by Jane Jackson
Her resentment of his arrival dissolved. The minister was gentle, well intentioned, and possessed a kind heart. That was more than could be said of his wife.
She smiled at him. ‘I come here every day. To see nothing but ocean all around puts things in perspective.’
He nodded. ‘Miss Vyvyan –’ He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. ‘May I beg a moment of your time? I wanted – That is – It cannot have escaped your notice that my wife is a woman of definite opinions which, as you have witnessed, she is wont to express in a forthright manner. Sometimes her wish to offer counsel overrides consideration for the sensibilities of those to whom she is speaking.’
Sometimes? Kerenza longed to point out that Mrs Woodrow never presumed to lecture Lady Russell. But seeing he had not finished, she remained silent.
‘I am – painfully – aware that Mrs Woodrow has singled you out for guidance and advice. I beg you will forgive her. And I hope you will forgive me when I say I did not expect to see such courage and compassion in one so young. It is because I have observed these gifts in you that I ask you to try and understand.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I am in part responsible. You see, my wife harboured ambitions for me far beyond my capabilities, or indeed, my aspirations. Had we been blessed with a family she would have found an outlet for her energies in supervising their welfare and upbringing. However, it was not to be.’ In the small, weary shrug Kerenza read despair. ‘Miss Vyvyan, I find nothing in your manner or behaviour deserving of criticism. But to my wife your youth, and your easy friendship with Lady Russell, are a reminder of too many unfulfilled hopes and bitter disappointments. It is a heavy burden for her to bear.’
Kerenza raised her eyes, studying him in wonder. ‘You have been very frank, sir. I hope you will not think me impertinent when I say your loyalty does you great credit. For I cannot help being aware that I am not the only target of Mrs Woodrow’s criticism. Yet you have responded only with patience and kindness.’
He met her gaze for a moment, nodding slowly, then turned to leave, saying over his shoulder, ‘That, Miss Vyvyan, is my burden.’
At five o’clock, enveloped in the navy boat cloak and wearing her bonnet, Kerenza helped Judith up the companionway stairs. All hands had mustered on deck dressed in their best shore-going rig. Kestrel had been turned into the wind, the huge fore and aft sails were reefed in, and the ship was lying hove-to.
Looking round, she saw Nick and Maggot at the starboard rail, sombre and formal in their best uniforms as they watched two seamen set one end of a broad plank on the rail and support the other end on a trestle.
Catching sight of her, Maggot indicated the chair placed beside the skylight. Kerenza recognised it as the one from the saloon.
‘This is for Lady Russell.’
Kerenza met Nick’s piercing gaze for an instant and looked swiftly away.
‘How kind,’ Judith said. ‘Thank you so much.’ She leant heavily on Kerenza’s arm as they crossed the deck.
‘Are you cold?’ Kerenza enquired softly, helping Judith sit, and willing her to say yes. ‘Would you like me to fetch a blanket?’ The warmth had gone from the day, but she could feel her entire body flushing under Nick’s scrutiny. Since leaving Cornwall almost a week ago he had ignored her. Why was he watching her now?
Drawing the folds of fur-lined burgundy velvet across her knees, Judith glanced up and patted Kerenza’s hand. ‘No, I’m perfectly comfortable, I assure you.’ Her brows lifted a fraction. ‘Would you be easier on my other side? I think you would be out of the breeze.’
And angled away from Nick. Moving to stand behind Judith’s shoulder, Kerenza saw her father emerge from the hatchway looking drawn and ill. She offered him a tentative smile. But he seemed not to notice. Instead of joining Judith and herself, he chose a spot between the companionway and the water barrels. Staring into space, deep in his own thoughts, he defied approach.
Then Betsy Woodrow arrived, her face puce from the effort of climbing the steep stairs. She too stood apart; raising her hand to the hat tied on over her frilled cap, then fussing with the ties of her grey cloak. Her husband came last.
Bareheaded and carrying a Bible, he stood beside the companionway as the captain’s body, sewn into the sailcloth shroud with cannonballs at his feet, was carried from below by two seamen and laid gently on the plank.
The sight of the canvas-wrapped body rekindled horrific images and Kerenza quickly averted her gaze, her heart pounding as she fought a resurgent sense of helplessness and guilt. Could she have done more? Toy had asked her what they should do. Should she have tried to remove the splinter? Might it have made a difference? Stop. It was too late now.
The sinking sun tinted the clouds pink and beamed golden rays onto the dark, restless sea as Donald Woodrow began the service with a prayer.
She had seen Sam Penrose welcome death, and had watched Nick try to absorb the loss of his uncle and mentor, and his captain. Though the personal loss was deeply sad, the death of Kestrel’s captain meant that, as the senior officer, Nick was now solely responsible for the safety of the ship, the mail, and the passengers.
Her father, distant and unreachable, had found in Sam Penrose a kindred spirit. Her vision blurred. As she blinked away tears she heard Nick clear his throat, saw the book tremble in his hands as he began to read the 23rd Psalm. His voice steadied and grew stronger with each line. When he had finished he looked up, straight into her eyes. As shock coursed through her, he turned his head to scan the crew’s weathered faces.
‘Many of you sailed with Sam Penrose on other ships. You knew him well. It’s fitting that one of you should say a few words.’ His gaze moved to the bosun. ‘Mr Laity?’
Snatching off his hat, the bosun gripped the rim, turning it in his scarred hands. ‘Thirty years I knew him. He was hard, but he was fair. Looked after his men, he did. God rest his soul.’ As his words were echoed and heads nodded, Laity jammed his hat back on. Nick gestured for the minister to continue.
While Donald Woodrow intoned the words of committal, Kerenza swallowed repeatedly as Nick and Maggot gripped the plank near the trestle and raised it high, sending Sam Penrose’s mortal remains to their final rest in the Atlantic Ocean.
A few minutes later, Nick gave the order to get underway. As the crew quickly dispersed, Kerenza saw her father disappear down the companionway and guessed she would see no more of him that evening. He would seek solace in a bottle of brandy. Betsy Woodrow followed him down, calling her husband to assist her and voicing her hope that tea would not be long.
The ship’s tilt as the wind filled her sails, and her gathering speed, caused Judith to stumble as she rose to her feet. Kerenza caught her and offered a supportive arm.
‘I’ll go down first,’ she said as they reached the companionway. ‘Then I can steady you.’
‘What about the chair?’
‘I bring chair,’ Maggot said.
‘You are all so good to me.’ Judith shook her head.
Kerenza waited at the bottom of the stairs, looking up as Judith descended.
Three quarters of the way down, she smiled. ‘You see? All is well.’ As the final syllable left her lips, the ship suddenly plunged, then rose sharply. Losing her grip on the rail, Judith gave a sharp cry as she tipped forward.
Reaching out, Kerenza caught her, and though they both staggered, neither fell. ‘Are you all right?’
Judith nodded quickly. ‘Yes. I’m fine. It jolted me a little.’ Pressing a hand to her bosom, she blew out another laughing breath. ‘Thank goodness it was only three steps. Had I fallen on top of you –’ she shook her head ‘– you would have suffered far worse than I.’ She slipped her arm through Kerenza’s. ‘Let us take off our hats and cloaks and have some tea.’
‘Would you like to lie down?’ Kerenza suggested, her own heart still beating uncomfortably fast as she tried to block the repeating image of Judith falling. Everything was all right. She had landed on her feet. She was safe: the baby was safe. But
it must have been a nasty shock. ‘I could bring your tea to you in the cabin.’
Judith squeezed Kerenza’s arm. ‘That is very sweet of you. If we had more space and some natural light, I would enjoy it very much. Not because I feel at all ill,’ she added, ‘but respite from Mrs Woodrow’s opinions would be most welcome.’ She sighed. ‘However, now we are underway again, I think it will be easier to sit at the table. At least in the saloon we have fiddle rails to stop our plates and cups from sliding to the floor.’ Releasing Kerenza’s arm she opened the cabin door. ‘I do hope Maggot joins us.’
‘So do I.’ Not only was the second mate informative and entertaining, his presence ensured Betsy Woodrow did not linger.
But as the meal progressed it was clear neither Maggot nor Nick would be coming down. Kerenza’s relief far outweighed any disappointment.
‘Where is your father, Miss Vyvyan?’ Betsy asked. ‘Should you not try to persuade him to join us?’
‘I think not, Mrs Woodrow. I’m sure he will return to the table tomorrow. But tonight he prefers to be alone.’ Kerenza glanced up at the skylight then focused on her plate, aware of Judith talking to the minister, and longing for the moment they could leave.
She heard shouts as the log was hove and the course and speed noted. Then four bells signalled the end of the first dog-watch when helmsman and lookouts were changed; and bosun, carpenter, and sailmaker left the deck, their day’s work finished. As Kestrel sailed on in the approaching darkness, on deck a seaman would be lighting the binnacle candles and side-lamps.
Later that night, Kerenza lay, staring up into the darkness, the deckhead less than two feet from her face. It astonished her how quickly she had adjusted to the continuous noise of the ship: creaking timbers; the thump and hiss of the sea against the hull; the regular clang of the watch bell; shouts from the lookout, and the additional racket of sail changes.
She was already awake when Billy brought the hot water, and while Judith remained in her cot, Kerenza quickly washed and dressed. She picked up her riding dress. Too many memories. Folding it neatly, she placed it on the rumpled blanket, opened her trunk, and lifted out a long-sleeved round gown of pale green muslin. After brushing her hair and twisting it into a chignon secured on top of her head with pins, she put the riding dress in her trunk and closed the lid. Then, emptying the basin, she refilled it with hot water and picked up her cloak.
‘I’ll go and see what the weather is like.’ She left the cabin, closing the door behind her.
Twice she had offered assistance, but Judith had declined, citing the lack of space and her own bulk. Interpreting the refusal as a desire for privacy, Kerenza had not offered again.
Nodding to the helmsman, she crossed to her favourite spot, inhaling deeply. The air was cool, crisp and sweet. A stiff breeze filled the sails, driving Kestrel through the sapphire swell at a spanking pace.
Today was Sunday, and once the necessary ship’s business was complete all crew except those performing essential tasks would have the day off. This was their one chance in the week to shave and bathe, then oil and re-plait each other’s hair.
When the watch bell struck the half-hour and the glass was turned, Kerenza went below again. Seeing the hot water jug still full outside her father’s door, Kerenza hesitated, then went on down the passage. The smell of frying bacon and coffee made her stomach contract, and she realised she was hungry.
Seeing the cabin empty, she hung her cloak on the hook behind the door. Passing the Woodrows’ cabin she heard the familiar sounds of sniping and placation. Sympathy for the minister was pushed aside by hope that she might finish her breakfast before Betsy emerged.
Judith was alone except for the steward, who was setting the tea and coffee pots on the table. She smiled a welcome. ‘How is it up there?’
‘Beautiful.’ Kerenza turned. ‘Mr Broad, could I ask a favour?’
‘You can, miss. What do ’e want?’
‘My father …’ She tugged her earlobe. ‘I’m concerned that he … I had hoped he would …’
‘You sit yourself down, miss, and I’ll go and see if Mr Vyvyan might be wishful of some help.’
Kerenza smiled through a surge of relief. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘Nothing of the sort, miss. ’Tis what I’m here for.’ He stumped out of the saloon and down the passage.
By unspoken agreement they ate quickly, and Kerenza was helping Judith to her feet when the Woodrows entered the saloon. Her arm through Kerenza’s, Judith exchanged greetings on the threshold but kept walking.
Back in the cabin, she caught her breath and sat heavily on her cot, pressing a hand to her lower back.
Kerenza felt a flutter of anxiety. That was the second time this morning. ‘Are you in pain?’
‘It’s nothing,’ Judith waved aside her concern. ‘The merest twinge. I must have jarred something yesterday when I came so heavily off the stairs. I should have been more careful. But truly, I’m fine. Though I must admit, considering the angle of the ship, I’m nervous about climbing the companionway stairs this morning. In fact, I think I’ll give the service a miss and stay down here.’
Kerenza nodded in understanding. ‘Would you like me to stay with you?’
‘There’s really no need. I’m perfectly all right. And I know how much you enjoy the fresh air.’
‘I can enjoy it later. The thing is –’ She looked pleadingly at Judith. ‘If you had need of me, I wouldn’t have to spend the next hour with Mrs Woodrow.’
‘Ah.’ She blinked. ‘Do you know, it has just occurred to me that my hair is in desperate need of being washed? If everyone is topside for the service it offers the perfect opportunity. We could be private and comfortable in the saloon without inconvenience to anyone. Would you be so very kind as to help me?’
Kerenza beamed. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
As soon as she heard the minister and his wife pass by the door, then Betsy Woodrow’s heavy tread on the companionway stairs, Kerenza helped Judith along to the saloon and made sure she was comfortable, this time on the chair.
‘For it will be easier if I can stand behind you.’
Hurrying back to the cabin, she collected towels, both sets of brushes and combs, flannel squares, and from each trunk a bottle of hair wash and one of sweet oil.
Leaving the cabin, she heard voices: her father irritable and reluctant; Broad calm and persuasive. Releasing her relief in a soft sigh, she turned toward the saloon.
‘Miss Vyvyan?’
She froze. Behind her a door clicked shut and Nick’s swift footsteps approached.
‘I hope that after yesterday – your night’s rest was not too much disturbed.’
She had watched his uncle die. Good manners forbade she ignore him. Half-turning, she kept her gaze fixed on the bundle in her arms. ‘No more than yours, I imagine.’
‘Then you will not have slept at all.’
His quiet intensity brought her head up and she realised that once again they were at cross-purposes. She shook her head quickly. ‘No –’
He raised one hand, palm facing her. ‘Forgive me, I should not have – Now is not the time.’ He took a breath. ‘Will you be attending the service?’
Looking away, she shook her head. ‘Lady Russell’s accident has left her a little shaken and –’
‘What accident? Why was I not told?’
‘Because –’ Because you already had too much to concern you. And because I dare not be in your company for when I am with you I cannot trust my heart or my head. She swallowed. ‘Because it was not serious. The ship’s plunging threw her from a lower stair. But she kept her feet and did not fall. It startled her, no more than that.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I was with her, and was able to catch her.’
‘You’re sure she is all right?’
Kerenza recalled Judith’s brief grimaces of pain, and her insistence that all was well. Perhaps such pangs were normal in late pregnancy. If they wer
e not, what would be achieved by adding her concern to the weight of responsibility already on his shoulders?
‘She says she is perfectly well. But, preferring not to climb the stairs this morning, she asked me to stay with her.’
‘She could not have better company.’ With a brief bow he turned toward the stairs.
A few moments later, knowing her chaotic emotions were visible in her heightened colour and unable to do anything about it, Kerenza entered the saloon. Judith looked up and smiled.
‘There you are. For a moment I feared Mrs Woodrow had returned. Then it occurred to me that you were having difficulty finding the bottles. I fear my trunk is sadly untidy.’
‘No. I found them right away.’ Kerenza set down her armful, and concentrated on placing things neatly so she could keep her head averted. ‘As I left the cabin, Mr Penrose enquired if we would be attending the service and when I said no, wanted reassurance you were quite well.’
‘I hope you told him that I am?’
‘I did. Do you prefer to use your own wash? I have a bottle of rosemary water mixed with borax which gives excellent results.’
‘I should like to try that.’
Draping a towel round Judith’s shoulders, Kerenza quickly unpinned her hair and brushed it out. Then, after shaking the bottle, she opened it, tipped it against one of the flannel squares, and, starting at Judith’s hairline, stroked the cloth over her scalp.
Judith sighed. ‘That is so relaxing.’
‘I heard Maggot say that if the wind remains westerly we are less than two days from Gibraltar.’ Kerenza was anxious to deflect attention from herself. ‘What are you most looking forward to when you leave the ship?’
‘Seeing my husband. Then, I think, a hot bath.’
‘Oh yes.’ Kerenza sighed. ‘And a proper bed.’
‘A floor that doesn’t tilt.’
‘Being able to spread my arms wide without hitting anything.’
‘Fresh clothes every day. And privacy.’ Reaching up, she patted Kerenza’s hand. ‘I was not looking forward to sharing a cabin. But in fact I have enjoyed it. Though I fear I have put you to a lot of trouble. Don’t think I am not sensible of your tact in removing yourself from the cabin each morning.’