by Dilly Court
‘Thank you, but I’m sure we’ll find another ship to take us on to our final destination.’ Hubert sank down beside Mirabel and turned his face resolutely towards the shore.
Mirabel was watching the captain’s expression when he gave the order to lower the jolly boat into the water, and it was not encouraging. As they approached land she could see that this was not a busy harbour where they might easily find another ship to take them on the rest of their journey. The heat was suffocating and the light intense, creating the illusion that the pale yellow sand was flecked with gold, and the background of lush vegetation was in a palette of colours ranging from lime green to the deepest viridian. It might look like a tropical paradise but there were only a few buildings and most of them little more than wooden shanties.
Bodger was the first ashore and he offered to carry Hubert through the shallows to the beach. Hubert refused politely, but accepted his help to climb out of the boat and then waded through the shallows unaided. Mirabel did not fancy having soggy petticoats and a wet skirt clinging to her legs and she allowed Bodger to carry her ashore, as did Gertie. He retrieved their cases and the crewmen rowed back to the ship, leaving them stranded like shipwrecked mariners on a coral atoll.
‘What now?’ Gertie demanded, shielding her eyes from the sun, which was beating down relentlessly.
‘We should seek shade,’ Hubert said with a determined lift of his chin. ‘There seems to be some sort of habitation close by. I’ll go and see if there’s an inn or a boarding house that will put us up until the next ship arrives.’
Mirabel and Bodger exchanged worried glances. ‘But Hubert,’ Mirabel said, choosing her words with care, ‘this isn’t exactly a busy port. How do we know that ships will put in here?’
‘We will find out shortly, my dear. If not I’m sure we can find transport to take us to where we will find some other means by which to travel.’
‘Don’t see no railway station,’ Gertie grumbled. ‘No roads neither.’
‘Those who live here arrived by some route or other,’ Hubert said cheerfully. ‘It’s good to be on terra firma. I feel better already.’ He left his case for Bodger to carry and marched off across the sand towards a collection of small huts.
Gertie shoved her small valise into her brother’s hand, pointing to Mirabel’s, which was considerably larger. ‘Best make yourself useful, and you can go first in case there are cannibals and the like hiding in the trees.’
Bodger shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘You don’t half talk nonsense, Gertie Tinker.’ Laden with all their baggage he trudged off after Hubert with Mirabel and Gertie following close behind.
‘I’m thirsty,’ Gertie complained as they neared the first shanty, which was built of wood with a stoop shaded by a canopy of woven palm fronds. A man of indeterminate age was sprawled on a chair, his grubby linen shirt open to the waist exposing a hairy chest, and his loose cotton trousers rolled up to his knees. He was barefoot and his chin boasted several days’ stubble. He raised a tin mug to his lips and drank thirstily, staring at them with a suspicious look on his face.
Hubert took off his top hat, wiping the sweat from his brow with a silk hanky. ‘Excuse me, sir. Where might I find accommodation for myself and my party?’
The man drained his cup and dropped it on the floor where it bounced on the wooden planks, ending up on the bottom step. ‘Who’s asking?’
‘Forgive me,’ Hubert said politely. ‘I should introduce myself. I’m Captain Hubert Kettle and this is my wife, her maidservant and my man, Bodger Tinker.’
‘You don’t say.’ The man seemed unimpressed. He reached for a bottle which had been concealed beneath his chair, taking the cork out with his teeth and spitting it so that it landed at Hubert’s feet. He took a swig and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘You want bed and board? You come to the wrong place.’
‘Then can you tell me where I could find the information I need?’
‘You ain’t from round here, mister. Where are you from?’
Mirabel could feel trickles of sweat running down between her breasts and her shoulder blades. The sun was beating down on her head, striking through her straw bonnet and burning her scalp. She was hot, thirsty and hungry. They had snatched a bread roll and a cup of water from the dining saloon, but that was all she had eaten that day and it was, she guessed by the position of the sun, high noon.
‘We came from England,’ Hubert said patiently. ‘We’re trying to get to the Fakahatchee swamp.’
‘One of them orchid hunters, are you?’
‘You know about orchids?’
‘Not me, mister. But occasionally one or two of them might land up here, thinking they can get a passage home.’ He uttered a bark of laughter. ‘Some of us have been here for years.’
Mirabel stepped forward. ‘We came from the ship that ran aground in the fog last night. There must be others that call in here?’
He turned his gaze on her, looking her up and down with a lascivious grin. ‘You can warm my bed any night, little lady.’
Bodger dropped the cases and lurched towards the man, taking the steps in one stride and grabbing him by the throat. ‘Show a bit of respect to a lady, you drunken sot. Is there anywhere we can put up until we can get away from this wilderness?’
The man’s face was turning blue beneath the pressure of Bodger’s fingers.
‘Let him answer,’ Mirabel said hastily. ‘He can’t breathe.’
Reluctantly Bodger released his hold and the man clutched his throat, making croaking noises. His gaze slid to the doorway as another man emerged from the gloomy interior.
Mirabel felt his presence, turning slowly to stare as if seeing a ghost. She could neither move nor speak as she gazed at him in disbelief. The figure leaned against the wooden doorpost as he took in the scene with a sweeping glance. He did not speak – he had no need to. She would have known him anywhere.
Chapter Seventeen
‘JACK.’ HIS NAME escaped her lips on a breath that was little more than a whisper. ‘It is you.‘
‘Mirabel!’ The look of surprise and delight that lit his blue eyes made her dizzy with relief, but as her hands flew to her burning cheeks the diamonds on her engagement ring flashed in the sunlight, and it would have been impossible for him to ignore her golden wedding band. Jack’s glance flickered to Hubert and his expression hardened. ‘I see that you’re married, Mirabel. I take it that this is your husband.’ His smile froze.
The sudden stomach-churning joy she had felt on seeing him was replaced by anger and disbelief. He was supposed to be dead and yet he was here, facing her like a judge about to sentence a miscreant for her wicked deeds. It was unjust and it was unfair. She turned to Hubert like an automaton, drawing on the lessons in etiquette that Miss Barton had drilled into her. ‘Hubert, may I introduce an old acquaintance of mine, Captain Jack Starke.?’ She took a deep breath. ‘Captain Starke, this is my husband, Hubert Kettle.’
Hubert stared from one to the other. ‘This is an amazing coincidence indeed.’ He turned to Jack, holding out his hand. ‘How do you do, sir? I believe we might have met some time in the past. Your face looks familiar.’
Now seemingly in complete control of his emotions, Jack stepped forward to shake Hubert’s hand. ‘I think we might have a friend in common, sir. Miss Zilla entertains many gentlemen in her establishment. I believe we met there on a couple of occasions.’
Without giving Hubert a chance to respond Bodger pushed past them all to fling his arms around Jack. ‘Cap’n! You’re alive! We was told you was drownded. It was in the papers.’
‘As you can see, it wasn’t true.’ Jack patted him on the back, easing him away gently. ‘How come you’re here?’ He glanced over Bodger’s shoulder. ‘And there’s Gertie too. It’s quite a family reunion.’
She bobbed a curtsey. ‘It is, sir. I’m delighted to see you alive and kicking, so to speak. We was all upset when we heard your ship went down.’
Hubert cleared his th
roat. ‘This all sounds very interesting and I’m sure we’ll hear all the details later, but could I trouble you for a glass of water, Mr Starke?’
‘It’s Captain Starke,’ Mirabel reminded him gently. ‘My husband has been ill, Captain. We need somewhere to stay while we sort out some kind of transport to take us on the rest of our journey.’
‘What happened to the vessel you arrived on?’ Jack demanded, eyeing her with a touch of his old humour. ‘Did you lose it in the fog?’
‘Us hit the reef, Cap’n,’ Bodger said, grinning. ‘I didn’t jump ship this time; it jumped us so to speak. It’s out there stuck on the rocks until high tide when they’ll refloat it, providing the carpenter can shore up the hole in the hull.’
‘We could continue to Key West, but I rather think we’ll try to make the rest of the journey overland,’ Hubert said thoughtfully.
‘So where are you headed?’ Jack asked curiously. ‘What on earth would bring you to this desolate spot?’
‘Orchids, sir.’ Hubert’s tone was not encouraging. ‘We are making for the Fakahatchee swamp, where I hope to find a particular rare orchid.’
‘It’s not the sort of place to take a woman, but you’re here now so you’d better step inside. It’s no cooler but at least you’ll be in the shade.’ Jack ushered them into the shack and for the first time Mirabel noticed that there was no door, and the only window was simply a glassless hole in the wall. It was dark and the floor was packed earth, or it might be sand, it was hard to tell. A table in one corner was littered with bottles and a couple of wooden kegs, some tin cups and a wicker basket filled with oranges. Jack indicated a roughly made wooden chair. ‘Take a seat, Mr Kettle. This heat takes some getting used to, but I’ve grown accustomed to it.’ He poured large tots of rum into two mugs, handing one to Hubert and the other to Bodger. He glanced at Mirabel, eyebrows raised. ‘Do you partake of strong liquor, Mrs Kettle?’
The acid in his tone cut her like a razor. ‘I’ll take a tot with some water.’ She met his gaze with a toss of her head. She had no liking for spirits but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her at a loss. It was obvious that he considered their expedition foolhardy to say the least, and her initial delight on seeing him alive and well had given way to bitter disappointment. What right had he to criticise Hubert for bringing her on the voyage of a lifetime when he himself had allowed everyone who cared about him to think he was dead?
Jack poured a drink, added a generous amount of water and handed it to her, but his attention had turned to Gertie and he relaxed visibly. ‘And a tot for you, Gertie?’
‘I wouldn’t say no,’ she said demurely. ‘Ta, Cap’n.’
Hubert sank down on a stool by the makeshift bar and drank thirstily. ‘So how did you come to be here, Captain Starke? Did your ship also come to grief on the reef?’
‘We lost a mast in a storm off Havana. The ship was crippled, but we got as far as Key West before another more vicious storm put an end to the poor old girl. Some of us managed to get ashore, but the Lady Grace went down in less than half an hour.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Mirabel said, remembering the shock she had felt and the utter dismay when she had read about the sinking of his ship in Lloyd’s List. ‘So how did you get here?’
His expression was guarded. ‘We bought a disused long boat, intending to sail as far north as possible in order to reach a large seaport and get a passage home. Unfortunately the timbers were rotten and we were lucky to get this far.’
‘So you decided to turn native, Captain Starke.’ Hubert’s voice was tinged with sarcasm, so unusual for him that Mirabel caught her breath. She shot him a wary glance, afraid that he might have sensed that there had been something between herself and Jack, even if it had been one-sided.
Jack raised his glass, seemingly unperturbed. ‘I always take the easy way out, Mr Kettle. Here’s to you and your lovely young bride.’
Hubert tossed back the remainder of his drink and rose to his feet. ‘I’d be obliged if you would point us in the direction of a guest house or an inn where we might stay.’
‘There’s a hotel being built but it’s not finished yet.’ Jack’s tone was not encouraging.
‘We need to stay somewhere,’ Mirabel said softly. ‘My husband has been unwell.’
‘I’m perfectly all right, and ready to continue our journey to the Fakahatchee swamp. There must be somewhere we can stay.’ Hubert loosened his collar, swaying on his feet.
Mirabel rushed forward but Bodger was there first and he pressed Hubert down on the stool. ‘Don’t worry, guv. Cap’n Starke will find us a berth for a night or two.’ He turned to Jack, frowning. ‘The guv needs to rest awhile.’
‘I can see that.’ Jack tossed back his drink and abandoned the glass to the chaotic jumble on the table. ‘I think I know the ideal place. If you’ll wait here, Mr Kettle, I’ll take the ladies with me and they can make the decision. Bodger, stay with him. We won’t be long.’
Mirabel followed Jack outside onto the stoop, where the drunken man had fallen asleep with his head lolling to one side. She moved closer to Jack, lowering her voice. ‘I ought to stay and look after Hubert. Gertie could go with you.’
‘I don’t want to go wandering round the jungle, Mabel.’ Gertie hesitated in the doorway, wringing her hands. ‘I’m scared of spiders and things and if I saw a snake I swear I’d die of fright.’
‘All right.’ Mirabel held up her hand. ‘Stay here and help Bodger to look after Mr Kettle. I’ll go with Captain Starke.’ She was in control of her emotions now, or so she hoped. She braced her shoulders, determined that he would not see the effect he had on her. ‘Lead on.’
Jack walked ahead, leading the way along a dirt road that wound its way through dense vegetation and swaying palms, the like of which Mirabel had never seen. The air was filled with strange sounds, the whirring of insects and the calls of animals that were also foreign to her. She kept close to Jack, walking in silence until she could bear it no longer. ‘Why didn’t you send word home?’ she demanded, coming to a sudden halt. ‘Why did you let us believe that you were lost at sea?’
He stopped, turning slowly to look at her. ‘Why would you care, Mrs Kettle? You seem to have done pretty well for yourself.’
‘That was uncalled for.’ Shocked by the implied criticism and stung by its unfairness, she tossed her head. ‘You don’t know anything about my circumstances.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ He fixed her with a hard stare. ‘I introduced you to Zilla because I knew she would look after you. She’s a tough businesswoman but I knew she would see something more in you than just another of her girls.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ Mirabel countered angrily. ‘You left me there to fend for myself and that’s exactly what I did. Think what you like but I married a good, kind man and it wasn’t for his money.’
He curled his lip. ‘So it was a love match, was it? You married a man in his dotage because you’d fallen madly in love with him.’
‘No, of course not.’ Mirabel knew she was blushing furiously and she turned her head away, staring into the dense liquid greenness of the forest. ‘I – I like and respect Hubert. It was a marriage of convenience for both of us, and . . .’
‘Yes, I can see that.’ He shrugged and walked on.
She hurried after him. ‘No, you don’t. You’re the same as everyone else, making a judgement simply because it doesn’t suit your way of thinking. I’m happy with Hubert, very happy.’
‘If you say so, Mrs Kettle.’ He quickened his pace, leaving her little alternative but to follow.
Inwardly fuming she did her best to keep up with him, although her long skirts hampered her movements and her tight stays made it difficult to catch her breath. The searing heat and the strangeness of their surroundings only added to the maelstrom of emotions that she thought she had well in hand, but which kept returning to choke her with unshed tears. She was furious with Jack for not caring and furious with
herself for caring too much.
After a while she was too hot and tired to think of anything other than her own discomfort. In his cotton shirt with his sleeves rolled up, exposing muscular forearms, and his long legs encased in loose-fitting trousers, Jack was better dressed for the climate, and he strode on without looking back. She kept up with him out of pride as well as necessity, but eventually the road widened as they reached a small settlement of single-storey wooden houses. Wood smoke curled into the air and the scent of roasting meat made her mouth water. Jack walked up to one of the clapboard buildings, rapped on the door and waited. Moments later it was opened by a smiling black woman, her large frame enveloped in a cotton-print gown and her hair tied up in a colourful turban. They exchanged a few words and Jack turned his head, beckoning to Mirabel. ‘Come and meet the kind lady who has agreed to take you in.’ He made it sound like a huge favour and this irritated Mirabel even more. She walked slowly towards them.
‘Mama Lou, this is Mrs Kettle.’
Mama Lou beamed at Mirabel, inclining her head. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘And you, Mama Lou.’ Mirabel shook her hand. ‘Did Captain Starke explain that my husband is not in the best of health?’
‘Indeed he did, honey. I have a cabin out back where he can rest undisturbed.’
‘It’s only a short stay,’ Mirabel said hastily. ‘We’ll be travelling on as soon as we can arrange transport to take us to the Fakahatchee swamp.’
Mama Lou threw back her head and laughed. ‘Then I guess you’ll still be here when the Bay View House Hotel finally opens. You might be its first guests, although I can tell you you’ll get the best food here. I’m famous for my conch fritters and johnnycake.’
‘I can vouch for that.’ Jack’s lazy smile embraced Mirabel for a brief moment before he turned away, addressing himself to Mama Lou. ‘I’ll bring them here now, if that’s all right with you?’