The Consul's Daughter

by Jane Jackson

  Caseley gauged the distance between the vessel and the quay. Though it wasn’t far, Jago could at least have put out a ladder or a gangplank. Was he deliberately trying to make it difficult for her? He must know this was the very last place she wanted to be.

  The gunwale was several inches above the quay. Gathering her skirts in one hand, Caseley placed one foot on it and held out her hand to the boy. She would not think about the gap between quay and ship, and the cold grey water slopping between the two. Flushing crimson, he grasped her fingers, steadying her as she jumped down. She winced as she jarred her damaged foot.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  She stiffened at the familiar deep voice, and kept her gaze lowered as she shook out her skirt and picked up her bag, giving the boy a brief smile.

  ‘Thank you, Martin.’ She could feel her face burning as she met Jago’s eyes. ‘I had a little difficulty getting aboard.’

  ‘Get back to the galley, Martin,’ Jago dismissed him without a glance.

  Caseley braced herself, waiting for him to mention her letter.

  ‘Aye, sir.’ The boy scuttled away.

  His expression unreadable, Jago folded his arms, his skin brown against the rolled-up sleeves of a white shirt. A red kerchief loosely knotted around his throat emphasised the blackness of his beard.

  ‘Now that you are on board, perhaps you will tell me why. We are due to sail shortly.’

  Had he simply accepted her decision? While she longed to believe that, she couldn’t because it would be totally unlike him. Not saying anything now could only mean he was saving it for later.

  ‘Did my father not tell you?’

  ‘I haven’t seen your father.’

  Though her promise made it necessary, lying to him was far harder than she expected. She moistened dry lips. ‘There is a trade agreement that must be signed –’

  ‘Then I suggest you give it to me and return home.’

  Caseley stared at him. Why was he pretending not to know what she was talking about?

  ‘I can’t give it to you. If you didn’t speak to my father then Toby must have told you.’

  Jago frowned. ‘Told me what?’

  Caseley swallowed, her parched throat making an audible click. ‘That you have a passenger for this trip.’

  Jago nodded. ‘Yes, I was told. He’s already aboard. He arrived last night.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘Antonio Valdes.’

  Caseley was totally confused. ‘Who is Antonio Valdes?’

  Jago’s expression darkened. ‘The passenger I am taking to Spain. Why are you here? Sam could have brought this trade agreement down. Is it money? Do you need more? The bank has my instructions. You have only to speak to Mr Buller. As for the house, this is neither the time nor the place for such discussions.’

  Money? The house? He was talking as though he had not received her letter. The deck heaved beneath her feet. His last words brought back vivid memories of Louise Downing’s visit and her own awakening to the true situation. But he was right in one respect. This was not the time to talk about his house or anyone connected with it.

  She raised her chin. ‘As far as I am concerned, Captain, there is nothing to discuss. Obviously there has been a misunderstanding. My father told me he left a message with Toby that you were to expect a passenger.’

  ‘Yes. Antonio Valdes.’

  ‘No.’ Caseley was firm. ‘Whoever this person is, and whatever his reasons for wanting a passage to Spain, he is not the passenger my father meant.’

  ‘No? Then who –?’ He broke off, his gaze darting to the heavy bag clutched in her white-knuckled hands. ‘You?’ She gave a single nod. ‘Why?’

  ‘I started to tell you.’

  ‘Ah yes. Trade contracts.’ Hands on his hips he studied her but before he could speak, a man appeared behind him. He had fair hair, a narrow face, and wide-set eyes that sharpened as they saw her.

  Distracted by his sudden emergence, uncomfortable beneath his intent scrutiny, she turned back to Jago, lowering her voice. ‘Perhaps you had better explain the misunderstanding to Señor Valdes. No doubt he will be able to find another berth within a few days.’

  As the newcomer approached, Jago swung round. ‘If you will kindly go below, Señor Valdes, Martin will bring your breakfast. I will join you shortly.’ Politely phrased it was nonetheless an order.

  The man stopped. Slightly built, he wore a superbly cut dark coat and ochre waistcoat over grey check trousers. His linen was spotless and a garnet pin glowed in the folds of his cravat. Caseley guessed him to be a few years older than her but younger than Jago. Surprise and displeasure crossed his face.

  ‘Forgive me, Captain. It was not my intention to intrude.’ His voice was heavily accented and betrayed a pique at odds with his apology. Bowing, he returned to the companionway.

  Caseley looked at Jago. ‘Why didn’t you tell him?’

  He leaned towards her. ‘I am master of this ship,’ he said softly. ‘I am not obliged to explain my decisions.’

  ‘Your point is taken, Captain.’ Her heartbeat thudded so loud and fast she feared he might hear it. ‘If you have decided Señor Valdes can remain aboard then so be it. But my father and I have a prior claim in ownership. I am here, not through choice, but on his instructions in a matter of some urgency. So if you will show me to my cabin, you need delay your departure no longer.’

  He masked it quickly but she saw shock. ‘You cannot sail with me.’

  Why was he doing this? Her father had told her it was all settled. ‘On the contrary, Captain, I can and I must. The error was yours, not mine. I am undertaking this voyage in my father’s name because he is not well enough.’ Her voice nearly faltered but she caught it in time. Anger bubbled up lending her strength. ‘Were he standing here you would not attempt to force him ashore.’

  ‘Were he here, the situation would not arise,’ he retorted.

  In the tense silence he rubbed one palm across his beard. ‘Will you not consider another vessel?’

  Feeling his rejection like a slap she took a breath then shook her head. ‘That is not possible. I need to –’ Recognising the audacity of his suggestion she stopped. ‘Why should I? This confusion is not my fault.’

  ‘So you are determined to stay?’ His tone implied a warning but against what she had no idea.

  ‘Believe me, Captain Barata, it gives me no more pleasure to be here than it gives you to see me.’

  He studied her for several seconds, frowning slightly. ‘Are you aware of the conditions?’

  She nodded. ‘My father warned me we might encounter rough weather.’

  ‘I was not referring to the weather.’

  ‘I do not expect all the comforts of home, Captain.’

  His gaze was thoughtful. ‘Once we leave, I will not turn back.’

  She glanced towards the town. Once the ship sailed she would be on her own with no one to whom she could turn for advice if anything went wrong. She had survived the past two months. She could survive this. She thought of her father.

  ‘I told you.’ Her voice sounded thin and strained. ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘For trade agreements.’ He was openly sceptical.

  ‘They are very important.’

  ‘They must be.’

  Uncertain, she glanced at him. Their eyes locked. She wanted to look away but his steady gaze held her fast. She was acutely conscious of his physical presence, his stillness. The grey eyes were no longer cool but questioning.

  The yearning she had fought so hard to deny surged over her like a breaking wave and she fought to retain her balance, barely aware of holding her breath.

  Seeing his expression change, sensing his retreat behind a barrier as solid as a wall, she remembered Louise. Louise who had age-old eyes, a full-lipped mouth, and voluptuous figure, who spoke possessively of Jago, regularly visited him at his hotel, and now laid claim to his house.

  Her lashes lowered. She was grateful for the pain. Where
was her pride? Could she so easily forget how cynically he had used her? She raised her head, drew herself up.

  ‘My cabin, Captain?’

  He regarded her for a moment longer, then leaned forward to take the bag from her nerveless fingers, anger flashing across his face as she flinched. Silently he gestured for her to precede him. She stopped as they reached the double doors of the companionway, now latched back.

  He pushed the sliding top further open to reveal a spiral staircase with perforated brass treads and a wooden handrail that curved out of sight.

  Misinterpreting her hesitation he went ahead of her and waited halfway. ‘It’s not as steep as it looks. You’ll soon get used to it.’

  She glanced over her shoulder in one last agonising instant of doubt, glimpsing the little tower atop her father’s house. The breeze was like cold breath on her neck and suddenly she was afraid.

  She thought of Ben helping her father wash and dress for the day while Rosina prepared breakfast and Liza-Jane worked through her morning chores. Maybe Ralph was awake and thinking about the portrait.

  There was no going back. Placing one foot on the top stair, she gripped the teak rail and followed Jago down.

  He pointed to a door at the bottom of the companionway. ‘This is the mate’s cabin. Do you know Nathan Ferris?’

  Caseley shook her head. ‘We’ve not met. I believe he lives over at Feock with his wife and children.’

  Jago merely nodded and opened a door facing forward. ‘This is my day room.’ He stood back to let her pass.

  A salt-stained and grubby canvas bag stood against an upholstered bench seat. The cabin narrowed towards the stern. Though not large, it was light and airy thanks to a large skylight that had a brass oil-lamp suspended below it.

  Panelled in wood, the cabin had two shelves edged with thin rails at the aft end. The lower one held rolled charts. The upper was crammed with books, a tin of oil, and several small tools. A barometer and a clock were set into the panelling above them.

  A table between the two upholstered bench seats was hinged to fold down and provide more floor space. A small stove stood on a stone slab in front of the forward bulkhead with a coalscuttle and basket of kindling beside it.

  Jago dropped her bag on the table. Pulling back the dark curtain on the far side of the stove he stepped aside.

  Caseley saw the space had just enough room for a bunk and a small cupboard with a hinged lid on top, which she guessed would contain a small removable washbasin, and a single door below. A reefer jacket lay on the grey blankets and she glimpsed a canvas bag beneath the bunk.

  Without a word he crossed the cabin, pushed open a sliding door on the locker above the seat, and beckoned her forward.

  Aware of his mocking gaze, Caseley looked in. The sea-berth was six feet long, just over two feet wide, and contained a thin mattress, several folded grey blankets, and a pillow covered in blue and white striped ticking.

  She remembered enough about the layout of a schooner to realise this was not a deliberate attempt to embarrass or frighten her off. The crew slept in the fo’c’sle; the master and mate had cabins aft. There was no extra accommodation. These vessels were built for carrying cargo, not passengers.

  She turned to Jago. One dark brow rose but he did not speak. Nor did he smile. Was he expecting accusation? Complaint? A hasty retreat?

  Caseley cleared her throat. ‘If you are offering me a choice, I’ll take the sleeping cabin, thank you.’

  He gave a brief nod. She thought she saw fleeting approval but dismissed it as wishful thinking.

  There was a tap on the door and a man poked his head into the cabin. ‘Ready to warp out, skipper.’ Catching sight of Caseley, his eyes rounded, darting from her to Jago.

  ‘Thanks, Nathan.’ Jago opened the door wider. ‘Miss Bonython, allow me to introduce Cygnet’s mate, Nathan Ferris.’

  ‘How do you do, Mr Ferris.’

  The mate was visibly surprised as Caseley extended her hand. She saw Jago’s mouth twist and recalled their first meeting and her refusal to acknowledge their introduction.

  Nathan quickly wiped his hand down the side of his trousers before taking her hand and giving it a single careful shake. ‘How do, miss. I seen your father down here yesterday. Not looking too bad, is he?’

  ‘No, he is much better,’ she agreed, feeling Jago’s eyes on her. What else could she say? People saw what they wanted to see. Even when they guessed the truth they would cling to the old adage about life and hope.

  ‘Take you topside, shall I, miss? We’re casting off d’rectly and –’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Jago broke in. ‘Miss Bonython is sailing with us.’

  The mate blinked. ‘Ah. Right. Well. If you’ll ’scuse me, miss, I’d best get on.’ He touched his forehead in salute. ‘Soon as we’re under way I’ll move my stuff down the fo’c’sle, skipper. ’Ammer can rig me ’ammock.’

  Jago clapped the mate’s shoulder. ‘I’m much obliged, Nathan.’

  The mate nodded and left.

  Caseley looked at Jago in relief. But before she could speak, he shook his head.

  ‘No. Señor Valdes has Nathan’s cabin. You will remain here.’ She opened her mouth to protest, but he didn’t give her the chance. ‘While you are aboard I am responsible for your safety.’ His tone implacable, he reached for the door handle.

  Caseley burned with fury and indignation. Everyone aboard would face the same dangers should the weather turn wild. So he was simply making her pay for insisting on sailing aboard Cygnet.

  She should have known better than to expect consideration. He had made it clear from the moment they met that as far as he was concerned she deserved none. But with him in it the cabin felt very small.

  Unexpectedly he turned. As her chin lifted his mouth curved in a caustic smile. ‘For what it’s worth,’ he spoke quietly, ‘our enforced proximity will be no easier for me.’ He left, closing the door behind him.

  Caseley pressed her palms to her hot cheeks. Never had she felt so wretchedly out of place.

  Through the open skylight she could hear orders being shouted, the squeak of ropes through blocks, and the rattle of steering gear. She leaned against the doorjamb, her fingers pressed to her trembling lips as she tried to swallow the lump that threatened to choke her.

  Her father was depending on her. At worst the voyages out and back would take ten days. Given good weather it might only be a week. Then she would be free of Jago Barata.

  The cabin was stifling. She needed air. Quickly wiping the wetness from her cheeks, she walked out, closing the door behind her. She refused to think about the coming night and the ones to follow. Gripping the handrail she climbed the companionway and stepped out onto the deck.

  Already clear of the quay, Cygnet was swinging round, her bow pointing towards Trefusis. She saw Jago at the wheel. He ignored her, gazing forward to where Nathan and two other men were hauling on ropes, setting the two huge fore and aft sails and sheeting home the square topsail. Even the boy Martin was involved, darting to help wherever he was needed.

  The bow came into the wind then with a crack like a pistol shot, the sails filled, and the schooner surged forward.

  Caseley moved to the starboard side and stood close to the mainmast rigging. Cygnet’s raking stem cut through the choppy water like a knife as they passed the north arm of the docks and headed out towards Black Rock and the English Channel.

  The sky was a pastel wash of lemon, pale green, and turquoise. Slivers of high thin cloud were edged with rose. With the breeze cool on her face and the deck moving beneath her feet like a living creature, she watched spellbound as the rising sun peeped over the headland behind the St Anthony lighthouse, unrolling a carpet of liquid gold before them.

  When she looked back for one last glimpse of the town, it was already out of sight.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dazzled by the sunrise, Caseley watched Nathan and the two crewmen trim the sails. Hauling in and loosenin
g ropes, winding them in figures-of-eight around two-pronged wooden pegs with speed and dexterity, they ensured that each sail drew its dull share of wind.

  ‘Jimbo!’ Nathan bawled at a stocky figure in the bows. ‘Coil they jib sheets down clear for running. Likely the skipper’ll gybe when she’s clear o’ the Point for a broad reach down past the Lizard.’

  Jimbo raised a hand in acknowledgement. Where the bight of rope fell from a peg he laid it in a wide circle on the deck. He added several more turns finishing with the loose end. Quickly flipping the whole coil over, he neatly overlapped both sides of the centre into a figure-of-eight with an extra loop in the middle.

  If the sail had to be loosed in a hurry, once the rope was free of the peg it would rise from the coil with no risk of knots or tangles.

  As the men worked swiftly round the deck tidying all the loose ropes, she wondered why they were lifting them off the deck and hanging them over stanchions or on the gunwale. Then Martin hauled a bucket of seawater in over the side. As he sloshed it over the deck and began scrubbing with a short-bristled broom, she realised she had not heard Jago issue one word of command.

  ‘The captain runs, how you say, a tight ship, no?’

  The soft voice so close to her ear made her jump. She turned quickly.

  ‘Antonio Valdes,’ he introduced himself and bowed his head without breaking eye contact. ‘It is an unexpected pleasure to have the company of such a beautiful young lady.’ His brown eyes were soft and languid, his smile admiring. ‘Tell me I am not dreaming. I see this apparition before me, with hair as rich as cinnabar. Does she have a name?’

  Suppressing a smile, Caseley offered her hand. ‘I am no ghost, Señor Valdes. My name is Bonython. Do tell me, what is cinnabar?’

  Instead of shaking her hand he raised it to his mouth. Ignoring the convention that a gentleman stopped short of actual contact, he touched his lips to her knuckles.

  When Jago had done the same, his touch had stirred new and powerful emotions in her. This felt impertinent.

  Firmly withdrawing her hand, she saw surprise and speculation in his gaze. She realised he would take advantage of the slightest encouragement. Yet his lavish compliments were balm to her bruised heart.