There was a general murmur of distress as the passengers started to disperse.
Sir Thomas took hold of Justina’s elbow, but she withdrew her arm.
“I am very tired, I think I will retire now. Why don’t you enjoy a cigar?”
In her cabin she found the beginnings of the letter she was trying to write to her parents.
She read through the few lines that she had managed, but in her ears she heard the distress in the woman’s voice as she described seeing the ghost of her son.
How awful to have lost your beloved child. And how awful not to have seen him for two years! Was that what happened to children you bore in India? Would she bear children to Sir Thomas, pour her love and her life into them and then have her whole reason for living snatched away?
The very idea was too much and Justina dissolved into tears.
In his cabin next door, Lord Castleton was working through yet more papers.
He was in his shirt sleeves, the porthole beside him wide open. The night air held a softness that demonstrated they were well into the Mediterranean’s warmth.
He sighed.
Heat enervated the mind and made it more difficult to concentrate.
But he knew that it was not the Mediterranean air that prevented him taking in the subtleties of the papers he was trying to read.
It was the picture that Justina had made that evening, dressed in a white lace dress that set off her extraordinary hair.
He had hoped to have finished his meal before she arrived but the service was slow that night.
Sir Thomas had welcomed the Arbuthnots to his table and the simpering girls had settled themselves before Justina entered the Saloon.
He found he was gazing at her like any lovesick youth.
He came to with a start, but not before Justina’s wide grey eyes had gazed into his for a heart-stopping moment.
He would have raised his glass to her, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Sir Thomas take in the glance and his face darken.
When next he glanced towards Watson’s table, Justina was seated, her head bowed over her menu.
Lord Castleton had a sudden vision of her eyes full of tears.
He was furious with himself that he was handling the situation that had arisen between her, Watson and himself so badly.
He was known as a diplomat, a man who managed every circumstance with debonair charm or quiet tact, whatever was required.
Yet now he was blundering about in a way that failed to solve the central problem and merely increased Justina’s embarrassment.
Reaching to ring for the Steward to bring him a large brandy, he stayed his hand and listened.
Was that what he thought it was?
After a moment he was certain. But did the weeping come from the cabin on his right or his left?
Rising in one fluid movement, he strode out of his cabin and stood outside Justina’s door.
Any remaining doubt was removed from his mind.
He raised his hand and knocked.
The weeping stopped but no one answered.
Squaring his shoulders, he gave another knock and opened the door.
Justina sat at a similar table to his with a piece of paper in front of her. It looked as if she had been writing, but the paper was blotched with her tears.
She raised her eyes to his in total surprise.
“My Lord, what – what can I do for you?”
He came in and sat down on a corner of the table, leaving the door half open.
“Justina, I cannot hear you in distress without offering you my help in whatever situation is causing you such unhappiness.”
She gulped.
“My Lord, I am not in distress. At least – ”she glanced down at the tear-strewn letter. “It is only – only that I am writing to my parents and, all at once, I felt very, very homesick.”
She would not meet his eyes but fiddled with her pen.
“Is that really all that is the matter?”
She said nothing and he felt he had to reinforce his role as her father’s friend.
“I know Lord Mansell would want me to offer my help if his daughter was in any trouble.”
At that remark she flared up.
“I am not in trouble, my Lord. I am very happy. Sir Thomas is a good man and I am indeed fortunate that he wishes to marry me. That is why I am writing to my parents.”
Lord Castleton felt helpless.
There was nothing he actually knew for certain against Watson.
All that Ariadne had told him had been in confidence. To breathe a word of any of it would reflect upon her cousin, the girl in the affair. And, perhaps, just perhaps, there had been some misunderstanding over what had happened.
He knew Ariadne had disapproved of Watson, well, he had never liked the man himself, but had she, perhaps, exaggerated the situation in some way?
And he had no proof that Watson was in financial difficulties.
“In that case, I will leave you,” he said slowly.
Justina continued to look at him with bright eyes, her colour heightened, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.
He wanted to gather her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right and he would make sure she never had any reason to cry ever again.
Instead, he rose.
“Please, though, remember that I am only in the next cabin. If ever you are in need, you have only to call out.”
“I shall not need you, my Lord,” she replied steadily. “But you are very kind. My father will be most appreciative.”
She looked at the half-open cabin door and for the first time betrayed nervousness.
“I would be grateful if you could leave me now.”
Immediately he understood. If Mrs. Arbuthnot or, perish the thought, Watson, came by, he would have placed her in a most difficult position.
“Of course,” he agreed and departed, moving back to his own cabin as quickly as he could.
How much of what she had said could he trust? Was he only wishing her engagement to Sir Thomas at an end because he wanted to woo her himself? At their first meeting he had accused her of anthropomorphism, of assuming that Muffin could feel what she felt. Was he now guilty of much the same transference of thought?
He rang the bell and ordered his brandy.
Left alone, Justina discarded her latest effort at writing to her parents, drew out a clean piece of paper and, without thought, wrote quickly and succinctly.
“Dearest Mama and Papa,
I have met among the passengers on this ship, Sir Thomas Watson. He is writing to you by the same mail from Malta, asking for my hand in marriage. He has met Papa and I hope you will able to grant his request. I am very happy to have attracted the attentions of someone who will be such a suitable husband.
With much love, your darling daughter,
Justina.”
Without reading it through, she placed it in an envelope, sealed it and wrote the address.
At long last she felt able to undress.
As she removed the white lace dress, she realised for the first time the hazards of having written her letter whilst wearing it. Suppose the ship had pitched unexpectedly and she had spilt ink on it!
Even that horrid thought, however, could not drive away the anguish she had felt at Lord Castleton’s unexpected arrival in her cabin.
He had been so kind!
She had wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to sort out the awful mess she was in. Instead all she could think was that her love for him was hopeless and how embarrassing he would find it if she did.
Now she crept into her bed, drew up the covers and, as silently as she was able, wept herself to sleep.
*
By the time Justina woke the next morning, they had docked in Valletta harbour. Once again there was all the bustle and cries of a foreign port.
Justina had thought of going ashore to find a present for her brother. They were to be in port for nine hours, plenty of tim
e to find a shop.
She was hoping that, by the time she was ready to leave the ship, Sir Thomas would have gone ashore. She had already told the Arbuthnot girls that she was not interested in seeing Valletta.
If only, she thought, she could have a day by herself, untroubled by thoughts of the future and maybe she would be able to act as she should towards Sir Thomas.
A quick trip to some shops, maybe a little look into the Cathedral and then back to sit in the sun and do some sketching.
She went and put on a broad hat to shade her face from the sun that was growing stronger before hastening towards the gangway.
“Ah, my Justina,” said Sir Thomas, suddenly appearing by her side. “I was coming to look for you. The Misses Arbuthnot told me you were not going ashore, but I can see that you are indeed planning to visit Valletta. Now we can go together.”
“No, Sir Thomas.” Justina smiled up at him, immediately changing her plans and trying to be at her most pleasant. “It is very kind of you to think of accompanying me, but I was only going to walk around the Promenade Deck. Then I have set aside the rest of the day for sketching.”
“Nonsense. You cannot miss the opportunity of visiting this ancient town. It is historic, you know.”
“What is its claim to fame?”
Justina thought if only she could keep him talking, one of the men friends he had made on the ship would come by and suggest a visit to the smoking room.
“I don’t bother myself with history.” His eyes gleamed suddenly. “But I always take the prettiest girl on the ship to visit the Cathedral. You can see that I cannot miss taking you.”
Almost Justina wavered. He seemed to be in such a pleasant mood.
“Maybe later?”
His eyes narrowed.
“You are not going to prove a difficult wife, I hope, Justina? I would counsel you to be careful how you toy with me.”
He gripped her arm, in exactly the same place where he had inflicted a bruise previously and ignored her yelp of pain.
“You must learn that when I say something I mean it. When I ask you to come ashore with me, I mean now, not later, not this afternoon, not next voyage, but now.”
He forced her to accompany him towards the gangway. Justina stumbled in her effort to keep up with him. She looked around to see if there was anyone who could divert Sir Thomas from his course of action. But most of the passengers had already gone ashore and there was no one to witness the way he was abusing her.
Her sense of duty to the man she had allowed herself to become engaged to dictated that she followed him down the gangway.
The Cathedral was huge and dark.
“Is that not magnificent?” Sir Thomas proclaimed proudly as they entered. “Are you not impressed?”
Justina looked at the banners that decorated each of a large number of bays on either side of the Church.
“What do they mean?” she asked.
“No idea but the effect is grand.”
“Each bay is dedicated to one of the countries of the Knights that made up the Order of St John,” said a voice behind them.
Sir Thomas cursed as he swung round to confront Lord Castleton.
“Have we asked you to accompany us around?” he snarled.
“I apologise,” said Lord Castleton, seeming not a whit disturbed by his reception. “I hoped to increase your pleasure of this noble edifice by some information on the dedication that lies behind its erection.”
Justina wanted above all for Lord Castleton to take them around. She was sure he could tell them the history not only of the Church, but also of Malta itself and the Order of St John. She knew, though, that this was a hopeless wish.
“I will thank you to keep your information to yourself,” snapped Sir Thomas, aggression suffusing his voice and stance. “Come, Justina, we have seen enough.”
He gripped Justina’s upper arm and walked her out of the cool, dark nave and into the bright sunlight.
She was afraid to say anything lest she provoke him further.
“We shall return to the ship. After all, didn’t you say that you wished to sketch a view of Valletta?” said Sir Thomas.
Justina gave a last glance to the impressive outline of the Cathedral of St John and looked at the Spanish-influenced architecture that lay all around them.
“It all looks most interesting and it is pleasant to be on stable land after the ship, though it is strange how it seems to move as though one was still at sea.”
“When you are a more seasoned traveller, you will realise it is a hazard to be encountered every time you have been sailing,” Sir Thomas replied in a more pleasant tone.
They came to a pleasant piazza where there were tables and chairs in the sun and Justina recognised some fellow passengers enjoying a refreshing drink.
“Perhaps,” she murmured, thinking how pleasant it would be to join them. “We could sit down and you could tell me more about your travels?”
For a moment she thought he would agree and then a disfiguring redness flushed his face.
“You hope Castleton will join us, don’t you? Maybe you have already arranged such a meeting?”
Justina stopped walking and looked directly at him.
“I do not arrange clandestine assignations, Sir Thomas, with Lord Castleton or anyone else. If our relationship is to be a success, you must accept that I am, above all things, honest.”
For the first time since Justina had met him, Sir Thomas appeared to be at a loss. But only for a moment.
“Why, of course you are, my dear. It is not only for your beauty that I have fallen so quickly and so irrevocably in love with you. Come, I believe you, but I wish to return to the ship where we can lunch quietly and you may be able to sketch in peace.”
Feeling unexpectedly reassured by his attitude, Justina was happy to accompany him.
Lord Castleton watched Justina and Sir Thomas leave the Cathedral. He was incensed beyond measure at the man’s rudeness.
Justina was never going to happy with such a husband.
Next he recognised that he had to do everything he could to release her from an engagement that promised nothing but unhappiness. Not just because he was in love with her, but because he had to rescue her from what would be a lifetime of regret.
How, though, was he to do this, he wondered, regarding a dark oil painting of the Madonna and child.
As he looked without seeing at the Virgin’s sad face, he realised that in a battle with Thomas Watson, he had a powerful weapon.
Several times the man had come close to losing control when he had appeared on the scene.
Watson was jealous. The fact that he had nothing to be jealous about did not matter.
Of course, he thought, it was quite obvious what he should do.
He made his way down the nave of the Cathedral.
He had to start a campaign and he knew exactly what his first move should be.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Justina spent a peaceful afternoon sketching Valletta from the upper deck.
Soon after she began her sketch, there was a flurry of activity as a woman dressed in the height of fashion arrived at the quayside accompanied by a large amount of luggage.
Justina admired the woman’s severely tailored and immaculate cream linen skirt and jacket, trimmed with a great deal of dark brown braid. A mass of dark brown hair was arranged into waves gathered into a complicated knot at the back of her head and topped with a dashing small pill box hat decorated with feathers.
This was a lady of considerable style.
Justina returned to her sketching.
That evening, with the ship once again at sea, its engines throbbing as it thrust through the calm waters towards the Suez Canal, Justina was surprised to see that the Arbuthnot table had been laid for six.
“Is it Tony or Bertie who is joining us?” she asked Charity. The two Arbuthnot girls were spending considerable time with the young Subalterns.
“Neither,” said Charity
with a triumphant smile. “Faith has asked Lord Castleton to dine with us.”
“And he has agreed?”
“Why should you be so surprised?” Faith smirked at her. “You are not the only girl who can attract eligible men.”
“Darling Faith is so pretty,” oozed Mrs. Arbuthnot. “One cannot wonder at Lord Castleton being captivated by her. When he approached her coming back from Valletta, I knew he had only been waiting for the right moment. After all, who can resist her charms?
“Ah, Sir Thomas,” she said as Sir Thomas came up to the table. “How pleasant to see you. You have, I trust, enjoyed your sojourn in Valletta? And I know you will be delighted to hear that Lord Castleton is to join our happy little table this evening.”
Caught in the act of greeting Justina, Sir Thomas’s body became rigid, his face an unreadable mask.
“You don’t say!”
“Evening, Watson,” called Lord Castleton, approaching the table at that moment. “Mrs. Arbuthnot was kind enough to invite me to join her little party and I thought it unfair that you should have four of the loveliest young ladies on the ship all to yourself.”
Justina could hardly believe it.
The only time she had seen Lord Castleton at all informal had been exercising the dogs. She remembered how cold he had been when Faith had walked Muffin at the same time as he had Breck.
She could have sworn that he would have absolutely no interest in either of the Arbuthnot sisters.
Yet here he was at their table.
Sir Thomas sat down, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, but was unable to think of anything to say.
Dinner proceeded with Lord Castleton as the leading light of the party. He was witty and courteous, drawing out Faith and Charity and listening without a hint of boredom to Mrs. Arbuthnot’s interminable stories about life on the Afghan border.
The one person Lord Castleton did not show any interest in was Justina. At first she was relieved as she had no desire to have Sir Thomas reacting badly should she be singled out for attention.
After a while, however, as her pulse stopped racing and her breathing returned to normal, she began to resent the lack of attention. She realised she had grown used to the feeling that she was someone special to Lord Castleton, even if only as a sort of niece.
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