Tide of Fortune

by Jane Jackson

  ‘That’s the crew’s dinner, madam. Boiled salt pork and split peas. ‘Course, if you was to prefer that to this ’ere cold ham –’

  ‘No, the ham will do.’

  ‘Right, madam.’

  ‘Thank you, Broad. We will manage now.’ Nick said.

  ‘As you wish, Mr Penrose.’ Taking the empty tray, the steward withdrew.

  ‘These vegetables don’t look very hot to me,’ Betsy huffed. ‘Lady Russell, may I pass you the –’

  ‘No, please,’ Judith said hastily. ‘Do help yourself, Mrs Woodrow.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Betsy simpered, and spooned a lavish helping from every dish onto her plate. Shuddering, her husband looked quickly away.

  ‘Is your journey for business or pleasure, sir?’ Nick enquired.

  ‘Some family business requires our attention,’ Betsy answered before her husband could respond. Mesmerised, Kerenza watched as she took thick slices of pink ham liberally marbled with fat then topped them with a large dollop of mustard. ‘My husband is a dedicated man, Mr Penrose. Too much so for his own wellbeing.’

  ‘Please, my dear,’ Donald Woodrow’s smile grew more nervous. His wife ignored him.

  ‘The drawback to a generous nature is that people tend to take advantage. Sometimes they want more than he is free to give. Isn’t that so, Donald?’

  His smile was a grimace of shame and desperation. ‘I don’t think –’

  ‘That is part of your trouble, Donald,’ Betsy chided with syrupy sweetness. ‘You don’t think. And you are far too willing to believe the best of people.’

  He looked at her for a moment, and Kerenza glimpsed the light of battle raging in his tired eyes. But the spark died. ‘As a minister,’ he said quietly, ‘how can I do otherwise?’

  ‘Do you have children, Mrs Woodrow?’ Judith enquired with a deftness that filled Kerenza with relief and admiration.

  A martyred smile twisted Betsy’s mouth. ‘We have not been blessed, unfortunately. I can only conclude that God had a purpose in denying me the joys of motherhood. And that was to ensure I would be free to help my husband in his work.’

  Kerenza shot a glance at Donald Woodrow. Round-shouldered, wretchedly miserable, he stared at his empty plate.

  ‘People have no idea how much organisation is required for a parish to function as it should.’ Glancing from Nick to Kerenza, as if daring them to argue, she focused her gaze and her attention on Judith. ‘Naturally, Lady Russell, you will understand that I refer to a properly-run parish. Of course there are plenty of the other kind. Far too many.’ She sighed. ‘But I suppose one must be charitable.’

  ‘Indeed, one must,’ Judith agreed gravely. ‘For your vision of an ordered world is one to which few would aspire.’

  As Donald Woodrow glanced up, visibly startled, and Nick raised his hand to mask a sudden bout of coughing, Kerenza saw Betsy’s grease-slicked lips purse in a smirk of pride and satisfaction. She thought the remark a compliment.

  The meal continued. While Betsy chewed noisily and Judith drew the minister into conversation, Kerenza cut a sliver of ham and a small portion of vegetables into tiny pieces.

  The man she hated for the pain he had caused her, who had been the first to touch her heart, was sitting barely an arm’s length away, eating with swift efficiency. And though her throat felt so stiff and tight she was terrified she might choke she knew she must do the same.

  Quickly clearing his plate, Nick excused himself to return topside. His departure allowed Kerenza to relax; as her shoulders dropped, she realised she was aching all over from accumulated tension.

  ‘Would you mind terribly if I had a little nap?’ Judith said when they returned to the cabin. ‘Though my condition has brought me great joy, I do find the constant movement of the ship very tiring.’

  ‘Of course you must rest,’ Kerenza said quickly. ‘I shall go to the saloon and write to my grandmother.’

  ‘You would do far better to go up on deck and enjoy the fresh air.’

  ‘Maybe later: the watch is changing and I certainly would not want to get in the way.’ Nor, for the moment, could she face another encounter with Nick.

  ‘My dear girl, you cannot spend the next two weeks down here. You need company, conversation. If Maggot is free, ask him to tell you about Tangier.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Then you need have no concerns about being cornered by Mrs Woodrow.’ Easing herself down onto the pillow she sighed. ‘Poor Mr Woodrow. I hope it was worth the punishment.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Kerenza covered her with a blanket.

  Beckoning her closer, Judith whispered. ‘I suspect Mr Woodrow is being hauled off to visit family in Gibraltar to distance him from one of his lady parishioners.’

  Kerenza gasped. ‘But – but he’s a minister.’

  ‘He is first a man, Kerenza,’ Judith reminded softly. ‘A good man who is constantly required to offer comfort to others yet clearly receives little himself. I do not think for one moment that he has done anything to discredit his calling. Yet though his lapse was probably minimal, I fear he will spend the rest of his life paying for it.’

  Kerenza was awed by Judith’s perception, and by her compassion. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘I am sure of it. I have met other women of Betsy Woodrow’s type. Women of narrow mind and strong will who seek to impose their values on all around them. Utterly convinced that they alone are right, they have no conception of the damage they do or the hurt they inflict. Such women spend their lives avidly seeking sin, and finding it in the most innocent exchange.’

  Kerenza shivered. The situation between her and Nick was already difficult. The thought of Betsy Woodrow watching, asking questions or jumping to conclusions, demanding denial or explanation – no, it would be insupportable.

  ‘Then perhaps it would be better if I do not talk to Maggot. I am quite used to my own company –’

  ‘No, that will not do!’ Judith pushed herself up on one elbow. ‘I told you only so that you may be on your guard. Surely you will want to learn something of Tangier? Who better than Maggot to answer your questions?’ She patted Kerenza’s hand. ‘Go along. I shall enjoy a little sleep and see you later.’

  Chapter Five

  Sliding onto the nearest seat, Kerenza opened the small box that had once belonged to her grandfather. She took out the pen shaft and fitted a nib, then unscrewed the top of the squat inkbottle. Opening the leather case she dipped the pen and, after heading the sheet “Packet-ship Kestrel ”, and the date, wrote “Dearest Nana”.

  The clatter of boots on the brass stairs, then brisk footsteps in the passage, brought her head up with a jerk and her heart leaping into her throat. Shutting the writing case, she dropped the pen, which promptly rolled under the fiddle rails at the edge of the table and fell to the floor as Maggot walked in.

  Picking it up, he handed it to her with a smile. ‘Where is Lady Russell?’

  ‘She’s resting.’

  He pulled a wry face. ‘Not good time for sleep. Will be much noise.’ The door to the galley and fo’c’sle opened and Broad peered in.

  ‘Ready for your dinner, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Very quick, please. Mr Penrose fire guns soon.’

  Rolling his eyes, Broad disappeared.

  ‘Guns?’ Kerenza gulped. ‘Are we being attacked?’

  Pulling out the chair, Maggot sat down. ‘No, no. Is nothing to worry.’

  Kerenza released a shaky breath. ‘Then why –?’

  ‘New men in crew. They must learn.’

  Broad reappeared with a tray and set it down in front of the second mate.

  Kerenza gathered up her things. ‘I’ll leave you to your meal –’

  ‘No. Please, you stay. Is business for your father in Tangier?’ Picking up his knife and fork he began to eat.

  ‘In a way,’ Kerenza answered carefully. Business had taken her father, mother and sister to the Mediterranean a year earlier. Her father had wanted to ensure his trading agree
ments with Tangier would be maintained, despite the disruptive effects of the war with France. She turned the pen in her fingers. ‘What is the city like?’

  Swallowing his mouthful, Maggot grinned. ‘Many things same like Falmouth. Lot of churches, and a castle, very big, on top of hill. But is also very different. Tangier has wall all around.’ He shrugged. ‘Is very broken now. Some people building houses on it and make gardens. Much of castle fall down. There is small marketplace inside city and big marketplace outside. People from mountain tribes come to the big market with camels and mules.’

  Kerenza tried to picture the scene. ‘What do they buy and sell?’

  Maggot shrugged. ‘Many things. Meat, fish, soap, sugar, also sandals, bowls, pots for cooking, cloth, silver. Women sell fruit. They sit in middle and all around are melons, tangerines, dates, and raisins.’ He grinned again. ‘The women look very strange to you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They wear hats made from straw.’

  ‘What is so strange about a straw hat? I often wear one in summer.’

  ‘Not like this. This one is very big.’

  ‘How big?’ Kerenza was fascinated.

  ‘Very big. Bigger than this.’ He stretched his arms wide. ‘Hat is turned down at edge so no one see woman’s face. And because hat is so big, is also making shade for the fruit.’

  Kerenza smiled. ‘What a very sensible idea.’

  Sounds of suppressed argument were swiftly followed by a rattle then a bang as the door was flung open. Betsy Woodrow stumbled in and clutched the frame for support. Maggot immediately rose to his feet and made a brief bow. Betsy ignored him.

  ‘Ah, Miss Vyvyan, I thought I heard your voice. I am astonished to find you here alone.’

  ‘But I am not alone,’ Kerenza pointed out.

  Shooting a glare of disapproval at Maggot, who had resumed his seat and was forking up the last of his meal, Betsy turned again Kerenza.

  ‘I mean, as I am sure you must be aware, that you are without female company.’

  ‘I came in to write some letters,’ Kerenza replied, indicating her writing case.

  ‘And Lady Russell?’

  ‘She is resting. Her condition –’

  ‘Yes,’ Betsy interrupted. ‘I’m sure there is no need to elaborate, especially in front of –’ She flapped her hand, disdaining even to glance in his direction.

  ‘Maggot,’ the second mate said helpfully. Standing up again, he pushed his chair under the table. ‘I go now. Miss Vyvyan, please you tell Lady Russell about the guns? Is not good for her to have shock –’

  ‘Guns?’ Betsy gasped. ‘What guns?’

  As she caught Maggot’s eye and saw the gleam of mischief, Kerenza quickly bit her lip, for to smile would only increase Betsy’s irritation and provoke further questions. ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ she reassured as Maggot departed. ‘Apparently there are a number of new men in the crew, so Mr Penrose –’ Just saying his name kindled a rush of warmth. Please let it not reach her face. ‘Mr Penrose has ordered a practice firing of the guns.’ Rising to her feet, she picked up her writing materials. ‘I must go and warn Lady Russell.’

  Sitting around the table a short time later, the Woodrows, Judith, and Kerenza listened to the pounding of feet above their heads, the rumble of the wooden truck wheels, bellowed orders, and then the deafening thunder of cannons.

  After more noise and shouts the ship began to change direction. Blocks squealed as ropes were loosed and others hauled in. There was a brief sensation of weightlessness as Kestrel’s head came up into the wind, then, with a jerk, her canvas filled and she surged forward on the opposite tack.

  As the ship tilted over at an even greater angle the clang and clatter of pans falling in the galley was followed by a stream of curses. Betsy shrieked and clutched the edge of the table. Her husband cleared his throat before telling them all he was sure everything was just as it should be. Judith and Kerenza remained silent but clasped each other’s hand as the guns roared again, not in unison but in a rolling cannonade that seemed to go on for ever. When eventually it stopped, no one moved. In the ear-ringing silence Kerenza waited. Above her head the sounds altered, losing their urgency. There was a brief hiatus as the ship returned to her original course.

  She released her breath. ‘I think they’ve finished.’

  ‘So I should hope.’ Betsy flapped a handkerchief in front of her face. ‘Donald, fetch me my vinaigrette. I have such palpitations as you would not believe. It is quite intolerable that we should –’

  ‘There is a war on, Mrs Woodrow,’ Judith reminded her dryly. ‘For myself, I can only applaud Mr Penrose’s foresight in preparing the crew for an eventuality I’m sure all of us hope will not occur. Now, I think I should welcome a little fresh air. Kerenza, would you be so kind as to accompany me?’

  The following morning, as the bright, beady eyes turned toward her, Kerenza braced herself. Betsy’s smile was a mere widening of the mouth, devoid of goodwill or humour.

  ‘Are you not concerned, Miss Vyvyan?’ she enquired with spurious concern. ‘We have been at sea four days now, and your father has not joined us for a single meal.’

  ‘Not really, Mrs Woodrow.’ Kerenza was finding the barbs easier to deflect. For each morning before they left the cabin, Judith whispered bracing encouragement in terms that, could he hear them, would surely horrify her diplomat husband. ‘My father has not been well. Just at present he finds being in company something of a strain.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Betsy’s tone was waspish. ‘Yet he is able to spend much of each day with the captain to no ill effect.’ She snorted her disapproval. ‘That’s another thing. No one else had even seen the captain, let alone spoken to him. It seems a very odd way to run a ship. A captain should be visible. How else is he to retain the respect and control of his crew?’

  ‘I would imagine a successful and far-sighted captain employs officers in whom he may place total trust,’ Judith replied, carefully lowering herself onto the bench closest to the door. The Woodrows were in their usual place, their backs to the ship’s side, so Kerenza moved to the far end of the table facing the stern.

  ‘Well, I still think –’ Betsy began, then stopped, her attention diverted by the sound of footsteps in the passage.

  As Nick entered the saloon his gaze caught Kerenza’s, but instantly he looked away. She saw his fist clench and felt her own heart contract. She had to stop reacting like this.

  ‘Ah, Mr Penrose –’ Betsy began.

  ‘Good morning.’ His tone and manner were abrupt, preoccupied. The smart uniform he had been wearing the day they sailed had been replaced by an old blue jacket bleached across the shoulders by strong sun, scuffed, unpolished boots, and dark breeches that were snagged and salt-stained.

  Windblown hair fell across a frowning forehead, there were shadows like purple thumbprints below his eyes, and his tan was blotched with the pallor of exhaustion. But he had shaved and the faint fragrance of his soap, borne on the draught from the passage, wrenched Kerenza’s heart. As she fought crowding memories, he closed the door.

  ‘Broad will be bringing your breakfast,’ he informed them, ‘so I’ll be brief.’

  ‘Will you not be joining us, sir?’ Judith inquired pleasantly.

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Really, Mr Penrose, this is too –’ Betsy turned crossly to her husband as he touched her arm. ‘What is it, Donald?’

  Ignoring her, Nick continued. ‘I thought you would wish to be warned. The weather is changing, and that will mean rough seas.’

  Kerenza had been vaguely aware of subtle alterations in the ship’s motion. Her sleep had been disturbed by an increase in the number and volume of creaks and groans from the timbers. Now she understood the reason for the additional activity on deck during the night.

  Anxiety flitted across Judith’s face as she caught Kerenza’s eye. But her calm demeanour gave no hint of concern as she looked up at Nick. ‘How long is it likely to last?’ />
  He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not possible to be specific. Maggot thinks a couple of days. But it could be longer.’ As Kerenza and Judith exchanged a wry glance, he continued, addressing the table at large. ‘You may go top-side until dinnertime. But after that, for safety’s sake, I must ask you to remain below. One more thing: anyone who does decide to venture on deck this morning does so at his or her own risk, and is to remain well aft of the mainmast so as not to get in the way of the crew.’

  Kerenza guessed this was aimed at her, since she spent more time up there than any of the others did.

  ‘You should prepare yourselves for some discomfort.’ He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. ‘With respect, Mr Woodrow, I’d appreciate it if you would stay out of the fo’c’sle.’

  Donald Woodrow’s ears turned red, and Kerenza saw his throat work. ‘Of course, Mr Penrose. Please accept my apol –’

  ‘Mr Penrose,’ Betsy censured, ignoring her husband, ‘even the lowliest of men has a right to the comfort of God’s word.’

  Kerenza had assumed the minister’s visits to the fo’c’sle were his own idea, a brief escape. But he had obviously been bullied into it.

  ‘True,’ Nick snapped. ‘But at a time deemed appropriate by the captain or myself.’ He turned again to the minister. ‘Mr Woodrow, would you be willing to conduct a short service on Sunday morning, perhaps an hour before dinner? I’m sure the men would appreciate it. Some of them, anyway.’

  Donald Woodrow’s visible strain dissolved in a smile of pleasure. ‘Indeed, sir, I should be delighted.’

  With an abrupt nod Nick spun on his heel, apparently oblivious to Betsy’s muttered condemnation of his manners and appearance. As he disappeared toward the companionway, the door at the forward end of the saloon opened.

  Accompanied by the smell of hot fat, Broad entered carrying a large tray from which he unloaded a heaped platter of fried pork strips coated in breadcrumbs, a dish of boiled eggs, a plate of bread and butter, a large pot of coffee, and a smaller one of tea.

  The faint clang of Nick’s boots on the companionway was followed a few moments later by the bosun shouting orders and the thump of running feet.