by Jane Jackson
The twin castles of Pendennis and St Mawes guarding the entrance to the Carrick Roads and Falmouth harbour were in far better repair and yet, strangely, seemed less intimidating. She turned to Nick.
‘How do we get in?’
‘You see that wall sloping up from the beach?’ Nick pointed. ‘Behind it there’s a ramp leading up to the Water Gate, the square tower with battlements. That’s the entrance into the town for anyone coming in by sea.’
As the packet turned into the wind and the anchor splashed down, William Vyvyan turned toward Nick and the companionway.
‘When are we going ashore?’
‘In a while. First we have to clear Customs.’ As William tensed, and Kerenza braced herself for another outburst, Nick turned away, making it clear the matter was not open to argument or discussion. Then, speaking for her ears only, he added, ‘Maggot will go and ask his stepmother about your accommodation. But as she doesn’t know he’s alive, seeing him again will be a shock. He’ll be as quick as he can, but – You do understand?’
She nodded. ‘Of course.’
Now they were finally in Tangier she was suddenly very nervous. How it would be when she met her mother and sister again? This would be the first time they had met or spoken in three years.
How should she greet them? Should she simply wait and let them make the first move? What would they say? Would their experiences have made them more aware of the importance of family bonds? Would they be anxious to forget the past and make a fresh start? Would it include her? Did she want it to?
If she were totally honest, she wasn’t sure. She had made a home and a new life at her grandmother’s where she had been welcomed and appreciated. Despite her grandmother’s undemonstrative manner, Kerenza had, for the first time in her life, known herself loved unconditionally. But even that soothing balm had not entirely healed her wounded self-esteem. If her own mother and sister did not love her, logic dictated it must be because she was unlovable. Yet if her grandmother loved her, and Nick, then surely – here she faltered.
She had thought Nick loved her. But had he? Did he? Was she seeing only what she wanted to see? Or was it indeed real and true and, having been tested by misunderstanding, strong enough now to withstand whatever trouble the future might hold? Half of her wanted so much for it to be so. The other half – the wary half that remembered all too clearly the wrenching anguish of love offered and rejected – wasn’t at all sure.
As for her mother and sister, the child she had once been still yearned for their love and acceptance. But she was no longer a child. She would wait; allow them to make the first move.
The sun was dipping below the hills behind the city when Nick and Maggot returned. During their absence, realising how inconvenient it would be to take a heavy trunk ashore, Kerenza had packed a bag instead. She used the one Judith had sent, putting in essentials for a couple of days, plus a roll of dirty laundry in the hope Maggot’s stepmother would have or know of a washerwoman.
Returning to the deck where her father waited, she suggested he did the same. But, impatient and clearly not interested, he waved her away before she finished speaking. So she asked Broad to pack what he thought her father might need.
Now, at last, after a row between her father and Nick over the ransom money – her father had wanted to bring it with them; Nick believed it was safer to leave it aboard in the strongbox overnight – they were in the cutter heading shoreward. Her father was in the stern next to Maggot, who had the tiller. Nick was beside her, her bag between his feet.
Shivery, and with an uncomfortable tightness at the base of her skull, Kerenza drew the folds of her cloak closer.
‘Are you cold?’ he asked softly.
She shook her head, forcing a smile. ‘No, I’m fine.’ It wasn’t true. She felt exhausted. It had been a stressful day. And it wasn’t over yet.
‘When we land,’ her father announced, aggressive in his determination, ‘we must go directly to the governor’s palace.’
Nick looked over his shoulder. Kerenza closed her eyes. But it was Maggot who responded.
‘No.’ It was blunt and final. ‘Is no good tonight.’
‘Why not?’ William demanded. ‘Dammit, I caught the first available ship, and I’ve brought the money. He’ll want to see me.’
‘No, he won’t,’ Nick said.
‘Not tonight,’ Maggot added.
‘Why?’
‘Because there are formalities to be observed,’ Nick said. ‘Ignoring them will cause offence. That won’t help your cause one bit. It’s the governor who has the power here, not you, not us.’
‘But I’ve brought the money,’ William repeated desperately. ‘He said that as soon as I got back with it my wife and daughter could leave.’
‘Then we must hope he’s a man of his word, and that you will soon be reunited. In the meantime –’ Nick raised his voice as William opened his mouth to argue ‘– our first call must be on the British consul. Your request to see the governor will have to be made through him. He will be able to advise us on the best approach.’
Heading for the beach, the cutter passed an old wharf. Kerenza saw two galleys laid up inside it, with sheds and storehouses behind. Breathing in the smells of seaweed, rope, fish, tar, and paint she was vividly reminded of Flushing. She wished she was back there, that this was all over. Even as the thought formed she found herself fearful of what return would mean. She hadn’t wanted to come. But were it not for this voyage, she and Nick would not be in the process of repairing their rift and regaining each other’s trust.
The cutter’s keel grated on the bottom and, by the time Nick had helped her ashore, Maggot and her father were already on their way up toward the Water Gate. Two of the oarsmen pushed the cutter off.
‘It’s better that they return to the ship,’ Nick said. ‘They’ll come back for me later. Maggot will stay overnight at the house with you and your father. I’ll join you in the morning to accompany you to the Palace.’
‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully.
The archway in the tower was shadowed, and beneath the vaulted stone the wind blew strongly, tugging Kerenza’s cloak. She shivered. Then they were inside the town, following Maggot and her father. Kerenza’s eyes widened at the tall grandeur of a big church. A little further on, they entered a busy marketplace.
The noise was deafening. as vendors urged people to buy, customers haggled, women gossiped, children squealed with laughter, men argued, beggars pleaded, all at the tops of their voices in languages that sounded to Kerenza as though they were gargling.
She glimpsed small wooden booths, pyramids of melons and oranges and other fruits she did not recognise. A brightly-clad water seller carrying an ornate jug and silver cup wandered by, ringing a small bell.
One table still displayed a few round, flat loaves, fresh and fragrant, another held clay pots. The smells of roast meat, spices, smoking charcoal, rotting vegetables, hot oil, and dust burned in her nose.
Her face grew hot with self-consciousness and she was glad of Nick’s silent presence beside her as she intercepted sidelong glances and angry glares, frowns of curiosity and contempt. Most of the women were veiled. But those who were not covered the lower half of their faces with one end of their headscarf, still watching her as they turned to each other, and she knew she was being discussed.
Groups of turbaned Arabs swathed in white, with seamed faces the colour of teak and long beards sat in the shadows, sipping mint tea from small glasses.
Kerenza breathed a sigh of relief as they left the marketplace and followed Maggot into a narrow dirt street that climbed steeply. Sloe-eyed, bare-legged Arab boys peered at them from alleys. A girl ducked shyly into the low, dark doorway of a flat-roofed house. They crossed another street, and another. Then Maggot stopped in front of a larger house with deep-set arched windows and tall double doors of dark wood, and turned to Nick.
‘Here is consul’s house.’ He knocked.
A few moments later
, one of the doors was opened and they were asked their business. William started forward, but Maggot held him back.
‘My name is Nicholas Penrose, commanding the packet-ship Kestrel. One of my passengers is Mr William Vyvyan, whose wife and daughter are currently guests of the governor. We need to see the consul.’
The door closed.
‘What –?’ William began angrily. But Maggot raised a finger to his lips.
‘You wait. Is all right.’
‘No, it damn well isn’t all right!’ William exploded.
‘Please,’ Kerenza begged. ‘I’m sure Maggot knows –’
The door swung open and a servant bowed, gesturing for them to enter.
Chapter Fifteen
Tiny blue and white tiles covered the floor of a cool hallway. Archways leading to more rooms broke ornately decorated walls. The servant led them into a spacious salon, gestured for them to sit, and melted silently away.
‘What are we supposed to do now?’ William, tense and pugnacious, demanded.
‘We wait,’ Maggot replied.
‘Please sit down, Mr Vyvyan.’
Kerenza glanced from Nick to her father. Phrased as a polite request, it was nonetheless an order. She held her breath, praying he would not argue any more. The room was furnished with several tables and couches piled with colourful cushions. After a moment’s hesitation, William Vyvyan lowered himself onto one of them.
Kerenza unfastened her cloak, slipped it from her shoulders, and folded it onto the couch next to her as she took a seat opposite her father and looked around. A massive urn stood at one side of an archway, and two heavy chests of black wood with intricately carved lids rested against the elaborately decorated wall.
Just as she began to wonder how long they might have to wait, she heard the sound of brisk footsteps.
The man who entered wore a brown frock coat over fawn breeches, white stockings, and brown shoes with buckles. Brushed straight back, and receding at the temples, his greying hair curved onto his coat collar. Kerenza guessed his age to be about 50. His smile was pleasant, but the way he rubbed his palms together signalled unease. She wondered why.
‘Good evening. My name is Henry Corbett. I’m the vice-consul. I’m afraid Mr Matra is currently in Marrakech.’ He turned as the same servant appeared silently in another doorway. ‘Would you care for some tea? The locals prefer it with mint, but if that is not to your taste we do have goat’s milk.’
Fidgeting with impatience, William waved the offer aside. ‘I haven’t come all this way to drink tea. You must know who I am and why I’m here. How soon can I see the governor?’
Blushing for her father’s rudeness, Kerenza bit her lip. But the vice-consul didn’t even blink.
‘I will send a request for an interview first thing in the morning. However, I should warn you that it may be several days before you are granted an audience.’
As Nick and Kerenza exchanged a glance, William exploded in fury. ‘Several days? Why? Why must I wait so long?’
Henry Corbett spread his hands. ‘Because I’m afraid that’s the way things are done here. The governor does not recognise as urgent any concerns but his own.’ His palm-rubbing quickened, and the dry, rasping sound grated on Kerenza’s nerves.
Her unease grew. He had answered her father without once making eye contact.
‘Surely,’ William pressed, ‘he will be glad to learn that I am returned? I have brought the money. You can tell him I’m grateful for his hospitality. Tell him any damn thing you like. But make it clear I want my wife and daughter released so that they may return home with me at once.’
Henry Corbett’s forehead puckered in discomfort and distress. Seeing him brace himself, Kerenza’s muscles tightened. Something was wrong. She had sensed it the moment the vice-consul walked in.
‘What?’ William demanded. ‘It can’t be that difficult. The governor wanted money. Though it has nearly bankrupted me, I’ve brought it. So I see no reason why the matter cannot be settled quickly. Tell me –’ his tone became eager, anxious. ‘Have you seen them recently? Are they in good health and spirits?’
‘I did indeed see Miss Vyvyan,’ Corbett answered carefully. ‘Approximately four weeks ago. Though I have not been permitted to visit since, at that time I found her as well as could be expected – in the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances? For God’s sake, man. Tell me in plain English how they both are. How my wife is. She’s never been strong. I hope she’s been properly looked after. If she hasn’t, there’ll be trouble. I shall make it my business to –’
‘Mr Vyvyan,’ the vice-consul interrupted, his face grave. ‘It is with sincere regret that I have to inform you your wife is no longer … I’m afraid she passed away a month ago.’ As William stared at him, he continued. ‘She contracted lung fever. There was an epidemic in the town. It’s thought one of the servants carried it into the palace. When it was realised how ill your wife was, the governor was anxious no effort should be spared …’
‘I bet he was,’ Nick muttered.
‘So the doctor was sent for. We are fortunate to have an English physician residing in Tangier. However,’ Henry Corbett continued, visibly relieved now that, for him at least, the worst was over, the unpleasant news delivered, ‘though the doctor did his best, Mrs Vyvyan did not recover.’
‘She’s dead? My wife is dead?’ William repeated blankly.
‘On behalf of the consul and myself, I should like to offer our sincere sympathy.’ The vice-consul turned to Nick. ‘Will Mr Vyvyan be returning to the ship?’
‘No,’ Nick said. ‘Miss Vyvyan and her father are taking lodgings at –’ He turned to Maggot.
‘Riad Zohra, Derb Brahim,’ Maggot supplied. ‘Is owned by mart bebar, the wife of my father.’
As Henry Corbett nodded, Kerenza rose to her feet. Her mouth and throat were dry. Her mother was dead. She had not seen her for three years, and now would never see her again. But it was as if a smothering blanket had descended on her emotions. Perhaps that was best, for now. There would be time enough later to examine how she felt.
‘Mr Corbett, would you be kind enough to give me the name of the English doctor? As you can imagine, my father has been under severe strain for many months.’ She glanced toward the figure slumped against the cushions slack-jawed, blank-eyed, and pale with shock. ‘Now to receive such news –’
‘Of course, of course,’ Henry Corbett replied. ‘I will send a servant immediately with a message requesting the doctor to attend you at Riad Zohra.’
Nick and Maggot were already helping a dazed William to his feet.
‘One more request, if I may, Mr Corbett,’ Kerenza added. ‘Will you ask the governor if I may be permitted, on compassionate grounds, to see my sister as soon as possible? Even if arrangements regarding the –’ about to say “money”, she changed it at the last moment ‘– gift in appreciation of his hospitality might take a little longer?’
What would happen about that? Would the governor still expect to receive the same amount? How could she even think about such details at such a time? Because concentrating on such practicalities allowed her to avoid looking into her heart where, she suspected, and was horribly ashamed to admit, that instead of grief she would find only scars.
‘I’ll do what I can,’ Henry Corbett promised, and turned away quickly, still unwilling to meet her gaze. Was he repelled by her lack of emotion? Had he expected tears and hysterics? What would they achieve except to focus attention on her?
It was her father who was most deeply affected. It was he who needed support and comfort. At least her sister was alive and well. She should be – and was – thankful for that. The priority now was to get her father to their lodgings as quickly as possible and hope the doctor would respond with equal speed.
‘Mr Corbett? A final question?’
Kerenza was putting on her cloak, but, hearing Nick’s voice, she turned.
‘Mrs Vyvyan’s final resting place?’
/> ‘Ah yes, of course. It was a private burial in the grounds of the English church. There is no headstone, you understand. But the plot is marked with a small wooden cross.’
Kerenza nodded her thanks to the vice-consul, then bent her head, ashamed that it had not occurred to her to ask. Nick must surely think her heartless. How could he think otherwise? She had never told him the truth about her relationship with her parents and sister, or the real reason she had left Falmouth to live with her grandmother in Flushing.
Daylight was fading to dusk as they left the consulate, Nick and Maggot supporting William between them. Kerenza followed, carrying the two bags. She was surprised and relieved when, only a few minutes later, Maggot led them down a short alley and stopped outside a high wall broken by double doors set in an archway with a top shaped like an onion.
‘Is here,’ he said over his shoulder and banged on one of the doors.
A bar was lifted. It swung open, and a veiled servant girl led them through into a small central courtyard about 12 feet square with apartments on three sides. Kerenza just had time to notice a staircase rising to an upper storey with a terrace that looked down into the court before following Nick and Maggot into a room furnished in similar style to the one in the consulate.
As they gently lowered William onto a couch, a short, plump woman entered the room soundlessly in flat slippers that matched her gold-embroidered, ankle-length robe of vivid turquoise. A white scarf covered her head, the ends thrown over her shoulders, and the lower half of her face was veiled.
Maggot greeted her, speaking rapidly in the strange, harsh tongue Kerenza had heard in the marketplace. Her guess that he was relating the bad news was confirmed as her eyes widened and her hands flew to her cheeks. She looked at William and shook her head. Turning to Kerenza, she touched her arm lightly in a gesture of compassion that was echoed in her dark chocolate eyes. Then, seizing Nick’s free arm, she looked up into his startled face and spoke with intense passion.
‘Ateikum-saha, ateikum-saha. ’
Nick turned helplessly to Maggot, who grinned.
