John’s face split into a wide grin. ‘How did you get out of your predicament?’
‘I had to buy my way out. I’ve discovered over the years that there are very few problems that money won’t resolve. It turned out to be an extremely expensive bowl of food.’
They all laughed, except for Isobel, who didn’t appear to find the story the least bit amusing.
‘You’re sure the Indian peddler wasn’t trying to sell you a wife, Captain Steele?’ Charlotte asked, her eyes still sparkling with pearls of laughter.
Richard smiled and shook his head. ‘If it had been a wife he was offering me, he would have been paying me.’
‘Oh, a dowry, you mean,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘That’s probably why her father was trying to sell her, so he wouldn’t have to provide one for her eventually.’
‘How do poor families manage to provide dowries for their daughters?’ Charlotte asked.
‘With difficulty,’ Richard replied succinctly.
‘How do women fare in India? Any better than in this country?’ Isobel asked.
Richard frowned, not certain what she meant, but, before he had a chance to ask, John broke in impatiently: ‘Isobel, women fare very well in this country.’
‘Being a man, you would say that, John,’ she returned.
John gave her an irritated look. ‘Plenty of women would wholeheartedly agree with me. Not everyone shares your discontent with the laws of the land. Most women aren’t in the least interested in politics and the running of the country.’ Turning to Richard, he said crisply, ‘My sister thinks that women are hard done by. She thinks they should have the right to vote in municipal and provincial elections.’
‘I do,’ Isobel said. Her sharp brown eyes fell on Richard and narrowed slightly. ‘What’s your opinion, Captain Steele?’
Richard gave her a blank look. He didn’t really have an opinion. ‘I’ve never given the matter any consideration,’ he answered truthfully.
‘Then it’s high time you did,’ Isobel said.
Richard’s eyes widened in surprise. Isobel had spoken to him as if she were scolding a naughty child. Feeling quite taken aback, he looked away, intending to catch his father’s eye and toss him a look which said in no uncertain terms, ‘You’re right, she is bloody rude!’ But instead of catching his father’s eye, his own was caught by Charlotte. She was laughing. Not overtly, but she was laughing all the same. She had covered her mouth with her fingers so no one would see her smile, but she couldn’t cover her eyes and they were twinkling like beacons. Suddenly realizing that Isobel was talking to him again, he swivelled his eyes back in her direction.
‘You might also like to consider, Captain Steele, whether the property laws relating to married women are fair and just. Is it just that, when a woman marries, she is required by law to forfeit any property she owns? That thereafter it becomes the property of her husband—his to manage and control, his to bequeath in his last will and testament to whomsoever he pleases? To his mistress, if he so chooses? Paraphernalia, clothing and personal ornaments—those are the only possessions a married woman may bequeath in her will, for as the law stands they are all a married woman owns! The rest belongs to her husband. As for the laws in England pertaining to adultery—how anyone can defend the justice in those and maintain that they are fair and equitable is beyond my comprehension. A man may divorce an adulterous wife, but how can a woman divorce an adulterous husband when divorce would leave her penniless? Moreover, adultery alone is usually insufficient grounds for a woman to be granted a divorce. She must prove that her husband has mistreated her, and if she can’t prove it then the law expects her to stay married to him, and to turn a blind eye to the fact that he keeps a mistress. Show me a man who’d turn a blind eye in an intolerable situation such as that!’ Her impassioned speech finished, Isobel leaned back in her chair, tightened her mouth, and gave a small nod as if to say, ‘Consider the justice of those things, Captain Steele.’
Richard gave her a long look. He was tempted to present his own views on some of the issues she’d raised, if only to show her that he did have some views on them, but if he did they’d be arguing all night and, given Isobel’s sharp tongue and her indiscriminate use of it, he felt that this was one occasion when discretion was indeed the better part of valour. So he merely said, ‘It wasn’t I who made the laws, Mrs Wyatt. I merely do my best to abide by them. As we all must.’
‘We must indeed,’ Letitia chipped in quickly. ‘Anyway, enough of laws. Tell our guests about some of the other countries you’ve been to, Richard. I know Charlotte has been looking forward to hearing about them.’
Taking his mother’s cue, Richard launched into a rambling description of the port of Hobart Town. So intent was he on making sure that Isobel did not get on her political soapbox again that he spent the next hour describing one port after another. John interrupted him regularly to ask him questions, and Charlotte asked him one or two; but it was Isobel he was most aware of, sitting on the sofa in her black dress and white lacy cap, silent as a sphinx, watching him with those intelligent brown eyes of hers. He had the distinct feeling that she was playing with him, playing with all of them in fact, making them all sit on the edge of their seat while they waited to see if she would raise another contentious issue. Would she or wouldn’t she? Keeping them guessing.
By ten o’clock, he was starting to feel that it was high time that someone else did some talking. Let the sphinx fix her beady eyes on someone else for a while!
‘Anyway, enough of my sea voyages,’ Richard said and turned to smile at John. ‘My parents and I would like to hear about the encounter with the boar.’
‘Yes, tell them about it, John,’ Isobel prompted.
‘Oh, there’s really nothing much to tell,’ John evaded.
‘Nonsense,’ Isobel said. ‘I’m sure they’ll find the story extraordinarily interesting.’
The look John shot her spoke volumes, but a look was not sufficient to keep Isobel silent.
‘Charlotte killed the boar. Singlehandedly, with a spade.’ Isobel’s thin lips curled into a crooked smile as she looked from face to face, at the Steele family’s stunned expressions. ‘What do you think of that?’
When the Blakes finally left, shortly after eleven, Richard breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. Isobel Wyatt was not only rude, she was exhausting. It was impossible to relax in her company. God alone knew how her family coped with her.
‘I can see why you warned me about Mrs Wyatt,’ he remarked as he poured two large rums—one for himself and one for his father, who had collapsed in his favourite armchair and looked as if he could use several stiff drinks. His mother was finishing off the last of the tea.
‘John was terribly vexed with her,’ Letitia said. ‘I could tell from his face. I expect he’ll have a few things to say to her on the way home.’
‘I’m sure he will,’ Ben agreed. ‘Not that it’ll make a jot of difference. If Isobel thinks it, she says it, and the devil take the consequences. Damned if I know how John tolerates her. An evening in Isobel’s company is worse than spending an evening sitting bare-arsed on a bed of nettles!’
‘Ben!’ Letitia raised her brows reproachfully, but she couldn’t keep back the smile.
Richard laughed and walked over to hand his father his rum. Given the choice, he’d take the bed of nettles any day. ‘She’s a widow, I presume?’
Letitia nodded. ‘She’s been widowed for over thirty years. In fact, I think she’s been widowed twice.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. Isobel would drive any man to an early grave,’ Ben said shortly.
‘Ben, that’s a wicked thing to say!’ Letitia raised her brows again.
‘She’d have driven me to an early grave,’ Ben returned, unabashed.
‘She has some very strong views about adultery,’ Richard commented. ‘I can’t help wondering if one of her late husbands, or maybe both of them, kept a mistress.’
Ben pulled a sou
r face. ‘Well, if they did, who could blame them? Poor devils. A man would need some respite from a woman like her.’
Lifting his glass, Richard took a large swig of rum. He closed his eyes, savouring the satisfying heat as it travelled down his throat.
‘How long has she lived with her brother?’
Ben looked at Letitia, frowning. ‘Do you know, Letitia?’ Letitia shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. She’s been living there for a few years, but she didn’t emigrate with them, because she mentioned once that she used to look forward to John’s letters, telling her about New Zealand. I think she probably sailed out after John lost his wife, to help Charlotte with managing the household affairs.’
‘How long has John been a widower, Mother?’ Richard asked.
‘Seven years. I do know that because Charlotte told me she was only fifteen when she lost her mother and she’s twenty-two now.’
Loosening his tie, then the stud in his collar, which had been biting into his neck all evening, Richard went to sit on the sofa where he could sprawl out.
‘I was surprised Isobel came. She doesn’t usually accept our invitations,’ Letitia said.
‘Thank God!’ Ben inserted with feeling. He shook his head. ‘All that talk of women and the law. As if we want to discuss that sort of damned thing when we invite neighbours for supper. As for her telling you it was high time you considered the right of women to vote, Richard—does she think you’ve nothing better to do?’
Richard leaned back, resting his left arm across the back of the sofa. ‘I was sorely tempted to ask her what she thought about the laws pertaining to discipline at sea, then when she admitted she didn’t know the first thing about them, tell her it was high time she considered those laws.’
Ben laughed. ‘Well, it’s as well you bit your tongue, because, as surely as night follows day, she’d have had an answer for you. I’ve yet to see anyone get the better of Isobel Wyatt.’ He paused to take another sip of rum. ‘You’ll have formed quite a chequered opinion of our neighbours, I imagine.’
Richard shrugged. ‘Isobel aside, the rest of the family seem very pleasant.’
‘Charlotte looked very fetching tonight, I thought,’ Letitia remarked casually.
‘She did. She’s a very handsome young woman,’ Ben agreed.
‘And quite handy with a spade, by the sound of it,’ Richard added.
Ben laughed and shook his head. ‘I’d have liked to hear the full tale, but it was quite obvious that John didn’t want it discussed. I wonder why?’
Letitia stared into her teacup speculatively. ‘Well, it’s a little shaming for Edwin, isn’t it? I mean to say, we all assumed that Edwin had shot the boar. I expect he feels extremely embarrassed by what happened.’
‘Letitia, we don’t know what happened,’ Ben pointed out.
‘No, but one can guess,’ she returned. ‘And it’s my guess that Edwin was attacked by the boar, became incapacitated, and Charlotte ended up having to defend the two of them.’
‘But Edwin wasn’t incapacitated, Mother,’ Richard corrected. ‘The boar ripped his leg and it would have been very painful, but he could have stood on it and he could have swung a spade, too.’
‘Well, maybe he dropped the spade when the boar attacked him, and maybe Charlotte picked it up and killed the boar with it,’ Letitia suggested.
Richard shrugged. ‘Well, whatever the explanation, she showed a lot of courage.’
The three of them fell into a thoughtful silence. Eventually, Ben spoke. ‘That young woman from London, Richard, the one you mentioned last time you were home—you said you’d had dinner with her and her father a few times and walked out with her a time or two—how’s that progressing? Are you thinking of asking her to be your wife?’
Richard smiled at his father. ‘I think I’d be wasting my time. Her cousin proposed to her and she accepted him.’
Ben shook his head and gave a long sigh. ‘It’s time you proposed to somebody, Richard. You’ll be thirty soon. It’s time you gave your mother and me some grandchildren.’
Richard tossed his father a wry smile. ‘I thought it was only women who craved grandchildren, Father.’
‘Well, you’re wrong there. Men crave them, too, but for different reasons.’ Ben leaned forward, his face serious. ‘When I die, Richard, everything I possess will be yours, and I’d like to think that in time it’ll pass on to your children. If you don’t produce any heirs, who’ll inherit everything when you die? Some distant damned relative in England, that’s who. Well, I don’t want that to happen! A man doesn’t labour all his life for that.’
Richard lowered his eyes to his glass of rum. He swirled the contents around the sides for a moment, then looked up again and said evenly, ‘I do intend to marry, Father, but I don’t have much opportunity to meet women, let alone court them. You know how seldom I’m ashore.’
‘Well, you’re ashore now,’ Ben said. ‘And there’s a very fine single woman living less than a mile away. Charlotte. She’d make you a first-rate wife, Richard. She’s intelligent, resourceful, and she can look after herself—something your wife will certainly need to be able to do, with you away at sea so much.’
‘She’s also a very pretty young woman,’ Letitia chimed in. ‘If you don’t snap her up, someone else will. John’s planning on sending her to live with her brother in Lyttelton soon, and she’ll have no shortage of admirers there.’
‘We’d like you to spend some time with her while you’re here.’ Ben fixed a serious eye on him.
Richard gave his father a long look, then raised his glass and swallowed down a mouthful of rum. ‘I’ll give it some thought, Father,’ he said, as he lowered his glass. But his tone made it plain he wasn’t committing himself to doing anything beyond that.
‘Do that,’ Ben said, making it plain from his tone that he expected Richard to do rather more than just think.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Richard leaned over and undid his shoelaces. He pulled off his shoes and pushed them under the bed, then stripped off his socks and tossed them under the cane chair. Frowning, he stared at his bare feet. His mother and father were hoping he’d marry Charlotte—they’d made that crystal-clear. He knew why they were so keen on the idea. Quite aside from the fact that they liked Charlotte, there would be significant advantages in terms of the farm, advantages which his father would be considering. John Blake was a good neighbour, but he’d be an even better one if his daughter was married to his neighbour’s son. His parents probably had it in mind to suggest that Charlotte could move in with them if he married her. That arrangement would please his mother. She’d like nothing better than to have grandchildren running about the house.
Rolling backwards on to the bed, he clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He had to admit that he found Charlotte a very intriguing young woman. She was obviously very intelligent. She hadn’t said a great deal, but it was clear from the questions she’d asked him about America that she knew more about the country than he did.
He sighed and closed his eyes.
‘So,’ he said aloud. ‘My parents like her, there are advantages in terms of the farm, and she’s quite attractive.’ Were they sufficient reason to court her with a view to marrying her? He thought about it for a few minutes, then with another loud sigh opened his eyes. ‘No, they aren’t,’ he said.
But they were definitely sufficient reason for getting to know her better.
Chapter 4
Miss Blake—Captain Steele is here, asking if he may speak with you,’ Jessie Hall announced from the parlour doorway. ‘You’ll find him outside, in the yard, talking to your father.’
‘Well now, I wonder why Captain Steele wishes to speak to you, Charlotte?’ Isobel remarked tartly.
‘He’s wondering if Miss Blake will accompany him on a ride across the hills,’ Jessie explained. ‘I heard him asking Mr Blake.’
‘I see,’ Isobel said crisply.
‘What do you see, Aunt?’ Char
lotte enquired pleasantly, rising to her feet, but not to the bait.
‘The beginning of a courtship. Why else would Captain Steele be inviting you to ride with him?’
To be truthful, Charlotte didn’t much care what had prompted the invitation—it would get her out of the house and, more to the point, away from Isobel. The past two days had been terrible. It had rained almost non-stop and Isobel had been as bristly as a yard broom. To make matters worse, Ann and George had returned to Lyttelton and Sarah had spent most of the time in bed with a cold, with the result that Charlotte had spent two long, wet days cooped up with a bad-tempered aunt and two bored young nephews. She knew very well what was nettling Isobel: she was still simmering like a pot of soup from the row that she and John had had on the way back from the Steeles’. John had been absolutely furious with her. ‘A rude, ill-mannered old woman!’ he’d called her. ‘An embarrassment to the family!’ Not one to be cowed by strong words, Isobel had sneeringly retorted, ‘And you, John, are a typical male bigot!’ which had only served to add more fuel to John’s fire. The two had barely exchanged a civil word since.
‘Ah, Charlotte!’ John turned a beaming face on his daughter as she emerged from the house. ‘Captain Steele has just arrived. He’s wondering if you’ll join him on his ride. His mother has been telling him what a fine horsewoman you are.’
‘She tells me you ride like the wind,’ Richard said. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t, so you may have to settle for a somewhat slower pace today. Assuming you’re agreeable to accompanying me, that is.’ He smiled, a wide, charming smile which was obviously intended to do just that—charm her.
Well, Charlotte mused, perhaps Isobel is right about Richard Steele. He doesn’t have the look of a man who’s been coerced into doing something against his will.
She smiled back at him. If Richard did have it in mind to court her, she’d no objection at all. He was an interesting man and she liked him. Whether she liked him enough to marry him—assuming that marriage was what he had in mind—only time would tell; but when they’d had supper with the Steeles on Tuesday evening she’d certainly found herself looking at him in a way that she couldn’t recall looking at a man before. He was quite a good-looking man, although good looks, of course, were always a matter of opinion. However, no one could argue with the fact that Richard was well built. And he would weather well. If you must marry, be sure to choose a man who will weather well, Isobel had advised her in one of her regular aunty talks. In Richard’s case, one only had to look at Ben to know how Richard would weather. The two men were like peas in a pod. Although sixty, Ben still had a good head of dark hair, although his sideburns and moustache had turned grey. The skin around his eyes was scored with lines and he had two very deep lines running down from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth, but he was still quite a good-looking man for his age; still straight-backed, still solid-chested, and still as strong as an ox. Richard had inherited both his looks and his build. He would also one day inherit Ben’s farm.
The Sea Between Page 4