Birthright

by David Hingley

  ‘I know. I am not about to trust him straightaway. Let us see how he behaves when we arrive in New Amsterdam. At least we have answers to some of our questions now.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘I am glad you are here, yet again, old friend.’

  ‘I will always be here for you, Mercia.’

  For a moment they looked at each other, longer than usual, before she glanced across at the mainsail to study the frays around its edges. ‘Come, then. We know now our enemy has a man working for him on the Martin, but this Jerrard was not on the Redemption when the note was left, nor is it in my uncle’s hand. What of Sir William and Sir Bernard?’

  ‘I couldn’t get into their cabins last night, it was too late. And this morning I was … occupied.’

  ‘Indeed.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Well, when I was looking for you earlier, the captain told me he has invited them all to a dinner this afternoon, with Lady Calde and Lady Markstone.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘He is anxious our nobility disembark with a better impression of this ship than yesterday may have given them.’

  Nathan laughed. ‘Did he not ask you?’

  ‘He knows I would not want to. But while they are eating …’

  He nodded. ‘I will search their cabins. And – oh,’ he clicked his fingers, ‘speaking of Lady Calde, before we had our … disagreement … Nicholas said it was she who told him where to find the necklace. While you were in the rigging.’

  ‘What?’ She frowned. ‘I did see them together, but it makes no sense. ’Tis her own necklace.’

  Nathan shrugged. ‘When did anything about this make sense?’

  From her elevated position at the stern, Mercia watched the dinner guests come out onto the main deck to take the early evening air. Lady Calde emerged first, the puzzling necklace prominent against her pale skin and low-cut violet gown. She remained alone at the rail until Sir William, equally resplendent in his grand fur coat, came up to take her arm, but she thrust him aside. With a frustrated shake of his head he returned the way he had come. Lady Markstone ducked past him, patting her belly as she talked with Sir Bernard, seemingly haven forgiven him his insensitivities of the previous day. She excused herself to join Lady Calde at the rail; the two women talked for a while until Lady Calde dismissed her companion with an angry wave. Tugging at the necklace, she bustled up the steps to the quarterdeck, disappearing towards the fenced-off section where the women of the ship found their privacy.

  As Lady Calde passed out of sight behind the mizzenmast, Nathan’s head rose up from the planking at Mercia’s feet. She turned to look as he climbed the ladder from the quarterdeck.

  ‘Nathan,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see you coming.’

  He smiled. ‘I was watching them all come out. By heaven, Lady Calde is in a foul mood.’

  She waited for him to join her, a tingling nervousness in her stomach. Conspiratorially they turned to look out to sea. ‘What did you find out?’ she asked.

  ‘They have more with them than I thought. Sir Bernard has even brought across his commission from the Duke of York.’

  ‘To impress my uncle, no doubt.’ She leant in closer, even though nobody could hear. ‘Did you find samples of their writing?’

  ‘I did.’

  She held her breath. ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. Neither matched the writing in the note.’

  She stared. ‘How is that possible?’

  ‘I checked carefully. The writing was nothing like.’

  ‘Then who in God’s name did write it?’ Confused, she took another look at her half of the note. ‘There is still something about this that looks—’

  A piercing scream resounded from the quarterdeck, followed by a mighty splash. Mercia jerked her head round, her subconscious registering a blurred image obscured by the cabins moving swiftly to the sections below.

  ‘What was that?’ She craned her neck to see round the mizzenmast. From somewhere she thought she could hear panicked screaming, but the quarterdeck was empty. She brought her hand to her open mouth. ‘Oh no. No, no, no.’

  ‘Mercia?’ said Nathan, but she was already away, ignoring the friction burns on her palms as she slid down the ladder to the quarterdeck. She peered over the side to see a heavily clothed figure in the water, arms waving about in a futile attempt to gain purchase.

  ‘Lord save us! Lady Calde is overboard!’ She ran to the ship’s bell, ringing it frantically to alert the sailors. ‘Quick, stop the ship! We are leaving her behind!’

  With Nathan following she hurried down the steps to the main deck to find help. Moments later Sir Bernard appeared, looking over the rail to where Lady Calde’s head was swiftly vanishing under the water. ‘Jesus, ’tis Harriet!’ he muttered. He called behind him. ‘Turn this ship about! Quickly men! And you,’ he ordered Nathan, ‘fetch Sir William!’

  While Nathan did as commanded, Mercia scanned the deck for a rope to use when they came about. Her back turned, she heard heavy footsteps running towards her, then two dull thuds as two boots hit the deck and skidded into her vision. Looking up, she saw Nicholas clambering barefoot onto the rail, stripped of his shirt. With a nod at her he clasped his hands together and dived over the side. She looked over to see a ripple where he had entered the sea, before his head re-emerged and he began to swim towards Lady Calde.

  Mercia watched him in anguish, but the ship was moving too quickly and the figures in the water were growing too small to see. Close by, another female scream was ringing out, evidently Lady Markstone, but she did not pay much attention, ensnared by the drama in the waves.

  ‘Turn the ship!’ she cried, frustrated they were still going forward. Behind her, Lady Markstone was pacing the deck, repeating over and again: ‘This voyage is cursed! This voyage is cursed!’ Dragging herself from the side, Mercia tried to calm her, but in vain.

  ‘Millicent,’ barked Sir Bernard. ‘Be quiet!’ But she continued to rave until he lost patience and slapped her cheek hard. The elderly woman crumpled into the corner of the deck, her face in her hands, her eyes wild above her white fingertips.

  ‘How dare you,’ began Mercia, but Sir Bernard had already moved away, shouting at the crew to turn the ship, the captain now at his side giving orders. Instead she stooped to help Lady Markstone stand, calling across the deck to Daniel to ask him to sit with her for a while, feeling a surge of pride when he took the shaking woman’s hand without protest. As she watched him lead her away, Sir William appeared with Nathan.

  ‘Is it true what he says,’ said Sir William, ‘that Harriet is overboard?’ She nodded. ‘By the Lord, I will have her head for this! She has gone too far this time.’

  She broke from watching Daniel. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She has thrown herself over, ’tis obvious.’

  Mercia was astonished. ‘But – why?’

  He waved his hand impatiently. ‘You have seen how she is. She has been in a melancholy for a long while now. She looks to gain my attention.’

  ‘Sir William, I do not think—’

  ‘Think what you want,’ he said, then he ran to the side, screaming the same order as everyone else. ‘I want this ship brought about. Now!’

  Sailors swarming in the masts above their heads furled and released sails as quickly as they could so that the ship gradually slowed. In the steerage room the pilot must have been leaning on the whipstaff, for the ship began to turn in a wide arc until it faced the way they had come. But they were now heading into the wind that had been propelling them along and it took much longer to sail back to the spot where Lady Calde had fallen overboard.

  It seemed everyone was standing against the side of the ship, clinging onto the rail in their impatience to return. Finally Mercia spotted two tiny heads bobbing in the sea ahead of them. She squinted to see more clearly. Nicholas was holding Lady Calde afloat, her head lolling left and right above the water.

  ‘He must be strong,’ said Nathan. ‘To support the weight of her clothing.’

  ‘He is strong,’ said Mercia, igno
ring Nathan’s sideways look. ‘And brave to have jumped in.’

  Using their years of skill, the crew steered the ship towards Nicholas and Lady Calde, lowering the anchor at just the right moment to come to a halt alongside them. Nicholas was in difficulty now, his face sinking below the water’s surface as he struggled to hold on to Lady Calde, who was making no movement herself.

  His head bobbed back above water. ‘I cannot keep her up,’ he shouted. Head under. Head up. ‘I have to let her go.’

  ‘We will throw you a rope!’ cried Sir William.

  ‘You do not understand,’ shouted Nicholas, and he went underwater again, this time only re-emerging several seconds later, barely holding on to the violet dress.

  ‘He will drown!’ shouted Mercia. ‘Nicholas, she is too heavy!’ She turned around. ‘Can you sailors not jump in and help him?’

  As she spoke two sailors were already pulling off their shirts. They leapt into the water as Nicholas went under a fourth time. For a few terrible seconds he did not resurface, but then his head came up and he coughed out water, gasping in large gulps of air. He no longer had hold of Lady Calde. The sailors dived down in search of her.

  ‘Harriet!’ cried Sir William. A great quiet descended on the ship.

  Seconds passed.

  More seconds.

  Still more.

  One of the sailors broke the surface a short distance from the ship. He clawed at the ocean with his left arm, his body toppling back, straining to bring his right side up. With a mighty tug he wrenched Lady Calde above the water, but the force of it caused his grip to loosen, and he scarcely clung on to her dress. His mate reappeared on her other side, trying to push her up, but the effort was immense. Her limbs were now utterly still.

  In visible agony, the exhausted sailors were struggling to keep themselves afloat. Nicholas swam towards them, ignoring the rope that had finally been thrown him, but his strength too was spent and they were too far away. Barely now able to remain above the sea, the sailors looked at each other and shook their heads.

  They let go. For an instant Lady Calde bobbed on top of the water, the necklace she had reclaimed glittering in the evening sunlight. Then her face slipped under the waves, and she was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sir William paced the deck, his face pale. Betraying no sign of feeling, Captain Morley took his fur-lined sleeve and led him towards his cabin.

  ‘She had no chance,’ said Nicholas, slumped against a barrel under Mercia’s pained gaze. ‘Her clothes were too heavy to pull her up fast enough. She must have started to breathe in water long before I got to her.’

  Mercia closed her eyes. ‘She’s dead, Nathan. She was here, and now – she’s not.’ She walked to the rail, looking out to sea. The saltiness of the air seemed particularly strong. ‘When she screamed, I’m certain I saw someone running away.’

  ‘Running away?’ Nathan fell in beside her. ‘What are you saying?’

  The waves seemed too usual, too uncaring for the prey they had taken. ‘That maybe she was pushed.’

  ‘Why?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps connected to my purpose, but I do not see—’ Of a sudden she jerked up her head. ‘No. It cannot be.’ She fished her half of the note from her pocket and examined it. ‘My God. That’s why it seemed so strange.’

  She ran off without explanation, leaving Nathan to his puzzled thoughts. Two minutes later she was back, her face grim. Looking around to make sure they were unobserved, she pulled Lady Calde’s green-leathered journal from under her dress.

  ‘You can’t take that,’ said Nathan.

  ‘I’ll put it back. But look at the writing.’ She opened the journal at random and laid her half of the note on the page. ‘It is the same.’

  Nathan stared. ‘You are right. But … I cannot believe it.’

  ‘Then read what she wrote last night.’ She flicked to the final entry, looking at the words as he read.

  A remarkable day. I at last had occasion to act on my plan when the harlot (Bernard’s word, but a good one) lost her irksome boy in the ropes. Her manservant fell for my ruse and I was able to confront William with my necklace in front of everyone as I hoped. Now they all know, he must surely be forced from the sl_t.

  ‘Jesus,’ said Nathan.

  ‘Read the rest.’

  Yet I become suspicious about the message I composed. The words I was told to write were exceeding violent, and the proposal of ‘JN’ in signature may not have been unconsidered. I will ask more tomorrow.

  There was a moment of silence as Nathan took in what he had read, and then –

  ‘By God’s truth.’ He banged his fist on the rail. ‘She wrote that note. The coward preyed on her mistrust of you and talked her into writing it.’

  ‘She hated me,’ said Mercia. ‘Everything she did was to drive me from her husband. She searched my cabin for evidence of an affair. She waited to embarrass him with the necklace she found. But with that message she was just being used. And then I think killed.’ An angry tear fell down her cheek. ‘Nathan, I will find this bastard and I will make sure he suffers for what he has done.’

  A pair of chattering sailors walked by. ‘Mercia,’ said Nathan, when they had gone. ‘Does this not exonerate Sir William? I understand how he could want to scare you from uncovering his past while pursuing an … interest … in you now. The two things are separate. But would not Lady Calde have thought it strange for her husband to demand she write such a note?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Nothing about this is simple. I don’t think we can rule anybody out.’ She returned to where Nicholas was staring into nothing, his eyes pale windows of sorrow. She took his hand and he looked up in surprise. ‘Nicholas, tell me she had chance to speak before she died.’

  His voice was a monotone, shirking emotion. ‘She must have been in agony. She must have felt her life slipping away in that cold, cold sea.’ He shivered, droplets of water still covering his bare skin. ‘I could see the ship turning in the distance. I was holding onto her, no matter what. She tried to talk, but all she could manage was a hissing sound, hardly anything.’

  ‘Like an S?’ she pressed. ‘Like a sir?’

  ‘Maybe. I do not know.’ He stared up at her. ‘She died, Mercia. She died in my arms.’

  His eyes watered. She pulled him towards her and held him close.

  The sun set, and it rose again. Despite Lady Calde’s animosity towards her, the revulsion Mercia felt at what had befallen the dead woman did not diminish. If anything her resolve had hardened. Finding the Oxford Section, unmasking the person responsible, it was not just about her house any more, or her family’s reputation. It was to protect innocents, and to revenge, not Lady Calde perhaps, but the criminal’s seeming disregard for life.

  Nathan suggested they keep their suspicions quiet, and she was happy to feign a subdued profile with a killer likely on board, awaiting the chance to speak with the fleet commander when they arrived at New Amsterdam. It was a matter of days now. The aptly named Long Island was drifting by to their north, a blue-grey blur stretching on for miles, a useful means of navigation to their goal.

  Coming onto the main deck, she was surprised to see Nicholas talking with Lady Markstone opposite the stowed longboat. To her recollection the two had barely spoken on the long voyage.

  ‘I keep thinking I could have saved her,’ he was saying, his eyes cast down, his elbows on the rail. ‘But she was so heavy. When the ship came back, she was already dead.’

  Lady Markstone looked out to sea. ‘Do not be troubled with guilt. You risked yourself to try to save her. I will not forget that. We have known so much war, but when death becomes personal – for me at least, ’tis hard.’ She glanced at him. ‘Tell me, was it quick?’

  He breathed out heavily, in echo of the wind in the sails above. ‘She was thrashing in the water while I was swimming. But her head was under by the time I got there. I brought her above the waves, but h
er breathing stopped. I am sorry. I cannot say if it was quick.’

  Mercia wrapped her hood about her as she joined them. Although it was summer, the sea wind meant the deck was often cool. She looked at Nicholas’s back, uncertain how she should feel, anger at his betrayal and pride at his attempted rescue fighting each other for dominance.

  Sensing her presence, Lady Markstone turned. ‘Good morning, Mercia.’

  ‘Good morning, Lady Markstone. How do you fare today?’

  ‘Shaken still, but I will live.’

  ‘And you, Nicholas?’

  He flushed. ‘I am well. I … think I’ll go below awhile.’ Smiling weakly he pushed himself from the rail and walked away.

  ‘His mind is troubled,’ said Lady Markstone, watching him go. ‘He seems in a deep melancholy.’

  ‘Lady Calde’s death has affected him. But he is strong. He will recover.’ She faced her chaperone. ‘How fares Sir William?’

  ‘He keeps close in his cabin. He never liked Harriet, ever since they were married, but I was saying to your manservant, ’tis hard to lose someone when you have known them a long time. Especially like – that.’ Her expression turned sour. ‘Sir Bernard and your uncle, they seem to care not one bit she is gone. Too wrapped up in the impending invasion, playing at soldiers and war like they were still boys in the nursery. But I suppose ’tis what men do.’

  Mercia nodded in sorry agreement. ‘They were married long?’

  ‘Harriet and William?’ Lady Markstone scratched at her cheek. ‘Three years.’

  ‘Only three?’

  ‘She was his second wife. But surely you knew this?’

  ‘I knew little enough when my father was in favour under Cromwell.’ Mercia frowned. ‘I thought Sir William had been married many years more than that?’

  ‘Yes, to his first wife.’ Lady Markstone leant in closer. ‘Harriet was his second, the same as he was with her.’ She sucked in her top lip. ‘The rumour is he married her for the fortune she amassed with her first husband. That marriage was childless, you see. But they had known each other for years beforehand.’