Tide of Fortune

by Jane Jackson

  Filled with pride and pleasure, Kerenza could feel her cheeks glowing. ‘You are very kind, sir.’

  As she curtseyed again, he picked up the big bag he had brought in with him and set it on the table.

  ‘My wife asked me to give you this. The bag itself of no account, but I am instructed to tell you that you may find the contents of use. Now I’m sure you will forgive me if I take my leave. I am anxious to return to my family.’ He bowed.

  ‘Thank you again, sir,’ Kerenza managed. ‘It was good of you to come. Please convey my thanks to Lady Russell, and my very best wishes.’

  With a nod and a smile, he left. Nick followed him, and as their voices retreated down the passage, Kerenza opened the bag. On top was a shawl. But it was not hers. As she lifted it out, the folds slipped and she gasped. Of finest cashmere, it was four feet wide, over twice as long, and edged with a fringe. A design of pinecone shapes in deep green, yellow, dark turquoise, and scarlet surrounded a pure white centre.

  Gathering it up, she closed her eyes and, burying her face in its softness, inhaled the faint fragrance of sandalwood. But even greater than its beauty was its significance. Every time she saw it she would remember how and why it had come into her possession.

  Refolding it carefully, she laid it on the table. Then, reaching once more into the bag, she took out two clean white shirts with cuffs showing only the slightest hint of wear, and two blankets. These, clearly, were intended as replacements for the slop chest. Lastly ,there were six crisp linen sheets, three pillowcases, and three towels. One set for her, and one set each for her mother and sister.

  ‘That’s some pretty,’ Broad said, nodding toward the shawl as he set down her hot chocolate.

  ‘Lady Russell sent it to replace mine, though it’s far more beautiful.’

  ‘That’s as may be. But yours was here when that dear baby needed something to keep her warm,’ he reminded.

  ‘Look, she’s sent shirts and blankets for the slop chest, and linen so my mother and sister will be comfortable on the journey home. Isn’t that kind?’ She picked up the cup and drank. Thick and sweet, the chocolate was delicious.

  ‘With respect, miss, ’tis no more than you deserve.’

  ‘What is?’ Nick enquired, coming in and closing the saloon door behind him.

  Shyly, her confusion increased by his presence, Kerenza set down her cup and indicated the items on the table. ‘These were in the bag Sir George brought. Ju – Lady Russell has been incredibly generous.’ Returning the bed linen and the shawl to the bag, she pushed the shirts and blankets toward him. ‘She sent these for the slop chest.’

  ‘Very good of her,’ Nick agreed.

  ‘Bring you some hot chocolate, Mr Penrose?’ the steward enquired.

  ‘Thank you.’

  The steward left and Kerenza remained standing. Now she and Nick were alone she felt uncertain.

  ‘I hope Sir George’s arrival was not inconvenient?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ she said hastily. ‘It was very good of him to take the trouble.’

  ‘Only – well, for a moment you appeared uneasy, almost anxious. I wondered why –’

  She waved his concern aside. ‘No, it was just – when you said – I could not imagine who –’ She stopped, afraid she had already said too much.

  ‘Ah,’ he nodded slowly. She knew he had guessed. He gazed at his feet for a moment, then looked up, his weather-beaten features flushed and frowning. ‘You have little reason to trust me. But please believe that I am deeply sorry for the pain I must have caused you. I see many things differently now. As for Sir George, there was simply no time to give you notice. When Lady Russell told him of your part in events, he insisted on returning with me to thank you in person.’ She saw his glance move from the cup she had not yet touched to her writing case. ‘I fear we interrupted you.’

  ‘No, not at all. I was writing to my grandmother, but I had finished.’

  ‘May I?’ He indicated the benches.

  ‘O -of course.’

  As he slid into the bench seat furthest away she felt the knots in her stomach and shoulders loosen slightly and resumed her own seat. ‘Maggot suggested it. To keep me occupied.’

  His wry smile echoed hers. Though he caught her gaze for a moment, he did not try to hold it, and looked instead at the shawl. ‘There is certainly much you could tell her.’

  ‘There is indeed. My grandmother is both open-minded and resilient. But I think if she were to read about some of the events that have occurred during our voyage, without me there to explain the various circumstances, she would be greatly concerned. To cause her such disquiet would be most unkind of me. So I have written in general terms rather than in detail.’

  Broad returned, setting a steaming cup in front of Nick. ‘Beg pardon, Mr Penrose, but have you seen Mr Maggot since you come back?’

  ‘I have, Broad. Thank you.’

  ‘Right, sir. I’ll be in the galley if you want anything.’ As he disappeared, Nick picked up his cup, took a mouthful, then set the cup down again.

  ‘I understand your father wished to leave the ship?’

  Though he raised his eyes to hers while he spoke, he did not try to maintain the contact. It suddenly occurred to Kerenza that this was deliberate, so she should not feel pressured or intimidated. The realisation released a little more of her tension and, drawing her cup forward, she cradled it in her hands.

  ‘Maggot told you.’

  ‘He had no choice. It is his duty to inform me of anything that might affect the wellbeing of the ship or the passengers. Why did your father want to leave?’

  ‘He was afraid you might be delayed here, or that you might have to take the dispatches to Admiral Hotham yourself.’

  He shook his head. ‘They will go with a Royal Navy sloop leaving the dockyard in the morning. So what was his plan?’

  ‘To find a fishing boat or something similar that would carry us across to Tangier overnight.’

  Nick shook his head again. ‘The Straits are a hunting ground for Tunisian and Algerian pirates as well as French privateers and occasional warships. It’s most unlikely he’d have found anyone willing to take the risk. Besides, without the ransom money how did he expect –?’

  ‘He was not in his right mind.’ She bit her lip, wanting to confess her anxiety about her father’s drinking and her fears about how it might affect their dealings with the Governor, yet prevented by the habit of loyalty even though she knew it had always been one-sided.

  ‘Morocco is a Muslim country, and Muslims are not allowed alcohol.’ Her head came up. It was as if he had seen into her mind and read her thoughts. ‘So he will find it far harder to obtain.’

  ‘I’m sure you mean to offer comfort. But isn’t Tangier a free port with a mixed population? If he is determined, it might be all too easy.’

  ‘Your father’s reason for going to Tangier is to obtain the release of your mother and sister. It’s possible his drinking is due, at least in part, to anxiety and frustration. I’m sure that once we arrive things will be different.’

  Kerenza wanted so much to believe him. But as she looked up, searching his eyes, she couldn’t, for she sensed he didn’t believe it himself. She raised the cup to her lips once more, and felt it rattle against her teeth as she emptied it. Clearing her throat, she asked the first question that came into her head.

  ‘Where do Sir George and Lady Russell live?’

  ‘In officers’ quarters in the town, I imagine. But fortunately he was still in the Convent when I arrived.’

  ‘What was he doing in a convent?’ Kerenza asked in bewilderment. ‘And why would you go there?’

  ‘No, not a convent, the Convent.’ His features softened. ‘I should have explained. It’s the name of the Governor’s residence. It was built in the 1500s as a monastery for Franciscan Friars. When it was taken over early this century to become the residence of the senior British officer it kept the name everyone knew and recognised.’ He raised his cup,
and Kerenza knew he was allowing her to choose whether or not conversation continued.

  She had finished her drink. There was no reason to remain in the saloon. Except … Except this was the first time she and Nick had enjoyed a normal conversation since she had boarded the packet. Yes, they had spoken, but only to request or convey information. Occasions that had been fraught with tension. But this was different, now was different.

  He had said he was sorry for the pain he had caused her. That had not been easy for him. Not because he didn’t mean it: clearly he did, and every time she thought about it she shivered with pleasure. What had made the apology so difficult was his obvious lack of practice. She wondered if he had ever apologised before in his life. She could have shown him how it was done. Having spent most of her life apologising for faults real and imagined, she was an expert.

  But he had none of Jeremy Ashworth’s arrogance or insufferable conceit. She sensed his attitude to mistakes was swift acceptance. The past could not be changed. So look forward, not back, and move on.

  Since leaving Falmouth they had endured storms, faced death at the hands of a French privateer, he had lost his uncle, she had assisted at a birth. They were both exhausted.

  Though he had fulfilled his contract by delivering the dispatches, her hardest trial – caring for two people who had made her life miserable – still lay ahead. She didn’t want to think about it. Tonight, this moment, was a respite from what had been and what was yet to come. She looked up.

  ‘What is the Convent like?’

  Seeing his shoulders drop slightly, she was comforted and reassured. The small easing of strain confirmed that he too was nervous. That meant her good opinion was important to him.

  Leaning forward, he smiled, rested both elbows on the table, and toyed with his cup. ‘It’s built round an internal courtyard full of orange trees and bougainvillea. The front has a magnificent colonnade opening onto Main Street. At the back there’s a walled garden. This is a rare luxury in Gibraltar because there is so very little spare land. The grounds extend down to the water and it has its own private landing. As soon as we reached the jetty I sent one of the oarsmen to fetch servants with a chair to carry Lady Russell and her baby up to the house.’ He grinned. ‘The news spread like a gorse fire.’

  She smiled back. ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘Sir George came out of the door at a dead run. His face when he saw his wife and baby …’ He looked away. ‘Seamen are far too sentimental.’ His tone was rough and self-mocking. ‘I doubt there was a dry eye in that garden.’ He leant back. ‘I handed over the dispatches and was asked to wait. Eventually Sir George joined me and insisted on coming to the ship to thank you in person.’

  ‘It was very good of him, but not necessary.’

  ‘He knows, as do I, that but for you the outcome might have been very different.’

  Shuddering, Kerenza shook her head. It didn’t bear thinking about. She sought urgently for something to steer her thoughts from terrors that still haunted her. ‘Did I hear you tell Mrs Woodrow that Maggot once owned his own ship?’

  ‘He did, a mistico. It’s a bit like a shebec in that it has three lateen sails, but it’s much smaller, rarely above 80 tons.’

  ‘Those ships we passed when we were crossing the bay, the ones with the overhanging bow and stern, were they shebecs?’

  He nodded. ‘They’re ideal for the Mediterranean. Their shallow draft allows them to get really close inshore.’

  ‘Was Maggot a trader, then?’

  Nick’s grin made him look suddenly years younger. ‘In a manner of speaking. Actually, he was a privateer.’

  Kerenza stared at him. ‘You’re teasing me.’

  He shook his head. ‘Considering his grandfather and uncle were pirates, the temptation – and the pressure – to join them must have been strong.’

  ‘Is there a difference between pirates and privateers?’

  ‘There is indeed. Privateers have a legal commission from the state to capture the ships of any country their ruler is at war with. They have to carry Letters of Marque to prove their legitimacy.’

  ‘What happens to the ships they capture?’

  ‘Once the state has condemned them as prizes, the ships and their cargoes are sold, and the proceeds divided up between the privateer’s crew.’

  ‘Didn’t you say Maggot’s ship was sunk by the French?’

  Nick’s face hardened in disgust. ‘A privateer three times the size of his shebec. Maggot was the only survivor. He was in the water for 24 hours, clinging to some wreckage, before our lookout spotted him and we picked him up.’

  Kerenza’s imagination supplied a vivid picture: Maggot, floating among the dead and disfigured bodies of his crew who must surely have been his friends; amid the wreckage not just of his boat but of his livelihood. How slowly the time would have passed, especially the hours of darkness.

  She recalled instances of Maggot’s kindness, his quick, cold anger at her suspicion that he would harm Judith, the mischief in his eyes as he deflected Betsy Woodrow’s wrath, his competence in dealing with her father, and his total loyalty to Nick.

  ‘It must have been so lonely for him.’ She swallowed the stiffness in her throat. ‘How long ago did it happen?’

  ‘Three years. He’s been with me ever since.’

  ‘Did he not wish to return to Tangier?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘Because I had saved his life I owned it.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘That felt very strange. Anyway, he refused to leave me. The old hands were suspicious at first, but within a day he had learnt his way around the rigging and within a week he had proved his skill as a helmsman and navigator. When we lost the second mate to fever it made more sense to promote Maggot than take on a new man.’

  ‘Yet I cannot recall seeing him with you in Flushing when you attended the balls and parties.’

  He raised his brows. ‘Would you have expected to?’ She felt her colour rise. ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘He knew he would be an embarrassment. As it happened he didn’t want to come anyway. He couldn’t think of the word for “bored”, but he mimed it well enough, rolling his eyes and snoring.’

  Kerenza compressed her lips on a smile. ‘I can imagine. So what does he do when you are in port?’

  ‘The same as any seaman who has no home or family to go home to. He spends his time on the ship or in waterfront bars. He says the Muslim part of him doesn’t drink, but the English part allows him some ale. Speaking several languages, he quickly makes new friends and picks up all kinds of gossip.’

  ‘About the war?’ She glanced up as the watch-bell clanged overhead.

  He nodded. ‘Among other things. He’ll be an ideal go-between while we are in Tangier. Though the locals tolerate foreigners because of the trade they bring, they are suspicious of the English.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They haven’t forgotten the occupation and how the English destroyed the city when they left.’ With obvious reluctance, he stood up. Quickly, Kerenza rose, carefully replacing the shawl in the bag.

  He hesitated. ‘Now Lady Russell has gone, would you like to move back into the double cabin?’

  She looked up quickly. ‘I hadn’t really thought … But if you wish to return to yours then of course –’

  ‘No. It’s not – I just thought – being so close to the companionway is very noisy. You may find your sleep less disturbed if you are further away.’

  She didn’t dare meet his gaze. No matter where she lay her head her sleep would be disturbed by dreams of him, dreams from which she woke with tears still wet on her face; dreams that had shamed her, because to yearn for someone who had treated her so badly was surely perverse and unnatural.

  But tonight he had apologised. Tonight they had talked, tentatively reaching out to each other across distance created by hurt and anger. He was trying so hard to make her more comfortable.

  ‘Thank you,’ she smiled up at him. ‘If it really is no trouble –’

 
‘None at all,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll fetch Broad, and we’ll move your trunk at once.’ As he started toward the galley door, Kerenza was overcome by giggles. He looked back, smiling. ‘What?’

  She shook her head, covering her mouth with her fingertips. She felt light-headed with relief and happiness and hope. But she couldn’t tell him that, not yet.

  ‘My trunk,’ she spluttered. ‘It is being moved so often, I think Broad will wish it had wheels.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kerenza was woken next morning by the sounds of the ship getting under way. She yawned and stretched, feeling calmer and more rested than at any time since leaving Falmouth.

  The previous night, after transferring her bed linen to the upper cot, she had climbed in. Half-expecting to toss and turn, she had fallen asleep almost at once. Stirring when the crew returned, she drifted off again with a smile on her lips at the amount of noise they made falling over things, sshhhing each other, warning of dire consequences should they disturb her.

  Billy rapped on the door. ‘Water, miss.’

  ‘Thank you, Billy.’ She pushed back the blankets and lit the lamp.

  An hour later, much refreshed, her hair brushed, coiled, and pinned up high, she rolled up her green gown and stowed it in the trunk. Shaking out the peach muslin, her only clean garment, she put it on, buttoned her dark green wool jacket over it, and left the cabin. In the saloon Maggot stood, both hands on the chair back, talking quietly to the steward, who frowned as he listened intently. Looking up as she entered, they immediately stopped talking and both bowed.

  ‘Good morning.’ She smiled.

  ‘Morning, miss,’ Broad said. ‘How about a boiled egg and some fresh bread and butter?’

  ‘That would be lovely. Have you seen my father this morning?’

  Broad shook his head as he left. ‘Not yet, miss.’

  ‘Your father no wake yet,’ Maggot said. ‘Is better he sleep as long as possible.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ She knew that once awake, he would only fret.

  ‘You no worry,’ Maggot ordered. ‘Eat, yes? Is a very busy day for you.’ Then he too left.