spacious room would have done justice to some of the better clubs of London, boasting an ornate, gilded-plaster ceiling, extensive rosewood panelling, scarlet plush-pile carpets, and chairs upholstered in matching brocade. Rufus found a seat near one end of the table that ran almost the width of the ship. In seconds, a white-coated steward appeared at his elbow enquiring politely what he fancied for breakfast. The thought of kippers, ham, or even eggs, made him feel queasy again, so he asked for a cup of tea and some toasted bread. With a nod, the steward glided away, and Rufus began a discreet survey of his fellow passengers.

  Apart from a smattering of elderly folk, most of them seemed to be families, with children ranging in age from almost adult to mere babes in arms. It was going to be a damned boring voyage, he thought gloomily, with only staid families for company. Even Captain Standish, a tall, imposing figure with greying mutton-chop side-whiskers, looked severe and humourless. Rufus saw only two young men of his own age at the table, neither of whom looked as though they’d welcome his friendship. One, a pale and sickly youth with gold-rimmed spectacles, had his nose stuck in a book, even at the dining table. The other, whose narrow face and beady eyes reminded Rufus of a ferret, responded to his polite greeting with a brief stare of undisguised irritation, then continued shovelling food into his mouth as though it were his first meal in a month, and the last he expected for some time to come. Disappointed, Rufus continued to gaze fitfully about him until the steward returned with his breakfast.

  Feeling considerably restored by his light meal, Rufus ventured onto the poop deck to take the air. The morning was clear and bright, though chilly. Leaning on the rail, he gazed out over the sea. The deep blue water, its surface scarcely ruffled by the light breeze, stretched away in all directions until, at some improbably distant point, it merged with the paler sky in a thin, misty line of amethyst like the stroke of a water colourist’s brush. The ship sat like a toy on a vast plate of cobalt glass.

  A number of the passengers he had seen at breakfast were strolling about the deck, and since he had nothing better to do, and thought it best to make at least a show of politeness to his enforced neighbours, Rufus spent his time in passing the time of day with them until the bell rang for lunc
heon. While he and the other passengers were eating their ham, cheese, bread and butter and fruit, Doctor Wells, the ship’s surgeon, came into the dining room and clapped his hands for attention.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if I might have a moment of your time, you are all cordially invited this evening to a dance in the room next door.” He waved a hand to indicate the room’s whereabouts. “A light supper will be served later in the evening.”

  An excited buzz of conversation arose as soon as he had left, as mothers and daughters began to discuss what they should wear, and how they should dress their hair. The niceties of women’s clothing and hairstyles held little interest for Rufus, yet he found himself looking forward to an evening of dancing, even wondering which of his fashionable embroidered waistcoats he should wear.

  After dinner, along with most of the other first-class passengers, Rufus made his way to the room where the dance was to take place. It was in a similar style to the dining salon, larger, with the same opulent gilding and panelling and plush scarlet carpets and upholstery. Lamps set in pairs of ornate gilt sconces along the walls furnished the room with a warm glow. At one end of the room a trio of musicians – two violinists and an accordionist, whom he recognised from the dining table – were busy tuning their instruments. They soon struck up a lively polka, and couples began to take the floor.

  Rufus glanced about him, making a survey of the young ladies present. They were not, of course, of his own social standing, but he was beginning to realise he would have a very lonely voyage if he didn’t make some concessions to his circumstances. Besides, one or two of them were very pretty indeed, and with no one of his own class present to pass judgement, he contrived to spend a most enjoyable evening. He even found himself engaging in lively conversation with one of them, a brunette of perhaps nineteen or twenty, called Eleanor Fox. She was not among the prettiest there, but her wit, rather unexpectedly, charmed him far more than the mere good looks of others. Perhaps, at last, he was learning to see beneath the surface of the beauty that had led him astray in the past.

 

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