A Different Hunger

by Lila Richards

  Rufus had, of course, heard of the Austrian psychiatrist, though mainly in terms of his being an unscrupulous charlatan who took advantage of the weaknesses of his largely female – and wealthy – clientele. He was also rumoured to be addicted to laudanum or some such, scarcely an endorsement of his already unlikely theories. However, he was far too polite to express such doubts to Doctor Wells, who was clearly a convert. Hysteria, though, certainly seemed as likely an explanation as the others circulating about the ship.

  The shipboard rumours continued to make the rounds, but after a time Rufus lost interest in an apparently unsolvable mystery. Besides, his energies were increasingly devoted to gaining the further company of the elusive Serafina Radzinskaya. Since the ball, he had not seen either her or Springer. Neither of them ever appeared for meals, so Rufus supposed they must dine privately, although why they should do so was beyond him. In an effort to discover the whereabouts of their cabins – for he felt certain they could not be domiciled with the hoi polloi below decks – he waylaid the ship’s purser one evening.

  “Excuse me, sir, but can you tell me in which cabin Miss Serafina Radzinskaya is staying? Miss Radzinskaya dropped a—a glove at the ball. I’d like to return it to her, but I haven’t seen her since, and I thought perhaps I could take it to her cabin.”

  This purser gave him a look that suggested he considered himself more than equal to any tricks a love-struck young man might try on him. “Well, now, young sir, it’d be more than my job’s worth to divulge such details to you, but if you’d like to bring the glove to my office, I’ll see that the lady gets it.”

  Inwardly seething with frustration, Rufus thanked the purser and took himself off to pace the deck in the cool evening air. Why should he feel like this, he thought angrily, over a woman he scarcely knew? Why couldn’t he just shake her off? He’d always been able to do that before. Even Charlotte Winter hadn’t made him long for her company as Serafina Radzinskaya did. He felt as though he had found a part of himself he had not realised was missing, and was now desperate not to lose it again.

  Engrossed in his feelings, he at first failed to notice a low voice calling his name. He looked up, annoyed at having his reverie interrupted, to see the object of his musings standing by the ship’s railing. In an instant, his mood lifted to one of elation. He ceased his pacing and ran to join her.

  “Miss Radzinskaya! How good it is to see you. I’ve missed you since the ball.”

  She gave her pensive smile. “How kind of you to say so, Mr de Hunte.”

  “Please,” said Rufus, taking the hand she offered and bending over it. “Please call me Rufus, and—and may I call you Serafina?”

  She gave a slight curtsey. “Indeed you may – Rufus.”

  Rufus relinquished her hand, deliriously aware that an important milestone in their relationship had just been passed.

  “Would you care to take a turn about the deck with me?” he asked, offering her his arm.

  Serafina placed her pale hand on his coat sleeve and they began to stroll.

  “I do hope you’ve not been unwell,” Rufus said. “There have been such dreadful rumours.”

  “Rumours?”

  “Why, haven’t you heard? There have been a number of mysterious illnesses recently. Passengers have been found quite insensible, yet with no clue as to the nature of their malady.”

  Serafina smiled at him; she was tall enough that she had no need to look up to meet his eyes. “What? No clues at all? That seems unlikely.”

  “Well, apparently one woman had marks on her neck – like insect bites, Doctor Wells said, only bigger.”

  “Goodness! A strange symptom, indeed.”

  “That’s what I thought. Doctor Wells believes the afflicted passengers are just victims of hysteria.”

  “Ah. He’s a follower of Doctor Freud, then?”

  “I believe so. But must we talk of such distasteful things?”

  Serafina smiled. “No, indeed we must not. Tell me, Rufus, do you still play the piano in the ballroom?”

  “Yes, but it’s not the same without my audience.”

  “Your—Oh, you mean me?” Serafina gave a soft chuckle. “But surely an audience of one is scarcely worthy of the name.”

  “It is if it’s you!” declared Rufus, catching up both her hands in his. “Serafina, will you let me play for you again? Please say you will. I should love to hear you sing again.”

  She left her hands in his and stood looking at him, her dark eyes gleaming with a sudden fire that both excited and frightened him. He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her red mouth, but those eyes, inviting as they seemed, somehow held him at bay.

  Then the moment had passed, and Serafina said calmly, “I should like that very much. When do you think would be suitable?”

  “Why, now, if you’d like it.”

  Serafina sighed. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but Anton – that is, I’m to meet my father. It’s already arranged, I’m sorry.”

  She looked so genuinely forlorn that Rufus took her hand again, saying, “I understand. Please don’t upset yourself on my account. Perhaps you can join me tomorrow afternoon after luncheon, if your father can spare you. I’ve been practicing another of Rachmaninov’s preludes.”

  “I should love to hear it, but would you mind very much if we make it later in the day? At five o’clock, perhaps?”

  “Oh yes, five o’clock, thank you!” Rufus exclaimed, in such a state of delight that, without thinking, he raised Serafina’s hand to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss upon it.

  Her eyes blazed with a light that was alarming in its intensity. Again Rufus felt a thrill of fear and excitement. Though surely that glow must be a trick of the fading light? Then it was gone, leaving him feeling oddly bereft.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her hand. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why not, if you wanted to?”

  Her words surprised him – shocked him, almost. He had never heard any other unmarried lady speak in such a manner. Even the most forward young ladies of his acquaintance would consider themselves sunken low, indeed, if they failed to make at least a pretence of modesty. Yet Serafina’s words didn’t seem at all immodest. Clearly of good breeding, she seemed simply to be operating from a different set of values from the ones he’d been bred to. But then, he thought, she was not English, so perhaps she’d been brought up to be this direct...

  Serafina’s words interrupted his speculations. “I must go now, Rufus. Until tomorrow, then, yes?”

  “Oh, yes,” breathed Rufus.

  With a smile, Serafina turned from him and walked away across the deck. Rufus stood looking after her graceful figure until she disappeared down the stairway that led to the main deck.

  * * * *

  At half past four on the following afternoon, Rufus was already seated at the piano, but nervousness thwarted his attempts to practice his new piece. Because it now mattered to him more than ever, fresh doubts besieged him about the nature of Serafina’s relationship with Anton Springer. Quite apart from the matter of their different surnames, he found it difficult to believe she’d refer to her true father by his Christian name. It was unthinkable. Yet if she were his mistress, he dared not pay court to her for fear of how Springer would react. True, he’d evinced no sign of jealousy when Rufus had danced with Serafina, and no sign of wishing to do so himself. On the contrary, he had been pleasant and friendly throughout the evening. Still, something in his hawkish eyes told Rufus that Springer would not be a man to cross.

  As the hands of the large wall clock crept past five o’clock, Rufus began to fear Serafina would not keep their appointment. Springer must have forbidden her to meet him, he thought with a stab of jealousy. Or could it be that she’d been toying with him earlier? Could he have been wrong in his reading of what had seemed clear signs of her partiality? Were both she and Springer engaged in some cruel game with him, and if so, why? In a torment of frustration, anger and fear, he leapt up from
the piano stool and began to pace about the room. This calmed him somewhat, and he had just told himself for the third time that he would wait another five minutes and no longer, when Serafina appeared in the doorway. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and Rufus thought she looked more enchanting than ever. As he looked at her, he wondered how he could ever have doubted her sincerity. He went to her and took her hand to raise it to his lips.

  “I’m sorry to be so late,” she said. “Thank you for waiting. I could hardly blame you if you’d quite given me up for a lost cause.”

  “No, no, not at all,” Rufus protested, his anger quite dispelled by his pleasure in her presence. “Let me get you a chair.”

  Serafina smiled her thanks, and Rufus made sure she was comfortably seated before returning to the piano.

  Although somewhat distracted by the tumult of emotions within him, before long the music began to work its usual magic. When he stole a glance at Serafina, she was sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, and seemed entranced. Was it just the music that enchanted her so, he wondered, or dare he hope he was included?

  A sudden commotion outside the room startled them both. A man’s authoritative voice called, “Fetch the surgeon, quickly!” followed by the sound of running feet. Rufus leapt to his feet. Serafina was already opening the door as he reached her side. Looking out, they saw one of the passengers – an elderly gentleman whom Rufus had seen at the dining table – lying slumped against a wall, his face the colour of putty. One of the ship’s officers crouched at his side trying to loosen his starched collar. Rufus turned to Serafina, thinking to shield her from the grisly sight and to offer what comfort he could, but she was gone, apparently unable to bear it. He started forward to see if he could catch sight of her, but the officer barred his way.

  “Stand back, please, sir. Give the gentleman some air. The surgeon will be here directly.”

  On cue, the rotund figure of Doctor Wells, carrying a brown leather case, came hurrying towards them from the end of the corridor. He stood with pursed lips, stroking his greying whiskers, as the ship’s officer explained that the gentleman had collapsed suddenly, for no discernible reason.

  “Humph.” The surgeon squatted, with some difficulty, beside the recumbent form. He took the man’s clammy wrist in his plump hand and felt his pulse. Frowning and shaking his head, he snapped open his case and drew out a stethoscope. Applying this to the man’s chest, he shook his head again and levered himself to his feet. “Very little pulse,” he informed the officer. “We’ll have to get him to the sick bay so I can perform a more thorough examination, but it doesn’t look good at all, I’m afraid.”

  Glancing briskly about him, the officer commandeered Rufus and one of the stewards to help him carry the inert figure to the sick bay, where they laid him as gently as possible on one of the narrow beds. While the officer stood by, ready to assist the surgeon, Rufus and his assistant withdrew.

  As they left, he heard the officer’s voice. “Same as the others, would you say, Doctor Wells?”

  “Impossible to say for certain at this stage, but I fear you’re right.”

  * * * *

  The ship’s rumour mills ground efficiently, as ever, and before long Rufus heard that the elderly gentleman – a Mr. Howard – had died. According to the general consensus of opinion, he was the first to die of the mysterious and frightening sickness sweeping the ship. The unfortunate victim had been travelling alone, and his sea burial was attended only by the captain, who read the service, the purser, Doctor Wells, and a few intrepid souls apparently determined to experience the full spectrum of shipboard life. For the most part, however, passengers seemed loath to venture forth, fearing to expose themselves to possible infection, despite the surgeon’s assurances that there was no sign of the illness being infectious.

  Rufus was disappointed, though not entirely surprised, to see nothing further of Serafina. In view of her hasty departure at the sight of the unconscious passenger, it was easy to believe she was afraid of contracting the disease herself. Indeed, with her cold, pale skin, she had often seemed to him to be not entirely well. He longed to be able to comfort and reassure her, but try as he might, he was unable to discover which was her cabin, so he had no choice but to wait for her to come to him. To this end, he took himself to the entertainments room most afternoons in the hope that his music would somehow attract her, but to no avail.

  After a few days, passengers began once more to promenade on deck when the weather was fine. But Rufus saw no sign of either Serafina or Springer, and was forced to the miserable conclusion that either Springer did not want their friendship to continue, or, worse, that Serafina herself had no wish to see him again.

  FIVE

  For some weeks, the Orion had been sailing into increasingly warm latitudes. As they passed the western coast of Africa, passengers crowded to the railings to marvel at the exotic perfumes wafted to them by the warm breezes, though the coast itself was but a distant blur on the horizon. Calm weather made progress slow, but Captain Standish had decreed that the auxiliary engines should not be used now they had passed through the doldrums. They would need them, he declared in ominous tones, once they reached the southern latitudes.

  In the meantime, passengers and crew alike revelled in the balmy weather and calm seas. Clothes and bedding, damp from seawater seeping into cabins and musty from lack of airing, were brought on deck and draped to dry on any available beam or rope. By day, the decks were crowded. Men and women promenaded, chatted, read, or wrote up the journals they were encouraged to keep to ward off boredom, while children ran about, squabbled, and generally got underfoot. At night, many passengers came up on deck to view the magical sight of a sea glowing with the eerie luminosity of phosphorescence. One of the officers showed how a small object dropped overboard would create a veritable galaxy of starry lights as it splashed into the water, and this became a favourite evening pastime.

  One evening, as Rufus was leaning on the poop deck railing to take in the cooler evening air, he caught sight of a group of young steerage passengers on the main deck, who were lowering a bucket into the water on a rope. As he watched, they pulled it up and began splashing its shimmering contents over one another, to shouts of good-natured laughter. His absorption in the happy scene was interrupted by a soft voice close behind him. His heart pounding, he spun round, expecting to see Serafina.

  But it was Eleanor Fox, the young lady whose company he had enjoyed at the first dance held on board.

  Rufus stifled his disappointment and took her outstretched hand with a smile. “How do you do, Miss Fox? I haven’t seen you about for quite some time. I do hope you haven’t been ill?”

  “I’m afraid I have, rather, but I’m feeling much better now. Doctor Wells assures me it’s nothing infectious, and it’s such a lovely, warm evening, I just had to come out for some fresh air.”

  Rufus smiled. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. A ship’s cabin is no place in which to be sick.”

  “No, indeed.” She gave him an impish grin. “Especially when one shares that cabin with a grumpy brother.”

  Rufus could not help responding to Miss Fox’s wry good humour. “I can imagine! I certainly wouldn’t want to be cooped up with my brother Humphrey on a long voyage – nor he with me, I dare say.”

  “Oh, do tell me about your family, Mr. de Hunte?”

  “If you’ll take a turn with me about the deck, I’ll do my best, but I warn you they’re a pretty dull bunch.”

  Miss Fox laughed. “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. I always find the more one knows about people, the more fascinating they are. And I’d be delighted to walk with you.” She placed her hand on Rufus’s arm. “Does your family live in London?”

  As they strolled arm in arm, Rufus did his best to make his family sound more interesting than he, himself, found them. Miss Fox responded with amusing anecdotes about her own numerous relations, and very soon they were conducting an animated conversation. After his disappointment
over Serafina Radzinskaya, Rufus found the company of such a charming young lady as Miss Fox both gratifying and comforting. She was so open and unaffected, he could have no doubt that she was enjoying his company as he was hers. Although she and her family were clearly of much lower social standing that his own, she seemed not the least bit in awe of him, declaring, with a chime of laughter, that she had always wanted to live in a castle, and must make every attempt to ensnare him so her wish might be granted.

  Rufus grinned. “I’m afraid you’ve chosen the wrong man on whom to work your wiles. I’m only a younger brother, so the estate won’t be mine unless something unimaginable happens to Humphrey, and you seem altogether too sweet natured to carry out such a dastardly plan. Besides, it’s not at all a romantic castle – especially in the depths of a Cumberland winter.”

  “Oh, dear, yet another dream punctured. But surely you have something of value to offer, Mr de Hunte? A magnificent town house designed by Mr Wren, perhaps, or a South African diamond mine you’ll inherit from your eccentric Uncle Wilberforce?” Her brown eyes gleamed with mischief. “You disappoint me, Mr de Hunte, truly you do.”

  Rufus’s lip twitched. “Yes, I’m generally regarded as something of a disappointment.”

  “I find that very hard to believe,” Miss Fox murmured, touching his hand lightly.

  Rufus gently removed his hand from hers. Much as he enjoyed her company, she was not the woman for him.

  “Just you take your filthy hands off her!” A strident voice called out.

  Startled, Rufus stepped away from Miss Fox and stared about him, half expecting to see Charlotte Winter’s husband. Swaggering towards them, however, was the ferret-faced man Rufus had noticed earlier in the voyage. From the look of his dripping clothes, he’d been entertaining himself with the steerage passengers on the main deck. Reaching Miss Fox’s side, the glowering young man took her arm in a proprietorial grip. Miss Fox tried to pull away.