“No wonder you have been subdued, Nathan. Shall you return to Southampton?”
He gave a quick shake of the head. “It would do no good. However, I made sure that she had my card and I told her that she may call upon me if ever she has urgent need of a friend. If nothing else, I could provide her with a safe hiding place, and prevent her sliding into desperate actions. I can do no more, except to hope that it was a momentary lapse on her husband’s part, and that he is now remorseful and wishing to make amends. Look, there is a fellow over there trying to attract your attention, Harry.”
Harry turned his head to look, then quickly turned back again, whispering, “Oh Lord, it is Viscount Toller. Not my favourite person, but he has been uncommonly friendly towards me ever since I was so fortunate as to attract Lord Carrbridge’s notice. I shall have to acknowledge him.” In louder tones, he went on, “Ahoy there, Toller! Are you dining? Will you join us for port?”
Viscount Toller was a large man close to fifty and with foppish tendencies, an unfortunate combination. Nathan watched him approach with fascination, trying not to be dazzled by the array of diamond pins, rings and fobs, and the garish colours employed.
“Smethurst,” the viscount said languidly, raising a quizzing glass to examine Nathan from head to foot. “And a friend. How delightful. From the northern wilds, I surmise.”
“From Yorkshire, which is indeed in the north,” Harry said. “I cannot say how wild it is.”
“Very wild, I am perfectly sure. Will you introduce me?” Toller said.
“Of course. This is my very good friend Nathan Harbottle, from York. Nathan, Lord Toller.”
Nathan rose and bowed. “How do you do, my lord,” he murmured, before realising that Toller was standing transfixed.
“Harbottle? Are you by chance related to Felix Harbottle?”
A surge of hope shot through Nathan. “My cousin. You know him?”
“Knew him, long ago, but he disappeared. Have you any idea where he might be? I should very much like to see him again.”
Nathan’s excitement drained away as quickly as it had arrived. Nobody knew where Felix was. His cousin had vanished without trace.
~~~~~
Nell rose early on Saturday morning. If the winds and tides were favourable, the Brig Minerva could reach Southampton not long after dawn, and she must be ready. Everything must be ready. She had only been sick once, and that was a good sign. She was calm, she must be calm. Her gown for the Sherrards’ ball was laid out ready, and the weather was dry, so they would be able to walk the short distance to the Dolphin without any recriminations over the lack of a carriage. She must be calm.
She sat at the instrument in the morning room, not playing, for her hands shook too much, but allowing the thought of music to exert its soothing influence. Sooner or later, Jude would ask her to play, and she was glad to have this small piece of their former life. They could pretend, for a while, that everything was as it was, that they were still rich and happy, the disaster had never happened and they still loved each other as much as ever.
The knocking on the door was frantic. Then the bell, then the knocker again, even more peremptorily. Nell heard the sound of the door creaking open, then high, anxious voices.
A trickle of alarm ran through her, instantly stilled. Some domestic matter, perhaps, or something to do with the Lloyds. It could not be about Jude, for that would come from Mr Sherrard himself, or from Flack. The boy would bring a note — the tide was wrong or the winds, or there had been some problem with the cargo — written in Flack’s firm hand, or Mr Sherrard’s more rounded script. No, it could not be—
Steps on the stairs, feet thumping up and up, and then the morning room door was thrown open. Theresa Sherrard and Tilly Flack stood there, faces white and tear-streaked.
“Oh Nell!” Tilly cried. “It’s gone down! The Minerva — it’s gone, sunk like a stone. I’m so sorry.”
4: The Day of The Sherrards' Ball
“There are survivors,” Tilly added quickly. “There are known to be survivors, so we must hope for the best.”
“When?” Nell croaked. “When did this happen?”
“Night before last, off the Cornish coast. Word just came in an hour ago. Julian and Barty are to go there at once.”
It was as well that Nell was sitting down already, for her legs would not have supported her. Sunk? The Minerva sunk? “But how?” she whispered. “Was it stormy?”
It was Theresa Sherrard who answered. “No idea. Nell, we have to see other people… we cannot stay. That is all we know, truly. Julian is distraught. It is such a disaster — it could ruin us.”
“Yes, I quite see—” Nell began, but the words caught in her throat.
“No, you don’t,” Theresa said harshly. “There was a duke on board. A duke. Your husband killed a duke.”
So saying, she swept out of the room.
“Survivors,” Tilly whispered. “He may be safe, Nell.” Then she scuttled after her friend.
Nell had no idea whether she was talking about Jude or the duke. She was left wondering which she wanted most — Jude to be among the survivors or Jude to be drowned.
~~~~~
There was Louis to be told first, and then the Lloyds and the servants. If Jude were truly dead, who knew what would happen now? The house might have to be sold, for they would have only Nell’s jointure to live upon. If it had been difficult enough to manage before, with Jude’s salary, how impossible it would be on just her own money. A cottage somewhere, and a maid or two. She could probably not afford a manservant.
No, it was too soon for such thoughts. Jude may be one of the survivors. So she kept telling herself.
“Will Papa be home soon?” Louis said. “He will have to come on the stage from Cornwall. How long will that take?”
“Two or three days… less by the mail,” she answered automatically.
An apartment in town might be more convenient, and they would only need three or four rooms… no, more, for they would have to find space for Maria and the girls, too. But Maria would cook, so they would only need a maid-of-all-work.
“He could ride… that would be quicker.”
“Yes, it would.”
“So he could be home in a day or two,” Louis said happily.
She realised belatedly how he was thinking. “Oh, no dear, for he is the captain. He must stay with his ship.”
“Oh.” He thought about that. “He will be helping to rescue people, I expect, all the people who fell into the sea. Papa will be helping them get to shore.”
“Yes, dear.”
There would be something raised from selling the house. It would not be too bad. There might be something still in the bank, but would that come to her or…? It would depend on his will. The attorney would know.
“Will you still go?”
“Hmm? Go to what, Louis?”
“The ball tonight. I like to see you all dressed up, with jewels in your hair.”
The Sherrards’ ball. “No, dear. I cannot imagine anyone will want to dance tonight, and certainly not the Sherrards.”
“Oh.”
Becky tapped on the open door. “Madam? Do you want any breakfast?”
Food. A strange concept. She shook her head.
“Then may I take Master Louis to the kitchen? He’ll want something to eat, I’m sure.”
“Of course,” she said vaguely, barely listening.
She could work, perhaps. Giving lessons on the pianoforte. She had played the harp at one time, too, although not very well. But what would she do, without Jude? How would she cope? Who would regulate her life and tell her what to do?
Survivors… there were survivors…
Herself and Louis, Maria, Lucy and Jane… a household of five. One maid-of-all-work. Becky would come with them, perhaps. Yes, Becky, and Maria to cook. They would manage.
Oh God! How would she manage?
Some minutes or hours later, she could not tell, Maria came back from
the shipping office at the wharf.
“Nothing new,” she said at once, before she had even removed her bonnet. “Except that it hit rocks along the coast just west of Trehowick. I have no idea where that is.”
Nell pulled out the atlas, and for some time they pored over the many headlands and coves of Cornwall until they found Trehowick.
“If it ran onto the rocks, then it must be close to shore,” Maria said. “There may be a great many survivors.”
“Perhaps.”
The two women stared at each other. They had been in this place before when the Helen of Troy had gone down, taking with it Maria’s husband, Jude’s wealth and all their hopes. First, the barest news — the ship is missing or sunk, but all may yet be well. There may be survivors. Then, after a few days of dwindling hope, the loss of life is accepted but at least the ship was insured, so there will be compensation and another ship. And finally, months and months later, the realisation that there was nothing left but a scramble for their own survival. But they had survived, and they would survive this, too. Surely they would survive.
“There was a duke on board,” Maria said.
“So I heard,” Nell said. Odd. Were there any dukes in Ireland? One, perhaps.
“He only became a duke a few months ago, and now he’s dead. Poor man.”
“Oh… I remember that. What was his name? I should remember it… I have met him, I think.”
“No one knew the name. There are a great many people there, waiting for news. Poor Mr Weekes is quite beset. Mr Sherrard and Mr Flack have gone off in a chaise and four to Cornwall to see for themselves, so I do not suppose we will hear any more until they are on the spot, and have sent word back. It will be days. Nell, will you eat something? Or take a little wine? We have brought up that bottle of Madeira for Jude and it would be a shame to waste it.”
“It will keep for years, if we take it back to the cellar,” Nell said. “Do not open a bottle just for me.”
“But you are so pale,” Maria said. “Surely—”
“Falconbury!” Nell said. “That was his name. The Duke of Falconbury. Valmont. I only went there once, as quite a small girl, and it is the most amazing place… a veritable palace. It is supposed to be modelled on Versailles, but I could not say. Maria, what is it like to be a widow? Is it perpetually horrid or does the darkness lift, in time?”
“Oh, Nell!” She took Nell’s hand and lifted it to her cheek. It was warm, Nell realised… her cheek was warm. That must mean that her hand was cold. “Let us be optimistic. There are survivors, and Jude may be one of them. I pray it may be so. Do not give up hope, dear, for you are not a widow yet.”
“Yes. I am. There is no hope,” she said flatly. “Jude is dead, I know it.”
And yet there was hope… a little flare deep inside her. Relief, she realised. Relief that she would never again see that look on Jude’s face, never again fear his return, never again have to bow her head and suffer the onslaught. Of words, at first, but then his fists. Such solid fists he had, thick and meaty and heavy. She shivered, and stood up abruptly. That was over now. She would never be afraid of a man again.
“I shall go and lie down for a while,” she said. “Will you keep Louis occupied?”
“Of course, dear. I shall bring you some tea by and by.”
She brightened. There was tea in the house! “Thank you, I should like that.”
In her bedroom, her ball gown lay over a chair, with the shoes and gloves beside it. Methodically, she tidied them all away, then gazed into her wardrobe at the gowns and pelisses and bonnets.
“Black… I shall need something black.”
She began to sort through the shelves.
~~~~~
Nathan was not at all pleased to have to stay an extra day.
“You cannot leave me to face Toller’s family all alone,” Harry had said plaintively. “I have to go, for his sister is married to one of the Bucknells, but it will be far more bearable with you there to share the amusement of the fellow’s toad-eating. They are a rackety set — the whole Pascall family is rackety — but Edward is devious with it, and especially so since he came into the viscountcy. Do not try the ivories with him, or he will fleece you.”
“Ah! Thank you for the advice. I will be careful. What about cards? Is he a sharp, too?”
“Not that I ever heard, but he is very, very good. You would be too, if you would pay a little more attention to the play, but on your usual form, Toller would relieve you of as much as you cared to lose. He lives well on his skill. He has not sixpence to his name otherwise, so it is a serious business with him.”
“Pockets to let? No wonder he is an ivory-turner, then. With those outlandish clothes he wears, his tailor’s bills must be astronomical. Very well, I shall accompany you to dinner at this Lady Henry Bucknell’s, and try not to lose my fortune to Toller.”
Lady Henry Bucknell was almost as outlandish a dresser as her brother, but somehow her extravagant attire looked less grotesque on her comely form. She was small and plump and prettily coquettish, and Nathan was instantly drawn under her spell. She was just the sort of woman he liked to spend an evening with, and he had got up a light flirtation with her in no time. She was delightfully responsive, with the result that he was invited to sit beside her at dinner, paying her increasingly extravagant compliments and enjoying her blushes and smiles and rather salacious gossip. In a few years time, when her early bloom had faded and she was just another matron wearing too much rouge and an over-decorated gown, he would have no interest in her at all, but for one otherwise dull evening in London, she was exactly to his taste.
He was so engrossed with his hostess that it was not until the ladies withdrew and he congregated with the men at the other end of the table that he discovered that a ship had sunk in the English Channel, taking with it England’s newest duke.
“Six months he had the title, poor fellow,” said one elderly member of the Bucknell clan. “Only seven and twenty, and his future wife waiting for him at home.”
“But she will not be too despondent,” someone else said. “She has a ready substitute in hand, and the younger boy was always the better bet. Very sound, is Randolph.”
“What happened?” Nathan said. “Was there a storm that blew up unexpectedly?”
It was Toller who answered. “My cousin at the Admiralty says it was a calm night with good visibility, so they are suspecting poor navigation. Devil of a tragedy, though. Those brigs are generally solid little vessels, perfectly reliable and easy to sail. Only coming from Dublin, and that is hardly a great step.”
Nathan’s ears pricked. Dublin? “What was the name of the vessel?”
“No idea. Farquharson, you read the newspapers, what was it called, this brig?”
“Let me see…” He rummaged in a pocket, and pulled out a scrap of paper. “Trehowick… twenty six souls aboard her… three survivors… ah, here we are. The Brig Minerva.”
The Brig Minerva. Commanded by Captain Jude Caldicott. Who might, even now, be lying at the bottom of the sea. He would never hit his wife again.
But on the other hand, there were three survivors…
~~~~~
“Only three?” Nell said, looking up from the stitches she was unpicking.
“So Mr Weekes said,” Maria said. “Three survivors, and one is Mr Blackwell, the Second Mate, and one is the Kibble boy.”
“And the third?”
“Not yet known, but a man, not a boy. He is injured and too ill to be talked to, but Mr Blackwell is to go to identify him. I think, my dear Nell, we must be prepared for the worst.”
“I am already prepared,” Nell said. “Would you be so good as to hold the end of this strip of lace? It is much easier to see the stitches that hold it in place that way.”
“Are you truly intending to dye this gown? It would be much better to buy a length of bombazine, if it should be necessary.”
“Oh, I shall do that as well, but I must have more than one gown, Maria.
Imagine how it would look if I wear the same gown every day.”
“But you will go nowhere, Nell. No one will think the worse of you for having only one mourning gown, just at first. Once you start to go about the town again, that will be the time to extend your wardrobe.”
“But I must have something to do!” Nell cried, fully aware that she sounded on the verge of hysteria. “I must be busy, my hands must be busy for that prevents me from thinking quite so much.”
“Of course, dear,” Maria said, sitting down beside her at the worktable and giving her a quick hug. “But let us not do anything precipitate — no dyeing, or expensive purchases of bombazine — until we know the worst.”
“Maria, I know the worst,” she said heavily. “He is dead, and there is an end to it. I enter the state of widowhood, and my life is over.”
“No!” Maria said fiercely. “One part of your life is over, perhaps, but— Nell, I tell you truly, in friendship, which permits me to speak to you with a freedom you would not allow to others, that you are better off without him. No, do not protest, for you know it to be so. He has been the focus of your life for nine years, and you cannot imagine a life without him, but if he is gone, then you are free again. Free to be yourself, and not this timid creature you have become. Free to marry again, perhaps.”
“Never!” Nell cried, horrified. Then, more quietly, she said, “I shall never marry again. Never.”
“Well, that’s as may be, but you still have your life to live out as best you can. You have Louis to think about now.”
“Yes.” Nell straightened her spine. “Louis… I must think about Louis. But first I must get all the lace off this gown so that it can be dyed. It will take the dye very well, I feel, for it is such a plain colour. One cannot dye patterns at all, for the pattern always shows through and just think how unsuitable for deep mourning! But this is so plain that, once the lace is off, it will take the dye beautifully. And my velvet pelisse… that might be dyed, as well. I shall need a pelisse in a month or two, when I start to go about a little.”
The Widow (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 1) Page 4
