A Place of Birds

by Jane Jackson

  ‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘I can manage, thank you.’ It took every ounce of strength she possessed to maintain her composure. ‘To spare you further embarrassment I will ask William to return the books.’

  ‘Susanna, I want you to understand –’

  ‘I do, Edward, really.’ She flashed him a brilliant smile. ‘It seems I – I’m sorry –’ Her aching throat closed on a wrenching sob. She pulled open the door and ran down the passage. Moments later she was outside in the yard, blinded by scalding tears.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Curled on her bed, exhausted from weeping, Susanna stared at the high ceiling. Outside the window dusk had melted swiftly into night. She wished William would come home. He was the only one she could confide in. He might not understand, after all he was only seventeen. But he would listen and sympathise. He wouldn’t tell her how stupid she’d been. She could see him now, saying that Edward was the fool. That it was his loss. Her eyes filled again, the tears sliding down her temples and into her hair. ‘Oh Will,’ she whispered, ‘what am I going to do?’

  Downstairs in the hall the grandfather clock chimed. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed she sat up, pressing her fingers to her throbbing forehead. Her eyes felt swollen and gritty. Her parents would be back soon. They mustn’t see her like this. Crossing to the washstand in the corner she dipped a cloth into the icy water and pressed it to her burning face.

  When she could bear the cold no longer she patted herself dry then, freeing her damp untidy hair, she brushed it out, twisted it into a neat coil and replaced her bonnet.

  She could never go back to the Infirmary. She didn’t consider herself a coward but the thought of trying to pretend this morning had never happened – of glimpsing pity in Edward’s eyes – She shuddered. No doubt her parents would commend her for seeing the error of her ways and suggest alternative charities to which she might devote herself.

  Wiping her eyes and blowing her nose she smoothed the counterpane and took a last glance around the room, ensuring all evidence of her wretched stupidity had been neatly tidied away. The doorbell rang, twanging her over-stretched nerves.

  Who would come calling at this time of day? It was too late for afternoon visiting. Had her parents been at home the household would already be at tea. Leaving her room she heard Agnes open the front door, then a low-pitched masculine murmur. Edward’s voice. She sped down the stairs.

  ‘It’s all right, Agnes. I will receive Dr Arundell.’ Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.

  ‘If you please, miss, –’

  ‘Later, Agnes,’ Susanna hurried forward. ‘Oh Edward, I knew you couldn’t –’

  ‘Susanna.’ He looked shocked and disconcerted.

  Glimpsing movement behind him she froze. He was not alone. She made a valiant effort to compose herself. ‘Dr Vigurs? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I asked him to accompany me. I thought it best.’ Why wouldn’t Edward meet her eyes? ‘As he is your family physician.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  The older man came forward on the porch. ‘I wonder, my dear, might we come inside?’

  Susanna felt her colour rise. ‘Yes, yes, of course. Please, do come in.’

  Dressed in a cutaway coat and dark trousers, a gold watch chain looped across his waistcoat, Dr Vigurs drew her hand through the crook of his arm. ‘Let’s go and sit down.’ He led her into the drawing room where a bright fire burned in the hearth. Glancing over her shoulder Susanna saw Edward murmur a few words to Agnes who bobbed a curtsey and hurried away.

  ‘Forgive me,’ Susanna looked from one man to the other, ‘but why have you come?’

  ‘You have to be brave, my dear,’ Dr Vigurs was sombre. ‘I’m afraid there’s been an accident.’

  She turned cold. ‘My parents? What happened? Are they badly hurt? I must –’

  ‘No, no,’ Dr Vigurs interrupted. ‘Actually we expected to find them here.’

  ‘They have been in Truro all day. They should be back –’ she broke off. ‘But if – Then who –? Dread curled inside her like poisonous black smoke. She couldn’t breathe. She saw Edward turn away, unable to look at her. It wasn’t just an accident. It was worse. Far worse. That was why Edward had brought Dr Vigurs. ‘No.’ She did not recognise the sound of her own voice. She shook her head violently, refusing to acknowledge the unthinkable. ‘Not William.’

  Dr Vigurs took her hands. His round pink face with its bushy side whiskers was sympathetic. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. The boat left Looe just after one o’clock to return to Falmouth. Apparently it ran into a squall off Dodman Point. William was hit by the boom and fell overboard. The crew did all they could but …’ He shook his head sadly.

  Susanna closed her eyes. William. She imagined him knocked off his feet and scrabbling for purchase on the slippery deck. The sudden stinging shock of the icy water. His terror as it gushed into his nose and mouth, burning and choking him as he gasped for air, fighting desperately as the weight of his sodden clothes dragged him beneath the wind-lashed waves. William. Roaring blackness filled her head and she toppled into it.

  ‘How did your father react to your refusal to join the company?’ Cathcart enquired.

  Lowell’s smile was bitter. ‘The note that had me excused duties and sent ashore so quickly? It was from my father informing Captain Beamish I would not be returning to the ship.

  ‘But –’

  ‘Exactly. He had made the decision for me.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘First I tried to convince Captain Beamish that there had been a mistake, that I had no intention of leaving the ship. But he said that as I was still legally under age he could not go against my father’s wishes.’ Lowell’s jaw tightened. The memory of his father’s machinations could still provoke an uprush of anger. ‘As Hawke & Son was one of the companies for whom the captain carried tea he was not prepared to jeopardise his contract. His advice was to do what my father wanted and be grateful.’

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  Lowell shook his head. ‘I managed to grab my bag before it was handed over to one of father’s servants and went looking for another berth. I knew I had no chance of joining a British ship. My father would have put the word out. And no master with any sense would bite the hand that fed him. So I signed on as Second Mate aboard an American schooner trading between Shanghai and Nagasaki.’

  Cathcart’s brows rose. ‘That must have been … interesting.’

  ‘It was. Japan had been closed to foreign vessels for two hundred years. We had charts of the coast but they proved notoriously unreliable. When we finally got ashore we were attacked by Samurai. Two of the crew were slashed to death. Then there were the traps.’

  ‘Traps?’ Cathcart was fascinated. ‘What sort of traps?’

  ‘The kind set to catch wild animals. Bamboo-covered pits full of stinking mud. One man drowned before we could get him out.’

  ‘What an appalling place.’

  ‘Oh no. It was absolutely beautiful, completely unspoiled.’ Lowell sighed. ‘Though once trading started that would change.’

  ‘Were you there long?’

  ‘I made three trips. But on our way down to Hong Kong with a cargo of edible seaweed we were caught in a typhoon and the ship was wrecked.’

  ‘So what did you do then?’

  ‘I went pearl fishing in the outlying islands of the Southern Philippines.’ Lowell felt himself smile. That was a time in his life he could look back on with unalloyed pleasure.

  ‘I take it this was not …’ Cathcart gave a small cough, ‘… a totally legitimate venture?’

  Lowell grinned. ‘It wasn’t just illegal, it was downright hazardous, what with frequent tropical storms and mostly uncharted waters full of submerged reefs.’

  ‘It sounds terrifying.’

  ‘In some ways it was. But watching an oyster shell being opened to reveal a gleaming pearl,’ he shrugged. ‘For a while you forgot the other dangers.’
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  ‘Other dangers?’

  ‘It’s Spanish territory and the Spanish are very jealous guardians. They fire first, questions come later – if there are any survivors.’ A shadow crossed Lowell’s face. ‘Those who are captured invariably wish they had died with their comrades.’

  ‘How did you manage to evade these patrols?’

  ‘We had an advantage. Our skipper was Spanish. I never learned the full story. It’s wiser not to pry. But there was bad blood between him and the garrison commander in Jolo. Pearls from the Sulu Archipelago are quite distinctive and highly prized because of their range of colours and fine lustre. By deliberately plundering that area Captain Vicente was not only extracting a very satisfactory revenge, he was also making a fortune for himself and his crew.’

  ‘You included?’

  Lowell nodded. ‘Pearls paid for my first schooner.’

  ‘You didn’t actually dive.’

  ‘No, we used native divers, Malays and Sinhalese.’ In his mind’s eye he saw Suminten, lithe as a seal, her olive-gold skin silvered by tiny air bubbles as she arrowed down into the limpid depths of the turquoise water holding the stone-weighted line, an open-mesh bag made of woven hemp fibres tied to her slender waist.

  He did not speak her language, nor she his. But she entranced him. Her slim body was so fluid and supple that in the water she seemed boneless, as if the azure deeps rather than the forested mountainous island were her natural element. And when her soft dark eyes caught his, her glance swift and shy, his whole body tingled and he felt his face grow red. His shipmates sniggered and made crude remarks, pawing her as she passed and trying to buy her favours.

  A fist in the face of the worst offenders had driven them off, earning him a bloody nose and some spectacular bruises. After that Suminten was left alone but Lowell knew his days on the boat were numbered. Memories were long and grudges hoarded. He was careful to watch his back.

  Captain Vicente had ten divers working on the boat, a mixed group of young men and girls. Most bore scars from encounters with sharks, swordfish and stingrays. One man had lost his left foot to a salt-water crocodile.

  Suminten had a long pale line across one calf and in response to his pointing finger and questioning glance gracefully mimicked the trailing tendrils of a poisonous jellyfish.

  He felt sick at the thought of the terrible dangers awaiting her each time she dived. But what could he say? This was her living.

  ‘When diving finished for the day all the crew would gather on deck for the shell opening. The natives were strictly supervised to prevent any of them stealing a pearl.’

  He would never know how Suminten had accomplished it. It was their last day. Food was running low. The sky was sullen, the air heavy as another storm approached. The crew were short-tempered, the divers restless and uneasy.

  He had been watching her open a pile of gold-lipped oysters, her slim fingers deft and strong. Her batch yielded several large lustrous pearls. Two were creamy white, one had a bronze tint, one was dove-grey, and one gleamed greenish-black. He would have sworn there were no more. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Yet something must have distracted him just long enough.

  When the last of the shells had been opened and the divers began clambering down into their own boat for their final return to the island, Suminten had drawn him into the shadows by the mainmast. Surprise had been followed by delight at the soft pressure of her lips. Then her fingers tightened on his arms in warning and she passed something from her mouth to his. An instant later she disappeared over the side.

  He had waited until he was alone before spitting the object into his palm. It was, as he guessed, a pearl. But this one was rose pink, a colour valued above all others. Her farewell gift to him.

  ‘What made you give up pearling?’ Cathcart enquired.

  ‘A number of things. One being that a few minutes after the divers had left, we were spotted by a Spanish patrol boat. Captain Vicente decided he had pressed his luck far enough. Believing, rightly, that the storm posed less danger than the Spanish, he set a course for Hong Kong. I got a lift on a coaster to Shanghai and put my pearls in a bank. Then I got a job as mate on a lorcha trading up the Yangtze.

  ‘I learned the secrets of the river: the tides, currents, and shoals. I learned how and where the sandbars moved from season to season. I learned how to dodge the Imperial war junks, and the pirate junks that would slink in from the coast. And I learned to recognise the lorchas sailed by fishermen for whom robbery was a profitable sideline.’

  ‘A remarkable education,’ Cathcart commented.

  ‘Oh it was,’ Lowell agreed drily. ‘Walter Samms was a superb seaman. He was also a drunk. And when he started on the brandy, boat, crew, and cargo became my responsibility.’

  ‘Forgive my asking, but how old were you?’

  ‘Twenty-one.’

  ‘A message, sir.’ The servant bowed as he handed Cathcart a folded sheet of paper.

  Cathcart scanned the paper then pushed it into his coat pocket. ‘My apologies, Captain. I am urgently needed elsewhere.’ He turned to the servant. ‘George, would you –?’

  ‘Pardon me, sir, I took the liberty of sending for a cab. It is waiting outside.’

  ‘What about you?’ Cathcart asked Lowell. ‘Shall I have him call a cab for you?’

  ‘Thank you, no.’ Lowell set his glass on the table and rose to his feet. ‘It’s not far to my hotel. I shall enjoy the walk.’

  Cathcart extended his hand. ‘It has been a most instructive evening.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Meeting an aristocrat with both a brain and a firm handshake had been a pleasant surprise.

  ‘Perhaps you’d dine with me again before you sail. When are you planning to leave, by the way?’

  ‘The first week in January.’

  ‘Then let’s make it the 29th.’

  Having received Cathcart’s promise of weapons Lowell knew he would be expected to sing for his supper. But the baronet was good company and there were worse ways to spend an evening. ‘How kind,’ he replied smoothly. ‘I shall look forward to it.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rain fell steadily from a sullen sky. A gusting wind, raw-edged and mean, snatched at the cluster of umbrellas. It plastered damp hems to cold ankles, and drove the huddled people deeper into their coats and mantles. It plucked the minister’s words from his cold lips and bore away the soft sounds of sorrow.

  Susanna lifted her gaze from the oblong hole in the wet earth and the plain oak casket being lowered into it. Her parents stood close together clasping each other’s hands, their faces stiff and expressionless. Quakers were not supposed to mourn. Reunion with God was cause for rejoicing not sadness. Grief was selfish – so the theory went.

  Susanna felt intense rage stir like a slumbering beast. She looked at Frances clinging to Richard’s arm, a handkerchief pressed to her nose, and envied her sister’s tears. Next to Frances, Meredith wobbled and jerked with stifled sobs. Lucy appeared calm but her red-rimmed eyes betrayed earlier private weeping. Richard’s mother leaned heavily on her stick, her lips pursed, while her husband stared absently into space, swaying slightly.

  A polite distance behind the immediate family a large crowd of friends, neighbours, office staff, crew, and shareholders in Samuel’s cargo fleet had gathered, together with representatives from many of the town’s businesses. They had watched William grow from a baby into a cheerful and popular young man. Many cried unashamedly. ‘Such a tragic waste.’ Susanna heard the phrase over and over again. ‘He was so young, his whole life ahead of him.’

  Her eyes burned but she could not weep.

  ‘Much will be required of you during the coming days and weeks,’ Dr Vigurs had said as he urged her to drink the tea Agnes had brought. Edward had disappeared. Had she imagined him? ‘Your parents will need you to be strong. Having lost their only son their grief will naturally be greater than yours, and their needs must take precedence.’

  She had always thought of re
ligious faith as a candle in the soul. In her case a wavering light requiring constant protection against persistent draughts of doubt. As she stared dry-eyed and ashen-faced at the doctor, the flame flickered and went out, leaving her spirit in impenetrable darkness. A few minutes later her parents had arrived home.

  Her mother, usually so strong and capable, collapsed when Dr Vigurs broke the news, her serenity splintering in a piercing scream. Her father turned grey and she watched him visibly shrink inside his skin. She stood by, helpless and ignored, while her parents clung together united and exclusive in their anguish. She fetched and carried for the doctor while he put her mother to bed.

  While writing a note to Frances and Richard calling them back from their honeymoon she glimpsed the key to her own survival. Activity. If she kept busy she could hold herself together. Edward’s rejection had shattered her dreams. The brutal irony of William’s drowning threatened her sanity. But her parents were relying on her and having disappointed them so often in the past she could not let them down now.

  Apart from one hour each day at the office Samuel spent his time with his wife, who remained closeted in their bedroom. He emerged only to speak briefly to Elders and ministers about arrangements for the funeral. Susanna took over the running of the household and dealt with the endless deliveries of cards and flowers.

  She found the stream of callers exhausting. She was expected to show appreciation for their sympathy and felt herself being sucked dry. She didn’t want their commiseration. She wanted William. William had been her dearest friend, her closest ally. How would she manage without him?

  Doctor Vigurs called several times to see her mother. Always in a hurry he smiled as he passed, told her she was doing a splendid job, and exhorted her to keep it up as everyone was counting on her. No one asked how she felt.