by Jane Jackson
With a final look around her bedroom, Kerenza turned to the cheval mirror to check her appearance. Her holly-green riding habit, made of fine wool cloth, was light but warm. The skirt had been cut without a train for easier walking. This, she suspected, would prove a huge advantage during the next few weeks. A primrose muslin kerchief filled the gap between the lapels of the fitted jacket. Her feet were snug in woollen stockings and leather ankle boots. Minnie had braided her hair into a coil over which she wore a helmet cap of pleated green velvet. Her black beaver hat with the jaunty feather would have been more stylish but difficult to keep on in any wind above a light breeze.
‘You can do this,’ she assured the pale image staring back at her. Then, turning away, she picked up the leather travelling bag that had belonged to her grandfather. Scarred and salt-stained, the brass corners tarnished, it was still sound.
In it, Kerenza had packed her writing case, pens and ink, two books, a tinderbox, candles and a holder, and a waterproof bag of oiled silk containing soap and face cloth, toothbrush and powder, and the jars of face and hand cream.
Descending the staircase to the wide hall, she saw her trunk standing near the front door. As well as her clothes, the box of medicines, and a bundle of soft rags plus old newspaper and string in which to wrap them for burning, Minnie had managed to cram in three towels, a pillow, two sheets, two blankets, and two pillowcases.
Aurelia was waiting for her, a dark bundle in her arms. ‘Now, are you sure you have everything? Rapson will take your trunk down to the quay and see you safely aboard the boat that will take you out to the packet.’
‘Nana, you’re fussing.’ Kerenza forced a teasing note past the lump in her throat as she smoothed York tan gloves over icy fingers.
‘Oh dear, am I? I can’t abide people who fuss.’ Aurelia raised her arms; the dark bundle tumbled into loose folds of navy serge. ‘Come here and let me put this on you.’
Kerenza switched her gaze from the standing collar, the loop and button fastening, to her grandmother. ‘But that’s –’
‘Your grandfather’s boat cloak. I cannot think of a better use for it. It will be cold at sea,’ she went on before Kerenza could speak. ‘You’ll need more than that riding dress to keep you warm.’ She settled the cloak around Kerenza’s shoulders. ‘As Zenobia and Dulcie will no doubt appropriate your blankets for the return voyage, you will be very glad of this.’
‘Oh Nana.’ Enfolded by the thick material that reached to her ankles, she felt immensely comforted by its heavy warmth. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Yes, yes. Now, give me a kiss then you must go.’ Aurelia’s eyes were suspiciously bright. ‘Your father will be anxious to see you safely aboard.’
Surprised and moved by the strength of her grandmother’s hug, Kerenza clung for a moment, drawing the familiar fragrance of lavender-scented soap deep into her lungs. She squeezed her eyes tight shut to dispel treacherous tears then opened them wide and, gathering her resolve, stepped back.
‘You take care of yourself, Nana. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You know the old saying: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? Well –’ She mentally crossed her fingers. ‘It didn’t, and I am.’
‘My dearest girl, I’m so proud of you.’
Giving her grandmother a final kiss, Kerenza walked briskly through the open front door. Outside, Rapson had loaded her trunk onto a trolley made of thick wooden slats attached to small iron wheels and was already trundling it along the street. Not daring to look back, she raised a hand in farewell, and followed Rapson’s receding figure down to the quay.
The morning was chilly and damp. Mist hung in a fine veil over the water, softening the outlines of the ships. Sound carried on the still air. She could hear the splash of oars and orders being shouted. Anchor chains rumbled, capstans creaked, blocks rattled. Snatches of rhythmic chanting as seamen hauled on ropes was accompanied by the flap and crack of canvas as sails were loosed from their yards or hoisted on huge gaffs up tall masts.
Kerenza felt a quickening inside. She took a deep breath and inhaled the tang of burning wood, frying bacon, and the sweet fragrance of freshly baked bread. This was home. This was where she belonged. She knew nothing about the place she was going to, or what she would find when she got there. Terror closed her throat, and her footsteps faltered.
She could see Rapson at the edge of the quay, talking to a strapping youth clad in loose trousers and a blue checked shirt covered by a stained and faded jacket. A red kerchief was knotted around his thick neck, and a grubby cap with the brim pulled down kept the pearly sun, still low in the sky, out of his eyes.
The young man raised a finger to his cap. ‘Morning, miss. You got a nice day for it.’
Rapson turned. ‘This is Joe Laity, Miss Vyvyan. He will see you and your trunk safely aboard the packet.’
As Kerenza smiled her thanks, the two men were already carrying her trunk down the granite steps to a sturdy boat. After setting her leather bag near the stern, Joe extended a large, calloused hand.
‘Ready, miss?’
She glanced at the butler, who gave her an encouraging nod.
‘Get along now, miss. The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’ll be back with us again. God speed.’
Not trusting her voice, she nodded. Then, putting her hand into Joe’s, she stepped onto the rocking boat and quickly sat, drawing the leather bag against her feet and gathering the folds of the cloak closely about her.
Joe flicked the mooring rope from the iron ring, slid out the long oars, and with slow, powerful strokes pulled the boat across the crowded harbour.
It was still early, but already the water was busy. Pilot gigs were racing from the harbour into the Carrick Roads, competing to reach the incoming merchant and packet-ships. Oyster boats were heading out for a day’s dredging. Chandlers’ boats were ferrying out supplies. Jolly-boats and cutters carried seamen and passengers to and from other packet-ships.
‘Not far now, miss,’ Joe said, hauling on the oars.
Kerenza simply nodded, looking past him to the ship they were approaching. The packet looked battered and dingy. Scarred black paint had been dulled by the constant lash of salt seas and was streaked with rust from the iron fastenings that secured the mast stays to her side. Then Kerenza caught her breath as she saw that, behind the shabby appearance, Kestrel’s flared bow, tapered lines, and chiselled stern were those of a thoroughbred built for speed. The swifter the voyage, the sooner she would be home again.
Shipping one oar, Joe half-turned and cupped a hand to his mouth.
‘Yo! Kestrel! Passenger to board!’
Kerenza didn’t recognise the face that peered down at her, topped by greying hair tied back in a short pigtail.
‘This ’ere’s Miss Vyvyan,’ Joe yelled. ‘Come to join her father. she is.’
Above them. the head nodded. ‘Mr Vyvyan’s already aboard. Throw up a line.’ He disappeared.
After a few unpleasant moments on the rope and wood ladder, Kerenza arrived on deck just in time to see her bag and trunk being carried by two sailors toward the open doors of the aft companionway.
‘I’m the passenger’s steward, miss,’ announced the pigtailed man. ‘Name of Broad. I’ll take you down to your cabin.’
As she followed the wiry, bow-legged figure, Kerenza glimpsed cannons lashed to the ship’s side. Her skin tightened and she tried to swallow surging anxiety. Men swarmed about the deck. Some appeared reasonably clean and tidy. But others were unkempt and filthy, their jackets and trousers little more than rags.
All were busy at different tasks: loosing sails, coiling ropes, shifting sacks of vegetables and barrels of salted meat, slotting wooden staves into capstans and windlass, urged on by the bosun who slapped a short, thick piece of rope against his grimy palm as he bellowed orders.
Kerenza’s eyes widened at the size of the huge wheel attached by a stout wooden column to the deck with the binnacle and a raised skylight in front. Behind it was a th
ick wooden grating for the helmsman to stand on and an odd-looking structure with a flat front, a curved back, and a door in the side.
On the far side of the deck, apparently oblivious to the chilly morning, a man wearing a leather apron over his check shirt and loose canvas trousers stood with brawny arms folded and head tipped back, gazing toward the upper reaches of the massive mainmast. As the seamen carrying her trunk disappeared down the companionway, Kerenza saw an officer’s uniform topped by black curly hair. But even as her heart gave an uncomfortable thud, she knew it wasn’t Nick. Nick was taller. The man half-turned, gesturing and pointing skyward.
Startled, Kerenza whispered to the steward. ‘Who is that?’
Broad looked round. ‘The second mate, miss. Not Cornish, o’course. But he’s some fine seaman for all that. Now, you watch your head when you go through the hatch.’
As she followed him down the curving brass stairs, Kerenza’s nostrils quivered at the thick miasma of lamp oil, wet wool, tarred timber and old cooking. At the bottom of the stairs she waited with the steward to let the two seamen who had carried her trunk pass by and climb the stairs, trying to ignore the stench of stale sweat lingering in the narrow passage.
‘There you are, miss. You was the last. Lady Russell is already inside. Up ahead is the saloon where your meals will be served. Breakfast is at eight, dinner at midday, tea at five, and a cup of hot chocolate about nine, before you settle down. The boy will bring you hot water morning and evening, unless we get a bad blow. The galley fire is doused then, for safety. Billy will knock to empty the slop bucket an hour after he brung the water. Anything else you want you just ask me. All right?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Right, if you’ll excuse me, miss –’
‘Just one more thing. Which is my father’s cabin?’
‘There, miss.’ Broad indicated. ‘Second on the left. But I b’lieve he’s in with the captain.’
‘Where –’
‘The door behind the stairs. But – no offence, miss –’tis best not to go knocking unless you’ve been invited. You get settled in. We’ll be sailing the minute Mr Penrose get back with the mail.’
Kerenza moistened her lips. ‘I see. Thank you.’ No doubt the captain had some kind of strongbox, and her father would be arranging safekeeping for the ransom money until the ship reached Tangier.
As Broad nodded and scurried up the stairs again, Kerenza walked along the passage. Behind her, light from the open hatch spilled down the companionway stairs. Ahead of her, sunshine filtered into the saloon through the skylight’s thick glass. But most of the passage was in semi-darkness.
To her left, voices drifted out through the six-inch gap between the top of the closed door.
‘Betsy, I wish you wouldn’t –’
‘I know my duty, Donald Woodrow, even if you have forgotten yours.’
‘Please, my dear, there’s no call to –’
‘Oh yes there is. And I don’t take kindly to your manner. After all, it wasn’t me who –’
A clattering on the deck above made Kerenza jump. Then the man spoke again, pleading, placatory, but too softly now for her to catch the actual words. Not that she wanted to. She loathed arguments. Though the raised voices had nothing to do with her, just hearing them knotted her stomach. Reminded of the past, anxious about the future, she pressed her hand against the grinding ache in her midriff, silently praying that she could like the woman with whom she would be sharing for the next few weeks. Then, drawing a deep breath, she tapped lightly on the door and opened it.
Chapter Four
Kerenza’s heart dropped as she saw how small the cabin was. Beyond the two trunks currently occupying most of the floor space, there was just enough room for two cots set one above the other, and a nightstand with a cupboard underneath. There were no portholes or skylights, only an oil lamp suspended from the deck-head.
The light, falling across the face of the woman seated on the lower bunk directly opposite the door, illuminated the planes and hollows of her face. Still swathed in a fur-lined pelisse of burgundy velvet and matching hat, she looked strained and tired, and her expression was not welcoming.
Dread opened like a void in Kerenza. Swallowing, she bobbed a curtsy. ‘L -lady Russell? I’m Kerenza Vyvyan. We – it is my understanding that we are to share?’ She waited, not breathing, as she was scrutinised.
Lady Russell’s face relaxed. ‘Oh, thank goodness.’ Her voice was pitched so that Kerenza could hear, but not loud enough to carry beyond the cabin. ‘I’m sure you will understand when I confess that I was – anxious. No doubt you were as well?’
Limp with relief, Kerenza nodded.
‘I really could not have borne –’ Gesturing toward the passage, Lady Russell grimaced at the muffled but still audible sounds of complaint.
‘Nor I, ma’am,’ Kerenza said fervently.
‘Now I need worry no longer.’ Concern puckered the woman’s forehead. ‘I hope you will also be comfortable with the arrangement?’
‘Oh yes, ma’am. Indeed I am. It’s just –’ Kerenza hesitated. ‘Forgive me, your ladyship, but –’
‘Please, no more ladyships. The title belongs to my husband. He is Colonel Sir George Russell. I am really quite ordinary.’ Her smile was both wry and impish. ‘Considering the enforced intimacy of our circumstances it would be quite ridiculous to stand on ceremony. Besides, I can see we are going to get along famously. You must call me Judith, and I shall call you Kerenza. But I interrupted you. You were about to say?’
‘Only that – and I do not mean to be impertinent, ma’am – it’s just … I am astonished that you should be travelling alone.’
‘It was not intended. However, my companion had the misfortune to slip on an icy path and break her leg. She cannot travel until it is mended, and it was impossible for me to remain with her.’
Wondering why, and realising the reason was none of her business, Kerenza turned away and started to unfasten the button at the neck of her heavy cloak.
‘No, don’t take it off,’ Judith said. ‘Let us leave our unpacking until later and go up on deck. It’s a beautiful morning. We should enjoy the fresh air and sunshine while we can.’ She held out her hand. ‘Would you mind helping me up?’
Surprised, Kerenza grasped it. As Judith lurched awkwardly to her feet, her pelisse fell open.
‘Oh,’ Kerenza blurted and immediately flushed. ‘Do forgive me. I didn’t mean – It’s – I didn’t expect – Oh dear, I do beg your pardon.’
‘You needn’t apologise. I understand perfectly.’ Judith laid one hand protectively on the heavy swelling beneath the high waistline of her gown. ‘Now you see why I could not delay my return.’
Kerenza tried to ignore a sudden flutter of panic. ‘How soon –?’
‘Not for another month at least, according to the doctor I consulted last week. If you think it strange I should be travelling in my present condition, I must tell you that you are not alone. My husband did not want me to make the journey to Cornwall. And I could have wished it otherwise. But my grandmother was asking for me. She raised me after my parents died, so how could I refuse her? I’m so glad I made the effort. We had four wonderful days together before –’ She stopped abruptly and looked away, covering her quivering mouth with her fingers.
Thinking how much she loved her own grandmother, and what she owed her, Kerenza touched Judith’s arm in an instinctive gesture of sympathy. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
Clearing her throat, Judith shook her head with a watery smile. ‘You must forgive me, Kerenza. I am not usually so rag-mannered as to burden a new acquaintance with my private concerns.’
‘But I understand. You see, I too live with my grandmother,’ Kerenza said, surprising them both.
Judith looked up from pulling on her gloves. ‘But – are you not travelling with your father?’
What else had she heard? ‘I am. It’s a long story.’
‘Then it will keep for another time.�
� Taking Kerenza’s proffered hand for support, she stepped carefully between the trunks and out into the passage.
‘You go first,’ Judith urged at the bottom of the brass stairs. ‘I need time.’
So do I. Thinking of what lay ahead, and wanting to delay for as long as possible the moment she must face Nick Penrose, Kerenza shook her head. ‘No, you will be safer if I’m behind you, in case you should miss your footing.’
One hand on the rail, Judith glanced back over her shoulder. ‘My dear, pray it doesn’t happen. Were I to fall, I’d squash you flat.’
Reaching the top of the stairs, Kerenza stepped through the hatch. Hearing Nick’s voice, blood rushed to her face and drummed in her ears. For a moment she was shielded. Then Judith moved aside and there he was, broad shoulders filling his gold-braided blue coat, blue breeches clinging to muscular thighs.
She fixed her gaze on the two leather portmanteaux at his feet. But she was startled into looking up as Judith addressed the officer beside Nick in a strange, guttural language. The second mate’s teeth flashed white against his olive skin, and his delight was evident as he replied in the same tongue. Catching sight of Kerenza, he bowed.
Turning, Judith drew her forward. ‘Kerenza, allow me to present the ship’s officers. Mr Penrose, this is Miss Vyvyan.’
Bowing briefly in Kerenza’s direction, he addressed Judith. ‘I beg you will excuse me, ma’am. I must speak to the captain.’ Without waiting for a reply, he strode past and disappeared down the companionway.
Kerenza’s face burned. He had acted as though they were strangers unknown to one another. No. He would have shown greater courtesy had they really been meeting for the first time. Judith’s presence and attempted introductions had made it impossible for him to ignore her. That he still did not wish to speak to her was only too plain. Struggling to mask her humiliation, she heard the second mate’s harsh voice.
‘Is very busy time –’
‘Of course,’ Judith said. ‘I should have realised.’ She turned. ‘Kerenza, I’d like to present the second mate, Magrahi Murabet.’
