The Torrid Zone (The Fighting Sail Series)

by Alaric Bond

  She was all but ready for sea, and Banks knew there was little preventing him from meeting with the French once more. They should finish lading on the morrow and could set up topmasts; the boatswain had asked for a further day to replace essential cordage: then he could set sail whenever he wished.

  Both enemy warships had been spotted on several occasions about the island, and the packet, which presumably still held Lady Hatcher, had also been in company twice. Banks had no idea how to face them; St Helena rarely experienced unusual weather conditions, and the only shipping due was that vulnerable first convoy in from the East. He knew it might be expected in under a month and so had that time: three, maybe four weeks, to work his crew back into shape, and bring the enemy to battle. They must be sunk, taken or at least damaged enough to make future interference with the trade ships impossible, and if Scylla, undeniably the weaker force, were destroyed in the process, then so be it, but the attempt still must be made.

  However, seeing her now in the late afternoon sunshine he felt there was more than a chance they would succeed. No captain can be confident of his command when she is little more than a wreck and dependant on the goodwill of another service for her survival. But now she was whole: a viable fighting force and, even though inferior to the enemy she was to meet, he felt the common pride that any worthwhile master has in his charge. She had never disappointed him in the past, and he felt she would not do so this time. When – if – she made it back to England, Scylla was due for a major refit, and it was unlikely he would ever sail in her again, but the frigate had carried him thus far, and he knew, just as certainly, she could take him a little way further.

  Banks' only concern was for his own performance. In the past few months so much had happened to wear him down, that he wondered if he were equal to her, and could actually raise the fire inside to win another battle. He told himself that Sarah alone was a strong enough reason, and nothing could be done to truly help her until the French were defeated, but still he could not summon sufficient energy and the actual will to fight was strangely missing. But of one thing he was certain; no purpose would be served by remaining on St Helena. The island might appear a small oasis of order and strength but in reality it offered nothing more than a claustrophobic and unnatural existence and, for probably the first time since arriving, he longed to be free of it.

  * * *

  The peacefulness of Julia's private rooms was in distinct contrast to both their worlds for the past few days. King had spent much of his time engaged in Scylla's final lading, while she was still in a state of shock following the incident at White Ram Hill. The journey back had been dreadful; the captain's wife slept fitfully but Julia had been very much awake while that awful man just sat there staring with those powerful eyes that seemed to look right through and to her inner self. And even before then, there had been the shock of discovering King to be married. It was something that dwindled into insignificance following the rest of the day's adventures, but once she was back safe and in her home Julia had sent for him and now, as he sat in front of her, the importance returned.

  He seemed to have sensed something in her manner, and came right to the point. The two of them were ideally suited – it was apparently something King had decided upon at their first meeting and, now that they had spent some time together, he felt no need to reconsider.

  Such arrogance would normally have simply annoyed her, but for some reason Julia found herself being carried along for at least part of the way. On the face of it what he offered was what she claimed to want, and even when reminded of his marital status, there still remained a faint longing that could not be denied. But the reality of his marriage remained, and with a strength that took them both by surprise, she had coldly asked him how his wife might react to such a situation.

  To be fair, he had not attempted to deny her existence. Neither did he try to explain how easily a separation might be obtained, or even asked if there was not another way that they could be together. And finally his lost expression, coupled with the tenderness she could not help but feel, softened her approach and she found herself telling him far more than she had originally intended.

  But King, it seemed, did not wish to hear more and, even though her presence was still compulsive, he hardly listened. His fragile world, so hastily erected, was lying in tatters about his feet. Part of him was keen to leave, to quit the room, the house if he could; return to Scylla and never set foot on St Helena again. Part of him, but not all, and he stayed.

  “I recall what I said before, about never leaving the island,” she was saying. “There is something else you should know.”

  He waited.

  “My mother was born and died here – oh I know she spent some time in India; papa took her there after they were married, but it was only for a few years. In those days he was a Company factor; they met when his ship stopped to victual, and were married within the month.”

  “A quick courtship,” King murmured, although at that moment he cared little for her genealogy.

  “Yes, I gather it was just after she turned down another in marriage, though mother died before I was old enough to ask, and it is not the sort of thing I could ever discuss with papa. Those about at the time have told me more, and I guessed the rest. Almost as soon as they were wed, the two of them continued on to his house in Bombay with the next convoy, and that was where I was born.”

  King supposed her story was leading somewhere, but he had other concerns on his mind at that moment. Then she began again.

  “You see, mother was in roughly the same position as I find myself now. She had never left St Helena and, once they were married, I don't believe either of them really wanted to live anywhere else. They only stayed in Bombay a few years – I was three when they returned, and by all accounts mother was pleased to do so. But I also hear she was never the same again. People who knew her as a single woman say how gay and bright she had been, yet I remember a far sadder person. It was as if leaving the island had taken something from her and, once it had gone, she could never get it back.”

  “Or it could have been her first love,” King said, interested despite himself. Julia looked at him enquiringly and he continued. “The one she broke up with, before she met your father. If she really was in love, the separation would have been far more catastrophic than simply moving house, or even getting married.”

  “Yes, I have occasionally wondered that.” Her eyes returned to him. “Tom, I think you are the first person I have spoken to of this.”

  He shrugged, and silently supposed it something of a compliment.

  “And would chance you to be right,” she continued, still thinking. “Losing something can indeed cause far more pain than the happiness experienced when it was first obtained. I should say you are remarkably astute.”

  “Do you know anything of this man?” he asked, conscious that her praise had brought colour back to his cheeks.

  “Just that he was with your Royal Navy,” she replied, now smiling. “It was one of the things that cautioned me of you when we first met.”

  “And was he married?” King enquired more coldly.

  “No, I believe he was not. And I think she did love him rather. He was a master's mate – that is not a very superior position, is it?”

  “It is a warrant rank,” King told her. “But an essential post, and not without prospects.”

  “Well, it were hardly good enough for my grandparents,” Julia said sadly. “So the dashing Mr Fraiser had to be declined.”

  “Fraiser?” King asked, his senses now alert.

  “Yes, Adam Fraiser. You may know of him,” she chanced. “Earlier Kate spoke of a man named so in your ship and I do wonder if he be the same.”

  King shrugged. “Both are common enough names,” he replied evenly, although so much was falling into place within his mind.

  “I understand he was Scottish,” Julia continued, further confirming King's suspicions. “It was another thing that grandmother took e
xception to apparently. But then he was also religious, so one probably balanced the other. Whatever happened, Mr Fraiser sailed off in his warship, and papa arrived almost immediately afterwards in an Indiaman; otherwise, of course, I would not be here,” she said simply. The light was now returning to her eyes.

  King smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. Yes, it all made sense; Fraiser's reluctance to go ashore, the fact that he was still unmarried, even the old man's remarkable insight into human nature and relationships could now be explained. Of course, as far as the sailing master knew, Julia's mother was still alive, and may even be living on the island, which accounted for his staying aboard the ship. Had she been half as attractive and alluring as her daughter, King wondered at his self control, and could easily understand how such a woman might change a man's life forever. But he could waste no more time thinking of the old Scot; Julia was speaking again.

  “So you can see how it is, I am sure: married, or not, I could never leave here with you, Tom. Nor could I with anyone else, if I am totally honest. I may complain about seeing nought other than these few square miles, but in reality they are all I need. You know they call inhabitants of St Helena, Saints, I suppose?”

  King nodded briefly.

  “Well that is me, I am a Saint, and will probably die one.”

  “And were I to stay here with you?” he asked, playing his last and most valuable card.

  She paused, and seemed to look at him afresh. “I have been employed by the East India Company before,” he added quickly. “Perchance they would look kindly on my reappointment.”

  “I do not think that would work, Tom.” Her words came more slowly, and were not without regret.

  “But you do not know,” he protested. “You cannot.”

  “I know you are proposing to leave your wife,” she said with an air of finality. “So why not a mistress?”

  * * *

  HMS Scylla was finally ready for sea and most aboard were glad. Those who had been billeted in the HEIC barracks were comfortably back in their familiar berths, with reassuringly cramped hammock space and the well-remembered smells of a hard-worn ship. Some might be missing the regular shore leave but in reality even the island brewed beer had been but a minor pleasure. And though they might grouse at having to content themselves with just the daily half pint of high potency issued spirit, there had been remarkably little to actually do in the small town. All would have preferred a proper English port, with the things that St Helena so noticeably lacked, even if these included a better than even chance of the pox. It was common knowledge that on returning to England the ship would be paid off and, though the likelihood was that most would immediately be turned over into another vessel and could be asea again within hours of releasing Scylla's hook, all were eager to be home.

  And it meant little that the home they pined for – the perfect and accommodating England – had never existed beyond their imagination. The wives of those who were married might still remember them and offer a genuine welcome but, for the rest, there would only be doxies, either previously known or yet to be discovered. Both time and distance turned them into ripe, rich women who would smell sweet and surely treat them like royalty, and a few might even go some way towards fitting such a pattern. But there were also those, the majority, who would fall short, and expertly relieve their temporary husbands of all they had earned, leaving behind nothing more than memories and maybe an annoying itch.

  That their betters shared the lower deck's longing for home, rest and women was not surprising. More unusual was the unspoken fact that three of Scylla's senior officers could confine their interest in women to the same one, even if it were for subtly different reasons. Were the captain aware of the extent that Julia Booker had altered their morale and general temperament he would have been concerned. As it was he remained in ignorance, even though she had quite unintentionally created a series of whirlpools that affected them all. These were subtle, private changes but, when taken as a whole, might easily have weakened the effectiveness of the ship had those concerned not been provided with a first rate distraction in the form of their duty. For all were seamen first, and biological males a good way second. Julia Booker might have upset them in differing ways, but each reacted in an identical fashion, by concentrating hard on the many tasks that made up their complex world to the exclusion of all else. It was only when there came a lull, such as now, when there was literally nothing for them to do, that the memories returned, and their thoughts went back to the tiny island that they had known for less than a month and would shortly be leaving forever.

  Certainly Caulfield, standing by the binnacle and waiting while they singled up to the bower anchor, had seen all he wanted of St Helena, and there was no doubting that Julia Booker was to blame. Initially he had been attracted to her; even to the point of nurturing insane ideas that she might one day agree to be his second wife. But it soon became obvious they held wildly differing views, so he decided, not for the first time, that the brief spell of married life he had already enjoyed was enough, and he would remain a widower for the rest of his days. He had long ago convinced himself that such a state of affairs was not unusual for a seaman, and might even be the most sensible arrangement. When those of his fellow officers who took a wife might not be with her for more than one day in a hundred was there really any need to bother? The recent incident had been nothing but a brief flash of light in an artificially darkened world: by staying aboard ship and determinedly wiping the memories from his mind he had almost regained his previous assumed disinterest as far as the opposite sex was concerned.

  Meanwhile King was on the forecastle and supposedly supervising experienced men as they carried out work that could have been done in their sleep: so, for the last few minutes, he was also inclined to day dream. He had no intention of returning to the shore, not if it could be avoided. Despite an almost idyllic climate and terrain, St Helena was just too cut off for a man of action. Such small communities bred narrow-minded people; not Julia, of course; he could still think only good of her, but the combination of working for the HEIC, and spending what would probably turn out to be the rest of his life in such an isolated place would never do, not for the likes of him. Soon they would be free to sail for England: even without further damage Scylla was due an extensive refit, and shore leave for the officers was bound to be available. Then, at last, he might finally address the problems of his own marriage.

  But, possibly due to the length of time, or maybe his affection for Julia, King was now not so confident of a successful outcome as he had been. However he did have a greater understanding of the situation, for there was no denying that, at soon as he suspected Juliana of perfidious behaviour, he had found no difficulty in seeking out a suitable replacement. Admittedly the affair had come to naught, but he had been tempted and, if such a thing could happen so easily to him, could he really condemn his wife for behaving in a similar manner?

  He had already decided that two or three weeks on shore should do the business. In that time they would either sort their differences out, or call an end. But first, of course, there was the not so small matter of an enemy frigate, and that was not going to be an easy obstacle to overcome.

  The Frenchman had been sighted twice in the last four days, and was undoubtedly keeping watch on the island. She may simply be waiting to pounce on the first juicy Indiaman, but an eastern convoy was a large affair and, with two other vessels to assist, could as easily be found several miles out to sea as by effectively blockading the anchorage. No, all knew that she was waiting for Scylla, and the knowledge that their enemy was so keen for combat had disconcerted almost every man on board.

  Almost, but not all. Fraiser could not have cared less about any physical enemy nor, if he was honest, the island that still remained unvisited, even though it lay less than three hundred yards from where he stood. Of them all he was the only one to be affected by the young Miss Booker, and had yet to actually meet the woman.

&
nbsp; When King had asked leave to speak with him he had naturally assumed there to be personal matters the lad wished to discuss, and never for a moment guessed they might relate to himself. And now, now that he knew the one woman who had ever meant anything to him was dead, while her daughter who, from King's description, sounded so similar was very much alive, he cursed himself for neglecting so many chances to have met with her. But all was not lost; the captain's wife was still ashore; should their encounter with the French end well, she must be collected before Scylla finally set course for England. He supposed an opportunity to seek the young lady out might yet be found, but on what grounds? That he was an old friend of her mother? Even that was hardly true; they had spent some brief time together nearly thirty years ago. That he missed her now, and had thought of her every day since that time? Oh, how lame, how lovesick that sounded; she would think him a fool, and an old one at that. Besides, how would he react if he happened to meet her father, the man who had effectively taken the woman from him? Fraiser knew his place, and it was not pursuing the progenies of lost loves. If the Lord had meant him to marry Kitty Davies, Fraiser would have done so. And if, after spending so many days within a few yards of her daughter, it had been intended for them to meet, that would have been arranged also. No, whatever happened the sailing master decided he would stay aboard Scylla; it was where he had been placed, where he belonged, and where he would stay.

  Below, Banks lay on the firm leather upholstery of the stern locker. Of them all he had been least affected by Julia Booker, although she still retained some bearing on his life. And he was equally unusual in leaving something far more tangible behind than mere dashed hopes and unfulfilled ambition. His wife was recovering well, but not to be risked aboard Scylla when the ship was very likely to see action. They did, however, require their surgeon's mate so Kate Manning was once more aboard, while Sarah convalesced at Henry Booker's house where his daughter was caring for her. Should all fare well, he would be back to collect Sarah within the month: that was him or his ship, he hurriedly reminded himself, for however much he might consider himself to be immortal, it was by no means a fact. And if both he and Scylla were lost, Sarah would be well cared for; probably returning home with the next convoy: she might even see England in time for the baby to be born.