A Place of Birds

by Jane Jackson

  Realising that in the confined space she would be more hindrance than help Susanna went up on deck. The schooner was already clear of the docks and heading out of the Carrick Roads past the castles of Pendennis and St Mawes.

  Wrapping her cloak tightly around her she picked her way along the deck until she reached the battened-down hatch of the after hold.

  All around her and aloft men were busy, their movements swift and assured as they bent on yet more canvas to supplement the vast sails on the fore, main and mizzen masts. For all the notice they took of her she might have been invisible. But she wasn’t offended. After years of having her every move watched and criticised, being ignored was liberation.

  She couldn’t see Lowell Hawke. Ashamed of even looking she gazed out over the starboard quarter. The schooner cut through the deep-blue water leaving a briefly flattened wake of sparkling foam. Moving out into the Atlantic swell the dip and rise became more pronounced, as did the angle of the deck. Yet seated on the hatch-cover, her body already adapting to the rhythm, she hardly noticed.

  The town was out of sight, hidden by Pendennis headland. But the cream-painted bulk of the Falmouth Hotel gleaming in the morning sunshine stood out boldly against the surrounding green fields. Just a few short weeks ago Will and herself had ridden that way to Lansdowne Road. The view splintered into bright fragments and her breath caught.

  ‘Regrets already, Miss Elliot?’

  She spun round. Lowell Hawke’s expression gave little away. But his eyes held kindliness as well as curiosity.

  ‘No.’ She cleared the thickness from her throat. ‘No regrets.’

  ‘Leaving home is a big step for any young woman. To depart for the other side of the world is a bigger step than most. ‘Was he simply being tactful? Or did he really understand? Overwhelmed by confusion and she quickly bent her head. This was the man who, according to rumour, was guilty of deeds too terrible to recount in front of women. A man welcomed in society’s highest circles yet whose name was greeted with awed familiarity in every waterfront bar from Canton to the upper reaches of the Yangtze. A pirate, a devil.

  Leaping guiltily to her feet she stumbled on the canting deck. He caught her arm.

  ‘You’ll soon get your sea legs.’

  Horribly embarrassed at having so nearly sprawled at his feet and acutely aware of his hand beneath her elbow she could only stammer her thanks as he guided her aft.

  ‘Susanna?’ Emerging from the companionway and clutching one of the folded-back doors, Lucy held up an enamel jug. ‘Meredith isn’t very well. Could you fetch some hot water?’

  ‘Of course.’ She took the jug, gesturing towards the smoking chimney of the caboose. ‘There?’

  ‘One moment.’ Lowell’s tone froze them both. The smiling courteous gentleman had become the ship’s master on whose shoulders rested responsibility for everyone on board. Radiating absolute command he was awesome. ‘You see the large galvanised iron tank abaft the mainmast? That holds our fresh water. As it has to last the entire voyage every drop is precious. Each morning the day’s ration is drawn off into a separate cask. That large one is for the boat’s crew, the small one for you ladies.’

  Susanna gazed askance at the little barrel. ‘B – but what about laundry?’ she blurted. ‘And bathing?’

  ‘Rain,’ he answered succinctly. ‘We catch it in tarpaulins and run it off into those butts. The boy, Scally, will bring you each a jugful of hot water with which to wash before breakfast. He’ll collect the buckets after. For daytime use a private facility has been rigged up for you in the paint store. That’s the door on the starboard side of the wheel shelter. The left hand side as you look towards the stern,’ he explained as she and Lucy exchanged an uncertain glance.

  ‘Thank you, that is most thoughtful,’ Lucy murmured, her papery skin faintly pink.

  ‘At sea the main meal is taken in the middle of the day,’ he continued. ‘You may eat in my day cabin, or in your own.’ Picturing the dim curtained cubbyhole Susanna shuddered inwardly. Yet the alternative made her unaccountably nervous. ‘If you have any questions feel free to ask Tom Binney. He’s the first mate and my deputy.’ Lowell indicated a thickset, barrel-chested figure standing, arms akimbo, with two other seamen. In padded smock and thick trousers he looked almost as broad as he was tall. All three had their heads tipped back as they looked up the mainmast.

  ‘Right, if you’ll excuse me –’ Lowell was already moving away.

  ‘Er –’ Tentatively Susanna lifted the jug. ‘I know you said –’

  ‘See John-Henry, the cook. Today is an exception,’ he warned, ‘only because the butts are full.’ With a brief nod he strode off along the deck.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Lucy murmured.

  ‘Yes,’ Susanna agreed softly.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  16th January. We have been at sea two days …

  Huddled in a corner between water tank and hatch cover, Susanna inhaled deeply. The air was so cold it stung her nostrils and made her eyes water, but it was clean and fresh. She bent over her journal once more. I now know where the captain sleeps …

  Lying in her bunk, exhausted but unable to relax, she was acutely aware of him sitting at the table a few feet away on the other side of the curtain. She heard him close the log in which he had been writing up the day’s progress, then soft sounds of movement. Carefully moving the thick material she peeped through the crack.

  The nearer of the recessed panels above the padded seats stood open. Instead of the storage locker she imagined the panel hid a sleeping berth. Having removed his boots, but still wearing shirt and trousers, Lowell Hawke was climbing into it.

  Shaken, Susanna lay down again, staring into the darkness, her thoughts chaotic. Having pleaded to come she could not now complain. Particularly as she was enjoying the comfort of the bunk he usually occupied. That realisation sent a strange tremor through her. A few moments later she heard another sound. As she identified it her entire body burned with indignation. He was snoring! Hysterical giggles shook her. What would Mrs Webber make of this?

  Riven with guilt but unable to stop laughing, she nestled down into sheets and blankets brought from home. Inhaling the faint fragrance of dried lavender she quickly smothered the pang of homesickness. She must look forward, not back. Sighing deeply, she tried to relax. If the captain could slumber so easily then the ship must be quite safe. She slid into sleep.

  We are in the Bay of Biscay. Poor Meredith is not a good sailor …

  ‘I’m going to die, I know I am.’ With another piteous groan Meredith leaned over the bucket once more. Breathing as lightly as possible in the foetid air, Susanna passed the face cloth to Lucy, and carried the basin back to the commode.

  ‘No, you aren’t,’ Lucy was calm but firm. Meredith fell back on the bunk, eyes closed, her round face greenish-white and glistening. ‘God has important work for you,’ Lucy gently wiped her sister’s sweating forehead with the cool wet cloth. ‘Now,’ she started to get up, ‘you rest while I go and wash the sheets –’

  ‘Don’t leave me, Lucy.’

  ‘I won’t be long. Susanna will stay –’

  With another groan Meredith lurched over the side of the bunk again.

  ‘It’s all right, Lucy. I’ll do it.’ Susanna picked up the stinking bundle.

  ‘No, my dear.’ Pale-faced and hollow-eyed, Lucy shook her head. ‘I couldn’t possibly ask you –’

  ‘You didn’t. I’m volunteering. I don’t mind, really.’ Closing the cabin door she started up the stairs. The prospect of the chore made her stomach heave. But had it not been for Lucy and Meredith she would still be in Falmouth. This was one small way of showing her gratitude.

  ‘You can’t do it in sea-water,’ John-Henry looked up from the carrots he was chopping on a board laid across his knees. Squatting on a wooden stool in the snug galley-shack, unshaven, his grey hair straggling from beneath a knitted woollen hat, he looked like a shabby gnome. His rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed ar
ms scarred with old burns.

  ‘No,’ she agreed. Nearly all the sailors in the Infirmary had had boils and sores caused by the salt in their clothes. ‘That’s why I came to you. I was wondering …’

  ‘One bucketful of hot water, that’s the best I can do.’ He leaned towards the doorway and bellowed, ‘Scally!’ then looked up at her again. ‘And you’re only getting that because it rained yesterday.’

  ‘Thank you so much. I’m really grateful.’

  John-Henry grunted. ‘Go on, then.’ He waved her away. ‘There’s a tin bath round the side there. Mind you bring it back. I got shirts to do for the captain later and I don’t want to have to come looking for it.’

  Clinging with one hand to the lee rail that tipped all too close to the sea’s surface, she trailed sheets, towels, and Meredith’s voluminous flannel nightgown alongside the ship to rinse off the worst of the soiling. Then, hands aching from the cold, she soaped off the rest in the tin bath. Aware of being watched by the crew as they went about their business she kept her head bent. Was this the escape she had yearned for?

  24th January. We are past the Azores and making good speed in NW winds.

  Alone in the day cabin Susanna rubbed the nape of her neck trying to ease the tension that lay across her shoulders like a yoke. As the ship left England further behind her sense of being in limbo intensified. To escape this, and other feelings she found decidedly unsettling, she sought refuge in her medical books.

  She knew she could speed Meredith’s recovery. But her cousin refused to try the tisane of powdered camomile flowers and ginger, or the quassia tonic.

  ‘I’m sure you mean well, dear,’ Meredith attempted a wan smile. ‘But you save your potions for the Chinese. I’ve got something from the doctor that suits me very well.’

  Checking the bottle of chloral hydrate Susanna saw the level was dropping dangerously fast. ‘That’s really quite strong. Might it not be wise to try something a little milder?’

  ‘In these terrible conditions? Don’t be silly, dear. Anyway, what can you possibly know of such things? Writing letters for sick sailors does not qualify you to offer advice on medical matters. Doctor Vigurs has looked after me since before you were born. He understands my delicate constitution. He said himself he has never known anyone suffer with their nerves the way I do.’ She plucked at the sheet, her agitation growing. ‘I have only to ask and he gives me another bottle. How could you even suggest that he would harm me? ‘

  ‘No,’ Susanna began hastily, ‘I wasn’t. I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘Oh, now I’m all upset.’ Meredith’s head flopped back against the bunched pillows. ‘Lucy,’ she beckoned her sister who had just returned from a brief visit topside. ‘I don’t feel well. Where are my smelling salts? I think I’d better have one of my powders.’

  Susanna was aghast. ‘I’m so sorry. Lucy, I wasn’t criticising Dr Vigurs, truly. It’s just that I’m worried –’

  ‘I know,’ Lucy sighed quietly. ‘Do you think I’m not?’

  As she pushed the pharmacopoeia away disquiet nagged at Susanna. In small doses chloral hydrate was an excellent sleeping draught. But Meredith seemed to believe that if one teaspoonful was good two or three would be better. And as she was still taking all her other remedies might not this, rather than seasickness, be the reason for her continuing nausea?

  Feeling for the medallion beneath her bodice she unlooped the cord from her neck. As she turned the pink jade in her fingers, awed by its delicate beauty, the pleas of the dying Portuguese sailor echoed in her mind. So much had happened since. She could think of him now without shuddering in horror. Who was Teresa? He had given all he possessed to obtain the pendant for her. Did she wonder where he was, when he would return?

  This train of thought led her inevitably to Lowell. When they were both in the cabin she felt jittery and nervous, intensely – almost painfully – aware of him. Terrified he might guess she fled to the deck once her chores were done and weather permitting, finding a protected corner out of the crew’s way. Yet the moment he came topside, lithe as a cat on the heaving deck, she forgot the view, forget her journal and her sketch-pad, her gaze drawn helplessly to him.

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  She started violently, so deep in her reverie she hadn’t heard him come down.

  ‘May I see?’ Despite the smile his aura of command was so strong refusal never crossed her mind. He lowered himself onto the bench-seat opposite. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  ‘Only that it’s Chinese.’ Her heart pounded. How could a man with a reputation like his make her feel like this? Yet already she had learned there was far more to him than the seamen’s tales suggested. Even so … Though the cabin was not particularly warm perspiration prickled her back and underarms.

  He held it up. ‘It’s a sacred pi disc. The Chinese believe it embodies the light of the sun and provides a magical link with Heaven.’

  His use of the word magical didn’t come as any great surprise. She knew herself the pendant’s mysterious calming effect.

  ‘May I ask how you acquired it?’

  Her throat was dust-dry. ‘It was given to me by a seaman at the Infirmary in Falmouth. He – he died.’

  ‘Ah.’ He studied her for a moment then handed the medallion back, moving the chart as though looking for something. ‘Was he someone special to you?’

  ‘No. Not at all. I didn’t even know him. He thought I was someone else.’ Realising she wasn’t making sense she tried to explain. ‘He was out of his mind with fever. He imagined me to be his – someone he loved.’ She bent her head, cheeks aflame.

  ‘I seem to remember your cousins mentioning your visits to the Infirmary.’ He paused. ‘I’m sure the sailors appreciated being read to.’

  Sure she heard amusement Susanna stiffened. ‘They were kind enough to say so. But I did have other tasks as well, some even more rewarding.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as helping Edward – Doctor Arundell – with the preparation of medicines.’

  His surprise filled Susanna with exultation. Her attraction to him, so strong, and coming so soon after she had believed herself in love with Edward, confused and shamed her, making her spiky. ‘I also,’ she added defiantly, ‘assisted during a surgical operation.’

  His brows climbed. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes.’ She dared him to doubt her. ‘A young fisherman had his leg crushed when a boat fell on it. Without my help he might well have died. At the very least he would have lost his leg.’

  ‘Really? What exactly did you do?’

  She certainly had his full attention now even if scepticism still hovered at the corners of his mouth. But not for long, she’d see to that. Vanity, her father’s voice thundered in her mind. She shut it out. Her father had never taken her seriously. But Lowell Hawke would. She was weary of hiding her abilities, of pretending to be less than she was so as not to offend other people’s ideas of proper behaviour.

  ‘I administered ether to keep him unconscious.’ She recalled the ordeal with sickening clarity. ‘Then I held the leg while Edward washed out the wound, re-set the broken bone, and applied special antiseptic dressings.’ She swallowed, the images so vivid and horrific she was amazed at her own achievement.

  ‘You?’ His open astonishment softened to admiration. ‘That must have taken courage.’ His expression altered subtly. ‘But perhaps your … esteem … for the surgeon helped you through the experience?’

  Was she so transparent? She clung to the shreds of her dignity. ‘Anyone working with Doctor Arundell could not fail to be impressed by his dedication, both to his patients and his family. He is held in great regard by all who know him.’ Her conscience pricked as she recalled Edward’s bitterness about other Falmouth doctors ridiculing him and refusing even to consider the use of antiseptic techniques. ‘I count it an honour to number him among my friends.’

  ‘Of whom you have too few,’ he murmured.

  ‘Wh – what?’


  ‘Come now, Miss Elliot, let us be honest with one another. We are, after all,’ his tone held a hint of mischief, ‘living in conditions of some intimacy.’

  As she stared at him, speechless, he leaned forward resting his arms on the table. His hands were large and strong, the skin golden-brown from years of exposure to wind and sun. ‘I’m right though, aren’t I?’ He sat back, his gaze sliding over her. ‘You dress as religious custom dictates, and I imagine you tried very hard to be the daughter your parents wanted. But like a swan among geese you didn’t belong.’

  Susanna was appalled. ‘How –? Has Lucy said –?’

  ‘She’s not the type of woman to gossip or betray confidences, you should know that. Besides, she didn’t need to. It’s perfectly obvious. If one cares to look.’ His words hung in the air, resonant with implication.

  Quickly gathering up her books she scrambled out from behind the table, awkward in her agitation. ‘Please excuse me. You see I promised –’

  ‘Of course.’

  Hearing the smile she hated him.

  After she’d gone, Lowell remained where he was, gazing at the chart but not seeing it, uneasy about the direction his thoughts were taking, yet incapable of stopping them.

  5th February. We have entered the tropics. I should not complain – Lucy never does and she has more cause than anyone – but the voyage is presenting more difficulties than I ever envisaged …

  There was no alternative but to ask John-Henry if he had an old pan or bucket he no longer needed. She quailed at the prospect. But as Lucy had her hands full nursing Meredith who was incapable of anything, she had no choice but to take responsibility for doing what was necessary for all three of them.

  She remembered how frightened she had been that first time. Her terror deepened by guilt that somehow she must have done something to cause it. Her mother, with averted eyes and a pinker than usual complexion, had said only that the event marked a girl’s transition to womanhood and would occur regularly. While leaving her still confused, the explanation at least reassured her she was not dying.