‘Well done,’ Richard congratulated, clapping his hand on Tom’s shoulder. Reaching for his jacket, he tossed it over his shoulder and hobbled back to his cabin, scrubbed his hands, then collapsed gratefully on to his bunk and pulled the blanket over him. Two minutes later he was asleep, still with his boots on.
‘You coming ashore, cap’n?’
Surprising his first mate, Richard nodded and went to join his men, who were standing on the quay, waiting for John Church, the youngest member of the Nina’s crew, to make his appearance. Making the most of the forty-eight hours’ shore leave they’d been granted, they were about to go and sample the local alehouses. Richard didn’t normally join his men when they went drinking. Drink made them loud and crude, added to which he’d learned that it didn’t pay for a captain to be too familiar with his crew. Tonight, however, he was making an exception.
‘If you’ve no objection, I’ll join you for a while and buy a round or two of drinks,’ he returned amiably.
‘You’re welcome to join us all night if you’ll keep filling up the glasses,’ Dan said, grinning.
The Trafalgar was not the sort of public house that Richard would normally have frequented, but he had to concede it was better than some of the dingy-looking establishments they’d passed. It was a two-storeyed building with a public bar and dining room downstairs, and guest rooms upstairs. Like a good many port hotels it was rowdy, full of smoke, and stank of ale and stale sweat. It was also packed to the gunwales. There wasn’t a free table anywhere.
‘Shall we try somewhere else, cap’n?’ Dan suggested, shouting to make himself heard above the noise. He glanced down at Richard’s right leg. ‘You’ll be wanting to sit down.’
‘No, I’ll be all right,’ Richard yelled back. His leg would be a good excuse for him to leave early.
As it turned out, while he was enquiring what his crew wanted to drink, well aware they’d want something dearer than ale since he was paying, a table came free on the far side of the room and Tom promptly went off to lay claim to it. A few minutes later Richard and four of his crew were seated around it, while the rest of his men joined the crush of rowdy patrons drinking at the bar.
‘To the crew of the Nina!’ Richard said, raising his glass in a toast.
‘To the crew of the Nina!’ Four glasses of whisky clinked in turn with his own. A battered and bruised crew they are, too, he thought, as he glanced around the table. Albert Freeman had a broken arm, Dan Lithgow had a broken nose, and he himself had eleven stitches in his leg. Their injuries were all the result of the storm. The three of them had been in the hold, checking the cargo, when the ship had suddenly risen up on a huge wave then crashed down again, tossing them about like skittles. It was a miracle none of them had been killed. Four years ago, he’d lost one of his men to the ferocity of the sea, a young lad of nineteen. He’d never forgotten the look on the face of the lad’s mother when he’d gone to break the bad news to her, and he hoped never to have to carry such news again.
‘That’s fine whisky!’ Albert licked his lips, nodding appreciatively. Beside him, young John Church had just swallowed his first mouthful of strong spirit, judging by the beads of sweat that had broken out on his forehead. Quite a large mouthful, too. Setting his glass on the table, John sucked in a long, rasping breath, then lifted his arm and wiped the tears from his watering eyes. Dan, sitting to the left of him, slapped him on the back, roaring with laughter.
‘You’re not meant to swig it down like ale, lad! You’re meant to sip it!’
‘I know that!’ John retorted, red-faced. ‘My glass tipped in my hand!’
‘Aye, of course it did,’ Tom agreed.
‘Bit of grease on your fingers, is there?’ Albert asked.
Richard leaned back against his chair, smiling as the good-natured banter continued. Learning to handle banter was part and parcel of learning to be a seaman. This was young Church’s maiden voyage and for a fifteen-year-old lad he’d conducted himself commendably. He’d handled the storm well—better than he was handling the banter. Better than he’s handling his first taste of whisky, too, Richard thought wryly, as Church gamefully took another drink then exploded in a fit of coughing which provoked even more uproarious laughter.
Half an hour and another whisky later, with no sign of the raillery abating, Richard took pity on the lad. ‘Speaking of boys,’ he said—John Church’s smooth whiskerless chin having become the butt of the latest jests, ‘you’ll be going home to a new child, won’t you, Albert? You might find you have a son this time.’
‘Or another daughter.’ Albert rolled his eyes comically. ‘Four daughters is more than enough for any man. I’ve no need of more!’
‘They do say if you father four daughters in a row, no matter how many more children you father they’ll all be daughters,’ Tom commented, raising his glass to drain the last of his whisky.
‘Pfoh! Old wives’ tales!’ Dan said in scoffing tones. ‘It’s like rolling a dice. You can roll it a dozen times and turn up an odd number every time, but if you keep rolling it, eventually it turns up an even.’
‘For pity’s sake, don’t wish a dozen daughters on me before I get a son, Dan!’ Albert exclaimed. Seeing Tom set an empty glass on the table, he drained his.
Following suit, Richard drank the last of his whisky, then dug his hand into his pocket and brought out some silver coins. Turning his hand over, he deposited them in the middle of the table. ‘Buy another round of whisky, will you, Dan,’ he said. After this he would be on his way.
‘Aye, aye, captain,’ Dan said, saluting him, and with a grin scooped up the coins and disappeared through the fog of smoke towards the bar.
‘Come on, sup up, lad, you’re lagging behind. You’ve not finished your second drink yet,’ Albert said, nudging John with his good elbow.
Loath to risk more taunts, John picked up his glass, took three mouthfuls in quick succession, then set it down on the table, empty.
Richard smiled and looked away. Young John was starting to look quite glassy-eyed and his cheeks were as pink as a boiled salmon. By the end of the night the lad would be as drunk as a lord. Not much Richard could do about it. If he told his men not to press him, it would only serve to emphasize the lad’s youth all the more. God help the lad tomorrow. Richard could still remember the results of his own initiation into strong liquor, at about the same age…the terrible nausea as the walls of the cabin had moved like waves before his eyes, being violently sick, then feeling as if his skull was going to split in two all the next day. A lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then. He’d been a raw young deck-hand in those days. Now he was master of his own vessel.
‘You’ll be looking forward to seeing your wife again in a month or two, Tom,’ he said, smiling. Tom had recently married a young woman from London.
Tom scratched his chin and grinned. ‘Aye, I am. She’s a fine woman is Meg.’
‘No plans to tie the knot yourself, sir?’ Albert quizzed.
Richard gave a noncommittal shrug. ‘When I find the right woman, I expect I shall.’ He made it an immutable rule not to share his private affairs with his men.
Albert nodded circumspectly. ‘Trouble is it’s hard to tell what a woman’s like ‘til you marry her. I can’t recall Jess complaining once to me when we were courting, but she certainly complains now. She complains about the weather, complains about the children, complains I’m away too much, then when I’m home she complains I’m under her feet.’
Tom shook his head and laughed. ‘You’re a damned good match by the sound of it then. You do nothing but complain yourself, Albert.’
Taking the comment in good part Albert grinned crookedly.
Richard listened with half an ear as the two men continued to discuss their marriages. Eventually, Dan arrived back with the drinks.
‘Here we are!’ he announced, setting a tray of chinking glasses on the table. ‘Here, John,’ he said, handing him a glass. ‘The third whisky is the best one of all!
’ He gave the lad a wink, or the closest that his swollen eyelid would come to it.
‘Aye?’ John said innocently as he set his glass down on the table.
‘Aye,’ Dan repeated solemnly. Bending over, he put a fatherly arm around John’s lean shoulders. ‘It’s like this, you see, lad. The first whisky, it gives you watering eyes, the second makes you very wise, but the third…the third makes your cock rise!’
Roars of laughter erupted from around the table. Tom slapped the table with his hand, rocking back and forth. Richard shook his head and wiped his eyes, laughing as loudly as the rest of them.
‘Would you like some company, gentlemen?’
The laughter came to an abrupt halt.
Two pale blue eyes set in a pretty face framed with fair hair gazed beguilingly around the table. Leaning back against his chair, Richard straightened his face and watched his men curiously, interested to see what they would do. They were all married, bar young John Church. Not that he expected that to deter them. It hadn’t on previous occasions; he knew that for a fact. They talked quite openly about the whores who had serviced them. Sometimes he wondered if the lewd bragging that followed the event was more satisfying than the event itself. It certainly lasted longer.
Dan’s puffy-lidded eyes slid down to the woman’s breasts, their plumpness emphasized by the tightness and low cut of her gown. Albert, also appraising the woman’s attributes, absently rubbed his fingers over his sling, no doubt wondering if he could manage the job one-armed. It was Tom, the ship’s ruddy-faced carpenter, who eventually answered her.
‘We would, lassie, but…well, we’re a bit crowded, as you can see.’ He waved his hand across the small round table, around which they were jammed fairly much elbow to elbow. ‘Come back a bit later,’ he invited. He didn’t add, ‘when the captain’s gone’, but it was what he meant.
She tilted her head to the side and smiled coyly. ‘I don’t mind sitting on a knee.’ Her gaze flicked around the table and came to rest on Richard. He smiled, but shook his head. She gave a pretty shrug and cast her eye around the table again.
‘Come on, John, where are your manners? Offer the lady your knee!’ Leaning forward, Dan grabbed hold of the back of John’s chair, tilted it back, and scraped it out from the table. ‘Here you are,’ he said, beckoning her across. ‘Here’s a very fine pair of knees for you to rest your behind on.’
‘No. No, I, I…’ John stammered. But it was too late. The woman was already on his lap.
‘You’ve arrived just in time,’ Dan told her, grinning as he sat down again. ‘John’s on to his third whisky. We were just telling him what the third one does for a man.’
Evidently familiar with the bawdy rhyme, she dimpled mischievously and passed John his glass. ‘Drink up, John,’ she said softly.
John glanced around the table and, not knowing what else to do, manfully swigged down the whisky. Removing the glass from his hand, she placed it on the table, then rearranged herself on his knee, turning so that she was almost facing him. ‘Well, shall we see if it worked?’ she asked him casually. With the fullness of her skirts concealing her hands it was impossible to see exactly what she was doing, but the astonished look on John’s face left no one in the slightest doubt.
Back aboard his ship an hour later, sitting alone in his cabin with his sore leg propped up on a stool and a glass of his favourite port in his hand, Richard was still laughing.
Chapter 7
April 1865
Charlotte’s mouth opened in surprise as she took in the figure
standing in the open doorway of the barn. A wide grin spread across Richard’s face as he walked over to her. ‘You look surprised to see me. Didn’t you get my letter, telling you to expect me sometime this week?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ She dropped the horse brush into the bucket of water at her feet and glanced down self-consciously at the big leather apron she was wearing. It belonged to Tom. She’d put it on to stop her skirt from getting soaked while she groomed her mare.
‘I expect it’ll arrive eventually,’ Richard said. Taking hold of her wet hands, he leaned forward and kissed her. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said softly.
‘I’ve missed you, too,’ she returned. ‘When did you get back?’
‘If you mean to Lyttelton: yesterday. If you mean home: I haven’t been home yet. I wanted to see you first.’
‘Oh,’ she said smugly.
‘You look well,’ Richard commented.
‘You look tired,’ she said truthfully.
He laughed, kissed her again, then cocked his head towards the house. ‘Where is everyone? I tapped on the back door and got no answer. I couldn’t see a soul anywhere. I thought you were all out.’
‘Everyone is out, except for me,’ she said, pulling her hands free so she could take off the apron and make herself more presentable. ‘My father and Edwin and Tom are out checking the sheep.’ She turned away to toss the apron over the railing of the stall. ‘Sarah and her three children are visiting George and Ann, Isobel is in Christchurch, and Jessie Hall is in Oxford visiting her sister for a day or two.’
‘Splendid.’ Richard pulled her into his arms. ‘It seems I timed my return perfectly.’
She laughed and curled her arms around his neck, then closed her eyes as he kissed her. She’d missed Richard more than she cared to admit, and, judging by the way he was kissing her, he’d missed her quite a lot too. It was several minutes before he slackened his hold on her and released her lips. With a sigh he rested his forehead against hers.
‘Lord, it’s good to be able to hold you in my arms again,’ he said softly. ‘I dreamed of you three nights ago, dreamed I was holding you, just like this.’
She had dreamed of him, too, more than once.
‘How long are you ashore?’ she asked, craning her head back so she could see his face.
‘Ten days.’ Releasing her from his arms, he dug his hand into his jacket pocket and brought out a small box, the kind that usually contained jewellery of some kind. Smiling, he held it out to her on the palm of his hand. ‘I’ve bought you a present.’
She reached out to take it, studied it for a moment, then flipped back the hinged lid. ‘Oh, Richard! It’s beautiful!’ she exclaimed in delight. It was a silver brooch. The top part of it, behind which was the pin, was shaped like a furled sail on a spar and hanging from it was a silver barque, perfect in every detail. Lifting it carefully from the box she placed it on the palm of her hand so that she could see it better.
‘If you look through a magnifying glass, you’ll see the word Nina,’ Richard commented quietly. ‘Just there.’ He pointed to the place on the hull but the inscription was so tiny that to the naked eye the letters simply looked like decorative little marks. ‘And if you look underneath the clasp…’ he said, turning it over, ‘…it says something else.’
As she read the words, Charlotte felt her throat tighten. To Charlotte, with love, R.
She ran her fingertip over the inscription, then looked up, smiled, and kissed him. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I shall treasure it.’
An hour later she was standing alone in the yard, the silver brooch pinned to her dress, watching the dust rise in pale brown clouds in the wake of Richard’s horse as he rode off towards his parents’ home, feeling happier than she could ever remember.
The letter advising her of the date of Richard’s return was among the wad of mail which Edwin brought four days later. He had collected it when he’d gone to meet the coach bringing his wife and family back.
‘For you,’ he said, handing the envelope to her with a grin.
She pushed it into her pocket and went to greet Sarah. ‘It’s good to have you home again,’ she said warmly. ‘Are George and Ann well?’
‘They are,’ Sarah affirmed with a smile, then frowned as a loud clatter sounded from the yard followed by excited squeals and shouts from Arthur and Matthew. Then, rising above the general din, came John’s stern voice.
Edwi
n breathed out an exasperated sigh. ‘Dear God, give me patience! They haven’t been back two minutes and they’re already in trouble with their grandfather!’ Shaking his head, he dropped the rest of the mail on the parlour table and went outside to investigate.
Sarah glanced down as Mary Ellen stirred in her arms, pushing a chubby arm out from the folds of the blanket. She rocked her gently, shushing softly until the baby settled again, then looked up at Charlotte and smiled. ‘So?’ she prompted. ‘I hear Richard’s here. Has he said anything yet?’
Charlotte laughed. ‘Lots of things. He hasn’t proposed to me, if that’s what you mean.’
‘D’you think he will?’
‘Yes. But maybe not on this visit.’
‘Have you mentioned anything about not liking him being away for such long periods?’
‘Several times.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘Nothing. He thinks it’s just my way of telling him that I missed him.’
Sarah cocked her head to the side, lips pursed. ‘Does he seem glad to be ashore? Does he seem to have missed you?’
The Sea Between Page 7