by Jane Jackson
Kerenza enjoyed her breakfast. After making sure she had everything she needed, Broad retreated into the galley. Toy wished her good morning as he passed through the saloon, returning a few moments later with a cup of coffee she guessed was for Nick. While she ate, she listened to the sounds of the ship. Without conscious effort she had become familiar with the daily routine.
By now, one watch would have swabbed the decks and polished the brasswork. The other, roused at 7.30 after turning in at 4 a.m., would be stowing their hammocks and slinging the mess tables, hungry for their boiled oatmeal seasoned with salt, butter, and sugar.
She lingered over a second cup of tea, glad of some solitude. A very busy day, Maggot had said. Before nightfall the ship would reach Tangier. Would she see her mother and sister that evening? Perhaps that was too much to expect. Draining the cup she set it down, not at all sure how she felt at the prospect of reunion.
Broad bustled back in and, after thanking him, she went up on deck. Returning the helmsman’s greeting with a smile, she crossed to her favourite place in the stern. Looking forward along the ship, she saw Nick at the mainmast, taking sick call.
A short line of sorry-looking men waited their turn. Two had bruised, swollen faces and black eyes, confirming Broad’s prediction of a fight. The others stood with the drooping heads and hunched shoulders of men to whom bright light and loud noise were painful.
Maggot stood nearby, ready to dose them with the only two remedies the ship carried: James’s Powder to reduce fever, and calomel or castor oil to flush out unbalanced humours. Judging by their appearance, it was the latter that most would receive.
Catching her eye, Nick nodded, then turned back to address the seaman in front of him.
Tingling from the top of her head all the way down to her toes, both pleased and self-conscious at his acknowledgement, Kerenza rested her forearms on the rail and looked out over ruffled water that glittered in the morning sun.
The wind had backed, and was once again blowing from the south-east. But now, instead of holding them back, making them wait, it was speeding them toward their destination.
Gazing backward over the stern, she watched Gibraltar retreat. She thought of Judith and Sir George, and their baby. She recalled the minister standing here beside her, one hand clapped to his round, shallow-brimmed hat, his eyes filled with guilt and sadness as he had pleaded for her compassion.
Had holding Judith’s newborn baby been sufficient to crack the hard shell of envy and resentment that had encased Betsy Woodrow’s heart for so long? Kerenza hoped so for both their sakes. But that chapter of her life was over. She turned to look forward. Ahead, hazy in the distance, lay the Moroccan coast.
‘Deck ho!’ The lookout bellowed from the foretop. ‘Sail on the port quarter. Looks like a shebec, sir. Three masts.’
Maggot and the bosun began yelling orders, men swarmed across the deck, and Kerenza immediately turned to Nick, who pointed toward the companionway. She nodded and hurried down the stairs and along the passage.
Entering the saloon she stopped. ‘Papa!’
Dressed but unshaven, he was seated at the table drinking a cup of coffee. A plate of bread and butter remained untouched. His face was grey and haggard, his eyes little more than slits in pouches of puffy flesh. He tried to speak, but his voice was cracked and hoarse as if he had a sore throat. From his brief gesture she assumed the effort was too great. As he lifted the cup it shook so violently he needed both hands to raise it to his lips. Her thoughts raced and she moved with deliberate calm.
‘This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to see you up yet.’
He set the cup down, rattling it against the saucer, and, with his elbows on the table, sank his head in his hands.
Kerenza slid into the seat opposite. She opened her mouth, about to offer to fetch him something for the headache from which he was so clearly suffering, but the boom of a cannon stopped the words on her tongue and made her start. Her father jumped violently, his gaze jerking, wide and fearful, from skylight to door and back to her.
‘What’s happening?’ he rasped. ‘Are we under attack?’
Having no idea, she shook her head. ‘I don’t know. The lookout warned of a ship approaching, but –’
‘I’m going to find out,’ he cut across her, struggling to his feet.
‘Papa, wait –’
‘Get out of my way,’ he muttered, pushing past and blundering out into the passage. The door to the captain’s day cabin stood open and Kerenza followed her father, unable to stop him as he barged in, slamming the door back against the bulkhead.
‘What’s happening?’ William demanded, hoarse with fear. ‘Are we being attacked? Why are our guns not firing?’ His tone changed, anxiety turning to suspicion ‘What are you doing?’
Coming in behind him Kerenza saw Nick glance up, clearly startled by their arrival. She shrugged helplessly.
He had lifted one of the seats and was bent over the open strongbox. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We are not under attack. That was just a warning shot to –’
‘That’s my money in there,’ William’s voice climbed. ‘You’ve no right – I need it – my wife and daughter … You can’t – I won’t let you …’ He lunged forward and Kerenza grabbed his arm.
‘Papa, no, stop –’
He flung her off and she stumbled backward.
Nick straightened, taut with fury. ‘That’s enough, Mr Vyvyan! Control yourself, sir. I don’t want your money. I came for this.’ He waved the folded sheet of creamy paper, through which Kerenza could see the shadow of a thick wax seal. ‘I have no intention of jeopardising this ship or anyone on it.’
His gaze flickered briefly to Kerenza and she felt instantly stronger, safer. He knew what he was doing. ‘If I were to order our guns to fire, the Algerian would cripple or sink us in minutes. How then would you rescue your wife and daughter?’
Kerenza watched her trembling father reach blindly for the nearest bench and sink onto it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered as Nick closed the strongbox and dropped the seat back into place. ‘He didn’t mean –’
‘You have nothing to apologise for.’
Wincing inside, for it was clear Nick considered her father’s behaviour inexcusable, she indicated the paper. ‘What is that?’
‘Our guarantee of safe passage I hope. It’s the Pass I paid for back in Falmouth. It should convince the Algerian captain to let us proceed unharmed.’ He started for the door. ‘Mr Vyvyan, kindly return to the saloon, and stay there.’ Turning to Kerenza, he lowered his voice. ‘On no account is he to come topside. If you have any trouble call Broad and Toy.’ Next moment he’d gone, taking the stairs two at a time.
‘Come, Papa.’ She slipped her hand under his elbow, half-expecting him to jerk free. But he rose unsteadily and allowed her to lead him out of the cabin. As she paused to close the door, he looked up the companionway. The light fell across his face and her heart was wrenched by the dread stamped across it. She drew him away along the passage and he shuffled after her, moaning under his breath.
Back in the saloon she guided him into his seat, then crossed to the galley door and called for the steward, hurrying back and drawing the chair forward so that her knees almost touched her father’s.
‘What if the Pass doesn’t work?’ William moaned. He turned to Kerenza with a suddenness that made her jump, seizing her hand, his grip painfully tight. ‘Algerian, he said. What if it’s the same one? The one who took us captive last year? What if he finds out I’m on board?’
‘Papa, please try to calm yourself. There is no reason to think it is the same man. Even if it is, Mr Penrose has the Pass. The Algerian cannot know you are aboard. Nor will he if we remain down here.’
‘You wanted me, miss?’
Kerenza swung round as Broad bustled in, wiping his hands on a grubby cloth. ‘Yes, please. I was wondering if Maggot – Would you be so good as to ask him if he could spare a moment?’
Broad sucked in a bre
ath through pursed lips. ‘I’ll try, miss. But this isn’t the best time.’
‘I know.’ She tried to convey with her eyes what she could not say aloud. ‘But my father is extremely anxious.’
‘Ah.’ She could almost see him recalling what he’d heard about her father’s past, working out possible reactions, weighting their consequences. ‘Right. Back in two shakes, miss.’ He hurried out and along the passage.
‘What if they refuse to recognise the Pass?’ William demanded. ‘The Algerians think any Christian vessel, no matter what nation it belongs to, is a lawful prize. If they find my money –’ He stopped, shuddering with dread at the visions thrown up by his imagination. He gripped her hand more tightly. ‘We should never have stopped. Penrose is too young, too inexperienced. He doesn’t –’
‘No, Papa. That’s not true.’
Tossing her hand away, he glared at her through swollen and crusted eyelids. ‘What do you know? You’re just a girl. You’ve been nowhere. You’ve seen nothing. How dare you! Telling me what’s true and what isn’t. Who do you think you are?’
Clammy with shock at his aggression, her heart hammering painfully, Kerenza clasped her hands on her lap and held herself very straight. ‘I’m your other daughter. I did not ask to come. I’m here because you insisted upon it. You said you needed me –’
‘I do, I do.’ He sagged as all the fight and anger was replaced once again by anxiety. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean – I should not have said – but you have no idea …’ Slumping forward with his elbows on the table, he clasped his head in his hands, shaking it.
Hearing footsteps on the stairs then and in the passage, she looked up as Broad came in, hope subsumed by anxiety as he shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, miss. Mr Maggot can’t come now. He’s doing the talking for Mr Penrose with that Algerian.’
‘You see?’ William cried, glaring from one to the other. ‘Didn’t I warn you? He won’t accept the Pass. I’ll be taken prisoner again. What will become of my family then?’
‘Now, now, Mr Vyvyan. That’s enough of that.’ Broad was firm. ‘Mr Penrose knows what he’s doing. I’ll fetch you a nice cup of tea.’
‘Tea?’ William blazed. ‘Are you mad? Any moment those murdering cut-throats could overrun the ship and come bursting in here. You want to make tea? Go on, then. Go and do it. Pretend none of this is happening. Pretend everything is just fine. Go on, get out. You’re no use here.’ He covered his face with his hands, wracked with violent shudders.
Visible angry, his lips tight with indignation, the steward looked at Kerenza.
Hot with shame, she cleared her throat. ‘If you are making tea, Mr Broad, I’d really appreciate a cup.’ She tried to smile. ‘I daresay Mr Penrose and Maggot will welcome one too the minute this business is settled.’
He gave a brief nod. ‘You aren’t wrong there, miss. Be all right, will you?’ His glance flicked to her father and back.
She nodded and Broad stumped out. Kerenza turned to her father, who was totally immersed in his own fears. It was like looking at a stranger. He was her father but she no longer knew him. Reminding herself of what he had been through, she tried hard to make allowances.
But his behaviour was hard to forgive and impossible to condone. He was not alone on the ship. Whatever happened would involve everyone aboard, not just him. She might have felt more compassion had he indeed been a stranger, because then she would have had no expectations. She would not have been hoping that, after years of disappointment and betrayed trust, he might have wanted to make amends.
Tears pricked. Afraid they might fall and betray feelings he would never understand, afraid any sign of weakness in her would only re-ignite his terror, unable to sit still any longer, she stood up quickly and walked out of the saloon. But there was nowhere she could go, not even to the privacy of her cabin. She was trapped by the need to ensure her father remained where he was.
She leant against the bulkhead. Then increased noise from the deck and a subtle shift underfoot told her the packet was getting under way again. A figure ducked through the hatchway, blocking the light, and Nick came down the stairs. Seeing her, he came forward.
‘Now that’s settled there should be no more delays.’
‘That’s good.’ She forced herself to smile. In the dark passage he wouldn’t be able to see, but she hoped it might mask her distress.
‘I heard shouting.’
Afraid of making a fool of herself, she simply shook her head.
‘Your father?’
‘He’s very anxious.’
‘I think you should go topside. You’ve been down here long enough.’
‘But –’
‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘Enjoy the fresh air. There are matters I need to settle with your father.’ He passed her and she heard the saloon door click firmly shut.
‘You all right?’ Maggot frowned as she stepped over the coaming.
Ignoring his question she asked, ‘Do you have any more kif?’
His frown deepened. ‘Why you want that?’
‘It’s not for me,’ she explained. ‘My father … He was so afraid of being re-captured. It made him – He’s not rational. What worries me is that in his present state he could so easily say or do something that will offend the governor or, indeed, anyone whose goodwill we may need. If that were to happen …’ She clasped her arms across her body, not daring even to complete the thought, let alone voice her dread.
Maggot nodded. ‘You no worry. I go see.’
A few minutes later, Toy brought her a cup of tea. ‘I’ll give you a call when dinner’s ready, miss.’
Interpreting that as a reminder from Nick to stay on deck, she nodded. ‘Thank you.’
When Billy came to call her, and she returned to the saloon, her father was sitting where she had left him. But now he was clean-shaven and though his hands still trembled he was visibly calmer. He did not look up or speak. His gaze remained fixed on his plate as he ate slowly and with effort.
She was halfway through her meal when Nick joined them. Though she was delighted that he had come, her embarrassment at her father’s earlier outbursts was being overtaken by a far deeper fear. For even though it seemed that she and Nick had tentatively begun to rebuild their friendship, what future could it have?
Nick had never made any secret of his ambition to one day command a packet-ship as owner-skipper. Since boyhood his life had been one of hard work and danger as he pursued his dream. He had served his apprenticeship, learnt his trade, and gained the necessary qualifications. He had proved himself and his ability beyond doubt. Why then would he, who had so much to offer and deserved so much in return, ally himself to such a family as hers?
She bent her head, pretending to chew. But in reality it was not the food but the solid lump of grief in her throat that she found hard to swallow.
Addressing himself to his piled plate and ignoring her father, Nick related an amusing incident that had occurred in Jamaica, only occasionally glancing in her direction. When he finished the story she looked at him. Wanting to convey her gratitude for the way he had dealt with a situation that was beyond her, unable to speak out because of her father’s presence, she smiled instead, hoping he would understand. His gaze held hers and for an instant she couldn’t breathe.
It was as if those long, terrible weeks apart had never happened. But because they had, and because she knew now that he too had suffered, she was still experiencing ripples of hopelessness and yearning long after he had returned to the deck.
Three hours later, she stood at the port quarter, gazing at the walled city of Tangier lying like a tilted cup between two hills. Her father stood further forward, deliberately apart, as he had been since the packet left Falmouth,
Behind her she heard Nick’s voice. A moment later he was at her side.
‘As Maggot grew up here, he’s the best man to bring us in.’
Amid whitewashed houses with flat roofs piled in terraces against the hillsid
e like a child’s toy bricks were several European-style buildings. Two looked like churches, another like a large and rather grand house.
But it was to the castle on the right-hand side that Kerenza’s gaze was drawn. Sprawling over the top of the hill, its brooding presence dominated the town.
She leant toward Nick, her voice low. ‘Is that –?’
He nodded. ‘The governor’s palace.’
Unease slid like a drop of icy water down her spine. She told herself not to be foolish. The worst was over. They had arrived safely. Once the formalities had been completed and the money handed over, her mother and sister would be released and Kestrel would return to Falmouth. Would it really be that easy? If it were, what then?
Kerenza clasped her upper arms, trying to rub away the gooseflesh that tightened her skin. As the ship sailed shoreward she saw to the right of the crescent-shaped beach a long stretch of huge, jumbled stones running in a straight line out into the bay. Rollers driven by the stiff breeze broke over it, tossing up clouds of spray as they crashed in a welter of white foam.
‘What’s that?’
To her surprise, it was her father who answered. ‘What’s left of a massive mole the British built as a breakwater and jetty when they occupied the city. They blew it up when they left.’
Wanting to ask why, Kerenza bit her tongue. She knew little about politics and no doubt there were very good reasons. But to deliberately destroy something that must have cost huge amounts of money and years of hard work to build seemed to her a terrible waste.
As Maggot guided the packet into the bay the two big gaff sails were dropped and Kestrel glided toward an anchorage at the more sheltered eastern end of the town. Now they were closer, Kerenza could see that the city walls lay mostly in ruins, though several towers, round and square, still stood. Small houses had been built along the tumbled remains of wall above the anchorage. Gardens, orchards, and fields spread over the low hills beyond. There were no guns on the wall facing the sea. But on the northern edge of the cliff below the castle she saw a few canon mounted on the remains of a fort.
