The Consul's Daughter

by Jane Jackson

  He leaned on the gunwale beside her. ‘Cinnabar is the red ore from which quicksilver comes.’ He paused, smiling as he studied her. ‘Is there beneath those lovely tresses a silvery spirit that slips through the fingers, unwilling to be captured?’

  His tone was light, bantering. Though she lacked experience in the art of flirting, Caseley recognised the skill in others. Perhaps Antonio Valdes was merely seeking to relieve a tedious voyage in a socially acceptable manner with no offence intended. But unease riffled over her skin like a cat’s paw of wind on still water.

  ‘My hair has been compared to many things, sir.’ She recalled childhood taunts of carroty, conker, and radish-head. ‘Though of a more mundane nature.’ Before he could comment, she deliberately shifted the conversation away from herself. ‘Are you involved in mining?’

  ‘No, though there are quicksilver mines where I come from. Also coal, iron, and zinc. But I would not have you think that is all Asturias can offer.’ He smiled into her eyes, his narrow face enthusiastic. ‘Along the coast are small fishing settlements at the foot of sheer cliffs. Behind these, maize grows on rolling hills. We do not have frost, so dates ripen in the sun and oranges scent the air with their blossom. In the west are the mountains, wild and rugged and capped with snow.’

  ‘You paint a vivid picture, Señor.’

  ‘It is a vivid country, Señorita. Oviedo’s cathedral has one of the finest church towers in Spain. It is the burial place of ancient Asturian kings. But most of the people live in small villages. Beside each house there is another, very tiny. This is … horreo …’

  ‘A granary?’ Caseley supplied.

  His eyes narrowed briefly then he laughed. ‘Sí, a granary. You speak Spanish?’

  ‘Very little.’ Her response was pure instinct. There was no logical reason to deny her fluency in the language. But the warmth in his smile had not reached his eyes. Her wariness returned. ‘Do go on.’

  ‘The granaries are built on four legs to protect the maize of each household from rats and mice. The mountain ham of Asturias is famous through all Spain.’ His smile faded. ‘Forgive me. I think I am boring you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Caseley said with perfect truth. ‘I enjoy learning about other countries. Reading books is never as informative as listening to someone who lives there. What is so special about the ham?’

  Once again something about his warm open smile disturbed her. She glimpsed hints of satisfaction and smugness that made her wonder if she had been manipulated into asking the questions. But what would be the point? Besides, she was interested. Why pretend otherwise?

  ‘It has a unique flavour,’ he said. ‘The ham is laid in the snow high in the mountains so the sun may cure it. The cold snow stops the meat spoiling. It becomes a beautiful dark red in colour. Sliced very thin it is almost translucent. To eat it with ice-cool melon,’ he bunched the tips of his fingers and kissed them, ‘is a wonderful experience. Now, beautiful miss, you must tell me about yourself. Where is your home?’

  ‘In Falmouth.’ Caseley saw him look over her shoulder. As she started to turn, Jago spoke.

  ‘A few moments of your time, Miss Bonython?’ He did not even glance at Valdes. Cupping her elbow, he indicated that she should precede him aft.

  Valdes straightened from the rail with languid grace and bowed to her.

  ‘I enjoyed our conversation, Miss Bonython. Captain.’ With a brief nod he made for the companionway and disappeared down the stairs.

  ‘Well, Captain Barata?’ Caseley matched his coolness. ‘You have my attention. What do you want?’

  ‘Martin needs to finish swabbing the deck. You and Señor Valdes were in the way.’ He guided her towards the stern. ‘You also risked getting your head knocked off.’ Without waiting for a response he turned to Nathan. ‘I’ll take the helm. Make ready to gybe.’

  ‘Aye, skipper.’ Stating their course, the mate relinquished the wheel and hurried forward, shouting orders to Jimbo and Hammer.

  Watching the smooth, sure movements of the crew as they hauled in the two booms to which the fore and aft mainsails were laced, Caseley forgot her anger.

  Jago turned the wheel slowly, watching the sails to see when the wind left them. ‘All right, boys,’ he shouted, and spun the wheel. Nathan released ropes on the port side and the huge booms swung across. One passed right where she had been standing.

  Jimbo and Hammer hauled in the starboard sheets and, as the sails filled, made them fast. Heeling slightly, Cygnet leapt forward on her new course. The two crewmen went forward to trim the jibs and staysail and Jago checked the compass suspended just inside the day room skylight as Nathan returned.

  ‘Keep her steady on this heading. If the wind holds we should make Ushant before sundown.’

  ‘Only a hundred miles, skipper?’ the mate grinned. ‘Slowing up, are ’e?’

  Caseley waited for the explosion. But to her amazement it never came.

  ‘If you’d had my lay-over,’ Jago snorted, ‘you would not smile so readily.’

  ‘Need a wife and family, you do,’ Nathan advised.

  Jago’s laugh was brief and humourless. ‘You married men want to see everyone else enslaved.’

  She might as well have been invisible.

  The mate’s grin widened. ‘Well, if ’tis a prison to have a warm bed and a woman to match waiting for me after every trip, I aren’t in no hurry to break me chains.’

  Jago shrugged. ‘Who needs marriage for that?’

  Caseley’s heart was wrenched. He certainly didn’t. Not when he had someone else’s wife waiting for him.

  ‘Git on.’ Nathan shot him a dry look. ‘If you think ’tis the same, you got a lot to learn.’

  ‘Mind your tongue,’ Jago growled, his expression severe. But as he cupped her elbow once more she saw the glint of laughter in his eyes and envied them their comradeship.

  ‘Nathan and I have faced death together on several occasions,’ he said. ‘Our lack of formality –’

  ‘Does not indicate lack of respect. I’m aware of that.’

  He nodded. ‘You and your housekeeper share a similar rapport.’

  He remembered.

  ‘I will show you around the ship.’

  ‘That is kind of you, but –’

  ‘Kindness does not enter into it. If we are to complete this voyage quickly, the crew needs to concentrate on their tasks without concern for passengers. If you are in the wrong place at the wrong time you could endanger both them and yourself. Besides, despite your brave claim about not expecting the comforts of home, surely even you require certain amenities?’

  Caseley felt a blush scald her face as he indicated an oblong wooden hut. Almost his height, it was set across the deck.

  ‘This is the wheel shelter,’ he announced, then opened a door in the side. ‘This is the lamp store and paint locker.’ Caseley peered in, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of oil, varnish, and turpentine. ‘There is a door on the other side into our lavatory. Though it’s a basic bucket-and-chuck-it, there is a proper wooden seat. As we don’t usually carry passengers there’s no lock. To avoid embarrassment I suggest you tie a piece of cloth to the door handle when –’ he made a small gesture leaving the sentence unfinished.

  Torn between wishing she had never set foot on the boat, and gratitude that he had anticipated her needs, all she could do was try to match his cool matter-of-fact manner.

  He pointed to the teak rubbing boards fixed at hip and shoulder height to the front of the shelter behind Nathan.

  ‘They give some support during the long watches. The wooden grid is to stop the helmsman losing his footing on a wet deck.’

  ‘Does the rain make it slippery, then?’ she asked, determined to be seen to be taking everything in her stride.

  He threw her an oblique glance. ‘Large seas breaking inboard are a greater concern.’

  Caseley swallowed as her imagination instantly conjured terrifying visions.

  He guided her forward. His ha
nd under her elbow was warm. It offered strength and comfort; reminding her of the soul-baring moments they had shared in his house. Before she had opened the door to Louise Downing who had shattered every foolish dream.

  Passing the companionway he knocked his knuckles against a large covered tank with a copper dipper attached to it by a line. ‘Our fresh water. And this’ he pointed to a cask harnessed to the tank, ‘contains salt beef. Bread, fruit, and condensed milk are stored in a zinc-lined cupboard below the sea berth in my day room and apportioned daily. Vegetables are kept here in the galley shack.’

  Looking in, Caseley saw Martin crouched in front of the black cooking range, shovelling coal through a hole in the flat top. Pots and pans surrounded a small stool. One pan contained a sharp knife and a huge ladle. A curved chimney pipe rose from the back of the stove and belched thick smoke into the air.

  As they reached the mainmast, Caseley gazed up in awe.

  ‘One hundred feet from keel to masthead,’ Jago said. ‘The foremast is five feet shorter. Cargo hatches.’ The large wooden covers were almost hidden beneath coils of rope, buckets, a wooden ladder and a small rowing boat mounted on a cradle.

  In front of the foremast the two crewmen were sitting on the deck, binding frayed ends of rope with fine cord. Both nodded respectfully at Jago and glanced sideways at Caseley, eyes bright with curiosity.

  ‘Hammer, Jimbo, this is Captain Bonython’s daughter.’

  The men scrambled to their feet, grinning at Caseley’s surprise.

  ‘You’re twins,’ she blurted.

  ‘Yes, miss.’ Jimbo touched his brow with a stubby callused forefinger. ‘’Ammer’s eldest by ten minutes, but we don’t fight over it. He got the beauty,’ his finger strayed to a puckered scar running down his cheek. ‘But I got the brains.’

  ‘And a quick tongue,’ she smiled. His grin widened.

  Jago’s grip tightened. ‘This is the fo’c’sle, the crew’s quarters.’

  Caseley peered through the small, whale-backed hatch with a latched door and ring handle now hooked open to reveal a steep ladder.

  ‘It looks very dark.’

  ‘Since I had the skylight installed, the crew get as much light and fresh air as I do.’

  ‘You make it sound like a luxury.’

  The twins had abandoned any pretence of working and were watching, open-mouthed.

  ‘The point I was making, Miss Bonython, is that much of my work is done in my day room. All theirs is done on deck, and they eat in the mess.’

  ‘That’s right, miss,’ Jimbo began, but was instantly silenced by Jago’s glare.

  Caseley could feel the anger radiating from him and wished she had not spoken so hastily.

  The schooner’s bow rose and fell, parting blue-green masses of water and tossing it aside in hissing waves of white foam that left streaks in her wake.

  ‘We’ll go below.’ Jago was abrupt, hustling her aft along the canting deck and down the companionway. ‘The mess is through there, next to Nathan’s cabin. You’ll see it later.’

  She turned to face him in the small space. ‘Why have you brought me down here now?’

  ‘So that you can move your gear into the sleeping cabin while I mark the chart and write up the log.’ Opening his day-room door he pushed her gently inside and closed it behind them.

  ‘But – but you haven’t moved your things out yet,’ she stammered, nervous of disturbing his possessions, knowing she was an unwelcome intruder.

  ‘We do not carry servants.’ His tone was cold. ‘You insisted on coming, so while on board you will pull your weight.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ The implied criticism stung. ‘I was not trying to avoid doing anything, and I certainly don’t expect to be waited on. It’s just – I’m not used to handling other people’s belongings.’

  ‘If I don’t object, I see no reason why you should.’ Bending over the table, he picked up a ruler and pencil and studied the chart.

  Caseley glared at the broad, white-shirted back. She had never met anyone who stirred so many conflicting emotions. Compared to Jago Barata, Aunt Margaret was a novice.

  ‘Leave my bag under the bunk,’ he said without looking round. ‘There’s no room for it out here. Just change the pillows and blankets over. We do not run to sheets or lacy counterpanes. But as you said, you are not expecting home comforts.’

  Caseley refused to be drawn. She could feel his antagonism. It seemed to come and go. But as she had no idea what provoked it or how best to react, silence seemed the safest course.

  She remade both bunks, noticing with relief that though the blankets were coarse, they were clean. After pushing his bag to one end under the bunk so she could fit hers in, she straightened up. Brushing her hands down her skirt, she stood, uncertain, in the narrow doorway. Seated on one of the bench seats, Jago was apparently engrossed in the notes he was making in a leather-bound book resting on the chart.

  Caseley cleared her throat. ‘Unless there is anything else you wish me to do here, Captain, I thought I might help Martin in the galley. He –’

  ‘No,’ Jago looked up. ‘You will not interfere with the running of this ship.’

  ‘I have no intention of interfering, as you put it. I simply wanted to help. Martin –’

  ‘Is a member of my crew, and perfectly capable of carrying out his duties by himself.’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting –’

  ‘Can we drop the subject, Miss Bonython?’

  ‘I cannot win. If I don’t help, I’m lazy. If I try to, I’m interfering. There’s no pleasing you, is there?’

  ‘That remains to be seen.’ He leaned back, turning the pencil in his fingers, his expression was enigmatic, his eyes unreadable. ‘What is the present state of the house?’

  The question stopped her breath. She should have known he would ask. Of course he would want some idea of what had yet to be done. A band of tension tightened round her skull. Moistening her lips she steadied herself against the sleeping cabin’s door-frame.

  ‘Mr Endean has almost finished. When I left yesterday he was about to install the bath and hand basin. The inside repairs will be complete by the end of the week. After that,’ her throat closed forcing her to swallow. ‘After that, you may arrange for the painters to start.’

  ‘I, Miss Bonython?’ He slid from the bench and rose to his feet. ‘That is your job.’

  She looked at him. She had hoped, how desperately she had hoped, that he would behave honourably. Instead he was playing with her.

  ‘Not any longer.’

  He frowned. ‘We have an agreement.’

  ‘Had.’ She folded her arms, recognised the move as defensive, and quickly unfolded them, clasping her hands instead. ‘Under the circumstances you cannot expect me to continue. Nor can you want it.’

  ‘What circumstances?’ His apparent puzzlement was too much.

  ‘I told you once before, Captain. Now I’m telling you again. I will not be made sport of. You must find your amusement elsewhere.’ In spite of her anger, she kept her voice low. The skylight was open and their voices would carry. Their business was private. She would not be responsible for it becoming gossip.

  ‘You received my letter. You know full well Mrs Downing will make it impossible –’

  He took a step towards her, his expression ominous. ‘What letter? What has Mrs Downing to do with the house?’

  ‘Everything!’ Caseley flung at him. ‘Why this pretence? Surely you are not concerned for my sensibilities? After all,’ fury and bitter hurt spilled over despite her resolve to remain calm. ‘I am only the hired help. Or I was,’ she corrected immediately.

  Jago seized her shoulders, his face thunderous. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never received any letter.’

  Caseley brought her arms up as a barrier between them. ‘I took it to your hotel. One of the boys put it into the rack behind the reception desk. I saw him. You must have received it.’

  ‘When did you t
ake it there?’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Apart from an hour ashore to arrange an outward cargo, I have been on board Cygnet since yesterday morning. I did not return to the hotel last night and no mail has been delivered to me here.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Why should you imagine Mrs Downing has any connection with my house?’

  ‘Imagine?’ A harsh, painful laugh tore from Caseley’s throat. ‘I did not imagine her arrival on the doorstep. Nor did I imagine – She was very specific about –’ She could not go on. Hot colour suffused her face and throat. She lowered her lashes to veil the anguish her pride refused to let him see.

  ‘Louise Downing went to the house yesterday?’

  ‘You should know. You sent her.’ Caseley bit hard on the inside of her lower lip to stop it trembling.

  ‘Is that what she told you?’

  ‘Yes – no – but she intimated –’

  ‘What happened? Why did you feel it necessary to write this letter I never received?’ He radiated tension.

  Caseley tried to pull away, but his fingers tightened, biting into her flesh. They would leave bruises.

  ‘Tell me,’ he demanded.

  She could not meet his eyes. ‘M –Mrs Downing announced herself as a “very close friend” of yours. She left me in no doubt that she did not approve of my presence in the house, or of me working for you. That being so, I thought it best to withdraw and allow her to take over.’

  ‘Oh you did, did you? You’ve got the devil’s own cheek.’

  Her head jerked up. ‘What?’

  ‘You appear to have overlooked the fact that it is my house. I decide who will work on it. How dare you involve Louise without consulting me.’

  ‘I didn’t –’ Caseley gasped.

  ‘Had I wanted her to have anything to do with it, I would have asked her.’ His eyes were fire over ice.

  ‘But she said –’

  ‘I don’t give a damn what she said. You should not have let her in.’

  ‘I should not –?’ Caseley’s voice rose to a squeak. ‘I couldn’t stop her. She was there at your invitation.’