by Georgie Lee
The leather glove stretched over the back of Conrad’s hand as he continued to hold hers, his assurances along with the steady stroke of his thumb easing her concerns. If Miss Benett was willing to consort with Katie, in spite of the rumours, it was an opportunity she must seize. Attending would allow her to cultivate the acquaintance of many well-regarded figures and perhaps find a position as an illustrator or an assistant. It was imperative she establish herself in some meaningful employment before Conrad sailed off to his next adventure and left her alone.
She turned her hand over in his, trapping his thumb beneath hers, not wanting to let go. For all their troubles, London would be lonely without him. ‘I’ll accompany you.’
‘Good.’ He slid his arm over the back of the squabs behind her, his fingers brushing her neck as he moved. They sat so close she could tilt her head to rest it against his shoulder if she wanted, if he wanted her to. The invitation to draw together lay in the weight of his hand in hers and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his dark redingote, but neither of them moved, unwilling to wade into such uncertainty.
‘Conrad.’ A man’s voice carried over the din of the street. ‘Driver, stop the chaise.’
Katie and Conrad slid apart on the squabs, Katie’s hand instantly cold without his as the driver pulled the horse to a stop.
They turned to watch Henry Sefton bring his mount alongside the carriage. He wore a light-blue coat with a white lining reminiscent of his naval uniform. The clean lines of his sleeves blended seamlessly into the dark black riding gloves covering his hands.
Katie tried not to react as she noticed the missing finger on his left hand, despite the deft way he hid it by removing his D’Orsay hat. ‘Miss Vickers, it’s a pleasure to see you again.’
‘And a hearty welcome to you, Lieutenant Sefton.’ She wondered how much he knew of the end of her and Conrad’s engagement. It was difficult to gauge in the liveliness of his greeting, one which discouraged her from pitying his wound. If he refused to allow it to dampen his spirit, then neither would she. ‘I’m glad to see you looking so fit and well after your trip north.’
‘It’s a pleasure to be back.’ He tapped his D’Orsay down over his dark hair, his cheer fading as he turned to Conrad. ‘Mr Barrow wants to see us at once.’
Katie met Conrad’s eyes from across the seat and her heart dropped.
‘What does he want?’ Conrad asked, the excitement which used to mark any summons from Mr Barrow noticeably absence.
‘Only one way to find out.’ Lieutenant Sefton worked to keep his horse steady beside the chaise, as glum about the news as Conrad.
‘Then I’ll meet you at the Admiralty within the hour.’
Mr Sefton nodded to Katie, then rode off, giving his jumpy horse free rein to trot across the cobblestone.
A gravity as heavy as a mine cart settled over the carriage. Conrad stared out into the traffic, one hand on his chin and the other tight on his thigh.
‘Do you think he’s going to offer you a command?’ Katie asked, rubbing the outline of her ring through her glove.
‘I don’t know what he has in mind for me.’ Conrad’s voice lacked his usual veneration for his employer, making Katie’s fingers still on the ring. If he no longer held Mr Barrow in such high esteem, then perhaps there was hope for a continued friendship between her and Conrad, and a chance he might remain in England. ‘I’d best see you home.’
‘Perhaps I may examine the creature this evening?’ Katie prodded, trying to coax back the connection they’d enjoyed a few moments ago. For all her eagerness not to rely on him, to her shame, she did. ‘Aunt Florence can accompany me as a chaperon.’
‘Whatever you like,’ he replied casually, as he stared out over the street to where Henry had disappeared around a corner, his expression grave. ‘Mr Barrow probably wants to discuss the publication of my journal, nothing else.’
She wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure, her or himself.
Chapter Seven
Conrad and Henry strode down the halls of the Admiralty, passing magnificent paintings of the Battle of Waterloo and the more famous ships of the line covering the walls. Despite his confident steps, worry dogged Conrad. It wasn’t only the meeting with Mr Barrow which pressed down on him, but Katie’s revelation in the carriage. Conrad had been a heel to condemn her because of the rumours, proving himself little better than half the members of the Naturalist Society. He’d allowed his anger to prejudice him against her instead of believing in the woman he’d once loved, the one he continued to care deeply about. It was difficult to admit his feelings still coursed so strongly, but it was impossible to deny, not when her story of Mr Rukin’s attack made him want to destroy the man. He’d make it his priority to ensure Mr Rukin paid for what he’d done, as soon as he concluded his business with the Second Secretary.
Up ahead, the imposing double doors to Mr Barrow’s office came into view. Out of the corner of Conrad’s eye, he caught the white flash of Henry’s glove as he swung his arm in time to his steps. Conrad fingered a button on his coat, the reminder of Henry’s scars making him just as uneasy as his misstep with Katie and his worries about the summons. Conrad dropped his hand to his side and stood up straighter. Whatever it was, he would face it, just as he’d faced and overcome every other challenge in life. He was no coward.
They paused long enough to announce themselves to the secretary who ushered them into Mr Barrow’s office.
‘Welcome, gentlemen. Please, be seated.’ Mr Barrow rose from behind his desk and waved them into the caned chairs situated in front of it. The nautical charts and paintings of shipwrecks on the walls were lost in the clutter of spears, shields and tropical totems making the office more of a curiosity shop than a space for the Second Secretary.
As Conrad removed his cocked bicorn and settled himself against the caning, he attempted to gauge something of the reason for this meeting in the older gentleman’s pale eyes. The man who’d scraped his way up from humble beginnings to become first an interpreter to the English ambassador to China and later Second Secretary of the Admiralty revealed nothing. He stared at Conrad with the same impassiveness he always displayed whether he was reading a report or handing him a new commission.
‘Thank you both for coming so quickly. We have a great deal to accomplish in a short amount of time,’ Mr Barrow announced.
‘A short amount of time until what, sir?’ The joints in Conrad’s fingers began to ache.
‘You leave for Melville Island, near Australia. You’ll determine if Melville Island or any of the smaller ones around it can support a settlement. His Majesty is keen to secure our trading position there before the Dutch can settle theirs. Can’t have them controlling trade in the area.’
‘Sir, do you think it’s wise for me to take command, especially so soon after the loss of Gorgon?’ He flinched from adding more details and at the faint weakness the question implied.
‘No ice to worry about so far south.’ Mr Barrow stroked the point of his chin. ‘Besides, you came back, even if the ship didn’t, bringing with you much-needed information.’
‘It wasn’t just the ship I left in the north, but Mr Dubhach,’ Conrad reminded his superior, struggling to remain deferential and failing, judging by the warning look Henry threw at him.
‘Yes, terrible business that, but you aren’t the first captain to lose a man or two.’ Mr Barrow dismissed his words with a flick of his hand. ‘Most come back having buried half their crew from fever, assuming they come back at all. Look at Captain Tuckey—he barely reached the Congo before he was dead of dengue. You’ve only ever lost the one ship and the one man. A commendable record given the number of expeditions you’ve led.’
‘He was an excellent first mate, perhaps the best.’ Conrad chafed under Mr Barrow’s callous response to the end of Aaron’s life. It was knowledg
e Mr Barrow sought and he was willing to pay the cost of obtaining it in men’s lives, caring little for the death of anyone beneath the rank of lieutenant. Common men like Aaron might be of little consequence to men like Mr Barrow, but the loss of a friend was one Conrad couldn’t forget, or forgive himself for.
‘Of course he was,’ Barrow replied blithely as he sat forward, ready to move on with his business. ‘And it’ll be difficult for you to find a man to replace him, especially on such short notice, but there’s to be no delay. Funding has been granted and I’m appointing you leader. You’ll depart as soon as the ship is victualled and outfitted and you’ve chosen your crew.’
Conrad exchanged an uneasy look with Henry. Neither of them had expected to face the challenge of another expedition so soon. Conrad’s grip on his hat began to weaken and he set it on the chair beside him. The weakness disgusted him as much as the discovery of Boatswain James breaking in to the stores to steal precious food had during their entrapment.
‘How were you able to secure funding so fast?’ It was nearly unheard of.
‘Surprisingly, Lord Helton pushed it through.’
Conrad tightened his fingers into a fist over the chair’s arm to cover both his anger and the trembling. This was his uncle’s attempt to separate Conrad from Katie and bring Conrad to heel for not following his lead. It forced Conrad to choose between two unappealing decisions—thwart the marquis and relinquish the command or accept it and leave Katie. Lord Helton was wrong if he thought to back Conrad into a corner. Conrad wasn’t about to shirk from duty or let Katie and the Discovery Service down, no matter how much the acceptance of a new command made his fingers shake. He would find a way to make sure she was secure before he left and see to it his uncle knew he wouldn’t win or bully Conrad.
‘I’ll send word when I need you to oversee the purchase of your personal supplies,’ Mr Barrow continued, oblivious to Conrad’s silence or lack of enthusiasm for the new mission. ‘Good day, gentlemen.’
Their futures sealed, Mr Barrow ushered them from the room.
It was a sober leaving, with none of the elation which had greeted the appointing of their last command. Then, they’d indulged in a drunken celebration with fellow officers, facing death as though they were invincible. They weren’t, as they’d discovered in the Arctic. Any drinking tonight would be to dull the realisation they were leaving again, not to celebrate it.
Once outside, beneath the tall columns marking the entrance to the Admiralty, Henry adjusted the ribbon on the cock of his bicorn, his maimed hand hidden by the hat. ‘I didn’t imagine we’d be sent out before late spring.’
‘Neither did I.’ Nor did he think he’d once again be the cause of his friend’s misery. If it wasn’t for Conrad’s blatant defiance of Lord Helton, Henry might have been allowed more time to recover here in England. So might Conrad. ‘I could select a different lieutenant and you could stay.’
Henry pulled the hat down over his forehead with a determined tug. ‘I wouldn’t dream of relinquishing my place any more than you would.’
‘I’m not so sure.’ It was the first time he’d ever considered declining a command and it sickened him.
‘So you’ll stay then, angering Mr Barrow and being placed on half-pay so you can grow old and fat like Captain Standish?’ Henry slipped his pipe from his pocket and fingered the wizened face engraved on the bowl.
‘No.’ He’d suffered a great shock in the north and it would take more than a few bottles of port or time in London for him to fully recover, but he would, he must. He opened and closed his fist, fighting to keep his fingers pressed against his palms. The mistakes he’d made in the north had shaken his confidence and he’d have little more than a month to regain it. There was nothing as deadly, not storms or disease, as a captain unable to command and he wasn’t about to disappoint another crew.
‘Then it looks as though we’ll set sail.’ The pipe clicked against Henry’s teeth as he bit down on the stem. ‘Miss Vickers will be as thrilled to hear of our new command as we are.’
Conrad groaned at the reminder of the other challenge facing him before departure. ‘She hasn’t forgiven me for the last voyage.’
‘Then you’ll have a great deal to atone for between now and when we depart.’ Henry went off down the stairs, leaving Conrad in the shadow of the pillars.
* * *
Conrad stood in the doorway of the sitting room, watching Katie as she bent over her sketchbook, her slender fingers curled around the pencil as it scratched against the paper. The sun had disappeared behind the dark clouds covering the city, strengthening the orange light from the candles burning around the room. Two plates of refreshments sat on the tea table, one with crumbs, the other untouched, the cheese slightly greasy from the warmth. Only the sketch taking place beneath her nimble fingers consumed Katie now, not hunger, exhaustion or anything else. It reminded Conrad of the numerous times he’d left his dinner to grow cold in his cabin while he’d stood on deck to watch a foreign coast grow larger on the horizon, or to examine a herd of creatures passing on a nearby shore.
‘I see you’re still here.’ Conrad approached the table and picked up one of the many sketches littering the perimeter.
Mrs Anderson slept in a deep wingback chair near the fireplace, her mouth agape as she snored softly.
‘You know I have a difficult time stopping once I begin.’ Katie set down her pencil and rolled her wrist against the stiffness. ‘The quickness with which I must complete my paper is not helping.’
‘I wish I could give you more time to prepare, but I’m afraid I can’t.’ Their days together had already been truncated by Mr Barrow.
Mrs Anderson snorted, then mumbled something before settling back into her nap.
‘Your aunt is failing in her duties as chaperon,’ Conrad teased.
‘If she is, it’s your fault. She isn’t accustomed to rich food and richer wine.’ Katie’s humour eased some of the distress which had accompanied Conrad home from the Admiralty. ‘How was your meeting with Mr Barrow?’
Conrad set down the sketch, careful not to block her view of the creature.
‘Quite routine,’ he lied, hesitant to inform her of his new appointment, knowing she’d view it and him with the same disgust she’d shown in the country. Even if he owed her nothing beyond the help he’d already promised, he wanted to enjoy more of this Katie, the happy, peaceful one who reminded him of the better days before the tragedy of the Arctic. ‘He had concerns about the progress of my book.’
‘You’re having difficulty finishing it?’ Katie took up a small knife to sharpen the end of her pencil.
He picked up one of the curled shavings and crushed it between his fingers. ‘It’s not a time I wish to remember in detail, yet I find, quite often, I can’t forget.’
She set down the knife and pencil and tilted her head to study Conrad. ‘It must be difficult to tell so many stories of your struggles to all the people who want to know.’
‘It is.’ Her gentle voice was inviting, leading him into a confidence he couldn’t fight. He’d been vulnerable with Katie so many times before, and though she’d run out on him, she’d never disparaged his weakness, only allowing herself to be guided by her own. ‘Some nights I don’t sleep. I can still hear the crash of ice in the distance, slowly coming for us. I thought it would end when I came home, but it hasn’t.’ He straightened one of the creature’s ribs, stone cold beneath his shaking fingers. ‘I still see my men shivering in the tent, their cheeks sunken, their eyes blaming me for their misery, but Aaron’s eyes haunt me the most. When he rose to leave the tent, I could see his desperation, the desire to be free. I should’ve chased after him. I shouldn’t have let him go.’
Katie reached out and took his hand, her gentle squeeze calming the trembles. ‘It’s not your fault, Conrad. You did the best you could under circumstances no
one could have foreseen, or expected you to survive.’
He let go of her, unworthy of her or anyone’s comfort. ‘It was my fault we were trapped.’
‘You couldn’t have guessed the weather.’
Conrad stepped up to the window and stared out into the grey London evening. Over a church spire, lightning flashed, followed by a deep roll of thunder. The shame of her having noticed his shakes was equal only to the guilt of what he’d done. He shouldn’t tell her, or anyone, but it weighed too heavily on him for him to remain silent. ‘The weather didn’t trap us, my ego did. I should have made for home sooner, not pressed on, but there was an inlet, an open channel of water and I followed it, hoping it would lead to the Northwest Passage. The only thing it led to was ice.’
Thunder rumbled through the sky overhead and in the deep roll Conrad heard the crack of icebergs closing in around Gorgon. He opened and closed his hand, willing away the memories, but they wouldn’t leave him.
The swish of skirts overcame the fading echo of the distant thunder and Katie was beside him, her small hand cupping the curve of his shoulder. The faint brush of her body against his drew him back to London and away from the past. ‘You were following orders, doing what Mr Barrow commanded.’
‘No, I was the one who made the decision to stay, to sail on even as winter was approaching. Henry wasn’t the only one who lost fingers; others lost toes to the cold or teeth to scurvy. Some nearly lost their minds in the endless nights and desolation. I tried to distract them as best I could. Keeping up the routine onboard ship, teaching to read those who couldn’t, encouraging games and whatever else I could to keep them from thinking of the cold, the darkness and our increasing hunger.’ He turned to her, and for a moment the understanding Katie, the one he’d dreamed of during so many nights in the desolate wasteland, stood in front of him again. If only he was worthy of such sympathy. ‘We were buried alive, Katie, and when the light finally returned and I thought we’d be free, the ship sank. My men looked to me to keep them safe, to act like a leader, but instead I sacrificed them for my own aggrandisement just like my uncle has been willing to sacrifice so many people for his.’
