by Janet Woods
‘You’ve tried to contact him since?’
‘Yes. Four years ago. In the first letter I offered to transfer his legacy in case he was in straitened circumstances. When he didn’t answer, after a year had passed I wrote again. Both letters were returned recently, unopened and with addressee not known scribbled on them.
‘I wrote again, advising him of his brother’s death. There has been no answer so far. Now I am worried. Jonathan wouldn’t have carried a grudge this far. He wouldn’t have ignored news of the death of his brother or moved on without leaving a forwarding address. I need to know that he’s all right. Damn it, Edgar, I miss him, and I need some counsel on this. You’ve always had a good nose for ferreting things out and coming up with something fresh.’
‘Did Jonathan mention the name of the woman he married?’
‘Yes, but I’ve forgotten it . . . it was something simple, so I’m sure I’ll remember it in time.’
‘It might jog your memory if you check the shipping lists for the day he left, especially if he met her on board. We need to have as much information as we can before we involve anyone else.’
‘I’ll do that this afternoon.’
‘We’ll do it together, then it will take only half the time. When we know the ship they sailed on we can put the matter in the hands of an investigator. There is one I know of by reputation. He is young, but has a wise head on his shoulders I believe, and had contacts in Van Diemen’s Land. Do you have a likeness of Jonathan?’
‘There’s a photograph of us together . . . but it’s the only one I’ve got, and I’m loath to part with it.’
‘Can you find someone to copy his likeness from it?’
‘That shouldn’t be too hard.’ He sighed. ‘If only communication didn’t take so long.’
‘One step at a time, Charles. Be patient. That’s the best you can do for now, unless you wish to make the journey to Van Diemen’s Land yourself.’
‘I’m not that adventurous, and neither am I a good sailor, but if the journey becomes necessary, I will.’
‘You’ve considered the worse result, I suppose.’
Pain ripped through Charles. He stood, moving to the window, which afforded him a view across the Bedford Square gardens. Of course he had taken a pessimistic approach, and often. For now though, he’d put it aside. ‘Yes, Edgar, I have. But if that proves to be the case, wondering about it will be worse than knowing. Besides, surely his wife would have contacted me by now, unless she cannot write.’
‘The woman must have been well educated, otherwise she wouldn’t have been employed as a governess. But a governess to whom?’
A visit to the shipping office enlightened them a little. The ship’s records showed that Mary Elizabeth Ellis had been travelling alone. There was no mention in the ship’s log of a marriage taking place on board the ship, which, as luck would have it, happened to be in port at the time. Her former master was retired, and living with his daughter in Chiswick.
Charles’s visit to him proved fruitless at first, for the man was old. Captain Forrester, his eyes a faded blue and his skin grizzled from years at sea, was seated in the corner of the local inn.
Charles brought him a tot of rum and took it over. ‘Good day, Captain Forrester. I’m looking for a young man who sailed to Australia on board one of the ships you captained. May I join you?’
The captain was happy to talk about his years at sea, but he couldn’t remember Jonathan or Mary Ellis, and he didn’t pretend that he did.
‘The memory isn’t what it used to be. It comes and goes like the tides, you see. I could say a prayer over the dead and bury bodies at sea, and I could hold a service on Sundays and sing the praises of the Lord, but I wasn’t licensed to marry passengers. Not proper like.’
‘A pity.’
‘Sometimes we might have a reverend travelling with us who would say the words over people, but any marriage that took place would have been entered in the ship’s log. More likely they would have waited until they were ashore so they could take their vows proper and legal like in front of a minister in a church.’
Charles handed him his card when they’d finished talking. ‘Thank you, Captain, if you remember anything about them I’d be obliged if you could let me know. I’ll be quite happy to pay for the messenger.’
Captain Forrester called out when Charles was leaving, ‘This Jonathan Barrie you’re looking for . . . he didn’t have reddish hair, did he?’
‘No, Captain. My son’s hair was a dark brown.’
He cogitated for a moment, his forehead creased into a frown. ‘Ah yes . . . I do remember now. It was the girl who had red in her hair. I forget her name, something to do with the bible. They were shipboard sweethearts. Smitten with each other they were.’
‘Mary Elizabeth Ellis her name was.’
‘Was it? Was it indeed? A lovely girl, she was, and sensible with it. She was going out to be a governess, even though she had no job to go to. I thought she was a bit on the skinny side, and she didn’t seem to be very robust to me. Why couldn’t you be a governess in England? I asked her. She gave me a smile, as if she had a secret inside her. Captain Forrester, she said, life is short. I had never seen the ocean before now, and I wanted an adventure. Now I’m having one, and for as long as I live I’ll never forget it.’
The captain smiled at the thought. ‘Your lad drew pictures. The passengers bought them from him, drawings of their children, their husbands and wives. Good he was . . . did one of me. That’s how I remembered his name. He signed the drawing on the bottom. Jonathan Barrie. Yes, he was a nice young man and you can be proud of him.’
‘Be certain that I am. Do you know what happened to him?’
‘No, sir. Once the passengers disembarked at Hobart town they were no longer my responsibility.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Happens that all that talking has made me thirsty. A pint of ale wouldn’t go down badly.’
‘Of course it wouldn’t. How very remiss of me. You’ve been very helpful.’ Charles bought the man his ale then took his leave. If nothing else, the visit had revealed something of Jonathan and the woman he’d married. He was relieved that he’d been wrong about Mary Ellis . . . though if they’d wed he must start thinking of her as Mary Barrie.
Five
Two babies made an awful clamour. In the past two weeks Jessica had developed a high-pitched trill that she could turn on in an instant. Mitchell, who’d been named after Seth’s father, a man who’d also been a soldier, had a warbling cry that intensified as it worked its way up the scale to a full-throated roar. Marianne had playfully added his grandfather’s rank to his name, and the boy was now referred to as Major Mitchell by all of them.
When one baby began to cry it was a signal for the other to join in.
Donning a dark blue bonnet that matched the colour of her eyes, Marianne grimaced at her sister. ‘How can you stand it? I haven’t slept properly for the last week.’
Neither had Charlotte by the looks of her, even though Seth had hired a wet nurse to help out.
The noise stopped abruptly when Charlotte put Jessica to her breast and the girl started to suck, making satisfied little mewing noises. Charlotte gazed down fondly at her daughter’s golden head. Major Mitchell gulped greedily from the wet nurse. They would swap children halfway through, because, although Charlotte’s milk was thin, she didn’t want her children to get too used to another woman’s milk.
‘Is there anything you want in town?’ Marianne asked her.
‘No . . . Seth has a list. You should have gone in with him when he took John into school.’
Marianne offered Jessica a meaningful look. ‘Your babies were quite determined to keep me awake last night and I overslept. I’m thinking of taking up residence in the stable with the horses until the twins learn how to sleep through the night.’ She stooped to kiss her niece’s golden head to take the sting from her words. ‘It’s a nice day, I’m happy to walk.’
‘So am I. I’m sick of staying in b
ed.’
‘Lucian said you must stay there for at least another week.’
‘I won’t tell him if you don’t. I’ve heard that gypsy mothers squat to give birth, then just get up and get on with it.’
Marianne grinned. ‘I thought you didn’t believe gypsy tales.’
‘I do now, since Jessica came to my rescue. I’ll just walk around the room to stretch my legs.’
‘Well, don’t overdo it.’
Sparing her a moment, Charlotte glanced up from her admiration of her baby. ‘Why are you going into Poole?’
‘I need a new sketching block, and I thought I might pay a visit to Jeannie Beresford. She’s to become engaged shortly and I’m hoping I’ll get an invitation to her ball.’
Charlotte smiled. ‘Are you sure it’s not Lucian you hope to see?’
Marianne was not about to tell her sister that the real reason for the visit was her intention to visit Nick Thornton aboard the Samarand afterwards. He might show her around the ship now he was the master, which was something his uncle would never allow. ‘I imagine Lucian will be doing his rounds.’
Detouring to her room, one she’d shared with her sister when they were growing up, she picked up the sailcloth satchel that contained the silk Nick had dropped on his previous and last visit to propose to her sister. She’d looked after it carefully. Placing it with her beaded reticule in her basket she set out into a shining day. As usual, Marianne covered the ground fast. She’d always loved striding out when she walked, even though Charlotte said it was unladylike. And sometimes she ran just for the joy of it. Around her the heath was alive with flowering plants, birds and bees, and the air coloured with gaudy butterflies.
To her right was the harbour, and beyond that, the small island of Brownsea. She shivered when she looked at the well-wooded but gentle slopes, remembering that two years previously the owner had taken his own life in a fit of depression. She’d been told that the man was in the diplomatic service, and had been responsible for the war between England and America. Even there on the uninhabited island, he could find nowhere to hide from the remorse he felt, so he’d cut his own throat. Now it was said that the castle on the island was haunted by the man’s ghost.
The tide was out, exposing the rippled mud. The breeze lifted a slightly acrid sea smell from the surface, as piquant as pickles. It reminded her that she’d promised to take John to dig for cockles at the weekend. He was looking forward to it, so no doubt he’d remind her.
She lifted the skirt of her gown to negotiate a patch on the path where water seeped from a low bank of heather, exposing the dusty half boots that she always wore outside on the heath. Anything more delicate on her feet was impractical. She didn’t usually wear her crinoline hoop around the house, only when she was visiting, and found it a nuisance in the wind.
But she wore her newest gown, fashioned from cornflower blue cotton damask. Around her shoulders she wore a cream Kashmir shawl, pinned by a pearl brooch that had once belonged to her mother. Seth had given the shawl to her, a gift for Christmas from himself and John.
Jeanne Beresford was out visiting, and so was Lucian and his father. The Beresfords lived a few houses away from the Thorntons, whose house was situated halfway up Constitution Hill and had a fine view of the harbour. Perhaps she should take the silk there. But no, Daisy Thornton was a tartar by all accounts. Marianne retained a vision of her gracefully dancing the Viennese waltz with the reverend from the church, and couldn’t connect that image with the concept of the woman being a shrew. But Marianne wanted to see over the ship. She turned back towards the town.
The harbour was a bustling place today. Even the wind bustled in unexpected and short little gusts, like an infant with sudden and erratic bursts of energy. It set the ships swaying in unison, the masts pointing into a silver sky. Seagulls squabbled and squawked in the rigging.
On the quay vendors smoked eels over braziers. There were cockles, oysters and fish fresh from the sea. Provisions were lined up on the shore, waiting to be taken on board various ships. Crates of live fowls clucked and craned their necks nervously amongst the barrels of water and sacks of this and that, along with coiled ropes and tools.
Marianne found the Samarand at her usual berth. She was fairly low in the water, her deck level with the quay wall, which meant she was fully cargoed. Nick probably intended to sail on the next ebb tide.
Oddly, there was nobody about to challenge her on deck when she stepped aboard, but she could hear men’s voices. She had no idea where Nick’s cabin was. She stepped around the open hold to the back of the ship.
The deck moved gently beneath her feet. There was the shriek of a gull from above and a man swearing at it. She gave a soft giggle and her gaze moved up the mast. There was movement right at the top.
She tipped her head right back to see more clearly. The deck suddenly lifted in the wash of a passing boat, then it plunged. As she staggered and took a couple of steps backwards a gust of wind took her unawares. It found its way under her wide skirt and lifted her from her feet. Her legs caught on the edge of the hatch and she fell, tumbling down into the darkness.
The breath left her body as she landed on her side, one arm out to break her fall. She bounced up and over. Flung forward, her head collided with something hard enough to rattle her teeth, then she slid down between two bales and the light faded.
A noise brought her round. Stunned and dizzy she looked up towards the light, and tasted blood in her mouth. The light began to disappear as she called out, but her voice went unheard in the rumble of the hatch cover being pulled across and the shriek of gulls.
No! she thought, and reached out to try and pull herself up from between the bales. She cried out when she tried to lift her arm, and was met with excruciating pain that exploded dizzily into her head before she pitched headlong into a denser darkness than the one surrounding her.
Marianne didn’t know how many times she fell asleep. When she was awake her exhausted calls went unheeded. Gradually she found enough strength to pull herself out from between the bales, and scrambled on to the top. Her mouth hurt and she gently touched a finger against it. Her lip was swollen, but thankfully, her teeth were still intact.
They were at sea, and any romantic notion she’d clung to about sailing, quickly evaporated in the face of her fright. It was dark and smelly in the hold, and she daren’t move in case she fell further. The only comfort was that she could sometimes hear noises from above, and knew she wasn’t alone. The ship creaked and groaned, water sloshed along the side. She didn’t know if it were day or night, and huddled under her shawl for warmth.
Footsteps pattered overhead and she shouted. But they went past without a pause. This happened several times. Hunger attacked her, but the thirst was worse. Her mouth became dry and her lips cracked, and much to her embarrassment her body relieved itself and her skirt was damp. Despairingly, she knew that she’d die if she wasn’t rescued from her predicament soon. If only there was a light.
Reaching out in the darkness, her fingers encountered a wooden pole. She felt along it. There was a hook at the end, and it had been tied to a bale. Painfully, she edged it out with her one usable hand. The effort exhausted her.
For a moment she gave into tears, then tried to remember how far she’d fallen. Not very far. She’d just landed awkwardly. She stood, legs apart, balancing herself on the pitching cargo. At least it was well secured, even if she wasn’t. Taking in a deep breath she reached up with the stick. Nothing! Knowing she was taking a risk she jumped, stick still outstretched. It banged against the underneath of the hatch. The pain shooting through her encouraged her to drop it, and she heard it go bouncing off into the darkness.
‘Help!’ She screamed, and sank to her knees when there came the sound of footsteps.
The footsteps stopped.
‘Help,’ she screamed out again. ‘Please help me.’
Someone knocked on the hatch top. ‘Is someone down there?’
‘Yes, s
omeone is down here. It’s dark and I’ve hurt myself. I’m scared.’
‘Don’t move. I’ll fetch some help.’
Nick had just enjoyed his dinner when the mate knocked at the door. ‘There appears to be a stowaway in the hold, Captain.’
Nick swore and said in annoyance, ‘But we’re two days out. Get him out and bring him to me. Send one of the crew down on a ladder to bring him up, then find him a hammock. Make sure he’s got no weapons about his body first. When he’s recovered from his fright he can work his passage.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The cabin boy had just cleared the dishes away when there was another knock. The door swung open and Nick blinked. A woman stood there, her hair all over the place. She was bloodstained, covered in dust and supported by the mate, whose hand had slipped to rest an inch away from one of her breasts.
Her elbow pressed warningly into the mate’s ribs and she frowned. ‘You can release me now. I can stand perfectly well by myself.’
Nick gazed at her in astonishment as she swayed back and forth, proving her lie.
She said. ‘Is that all you’re going to do, stare at me with your mouth hanging open, Nick Thornton? Haven’t you seen a woman before?’
‘Plenty of them.’ He smiled, thinking that whichever of those women this one was, he must have been mad to have overlooked such a delicious peach. The girl was a sight for sore eyes despite her state.
‘I came on board to look for you. I fell down a hole in the deck and banged my head. Now my shoulder hurts.’
‘No doubt it does.’ He shrugged. ‘Now you’ve found me, what exactly is it that you want me to do for you?’
‘I don’t know.’ He wished he hadn’t said it when she burst into tears and they tracked through the dust on her face. ‘I could have died. And that man . . . touched me. He said he was looking for weapons and it was on your orders.’
‘It was . . . I thought you were a man, and you most certainly could have died. Nobody would have noticed until we reached America.’ With concern he noticed the way she was supporting her arm. He stood, gazing over her misshapen shoulder to where several of the crew stood, ready to support her if she fell. ‘The woman’s injured. How did that happen?’