Moon Rising

by Ann Victoria Roberts

  Forty-one

  Alice and I spent three weeks in Egypt, both of us overwhelmed by a sense of having stepped out of reality and back into biblical times. The main streets of Cairo were the anachronism – most other places seemed unchanged since the days of Moses. I’d seen lithographic illustrations of the Sphinx and Pyramids, and even some photographs, but nothing could prepare me for the dazzling light and colour of the reality. Nor the smells, which were equally overwhelming at times, and the dust, which got into everything.

  In some respects, the mosques and the museums reminded me of Constantinople and that journey I’d made with Henry ten years before. We’d been so close, so happy then, like honeymooners. It seemed a lifetime since, and I was saddened, knowing it could never be recaptured. But those thoughts were too melancholy. As remedy, I dragged poor Alice everywhere – by carriage, by camel and donkey through the desert, and by dhow along the Nile – until we were both exhausted, freckled, and suffering from a surfeit of tombs and temples and hieroglyphic texts. Not to mention the number of men who seemed to want to act as our personal guides.

  ‘But guides to what, ma’am?’ Alice muttered darkly, anticipating yet again our joint abduction into the white-slave trade. ‘Nearest opium den, most like!’

  I laughed but fending off that kind of attention had been a strain, even on accompanied tours. The trip had been most enjoyable, but I was ready to go home. In Cairo we’d been advised that there were two ships leaving Bombay about the same time, and another expected to leave two weeks later. There were berths available on all three. I’d chosen the first one, as the Holderness and her Master were known to me from London. When I went into the agent’s office in Cairo to confirm, I checked only the date and time we were due to embark at Port Said. It never occurred to me to check anything else.

  A young deck apprentice, helping to check stores and sweating profusely in a stiff collar and waistcoat, was on duty by the gangway when we arrived. He organised a crewman to bring our luggage and escorted us to our accommodation amidships.

  ‘Master’s ashore just now, ma’am, but I’m sure he’ll be pleased to greet you when he returns.’

  ‘Tell him there’s no hurry,’ I assured him airily. ‘I don’t need the guided tour – it’s only Mrs Lindsey, and he knows I’ve been aboard before.’

  The young man seemed to hesitate, but then he nodded and returned to his duties, while Alice and I set about making ourselves comfortable in cabins which were barely bigger than cupboards. Everyone else seemed to be occupied, so while Alice unpacked I introduced myself to the other passengers, a young woman travelling in company with a much older man, who turned out to be a doctor going home on leave. From her pallid complexion and languid movements I assumed Miss Fenton was returning from India for her health’s sake. She was seated beneath an awning on the boat deck, and to be civil I accepted the chair beside her, while the Doctor fetched another.

  We made the kind of conversation that strangers make, judging and placing each other while affecting a greater interest in the busy quay. Ship’s officers were checking the stores coming aboard, market traders in boats alongside were shouting their wares – boxes of fruit, honey cakes, embroidered hangings – while shoreside officials tried in vain to clear them off. It was a shifting kaleidoscope of colour and noise, and in the midst of it I noticed a man in a peaked cap and linen reefer jacket, carrying a folio of papers beneath his arm. He was dark and tanned and bearded but there was something familiar about him, particularly in the way he strode lightly up the gangway towards us.

  Miss Fenton said, ‘Ah, here comes our gallant Captain . . .’

  ‘Mr Barlow? Surely not -’

  ‘No, no – he was taken ill just before we sailed, and Mr Markway came from another ship to take over.’

  But I’d recognised him even before she said his name. ‘Markway,’ I repeated, feeling as though I’d been winded. ‘Of course – I’d forgotten...’

  Forgotten how he looked and moved, what a pleasure it had always been to see him. He was older now, of course, with a man’s weight and breadth in the shoulder, but still with that grace which had so distinguished him as a boy. Both hair and beard were a little too long and curly for neatness, and yet he was as striking as ever. I could not believe that I was seeing him in the flesh after all these years, that he was Master of the ship on which we were travelling.

  But if I was astonished and taken aback, I was afraid his reaction might be worse. He was coming towards me, striding up to where his passengers were relaxing, obviously with every intention of greeting this woman he’d been told about, this Mrs Lindsey – long-standing friend of the owners, so mind your p’s and q’s – with absolutely no idea of who she was. I had to force myself to my feet, to intercept him boldly before there was any chance of embarrassment in front of these idle but interested onlookers.

  I must have seemed brash in the extreme as I pinned on a smile and extended my hand, shepherding him towards the side-rail to shield his astonishment. ‘Captain Markway – this is a surprise! I was expecting Mr Barlow, but Miss Fenton informs me the poor man has been taken ill – nothing too serious, I hope?

  ‘I’m Marie Lindsey, by the way. So pleased to meet you...’ I shook his hand vigorously and beamed at him. ‘And may I say how much I’m looking forward to the voyage?’

  The colour which had warmed him drained at once, leaving the skin waxen with shock. His eyes were like jet as they gazed at me in disbelief and something like horror. That I managed to retain my smile while uttering a string of banalities was, I’m sure, a tribute to my years of City trading, but Jonathan Markway did not know that.

  ‘Mrs Lindsey,’ he managed at last, executing a stiff little bow, ‘I’m – I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, but – welcome aboard the Holderness! We don’t, I’m afraid, have many passenger ship facilities,’ he added rather hoarsely, as though suddenly recalling a standard speech, ‘so you must expect things to be somewhat basic... I assure you we’ll do all in our power to ensure you have a comfortable voyage...’

  ‘Thank you,’ I responded sincerely, trying to hold his gaze, to imply something infinitely gentler than the loud, over-confident woman I’d just been playing. But he seemed determined to look elsewhere, and, having cleared his throat and regained his more usual voice, he smiled briefly in the general direction of his other passengers, excused himself, and disappeared inside the accommodation.

  Miss Fenton was offended, it seemed, as much by my gushing manner as by Jonathan’s brusqueness. Even Dr Graeme, who’d been pleasantly attentive, appeared to regard me dubiously. I resumed my seat, a smile fixed over the vacuum inside. Listening, nodding, uttering inanities, I bore the company for another quarter-hour, then pleaded the heat and went to lie down. When sensibility returned and I was able to think rationally, I suspected I’d set myself a course for disaster with both sides.

  ~~~

  Had the Holderness been a passenger ship, then Jonathan could have avoided me quite easily. Aboard a cargo ship the accommodation area amidships was almost intimate, comprising six passenger cabins and saloon, the officers’ and Master’s cabins, and wheelhouse and chartroom above.

  Even if Jonathan did not join us for every meal, he was generally in the saloon once a day, and common courtesy demanded that he exchange a few words with each of us. For almost three days I tried hard to place myself in situations where we might have a chance to speak privately, but in such a confined area there were always people about, and – other than a brief acknowledgement of my existence at table – he made no attempt to engage me in conversation. We might have been strangers, except that he rarely looked at me.

  The situation was awkward and embarrassing; I found it painful too, and all the rationalising in the world could not alter that. Nevertheless, in company I worked hard at maintaining an equable front of smiles and pleasantries – perhaps not quite so brash as I’d pretended to be initially, but certainly bolder and braver than I felt.

 
Alice saw through it but, having missed that initial confrontation, was concerned enough to ask what was wrong. She was tidying my clothes away while I brushed out my hair in readiness for bed; the ship was rolling gently, like the comforting motion of a cradle, and that, combined with her concern, almost unsealed my tongue. I forced myself to look hard in the mirror, to take note of the softer shoulders and fuller breasts, and the traces of little lines – laughter lines, Henry called them – at the corners of eyes and mouth. I was no longer a young girl, I was a mature, responsible woman and, furthermore, Alice’s employer. With the past laying siege to my sensibilities, I forced myself to tell her only the barest of truths, which was that the ship’s Master and I had known each other long ago in Whitby.

  ‘We were very young – there were no declarations, nothing like that, but I think he would have liked me to be there, waiting for him, when he came back.’

  ‘But you weren’t?’ she asked, and I had to explain that I’d left Whitby while he was away, to work for the Addisons. ‘Well,’ she said matter-of-factly, ‘he should have come to see you, ma’am, if he was that keen. He shouldn’t take it out on you like this, not after all these years. It’s not mannerly.’

  ‘No, indeed.’ I gave a noncommittal smile, unable to say what I thought, which was that Jonathan had not forgiven me for rejecting a future with him in favour of short-term benefits from a much older and richer man. For prostituting myself, in other words, which was how he would have seen my affair with Bram. But I couldn’t put it like that to Alice.

  She asked slyly, ‘Weren’t you keen on him?’

  ‘Not keen enough, obviously.’

  ‘Shame, really, him so handsome...’

  ‘There might have been something – once. Not now, though,’ I reminded her firmly. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, Alice – I’m married.’

  As I imagined he was, too.

  Later, when I was alone, I found myself wondering about his life: whether he’d made his home in Whitby, and if he was happy.

  Forty-two

  As we passed the great delta of the Nile, the sea was milky for scores of miles, the weather calm and hot, with barely enough breeze to fill the sails of a dhow. I noticed several brigs and schooners becalmed as we steamed along, and found myself thinking of Jack Louvain and Bram, standing outside the studio in Whitby, watching the paddle tugs and discussing the relative merits of steam and sail.

  While counting the blessings of progress I was emotionally wishing I’d taken a leaky old barque to Oslo or Copenhagen, worrying about the chances of arriving safely rather than facing three weeks of stiff-lipped embarrassment in the sunny Mediterranean. There was little to do but pace the long wooden foredeck, or sit beneath a canvas awning in company with the spoiled Miss Fenton. Alice did not like her, and had decided to retreat behind her ‘dumb servant’ mask, which she could do to perfection when necessary. I felt obliged to be sociable for at least an hour or so each day, while suspecting Miss Fenton would have shunned my company at once if there had been a better choice.

  Dr Graeme was pleasant enough, with a dry, ironic sense of humour – I had the impression he was glad of me to spare him his duties for at least part of the time. He and I often met on our walks around the deck, and he seemed genuinely interested in my connection with shipping and the Addisons. It was something to talk about, other than the weather and life in India. I was reluctant at first, because of the awkwardness between the Master and myself, but then I saw that my business and social position had been accepted as the reason for Jonathan’s stiffness towards me. It made me feel less publicly humiliated by his attitude, and I was grateful to Dr Graeme for that.

  Away from the humidity of the Nile, we steamed into fresh sea breezes and settled into the kind of shipboard routine which benefited everyone, especially the ship’s officers. Most of them seemed happier to be at sea, ready to exchange a quip in passing, or to talk about their families as we ploughed steadily on through the Mediterranean towards home.

  Within the week, however, those fresh sea breezes had turned into brisk, northwesterly winds, and with the colder air came violent squalls and rougher seas, which soon confined Miss Fenton to her cabin. Poor Alice succumbed shortly afterwards, but I have to admit that for me it was an improvement all round. The weather suited my mood, and there was no more need to be polite. Even Dr Graeme seemed to understand. We passed each other grimly on our walks around the deck.

  Next day the temperature dropped again, while driving rain bleached colour from sea and sky. The outlook was more like the environs of Whitby in winter than the blue Mediterranean I’d come to expect. Perhaps it struck a similar chord with Jonathan, since he managed to address me at breakfast that morning.

  I was later than usual, having slept badly, and was eating alone. Timing the roll, he took his place at the head of the table and unfurled his napkin. That morning I’d seated myself midway, and was glad of the gap between us. After the steward had taken Jonathan’s order for bacon and eggs, he addressed me gruffly.

  ‘In case you’re interested, Mrs Lindsey, we’ll be passing the island of Sicily to starboard during the course of today. Not that you’ll be able to see much of it, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Indeed?’ I responded, managing to sound coolly polite while my heart thudded like that of a startled schoolgirl. I wasn’t sure whether I was angry or embarrassed or even pleased to be so addressed, whether I should take the opportunity to converse, or just finish my coffee and go. At that point the ship gave a more pronounced roll, and the cruet flew past me like a toboggan on a downhill slope. I grabbed at it before it could cannon over the rim of the table and on to the floor.

  ‘Well fielded,’ my companion said with a small smile; but he carefully avoided touching me as I passed it back. ‘By the way, the weather’s worsening, as I’m sure you’re aware, so I’d prefer you to keep off the main deck. In this weather it’s not safe.’

  ‘I’m aware of the dangers,’ I retorted, perhaps a little more sharply than I intended.

  His dark eyes met mine, and beneath arched brows I saw a depth of anger there that silenced me. ‘Even so,’ he said quietly, ‘when you go outside, I don’t want you venturing below the level of the boat deck.’

  ‘Very well,’ I agreed, forcing the words, ‘I’ll do as you say, Captain. Might I ask whether this rule applies to Dr Graeme as well?’

  ‘It applies to all the passengers.’

  In the limited confines of a ship, with too little to occupy the mind, it can be surprising what irritates the sensibilities. Later that morning, as the Doctor and I leaned on the boat deck rail and tried to peer through the murk towards Sicily, we agreed that the wind was stronger and the pounding of the waves more pronounced. I was suffering from a dull headache, but my companion had begun to feel queasy. I joked that I would soon be looking after him too.

  My prophecy came true. Before the evening meal he’d taken to his bed, while I volunteered as nurse to three bunk-bound patients.

  Later, leaving Alice’s cabin, I was startled by the sudden appearance of a tall figure at the end of the alleyway. ‘How are they?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Feeling dreadful, looking worse – but none sick as yet.’

  ‘Well, that’s something. And you, Mrs Lindsey – how are you?’

  ‘More comfortable outdoors,’ I replied, ‘with fresh air and a view of the horizon.’

  There was amusement in his voice as he said: ‘I know that shouldn’t surprise me – but somehow it does.’

  I paused outside the saloon and turned to look at him. ‘It shouldn’t surprise you at all,’ I said with bold reproof. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, Jonathan Markway, you and I come from the same place.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

  ‘And neither have I.’

  There was challenge as he met my gaze, but the anger seemed less. For the first time I felt he was beginning to see me as the woman I was now, rather than the girl he remembered, and that pleased me. As I went in
to take my usual place at table, he said, ‘Well, then, if you’d care to come up to the bridge for a while, about ten or fifteen minutes after eight, I think we can at least offer you a change of scene.’

  Trying to restrain a satisfied smile, I nodded my acceptance. The invitation was not exclusive, I knew that, since the Doctor had been up there two or three times to my knowledge, and so, I gathered, had Miss Fenton. But it was the first time that I had been asked, and my only regret was the time of day. Dinner was at six, and by eight o’clock it would be pitch black. But still, it was a beginning.

  After dinner I made my round of the invalids again, reluctantly performing duties that reminded me of my time as a personal servant all those years ago – although for Alice I didn’t mind.

  Wearing long boots with a divided skirt for ease and practicality, I made my way up to the bridge, hanging on to every hand-hold along the way. Outside, the roar of the sea was almost deafening, and I was glad of the glass-enclosed safety of the chartroom. It took a moment before I recognized Jonathan in his oilskins – before I could see very much at all after the indoor lights below. Greeting me, he pointed out the helmsman on the open bridge, and the 3rd Mate pacing the darkness.

  ‘Before midnight a junior takes the first watch, but I make a point of being on hand for safety’s sake. And in bad weather, when we’re so close to land,’ Jonathan confessed softly, ‘I prefer to be up here most of the time...’

  Somehow, that confession put another dent in his armour. I was touched by it and very much aware of him as he stood close by me. After a little while he resumed his routine, pacing back and forth between the windows, stepping outside, checking the course and heading with the helmsman, viewing the darkness in a broad arc from stem to stern, then coming in to pace back and forth again.

  I looked too, but could see nothing but the rearing of huge white waves either side of the bow, and the phosphorescent glow of foam breaking over the decks. I felt the familiar prickles of alarm, and closed my eyes for a moment. Opening them, looking down, it was easy to see why we passengers had been banned from the main deck; and as the ship took another roll, that the weather was getting worse.