The Lost Duchess

by Jenny Barden

  ‘I kept thinking that the ship was going to strike a reef and I’d have only minutes to get Mistress Dare up on deck and then there wouldn’t be enough room for everyone on the boats. We’d be doomed, anyway, wouldn’t we?’ She faltered to a pause. ‘If the Lion was wrecked, we’d never get to Chesapeake … I can’t swim,’ she added, and choked back a little noise that she didn’t mean to make at all, a kind of sob that she tried to turn into a laugh because she would not give way to the deep terror that was gnawing at her.

  He offered her the crock. ‘Have some yourself. It will do you good.’

  She shook her head, and pushed it gently back, keeping her fingers away from his.

  ‘Try not to fret,’ he said. ‘I expect the soundings disturbed your dreams.’

  One of the leadsmen by the chains called the depth, his voice straining against the wind: ‘By the mark, seven.’

  Kit drank quietly from the crock.

  The cool wind gusting from the north carried the faint smell of marsh and cedars. They were not far from land, but was it the wilderness around Roanaoke or somewhere more desolate?

  Another call came from the darkness.

  ‘By the deep, six.’

  She could picture them: leaning out to throw down their plummets, balanced on the chain plates at the side of the hull, one hand clinging to a shroud, the other pulling up the line and feeling for the leather discs that marked the fathoms. But she could not see any of it.

  She tried to read Kit’s face and made out only a shadow under the stars.

  ‘What do the soundings tell you?’

  ‘That there’s plenty of sea beneath us, at least for now.’

  ‘But that could change in an instant.’

  ‘It could. We could find the inlet to Roanoke Sound and a few days after that we could be on our way to Chesapeake. It’s probably only a week away now.’

  ‘Another week,’ she said, and felt her heart sinking. When Ferdinando had announced mistakenly that they’d reached Croatoan, she had thought the long voyage would soon be over. That was four days ago.

  Kit bent to tuck the empty crock into the netting behind the bulwark.

  ‘You’ve been at sea nearly three months. I’m sure you can bear another week on this ship. Or is the company so terrible?’

  ‘No.’ She sensed he was trying to cheer her, and she smiled because he would not be able to see it. ‘Some of the company I have found very congenial,’ she said, making an effort to better his drollery, ‘even if latterly rather over-assertive and opinionated …’

  ‘Over-assertive and opinionated? You must mean Master Ferdinando.’

  ‘I most certainly do not!’ She put him right instantly, appalled at the notion of valuing Ferdinando’s oleaginous company, and the next moment regretting that she’d ever been drawn into an exchange of banter. Now Kit might suppose that she was encouraging him with quips when in fact she meant no such thing since he had not yet atoned for his rudeness.

  A leadsman called again. ‘By the mark, five.’

  Kit looked round. She could see his head snapping back, suddenly tense and alert, his face upturned to the stars, then moving slowly down as if scanning the lightless shoreline and wide open sea. The waves beat against the side of the ship, and the roll was as great as she’d ever known it, though she felt they were moving no faster than a ponderous walk. The bleak black dunes that edged the coast like ragged braid seemed to ripple along as if trailing behind a mourner.

  Kit gripped the gunwale and looked over the side. He gave a shout to the helm.

  ‘East by nor-east.’

  ‘East by nor-east,’ the helmsman repeated, and the wind flurried the few sails that had been set as the Lion changed her bearings.

  She imagined the sea bed sliding beneath them and hidden danger up ahead: some reef or shoal. Why else had they turned?

  ‘Is Master Ferdinando not here?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s below decks this watch.’

  She was relieved but did not say so.

  He reached into his pocket and took out the instrument she had seen him looking at before, like a fat metal disc that nestled in his palm: a miniature astrolabe. She recognised it from those she had seen in the royal palaces, and the one with which Ferdinando took readings from the sun most days. Was it usual for a Boatswain to have such a thing? She did not see how it could be any use without the almanacs and charts that Ferdinando kept in his cabin.

  He held the instrument to the stars, squinting through the sighting pins and turning the tiny spindle.

  She tugged lightly at his sleeve. She could do that without any qualms: touch a man by his clothes. She did not like to seek Kit’s attention, but for once she sensed an opportunity to talk in private and he seemed prepared to listen despite their past altercation.

  He lowered the astrolabe, and she faced him. There were things she felt Kit should know, concerns that she could not keep to herself any longer.

  ‘Governor White thinks that Master Ferdinando is intent on destroying us all. He has said so to Ananias Dare in front of me. He says “our Simon” is an agent of the devil and that he’ll lead us into oblivion if he doesn’t run the ship aground first.’

  Kit gave a sigh that sounded as if he was bottling up his exasperation.

  ‘White should be more careful with his remarks. What benefit is there in whipping up anxiety? I’m sorry he has upset you. Has he voiced these concerns to anyone else?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘And you’ve not repeated them?’

  She bowed her head.

  ‘Only to you.’

  ‘Good.’

  He hunched his shoulders and turned away.

  She stood beside him and stared into the darkness, seeing nothing but the gleam of the ocean below the sparkling stars, and the stern lantern of the little pinnace, like a firefly hovering at a distance, seeming to wink on and off with the rise and fall of the swell. Then another wave struck abeam and she almost lost her footing.

  Kit steadied her, and she started, only to find that she could bear his arms around her so long as his face was away from hers and he did not try to grasp her hands, but then his hold loosened and he took a step back. Why did he do that? It left her strangely disappointed. Though she did not want him to hold her, his desire to do so was reassuring. But perhaps he no longer sought the kind of intimate contact with her he had done once, such as the time when he had tried to hold her hand at Durham Place. She felt both more at ease with him and more perplexed. Was he interested in her any longer?

  ‘What will become of us?’ she whispered. ‘It is not only the Governor’s fears that trouble me, but my own. Consider everything that has happened …’

  She took a breath, wanting to pour out all the worries that had brought her close to despair, and talk of the seeds of mistrust that Walsingham had planted in her mind, because if Ferdinando was really an agent for Spain then the colonists were probably doomed, she could see that now, and all the setbacks that had so far dogged the voyage seemed only to confirm this was so. Yet how could she warn Kit without saying too much and coming close to breaking her promise to keep secret her task for the Queen? Would he even believe her?

  ‘Consider what exactly?’ he asked.

  ‘Think of all the assurances that Ferdinando gave us that have amounted to nothing, all the things we have need of that he said we’d collect on the way: fruit and saplings for planting; cattle, sheep and salt; we have failed to find any of them. We sailed all around Hispaniola without stopping once. We were meant to collect salt at St John’s and that was abandoned for no clear reason. He has not guided us well, Kit. We’ve lost our supply boat and two experienced soldiers, and now the Spaniards will probably be alert to our plans. If we ever reach Chesapeake we’ll have little food left, and it will be too late to grow crops before the winter sets in. Even if we find game we won’t be able to salt it …’ She pointed to the astrolabe he held in his fist. ‘I hope you can use this, Kit, beca
use, I beg you, do not trust Ferdinando to tell us where we are.’

  He put the instrument back in his pocket, and kept her on her feet when the next wave struck, but again he let her go once the rolling of the deck had settled, just when she thought he might hold her a little closer.

  ‘Have courage,’ he said. ‘I believe we’re on the right course. I’ve sailed this coast before with Drake. We’re following hundreds of miles of sand banks, stretched between a few treacherous capes, looking for a handful of narrow inlets to a vast lagoon the size of Wales. If we miss the inlets, there’ll be no easy way back; if we get trapped behind a cape, we’re likely to be wrecked. This is one of the most difficult coasts to navigate so do not judge Ferdinando too rashly. White is over-reacting to talk of being led by the devil; pay no heed to it. We must pull together and not let suspicion weaken us. Ferdinando has been cautious, perhaps too cautious, but that doesn’t make him intent on undermining this voyage. The collecting White had in mind would have amounted to stealing from under the noses of the Spaniards and, poorly armed as we are, with women and children, I can understand why Ferdinando was loath to take that risk.’

  ‘But how could he have been so wrong about the last anchorage? He’s the Pilot …’

  ‘Here.’ Kit reached down to the netting behind the bulwark and pulled out something like a long hilted sword. ‘Take this.’

  He held the shaft out to her; it was blunt and square sided, about three feet long.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A cross staff. It’s one of the easiest ways of reckoning latitude by the stars. Help me find out where we are.’

  He glanced around as if to check that all was quiet then moved to stand behind her, guiding her hands gently to the staff and pointing it up towards the heavens. The contact was brief but bearable, even pleasurable. He wasn’t holding her but the pole, and he was being courteous.

  ‘Aim at the North Star, the brightest; it’s over there. Imagine you’re firing at it.’

  His arms took the weight, and she could see the star he meant, shining intensely, fairly low in the sky, like a brilliant diamond in a glittering mantle. She leant against him, and his chest was like a bolster behind her shoulders, and his neck pillowed her head.

  ‘Put the base of the staff to your cheek,’ he said gently. ‘But be careful. Hold it firmly and use the transom like a sight. It should be vertical, like this.’

  He touched her right hand and led her fingers to the wooden crosspiece, sliding it along until it covered the bright star.

  ‘Now lower the staff a little and move the transom until the North Star seems to sit on the top edge and the horizon seems to hang along the bottom.’

  The staff wavered as she fought to hold it steady and position the transom as he’d asked. Her body swayed with the roll of the ship and her feet kept taking little uncalled-for dancing steps. His instructions had sounded simple, but no sooner had she got the staff aligned with the star than the horizon swung away, and each tiny movement of the crosspiece threw everything out completely. But she would not give up.

  ‘Steady,’ he said. ‘Let your body relax. Move with the ship and don’t hold your breath.’

  How did he know she was holding her breath? She breathed out and made another tiny adjustment and then, for an instant, she was sure she had it: the star and sea were at either end of the bar.

  ‘That’s it!’ she cried with a rush of triumph.

  ‘Hold the transom there. Don’t move.’ He put his hands over hers and gripped the transom. ‘Let me see.’

  She surrendered the staff and watched him take it to the helm and the lantern that was kept there. His face lit up in planes while he bent over to take the readings. She saw elements of his features, through the frame of the helmsman’s window, glowing like an illumination in hues of sepia and gold: a downcast eye, his furrowed brow, part of his bearded jaw at a quizzical angle. He was as handsome as an angel in a stained-glass window.

  Then the ship’s bell began tolling and he came over to her quickly. She counted eight couplets and knew the watch would be changing, the half-hour glass had been turned and the time was now midnight. At once the ship was alive with activity; men darted about, hailing one another, padding over the decks, shinning up out of hatches and scrambling down for their rest. She heard a splash and low chanting that told her the log had been thrown to reckon the ship’s speed.

  ‘Two knots,’ someone shouted.

  The Lion crept along, rolling as if drunk, waves slapping hard against her side.

  ‘By the deep, five.’

  ‘East by south,’ Kit called out.

  ‘Two knots. East by south,’ the helmsman repeated.

  She clutched at the gunwale, feeling the change in direction again. Was anything wrong? Why were they moving southeast when Roanoke was meant to lie to the north?

  ‘Do you know where we are?’ She asked with faint hope, unable to believe that her fumbling with the cross staff might have helped yield an answer.

  He tucked the staff back behind the netting and took hold of the rail with his arm stretched straight.

  ‘According to the measurement you just took and Harriot’s charts, we’re between thirty-four and thirty-five degrees north.’ His reply was crisp, as if he wanted to have done with it. Was he hiding something?

  ‘Is that right for Roanoke?’

  ‘It could be, given the allowance we should make for error.’

  ‘My hands shaking, you mean.’

  ‘That, and the fact that the art of navigation is not exact.’

  ‘But you are concerned, aren’t you?’ She moved closer to him, sensing his unease. ‘You took readings from an astrolabe as well. Do you think we’re still too far south for Roanoke?’

  His silence answered her.

  ‘Does Ferdinando know?’

  ‘I don’t think our Pilot would appreciate hearing observations on navigation from his Boatswain.’ He inclined his head. ‘Or from you.’

  ‘I suppose he would not.’

  ‘I take readings for my own benefit to test the little I have learnt; that is all. I wouldn’t rely on them.’

  ‘But I would, Kit. I trust you more than …’

  A man’s bellowing interrupted her.

  ‘Master Doonan!’ The voice was Ferdinando’s, strident and reproving.

  ‘Why are we sailing this course? You should be following the coast, not sailing away from it.’

  She shrank against the bulwark as Kit stepped forwards on the poop.

  ‘Look ahead, Master. See the way the waves are breaking to the east? I think that might be a shoal around a hidden bight. We could be in danger of getting caught to leeward.’

  ‘Or it could be the inlet to Roanoke Sound and those waves could be caused by the flow out to sea. Get back on course!’

  Kit moved to the steps and spoke to Ferdinando in an undertone.

  ‘There’s a treacherous cape in this region with a shape like a hook. I remember it well from my last voyage with Drake …’

  ‘Don’t give me Drake!’ Ferdinando’s voice cut him short, like a bullet blasting from the darkness. ‘Obey your orders. East by north, and closer ashore. Would you have us sail past the channel?’

  Kit turned and Emme heard the shrill blast of his whistle.

  ‘East by north,’ he called. ‘Hands to the cables. Slacken the port top foresail sheet. Haul to starboard …’

  His orders continued as Ferdinando climbed up from the afterdeck.

  ‘Who’s that with you?’

  She edged towards the steps on the other side, thinking that she’d go down and leave by the mizzen hatch, but Ferdinando got in front of her first.

  ‘Mistress Murimuth! I see you are up on deck again when you should be below.’

  His tone was light with a hint of mockery and nothing to suggest any apprehension of impending disaster. But his confidence did not reassure her.

  She stepped back towards the stern, gripping the rail.

&n
bsp; ‘Do not let me distract you, Master Ferdinando. I was on the point of leaving after bringing some pottage for those on watch. I’ll not trouble you, save to ask you, please, to consider the warning I’ve just heard, because it seems to me that those waves ahead are indeed very rough. They appear to be foaming, wouldn’t you agree?’

  He loomed closer and put one hand behind his back. She imagined it bunched tight in the shape of a fist.

  ‘The sea is as disturbed as I would expect at a confluence,’ he said loftily. ‘We are looking for Port Ferdinando, a passage named after me because I discovered it. No one knows this coast as well as I. We cannot risk missing the only safe way into the sound because we are too far away to spot it.’ He brought his fist down onto the rail, close to her hand, making her spring back. ‘Now I think I have justified my decisions quite enough. I shall be …’

  A blinding beam of light cut him short, lighting him up like a spectre. He stared back, blanched white and startled.

  The Bo’sun’s whistle made her jump again; then she heard Kit’s voice, urgent and insistent.

  ‘About! Hard to starboard. Turn about!’

  ‘Hard to starboard,’ the helmsman called, and the ship heeled as the whipstaff slid. Emme grabbed hold of a shroud, almost losing her balance. Canvas slapped and timbers groaned. The Lion turned against the waves, hull shivering as if kicked.

  ‘More sail! All hands! Spill and set sail!’

  Kit’s orders rang out and men dashed to respond, darting up rigging, yanking at furling gaskets, freeing the sails to catch the wind from the land.

  ‘Haul the main halyard. Due south …’

  ‘South.’ The call was repeated. ‘Turn about.’

  Ferdinando leant over the gunwale, looking to the source of the light, and Emme saw the stern lantern of the pinnace, much closer now, and another lantern swinging wildly as if in a signal.

  ‘Stafford!’ Ferdinando called. ‘What mean you?’