Birthright

by David Hingley

  She swallowed. ‘It was very sad. But he does not hide from it, not any more. There is no harm in telling you.’ A melancholic ache tugged at her words. ‘Everyone was in the streets celebrating the King’s return, or pretending to, but Jane, Nathan’s wife, she went into labour. And she died, giving birth.’ The ship blurred as she remembered. ‘Nathan called the girl Anne. She was so beautiful, always laughing. She kept him from his grief. And then before she was two her nurse overlaid her.’

  ‘God. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘People can say all they like how common that is, for a nurse to roll onto the baby in her sleep, but it is heart-wrenching to endure. I will never know how he was strong enough to manage. Save I tried to help him through the pain.’ She lowered her eyes, saddened as she always was when she thought of that tragedy.

  Nicholas hesitated. ‘Don’t think it untoward of me to say, but he clearly cares for you. He looks at you all the time. You must notice it.’

  She waved her hand, embarrassed. ‘I could never replace Jane in his heart. And Will still lives in mine.’ She looked out across the darkening ocean. ‘Although that was a long time ago now.’

  ‘Don’t let chances slip away, Mercia, when one comes along.’

  She shook her head. ‘Do you have nothing useful to do?’

  ‘Yes.’ He brought his face round to smile at her. ‘I am doing it.’

  Chapter Twenty

  As Nicholas had foreseen, Mercia was not harassed again, other than the furtive looks that continuously came her way from lonely sailors at sea. The ship made excellent speed, the captain pleased with his vessel and crew. But one morning, a Monday, or a Tuesday perhaps – she found the days were merging into one – she stepped from her cabin to find a thick fog all around, her vision limited to just a few yards. Flames shone through the sticky gloom as the sailors lit torches roundabout, but their light was weak against the depth of the fog. The ship limped on in its course, the sea dead calm, but when the wind picked up to lift the fog the other ships had vanished.

  ‘No worry,’ reassured the captain. ‘We will come on them again soon enough.’

  But for the rest of the crossing they were alone, the bigger ships with their mighty guns and the King’s invasion force never again in sight. One afternoon Nicholas descried a ship off the starboard side in the distance, but the captain could not tell its colours, so he gave orders to evade it. They were not at war with the French, or the Spanish, nor yet with the Dutch, but piracy was prevalent, and the warships were gone.

  It was a month into the voyage when the inevitable storm hit. The sailors had been warning of it since they left Portsmouth. ‘You do not tempt the limits of Creation without God reminding you of His power,’ the captain said, and he spoke well enough, for when the storm arose, it was truly awesome.

  Mercia had developed a surprising friendship with Captain Morley. He told her stories about the world outside Europe, some more believable than others, but all of them riveting. He, well she supposed he was pleased by the attentions of a woman, although at first he had been less than welcoming to the three on his ship, muttering under his breath that it would bring bad luck, and what did Nicolls think he was doing. All that prejudice faded as soon as she showed an interest in his tales.

  The old man had an erudite air, gesticulating as he spoke.

  ‘We were sailing through the clearest of waters,’ he enthused, ‘when a huge beast twice the length of London Bridge emerged from the depths. It reared up and we feared it must crash down on the ship, for it would surely have destroyed us if it had. The crew ran for shelter but I stood on deck, captivated by its grandeur.’ Mercia laughed. ‘But it fell the other way, and with a flourish of its forked tail the beast dived back into the ocean. It was as if Neptune himself had dispatched his surest envoy to spy on us.’

  ‘I have seen such a creature drawn on a chart,’ she mused. ‘Next to the men with two heads and the dogs with six legs.’ She paused. ‘But Captain Morley, the ship is rocking somewhat.’

  ‘You are right.’ He led her out onto the quarterdeck. In the few minutes she had been in his chart house the sky had turned a deep grey, a fierce wind buffeting the sails. ‘As I feared,’ he said. ‘The skies are likely for a storm. I am afraid, Lady Mercia’ – he insisted on calling her ‘Lady’ – ‘you should fetch your lad and seek shelter.’

  She took in the captain’s concerned gaze and the frenzied shouting of the sailors in an awful instant. She recalled one of his less delicate moments, when he had told her about a storm that had obliterated the sun and cast a deep misery over the ocean. She learnt now he had not embellished that particular tale, for the intensity of the sky above the tiny ship grew darker than a countryside night, the sun cast down by an army of impenetrable clouds formed up tighter than any well-trained phalanx.

  By the time she found Daniel running – or rather, falling – round the capstan, the storm had broken. Thinking to make for her cabin she pulled him out on deck, but the ship was already beginning to lurch forward and back. Urgent sailors were hurrying barefoot around and above, attempting to secure the sails to the yards and the masts, but she heard none of their clamour, for the roar of the wind had become all encompassing, taunting their very souls. Its irresistible power swept her and Daniel down the ship, forcing them against the forecastle ladder; with one hand she grabbed the side rail, with the other her son, striving to stay upright in the force of the whirling air.

  Nathan fought his way shouting towards her, but she could not look at him, the wind too strong in her face, let alone hear. He grabbed at her, pulling her by inches across the main deck, each of them taking hold of whatever purchase they could reach, a rope, a mast, a sailor, all the time gripping her son, until they staggered to the steps to the quarterdeck. A second’s break in the wind allowed her to take shelter behind a thick coil of rope, and she looked up to see faint dots in the rigging, brave sailors, Nicholas amongst them, attempting to furl the sails in the face of the growing tempest. But then the wind rose up again, stronger than before, and Nathan, still exposed, was thrown back to the forecastle, falling away into the false night.

  There was no time to panic. The ship continued to pitch to inconceivable angles. Up it went, up a fiery mountain of water, then down, down into the openings of hell itself, the demons of the Beast waiting to receive it, but no, up it went again, seemingly uncontrollable against the magnificent power of the sea. A pain-giving rain was lashing on the deck, stinging her face as it swarmed around her, making it impossible to see the mighty waves.

  By now the deck was strewn with seawater, barrels that had been poorly secured rolling dangerously about. Mercia wrenched Daniel, the boy crying with fright, from their haphazard path. A sailor fell from the rigging to crash into the deck, splintering the wood beside her before sliding down the rough planks at the next pitch of the ship. Still she held on, drenched with cold water, her dress whipping around her, waiting for a gap in the storm. Eventually, she knew not how, she clambered to her feet to struggle to the quarterdeck. At the top step a powerful gust threw her against her cabin, the nearest. She reached out an arm to tug at the door, forcing it open as the wind shifted. She pushed Daniel in, but then the wind slammed the door shut before she could follow, and the ship lurched, sending her skidding to the side, teetering against the suddenly inadequate rail.

  For an instant she thought she would tip over. Then a hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back towards the cabins at a levelling out of the ship. Together, the two of them battled the wind until the Samaritan yanked open the door to Mercia’s cabin and heaved them both through. Inside, they forced the door closed, dragging across the small table to try to secure it.

  The storm was hardly more muffled inside the cabin. Mercia turned to thank her saviour and was startled to see Lady Calde, now collapsed on the floor against the bed, her blue dress soaked, offering up prayers to God. Clothes and boxes were strewn everywhere, and a loose wall plank was thumping out its own destruction, splint
ers of wood flying off in the strength of the outside wind. She joined Lady Calde in her devotions, beseeching God’s compassion that her companions would be safe from this mighty demonstration of His power. If they survived, she would know she had passed His test, would have been found worthy of the trust her father had placed in her. But for now, as the storm lashed at the ship in its zephyrous rage, tormenting those who in their arrogance had dared leave the haven of their own land, she held her son, and made sure he felt safe.

  She did not know how long the storm persisted. Time ceased in the face of such a mighty foe. Yet when she looked up, the ship was no longer rocking so ferociously, and the roars of the winds had quietened. Gradually the cabin became still. Against the lopsided bed, Lady Calde was sitting ramrod straight, staring at her, unblinking. Her grey-auburn hair had come loose, dripping water down her pale cheeks.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mercia simply.

  Lady Calde did not move. ‘My door flew open. I put myself at risk to drag you back here. Do not think it means I have forgiven you.’

  ‘Forgiven me?’ Mercia frowned. ‘For what?’

  ‘I will not let you take my husband.’

  ‘Oh.’ She ran a hand over her wet face. ‘Lady Calde, I have no interest in Sir William.’

  The elder woman’s jaw clenched. ‘I saw you with him in the Privy Garden at Whitehall. I was watching from a window. I saw him kiss your hand.’

  ‘Lady Calde, there is nothing to—’

  She broke off as the door banged open, the fragile table skidding onto its side. A heavily bedraggled Lady Markstone rushed in.

  ‘You are here, praise the Lord,’ Lady Markstone cried. ‘There was no time to find you when the storm hit. Some of us found refuge in the captain’s cabin. Thank God you are safe, and your son.’ She smiled benignly on him. At her feet, Lady Calde pulled herself up. ‘And you here, Harriet, also.’

  ‘We are safe.’ Mercia attempted to stand herself, only now feeling the weight of her soaked dress. ‘You seem less wind-whipped than I, at least.’ She bit her lip, looking towards the open door. ‘But what of Nathan? We were together, then he slipped down the ship.’

  ‘Perhaps your man will know,’ said Lady Calde, now in the doorway. Her words were tinged with bitterness. ‘He is coming this way.’

  Without another glance, she left; Lady Markstone looked questioningly at Mercia, but then a stubbled face painted with wet blonde hair appeared round the door.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Nicholas. ‘I saw you get into your cabin.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Mercia. ‘But Nathan? Have you seen him?’

  He nodded. ‘I am impressed. He helped the crew when he could have taken refuge. He even climbed to the foreyard to help secure the sail, but then—’

  She grabbed his arm. ‘Then what?’

  Nicholas smiled. ‘Then he couldn’t get down, the storm was so ferocious. He clung to the mast so tightly that when all was over he couldn’t move his arms. It took two sailors to prise him off.’

  Breathing out in relief she took Daniel’s hand and passed into the battered open. The ship was a total mess, baskets and crates everywhere, but the crew were experts and had secured everything they could. Descending to the main deck, she peered around first one sailor, then another, until she saw Nathan coming in her direction. When his eyes met hers he fell to his knees, clasping his hands together in a thankful prayer. Then he ran to hold her and Daniel tight, taking her in a powerful embrace, while she hugged him back, glad everyone was alive, grateful they had passed God’s test. As they embraced, Nicholas walked past smiling, and a few moments later Lady Markstone too.

  ‘Everything is fine, Nat,’ said Mercia as the two of them walked Daniel back to her cabin. ‘Do not fret. It was fierce, but we are through it now.’

  He cast down his eyes. ‘I should have come straight back to you. I am sorry.’

  ‘No, you did right to help the crew. They will remember that.’ She smiled. ‘Especially you stuck in the mast.’

  She pulled open her loose cabin door; Nathan had to bend his head to fit into the small space. Her possessions lay tossed about, but she shrugged her shoulders. ‘What matter. We are unharmed and I can pack this back together. See, my clothes are all here, my coin box, my combs.’ She held her hand to her mouth. ‘My coin box!’

  ‘What about it?’ frowned Nathan.

  ‘It was next to that loose plank when I was in here during the storm.’ She pointed to where the panel had now come totally away. ‘I remember hoping it would not slip through the gap. So how is it now on the other side of the cabin, against the bed?’

  He looked across. ‘It probably just slid there.’

  ‘No, it was by the hole when Lady Markstone came in, when the storm was over. It cannot have moved on its own, not with this clutter everywhere.’ She reached down for the box and studied the lid. ‘My God, Nathan. ’Tis unlocked.’

  ‘Here is the key, Mamma.’ Daniel held up a small iron object. ‘It was on the floor.’

  Righting the fallen table, Nathan inspected another of the wall planks. ‘The plug I made to cover the key’s hiding place has shaken loose. It won’t have stayed put in that storm.’

  ‘So anyone coming in here could have found the key on the floor.’

  ‘In this mess?’

  She rummaged inside the box. ‘I think the coin is all still here, but—’ She took a sharp breath. ‘The necklace has gone.’

  Nathan stared. ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Of course!’ She held the box open to show him.

  ‘Perhaps, Mamma,’ said Daniel, ‘the storm took it. Everything else has been thrown around.’

  ‘No, Danny. There would be coins all over the cabin too, yet they are still in the box.’

  He thought a moment then pointed at the floor. ‘Maybe it snapped and the pearls fell through these cracks.’ He looked anxiously at his mother.

  She knelt down to him. ‘Do not worry, Danny. I do not resent the loss of that necklace.’ She glanced up at Nathan. ‘But still, it appears there is a thief on board.’

  He paused, thinking. ‘Who has been in here?’

  ‘Me. Daniel. Lady Calde, Lady Markstone. Nicholas.’

  ‘Nicholas? Alone?’

  ‘No, Nathan. I did leave him at the cabin door when I came to look for you, but the same is true of Lady Markstone. Besides, any of the sailors could have seen the cabin empty and taken their chance. There are far more of them on the quarterdeck than usual, cleaning up after the storm.’

  ‘I suppose.’ He sighed. ‘What do you want to do?’

  They sifted through her belongings but nothing else was gone, nor could they find the necklace when Captain Morley ordered a search of the ship. Mercia thought Nicholas might well be right when he suggested that a thieving sailor could later have panicked and thrown it over the side. Neither Lady Calde nor Lady Markstone had lost anything. It vexed her she could not discover the truth, but in the absence of evidence she was obliged to forget it. For now, she was content she had lost nothing of real value in the storm, like her son.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The ship resumed its westward course, the sailors swiftly patching up whatever damage they could under the experienced eye of the ship’s carpenter. But the barber-surgeon could not save the young man who had fallen from the rigging, and to the firing of a sombre gun he was cast into the ocean for his long rest. Nor had any of the pigs survived, or so the crew at first thought, until swabbing the foredeck a boy heard a strange squealing from over the side, and was amazed to find a pig trapped by its legs in the disturbed anchor rope. Three sailors hauled it back on deck; in a panic it charged at the boatswain, making him jump aside just as a loose piece of rigging crashed down where he had been standing. From then on the crew took to calling it their lucky hog, refusing to butcher it for meat. Instead the ship’s longboat came into more frequent use, the men endeavouring to trap slow-moving turtles or curious sharks whenever the captain permitted a halt. />
  The weeks passed by with no real excitement. Four weeks became five, became seven. The men drank and played at dice. Mercia memorised the description of the Oxford Section in private, and learnt how to use a ship’s quadrant in front of a bemused public. Nicholas was a dutiful manservant, although in truth there was little for him to do: a fortunate happenstance the morning after his birthday. Lady Markstone enjoyed her embroidery. Daniel ran about with his lion, getting in everyone’s way, but nobody really minded. The necklace stayed missing. Lady Calde wrote her journal when there was anything of note to record, say a passing dolphin. The barber tried his best at cutting the women’s hair into a remotely fashionable style. Nathan sat against the mizzenmast, reading Don Quixote. Mercia worried he was more distant since their embrace after the storm, and she hoped he wasn’t embarrassed. But he regained his old demeanour soon enough, and their friendship went on as before.

  Around ten weeks into the voyage, Nicholas approached Nathan as he was standing on the raised poop deck at the stern, a telescope to his eye to look out over the ship to the calm sea in front. Sitting hidden in the shade of the mizzenmast below them, Mercia set down the volume of Donne’s poetry she was perusing and listened in. After all, she couldn’t help it – so she told herself.

  ‘Anything?’ asked Nicholas.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Nathan. ‘The captain said it would be any day now. By God’s truth, I will be pleased to glimpse land.’

  ‘As will I. I’ve not sailed so far since I first joined the ships, must be eight years ago now.’

  A pause. ‘I don’t think I have ever asked you where you went.’