Fleming, Leah - The Captain's Daughter

by The Captain's Daughter (mobi)

  ‘If I stay the night, I’ll never want to leave.’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. ‘Good,’ she replied. Slowly, she took his hand, closed the veranda door and guided him

  up the stairs towards her bedroom. Why should they not steal some happiness for them-selves while they were young enough to enjoy it? May wouldn’t begrudge them this time together. If she was to take up the quest for Ella’s identity who better to share the burden with than Archie?

  Carpe diem , seize the moment, she smiled, opening the door with a flourish. You’re a long time dead.

  Akron

  All that his pa could talk about was the price of rubber falling on the world markets and how the industry was having to lay off men and cut wages to stop expansion programmes. Akron rubber companies had raided Africa and the Far East for new supplies of rubber to harvest, but prices were still tumbling. There was talk of new tyre trials for long-distance trucks and farm tractors. Every experiment took scientists and lots of dollars. Things were changing in the industry and Pa was finding it hard to keep up with the new men coming in who seemed to have the ear of the big bosses. He was drinking harder and was crabby most of the time, worried about his position, ranting at the staff for the slightest delay. Some of them had already left to get better jobs in the factories. Why should they keep on taking orders from a bully?

  Grandma Harriet kept herself out of the house, visiting, taking sewing classes, lunching with old friends, so Roddy was left alone to study. But his heart wasn’t in his subjects.

  In fact, since his mom had left Roddy had felt restless, unsettled, aware that all she’d said of Pa was true. He was a selfish user of people, charming to strangers, but when the door closed on their guests, he sat in his library, drinking bourbon until it came out of his ears.

  He’d dumped Louella for another girl, and then another one, each younger than the last, showering them with gifts. But they never stayed long. The last one had looked on Roddy with interest, which scared him. How could Grover prefer them to his own mother?

  Her letters were full of Archie McAdam. He’d come to lodge in Red House to help Sel-wyn with the garden or some such excuse. They’d been to visit May’s old home to notify her friends of her death, then gone on to the Lake District but it had been raining so hard they’d come home with relief. Ella had passed all her exams and been recommended for the Diploma course in Birmingham. She hoped to get a grant to travel with some of the other art students to France. He felt envious of their busy lives. Here he was, stuck in Rubber Town, going nowhere fast. Apart from playing baseball, soccer and tennis with friends he felt his life was aimless and without purpose.

  One thing was definite: he did not want to go into the rubber industry. Those gargantuan factories with their acrid smells held no appeal, no matter how many times Pa suggested it. What he did like was visiting the new truck depot where his buddy Will Morgan helped during his vacation. Motor Cargo had been started up to ferry tyres from the rubber factor-ies across country to depots and garages. A few men had got together and bought one huge truck and then got licensed to transport across state borders into Pennsylvania, Virginia and beyond. They were building up fleets of contract transporters, drivers who could take any

  load anywhere. It sounded so simple, a brilliant idea. Will had a head start learning how to drive these enormous trucks, and told tales of driv-

  ing on the highways, testing out the new transport tyres for the rubber manufacturers. If one company could do it, why couldn’t they follow this idea too? He suggested to his father one evening after dinner that they could do far worse than start their own haulage business.

  ‘Whyever should I want to do that?’ he sneered. ‘It’s no job for a gentleman.’ ‘Who’s that then?’ Roddy chipped in. ‘I see no gentlemen.’ The joke went down like a

  punctured tyre.

  ‘I didn’t pay out all those greenbacks to raise a truck driver.’ ‘But we could hire other men to do it for us,’ Roddy continued. He knew he was onto

  something here.

  ‘I brought you here to take my place one day,’ Pa replied, ignoring his enthusiasm. ‘It’s only an idea,’ Roddy said, feeling disappointed. It made common sense for them to

  set up their own business. If the worst came to the worst in the rubber industry there would always be other heavy goods needing shifting from one side of the state to another.

  ‘Time you started at Akron University studying sciences. It’ll stand you in good stead,’ his father began.

  ‘For what? I don’t see myself as another Mr Marks.’ Roddy referred to one of the most famous research scientists in the Akron laboratories.

  ‘The way you’re heading, son, with those grades you’ll be lucky if I can pull strings to get you a place anywhere. When I was your age no one gave me a hand up.’

  ‘But that’s not true. Grandpa Parkes made money and sent you away to college.’ Just at that moment Grandma Harriet appeared in the hallway and Pa turned to her with

  a glare. ‘What nonsense have you been putting in my son’s head? If the Diamond Rubber Company is good enough for me it’s good enough for him.’

  ‘Why should I say anything against your work? I reckon Roderick’s cut from a different cloth than you,’ she replied, looking wary of where this conversation was going.

  ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ Grover shouted, getting to his feet. ‘Nothing, son. Roderick just wants to make his own way, that’s only fair.’ ‘With his brains he’ll need all the help he can get. I didn’t bring him all this way to flunk

  his grades and not make college. Parkes men aren’t losers.’ ‘It’s not what I want,’ Roddy protested.

  ‘Who the hell cares what you want? You’re my son and you do as I say.’ ‘Or else?’ Roddy felt his heart beating with anger and frustration. ‘Will you drug me,

  drag me through the factory gate? I’m not your servant!’ ‘Don’t you cheek me, boy.’

  ‘Or else?’ Roddy squared up to his father, eyeball to eyeball. ‘Or else you’ll beat the shit outta me like you did my mother . and her?’ He turned to point at his shocked grand-mother, who had been quivering in the doorway and was now edging towards the stairs in horror at his outburst.

  ‘What lies has that English whore been telling you?’ ‘Don’t you call my mother that. You’re not worthy to wipe her shoes. You’re just a bully.

  I’ve got your measure.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Grover made to punch him in the jaw, but Roddy was braced for the blow, ducking to the side, raising his own hand to fend off the strike, lashing out at his fath-er in fury. Years of pent-up frustration filled his limbs with iron and he felt himself rearing up, punching and throwing his father to the floor, beating him with his fists until the older man curled up against the blows, bleeding and defenceless.

  ‘How does that feel?’ he yelled as Grandma leaped in to drag him away. ‘Roddy! Roderick, stop this. You’ll kill him!’ she screamed. ‘Death’s too good for him. I hate him. I hate him for what he’s done to this family. You

  won’t get the better of me, not now, not ever.’

  Grover looked up at him with stunned eyes. He let out one final roar of fury. ‘Get out . . . get out of my sight!’

  ‘With pleasure, but I’m taking Gran with me. You’ll not touch a hair on her head ever again.’ He turned to his grandma. ‘Pack a bag, we’re getting out of here. You can go to Effie Morgan’s for the night.’

  Harriet stayed put. ‘No, I’m going nowhere. This is my home. I don’t want tongues wag-ging.

  ‘I won’t go without you,’ Roddy shouted, but still she wouldn’t move. ‘I promised Mom . . .’

  Harriet stood firm, looking down at Grover. ‘He is my son for better or worse. I never thought to see you, two stags rutting, drawing blood, but I guess it’s been coming a long time. You’d better go. There’ll be no more fighting in this house.’ She pulled up her son, who still looked dazed. ‘You’ve had this due for a long time, Grover P
arkes. I’m glad Ro-derick isn’t going to be a copy of you. What a mess you make of things. You’ve lost all that’s good in your life and the pity of it is you don’t even know it yet, but you will. One day you’ll end up one lonely old man if you don’t mend your ways. Burned bridges are awful hard to mend.’

  Grover sat up, brushing himself down, not listening, before looking up at his son. ‘Get that ungrateful pup out of here before I whip some sense into him.’

  ‘Don’t you ever learn? Your whipping days are over. Roderick will walk through this door and never come back if you don’t apologize right now.’

  ‘For what? Apologize for knowing what’s best for my son?’ ‘You don’t own him. You’ve had him on loan, that’s all. That’s all we can ever expect

  of our children. You’ve had your chance. I don’t like to think I was totally responsible for how you’ve turned out. But I wonder . Me and your pa must take the blame for letting you rule the roost too much. Look at you, who would ever want you for an offspring? I take back all I said about your wife. She knew what she was doing when she jumped ship. I reckon the Titanic taught her a thing or two. From one disaster to the next, she came. Say you’re sorry before it’s too late, please.’

  There was a deafening silence as Roddy closed the door on his life at Oak Court. The moon was high, the bright stars torching his path as he made his way down the driveway clutching his carpetbag of clothes. Where would he go now?

  All he knew was that he was free and it felt as if a lump of rock had dropped from his shoulders. Grandma was right: there was no turning back. He’d never go back again, but he was going to have to think up something pretty quick if he wasn’t to starve or freeze to death in the night chill.

  Heading down towards the city lights with a spring in his step, Roddy knew just where he was aiming for. He’d broken a cord, snapped those threads, and a new life was begin-ning. Scary as it was, he knew things would work out just fine.

  It was nearly Christmas and Celeste was listing orders for the butcher, baker and grocery stores, determined to make the best of things in these grim times, trying to recall how May went about her preparations. How she was missed in the kitchen. This was going to be a poor season for many families when so many men were unemployed. She’d been serving in a special food distribution centre and clothing store. There was talk of a deep depression in the country.

  She felt so privileged to have a loving home with people who cared for her, and Archie and Selwyn’s steady incomes coming into Red House. They were the lucky ones and must share what they had with others. She wanted to make the festive season jolly for Ella, to lift their spirits after such a hard year. The tree was coming from Cannock Chase and they’d ordered a fine turkey from the local farm. She was making little stocking gifts for the chil-dren’s comforts charity in the city.

  Ella was nearing the end of her diploma year specializing in sculpture and portrait sculp-ture. She was helping in the junior department of Birmingham School of Art, travelling on the train each day, and she was in love.

  She kept the object of her desire so secret that Celeste was afraid he was married and stringing her along. But Keir Walsh was a scruffy angular sort of chap of her own age, a socialist with strong views on the political situation and the rights of all working men. He tutored life drawing and he had no time for the Church, eyeing them all with suspicion at first. His parents were Birmingham Irish. He never talked about them – his conversation was limited to rallies and electioneering, and how the middle classes had no idea of conditions in the city. ‘A rough diamond’, her father would have said, but sincere enough.

  She watched Ella’s face light up when he lectured them at the table about the rise of fas-cism in Italy and Germany. The girl worshipped him, and he looked at her as if he couldn’t quite believe such a beauty could be hanging on his every word.

  ‘I’m not sure he’s the right man for her . . . she’s so young,’ Celeste whispered to Archie one evening. ‘I was that age when Grover came into my life and what a mess that turned out to be.’

  ‘But it’s different now, the young ones have more freedom to be themselves. If they love each other, they’ll find a way.’

  ‘But his views are so extreme,’ she continued, stuffing oranges and nuts into the stock-ings. ‘He says Europe is warming up for another war. Germany is growing stronger, build-ing roads and railways, making use of their unemployed. There can’t be another war, surely? How can two young artists make a living to support a family in this climate?’

  Archie laughed. ‘It’s early days. They’ve hardly known each other for five minutes. Keir looks like the sort of young man that’ll not be settling down from a long time. Give them a chance.’ Archie knew how to calm her fears.

  Celeste had still not told Ella the full story of her identity or the real reason they’d made a detour to Bolton. Joe and May’s story was confirmed but no one could say anything other than that there had been a baby girl. The vicar had baptized hundreds, he’d said, apologiz-ing that one baby looked the same as the next to him. One of the mill girls did let slip that Joe was fair-headed and not dark, as May had insisted. How were they ever going to find out the true facts? She didn’t want to speak to Ella until she had some tangible proof to offer her.

  The trouble was there was never a right time to broach this subject, never a right time to open such a deep wound. Perhaps it would be better to let the issue slide, but Archie remained unconvinced.

  ‘Ella ought to know what we suspect. She has a right to find out the truth. You must tell her about the Titanic. I can’t believe she doesn’t know even that.’

  ‘I know, but now’s not the right time. She’s no ears for anything but Keir.’ This year their Christmas celebrations would be simple with the Christmas Eve midnight

  service at the cathedral being at the heart of them. Celeste had sent Roddy’s parcel to his depot address outside Akron, which he was using as a base. She was not sorry he’d left Oak Court. He’d sent a long letter describing all the drama of his exit. She’d have loved to have seen Grover curled up in a ball, getting a dose of his own medicine. She was no longer in contact with her husband. When Ella knew how things stood and life settled down here again, she would be petitioning him for divorce, but first things first.

  With his friend Will, Roddy was building up a fleet of trucks. They were crossing state lines, driving thousands of miles with freight deliveries, a team of drivers contracted out to run their lorries. He’d found a gap in the market and filled it.

  Despite all his father’s aggro he was making money, but he still sounded restless and dissatisfied. She could sense his frustration at how life had turned out for him. There was no mention of his returning to England and she no longer asked. Why should he ever come back now? But his continued absence was hard.

  Much as Ella was like a daughter to her, it was Roddy who would always be first in her heart, her only son. There was enough of a family in this house now but it wasn’t like the old days with just the five of them. She thought of Christmasses past, when there was May, Ella, Roddy and her father. Life seemed so uncomplicated then, with all those clergy to entertain, choir practices and choral evensongs, presents to buy, secrets to hide from the children, so many happy memories of this season.

  Celeste smiled and sighed, knowing that the old life was built on the lies she’d made up about her return, the secrets May had kept too, and of course now they weren’t exactly a regular family setup either.

  Archie’s presence was making such a difference. He’d helped Selwyn talk about the gap May had left in his home, helped him cut back his drinking and further pick up his career, helped him let go of some of the traumas of war. He could go where she could not, talk and share things only soldiers knew and she could only guess at. It was a secret society into which civilians had no admittance, just as she and May had shared that terrible experience on that dreadful April night at sea.

  One morning while she was out putting the last
-minute touches to her Christmas shop-ping, she made a diversion to Museum Gardens, thinking May would like her to visit Cap-tain Smith’s statue.

  The captain was looking neglected, covered in bird droppings, almost hidden by shrub-bery. He was a sorry sight. She recalled how proud he’d looked walking round the deck, his beady eye checking on the crewmen and passengers. What a sad end to his career this had been.

  She looked up at his strong face and found herself talking to the man as if he could hear. ‘What shall I do about the child, the one you saved? Who is she and where did you find her? How do I say what must be said without unsettling her? If only you could speak and tell me what you saw.’

  Just seeing him brought so many memories flooding back of that terrible night and she shivered, feeling foolish to be standing in the chill wind talking to a piece of stone.

  ‘I’m doing this for my friend May,’ she said. ‘We called ourselves “Sisters of the Titan-ic” , bound for ever by its sinking.’ She noticed for herself the fact that there was no men-tion of the name of the ship on his plaque; it was a name no one wanted to remember and he was a captain who no one wanted to honour for all his years of faithful service. Perhaps it was her duty to see he was spruced up with a bucket of water and a brush.

  She noted the bold letters of K. Scott, the sculptor who had created such a fine likeness. She recalled how May had once confessed how little Ella convinced herself she was a

  daughter of one of Captain Scott’s crew. ‘What a pickle she got me into and no mistake. I had to explain to her headmistress.’

  Only you didn’t come clean, did you? You told everyone what they expected to hear. No one challenged your word or your right to have this baby. I saw what I saw and assumed just like everyone else. I fought your corner and now I’m left holding the secret. Who is Ella? Is there someone out there who can tell us more?

  Italy, 1927

  Angelo kissed the ground when he arrived on the Italian shore. He couldn’t believe he was back in the old country. It had been a slow journey from Marseilles but already he felt stronger from the bracing air, out on the deck, listening to the chatter of passengers, wrapped up in the warm new coat and hat Kathleen had insisted he buy before he left New York.