The Consul's Daughter

by Jane Jackson

  When she reached the day room, Martin had lit the stove and the cabin was warm and welcoming. Her heart quickened and a mixture of fear and anticipation rippled through her as Jago followed her in and closed the door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  She walked to the table and stood with her back to him, waiting.

  ‘I have a request,’ he spoke quietly.

  She stiffened, mentally sifting through all the requests he might make. Only one sprang to mind. She half-turned, not meeting his eyes. ‘If this concerns Antonio Valdes –’

  ‘Valdes is the least of my concerns at the moment. I want you to write some letters.’

  She swung round in surprise, watching as he opened a locker and took out a metal box. Lifting the lid he removed several sheets of paper covered in his bold scrawl. Laying the sheets on the table, he took out fresh paper, a pen, and a bottle of ink. Clearing a space on the shelf, he set the box on it out of the way.

  ‘As you see I have already made notes. The letters are to my father’s agent in Madrid, the Bilbao port authority, the British consul there, and one to Señor Esteban Cervantes who is a ship broker in Bilbao with contacts in other Spanish ports.’

  ‘Why me?

  Jago sat down and pulled the log towards him. ‘You have a neat hand and you write fluent Spanish.’ He paused. ‘Besides, I am very busy. You are not.’

  It was no more than the truth. She slid onto the bench opposite. Picking up the scribbled notes she began to read through them, then looked across at Jago who met her startled glance with perfect calm.

  She resumed reading, scanning the pages faster and faster. Then she went back and re-read to make sure she was not mistaken.

  When she finished she looked up in disbelief. ‘You are selling your schooner, Cara, and disposing of all your business interests in Spain?’

  ‘Ah, my writing is not as poor as I feared.’ He picked up his own pen and began to make entries in the log. ‘I know I can leave the correct phrasing to you,’ he said without looking up.

  ‘Why?’

  He reached up and tapped the barometer, making another entry on the page. ‘You are practised at writing business letters for your father. The one concerning the steam pumping engine for the silver mine in Mexico was an excellent example. Write something along those lines.’ His dark head was bent over the log.

  ‘No, I meant why are you selling everything?’

  He looked up then, turning the pen between his fingers. One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘Caseley, I asked you to write some letters, not question my decisions.’

  The flush started at her chest and rushed up to her scalp. His rebuke was far milder than she deserved. ‘I beg your pardon. I did not – that was impertinent of me.’

  She drew fresh paper towards her and lifting the first sheet of notes. But she could not focus on the words. This was his private business. Yet though he would not tell her why he was selling all his Spanish interests, and she certainly had no right to ask, clearly he did not object to her knowing.

  In asking her to write the letters it was as if he wanted her to know. Why? Perhaps he was simply using her to get a tedious chore done quickly while keeping her occupied and away from Antonio Valdes.

  Why had he said that Valdes was the least of his concerns? He had been concerned enough to forbid her any contact with the Spaniard.

  Some sixth sense told her Jago was watching her. Feeling a warm tide creep up her face she peeped up from under her lashes and met his ironic gaze. Quickly picking up her pen she uncorked the ink, moved the notes to one side, dipped the nib, and began to write.

  For a while the only sounds were the creak of the ship, the thump and hiss of water along the hull, and the scratch of pens. Then Jago broke the silence.

  ‘Do you know the name of the ship carrying that engine to Mexico?’

  Caseley looked up, shaking her head. ‘I don’t, but Uncle Richard should.’

  ‘I called into the office the day before we sailed. Unfortunately he wasn’t there.’

  ‘Is it important?’

  He shrugged. ‘The cargo I’m collecting is also bound for Mexico. It would have saved time if I could have got it on the same ship.’

  ‘Will there be room? The engine is not small and is additional to the load already booked in. What is your cargo?’

  ‘Mercury,’ Jago replied. ‘Ten iron containers of quicksilver. My father needs it urgently at his mine.’

  ‘Oh.’ She nodded.

  Jago watched her for a moment then started to laugh, a deep-throated sound, full of warmth. She glanced at him and her heart leapt, for the warmth was also in his eyes, along with a teasing light. ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she retorted, feeling her colour rise and helpless to stop it.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ he shot back. ‘You have a questioning mind, Caseley. It’s one of the things I –’ He broke off abruptly. He was gripping the pen so hard she tensed, expecting it to snap. Then he continued. ‘You want to know what the mercury is for.’ He made it a statement.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I did wonder.’

  ‘It’s used in the refining of silver.’

  ‘I thought silver was found in nuggets, like gold.’

  Jago nodded. ‘It can be, has been, in some places. Nuggets weighing hundreds of pounds have been dug up in Mexico and Canada. But most silver is a by-product of other ores such as copper, lead or zinc. Before my father moved to Mexico and left them to me, he owned refineries in Oviedo and Ciudad Real in the south of New Castile. Mercury is used in the extraction process.’

  Resting her elbows on the table, Caseley supported her chin on her fists. Heat from the crackling stove and soft lamplight made the turbulence of wind and ocean outside seem far away. The conversation’s shift to less personal topics had helped her relax. Though the atmosphere in the tiny cabin still held the tension that seemed inevitable when they were together, over it lay a new and gentler intimacy.

  ‘How does it work?’ she asked.

  Jago studied her, a faint frown creasing his forehead. As the silence lengthened and his scrutiny continued, she became self-conscious. Why did he stare so?

  ‘You really want to know?’ His tone held both surprise and irony.

  ‘I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. Haven’t you just commented on my curious mind? But if you are too busy –’

  ‘No, I –’ Setting the pen aside, he leaned back, stretching his arms out, his strong brown hands spread flat on the table. ‘You constantly surprise me, though I should know better. First the ore is finely ground,’ he said before she could respond. ‘Then it is mixed with water and mercury and shaken. The mercury breaks up into globules and dissolves the silver in the ore. When this amalgam is heated the mercury evaporates, condenses, and is collected for further use while the silver is left behind. Inevitably some mercury is lost during processing, so my father has regular shipments sent out to him. But the fighting has caused disruption and shipments have been delayed.’

  Glancing at the clock he rose to his feet, his black curls almost touching the deck-head at the edge of the skylight. He went to the door. ‘I’ll send Martin with some hot water. Don’t worry about finishing the letters tonight. We won’t arrive in Santander until late tomorrow.’ He held her gaze for a moment.

  His grey eyes seemed to pierce her soul and she looked down. She carried too many secrets and their weight was becoming an intolerable burden. The door closed quietly.

  Alone again, she realised how easily he had captured her attention, re-directed it, allowing her to forget for a while her doubts and fears.

  Self-disgust consumed her. She had only to listen to Jago to be drawn under his spell. Had it taken only a single kiss to demolish her defences, destroy her sense of balance? She had no idea where she stood in his estimation. Was useful all she would ever be to him?

  Antonio had declared himself in love with her. Yet his fervent whispers inspired only laughter and unease, though g
ood manners demanded she conceal both.

  When Jago had kissed her, his heart had beat against her palm as hard and fast as her own, and Antonio’s warnings had crumbled to dust.

  She buried her face in her hands. Jago’s kiss had shown her something she had never known. Then he had left without a word, leaving her tortured by dreams that had no future.

  She was neither beautiful nor experienced in the arts of pleasing a man, and Jago Barata could have his pick of women who were both.

  She pictured Tamsyn and Liza-Jane. Love had made them happy. They glowed with pride and contentment. For her, love was a double-edged sword of ecstasy and pain that would destroy her if she did not fight it.

  Sitting up, she dropped her hands and looked at the notes. Her eyes burned and her head felt heavy. Smothering a yawn she gathered all the papers neatly into the tin. She still had another day in which to complete them.

  She undressed, then brushed and braided her hair. Worn out by stress and the ship’s plunging and rising, she climbed into the bunk, turned onto her side, and closed her eyes.

  When she woke, grey light at the edge of the curtain told her dawn had broken. Sitting up and pushing the heavy plait back over her shoulder, she recalled troubling dreams and a vague memory of a quiet voice drawing her out of the nightmare that had smothered her. Her feverish body had calmed and she had slipped once more into sleep, this time deep and restful.

  Hot water waited in the bucket beside the stove. After washing, she put on a clean shift and fresh bodice of cream cotton sprigged with tiny green and yellow flowers. She loosened her hair from its braid, brushed it thoroughly then twisted and coiled it into a net on her nape held in place by hand-painted slides.

  She arrived in the mess as Jago was finishing his breakfast.

  ‘Good morning.’ His searching look as she sat down made her heart contract.

  ‘Good morning,’ she nodded round the table.

  ‘’Morning, miss,’ Nathan, Hammer, and Martin responded then turned to Jago who was issuing the daily orders. Antonio did not smile and his narrowed gaze held bitter condemnation.

  Guessing what was in his mind, Caseley was tempted to try and reassure him. The impulse swiftly passed. She owed him no explanations. She had done nothing wrong.

  She ate a small dish of oatmeal and a ship’s biscuit spread with treacle. After a cup of hot strong tea, she quietly excused herself and went up on deck, enjoying a sense of wellbeing she had never known before. Unwilling to examine it, she simply accepted, and was grateful.

  Jimbo was at the wheel and bawled a cheery greeting. ‘’Morning, miss. ’Andsome day, isn’t it?’

  With her visits to the wheel shelter tactfully ignored by the crew, her embarrassment lessened each time.

  When she emerged, Antonio was waiting near the companionway and begged her to come to his cabin. ‘I have proof you are in grave danger,’ he muttered urgently. ‘Señorita, you are being led into a trap.’

  Before she could ask him to explain, Jago appeared. Not sparing the Spaniard a glance, he took her arm in a gentle grip. ‘Would you care to take a turn around the deck, Miss Bonython? Or are you ready to complete my letters?’ While speaking he led her to the hatch and followed her down the stairs to the day room.

  Unnerved by Antonio’s hoarse warning and her inability to fight Jago’s effect on her, she stopped at the door. ‘Will you stop treating me like a – a prisoner?’ she hissed as he leaned past to open it.

  He raised one dark brow. ‘I wasn’t aware of doing so.’

  ‘No, you call it protection,’ she retorted, heat climbing her throat. ‘I don’t need it.’

  ‘I think you do.’ He was calm, implacable.

  ‘I was only on deck a few minutes. I needed to – I wanted some fresh air.’

  He nodded, guided her gently inside the cabin and closed the door. Only then did he release her arm. Without the warmth of her palm it felt cold and she rubbed it absently.

  ‘What poison was Valdes dripping into your pretty ears this time?’

  Caseley was shaken. How did he know? He could not have heard. Pretty? She struggled to concentrate. ‘What do you mean? Why would he –?’ His steady gaze stopped her. Why did she find it impossible to lie to this man?

  ‘You have something he wants, Caseley. He will use any means he can to gain your confidence and destroy your trust in me.’

  Pausing, he turned a page of the log over and back. ‘The usual method for a man to get his way with an inexperienced, impressionable young woman is to tell her he had fallen helplessly in love with her. Even normally sensible and intelligent women are too easily taken in.’

  ‘You speak from experience, no doubt,’ she flung at him, mortified as she recalled Antonio’s declaration.

  ‘I have never found it necessary to resort to such tactics.’

  No, he wouldn’t have. She turned away and limped to the table, not wanting him to see her hurt, her shame. Was it so obvious that she had never been sought after, never desired, never been in love? She closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the table. Just for an instant she had believed Antonio’s declaration. Jago knew, and pitied her. She cleared her throat.

  ‘You don’t like him.’ Her voice sounded thin.

  ‘No, I don’t.’ There was no emotion in Jago’s reply. He was simply stating a fact.

  Caseley turned. ‘Then why did you accept him as a passenger?’

  ‘I owe his family a debt. They have business connections with my father. When I set up as a merchant-trader with my own schooner, they gave me cargoes.’

  ‘But surely that was simply a business arrangement? Not a personal debt.’

  Jago’s chin lifted. ‘To me it was a matter of honour. They had helped me. I was in a position to return the favour.’

  ‘But how did he know you were going to Spain?’

  ‘Valdes visited Bonython’s office the day before we sailed and enquired for an urgent passage to Spain. Your Uncle Richard was out but had left word with Thomas Bonython regarding the cargo of pilchards he had arranged for me to carry to Santander. Thomas told Valdes I was due to sail the following morning. When he arrived at the yard I assumed he was the passenger Toby had warned me to expect.’

  Caseley realised he had answered all her questions without hesitation, questions she wasn’t sure she had the right to ask. But would he answer this one?

  ‘Why don’t you like him?’

  Jago’s features hardened. ‘He has no concept of honour.’

  Caseley’s mouth twitched in an ironic smile.

  ‘You find that amusing?’ He was sombre and she thought she had never seen him look so haughty or so Spanish.

  ‘No. As a matter of fact he said the same of you, because of …’ Her brief gesture encompassed the day room and sleeping cabin and her face grew warm.

  ‘I see.’ Neither his tone nor his expression gave anything away.

  ‘You must have other reasons.’ She wasn’t sure how far she dared press, yet his explanation seemed too nebulous. Because she wasn’t Spanish she might not fully appreciate their code of ethics. Even so, to her his dislike of Antonio Valdes felt personal.

  ‘We have nothing in common,’ he was brusque. ‘Valdes lives on his wits and his family’s generosity. It is years since I last saw him. But I have heard rumours of scandals and of his involvement with various political factions.’

  Caseley’s stomach tightened and it cost effort and willpower to remain perfectly still.

  ‘Whether they are true I neither know nor care,’ Jago went on. ‘But right now he has you in his sights. Once Valdes steps ashore in Spain my debt is paid. Until then you are at risk, and I will do whatever I consider necessary to ensure your safety.’ He did not smile.

  Her gaze fell away and she shivered. Despite his flat tone she detected anger and impatience. Certain phrases he had used resurrected her uncertainty. It was as if he knew about the package and was giving her the opportunity to confide in him.

  She
clasped her arms across her body. Her heart was telling her what she wanted to hear, that she could trust him. It was a siren song, insistent and persuasive. But as she recalled the way he had treated her in Falmouth, how he had manipulated, blackmailed … then there was Louise Downing …

  ‘You’re trying to frighten me.’

  The glacial façade cracked. His eyes blazed as his hand shot out and gripped the back of her neck.

  ‘Being frightened would be wise, Caseley,’ he growled as she gasped and her hands flew up to clutch his wrist. ‘We are sailing to a country torn by civil war, where friendship counts for nothing against heritage and tradition. Santander is Basque territory. I learned to sail with Basques. I worked, ate, and slept with them. They were my second family. But I am Castilian, an outsider. Now, because of the unrest, I am suspect. Think about that, Caseley. I am your only protection. But I too could be in danger.’ He released her and she stumbled backwards, trembling.

  He thrust his hands into his pockets, as if fighting the urge to touch her again. ‘For the love of God, see sense. Let me deliver the … contract.’

  Had that tiny pause been deliberate? Was he telling her he knew whatever she was carrying was more valuable and more dangerous than any business agreement? No, he was only guessing. He couldn’t be sure. Her instinct told her she could trust him. But trusting him would mean breaking her promise to her dying father.

  As his gaze held hers, she wanted so much to tell him, to explain. She shook her head, the words torn from her. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘So be it,’ he muttered and strode out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Caseley stared at the door. Doubts tore at her like talons; so did grief. Rousing herself she lifted down the tin. But as she worked on the letters her thoughts kept straying.

  Tossing down her pen, she paced up and down the small cabin, rubbing her arms. Trapped, stifled, she wished she had never heard of Spain, Antonio Valdes, or Jago Barata.

  She stopped, head bowed, staring at the wooden floor. She didn’t mean it, not about Jago. In the short time she had known him he had caused her rage, frustration, jealousy – and unimagined happiness. He had transformed girlish dreams into a woman’s desire, and kindled a spark of love that, no matter how starved of nourishment, or how low it burned, would never be extinguished.