Griffiths looked off in the direction of the Spanish ship – the tops of her sails just visible. ‘So, we did not turn them over to the Spanish ship. I am quite certain there is an excellent reason for doing so …’
‘I believe there is.’ Hayden did not offer an explanation and knew Griffiths would not enquire further.
The surgeon nodded. For a moment, however, Hayden thought he would ask, for he seemed about to speak. Instead he said, ‘This might sound a little mad, Captain … but do you think it possible that young Angel is … well … is he not too elegantly beautiful to be a man? Could he be a young woman in disguise? You share their cabin …’
Hayden suddenly found himself unable to decide if he should confide in Griffiths or deny the obvious – for it was obvious … to him, at least.
‘I can assure you, Doctor, that Angel is a young man. There is no doubt on that score.’
‘Ah. Then I have sounded rather foolish, I fear.’
‘Not in the least, Doctor. I am quite certain others have entertained the same thought.’
The doctor nodded and excused himself, appearing somewhat out of sorts or embarrassed. Hayden regretted lying to him but felt he had no choice – he had given his word, after all.
The Themis soon met the drifting slaver, but was forced to wait two hours before it was felt the seas had become regular enough and the trade constant. The tedious journey toward Barbados resumed.
When all the gear had been arranged to his satisfaction Hayden repaired below to eat a late dinner. His cabin had been dismantled when the ship was cleared, but now it looked much as it had when he left it that morning, all of his belongings replaced exactly as he preferred. He had ordered his steward to feed his guests at the regular hour – noon – not wishing them to go hungry when he was otherwise engaged. As he finished his meal, Angel appeared – he still had trouble thinking of her as ‘Angelita’, having called her ‘Angel’ for so long.
Hayden had his servant clear away the moment coffee appeared and, as the man retreated out of the door, Angelita leaned near and whispered, ‘Thank you, Charles, for not turning my brother and me over to our people … and for trusting me.’
‘I could do no less. There were a number of Spanish civilians aboard that frigate; I saw them upon the deck.’
‘Yes, they are officials being carried out to Vera Cruz. The man we distrust is very tall – half a head taller than you and certainly the tallest man among the civilians.’
‘I marked him, then. Round-faced and quietly dressed. At one point he whispered something to the captain, who then asked if the slave ship had found any survivors. I assured them that she had not.’
‘Do you think they believe you?’
‘I do hope so. Like a fool, I forgot that we had taken aboard your boat. I told the captain we found it drifting, all but filled with water, though empty of any people. In such a gale a boat could easily be rolled over and everyone aboard lost.’
‘And we – Miguel and me – we did not know the management of a boat in such weathers. I have said it before, but it could only have been the hand of God that preserved us.’
Hayden let this pass without comment.
‘They must have asked themselves if there could be any reason I would not tell them the truth …’ This was not explicitly a question, but he did let it hang in the air.
Angelita considered this a moment and then shook her head. ‘They would know no reason for you not to tell them the truth. So I think they believe you.’
Hayden nodded – it was what he had hoped she would say. ‘There is one other matter … Dr Griffiths asked me if I thought it possible that you were a woman disguised.’
Angelita drew back, both hands limp upon the table. ‘He knows, then?’
‘I assured him you were most definitely a man.’
She put a hand to her heart and let out a long breath. ‘No one must know,’ she whispered, rather breathless of a sudden.
‘I wonder if I should tell him the truth and charge him not to reveal it? Griffiths would never repeat anything I asked him not to. The man is discretion dressed and walking.’
Angelita squeezed his wrist. ‘I think it is better if you say nothing …’
‘Perhaps, but as it stands he might ask the same question of others. This could set people to wondering.’
‘I will endeavour to be more manly. Say nothing, Charles, I beg you. It must never be known. Miguel’s life would be in danger. My life, too, might be endangerous.’
‘If that is your wish.’
‘How long now, until Barbados?’
‘A few days, if the weather stays as it is. Three or four, perhaps.’
Angelita took this in. ‘I will spend less time where others might observe me. It cannot be known that I am a woman. It cannot.’
‘Then we will keep up the ruse. But, Angelita, what will you do when you reach Barbados?’
She shook her head, the smallest motion, her lovely mouth turning down. ‘I cannot say. Barbados … was never in our intention.’
Eleven
The long journey to Barbados resumed, the trades carrying them along, the slaver following behind like a bad deed that could never be forgotten. Angel and Miguel were guests of the midshipman’s berth that evening and took their supper there, where it had been decided that only Spanish would be spoken, which sounded very much like a language lesson to Hayden, for only Wickham had enough Spanish to ask for the salt to be passed.
Hayden ate his dinner alone, read for an hour, then took a turn around the deck. Finding everything to his satisfaction, he descended the ladder to the gundeck. Passing the skylight to the gunroom, he heard laughter and then the distinctive, accented English of Miguel Campillo proclaiming the superiority of Spanish wine.
Nodding to his marine sentry, Hayden entered his cabin. A lamp glowed from beyond the sail-cloth partition, but Hayden could not tell if Angelita was there or if the lamp had merely been lit by his steward. In case his guest was sleeping, Hayden made his toilet as quietly as he could.
Emerging from his quarter gallery, he doused his own lamp and immediately saw the lovely silhouette of Angelita cast upon the partition.
‘Are you there?’ came her whisper from beyond the canvas.
Hayden drew nearer so that his voice would not carry to the sentry or up the skylight.
‘Yes,’ he whispered.
The shadowy Angelita reached out a hand and pressed it flat to the softened old cloth. For a second Hayden hesitated and then he touched his hand to hers. The cloth was drawn taut enough that they could not grasp hands, but he could feel the heat of her palm against his.
She moved nearer and they leaned gently forward until their foreheads met. He could hear her now; jagged little gasps for breath. His own lungs had grown tight. They pressed their cheeks together.
‘I do not think my mother would approve of this,’ Angelita whispered.
‘We are in separate rooms,’ Hayden said, just as softly. ‘Even a priest could not complain of that.’
Without another word they both moved forward so that Angelita’s face pressed against his chest and their bodies leaned into one another.
‘I cannot find my breath,’ she whispered.
‘Nor I,’ he replied.
He swore he could feel her heart pounding – though perhaps it was his own.
‘There is so little between us,’ she breathed, ‘from a different people, a different life, your language I speak but poorly … yet there is only this scrap of sail keeping us apart. Or is there something more …?’
Hayden attempted to control his breathing and then said ever so softly, ‘Foolish of me, is it not, to cling to hope when the woman in question has married another?’
‘You are loyal, Charles Hayden, and you loved her deeply. It speaks well of your heart that you have not been able to let her go.’ Angelita tried to gather her breath. ‘Is it really hope you cling to, or is it that you do not want to let go of this … feeling? Love is
a precious thing, after all.’
‘I want to let it go … and I do not. I want to feel anger toward her … and I cannot. I do not want to speak more of her, because I am here with you … and yet I do. Am I not a sad, love-sick youth?’
‘We are both young in these matters. I do not know how to banish this ghostly woman from your heart, but I do not know if you can love another until she is gone.’
Reluctantly – Hayden could feel it – Angelita stepped back, though her hand lingered a second longer on his chest, as though she were sounding the depths of his heart.
‘Sleep well, Captain Hayden,’ she whispered, and then she extinguished her lamp and was gone in that instant.
A moment more Hayden stood by the partition, and then he went to his cot, where he lay, attempting to calm his racing heart. Beyond the partition he could hear Angelita, so near that he could tell, by the sound of her breathing, that she did not sleep. He imagined he could feel the warmth and sense the soft scent of her body.
Even more than that, he thought he could perceive her suffering, which caused him to feel more than a little ignoble. He wondered at her apparent attachment to him. How did one distinguish fleeting infatuation from deeper, lasting feelings? It was difficult enough to tell them apart in one’s own heart, let alone the heart of another.
Did I not feel strongly about Henrietta when first we met? he asked himself. Certainly he had. And what had he done? He had dithered and been ‘reasonable’, and she had slipped away.
It occurred to Hayden that, once they reached Barbados, Angelita and her brother would be off to Vera Cruz at the first opportunity. He knew, once that occurred, he would never see her again. It would be as though she had died. Here, aboard ship, he could speak with her and seek her company at his pleasure, but once she was back with her family they would never allow such a connection to continue. He was only a sea officer, after all, and not a suitable match for such a woman.
The idea, however, that she would be gone caused him more distress than he could have imagined. What, exactly, did that mean?
His usual breakfast was laid out and, as he prepared to eat, rustling sounds emanated from beyond the partition. Angelita emerged a moment later, looking wan and tired. It was now so very obvious to Hayden that she was a woman that he could not comprehend how anyone could not see it.
‘I hesitate to ask if you slept well …’ Hayden said.
‘Very poorly, I fear.’
Hayden’s steward served breakfast to her and, as had become her habit, she poured coffee for them both.
‘I did not hear your brother return …?’
‘No doubt he became insensible with drink and spent the night lying in some corner of the ship.’
‘Mmm.’
The rest of the meal passed in silence. When the servants had cleared away, Hayden asked that the coffee be left and released them to other duties.
‘I am sorry you slept poorly,’ Hayden offered, for lack of something better to start the conversation.
Angelita shrugged. A second of awkwardness, and then she whispered, ‘I have exposed my feelings before I should – before I knew that you shared them – because I hoped …’ but she fell silent and wiped a sleeve across her eyes, which glistened.
‘I am the one who is foolish, clinging to feelings for a woman who has chosen another.’
She reached out and put a hand on his wrist. ‘But you are mourning. You comprehend this, do you not? You grieve for the person you have lost. Wounds to the heart take much longer to heal than wounds to the body.’
‘I fear you will be gone to Vera Cruz before I have come out of mourning. I seem to be healing more slowly than I would like.’
Angelita squeezed his wrist and met his gaze suddenly. ‘I should like very much to be patient and very proper and to give you all the time you need, but I fear the same. We have so little time to find if we can be content in one another. Not enough time, perhaps …’
‘Then we must make use of the time we have.’
There was no hesitation on either part. Each leaned forward and they kissed, turned in their chairs and embraced, only a section of table holding them apart.
The door handle rattled at that instant and they flew apart, just as Don Miguel was let into the cabin. He was a disaster of red eyes, unkempt hair and dull skin.
‘What goes on here?’ he enquired, and stopped.
Angelita, who was blushing, picked up her coffee cup and raised it to her brother. ‘The English call it breakfast, brother. Would you care to join us, or are you yet too ill from drink?’
‘I shall break my fast later,’ he said coldly, and retreated beyond the screen.
‘And I should be about my duties,’ Hayden said, draining his cup and rising to his feet.
Angelita glanced back once to be certain her brother could not see and then squeezed Hayden’s hand before he left.
Twelve
The trade blew across the decks like a warm caress. Hayden emerged from the companionway and stood a moment, feeling the touch of the air upon his skin – he had escaped the English winter and come to a part of the world where perfect summer days followed one after another in endless succession.
Archer spotted his captain and immediately set out to intercept him, his face, Hayden could see, tightened from some concern.
‘I think our wind is making a little, Captain,’ he said, after quickly exchanging pleasantries. ‘Our tow is sheering about more than I like.’
‘Let us have a look, Mr Archer.’ The two men made their way quickly along the gangway and were on the quarterdeck headed for the stern when an angry swarm of Spanish invective spewed out of the skylight. Hayden did not quite catch the meaning, though it was clearly Miguel, and in a rage, too.
‘Who are you that I should answer such a question?’ came an equally angry reply from the Spaniard’s sister. ‘You are not my father. You do not make choices for me.’
Archer glanced at Hayden, and they both hurried past the skylight. When they reached the transom, the argument, if anything, was louder. Archer cleared his throat and the voices fell to hissed whispers.
The first lieutenant pointed at the ship following in their wake, the long tow rope sawing down into the waves that lay between the two ships. Even at that distance Hayden could see the helmsmen of the slaver fighting the wheel.
‘What is your opinion, Captain?’
‘I am in complete agreement with you, Mr Archer; we must reduce sail.’
‘Aye, sir.’ Archer went off at a brisk pace, calling out orders.
A moment more Hayden stood, watching the trailing ship, and then he heard footsteps behind and turned to find Miguel Campillo bearing down on him, all signs of a barely controlled rage in his carriage and manner. He came to Hayden and stood directly in front of him, shoulders squared, and looked Hayden in the eye, even though the naval officer stood a number of inches taller.
‘Sir,’ he said, his accent thickened by emotion, ‘you have wronged me and my family. And I had thought you an honourable gentleman.’
‘Officers of the British Navy do not take such accusations lightly, sir.’
Miguel leaned close and whispered to Hayden in Spanish, though the words were not less threatening for their reduced volume. ‘I will not withdraw what I have said, sir. You have discovered my sister’s secret and taken advantage of her innocence and trust.’
Hayden drew himself up. ‘I have done no such thing! My conduct toward your sister has been beyond reproach.’
‘Then why does she believe you have intentions to ask for her hand? Why does she hold such hopes if you have not led her to believe so? You, sir, do not know your place. Our family would never consider you a match for her.’
Miguel glanced over his shoulder. All around the quarterdeck men were staring, but they looked quickly away. The Spaniard put Hayden between himself and the rest of the crew, and whispered, ‘If keeping our secret were not of the utmost importance, and you had not saved our lives, I
would demand satisfaction. That, sir, is what I think of your actions. If it were within my power, I would remove my sister and myself from your ship this instant, but that is not possible so I demand that you break off this affair with … That you break off this affair immediately. It cannot continue.’
The two men stood face to face, neither giving way. There was the muffled sound of tearing, like tissue, and then a black snake whipped out of the sea toward them.
‘Down!’ Hayden hollered, so loud it hurt his throat. He grasped Miguel by his lapels and threw him upon the deck, landing half atop him.
The tow rope whirred over them like a giant scythe, struck something fleshy with a horrifying smack then slammed into the larboard bulwark like a bar of steel.
For a second neither man moved. Miguel looked around in confusion.
‘The tow rope parted,’ Hayden heard himself say, and he shifted to rise. As he did, so Miguel’s head snapped around.
‘Angelita!’ He was on his feet, pushing past Hayden.
There, on the deck, lay his sister, unmoving, curled up as though she slept, her unbound hair in a wave over her face. Miguel was bending down beside her only an instant before Hayden.
‘Do not move her!’ Hayden warned the Spaniard. ‘Pass the word for the doctor!’ he called out. And then more urgently. ‘The doctor!’
Her coat was ripped open along her right side, and her shirt beneath that. Both were stained with new blood.
Miguel stretched out his hands to his sister, his dispute with Hayden forgotten.
‘She is not breathing …!’ he said.
Hayden put his fingers before her nose and mouth. ‘She is. I can feel her breath – though too faint.’ He glanced around and called out testily, ‘Where is the doctor?’
She lay still, the stain on her side growing.
‘I have seen this before,’ Hayden told Miguel, without taking his eyes from Angelita. ‘In Corsica … Much worse than this. The man lived.’
Hayden was vaguely aware that Archer was standing over him.
‘Permission to heave-to, sir … Captain?’
Until the Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead Page 10