Forgotten Fragrance

by Téa Cooper

  ‘But why didn’t you take him to port? Why keep him aboard the Zephyrus? Didn’t he want to go ashore? Find his family?’

  ‘Argh! Stop with your questions, woman, slow down. We were in the middle of a long run, only pulling into port when we needed supplies, and by the time we did he’d got the hang of things. Took to the sea like a fish to water.’ Catz laughed uproariously at his own joke. ‘He was young and sprightly wiv great balance. You could send him up the mainmast and he’d never slip, hung on like a little monkey.’

  A picture of Jamie clinging to the spire of St Martin’s flashed before Charlotte’s eyes. ‘But how did Christian end up as the master of the ship?’

  ‘Now, that I’ve never understood.’ Catz scratched his mangy hair. ‘‘Parently it was all in the old man’s last will and testament. I never got to see it. It wouldn’t have done much good, that readin’ lark’s way beyond me.’

  Charlotte adjusted her shawl and gazed out at the approaching coastline. Already she could make out strips of yellow sand and the curve of a bay. The ridiculous beauty of the scenery struck her as bizarre, such a contrast to the agonising torment aboard ship.

  ‘Henk saw the will though and he was pretty pissed, I mean…beggin’ your pardon, Miss, that’s no words for a lady.’ Charlotte laughed. What would Catz say if he knew how much of a lady she wasn’t? ‘Said Christian didn’t deserve the ship. Said he was a thieving bloody murderer and he’d been chucked overboard from one of them there transporters after his victim. Too much to manage. He couldn’t prove it. Old Jonas always said the day Henk brought him proof Christian was a murderer was the day he’d hand him over. We never got the whole story. Christian said he couldn’t remember nuffink. And that was the end of that.’

  The solution loomed tantalisingly close. The possibility that Jamie and Christian were one and the same was, in her mind, as good as confirmed. Her hand reached for the chain around her neck and she clasped the tiny bottle tight in the palm of her hand. My angel. There was only one person who would use those words, who would know what it meant to her — a symbol of all their hopes through a maelstrom of grief and confusion following Elizabeth’s death. All that was in the past, and now she needed to deal with the future. In the same way Jamie had cared for her in London. It was her turn now. ‘I still don’t understand though — why the mutiny? Why is Henk so determined to rebel against Christian? Marcus says mutiny is punishable by death — all of you stand to lose your lives, never mind your livelihood.’

  Catz rubbed his hand over his chin, stretching out the long hairs of his beard and twirling them around his finger. ‘Now it’s an interesting point you make there. Been wondering about it meself. Bristol and me been talking about it.’ Catz shot a look over at Bristol as if he was unsure about how much he’d say. Charlotte caught the nod passing between the two of them and waited with as much patience as she could muster for Catz to continue.

  He shifted his hands on the wheel and gazed up at Jinks balanced on the mainmast and grunted. ‘When the old man was taken we hit Hobart Town to report it to the authorities. After the argument with the whale Zephyrus was taking on water so we had to pull into port anyways. Not something we did much. Things changed once we hit Hobart Town. Took a bit to convince them it was the whale that took Jonas but Christian had written it all up in the log. Maybe this readin’ and writin’ lark is useful sometimes.’ Catz scratched his head again. ‘Christian gave the old man’s papers over to the authorities. Then some bloke came down to the wharf with a copy of Jonas’ will. Said Christian was the captain and there was to be no more whaling. Well, Henk may be a lot of things but one thing’s for certain, he’s a whaleman and it’s all he knows. He reckons if we take the Zephyrus then we can go back to whaling and everything’ll be fine.’

  Charlotte groaned. She’d managed to avoid talking to Henk so far but it seemed he held the key to the puzzle.

  ‘Catz, thank you so much for telling me. I’m going to go below and see if Christian is awake and perhaps I can put his mind at ease about the past.’

  Charlotte almost skipped across the deck. Jamie Christian, Christian Jamie, one and the same. If she added up all the clues she had to be right. Jamie couldn’t remember enough, but she could. She could be his memory.

  As she skirted the door to her cabin and reached for the latch the door flew open.

  Marcus stood before her, blocking her path. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Up on deck.’ She smiled, hoping to quell the rage burning in his eyes. Surely she couldn’t have caused it simply by being up on deck. The man appeared deranged. Unshaven, missing both shoes, his grey hair standing up from his head like tufts of feathers and his shirt hanging loose.

  ‘Can I get you anything? Water perhaps, some breakfast?’

  ‘Come here, you strumpet.’ He reached for her and grabbed a handful of her shawl, ripping it from her shoulders. As he took a step closer she edged back. He moved with surprising agility along the passageway until he leant so close that the stale alcohol on his breath and the odour of his unwashed body clawed at the back of her throat.

  ‘Come here.’

  ‘No, Marcus I…

  ‘The bloody crew of the ship are good enough for you. Why not me?’ His words shot out with the force of a slap to her face. ‘I should have listened in the beginning. They told me convict women couldn’t be tamed. Once a whore — always a whore.’

  Eyes wide open, Charlotte stared in horror. ‘Marcus, I am no whore. When have I ever given you cause to think that of me?’

  ‘Do you think I’m blind or just plain stupid? I have offered you everything and this is the way you repay me?’

  Forcibly pushing her thoughts of Jamie aside Charlotte turned her concentration to the enraged man before her. His bloodshot eyes bulged and a sheen of sweat covered his dome-like brow. ‘Marcus, come into the cabin and let me make you comfortable.’

  ‘Make me comfortable!’ he bellowed, his voice filling the tiny passageway. He gave a snort. ‘Make me comfortable? The way you make that,’ his hand fluttered towards the Captain’s cabin, ‘that murderer comfortable?’

  With the timber of the wall pressed into her back Charlotte tried to avoid his spittle as he thrust his face into hers.

  ‘Do you think I don’t know what you were doing?’

  ‘Marcus, I have no idea what you are talking about. Please come and sit down.’

  With a dramatic sigh Marcus flounced into the smaller cabin and flopped down on the chair, running his fingers through his hair. She waited patiently, hands clasped demurely in front of her, trying to settle her breathing. She had no idea what had caused Marcus’ sudden outburst.

  After a silence of several minutes Marcus lifted his head wearily and gazed up at her with bloodshot eyes. ‘I saw you with the man.’ His hand gestured vaguely in the direction of the next-door cabin.

  ‘Marcus, I was nursing him. He has wounds I needed to tend. His back is…

  ‘It is not his back you’re interested in!’ He sprang to his feet causing the chair to fall and once more Charlotte found herself against the wall with Marcus’ heavy breath fanning her face. Instinctively her hand reached for the chain around her neck, seeking reassurance.

  ‘Yes! You have proved it. I saw him with his face buried in your, your…bosom!’ He spat the word as though a curse, then raised both his hands and stepped back. ‘Don’t try and deny it. I saw you indulging your foul appetite, communing with Satan. You are no better than he. A murderer and a whore — the perfect match. I want no more to do with you. I was a fool to think a convict could be civilised.’ His finger stabbed in front of her face. ‘You are ruined, my girl. Your true colours shown. I simply cannot entertain marriage to a whore. And I had thought divine guidance had brought us together.’

  Spent, Marcus righted the chair and sank down once more. ‘Get out of my sight,’ he spat. ‘I want no more of you. When we reach Sydney I will hand your papers over to the authorities and you can return to the Factory
where you belong. God has shown me the error of my ways. Only he can offer you redemption.’

  ‘Marcus I —’

  ‘Marcus nothing. There is no more you can say or do. Get out of my sight, woman.’

  Swallowing back her horror and any hope of setting the record straight, Charlotte stumbled back up onto the deck, craving the open air. Her heartbeat hammered in her head and black spots danced before her eyes. She hadn’t even had the opportunity to explain who she believed Christian to be. Surely if she did Marcus would not misinterpret the situation. The horror stories of the Women’s Factory made her stomach churn. How could fate send her back once more into a world she’d finally left behind?

  With the wind in her face and her eyes on the rapidly approaching coastline she leant over the deck rail and peered down into the depths of the ocean. She might as well be shackled and below decks like the poor Islander girls. She was no better off than the convicts soon to be landed at Port Albert and sent God only knows where to work out their sentence. How could she have come so far and have everything pulled out from beneath her, and at the exact moment when her dearest wish might come true.

  ‘Missus, Missus?’ Mina’s sibilant whisper broke into her thoughts. She examined the hatch, battened down but not fastened. Gazing around the deck she pinpointed Henk back at the wheel. Catz and Bristol were in conversation, probably discussing Catz’s revelations. Carefully she slid behind the mainmast and squatted down, her face level with the hatch.

  ‘Mina. I’m here. Is everything all right? Have you got food? Are they treating you well?’ Since Jamie’s keelhauling yesterday morning all thoughts of the poor girls incarcerated below deck had flown from her mind.

  ‘Yes, we are all right. We are approaching land.’

  ‘Yes, Mina, we are. How can you tell?’

  ‘Last night, Missus, when we were allowed on deck, one of the convict men told us we were coming to Port Albert and they would leave the ship.’

  ‘You’re right, Mina, and so is he. We are approaching Port Albert and we will pull in to discharge the convicts and then we will be on our way.’

  ‘On our way to where?’

  ‘Why, to Boyd Town where you will all disembark. Did you not know?’

  ‘No, Missus. What will they do with us? What will happen to us?’

  Did they not know their fate? Even she’d known her destination when she left the Thames aboard the Atwich. Did they truly not understand they were being sold into slavery as prostitutes? Mortified, she searched for a reply.

  As long as the command of the ship lay with Henk then his foul racket would go ahead. Christian might regain control of his ship but not in time to save the girls. The crew were with Henk — and there was Marcus. She glanced over her shoulder to see him engaged in a conversation with Henk involving much arm-waving and finger-pointing. For a moment her spirits soared. Maybe Marcus was at long last making a stand against Henk and his dubious practices.

  She made a snap decision. ‘Mina — I don’t know any more other than the fact you will disembark, leave the ship, at Boyd Town. There’s another day or two to sail once we leave Port Albert, plenty of time for me to find out.’ The lie sat like a swelling on her lips as she tried to swallow her guilt.

  ‘Thank you, Missus.’ Mina’s fingers curled up through the lattice of the hatch cover. Charlotte grasped them and squeezed them once then struggled to her feet.

  Marcus and Henk stood together. The hand-waving had stopped and they appeared to have reached some sort of agreement. Was it possible? Surely Marcus, no matter how erratic his behaviour, could not condone mutiny and slavery.

  Taking care, she crept around the bulkhead and made her way to the wheel in time to see Marcus stick out his hand and Henk clasp it.

  ‘I am pleased we have reached an agreement, Henk.’ Marcus’ voice sounded positive and encouraging. ‘As soon as we arrive in Boyd Town I will be happy to play my part. And should you have any difficulty with the authorities when we reach Port Albert do not hesitate to call on me.’

  ‘Nah. There’ll be no problem. I’ll tell them the Captain has contracted something contagious so he’s voluntarily isolated himself from the crew and passengers to ensure no one gets sick. They’ll like that.’

  ‘Good man.’ Marcus punched Henk lightly on the arm and headed for the galley, obviously keen to sample more of Cookie’s delights.

  Once Marcus disappeared below decks Charlotte made her way back to the cabin, hopeful Jamie would be awake and the effects of laudanum eased. She needed his help to patch together the strange turn of events.

  Chapter 10

  The scarred walls of the cabin came into focus once more and Christian moved his head from side to side searching for Charlotte. A pang of disappointment shafted through him, not the usual loneliness he tolerated every day. Something different. Shaking his head he tried to grasp hold of the baffling images racing through his mind. Reality and dreams all bundled up together in a mess of knots capable of confounding the most accomplished whaleman.

  His eyes refused to clear, gritty and glued together. He rubbed the heel of his palm across his face, wincing as the skin pulled tight against the dried blood. He’d slept and even though his back still throbbed and burnt, and his throat was still sore and ragged, his breathing had calmed to an almost-normal rhythm.

  The memory of the coldness and darkness of the water as he’d dived over the edge of the ship raised goosebumps on his skin, as did the certainty Henk’s pistol shot had been for him. Shifting from side to side he tested the pain of his torn skin. Nothing to indicate the keel splinter remained impaled in his skin. The taste of the whale oil from the sponge coated his mouth. He licked his lips and remembered something more, the touch of lips. And her face again.

  Again?

  Lying stock-still he groped for the thought hovering on the outskirts of his mind. The face of an angel — his angel beckoning him. Leading him to the surface as she had done once before. Her long hair, like seaweed drifting around her perfect face. Perhaps he’d listened to old Jonas’ tales of mermaids for too long. No. He’d seen her before, in the water leading him, guiding him. Closing his eyes he conjured her face again, hair spread around her like a halo, the pale skin and elegant neck with the golden chain lying between her breasts, her rosebud lips forming his name.

  ‘Jamie…Christian.’

  Her cool hand touched his forehead. His eyes snapped open. He trapped her fingers with his own and clasped tightly.

  ‘You’re awake. How are you feeling?’

  His gaze locked on the chain as it swung towards his face. Releasing her hand he grasped it and ran his fingers down the warm metal until he reached the small blue bottle.

  ‘I didn’t dream it. You’re real.’ Confusion rushed in spiralling whorls as he tried to marshal the myriads of images flashing behind his eyes.

  ‘Of course I’m real.’ Her voice held the promise of a warm smile and as it broke across her face the pieces slipped together.

  ‘Lottie.’

  A little giggle slipped between her perfect lips.

  ‘No one has called me Lottie for years. I’m Charlotte now.’

  ‘No. Lottie, my angel.’

  A stabbing pain across his forehead made his eyes lose focus again. He blinked expecting that when he opened them again she would be gone. Instead, she fussed with the coverings, straightening them, soothing his brow, pouring water into a tin mug.

  ‘Can you lift yourself up a little? I expect you’re thirsty.’

  ‘No!’ He pushed himself up on his elbow and rolled onto his back, wincing as the pain cleared his mind. Pain kept him awake and made everything clearer. ‘Just water, I don’t want whatever you gave me before.’

  ‘This is just water. There is no laudanum in it. Although I think Cookie was right. You slept and forgot the pain.’

  Christian’s hand shook as he took the mug and sipped the cool liquid. More than anything else he wanted to gulp it down his parched throat, but he
feared another coughing fit. Taking measured sips he emptied the mug and handed it back to Charlotte, then eased himself up the bed until he was propped against the bulkhead. At least this way he felt more in control of reality. Reality? There was no reality. Nothing made sense. In the deep recesses of his mind the dream hovered and he wasn’t sure where it ended and truth began.

  ‘Lot…Charlotte, can you explain? What is happening?’

  ‘Henk has taken command of the Zephyrus. He keelhauled you.’ Her voice caught and a frown of anguish marred her beautiful face. Something he never wanted to be responsible for. He wanted only to see her happy. Running towards him with her hair flying like a pennant and the smile on her face lighting his life.

  ‘I remember. I dived overboard when Henk’s pistol sounded and they pulled me under, then everything is scrambled. I saw your face — again. I’d seen it before.’

  The clouds in her eyes cleared bringing a hint of sunshine. ‘Yes, you had, Jamie.’ With a sigh of pure joy she clasped his hand. ‘Do you remember?’

  Christian shook his head. Images flashed like the lights on the mast of a far-off ship at night, swaying with the tide, blinking comfort in the darkness, the knowledge he wasn’t the only living soul on the midnight watch in a vast black sea of loneliness.

  She dropped his hand to pull the stool closer to the bunk and sat, her hand resting near his own, small and fragile yet so strong. He struggled with the temptation to grab it and hold on tight. A lifeline, his anchor to the past.

  ‘Do you remember how you came to be on the Zephyrus?’

  ‘Of course. I am the captain. We’re sailing from Hobart Town to Port Albert and then onto Boyd Town and Sydney. You, and your husband-to-be.’ He cleared his throat. She offered the mug of water and he took a sip, not wanting her to know the pain in his chest not in his throat had caused him to stutter. ‘You and Marcus are my passengers bound for Sydney.’

  ‘But years before. How did you get to be aboard the Zephyrus?’

  ‘They dragged me from the water, found me bobbing in the ocean. I had no knowledge of where I’d come from or where I was bound. My life began that day. Before then,’ — he spread his hands — ‘nothing.’