by Laura Martin
‘It is in God’s hands,’ the captain said.
Thomas saw the concern on the older man’s face and cursed inwardly. He’d sailed on many ships, weathered many storms, but he wasn’t more than six months pregnant. Rosa would be uncomfortable and frightened and worried for her unborn child.
With quick strides he crossed the deck and swung himself down the narrow stairs. He wouldn’t take no for an answer—today Rosa would let him into her room.
Thomas knocked firmly on the door, needing to hold his ear against it to listen for an answer over the whistling of the wind. Nothing, just silence. Cursing under his breath he rattled the door handle and to his surprise found the door swung inwards with no resistance. The sight that greeted his eyes made his blood chill.
Rosa was curled up on the bed, hugging her knees as best she could with the bump in the way. Her face was drained of blood, completely white surrounded by her tousled dark hair. Petrified eyes stared up at him without really seeing him.
‘Rosa, what’s wrong?’ Thomas asked, rushing to her side. ‘Is it the baby?’
He looked for the blood, for a sign that something was wrong with the small life inside her, and felt an immense relief when she shook her head.
He sat down next to her, grasping her hands in his own. They were icy cold and trembling and he could see the dents where her nails had dug into the skin of her hands.
‘Rosa, what’s wrong?’
Shuddering Rosa manoeuvred herself up into a sitting position and then flung her arms round Thomas’s neck and buried her face in the space between his head and shoulder. He felt her warm breath on his skin, felt the fluttering of her heart in her chest and realised she was petrified.
‘Is it the storm?’
A miniscule nod.
Slowly Thomas felt the icy dread begin to ebb away. He’d thought something was physically wrong with Rosa, something he wouldn’t be able to fix. Fear of the storm was distressing for her, but with soothing words of comfort he could at least ease a little of her terror.
He raised a hand to her head and stroked her hair with long, slow movements.
‘Hush,’ he said softly. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m here. I’ve got you.’
With a light touch he traced his fingers down her back, keeping her close to him and trying to draw away the pure fear he’d seen in her eyes.
The ship was rocking now, listing side to side as the waves no doubt battered it outside. The small pieces of furniture in the room were just beginning to slide backwards and forward with the movement and Thomas knew before long they would have to secure anything loose that might cause injury. Luckily Rosa did not have much in the way of belongings, just a small bundle of clothes and a couple of books borrowed from the captain. Apart from the bed there was a small chair and table, a shelf with a mirror above it that he supposed acted as a dressing table, and a ceramic washbowl.
‘Rosa, I need to make this room safe for us,’ Thomas said softly, eyeing the ceramic washbowl as it teetered precariously on its stand. ‘I am going to let go for just a minute, remove the loose furniture from the room and then I will be straight back with you.’
She looked up at him, naked fear still in her eyes, but nodded nervously.
Quickly he stood, grabbed the washbowl and chair, dragged them out of the room and down the narrow corridor. He flung both into his own cabin before returning for the small table and the books and repeating the journey. No doubt things would break and get damaged in the storm, but all he cared about was keeping Rosa safe from flying debris.
Closing the door firmly behind him, Thomas took his place by Rosa’s side again. She’d regained a little colour in her cheeks and this time instead of burying her head in his chest she managed to look up at him and give him a weak smile.
‘I suppose you think I’m very foolish,’ she murmured.
‘There’s nothing foolish about being scared of a storm,’ Thomas replied. Many a good ship had been sunk in storms just like this one and many good men lost their lives. Living by the coast, so close to Portsmouth, had taught Thomas to respect the sea and acknowledge the power of the weather in determining the fate of ships and their sailors.
‘I’ve always been scared of them,’ Rosa said, giving a little self-deprecating laugh.
‘You were scared as a child?’
‘I remember when the storms would come I would hide under my bed, make a fortress with pillows and my favourite doll.’ Rosa frowned at the memory. ‘And then one day my mother came into the room and dragged me out, told me I was too old to be hiding from the storm. She pulled me all the way downstairs and out into the rain and made me stand there until the thunder was rumbling overhead.’
‘That’s cruel.’
‘I know. I think she meant to cure me of my fear, but ever since then I’ve been even more afraid.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ He paused and then decided to go on. ‘When I was a boy if there was a storm my brother would wake me and pull me from my bed. Together we would creep up to one of the attic windows and watch the lightning fork across the sky and try to guess when the thunder would rattle the window frames.’
‘I often wished for a brother or sister to share those moments with,’ Rosa said.
‘I miss him.’
Rosa looked at him and Thomas realised he had not spoken to her about his brother before. When she had questioned him on their journey across northern Italy he had answered abruptly and refused to talk any more of his family. He didn’t talk often about his father or his brother, it was too painful to remember them as they had been in the prime of their lives before the illness had struck. Thomas felt an unfamiliar lump growing in his throat as he pictured Michael grinning as he led him into some mischief, laughing as they ran across the fields on the estate and looking after him when Thomas had first been sent to join his brother at school.
‘You loved him very much, didn’t you?’
He nodded. More than anyone else. He’d mourned his father when he’d died, felt the sadness descending on him and shed tears as he’d realised he would never get to talk to his father, hug his father, ever again, but it had been Michael’s illness and death that had felt like a mortal blow. It was so unfair that someone so kind, so full of happiness and light, could be snatched away so cruelly.
‘I’m sorry you lost him,’ Rosa said, squeezing his hand.
‘It was a long time ago.’ It still felt like yesterday. Thomas could remember every detail from the day Michael had called him home and sat him down, how he’d tried to explain the disease that had claimed their father was now coming for him. Thomas had seen the naked fear in his brother’s eyes and knew this was the worse fate; to know you were slowly going to lose the use of your body and mind and not be able to do a single thing about it.
‘It doesn’t matter how long ago it was, I don’t think losing someone you love ever stops hurting.’
Thomas glanced up, saw Rosa’s pale, anxious face and realised in that moment how much he had wronged her. She was kind and gentle and deserved so much more than the deceit and lies he’d built their relationship on.
‘I’m sorry, Rosa,’ he said.
Her eyes widened with surprise at his words.
‘What for?’
‘For everything. I’ve treated you badly.’
The ship lurched to one side, almost hurling them off the bed, and Rosa clutched at his arm so hard it hurt. Quickly Thomas gathered her to him, pulling her on to his lap whilst shuffling further back on the bed.
‘I think I have some explaining to do.’
Chapter Seventeen
Rosa eyed Thomas warily. She felt strangely safe gathered up in his arms and sitting on his lap. The lurching of the ship seemed less worrisome with his arms around her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still angry
with him.
‘I’m not sure where to start,’ Thomas said, smiling weakly at her.
‘Why did you want to marry me?’ Rosa asked.
He sighed, lifted his hand and ran it through his hair before pulling her a little closer to him.
‘So many reasons. I like you, Rosa.’
‘I like many people, our butler at home, the captain of this ship, the man who serves those wonderful iced buns in Hyde Park. Liking someone is not enough of a reason to marry.’
‘I know. I think I need to tell you a little more about my family.’
Rosa saw him look down at her and realised he was nervous. Thomas, the man who fought off armed bandits without breaking a sweat, Thomas, who had scaled the ship’s rigging with the crew to help on particularly blustery days, was nervous about revealing the truth about himself.
‘When I was born I was my parents’ younger son. My brother was already being groomed to take over the running of the estate that he would inherit when he became the next Lord Hunter. I would perhaps go into the army or make myself useful to my brother.’
‘Did your parents treat you differently?’
‘Not really. We had the same education. The same love and care from our parents. It was more my perception of our roles. Michael had to be serious, to work hard. I could have a little more freedom.’
He paused and smiled softly, as if remembering the good times of his childhood. The smile faltered suddenly as he continued.
‘When I was eight my father became unwell. It was gradual—first he started having twitches in his limbs, uncontrollable movements. Then he started forgetting things he would normally have had no trouble remembering. And then his personality, his whole being, changed.’
Rosa held back from asking the question that was on the tip of her tongue. He would tell her if he desired what had caused the disease, whether it was syphilis or some other contagion.
‘Over the years he declined, forgetting who we were, forgetting who he was. In the end it was a blessing when he died. At least he wasn’t suffering any longer.’ Thomas paused as the ship creaked after being buffeted by a particularly large wave. Rosa realised her anxiety over the storm had lessened since becoming so engrossed in Thomas’s story.
‘How awful,’ she murmured, realising how devastated she would be to lose her father.
‘It was then Mother sat us down and explained what our father never could.’
Rosa looked up at him as the silence stretched out, wondering what it was that was so awful, what secret their father had been hiding.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she said, hating the anguish in his eyes.
‘I do. You deserve to know. You’re part of this now, part of the family.’
A clash of thunder sounded close by, reverberating around the ship, and making Rosa jump and cling on to Thomas. He waited for her to relax a little, for her breathing to become steady and her fingers to relax their grip, before continuing.
‘There is a disease in my father’s family, the Hunter family curse they call it,’ he said, laughing without any trace of humour. ‘It is handed down from generation to generation. Not everyone is affected, but there is no way of knowing why one person may suffer whilst another is spared.’
Rosa felt her eyes widen. Of course she had heard rumours of such things, whispered gossip about the families you didn’t want to marry into, those that had an unnaturally high rate of madness or premature death, but she’d never actually met anyone who had confirmed these rumours before.
‘My mother sobbed as she told us, knowing she was giving us something worse than a death sentence.’
Rosa felt all the blood drain from her face.
‘You’re afflicted?’ He couldn’t be, not Thomas. He was so vivacious, so alive. She couldn’t imagine a world where he was struck down with the sort of illness he’d described.
Thomas shrugged. ‘Who knows? That’s the biggest cruelty. So far I have not exhibited any signs, but some people are affected at the age of twenty, some not until they are sixty. You have an entire lifetime to obsess about whether you will be afflicted.’
‘And your brother?’ Rosa asked, realising the truth behind his brother’s death.
‘He first showed symptoms at the age of twenty—he died nearly four years ago now.’
Rosa saw the pain on Thomas’s face and felt the tears well up in her eyes. He’d suffered so much, lost so many close to him, and still he had to live with the uncertainty of never knowing if one day he would wake up with the signs of the disease.
‘I can’t imagine anything worse,’ Rosa said, trying to digest everything. It now made sense why he had spent so long travelling the world, his burning desire to do as much as possible right now. Rosa knew anything could happen to anyone, people were struck down with particularly severe chest infections or were thrown from horses, but that was always an abstract threat to your life. She couldn’t imagine having something like this hanging over her. She supposed he must feel chased, haunted even, as if he needed to keep moving, keep experiencing new things so he would have no regrets if he did become ill.
‘So now you understand why I can never have children of my own.’
Rosa frowned.
‘I will not risk passing this on to my own offspring. This curse, this affliction, will stop with me.’
Suddenly a few more pieces of the puzzle fell into place. She’d thought it strange when Thomas had insisted he would not want any children, had dismissed her worries about him claiming her unborn child as his heir only to regret it when wanting a son of his own. Thomas had a very good reason never to want children, not any that might carry this awful affliction into the next generation.
‘I never thought I would marry, Rosa,’ Thomas said quietly. ‘I’d resigned myself to a single life, but I did recognise my decisions had consequences for others. By marrying you I get an heir, one that I can be certain will not have to live his life in fear of this disease. I get a wife to take an interest in my estate whilst I am away and keep my mother company. And I get to protect you and a child who has done nothing wrong but will otherwise be stigmatised their entire life.’
Rosa felt a shiver run through her body. They were all very good reasons, very practical reasons. Everything he was saying made sense, but her brain couldn’t help but replay one little phrase: whilst I am away. He was planning on delivering her back to England and setting off on his travels again. She would have a husband in name, but nothing more, not really. She would lose Thomas, the man she rather thought she would find it impossible to be without. These last few weeks of ignoring him had been pure hell for her. She’d missed his smile, his witty quips, his sharp observations about the other passengers. Every day she’d wished for his apology so she could go back to enjoying his company.
‘When you turned up in my life it seemed like too good an opportunity to miss.’
The ship lurched suddenly and Rosa almost went tumbling off Thomas’s lap and on to the floor. He caught her at the last minute, pressing her close to his body. Rosa placed one hand on his chest and looked up into his eyes.
Their faces were close, so close she could have tilted her chin just slightly and their lips would be touching.
‘And of course you never wanted our wedding night,’ Rosa said softly.
She saw Thomas swallow, saw his lips part and his pupils dilate just a fraction.
‘It’s not about what I want and what I don’t want, Rosa,’ he said, his voice low and gruff. ‘I cannot risk passing this disease on, cannot risk siring offspring of my own. I will not do it.’
Rosa felt her heart squeeze in her chest. It was admirable, really, his determination to stop anyone else suffering as he had. She couldn’t imagine what it was like, losing first your father and then your brother, knowing all the time you might be next.
> She sat cradled in Thomas’s lap, her heart pounding every time the ship tilted, sending her few loose possessions over the room, and tried not to cry. Thomas’s resolve was admirable, but it also meant they would never have a proper marriage. Not the marriage she had fantasised about on her wedding day.
* * *
Thomas felt drained. He’d never told anyone about the Hunter family curse before, never put into words his pledges and promises to himself, but Rosa was special. She was his wife. She would share the fear of the future now...she would be affected by the disease almost as much as he.
‘If I do begin to exhibit symptoms, I will not ask you to look after me,’ he said.
‘You wouldn’t have to ask. I’m your wife.’
He shook his head. ‘I do not wish to burden anyone more than is necessary. In a few weeks I will set off for the Americas or perhaps China. If I become ill I have enough funds to pay for someone to look after me.’
‘Of course it is your choice,’ Rosa said, a little stiffly. ‘But just remember when you care for someone it is no chore looking after them.’
She didn’t understand, not really. Didn’t grasp the trajectory of the illness, didn’t grasp that it wasn’t just like nursing someone through a bout of pneumonia, it was years of slow deterioration, with the sufferer slowly becoming more reliant on others to do everything for them.
‘You care for me?’ he asked, the question drowned out by the creaking of the wood surrounding them.
‘What did you say?’ Rosa asked, having to raise her voice to be heard.
A loud rumble of thunder made the ship vibrate and Thomas could feel the waves buffeting it from either side. Rosa was clinging on to him tightly again, her fingers pressing in to his neck. Part of him wanted to bend down and kiss her, to make her forget her fear and get lost instead in pleasure.
That thought was cut short as the ship keeled to one side violently, sending them both tumbling across the room. Thomas managed to catch Rosa before she hit anything and struggled back to the bed with her where he pinned her down.
