by Jane Jackson
‘W-who – and why?’ Kerenza stuttered through teeth chattering from shock. She could hardly believe what had happened. ‘I thought – Surely there was an agreement?’
‘A nest of snakes, more like. Treacherous bastards,’ Nick spat. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, ‘I shouldn’t have –’
‘But who would shoot at us?’ Kerenza broke into his apology. She was not offended. Though she would not have used such words herself, she totally agreed with his sentiments.
‘Take your choice. It could have been the governor’s men, the chieftain’s, the prince’s, perhaps the sultan’s Bukharis if his spies have told him what’s been going on.’ Nick’s jaw was tight, his eyes murderous. Despite the oppressive heat, Kerenza’s skin tightened in a shiver.
‘But why? We’re leaving.’
‘The only reason I can think of is that your sister’s pregnancy is not only a personal embarrassment to the prince, it’s also a possible threat to the sultan. Yes, she’s leaving. But she’s still carrying the prince’s child. If your father decided to lodge a formal complaint through the British government, it could cause all kinds of political problems.’
Clinging to Nick, for her legs felt like jelly, Kerenza tried to walk faster. He was right. They had to get away as quickly as possible. Hopefully the marksmen believed they had succeeded. But what if they realised Dulcie hadn’t been killed? What might they try next? Kerenza’s skin crawled and her muscles tensed in dread and anticipation of further shots. But none came.
Lifted into the cutter, she clambered shakily between the oarsmen to reach her sister, who was huddled in the bow, her eyes closed, a dark red stain below her left shoulder shockingly vivid against the pristine whiteness of her ha’ik.
Kerenza clung to the gunwale as the cutter reared, breasted the rollers as they curled and broke, and plunged into the trough behind. The men strained at their oars. Then the boat was through the surf and racing toward the packet.
Drawing the scarf away from her sister’s ashen, pain-furrowed face, Kerenza took her hand. Dulcie’s fingers tightened on hers and she tried to speak.
‘We’re nearly there,’ Kerenza soothed. ‘Then I can make you properly comfortable.’
‘Aruj?’ Dulcie managed weakly.
Kerenza drew a deep breath. The only comfort she could offer her sister was to keep on lying. ‘He’ll be here soon.’
Carried below by Broad and Toy, Dulcie was laid gently on the lower bunk in the cabin previously occupied by the Woodrows. Reassuring Kerenza that her father, though groggy, was otherwise in good health and asking for his dinner, Broad brought Kerenza’s box from the trunk in her cabin, then hurried away to fetch hot water.
Kerenza stripped off her scarf and ha’ik. Then she took out her scissors and extended the tear made by the ball through Dulcie’s blood-soaked garments. She gritted her teeth and, with trembling hands, carefully peeled back the layers of sodden cloth to expose the wound.
Dulcie moaned, moving restlessly in the bunk. ‘K’renza?’ Her voice was cracked and weak. ‘It hurts.’
A furrow had been gouged through the soft flesh above Dulcie’s right breast and across the front of her shoulder. But as Kerenza examined the wound she released her breath in a ragged sigh of relief.
‘Indeed, I’m sure it must hurt. The gash is deep. But at least the ball didn’t lodge.’ Fresh blood oozed from the raw edges and welled from the furrow, dribbling over Dulcie’s white skin. ‘As soon as I’ve bathed it and put a bandage on, I’ll ask Broad to bring a cup of tea. Then I’ll see if I can find something that will ease the pain. You’ve had a nasty shock.’
There was a brief knock. As Kerenza glanced over her shoulder, the door opened and Broad, his face carefully averted, held out a steaming jug.
‘How’s she doing, miss? Mr Penrose want to know if ’tis serious.’
Wiping her hands on the ruined ha’ik, Kerenza took the hot water. ‘N-not as bad as it might have been, but –’
Suddenly, Dulcie gave a loud cry that ended with a hiss as she sucked air in through her clenched teeth.
Whirling round, Kerenza saw Dulcie was curled on her side, her knees drawn up. Her arms cradled her belly and her face contorted in a rictus of agony. ‘It hurts.’
Kerenza stared at her sister. She knew at once. But she didn’t want to believe. Not now, not on top of everything else. What had started it: the fall? The shock of being shot at? The physical damage caused by the injury? What did it matter? She clapped her free hand to her mouth, to smother the scream she could feel swelling in her chest.
Dulcie panted, her voice climbing in terror. ‘The pain – I can’t – Kerenza, do something. Make it stop!’
Kerenza cleared her throat, trying to quell her own panic as she turned to the steward, keeping her voice low. ‘I think the baby’s coming.’
‘Bleddy hell,’ Broad muttered. ‘What can I do, miss?’
‘She needs a doctor.’
‘I’ll tell Mr Penrose directly. Though with the wind against us it might take a day or more to reach Gibraltar,’ Broad shook his head. ‘Be all right, will you, miss? Only –’ He broke off with a helpless shrug.
There was no one else. She would have to manage. Kerenza struggled for control, tried to think. ‘M-more hot water. Please ask Maggot for some of that kif potion he made for Lady Russell. ‘
‘Two shakes, miss.’ The steward disappeared, closing the door.
Another loud, panicky cry drew Kerenza toward the bunk.
‘Where’s Aruj? Has he come yet?’
‘Not yet,’ Kerenza poured water into the basin and started tearing the ha’ik into strips. ‘I’m going to put some honey on your shoulder. It will –’ She stopped as Dulcie jerked, eyes wide, the contraction so severe she didn’t even have the breath to scream.
A wave of panic swept through Kerenza, leaving her drenched in perspiration. It was all happening too fast. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. She took her sister’s hand. Dulcie gripped it tightly, panting as the pain receded.
‘He should be here by now. What’s keeping him?’ she moaned as Kerenza wrung out a cloth and gently bathed the wound.
‘He did say he had important business to take care of.’ Kerenza’s voice shook. She shouldn’t have to do this. She wasn’t a midwife. Nor was she a practised liar. Except that wasn’t true. She had lied to Nick about her reasons for leaving her family. She had lied to herself about not loving him. But Dulcie was her sister and had gone into labour. She couldn’t leave her. So she would have to go on lying. ‘I think your baby is on its way.’
‘No!’ Dulcie wailed. ‘It can’t be. I have to meet the sultan. Do something, Kerenza.’
What was she supposed to do? How could she stop nature? There was a knock on the door.
‘Aruj?’ Dulcie gasped. Kerenza turned away from the desperate hope on her sister’s face. Scrambling to her feet, she lurched across the tilting cabin to open it. Broad handed her a wooden bucket containing another jug of steaming water.
‘So it won’t fall over,’ he said. ‘Anyhow, I thought you’ll prob’ly be needing the bucket.’ He handed her a cup. ‘I’ve told the cap’n – Mr Penrose. He’s making for Gib. This here’s Mr Maggot’s brew.’ He winced, backing away as Dulcie’s voice climbed in another scream. ‘Dear life, in some bad way, she is.’
From then on things got worse. Dulcie spat out the first mouthful, shuddering and shrieking that Kerenza was trying to poison her. Setting the cup down and wedging it so it wouldn’t tip as the ship rose and plunged, Kerenza concentrated instead on trying to bandage the wound with a honey-smeared pad to aid healing and minimise the risk of infection. But Dulcie’s crying and thrashing about made it very difficult.
Two more wrenching contractions had her begging for relief and she allowed Kerenza to support her head while she gulped down half a cupful of the dark liquid. But even as Kerenza released a breath of relief, Dulcie vomited it up again all over Kerenza’s muslin gown.
‘Where is Aruj?’ she sobbed
. ‘Has he come yet?’
Kerenza had to bite her tongue to stop herself shouting out the truth: that he hadn’t come, wasn’t coming, and never intended to come. Telling Dulcie the truth might relieve a little of her own strain, but what would it do to her sister? Wasn’t she suffering enough? What kind of person would deliberately inflict even more pain?
‘Even if he has,’ she managed though teeth clenched to stop them chattering from nerves and stress, ‘this is no place for a man.’
Later – it might have been one hour, it might have been three, Kerenza had no way of knowing – Dulcie clutched her hand with cold, slippery fingers.
‘I can’t go on with this.’ Her voice was hoarse. Cracked lips peeled back from her teeth as another pain overwhelmed her. Too weak and exhausted to scream, she could only groan, low and deep like an animal. The contractions were close now; each one left her shaking violently. Her skin glistened, dark shadows encircled her eyes, and blood smeared her fissured lips. Then she curled her body and her face contorted with effort.
Kerenza barely had time to lay the wadded ha’ik beneath her. ‘Come on, Dulcie,’ she urged. ‘Push. The baby’s nearly here.’
A few minutes later a dusky, slippery little body slid into Kerenza’s waiting hands. As she laid the baby on a clean piece of the torn ha’ik, tears cascaded down her cheeks. The contrast between this child’s arrival in the world – unwanted, an inconvenience to its father – and the little girl born to Judith Russell and her husband was unbearably poignant.
Swallowing hard, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she tied the cord in two places, and cut it. Little legs kicked and fists waved as the baby gave a lusty wail. Folding the cloth around the small body, she lifted the bundle and bent over her semi-conscious sister.
‘Dulcie? You have a beautiful son.’
Dulcie turned her sweat-damp head on the pillow as Kerenza placed the baby against her side. She glanced at him. ‘You hurt me,’ she accused. Then she looked up, pleading, desperate.
‘Aruj?’ She tensed, shuddering as another contraction seized her.
‘Later,’ Kerenza soothed. ‘We’re not finished yet.’
‘No more,’ Dulcie sobbed. ‘I can’t –’ She strained again, shaking with effort. But nothing happened.
Remembering what she had read in the book, one of the few sentences that offered practical advice, Kerenza placed her hand gently on her sister’s lower abdomen. The flesh was spongy and flaccid beneath her palm. Then she felt the muscle beneath begin to harden as the next contraction began, and gently pressed down with the heel of her hand. Dulcie gasped, her eyes suddenly wide as the afterbirth slid out.
‘There, it’s all over –’ Kerenza started to reassure, but the words died on her tongue as it was followed by a sudden gush of blood. For an instant she simply stared, frozen in horror and disbelief. Then she dived forward, grabbing handfuls of cloth, trying to staunch the flow. Was it her fault? Had she caused it? Should she not have tried to help? ‘It’s all right, Dulcie,’ she babbled, her mouth and throat as dry as ashes. ‘It’ll be all right.’ How could she stop it? What should she do?
‘K’renza?’ Dulcie whispered, reaching out then letting her hand fall back onto the rough, dark blanket.
‘Just a minute.’ Dropping the dripping wad of cloth in the bucket, Kerenza seized another handful, overwhelmed by dread as it swiftly turned crimson. Too much blood.
‘Now!’ Dulcie’s voice cracked with effort, and the baby continued to cry in tiny, shuddering wails.
Kerenza’s heart was beating so fast she felt as if a bird was trapped in her chest, frantic, terrified, and desperate to escape. She didn’t want to listen. She couldn’t cope with any more.
‘Please,’ Dulcie whispered.
Kerenza flinched. It was the first time in her life she had ever heard Dulcie say that word. Wiping her wet, red hands on a remnant of cloth, she knelt beside the bunk.
‘Hold my hand,’ Dulcie whispered.
As her sister’s fingers closed on hers, Kerenza’s vision blurred and she felt hot tears spill down her face as she thought of all the wasted years, the unhappiness they had both suffered.
‘He’s not coming, is he?’ It wasn’t a question.
Kerenza’s chest jerked as she swallowed a sob. What good would the truth do now? ‘I –’
Dulcie wasn’t listening. ‘Too tired. The baby – don’t let – you must – he’s your –’ Her voice faltered and her tongue moved slowly over her cracked lips.
No , Kerenza howled in her head. She didn’t want this responsibility. She didn’t want all the problems it would bring. She didn’t want to lose Nick.
‘Promise me.’ Dulcie’s heavy-lidded gaze was fever bright.
Kerenza looked down at the jet-black hair, skin the colour of milky coffee, and the tiny face, eyes tight shut, mouth open as he cried. She had helped him into the world. He was her sister’s child, her own flesh and blood. If not her, then who? The baby was innocent, as much a victim of circumstance as she was. If she refused, how would she live with herself?
‘Promise –’ Dulcie’s eyelids drooped. But her grip remained steadfast, as if all her strength was concentrated in that one hand.
Blinded by tears that came straight from her heart, Kerenza let go of the dreams she had clung to through all that had happened since she boarded Kestrel in Falmouth harbour. ‘I promise.’
Dulcie’s grip slackened and her eyes closed. After a few moments, she gave a gentle sigh.
‘Dulcie?’ Kerenza whispered, not wanting to believe what every instinct and the subtle change in her sister’s stillness were telling her.
Releasing her sister’s hand, she picked up the baby. Holding him close, she rocked to and fro in an agony too deep even for tears as she grieved for their past and her future.
After a while she roused herself, and after washing and swaddling the baby in lengths cut from her ha’ik, she laid him on the top bunk. Then she gently straightened her sister’s limbs, pulled the torn shift and kaftan down, and covered her with the coarse blanket. Another birth, another death.
She had almost finished cleaning up the mess when a knock on the door made her jump. ‘Yes?’ she called, tired to the depths of her soul. She looked round, expecting the steward, but Nick stood in the doorway.
‘I wondered – I heard the child cry, but when you didn’t come out – Is everything all right?’
Turning away, Kerenza covered her face with both hands. She heard his footfall, felt his hands on her shoulders.
‘Kerenza?’ His tone was wary, anxious. Then she felt his grip tighten, heard his intake of breath as he looked past her to the blanket-shrouded figure on the bottom bunk. ‘She’s dead?’
Unable to speak, Kerenza simply nodded. She felt herself turned, felt his arms encircle her, gently, tenderly. She held herself rigid, longing to relax into his embrace, not daring to. Accepting comfort now would make coping without it even harder.
‘I don’t know what to say.’ He sounded helpless. ‘Though one thing I am sure of, you’ll have done your very best for her.’ Anger hardened his voice. ‘Not that she deserved it. You should never have had to go through all this. The way your family – it was wicked. It wasn’t only them either. The grief I’ve caused you will haunt me to my dying day.’
‘Please –’ Kerenza broke free, clinging to the bunk with one hand while she wiped her face with the other. ‘Please don’t say any more. It’s too – I can’t –’
‘Forgive me. I shouldn’t have – It’s just – You see, I thought I knew you.’ His tone was wry, self-mocking. ‘I was wrong. I didn’t, not properly, not until this past four weeks. When I think of all that’s happened on the voyage and how you’ve dealt with everything that’s been thrown at you – Mrs Woodrow’s spite, Captain Penrose’s death, your father’s behaviour, helping Lady Russell give birth, and then this … Kerenza Vyvyan, you put me – all of us – to shame.’
‘Don’t –’ she begged,
as grief clogged her throat. He didn’t know it, but every word of admiration drove another nail into her heart. She didn’t deserve them. She had done what was necessary because there had been no one else to do it. She had given her word to Dulcie because there was no one else Dulcie could ask. And that promise was breaking her heart.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Is the child all right?’
She struggled for control. ‘A healthy little boy.’ Looking at the bundle in the top bunk, she sucked in a tremulous breath. ‘Now I have to tell my father.’
‘Not about the baby. He already knows.’
‘He does? But – How –?’
‘I told him.’ As shock, relief, and gratitude brought her head up again, he lifted one shoulder. ‘Your sister’s screaming – It was obvious there was far more going on than treatment of a flesh wound. Besides, it wasn’t your responsibility.’
She moistened her lips. ‘Neither was it yours.’
‘Perhaps not. But when your father receives bad news he blames whoever delivers it. I won’t have him blaming you. You don’t deserve it. You’ve already been through enough – too much.’
Kerenza bent her head, fighting more tears. He had done that for her. How could she bear it?
‘How did he take the news?’
‘Not well, though he was more shaken than angry. He was relieved your sister had not been forcibly – But he was horrified that she could have welcomed – or allowed herself –’ With an embarrassed cough, Nick flapped one hand. ‘He’s in my day cabin. Toy’s with him, letting him talk. Look, leave all this now. You’ve done everything you can for the time being. Let me escort you to the saloon. You must eat something. It’s been hours since –’
‘I couldn’t eat.’ Kerenza plucked at the skirt of her vomit-stained, blood-smeared dress and shook her head. ‘And I’m not fit to be seen.’
‘You’re brave and lovely,’ he said softly.
So he should not see her wretched tears, she turned to the bunk and lifted the baby, whose mournful cry wrenched her heart.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
The unease in Nick’s voice helped Kerenza regain control of her emotions. ‘He’s hungry, poor little mite. Do you think Broad would mind if I asked for half a cup of goat’s milk diluted with a little boiling water?’
