The Constant Heart

by Dilly Court

  'That's what your father told me.'

  'I can't believe that Captain Barnum would do such a dreadful thing.'

  'There's no proof that it was deliberate, Rosie. It happened in foul weather. Perhaps it was an accident.'

  'If that was so, then where is Captain Barnum now? If he had seen Artie hit by a falling spar, wouldn't he have stopped to help?'

  'There will be an inquiry. We will have to wait until then to find out what really happened during that storm.'

  'But do you think that it was deliberate?'

  'Barnum has a lot to answer for. I'll find out, one way or another; I promise you that. I will seek out the truth, and if Barnum is to blame, then I'll see that he pays for his actions.'

  She had never seen him so angry and she laid her hand on his arm, touched by his loyalty to her father. 'It's not your problem, Walter. But I thank you with all my heart for being so loyal to Papa.'

  He nodded, but he did not look her in the eye. 'I have much to do, and I want to make sure that they treat Artie's remains with respect. They've left his body in the wharfinger's office until he can be taken to the dead house.'

  'We can't allow them to take Artie to that awful place. He ought to be laid out at home until the funeral.'

  'Caddie has no money. He will have to be buried by the Parish.'

  'No! No, I won't have it. Artie must be brought here to rest until he can have a proper funeral. I'm certain that Papa will pay for it. I'll go and ask him now. Will you come with me, Walter?'

  Once they knew of Caddie's dire circumstances, everyone in the kitchen agreed that it was only right and proper that Artie should be brought to the captain's house until he could be laid to rest in the graveyard. Edward nodded in agreement, although privately Rosina thought he had drunk a little too much brandy to understand fully what was being said. Bertha suggested that Nathaniel Jones, the undertaker in Nightingale Lane, might be directed to make the necessary arrangements. Higgins took off his cap and passed it around.

  'It's good of you, neighbours,' Edward said, getting to his feet with a bleary smile. 'But I will take care of the funeral expenses. Nothing is too good for Arthur Trigg. But as to that black-hearted villain Barnum – I'll take him to court and I'll ruin the bugger.'

  'Sit down,' Bertha hissed, giving him a gentle push so that he fell back on his seat. 'There ain't no call to use that sort of language in front of your daughter and Gladys Smilie.'

  'Beg pardon, ladies.'

  Rosina hooked her arm around his shoulders. He seemed to have shrunk inside his dressing robe, and she could not bear to see him looking so shamefaced. 'It's all right, Papa. We understand.'

  Walter cleared his throat. 'I'm sure we all feel the same, but the damage to the Ellie May can be repaired. It's Caddie who needs our help right now.'

  Higgins slapped him on the back. 'Well said, young Walter. We'll make certain that Artie Trigg is sent off in style.'

  Rosina was powerless to put a stop to the enthusiastic arrangements that were being made for what threatened to be the grandest funeral since that of Prince Albert. Coins clinked into the cloth cap, but she could see that they were only coppers. A funeral would cost a great deal more than the money being raised in the whip-round. She sent a mute plea to Walter, but he raised his finger to his lips. It was not until everyone was filing out, refreshed and glowing from supping ale and brandy, that she had a chance to speak to him. 'What are we going to do?' she whispered. 'There's not enough there to pay for the coffin, let alone the funeral.'

  Walter glanced at the plateful of pennies, halfpennies and farthings on the kitchen table with a rueful smile. 'You're right, but don't worry about it. I'll think of something. Artie will have his send-off, and Caddie will be proud of him.' He left the kitchen in the wake of Fred and Bob, who were more than a little inebriated, and being scolded by both Cotton and Higgins as they staggered out of the house.

  Edward had fallen asleep with his head lolling to one side and his mouth open. Bertha covered him with a blanket. 'Best thing for him, if you ask me. How is Caddie?'

  Rosina began picking up mugs and tumblers and putting them on a tray ready to take into the scullery to wash. 'She took it badly, of course.'

  'A nice cup of tea will help,' Bertha said, placing the kettle on the hob. 'And you can tell Caddie that Artie will be brought here to lie in the parlour.'

  'We have no money, Bebe. Walter told me that the cargo was ruined and the Ellie May is in need of major repairs. What's more, Caddie and the babies are homeless.'

  Looking thoughtful, Bertha picked up the teapot. 'We can't turn them out on the street, that's for certain. It would mean the workhouse for Caddie and her nippers.'

  'They could have the attic room, and I could help her look after the little ones.'

  'When your pa gets back to his old self, he'll know what to do for the best. In the meantime, you go up and see how that poor girl is getting on. We'll leave the worrying to the men, while we get on with the work, as usual.'

  That night, unable to sleep, Rosina sat on the window seat in her bedroom, gazing down at the badly damaged hull of the Ellie May. Walter had already made enquiries at Etheredge's barge repair yard in Limehouse, and even the rough estimate was terrifyingly high. There had been little else to be done that day. The undertaker had arrived to collect Artie's body, and, in the morning, he would be brought home in his coffin to lie in the parlour until the funeral. Walter had volunteered to make the necessary arrangements with the vicar, and Gladys had promised to help out with food for the wake. As she looked out of the window at the row of buildings strung together in higgledy-piggledy fashion, Rosina felt a surge of gratitude towards their neighbours, knowing that they would share their last crust and give their last penny to a friend who was in need. Caddie would not lack for moral support to get her through the first painful weeks of her widowhood. Her future might be uncertain, but at the moment she was sleeping with the aid of a generous dose of laudanum, obtained from the chemist with some of the money collected from the neighbours. The children had been worn out by all the excitement, and, knowing nothing of their father's fate, they had fallen asleep almost as soon as their heads touched the pillow.

  Rosina shifted her position as painful cramps made her leg spasm. Walter had been so supportive, but she had seen little of Harry that day. It had been late in the afternoon when he had finally arrived at the house. He had spent some time in the counting house with Walter and then he had paid his respects to her papa. Harry had asked for his condolences to be passed on to Caddie, then he had kissed Rosina on the cheek and apologised for having to return to the office where he had urgent business. It had not been a very romantic meeting, and she couldn't help thinking that if he had really cared for her, there would be no business so urgent that it could have taken him from her side in a time of trouble.

  Over supper, after Bertha had managed to persuade Edward to go to his bed, she had lectured Rosina on the advantages of accepting Harry's proposal. Once he was in the family, she had said, it would be in his interest to pay for the repairs to the Ellie May. After all, the vessel would come to Rosina one day, and with Harry's business sense, they might even have the beginnings of a fleet of sailing barges. He was a handsome young man, of good family – she would be a fool to turn down such an offer. And she owed it to her papa, since he was not in the best of health, and might be glad to swallow the anchor and live ashore.

  The weight of responsibility was heavy on Rosina's shoulders. Until now she had been so carefree and life had seemed wonderful; now, suddenly, she felt as though everything was slipping away from her. The security that she had always known was threatened by dire circumstances. She had never seen her papa at such a low ebb, and if they could not afford the repairs on the barge, he would lose his business. They would be ruined. Maybe Bertha had been right, and she ought to accept Harry's proposal of marriage. Perhaps she had imagined herself to be in love with the mysterious pirate in whose arms she had felt so wonder
fully alive. In those few magic hours she had experienced feelings that were exciting and thrilling, and also a little wicked. It could have been temporary insanity that had caused her to fall in love with a masked man about whom she knew nothing. It all seemed so far away at this moment – like a dream. But Harry was real, and Harry had said that he loved her and wanted to make her happy. If she accepted him Sukey would be upset, but she would get over it in time, and her mama would make certain that she was introduced to suitable young men.

  Rosina leaned her hot forehead against the cool windowpane. It was quite dark outside, except for the yellow pools of gaslight shining on the cobblestones and reflecting in oily puddles on the water below. What was that? She was suddenly alert, startled out of her reverie as she spotted a male figure emerging from the shadows. The man slid down the ladder onto the deck of the Curlew. Captain Barnum's vessel had returned soon after the Ellie May, apparently with very little visible damage. He had sent Barker with a message of condolence for Caddie, but there had been no admission of culpability or sympathy for what had happened to Pa's boat. Rosina held her breath. Was this the real pirate at work? She waited, uncertain as to what to do. Should she run outside and raise the alarm? There could be several of the robbers working in a gang, although there did appear to be only one. Straining her eyes, she peered into the gloom. She could just spot the odd movement on deck. She was certain now that the thief was working alone. If Papa had been well, she would have woken him. He would have known what to do. But he was far from well, and the pirate might move on to the Ellie May when he had done with Barnum's ship. Acting on impulse, she pulled her skirt over her nightgown and wrapped a shawl around her head and shoulders. She crept out of her room, taking care to miss the floorboard that creaked, and hurried downstairs, letting herself silently out of the house. Her intention was to raise Mr Cotton, the wharfinger, but to get to his house she would have to risk being seen in the light from the street lamp. She hesitated on the doorstep, clutching her shawl about her and shivering violently. Whether it was from the cool night breeze or simply fear, she did not know, but now she wished that she had stayed in the safety of her room. If only she were braver. Perhaps it would be better if she went back inside and closed the door. After all, what did it matter if the Curlew was stripped of all the expensive new items that Captain Barnum had bought to replace the stolen equipment? It would simply serve him right. She hesitated, torn between a longing for her nice warm bed and the fear that the pirate might rob the Ellie May of anything of value that had been left on board.

  Steeling herself, she closed the door quietly behind her and crept out onto the pavement, keeping as much in the shadows as possible. The umbrella cranes loomed above her like leviathans constructed in wire and steel. Her heart was pounding so fast that she could hear the blood drumming in her ears. She had reached the circle of light. She must enter it or retreat. If she ran fast, she might make it unseen. She had to get to Mr Cotton's door in order to raise the alarm. She took a deep breath and ran. Her bare feet slipped on the cobblestones; she stumbled, twisting her ankle. She could not save herself and she landed spread-eagled on the ground. Temporarily winded, she lay there for a moment, gathering her wits and fighting for breath. She scrambled to her feet: there were only a few yards to go, but a sharp pain in her ankle made her falter. She could hear footsteps coming up behind her. She turned – too late. A hand clamped over her mouth as she opened it to scream.

  'Don't be frightened. I won't hurt you.'

  The deep, slightly gruff voice was achingly familiar and the tension leached out of her body. His arms were banded around her so that she could not turn round. If she had not recognised his voice, then the telltale fragrance of spices, cloves, lemon and Indian ink would have been enough to give him away. 'I'm taking my hand away,' he murmured. 'Don't cry out. You remember me, don't you, my beautiful rose?'

  His beautiful rose! She felt tears of joy spring to her eyes. She nodded soundlessly and he took his hand from her mouth. She turned in the circle of his arms. 'I remember you, pirate.'

  His eyes shone with golden lights behind the mask he wore, and he drew her into the shadows. 'You shouldn't be wandering about at this time of night. It's dangerous.'

  'And you shouldn't be stealing from the boats of honest, hardworking river men.'

  'Barnum is not in that category.'

  'You know Captain Barnum?'

  'I know that he ruins lives.'

  Rosina pulled away from him. It was too dark to see his face clearly, and the mask made it virtually impossible to read his expression, but she was quick to hear the bitter note in his voice. This was no ordinary thief. Even if she had not known that before, she sensed it now. This was a man with a personal grudge against Captain Barnum. 'Who are you?' she demanded.

  'I am a pirate. I told you that before.'

  She was getting angry now. He was playing with her. 'Stop that! It was romantic and mysterious in Cremorne Gardens, but now you turn up quite literally on my doorstep. Who are you? And what has Captain Barnum done to make you hate him so?'

  'One day I will tell you everything – but not now.'

  'Why not now? I could raise the alarm and have you arrested. Give me one good reason why I should let you get away with acting like a common thief.'

  He took her in his arms, holding her so tightly that she could hardly breathe. His lips were so close to hers that she could almost taste his kiss. She ought to struggle. She ought to slap his face. She ought to tell him that she was not one of those free and easy girls who allow men to take liberties with them. But she did none of those things. A shiver of pure pleasure ran up her spine as his hand caressed her hair. She parted her lips and closed her eyes. Nothing mattered at this moment: she did not care who he was, or why he had come here tonight. He was here and she was in his arms, being kissed fervently and passionately. She gave herself up to the delicious sensations that were rippling through her entire being. Her senses soared to the skies and she was weightless, floating in his arms and responding to his kisses with a passion that she could never have imagined. She wanted the moment to go on forever. But he drew away from her, tempering her loss with butterfly kisses on her lips, the tip of her nose, and on her forehead. 'You must go home,' he whispered. 'Go now, before the constable comes this way on his beat.'

  Dazed, she stared up into his inscrutable face. 'H-how do you know so much of what goes on here? Where do you come from, pirate?'

  'It doesn't matter. But you mustn't be seen with me, and I have to go now.'

  He took her by the hand and led her back to her own house. Questions buzzed round in her head like a swarm of honey bees. They had met only once before and yet he knew where she lived. She must have told him during those magical moments when they were dancing together on the crystal platform, or perhaps on the way home in the stolen launch. She had thought then that he might be an actor from the theatre at Cremorne, or a performer from one of the many entertainment booths. Now she knew that he was a genuine pirate, a thief and a renegade, and yet she did not care. 'Must you go so soon?'

  'I've stayed too long, my rose.'

  'But we will meet again?'

  He took her hand and kissed it. 'You must forget me, Rosina. I'm a phantom. I'm not real.'

  'Oh, but you are real to me, pirate.' She clung to his hand, raising it to her cheek. 'I wish you would tell me your name.'

  He shook his head. 'No, I cannot. Not yet.'

  'But you will? One day I will know your name?'

  'Just remember that there is someone who truly loves you. I can't reveal my identity to you, even though I would dearly love to tell you who I am. But, whatever happens, be sure that no matter what trouble may befall you, your pirate will not be far away. I cannot tell you more, but I love you, and I will always love you.'

  'Oh! Y-you love me?' Rosina clasped her hands to her burning cheeks. He had said the words that she most wanted to hear, and she closed her eyes, barely able to contain her joy. 'And I love y
ou too,' she whispered. But when she opened her eyes – no one was there. He was gone and she was alone.

  Chapter Nine

  The news that Barnum's vessel had been robbed for a second time flew round Black Eagle Wharf like St Elmo's fire, but, as he was not generally liked, no one seemed to be sorry for him. Not only had the pirate stripped everything of value from the Curlew, but it was thought that he had poured lamp oil over the cargo, rendering it as worthless as the hay in the Ellie May's hold. Edward knew nothing of this. His weakened constitution had made him vulnerable to infection, and he had succumbed to a recurrence of the lung fever. They could not afford to send for a doctor, and Bertha had taken it upon herself to nurse him back to health. She had soaked a blanket in a solution of Calvert's Carbolic Acid Disinfectant Powder and water, and hung it in front of the door to Edward's sickroom. This, she said, would prevent the spread of the sickness, and Rosina must not enter the room until her father was out of danger.