The Trespass: A Novel

by Barbara Ewing

  As the boat steamed past, all the great docks and warehouses bustled about their business: Harriet did not see. All she heard, suddenly, were the screaming gulls, proclaiming that the sea was near. Her eyes hidden under her veil, she willed the boat quickly onwards, she prayed that Cecil had carried out her instructions: yet if he had not she would sleep on the bare boards of her cabin; nothing mattered now but that the Amaryllis set sail and was gone. Lord, help thy servant in this, her affliction, give me strength for just a few more hours so that I may be saved in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Children nudged each other at the lady praying.

  Greenwich came into view, the domes of the naval college. Her brother Walter had wanted to join the navy: their father had insisted to Walter that the world of business was the only one to enter; to which he, Sir Charles Cooper, held the key.

  The domes were gone. Walter was gone.

  The steamboat ploughed on and on through the grey morning, hour after hour, its own black smoke mixing with all the other smoke and fog and grime that rose from the docks and the factories all along the Thames. When at last they arrived at Gravesend, they saw at once that all the boarding and loading of the Amaryllis was in full swing. Harriet was helped on to the dock; she quickly raised her veil, stared at the ship that was to save her. She saw at once that it was smaller than the Miranda and just for a moment her heart gave a great leap at the thought that this small vessel was to take her across oceans; in this she would traverse the world. Then she saw, at the prow, another figure, a kind of mermaid, hair streaming (red hair, her hair had been painted red and her fins were blue), straining to lead the Amaryllis onwards and Harriet Cooper, standing alone on the Gravesend dock, smiled. Then, collecting herself anxiously, clutching her embroidery bag to her, she looked about for Cecil. Huge boxes stood everywhere, beds and bundles, traders were selling their wares, knots of steerage passengers stood anxiously on the deck and on the dock with their small possessions, sailors were hauling ropes and boxes, women were being winched aboard, swinging wildly in their copious skirts.

  She saw him. He had seen her already, stood beside his cart with his arm raised. She saw with alarm that his cart was empty, hurried towards him. He grinned. He was wearing the same slightly squashed top hat.

  ‘It’s all aboard, miss, I had to leave it at Deptford but I watched it like a hawk, it come aboard about an hour ago from one of the lighters. You must go aboard at once and point it out and sailors will take it to your cabin.’

  She and her possessions and the Amaryllis were here at Gravesend: Harriet was so relieved that her legs seemed to buckle under her. She put out her hand to steady herself. Cecil understood, gave his arm for a split second. She said, almost weeping with relief, ‘I am so pleased to find you,’ as if he was a long-lost relation. Then she pulled herself together. ‘Cecil.’ She swallowed. ‘Could I ask you to come aboard with me, to assist me with my belongings. I will pay you, of course.’

  ‘Be glad to, Miss Harriet.’ If Cecil thought it was unheard of for a single woman to be trying alone to board herself and some furniture on a ship bound for the other side of the world without a single family member to say goodbye, he gave no sign; the odd couple walked the shaky gangplank to the ship, Cecil whistling some tuneless song of his own, Harriet assuring an official that she had no need of winching.

  As soon as they had boarded, Cecil and a sailor almost immediately began – like a lot of other people around them trying to clamber past with boxes and wardrobes – arguing. The voices got louder and louder and the language was words Harriet had never heard before; then just as quickly the two found they knew someone in common, shook hands, enlisted the help of some carpenters, carried – banging and bumping and swearing, kicking at some squawking chickens in a small cage, lunging at dirty excited children who should have been down below in steerage – Harriet’s belongings to her cabin. It was so small she could not believe they would get the bed in the door but they laughed, said it was easy when you were used to it, unfitted the legs, pushed and shoved: the small bed, the chest of drawers, the small table, the locked boxes, all piled on top of one another. They quickly put the bed together again, the carpenters then proceeded to nail the furniture to the floor, as they had done in Edward’s cabin; all the while joking and laughing with Cecil who seemed to know them all; he persuaded them to nail some hooks into the bulwarks on which Harriet could hang things; Harriet paid them, they departed, shaking hands all round. From above them, on the poop deck, came the sound of people walking and running, outside the cabin people passed to go on deck; she glimpsed an arm, a hat, a waist through the half-open door. Through the small round cabin window she saw the legs of people passing.

  ‘What you got in them boxes?’ enquired Cecil politely.

  She thought. ‘Clothes. Books. Candles, I think. Oh, yes, and a lamp.’

  Cecil looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I been looking at your belongings,’ he said. ‘You got no wash things?’

  ‘I—’ She blushed brightly, looked around the tiny, now chaotic cabin. She hadn’t somehow thought of these essentials. In Mary’s empty room, the washstand stood alone by the window. Realising the enormity of her omission she put her hands to her face in mortification.

  ‘Well, they got a water closet on this boat. Nevertheless, for nights and storms and that, when you can’t get about.’ Her heart suddenly jumped at the idea of the danger. ‘You seen them traders,’ Cecil went on, ‘in the small boats hanging around, and on the dock?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They sell everything. You won’t be the first person to come without.’

  ‘I—’ She paused, blushed again, quickly got some of her money from her embroidery bag. ‘Could you?’ She looked at him with such excruciating embarrassment that he laughed as he took the money, although kindly.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Harriet, but I think you’ve got a few shocks coming crossing the world, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  While he was gone she took off her mantle and her extra petticoats and all but one of the shawls, unpinned her hat, sat for a moment on a small clear space on Mary’s bed, which looked so strange and different in its new home. The mattress was wet. All the time a feeling of fear gripped her, that something could yet go wrong. She got up and looked around her tiny, crowded cabin and out of the small window which let in the light and where people’s legs passed. She did not know what time it was, but it must be late afternoon and soon, surely, the ship must leave. Before dusk, they had told her. The servants would long ago have come into the church to look for her. What would they do? What would they think? Had they already sent word to her father? She knew she would not feel safe until the shores of England were no longer in view. She had that same feeling, of seeing herself. She was standing in a small box with a small, round window, I am Harriet Cooper, she whispered fiercely to herself. I am Harriet Cooper and I am going to New Zealand where I will find my cousin Edward. She found two small keys at the bottom of her embroidery bag. She stared at them for a moment: at last she unlocked the box-chests, opened the lids. She thought she saw some insects running away in a corner of the cabin, perhaps she imagined it. There was a knock at her door, she thought it was Cecil returning but a uniformed official stood in the doorway with some papers. ‘Miss Cooper?’

  Has someone found me already? She held very tightly to the small table. Her face was expressionless. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Ah, Miss Cooper, we are glad you have embarked at last, I have been looking for you.’ He bowed to her. ‘The Captain had been hoping, we were all hoping, that your father was here, to say goodbye.’ He looked rather dubiously around the cabin. Usually people were surrounded by family.

  ‘My father and I have already – parted. He is detained on government business but – my brother – my brother was here to see me safely aboard. He has just disembarked.’

  The official bowed again. ‘I am so sorry not to have met him. There have been some later arrivals among the passengers even than yourself
and I was detained earlier. The Captain sends his compliments. He was so hoping to meet your father. We had an embarkation breakfast this morning with many leading dignitaries present; your health and that of your father was drunk in your absence.’ Harriet looked at him in horror. ‘The Captain would have liked to greet you himself – and your brother of course – in person when you boarded but now the estuary pilot is on board and he is called to his duties. He will of course be looking forward to your eating at his table and all care will be taken of you. For we are not used,’ he added confidingly, ‘to ladies travelling alone. We understand, of course, about your very sad bereavement – my condolences to you – and have made an exception in this case. Because of your father, of course. And as you are without a natural protector we will, of course, find a suitable married couple to be your guardians.’ Somebody called, he looked flurried, and was gone with another bow and many apologies.

  Cecil came back stumbling under a small cupboard, disappeared again. She opened the cupboard, found it contained a big chamber pot decorated with rather large, bright crimson roses; she blushed in deep embarrassment. In a few minutes Cecil returned with a bowl, and a jug of the same pattern.

  ‘Have you got curtings?’

  She looked at him blankly.

  ‘See this window? Where the people are passing? When it’s cold and stormy you’ll have it closed but when you go through them tropical oceans you’ll want to have it open, for the breeze. So you should put up curtings. There’s some of them Indians on the dock, with their stuff, their silks and their cottons, and you could sew it. You could come down and choose the colour and that.’

  She nodded, put her hat back on, and lowered the veil, followed him out on to the deck.

  ‘What do I do if I see – bugs?’

  ‘Burn them and chuck them overboard.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said politely. They side-stepped people and boxes and animals and children. There were ropes everywhere, and coils of big chains, and wooden buckets full of water; pigs in cages complained bitterly of their small space, grunting and snorting. Above, a lifeboat hung, suspended over the deck, and far above the lifeboat flags fluttered. ‘How do you know so well – how things are arranged, on board the ship?’ she asked Cecil.

  ‘I was a sailor, long ago when I was young. I like seeing the boats go, it reminds me; I sailed once, to India, and me daughter’s gone to Australia,’ and with this surprising cornucopia of information he helped her down the gangplank and on to the part of the pier where people were selling and shouting their wares; shabby steerage passengers bought second-hand saucepans and children tried to steal oranges. Cecil pushed his way through to where brown men in coloured turbans held out rolls of cloth. He began bargaining with the Indian traders at once; he and they seemed to have a fearful argument but when the price was struck everyone bowed, including Cecil; he carried under his arm back on to the ship the material of Harriet’s choice, had insisted she buy a big cup and saucer also. ‘For drinking water, the water will be rationed of course, you need to have your own cup.’

  ‘I know,’ she suddenly said eagerly, putting up her veil, remembering Edward’s manuals, ‘to catch the rainwater.’ Cecil smiled, pleased, and Harriet smiled back at him.

  So that was how Lord Ralph Kingdom saw her coming towards him, as he looked for her in vain about the ship: she was smiling on the deck of the Amaryllis, holding a cup and saucer.

  When Harriet turned, and then saw him, she dropped the cup and saucer at once. They did not break on the wooden deck but bounced down the deck towards Cecil, who picked them up.

  ‘I wondered if I might find you here,’ said Ralph, very gravely.

  She looked as if he had struck her. This time her legs did give way and if he hadn’t stepped forward and quickly caught her arm she would have fallen to the deck.

  ‘No. No!’ was all she whispered.

  Cecil, behind her, looked on with interest. He was familiar enough with the ballet dancers at Her Majesty’s Theatre, and their teatime stories, to know much about Lord Ralph Kingdom.

  Ralph, so tense himself, was nevertheless appalled by Harriet’s reaction. One moment she was smiling, next moment she looked at him as if he were the very devil himself. Good God, did she not realise yet that he loved her! He led her, his arm half around her, to the ship’s rail, where for a moment she stood, her head bowed. Below on the shore people scurried about, calling, waving, directing luggage angrily, buying last-minute supplies, but Harriet saw none of this: only understood that somehow, at the last minute, she had been discovered. Tears of shock burst from her eyes, she was not protected by her veil, she put her hands up to her face and the embroidery bag bumped against the rail.

  ‘Why should you stop me!’ she exclaimed wildly.

  He looked bewildered. ‘What are you doing here on your own? Who are you travelling with? Where is your family?’

  Cecil stood at a respectful distance but near enough to hear most of their conversation. Gulls screamed past now, diving towards the ship and then flying upwards again.

  ‘Who are you travelling with?’ Lord Kingdom’s voice was low and urgent.

  ‘I am travelling alone.’

  ‘You are travelling alone to New Zealand?’ His voice was disbelieving. ‘What of your father?’ He was still holding her arm and she felt his fingers tighten. ‘He would not allow you to do this, of that I am certain.’

  ‘Please. You are hurting me.’ Cecil tensed slightly, but Lord Ralph let go of Harriet’s arm at once and in some confusion.

  ‘I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.’

  He had become acutely aware of people pushing past, passengers calling, sailors and carpenters passing with boxes and furniture, and of Cecil, standing there behind Harriet with his squashed top hat and his waistcoat, holding some material and a cup and saucer.

  ‘Who is this?’ said Ralph to Harriet, indicating Cecil.

  Cecil bowed slightly: ‘Cecil Forsythe, at your service, sir,’ he said, and Harriet, not noticing his slightly mocking tone, said weakly, ‘Mr Forsythe has been assisting me.’

  ‘I imagine the constabulary would have good reason for arresting him if he has encouraged you in this ridiculous adventure.’ Ralph, usually so calm and sardonic whatever the circumstances, would have been mortified to know that his distress had made him pompous and loud. People passing stared at him. The German band below broke into ‘Home, Sweet Home’ with enthusiasm, as if it was an appropriate item.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Cecil, above the band and the cacophony of noise, ‘I believe it would be better to conduct this conversation in more privacy,’ and it was Cecil who led the way back, past all the ropes and the people, to Harriet’s cabin.

  Ralph looked in total disbelief at the small space, at the boxes and the bed and the vulgar red wash bowl. For a moment words deserted him. Never in his life, not even with the ballet dancers and their wild and bohemian ways, had he felt as shocked as he did now: to find that a young lady of his acquaintance, who he cared so much about, had somehow got herself, unknown to her family, into this situation; ready it seemed to travel twenty thousand miles and never tell a soul. Cecil stood just outside the partly closed small doorway like a centurion guard. He had his back to them: Ralph presumed that despite his rascally appearance he was some old family retainer, knew that it would be most improper that the door be closed properly and he and Harriet left alone together in the small space.

  ‘How did you find me?’ said Harriet in almost a whisper.

  He turned back to her, spoke in a low, urgent voice. ‘I – quite by chance as you know – overheard you talking to – that is to say – talking to your sister’s grave. There was something – that is to say – I understood you were desperate about something. I dreamed of you last night, Harriet, for – oh, Harriet,’ and his voice, too, lowered to a whisper, ‘I love you.’

  He did not see that she looked at him in fear, hearing these words; that she had placed herself in the far corner
away from him, holding her hands in front as if to ward him off.

  ‘You must forgive my impertinence, these are words that I would not have pressed upon you so soon in our acquaintance, and certainly not in a situation like this.’ He looked back at the door, but only Cecil’s shoulder could be seen, he was almost absent. ‘But I dreamed last night that I had lost you and I cannot bear to lose you because I believe you are the woman who can make me happy. Such was my despair at even a dream that something made me send to the Strand this morning to find out when next a ship was leaving. When I heard it was today I went to Bryanston Square at once and was told that you had gone to St Paul’s Church and had not yet returned, although they had been expecting the carriage for some time. I know your father is in Norwich on parliamentary business and somehow it seemed to me that my worst nightmares were confirmed, that for some reason that I do not understand you were doing something extraordinarily foolish. And so, even knowing I was foolish too – thinking one day we might laugh at my folly – I rode here, hoping that I was wrong. I arrived not half an hour ago and have been looking everywhere and could not find you and thought perhaps I had been mistaken; I was about to speak to the Captain. Thank God I have found you in time.’

  She looked at him in total despair, said nothing.

  ‘Does your father know you are here?’ She shook her head.

  ‘Does anybody know you are here, your brothers, anyone but this servant?’ He indicated the door. Again she shook her head.

  He, finally, asked the question that was uppermost in his mind. ‘Is it Edward?’

  She looked at him blankly.

  ‘Are you in love with your cousin? With Edward?’

  Her pale, pale face looked so puzzled, so incredulous through her tears that he understood at once that this was not so and something in his grim look relaxed. He took one of her hands.