“Men might have made it into the boat and been saved if not for us . . . What Miguel did was very wrong.” Her voice disappeared then and Hayden could hear her attempting to find it again. “Miguel keeps saying we might have been murdered or the boat swamped by frightened sailors . . .” A long, shuddering breath. “I think he will do anything to live—to keep us alive. He is so frightened.” She turned a little and looked up at Hayden, her eyes glistening. “Would a court convict him? Has he broken a law?”
“I do not know Spanish law. If he were a sailor, certainly he would be court-martialled and found guilty . . . But he is not a sailor, so I do not know what would be done . . .”
“If no one survived the wreck, then no one knows but Miguel and me . . . and now you.”
“I wish you had not told me,” Hayden whispered.
“I did not want there to be lies between us. I wanted only truth.”
“That truth might force me to tell lies . . . to those to whom I am duty bound to tell the truth.”
“I—I am sorry if I have put you in a difficult place.”
“Do not apologise. You were right—better we have truth between us.” Hayden’s thoughts seemed to be mired in fog. “How long until Miguel comes of age?”
“One year and one half.”
“Not so long . . . You do have an uncle in Vera Cruz?”
“Yes, of course. The brother of my father.”
“And you trust him?”
“With our lives . . . As I do you, Charles.”
The words of Mr Hawthorne came to him then: “the male romantic myth is rescuing the damsel in distress.” Madame Adair, who lived in fear of the guillotine, Madame Bourdage, and the exquisite Heloise. And now Angelita. He did not think of himself as having this tendency, but his recent history would seem to prove otherwise.
What is the difference between a hero and a fool? A fool wears motley . . .
Hayden could not help but wonder if he was being taken for a fool again.
The ship’s bell tolled somewhere deep in the wind.
“I fear I am becoming a terrible burden to you . . .” Angelita whispered.
“No. You have suffered terrible misfortune, but luck is like that, I have found. It will run bad for a time and then all will be well. We must weather the gales and make the most of fair winds.”
“I fear that God has turned against me . . .”
Hayden did not say that he thought all the gods were unaware of her existence, and his as well. “I do not believe that God could turn against someone such as you.”
Hayden paused a moment. “You have done a very brave thing to escape this situation, to cross an ocean.”
“It did not seem brave . . . it was desperate. But here we are, and now I have telled you all my secrets.” Angelita touched his arm. “Sleep well, Charles.”
And with that she retreated quickly behind her screen.
For a long time Hayden stood, his hand upon a deck beam, the ship rolling beneath him, and his mind reeling. Percival had not been lying. There was a woman living in his cabin—a comely and charming young lady!
Ever since Angel and Miguel had stepped aboard he had been dreaming that a woman came to him in the night, as though somehow his senses had known but his waking mind did not believe it.
Hayden undressed and rolled into his cot, where he lay, bemused. But then his thoughts turned to Henrietta, whom he had been missing all these long months.
Dear, dear Henri, he thought. I believed we would marry, have children, and grow old together. Instead you joined your life with another’s, and here am I, between continents—so very far from solid ground—the sea ever and always moving beneath me. I believe, because of your fine and generous heart, you would wish me both love and happiness. But what would you say of this young señorita, who Percival believes is enamoured of me? Perhaps you would be amused by my predicament? I do believe you would say, “Do not look to me, Charles Hayden, for I belong to another.” You have released me . . . but my heart has not yet let go of you.
Ten
A tapping within his dream, discreet, distant; a pause; and then again, more insistently. Of a sudden, Hayden was started awake from a very pleasant dream.
“What is it?” he muttered.
Muffled, from beyond the door.
“Your breakfast, sir.”
“Ah. I have overslept. Give me a moment, Winston.” Hayden rolled out of bed, strangely buoyant, and hummed a tune as he shaved by deadly dim lamplight. His steward laid out his breakfast, and as soon as he was gone, Hayden turned to his servant.
“There is some little pricker in my dress coat, Baines. Will you take it forward to some light and see if you can find it?”
“Shall I not do it here, sir?”
“I can pour my own coffee, Baines.”
“As you wish, sir, but where in the coat shall I search?”
“Lodged in the lining, somewhere in the back. You will find it if you put it on, I should think.”
“Aye, sir.” He fetched his captain’s coat and went out.
As soon as the servants had left, a fully dressed Angelita appeared and took a seat at his table.
“You look rather like a girl dressed for a masquerade,” he whispered.
She put a finger to her lips. “Shh! You must not even say such a thing in private.” She tilted her head towards the door, where a marine stood guard outside.
“Well then, Don Angel,” Hayden said aloud, “you slept well, I trust?”
“I had very odd dreams,” Angelita replied, pouring coffee for two. “I dreamed I was a common player—in, perhaps, one of Señor Shakespeare’s plays—and I was, if you can credit it, a woman dressed as a man.”
“That is very odd. What was the gist of this play?”
“It is something of a jumble in my mind, but I believe there was also a man—a knight, I seem to remember—and I became his page . . .”
“Like Sancho Panza?”
“Oh, nothing like him! But we travelled the land searching for a necklace, I think—a magical necklace that had the power to reverse enchantments. I remember . . . it was to reverse the enchantment on a princess who had been turned into an ass! The knight was in love with this princess, but she was bespelled by another—that is why he searched for the necklace—to break the spell and win her regard.”
“I wonder if I have not seen this play . . . ?”
“Only if you were in my dream. So the knight and the page—who was a woman disguised as a man—travelled, and had many adventures, until finally they came at last to the cave of an ogre. The knight and the ogre fought a terrible battle, but finally the knight prevailed and took the necklace from the ogre’s cave. For safekeeping he put it around his own neck, but when he did so the strangest thing occurred—an enchantment, of which he was unaware, was lifted from him . . .” Angelita appeared to run out of words and, embarrassed, shrugged and threw up her hands.
“But you must finish. What was the nature of the spell that was lifted?”
Angelita coloured a little. “I do not know; at that moment I awaked.”
“Well, that is a strange dream. And the page who had dressed as a man—what became of her?”
“The dream ended before I could know.”
“Ah . . . Well, it is a very incomplete story.”
“Maybe tonight I will dream the ending.”
“But what of the princess who was turned into an ass . . . ?”
Angelita shrugged. “She must have so remained. But she was very foolish not to return the knight’s love, so I feel very little pity for her.”
Hayden arrived on the deck as the pervasive grey of early morning overspread the world. All but a few of the brightest stars had been absorbed into this watery sky, which Hayden well knew could prove blue and cloudless in but half an hour.
“Maybe tonight I will dream the ending,” she had said. Maybe Hayden himself would have that dream.
Archer spotted him and came striding over the deck, shaking him out of one course of thought.
“Have we our tow in sight, Mr Archer?”
“She is a mile off, sir, north-east by east.” The lieutenant gestured towards a dim point of light. “Our wind has taken off, Captain, and comes from all points. We are slatting about, but I would venture we shall have the trade again by noon. If this lump would only go down, sir, our sails and gear would be the better for it.”
Hayden put a hand on the binnacle to steady himself as a train of larger seas rolled the ship. There was not wind enough to keep the sails full, and as Archer had said, they slatted and thrashed about in their gear.
“How I hate it when the wind leaves and the sea stays on like an unwanted guest.” Archer’s tone was bitter and his look resentful.
“Like a mother-in-law who you cannot possibly ask to leave.” This observation came from the marine lieutenant, who appeared out of the murk.
“What would you know of mothers-in-law, Mr Hawthorne?” This was Barthe, who had emerged but an instant before from the companionway.
“Enough to know that they are largely to be avoided, Mr Barthe. Have you reason to complain of your wife’s begetter?”
“She is a saint, in truth, perhaps the sweetest-tempered creature ever produced by the fair month of June.”
“Given the foul nature of her son-in-law, she would either be a saint or a scold. No one else would survive,” Hawthorne parried.
“Well, I cannot argue that,” Barthe replied.
Hayden directed his gaze to the slaver, but the growing light had swallowed its dim lamps.
“There is no advantage to taking up our tow until this sea goes down a little and the trade is reestablished, but let us shift nearer as soon as we may. I should like to hail her master and be certain all is well.”
The sky continued to brighten and then the eastern horizon announced the coming of the sun. There was still some cloud, but all of a pure, benign nature.
“On deck!” came the call from above. “Sail on the starboard quarter and hull down.”
No one on the deck could make out this ship for some time, and then the sun lifted clear of the sea and illuminated the distant sail.
“See the men fed, Mr Archer, and then we shall beat to quarters.”
“Aye, sir.” Archer was off at a run.
Angelita appeared on deck and began searching the ocean anxiously. Hayden beckoned her near and held out his glass.
“Is this one of the frigates you sailed with?”
She took the glass awkwardly but with the sea running could not keep the distant ship in its small circle. She passed it back to Hayden and shrugged. He could not help but note that the morning’s glow had gone; she appeared pale and drawn now.
Miguel emerged from below and lumbered over to the rail near Hayden and his sister. He, too, had a look through Hayden’s glass, but after a few seconds thrust it back towards Hayden; then he leaned over the rail and was horribly ill. He slipped down onto the deck then, with his back against the bulwark, and Hayden had a hand fetch him some water.
Within half an hour the drum called the men to their stations and the guns were cast free.
“Do not open ports, Mr Archer. With this damned sea running we shall take water over the sills.” Hayden walked a few paces forward and found the lookout on the main-tops. “Does she have wind, Price?”
“Her sails will fill a moment, sir, and then ’tis all thrown out again. I get a glimpse of her now and then, sir, and imagine she might be a frigate, Captain.”
“Pass the word for Mr Wickham,” Hayden ordered Maxwell, one of the new reefers.
A moment later, Lord Arthur appeared, his glass in hand.
“I believe you will have guessed my orders, Mr Wickham?”
“Up to the tops, sir, on the double.”
Hayden nodded. “I should like to know if she is one of ours, or if we are in for a fight.”
He watched Wickham go hand over hand up the ratlines, his useless finger more in the way than not.
Just as Wickham hauled himself onto the main-top, seas reached them, originating in the north-east, and these collided with the leftover slop from the gale, producing a sea that tossed their ship around so that she corkscrewed and shied and all but rolled her rails under.
Everyone aboard took hold of something solid lest they be thrown across the deck, such was the violence of the motion. Poor Miguel was sick again—into a bucket this time, for he could not rise to lean over the rail. His sister crouched by him, speaking softly to him in Spanish.
“We shall have these last sails in, Captain,” Mr Barthe called out, “or they will be rags in five minutes.” He clung to the mainmast shrouds for all he was worth.
Although Hayden agreed entirely with the sailing master, he was reluctant to send men aloft at that moment, for they would be able to do nothing but hold on for their lives.
But then, a little breath of wind whispered across the deck, sighed and died away.
“Is it the trade . . . filling in?” one of the new middies asked.
“Hush! D’you want to put a curse on’t?” one of the hands hissed at him.
Again, a little breeze bellied the sails, and again, they fell slack and began to thrash.
And then a little wind, a little more, the smallest gust. The ship heeled, steadied, and began to make way.
“She answers her helm, Mr Archer,” the man at the wheel called out.
Just then came a call from above.
“On deck!” It was Wickham. “I am in agreement with Price, sir, I believe we have a frigate in the offing. She appears to be flying a Spanish flag, sir.”
“Well, well,” Barthe muttered, but he glanced at the Spaniards and did not say more.
Angelita rose and came to Hayden immediately.
“This will be the ship upon which the friend of my stepfather sails,” she whispered, her voice quavering.
“You and Miguel had best go below . . . down to the cockpit with the doctor. But Angelita . . . we cannot know what ship this is; the flag might be a ruse.”
Hayden had one of the hands help Angelita get Miguel below.
“Set a course to meet this ship, Mr Archer, and pass the word for my officers and young gentlemen.”
When the officers had all gathered aft, Hayden brought them into a circle. “Not a word of our castaways to this ship.” Hayden watched surprise register upon their faces.
“But will Miguel and Angel not want to join their own people, Captain?” the sailing master wondered.
“I have no time to explain, Mr Barthe, but you must trust that I know what I do in this. Not a word.”
“Aye, sir.”
Hayden sent them all back to their stations, no doubt with questions in their minds, but he trusted that more pressing matters would soon drive those out.
The real question at that moment was whether this ship wore her true colours or was trying to draw Hayden near. He did not have his own ensign flying and did not plan to send it aloft until he was more certain this ship was a friend.
Nagging at the back of his mind was the matter of his two castaways . . . overlain by recollections of Madame Bourdage and her beautiful daughter. How grateful they had seemed for his assistance, how genuine-seeming their thanks. Was he falling prey to this same device—rescuing a beautiful young woman? Suddenly, it seemed possible that everything Angelita had told him was calculated, each different truth a carefully constructed lie. An evil stepfather,
after all. An attempt on her brother’s life—a forced marriage, even the reputed wealth. Was it not convenient that all their property—their money—was lost in the sinking of the ship? He was certain, upon reflection, that he had read that novel. And who had offered to aid these unfortunate siblings? The same gull who had offered to aid Madame Bourdage. At just the right moment Angelita had revealed her true sex and all but confessed her feelings for him. What honourable man would betray a woman so enamoured of him, especially one so sweet and handsome? Had she held back the queen of hearts for the very last trick?
“On deck! Captain, she is altering course to run from us.”
Hayden moved to where he could make out Wickham. “Climb up, Mr Wickham, and see if there is another ship just over the horizon.”
“Aye, sir.”
Archer came and stood a few yards distant.
“Do you think she might be a Frenchman, sir?”
“She might well be Spanish, Mr Archer, but that does not mean she is still an ally. There is much speculation in the Admiralty that Spain will not be on our side much longer.”
“Then our guests might not be guests, sir . . .”
“Yes, though I am quite certain they are civilians, all the same.”
The idea that he felt a growing attachment to an enemy was distressing. Hayden considered a moment.
“Send our colours aloft, Mr Archer, if you please. We will see if that has any effect.”
Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead Page 9
