The Lost Sapphire

by Belinda Murrell

  As the yacht was skimming south, the guests began to chat and tell stories. One of the crew members came up with glasses of champagne on a silver tray.

  Violet shook her head. ‘No, thanks. Would you have any water, please?’

  ‘Very good, miss,’ replied the crewman.

  ‘Me too,’ said Tommy. ‘I’m working at the hospital tonight.’

  ‘A little glass won’t hurt you,’ Theodore protested. ‘It’s French. Nothing but the best on the Mariette.’

  Tommy shook his head firmly. ‘I’d hate to lose a patient because of a fuzzy head.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Theodore replied. ‘Another glass, Jim?’

  Port Phillip Bay was a huge body of water, enclosed on all sides, except for the narrow heads leading to the ocean many kilometres to the south. The coastline was ringed with sandy beaches, scrubby vegetation and small villages. Behind them to the north was the city of Melbourne, with its skyline of tall buildings. To the west were the piers, dockyards and huge ships of Williamstown.

  The coastline quickly dropped away behind them until it was a shadowy smudge on the horizon and they were sailing out into the open water of the bay. After a couple of hours, Theodore ordered the crew to drop the sails. The ketch lost speed and came upright, gradually coming to a stop, where it bobbed up and down on the small waves.

  Violet looked around, shading her eyes with her hand. As far as she could see was a vast expanse of navy-blue water under a cerulean sky, the thin ribbon of land barely visible. It was as though they were the only people in the whole world. It made her feel very insignificant.

  ‘Time for a swim, then we’ll have lunch,’ Theodore announced. ‘Why don’t you ladies go down below and get changed?’

  One of the crew members dropped a rope ladder off the stern while the other fetched a pile of fluffy towels. After several minutes, Violet, Imogen and Audrey emerged from the cabin in their swimming costumes.

  Violet was up first, loping to the stern. She stared down into the sparkling water, wondering what was down there – hopefully not any sharks. She took a deep breath and dived cleanly into the deep. The icy water shocked her, making her feel invigorated and alive. Violet struck out, swimming strongly away from the safety of the hull. Moments later she was joined by the others – squealing, laughing and splashing. Tommy grabbed Imogen and threw her overboard, then plunged in after her. Jim did a huge bomb off the stern, spraying everyone.

  Theodore challenged them all to a swimming race around the yacht, then pretended not to care when Jim won.

  Afterwards, they lazed on the deck, letting the saltwater dry on their skins.

  The crewmen served platters of sandwich triangles – egg and lettuce, chicken and tarragon, ham and mustard, and finely sliced cucumber – along with oysters in their half-shells, strawberries and a creamy wedge of camembert cheese with crackers. The sunshine and salty air gave them all a good appetite, but there was more food than they could possibly eat.

  ‘The fish will have a fine feast tonight,’ Theodore said after slurping the last oyster out of its shell. ‘Throw the scraps overboard.’

  The crewmen made to throw the remnants of the picnic over the side.

  ‘No!’ said Violet. ‘Don’t.’ Everyone looked at her. ‘I mean, it was all so delicious – it would be a shame to waste it. Surely we could pack it up and perhaps your servants might –’

  Theodore guffawed. ‘Our servants get plenty to eat. We’re not living in the Middle Ages.’

  ‘Violet,’ Imogen admonished, looking embarrassed. ‘Not now.’

  Violet flushed but pressed on doggedly. ‘I just thought perhaps the servants could deliver the food to poor families who might need it, like our maid Sally’s family in Richmond.’

  Imogen shot Violet a warning look.

  Theodore chuckled, shooting a glance at Imogen. ‘Is she always like this?’

  Violet flushed, mortified. She supposed it wasn’t ladylike to talk about poor people at a boating party. Tommy leaned forward, as though to shield her.

  ‘Perhaps we should think about turning back,’ he suggested to Theodore, changing the subject. ‘I’m working tonight, and it’s a long sail to port, especially now that we’re heading into the wind.’

  Theodore grumbled but gave the order to prepare the sails. Everyone took it in turns to get dressed down below. Theodore grabbed the wheel gallantly and began chatting to Imogen, flattering her with compliments.

  ‘Look, dolphins off the bow,’ Tommy called. ‘Violet, do you want to come and take a closer look?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She and Tommy scrambled forward to the bow. It was a little difficult, as the boat was tilting at a steep angle, beating into the wind. The wind was chilly on Violet’s face, tangling her hair and whipping her skirts.

  The two of them stood at the bowsprit, watching the pod of grey dolphins racing alongside the yacht, surfing the bow’s wake. A dolphin leapt right out of the water, so close that Violet could almost reach out and stroke its slippery back. She gasped with exhilaration. The dolphin dived back deep underwater with a splash. Violet laughed as droplets flung up, wetting the hem of her skirt.

  ‘Aren’t they beautiful?’ she exclaimed, hanging onto the forward stay as she leaned over to get a closer look. ‘That one looked as though he was just as curious about us as we were about him.’

  ‘They say that dolphins are some of the most intelligent animals on earth,’ Tommy said. ‘Certainly a lot smarter than some humans I know.’

  Violet laughed. ‘Me too!’

  Tommy looked back to the south and frowned. All around them the sky and sea were a vast, glassy blue, but down on the horizon, at the mouth of the bay, black clouds were boiling.

  ‘I don’t like the look of that,’ Tommy confessed. ‘Looks like we might have a southerly buster on its way.’

  ‘Wouldn’t like to get caught out here in a storm,’ Violet agreed.

  ‘Come on,’ Tommy said. ‘We’d better warn the others.’

  The merry mood on the yacht evaporated as the black clouds raced towards them. The crew pulled on the sheets to gain as much speed as possible, but it was impossible to outrun the storm behind them. One moment the breeze blew from the north, then the next the southerly change slammed into the yacht. The sails flapped violently. The sea transformed from glassy blue to choppy grey. Waves smashed over the rails. Stinging rain lashed the boat.

  Unprepared for the sudden change in wind direction and his reflexes slowed by the champagne, Theodore slipped and let go of the wheel. The sudden loss of steering made the boom swing wildly, slamming into Jim and knocking him to the deck. He screamed in pain, clutching his arm. The yacht rocked violently from side to side.

  ‘Watch your heads!’ shouted Tommy as he jumped forward to grab the spinning steering wheel. He regained control and steered the yacht to stop the rocking.

  Violet was sitting closest to Tommy. ‘Take the wheel please, Violet, and keep the bow facing exactly where it is now,’ he asked.

  Violet did as she was told, concentrating hard to fight against the pull of the wheel.

  Tommy raced forward to where Jim was writhing in agony on the deck. He checked him over quickly. Audrey crawled over to help him.

  Theodore struggled to his feet and pushed Violet out of the way, seizing the wheel. ‘I’ll take over now – you girls, get down below. And close the hatch. We’re going to turn the yacht into the wind and reef the sails.’

  ‘Just give me a moment to stabilise Jim,’ Tommy pleaded. ‘He’s in a lot of pain.’

  ‘So am I,’ grumbled Theodore, ‘but you don’t see me making such a fuss.’

  ‘He’s fractured a bone, possibly two,’ insisted Tommy. ‘I need to get him into the cabin and stabilise the arm. I just need a minute.’

  Imogen and Violet gathered up cushions and picnic cups, plates and silverware. Violet climbed down the steps, carrying a load of towels in one arm, until a sudden lurch sent her hurtling into the cabin, sprawled on th
e floor. She staggered to her feet, rubbing her bruised thigh ruefully.

  A moment later Audrey came down, followed by Tommy supporting Jim’s weight. The yacht listed to the port side. Jim was pale and trembling with pain.

  ‘Are you all right, Jim?’ Audrey asked, moving to help Tommy.

  ‘I think I’ll live,’ he joked weakly.

  ‘He appears to have fractured both bones in his forearm – his radius and ulna,’ Tommy explained. ‘A sling will keep it as still as possible until we get back to shore.’

  Audrey helped Tommy fashion a sling from a towel and knotted it firmly behind Jim’s neck. Imogen helped to make him comfortable with cushions behind his back.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Jim with a grimace. ‘It’s almost worth the pain to be fussed over like this.’

  ‘That’s all we can do for now,’ Tommy said. ‘I’ll go up and help Theodore.’

  Violet perched on the edge of a bunk, one arm up, bracing herself against the bulkhead. Waves crashed over the deck, making it difficult to see out the windows. It was stuffy and hot in the cabin, and the pitching motion made her feel ill. She longed to breathe fresh air on deck.

  ‘I’m going up,’ Violet announced, jumping to her feet. ‘There might be something I can do to help.’

  ‘No, Violet,’ cried Imogen. ‘It’s not safe. Theodore told us to stay below.’

  ‘I can’t stand it in here anymore.’ Violet opened the hatch, pushing hard against the wind, then slammed it shut behind her.

  She gulped in mouthfuls of cold, fresh air. The rain stung her cheeks as it lashed against her, soaking her dress in moments. Tommy was back at the steering wheel, holding the yacht’s bow into the wind, while Theodore and the two crew members worked to pull down and stow the foresail.

  Violet clambered over to Tommy. ‘I thought I was going to be sick down there.’

  Tommy nodded, his eyes scanning the storm-swept horizon to the south. ‘It’s better up here in the open.’

  Violet recovered almost immediately. She should have been frightened as the storm raged around them, tossing the yacht on the waves, yet, strangely, she felt calm.

  ‘Is there something I can do?’ Violet asked.

  ‘Actually, could you steer for a moment and hold this bearing? I’ll help Theodore reef the mainsail.’

  Violet nodded confidently and took the wheel. ‘Of course.’

  Tommy showed her the compass and told her to keep the yacht pointing due south. It was harder than it sounded as the wind and waves sought to force the yacht around. With Tommy’s help it was easier for the four men to pull the mainsail partly down and lash it securely. With a smaller sail area, the wind wouldn’t buffet the boat as much.

  Theodore returned to take the steering wheel. The crew eased the boom to starboard, the shortened mainsail bellied out, the bow swung around, and the Mariette began racing north before the wind.

  At once the motion became smoother. For a moment, Violet felt reassured, but then she caught sight of Tommy’s face and realised they were not out of danger yet. It wasn’t until an hour later, when they safely moored the yacht at St Kilda, that the tension eased.

  Violet shivered on the deck as she gathered up her belongings. She was soaked, aching and exhausted, but euphoric with relief. It had indeed been quite an adventure.

  Theodore turned to Tommy. ‘Good of you to help out there, old chap. I didn’t realise you were such an experienced sailor.’

  ‘No trouble,’ replied Tommy, shaking Theodore’s hand. ‘My great-grandfather was a fisherman at Killybegs on the west coast of Ireland; he migrated to Australia during the potato famine. My grandfather and father were dockers at Williamstown, so we always had boats growing up.’

  ‘A docker?’ Theodore sneered. ‘So how did the son of an Irish-Catholic dockworker end up studying medicine?’

  Tommy looked embarrassed by Theodore’s patronising tone. ‘Very hard-working parents and the gift of a scholarship,’ he replied, lifting his chin.

  ‘And I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful doctor,’ Violet added with a warm smile.

  17

  Tea with Tommy

  The next day, Imogen spent the afternoon having a picnic at the beach with Audrey, Tommy and Jim, whose arm was in plaster. She returned with pink cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Violet was in the morning room, sketching more rough ideas for Russian scenes.

  ‘Was it fun?’ asked Violet, putting down her pencil.

  ‘It was heavenly,’ Imogen said and hurried towards the stairs. ‘But let me just get changed. Could you be an angel and let Mrs Darling know that Tommy will be joining us for tea?’

  Violet rang the bell and gave the instructions to the housekeeper, then went upstairs to tidy her hair and change her dress. When she came down, Imogen was already sitting in the drawing room, wearing her best tea gown, her hair up in a low chignon.

  A few minutes later, Saunders showed Tommy in. He had also changed from his sporting clothes into a smart three-piece suit; his blond hair was slicked back neatly.

  Sally brought the tea tray and set it on a side table. Imogen poured three cups, leaving one aside for her father. The three chatted about their day as they sipped tea and ate raspberry sponge cake with dainty silver forks. Imogen and Tommy kept smiling at each other, as if they had a tantalising secret.

  Mr Hamilton came in from the hall and looked momentarily surprised when he saw they had a visitor. Tommy stood up and stepped forward.

  ‘O’Byrne, old chap,’ said Mr Hamilton. ‘Nice of you to drop by.’

  The two men shook hands.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Tommy looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Actually, I was hoping I might be able to have a private word with you while I’m here.’

  Violet looked up at Tommy, then at Imogen, who flushed a deep rose and dropped her eyes to her lap.

  ‘Oh indeed?’ asked Mr Hamilton, frowning. ‘Well, I suppose you had better come into the library; we can talk there.’

  The two men left the room and walked across the hall. Violet heard the library door close behind them.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Violet asked. ‘Tommy seems a little fidgety this afternoon.’

  Imogen jumped to her feet and went to the door, trying to make out the murmuring voices in the library. Violet put her tea cup down and followed her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Violet demanded. ‘You’re being very mysterious.’

  Imogen clutched her sister’s arm tightly. ‘I think …’ Imogen began, flushing even deeper. ‘I think Tommy has gone to ask Daddy for my hand … in marriage.’

  Violet hugged her sister, her heart thumping with exhilaration. ‘Truly? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes – Tommy proposed today at the beach, when we went for a walk. He says he loves me desperately and wants to get engaged.’

  ‘Oh, Imogen, that is simply marvellous news. I thought you two have been getting on well. So when will you get married?’

  Imogen giggled, her whole face alive with happiness. ‘Not yet. Probably not for a couple of years. I’m only seven teen and Tommy has to finish his medical degree, so it will take a while before he can support me properly, but he wants to make it official.’

  Violet had a sudden vision of her sister in a white satin dress and veil, her hair wreathed in flowers. ‘You’ll make the most beautiful bride, Immy darling. I can’t wait for the wedding – are you sure you have to wait two years?’

  Imogen nodded. ‘Yes, but I thought you might like to be my bridesmaid when the time comes. You do like Tommy, don’t you, Vivi?’

  ‘Of course, you silly. He’s absolutely lovely. You’ll make a perfect couple.’

  The two sisters sank side by side onto the sofa, their tea forgotten, and they chattered about dreams for the future.

  ‘I’m so glad you like him, Violet,’ Imogen said. ‘Tommy is the kindest, funniest man I’ve ever met.’

  Just then the library door opened again and Imogen jumped to her feet. Tommy hurried into the drawin
g room, his face dark.

  ‘Tommy?’ cried Imogen. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

  ‘My apologies, Miss Hamilton and Miss Violet,’ Tommy said, his voice strained. ‘I cannot stay to finish my tea after all.’

  Mr Hamilton followed on his heels. ‘I’ve just rung for Saunders to show you out, Mr O’Byrne.’

  Saunders appeared with Tommy’s hat, and a moment later he was gone, giving one last agonised glance back at Imogen.

  Mr Hamilton waited for Saunders to close the door and return to the kitchen before he spoke. ‘Did you know about this ridiculous nonsense, Imogen?’

  ‘What … what do you mean nonsense?’ Imogen stammered.

  ‘That young pup had the nerve to ask me if he could marry you,’ Mr Hamilton thundered. ‘Damned impertinence.’

  Violet looked from her father to her sister. She wrung a handkerchief between her fingers, as though she might burst into tears any moment.

  ‘But Dad,’ began Violet. ‘Tommy’s –’

  ‘Tom O’Byrne is a nobody,’ Mr Hamilton interjected. ‘He’s a Catholic nobody. It’s inconceivable that he should marry my daughter.’

  Violet and Imogen exchanged shocked glances.

  ‘You can’t mean that, Daddy,’ Imogen said. ‘Tommy’s studying to be a doctor. He’s very clever and works terribly hard …’

  Mr Hamilton strode up and down the crimson-and-blue Chinese carpet, his hands behind his back. ‘His father is an Irish docker and his mother was a shopgirl. Besides, I won’t tolerate a Catholic marriage. It’s absolutely impossible. I won’t hear of it.’

  ‘Tommy loves me,’ Imogen wailed. ‘He wants to start his own practice. He wants to build a life together.’

  Mr Hamilton stopped pacing and stared at his two daughters. ‘Imogen. Enough,’ he shouted. ‘You are not yet twenty-one and you cannot marry Tom O’Byrne. I forbid him to come to my house again.’

  Imogen looked crestfallen and stared at the floor.