2 Children of the Plantation

by Faith Mortimer

  "Here we are. I recognise the livery of the Ben-Line," he said. Their taxi drew up at the gangway where a uniformed sailor stepped forward to open the car doors. "I still don't know why you're going back to England. All that bloody rain."

  Everything then became hustle and bustle as Eleanor's trunk and other bags were taken from her and stowed on board. She was only one of a handful of passengers on this cargo-passenger ship, more commonly known as 'banana boat', and despite her condition, she was looking forward to her time alone on the eighteen days or so sail 'back home'. She relished the thought of no calls on her as a wife or mother. She couldn't remember when she had had the luxury of having no one to answer for. Bliss!

  "Now, don't forget, once you arrive at the Royal Victoria Dock in London, you'll need to contact the family. My brother will arrange transport to take you to the Kensington house. After a night or so and shopping in Knightsbridge, they'll expect you up in Yorkshire," Winston said, staring at the ship.

  "Yes of course, Winston. I'll contact them at once."

  "I still can't think why you want to visit England. It's damned inconvenient, but no matter. A woman's mind is never clear," he said, while shooing away a loitering one-armed beggar. "At least I can make use of this visit to Singers by paying a visit to the embassy. I need to see old Granville. There've been some mutterings lately; we might expect a spot of bother. Some of the natives are getting uppity."

  Not listening to Winston's words, Eleanor bit her lip and glanced away, hoping he wouldn't notice the rising colour in her cheeks. He must never guess why she was making this visit.

  "Are you ready to board?" Winston turned towards the gangway, one hand under her elbow as he escorted her towards her ship.

  Later, waving goodbye from the rail, Eleanor felt a lifting of her spirits and a feeling of freedom. She was going home!

  ~~~~~

  Eleanor's ship was part of the Ben-Line company. A company that had begun in 1839 with the sailing ship Carrara which imported marble from Italy. Ben-Line expanded with many ships and voyages to the Far East, carrying cargoes of steel, concrete, locomotives, munitions, exotic Sarawak timber, jute, manioc, rubber, spices, copra and tea.

  The Ben Lawes was a medium-sized vessel. She had a grey hull, a green boot top and varnished lifeboats. Her funnel and upper works were yellow, and altogether she was pleasing to the eye.

  Standing at the rail, Eleanor gave a gasp as her white sun-hat was snatched from her head. Landing on the deck, it bowled away in the stiff breeze before coming to rest against the bulwark. The sun shone down with ferocity despite the cooling breeze, and she hurried to retrieve her sun-hat. A ship’s officer stepped forward beating her to it.

  “Your hat Ma’am,” he said holding it out to her.

  “Why thank you. The wind is so strong this side of the ship.”

  “Indeed it is.”

  Eleanor walked towards a side door and waited while the officer held it open for her. She nodded her thanks and proceeded towards her cabin. Noting the look of interest in the man’s eyes she found herself flushing and hurried down the corridor. She swore she could feel his eyes boring into her back. She smiled; one more helpless male had succumbed to her charms.

  They were more than halfway into the voyage, which had been largely an uneventful one. They suffered one rough passage across the Indian Ocean with towering thirty-foot waves that threatened to crash down onto the decks of the gallant little Ben Lawes. At the last moment, the crest of each wave curled over and cascaded down the face of the glass-like water creating a lace effect of foam and spume.

  Eleanor surprised herself by taking the bad conditions in her stride. She thought at first she would fall prostrate with the dreaded mal-de-mer. Instead she felt rather smug when she witnessed the distress of the two other female passengers. After twelve unrelenting hours of storm, they had taken to their cabins. With lee-cloths firmly in place to prevent them falling out of their respective bunks, the two women lay sweating and groaning, just wishing to die.

  Apart from fearing a fall as the ship plunged up and down or rolled from one side to the other, Eleanor was feeling no ill side effects whatsoever. Her earlier morning sickness had disappeared, and she looked forward to every nautical mile that took her further away from Malaya and Winston.

  The three male passengers, together with the ship's officers, joined them at dinner and were delighted by Lady Chalcot's bright and sunny company. Captivated by Eleanor's blonde beauty and her 'brave' face in coping with the inclement weather, they told her she was a lady of extreme courage and fortitude.

  "Madame you are a real heroine!" they exclaimed each night when she took her place at table. "We watched you walk from one length of the deck to another and decided you were a lady of spirit. Your health!"

  Eleanor revelled in their gallantry and admiration, imagining herself in a past bygone age. The voyage was proving to be most enjoyable. She was almost a 'free' person with no other women present taking some of the shine from herself; she was the toast of the captain's table. Most importantly, she knew she was safe. She played along with her admirers, teasing and flirting with them, yet knowing that while she basked in their adoration, it would all amount to nothing. She could tease without becoming involved. Eleanor was a flirt of the first order and with absolutely no wish of any involvement with sex. Meanwhile, none of the gallants was aware that Eleanor was completely frigid. She was a tease, provocative, but inside she was as frozen as the ice sculptures the chef displayed on the dinner table.

  Chapter 6

  With the rough Indian Ocean behind them, the ship slid along the coast of Arabia until it docked in the port of Aden.

  Standing at the top of the gangway, Eleanor made a snap judgement as she surveyed the scene below. It was a dirty little hell-hole of a coaling station. As the country's main port, Aden was also the trade centre of the Yemen.

  An hour later, Eleanor had not changed her mind. Against the well-intentioned advice from the second officer, Eleanor had decided she needed to restock her toiletries and a quick trip ashore would do her good. She chose a quiet lull in shore-to-ship activities on the quay-side and slipped down the boarding ladder. After spending forty minutes in dizzying temperatures, dust, crumbling buildings, poverty and dogs riddled with ring-worm, she wished she had heeded his words. The former Crown Colony of Aden was a dump.

  She was completely fed up with being jostled and stared at in the seedy-looking souk. The food stocks were of dubious quality, being covered in swarms of fat blue flies the market sellers indolently waved a hand over. She trod in something smelling so foul that she could only guess at its identity and totally failed to find a shop which sold Pond's cold cream and Colgate toothpaste.

  Wondering what next to do, she gave a jump when she felt a hand pawing at her blouse. Turning, she found a brown face so covered in sores and a mouth of brown stumps that she almost screamed in panic. Startled, she looked wildly around seeking an exit from the crush and stench of dozens of bodies pressing against her. Curious and often hostile eyes, some almost hidden behind face and hair coverings seemed to follow her every move. She felt thin hands, fat fingers and claw-like plucking at her garments for attention. The noise, a continuous cacophony of raucous sound, was threatening to peak and overrun her senses. Eleanor's heart pounded in fear. In desperation, she turned away like a frightened fawn and looked straight into the eyes of a white woman standing a few paces away.

  Relief flooded through Eleanor as a look of empathy passed between them.

  "Over here," the woman called. She stood tall and very slim above most of the locals and was dressed in a white shirt and fawn-coloured slacks. With a strong commanding voice, she spoke to the people nearest her in the local dialect, so that muttering; they fell back creating a path for Eleanor.

  "You look pretty much done in," the stranger said, matter-of-factly. "It can be a bit much at times. Follow me."

  Eleanor followed the woman, keeping her eyes on the thin shoulder b
lades beneath the white shirt forging ahead down a narrow, almost deserted alleyway. The noise behind became a dull, muted hum. Eleanor was conscious of pitted walls, litter underfoot and a reek of urine. Their footsteps sounded overloud as they moved along the passage. Relieved, Eleanor felt her heart beat in its regular rhythm as she was ringed in between the walls of silence.

  Slowing her pace, Eleanor raised a hand and massaged her forehead. Already she could feel the beginnings of a beastly migraine. Not now, she thought, not here! "Wait."

  The woman stopped and turned to face Eleanor. For the first time, she got a good look at her. She possessed high cheek-bones in a thin face. Her eyebrows were well-defined over eyes of an unusual peaty brown. Her short hair was smooth and dark brown, almost black. Halfway along her brow and down towards her left cheek, she had a thin, pale scar.

  Eleanor wondered about the scar. It stood out against her golden tan: thin, disfiguring and yet not diminishing the beauty in her almost mannish face. As the woman gave her a smile, Eleanor unaccountably felt drawn towards her scar. She had an itch, a yearning to run her finger down its length and to smooth the puckered skin. She shivered in the dankness of the shadowed, green-mould alleyway.

  "Sorry, I know I walk fast. I presume you're off the ship in harbour?"

  "Yes. We leave at noon. I…I only came ashore for a change of scene."

  "Well you certainly got that. It wasn't very sensible really. Not with what's happening right now. The Fuzzy Wuzzies are getting uppity; they want us all out. Can't blame them in some ways; they've always been governed by a foreign force since heavens knows when. It's time for us to finally leave."

  Eleanor looked confused. Not only was she being given a lesson in local politics, it appeared that this woman was in favour of handing what had been a British Crown Colony back to its local inhabitants. Winston would have been appalled at the woman's nerve and would no doubt have made it quite clear how wrong she was.

  "Come on. Let's not waste time, the quickest way back is through here."

  Eleanor swayed. She was not yet in acute pain but she could read the signs. There were illuminated little pinpricks in her vision. She felt heaviness in her brain, like the inert body weight of some sleeping beast.

  "Are you all right?"

  She felt a hand upon her arm; cool against the heat of her skin. She was reminded of the vast heat that lay beyond the cool of the rank alley suffocating the town and port, a stifling heat.

  Eleanor felt the beast begin to stir within. "Migraine," she whispered.

  Dazed, she was only dimly aware of being guided out into the harsh light. There was a clatter of hooves on the cobbles, a hand pushing her up into the soft confines of a carriage and cushions. Eleanor heard shouts, thuds, voices rising and talking all at once, falling and rising again and then a blissful silence and a darkened room.

  ~~~~~

  Breathing quietly in the darkness, Eleanor knew she should pull herself together. If only she did not feel so ill, she would get up and organise her day. Her illness over the years had prevented her from giving her children all a mother should. Eleanor was too wrapped up in Eleanor to bother with children…she drifted away…not quite asleep, not quite awake…her girls at home with Winston and the nanny.

  Her anxiety earlier that day in the souk had rubbed her senses raw. The migraine sharpened as a knife edge marched against her optic nerve; she groaned and instantly regretted it. And so, she lay there as the late afternoon slipped by, and tumbled into another doze.

  ~~~~~

  The muted thunder from the ship's screw and the faint judder told her they were underway: anchor weighed, lines cast off from the bollards and stowed, all ship-shape and ready for the run up the Red Sea and into the Suez Canal. But it was not the ship underway that woke her; instead, Eleanor was alerted to the presence of another in her cabin. Turning her head towards the cabin door, she could see a silhouette of a tall figure in the doorway. "You!"

  "I am sorry if I woke you. I was checking to see if you needed anything."

  The figure moved towards Eleanor, then leant over and snapped on the lamp screwed onto the bulwark.

  "Thank you. I am recovering nicely. What exactly happened?"

  Giving a chuckle, the woman walked further into the cabin and settled herself in the one armchair. She appeared relaxed and completely at home in Eleanor's company.

  "Well, after passing out rather spectacularly, I managed to get you into a carriage and bring you to the ship."

  "Ah, I see." Eleanor paused. "But, we're at sea now, surely...the engine?"

  "Yes, we've been underway for a good hour."

  "But what are you doing here? And I don't even know your name."

  She smiled, her face beautiful in the lamplight. Her beauty was unusual, not the classic prettiness of Eleanor, more strong and regal. Eleanor tried not to stare at her, at the faint and almost sensual scar on her face. She felt again that ridiculous notion of smoothing or kissing it away. She was her heroine.

  "My name is Hermione. And I'm still here because I'm travelling the leg from here to jolly old Blighty. I know who you are of course. The crew soon filled me in."

  Eleanor was at a loss to know what to say. She felt her face flame, and she shifted restlessly on her bunk. Her thoughts were ridiculous. A shaft of joy had coursed through her when she had heard her words. Whatever was she thinking of? The woman was a perfect stranger!

  "Why were you in Aden anyway?"

  "I was working there. My two-year posting is now over, and I'm going back to England, except I've left the forces and will be re-joining Civvie Street."

  "What did you do in the forces?"

  "Ah, I was just about to get round to that. Can I ask you a personal question?"

  Eleanor raised her eyebrows in surprise but nodded.

  "When is your baby due? I'm a midwife you see."

  Dismayed with Hermione for guessing her secret, Eleanor slumped back against her pillows. As she remembered the reason for her trip back home, she felt a well of misery rise up within her.

  Chapter 7

  Hermione

  Despite their very different backgrounds, Eleanor and Hermione became the closest of friends in a matter of days while at sea. It was some years since Eleanor had had a real girlfriend. She saw at once that Hermione was different from most women. Eleanor rarely let anyone become close to her, and she was as different from Hermione as chalk was to cheese. Whereas Eleanor was vain, pretty and totally selfish, feeling little empathy for most people, Hermione was lacking in airs, down-to-earth and in complete control of her life.

  Eleanor needed to feel pampered, and yet Hermione couldn't have given a fig as to whether she was popular or otherwise. One woman was shallow and weak but undeniably beautiful, the other strong, deep and attractive in her own way. They were a perfect foil for each other.

  During the day, they spent most of the time together. There were plenty of things to do: reading, painting, playing games and cards and generally exchanging details about their lives. Hermione quickly realised that despite Eleanor being very much in demand at the captain's table, she was completely disinterested in men, except for the compliments of course.

  Covertly studying Eleanor while she read her latest romance, Hermione discovered she had developed a great affection for the pretty little butterfly woman. After hearing some of the minor details from her married life, she decided she should never have married in the first place. Position and money were huge attractions, but for Eleanor, a husband, children and living in a foreign country were a complete anathema.

  The days passed. After Aden, the ship sailed up the Red Sea and finally entered the Suez Canal. Thankfully, the hostilities of the fifties had lessened and the canal was once again open for shipping. After a short passage across the south-eastern part of the Mediterranean, they arrived in Cyprus and the Ben Lawes dropped her anchor in Famagusta harbour. The two women took advantage of the short stay there and went ashore for a change of scene and a
visit to the shops.

  Hermione had spent two years previously on this Turkish-Greek island in the north-eastern corner of the Mediterranean Sea and knew the land well. Excited at the promise of seeing old haunts, she suggested they had a meal ashore. "I lived in Cyprus for two years on a previous tour of duty, you know. I can't wait to see the place again. It's very quaint, dusty and hot with lots of old donkeys living in fields," she said, looking pleased with the idea.

  They went ashore in the ship's tender, gliding over the translucent turquoise harbour. It was so clear they could see the rocks littering the sea bed.

  ~~~~~

  "I know the taverna I used to visit is around here somewhere!" Hermione laughed as they came back to the same spot twice. "Let's try this lane."

  Two minutes later, a triumphant Hermione was delighted to find the taverna was still there and run by the same family. "I can't believe this place. Nothing has changed since I was here, and that was, let's see, about eight years ago. Even the cats look familiar." A couple of white, long-haired cats were lying stretched out on wicker chairs in the shade. Hermione ran a hand over one which yawned and rolled over.

  "Come on, let's have lunch now. They used to serve wonderful kebabs with huge olives soaked in coriander seeds. Do you like olives by chance?"

  "I can't say whether I do or not. We never had them in Malaya," Eleanor confessed.

  "Oh, you colonials! You don't know what you're missing. Cypriot olives are very good. The old ladies spend ages soaking them in brine and then when the bitterness has disappeared, they crack coriander seeds and add them to the jars. You do know about coriander, I suppose?" she teased.

  "Of course, our cook uses it in curries."

  "Your cook? Ah Lady Chalcot, do you never don an apron yourself?" Hermione looked highly amused at Eleanor's expense.