by Jane Jackson
She was instructed that each month she should place the cloths in a covered bowl by her wash-stand. The bowl was collected when Agnes made the bed, and the cloths – clean and ready to be used again – replaced in the drawer the following day. It never occurred to her to wonder who washed them and how that person might feel about the task. She knew now.
‘What d’you want it for?’ John-Henry demanded, frowning.
It had been too much to hope that he wouldn’t ask. ‘S – some – er – small items of washing.’ Crimson with embarrassment she tucked an escaped curl behind her ear, startled for a moment not to feel the crisp confining cotton. Waking with a headache as well as stomach cramps, she had glared at the hated bonnet then, crumpling it into a ball, stuffed it down the side of her trunk.
Entering her cousins’ cabin bareheaded she had felt acutely self-conscious. But Lucy had simply smiled as she handed over the washing. Meredith hadn’t even noticed.
‘Ahhh,’ John-Henry said suddenly, nodding. ‘The flowers, is it?’ Clicking his tongue he bent to rummage in a cupboard. ‘Women! As if I hadn’t got enough to do.’ He dragged out a battered metal pot with no handle and a dented, ill-fitting lid. ‘Here, you can ’ave this. Try a soak in seawater first,’ he threw the advice over his shoulder as he busied himself at the stove. ‘The salt will take the stain out. Then use your soap and hot water.’
‘Th – thank you.’ Was it possible to die of embarrassment?
But the advice proved invaluable and she managed to get the cloths washed and dried without their purpose being obvious to every passing crewman.
13th February. No wind for two days. The heat is intense. Mr Arthur’s ulcerated leg is healing well since I applied stimulant lotion. The crew’s demeanour toward us seems much improved …
The sea was a sheet of glass beneath a dazzling merciless sun. The huge booms had been pushed wide, but the canvas hung limp and useless.
‘You never heard of an Angel’s Whisper?’ The seaman’s voice carried clearly. ‘Mind, ’tis only called that if you set’n above a skysail. Set’n above a moonsail and he’s called a Trust to God.’
Sitting on the hatch cover beneath an awning rigged from an old strip of sail slung between the main and mizzen masts Susanna had her journal open on her lap. Her simple dress of apple-green cotton clung damply to her back.
She wasn’t writing, but with her head bent over the book she was able to listen unobtrusively, fascinated by the men’s talk of ships and the masters who commanded them. If she appeared occupied they yarned and bantered as though she wasn’t there. But if she showed the slightest interest they became either truculent or tongue-tied.
The sultry heat had even brought Meredith on deck. Shaded by the awning she reclined alongside the water tank on a daybed fashioned from pillows wrapped in blankets. Lucy sat close by, reading quietly to her.
A shadow fell across her lap and she looked up. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Lockhead.’ The tow-headed second mate’s easy blushes made him the butt of endless leg-pulling by the crew.
‘The captain would like a word, Miss. He says now, if you aren’t too busy.’
Hearing the irony and underlying anger in those last five words Susanna felt her stomach dive. She stood up closing her journal. ‘Of course. It’s too hot to write anyway.’ Trying to hide her apprehension and ignore the rigging gang’s sidelong glances she turned towards the companionway. ‘How is the burn?’
He lifted his bandaged arm. ‘Coming on fine, thank you, Miss. I can hardly feel it now.’ Beetroot-red, he mumbled, ‘I think you’re magic.’
He did so remind her of William. She smiled. ‘No, Mr Lockhead, no magic. Just linseed oil and lime water.’
He left her at the hatch and as she descended the stairs she heard the crew baiting him with catcalls and whistles.
‘What’s going on up there?’ Lowell growled as she entered the day cabin.
She hesitated. Though she was prepared for censure there was a tension in the air she didn’t understand. ‘I have no idea.’
It was obvious he didn’t believe her. ‘These treatments, they’ve got to stop.’
She clasped her hands, every muscle tense. ‘Why?’
‘The whole thing has got out of hand. I should never have allowed it in the first place.’
‘How can you say that?’ It had taken time and patience to win the men’s trust. Even now their only acknowledgement was the briefest of nods. ‘And what do you mean, out of hand? No one gets injured or falls ill on purpose.’ One of his dark brows arched in silent irony and she knew he was thinking of Meredith. ‘The point is that in treating one or two of the crew –’
‘Four,’ he interrupted. ‘Let us not underestimate all the good you have been doing.’ His sarcasm made her wince.
‘All right, four. But all have returned to their duties far more quickly than they would have without treatment.’
‘Miss Elliot,’ he said with deceptive gentleness, ‘I want to get this ship to Shanghai as quickly as possible. To do so I need a fit, disciplined crew –’
‘But that is my point –’
‘I haven’t finished. I do not need men who are using your ministrations – no matter how well-intended – either as a wager, or to boost their standing in the fo’c’sle.’
Susanna froze. Such a possibility had never crossed her mind. ‘The injuries were real.’
‘They are part and parcel of life at sea and something the men are well used to.’ He leaned back stretching his legs out beneath the table. She shifted her gaze quickly. She had grown accustomed to the crew going without shoes, but seeing Lowell thus reminded her of his teasing concerning their intimacy. And that aroused feelings she didn’t know how to deal with.
At Lansdowne Road in stylish frockcoat, snowy linen, beautifully cut trousers, and boots polished to a mirror shine, he had been aloof, distant.
Now, barefoot and dishevelled, his shirt loosed and unbuttoned to reveal a broad chest beaded with moisture beneath curling black hair, he looked untamed. Meeting his piercing gaze she caught her breath. Propriety was simply a garment he put on when occasion demanded and discarded with equal ease. Looking away she felt perspiration break out on her forehead and upper lip.
He tapped the table with a pencil. ‘Perhaps you were unaware, Miss Elliot, that in the absence of a doctor on board it is customary for the ship’s master to deal with injuries and medical problems.’
‘Then why didn’t you? If you had, the men would never have come to me. Especially as they believe that having women on the ship brings bad luck.’ It was Oliver Lockhead who had confessed the reason for the men’s hostility.
His fist tightened and the pencil snapped making her jump. ‘Because until you came on board such incidents were simply shrugged off.’
‘B – but that’s inhuman.’
‘What use is a sailor who can’t walk or haul on a rope? Who will give him a berth? And without work how will he live? The sea is a demanding profession, Miss Elliot. Ships cannot be run on sentiment. In future I will decide if treatment is necessary, and if it is then I will administer it. I have managed perfectly well in the past.’
‘And should you fail, who is to know?’ she responded furiously. ‘After all, you have an entire ocean in which to bury your mistakes.’
28th February. Mr Binney tells me we are in the South Atlantic. It is cooler and we are enjoying the fresh westerly breeze. Captain Hawke is a most contrary man …
‘I was not flirting with him.’ Her vehement denial made no impression.
‘I am not passing moral judgement on your behaviour,’ he drawled. ‘However, discipline aboard this ship depends on –’
‘Captain Hawke,’ Susanna interrupted, ‘I am aware of Mr Lockhead’s … regard … for me. The feeling is not mutual. I have never flirted. I do not know how. I smiled because he smiled. He – he reminds me of my brother.’
‘I see.’ Not for the first time she wished she could see behind the expressionless mask.
‘I would remind you that I am not a member of your crew.’
‘One must be thankful for small mercies.’
She refused to be distracted. She did not expect an apology. No matter how many times she proved his censure unfounded, he never apologised. But of all his criticisms this was the most unfair. ‘It was never my intention to cause Mr Lockhead any difficulty –’
‘Mr Lockhead?’ Lowell exploded.
‘– so I will be more circumspect in future. Now if you’ll excuse me, I –’
‘Damn it, Susanna,’ he raked a hand through his thick rumpled hair, ‘I have never met a woman so – so –’ he threw his hand up in sheer frustration. Footsteps clanged on the stairs.
‘Ready for tea, are we?’ John-Henry bustled in. Pushing the charts carefully aside he set the tray down on the widest part of the table. Then, looking from one to the other, he clicked his tongue and bustled out again.
‘Join me.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m sorry. That sounded more like an order than an invitation. And, as you say, you are not a member of my crew. Please?’ He indicated the seat.
Not at all sure she was doing the right thing she resumed her seat and watched him pour the tea, a picture so incongruous it was like a dream. He pushed a cup towards her.
‘Tell me, why did your cousins choose China?’
She shrugged. ‘All I know is that it has been Meredith’s dream for a long time.’
‘I can’t see her coping with the demands of missionary work.’
‘Some people are not good travellers,’ she defended, setting down her teacup. ‘But once we reach Shanghai I’m sure Meredith will soon be –’
‘Her old self?’
To openly agree with him was treachery. Yet she could not deny her own doubts were growing.
‘And why is Lucy so self-sacrificing?
‘You make it sound like a fault.’
‘Isn’t it, when taken to such lengths?’
She tried to ignore the disquiet he was stirring. ‘The Quaker faith requires us to strive to improve the well-being of humanity. Lucy lives by that code. She’s a truly good person.’
Lowell toyed with his broken pencil. ‘The Quaker faith also appears to require its members to pour vast amounts of money into their favourite charities. Which might be seen as an attempt to buy their way into Heaven.’
These same thoughts had tormented Susanna for a long time. But loyalty to her family demanded she deny them. ‘If God is all-wise and all-knowing, He won’t be taken in by such people. Besides, Friends never give money. Money is spent on drink, and drink provokes violence. Instead they give food, clothes and education.’ She was startled by Lowell’s cynical snort of laughter.
‘Education is likely to provoke even more violence once the poor realise how badly society treats them.’
‘Possibly. But people have a right to knowledge. Without education how can they fight injustice? How can they challenge old beliefs unless they know what alternatives exist? People have a right to try and change things for the better. And to determine their own destiny.’
The urge to reach out and touch her was almost irresistible. Her skin was downy, like a ripe peach. Sunshine angling down through the skylight lit the curling tendrils in front of her ear so they shone like filaments of gold. It fell across the bird’s-wing curve of her brow and that stubbornly tilted little chin. Her eyes were the colour of new grass, their gaze intelligent and direct now self-consciousness had been forgotten. His heart twisted. She was so young, so fresh. While he …
Chapter Twenty-four
12th March. Off the Cape of Good Hope. Huge seas make the ship seem very small. But with the wind in our favour we are covering great distances each day …
A knocking echoed through the bulkhead.
‘Let me go this time.’ Susanna started to rise. ‘You get so little rest.’
‘No, it’s better if I do.’ Lucy laid a hand on her arm. ‘Do bear in mind the captain’s many responsibilities.’ Then, as the knocking started again, she hurried out.
‘Your cousin has a delightful turn of phrase,’ Lowell observed dryly. ‘What exactly did she mean about my responsibilities?’
‘She’s anxious that I don’t impose too much on your time or good nature.’ Susanna watched one corner of his mouth tilt upward, a reaction she was beginning to know well. ‘She does not realise such advice is unnecessary as you would never permit either.’ His glance and the slow smile that accompanied it made her heart skip a beat.
He rested his chin on his clasped hands. ‘Why did you leave Falmouth?’
Resisting the flood of memories Susanna concentrated on folding her napkin. ‘To assist my cousins in their mission –’
‘You have already told me what you hope to do. I asked why you left the security of a comfortable home to join this hare-brained venture?’
When they were alone he often said things to deliberately provoke her. Richard had done the same. But Richard had been driven by spite. Lowell’s motive she realised was a desire to hear, not what she believed she ought to say, but what she really felt. That he should even care what she thought was dangerously seductive. Goaded into abandoning the restraints imposed by convention she was exploring and expressing her ideas, beliefs, and responses in ways she had never dreamed were possible.
He clearly enjoyed their debates. But would her nonconformity eventually alienate him as it had her family? What bitter-sweet irony that the only way to gain Lowell Hawke’s esteem was to risk losing it.
‘I left because I want something more from life: something to which I can dedicate myself.’
‘Surely marriage –?’
She adjusted her cutlery. ‘Marriage is not for me.’
‘That is a statement usually made by those whom opportunity has passed by. You’re far too young to give up hope yet.’
She shook her head impatiently. ‘Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. It isn’t a question of hope. I don’t want to marry.’
‘Why ever not? I understood that a suitable marriage was every woman’s goal?’
‘Not mine. The price is too high.’ She sensed his gaze on her, and his sharpened curiosity.
‘An unusual view indeed. May I ask your reasons?’
She thought of her sister, unable to speak of love but relieved to be married, even if it meant living with and looking after the whole Webber family. ‘Marriage does indeed give a woman greater status in society, particularly among other women. But she surrenders her rights as an individual. From the moment the ring is placed on her finger her husband’s needs and wishes take precedence over her own. In return for economic security – which if he is a drinker or gambler is by no means certain – she must do his bidding in all things.’
‘You make it sound like slavery.’ He mocked lightly.
‘Isn’t it? Men insist women are weak, foolish and helpless. No doubt some are. But certainly not all. Yet they must pretend to be in order that men may appear strong and capable. And what of the books outlining the duties of a wife? Written by clergymen and doctors.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Men cannot possibly comprehend what it’s like to be a woman. But that doesn’t stop them claiming to know what’s best for us. Though I’ve noticed they operate a completely different set of rules for themselves.’
‘And you consider such behaviour arrogant and unjust?’ ‘Yes, I do.’
‘I see. So how would you describe the shy maiden who, once the ring is on her finger, becomes a domestic tyrant? What of the girl who tells her beau she loves him as he is then presses him to change his job, appearance and friends to conform to her ideas of suitability?’ A new harshness entered his voice. ‘And what of the sweetheart promising love and affection who, once a wife, discovers all manner of female ailments to keep her husband at arms’ length?’ Contempt hardened his expression. ‘The male arrogance you complain of is more than matched by women’s duplicity and cunning.’
Having
expected him to tease, this bitterness and hostility shook her. Suddenly she felt very young and very gauche. It was difficult to shut out the images his scathing words conjured.
‘So who is to blame?’ She thought of her father, of his resistance to change and refusal to compromise. ‘Women resort to guile because men won’t listen. Why can’t they respect women, not simply as wives and mothers, but as people? Given the same education and professional freedom as a man any reasonably intelligent woman could provide perfectly well for herself.’
‘I think you might find Shanghai society less than receptive to such unconventional views.’
‘I’m not likely to have much contact with Shanghai society.’
Lowell turned a brooding gaze on her. ‘Perhaps that’s just as well.’
21st March. Today is the vernal equinox. We are in the Indian Ocean. The glass has been dropping all day …
‘It’s not enough.’ Meredith pushed away the glass. ‘I want a double dose. If I’m asleep I won’t be sick. Besides,’ she sank back on the pillow, ‘if the storm overwhelms us and the ship sinks, I don’t want to know about it.’
‘We are not going to sink.’ Touching Meredith’s hand Susanna noticed how transparent the skin had become, revealing a tracery of blue veins. Her once-plump face was now thin and lined, her eyes sunk deep in their sockets as if to avoid seeing too much that was unfamiliar. ‘Captain Hawke has crossed these oceans many times. Storms are nothing new to him. He will bring us through safely.’
‘And then what? There will be another test for me to fail.’ Meredith closed her eyes. ‘I’m too weak. I should not be here.’ A tear slid down her temple.
Susanna stroked the frail hand. ‘Don’t, Meredith, please.’ She was used to Meredith’s detailed description of every discomfort. This was different, worrying. ‘Seasickness is very tiring. You need time to recover.’
