The Sea Between

by Thomas, Carol

  ‘Well, to be truthful I’m not convinced that she’ll stay honest either,’ William said. ‘But I don’t think she’ll rob half of Lyttelton on her way home.’

  ‘But you think she may rob me.’

  He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t rule out the possibility. She stole from her previous employer.’

  ‘Once a thief, always a thief. Is that what you think?’

  ‘No, I don’t think that at all,’ he replied. ‘I’m quite sure that large numbers of both men and women who serve a term in gaol for theft never offend again. The reason I’m dubious about Miss Pitt’s ability to stay honest is because no one appears to know why she stole. It’s quite possible, therefore, that whatever or whoever prompted her to steal before may prompt her to steal again.’

  She puckered her mouth in annoyance, not with William, but with George. By the sound of it, George had told William everything he knew about Rose; things she’d told him in confidence. ‘I take it you wouldn’t employ her,’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you not believe in giving someone a second chance?’

  ‘I believe,’ he said with a slightly mocking smile, ‘that a person who doesn’t have a history of dishonesty is more deserving of employment than a person who does. Therefore, if two people applied for a position in my company and one had a history of dishonesty and one didn’t I would always favour the latter.’

  ‘Even if the latter were less capable?’

  William laughed. ‘There are plenty of very capable people in this country, Charlotte, most of whom have not been in prison.’

  Much as it went against the grain, she had to admit that he was right. Nor could she deny that there was a certain justice in giving preference to honest, law-abiding folk. Somebody had to employ people like Rose, though, otherwise what would they do for a living? Steal?

  ‘We shall have to agree to differ on the subject, it seems,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a topic which men and women invariably differ on,’ he returned with a smile. ‘Women tend towards compassion, whereas men are more pragmatic.’

  She certainly couldn’t argue with that statement.

  ‘Shall we see if there’s any supper left?’ he suggested, and moved aside to let her to go first.

  ‘Can you see where George and Ann are?’ she asked. Though solidly built George was on the short side, which made him hard to pick out in a crowd, and Ann was even shorter.

  ‘Over there to the right,’ he said, pointing. ‘Do you know the people they’re talking to? I can’t say that I recognize either of them.’

  Charlotte stared in shock. The woman she didn’t recognize, but the man she did. His back was to her, but she’d have known him anywhere.

  ‘They’re Captain and Mrs Steele,’ she said in clipped tones. ‘Captain Steele owns the neighbouring farm to my father’s. I haven’t met his wife.’

  ‘I expect you’d like to make her acquaintance then,’ William said, and steered her towards them.

  Seeing them approaching, Richard’s wife smiled pleasantly, while George and Ann—who were plainly wondering what sort of an atmosphere was going to emerge when Charlotte and Richard met again—exchanged uncomfortable glances.

  Whatever was going through Richard’s mind, he was careful not to let it show. Even when he glanced down at the silver brooch pinned to Charlotte’s bodice—the brooch he had given to her—the expression on his face didn’t alter. ‘How are you, Charlotte?’ he enquired evenly.

  ‘I’m very well, thank you, Captain Steele,’ she replied, pointedly using his formal title.

  Turning to William, who was standing beside her, Richard extended his hand. ‘I’m Richard Steele.’

  William shook his hand genially. ‘William Fairfield. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain Steele.’

  The formalities with William finished, Richard introduced his wife, Eliza. She was wearing a close-fitting burgundy silk jacket and matching skirt, elegantly scalloped around the hem. The jacket, heavily decorated with tiny black beads and black piping, had been designed to show off the slenderness of her waist. Her dark hair had been swept tightly back, then pulled to one side, so that three long ringlets hung over her left shoulder. As for her features, she had quite a long, oval face, neat dark eyebrows, light blue eyes, and a straight finely boned nose. She wasn’t beautiful, but nor was she plain.

  ‘Mr Fairfield, I’m so pleased to meet you,’ Eliza said pleasantly. She turned to Charlotte and smiled. ‘Your brother was telling us that you own a haberdashery in the town, Miss Blake. I shall come and inspect your stock once I’ve settled into the house.’

  Charlotte stared at her. House? Surely Richard hadn’t settled his wife in Lyttelton?

  ‘George has just been telling us that you’re living in Lyttelton now, Charlotte,’ Richard inserted quickly. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘I’ve been living here for over a year,’ she replied, then turned to Eliza again. ‘Whereabouts in Lyttelton are you living, Mrs Steele?’

  Eliza smiled again. ‘Richard found a very nice property for sale on Voelas Road. We moved in yesterday morning. It has such a lovely view and it’s nice and private, not being in the main part of the town. Tell me, do you sell tapestry silks in your shop?’

  She did, unfortunately. ‘Yes, I do,’ she replied.

  ‘Oh, I do hope you have the pale gold colour that I need,’ Eliza said. ‘I’ve almost run out of it. I meant to buy some in Auckland before we left.’

  ‘Ann is very fond of needlework,’ George interjected quickly, rather obviously trying to keep the conversation on what he thought was prickle-free ground.

  ‘Er…yes, I am,’ Ann murmured. She smiled at Eliza then glanced uncomfortably at George, who had unintentionally placed her in a difficult situation. The polite thing to do now was to invite Eliza around to the house so she could have some company while she sewed. Knowing how Charlotte would feel about that, though, Ann was plainly reluctant to suggest it. In the end, manners won out.

  ‘Perhaps we can while away the afternoon together sometime, Mrs Steele,’ Ann suggested. She glanced at Charlotte and added quickly, ‘My sister-in-law is usually at her shop in the afternoons.’

  And would most definitely be at the shop on those afternoons when Eliza Steele was at the house, Charlotte thought.

  ‘Thank you. I’d enjoy that very much,’ Eliza said warmly.

  ‘How long are you ashore for?’ Ann enquired, turning to Richard.

  ‘A fortnight,’ he answered.

  ‘You’ll be visiting your mother, I expect?’

  ‘Of course. We’re going to the farm on Monday. We’ll be staying there for about a week.’

  Ann gave a small nod, then said quietly, ‘We were all very shocked by your father’s death.’

  ‘Yes, so was I,’ Richard returned.

  ‘It was very hard for Richard. He was in England when he heard about it,’ Eliza added.

  Charlotte looked away as Eliza slipped her arm through her husband’s and affectionately rubbed the sleeve of his jacket. It was two years since she’d last seen Richard. She’d always known they would meet again one day, but she hadn’t expected it to be tonight, with his wife on his arm, and she felt completely unprepared for the strong emotions that had been stirred up. A very mixed brew of emotions they were, too.

  ‘You travel long distances, do you, Captain Steele?’ William enquired.

  ‘I do,’ Richard said, and proceeded to tell him the various places where his business had taken him.

  As the conversation about shipping and travel continued between Richard and William, Eliza struck up a conversation with Ann, enquiring when her baby was due, which was in a little over eight weeks’ time. Charlotte was half-expecting Eliza to announce that she was pregnant, too. She didn’t, but if her interest in Ann’s middle was anything to go by she was looking forward to having a family of her own. Charlotte listened for two or three minutes, then excused herself, saying she needed to see some people befo
re they left. Seeing Mrs Roberts, who was a member of the sewing circle, Charlotte walked over to her and her husband. Unfortunately they were on the point of leaving, so Charlotte’s conversation with them lasted little more than a minute. She was just deciding who else she could find an excuse to go and talk to when William walked over to join her.

  ‘Can I tempt you to some supper?’ he asked. ‘The beef sandwiches look very good.’

  She shook her head and smiled. ‘No, thank you. I’m not very hungry. I’ve a slight headache.’ She lifted her hand to rub her forehead. ‘As a matter of fact, I was thinking I might leave.’

  ‘Well, in that case allow me to see you safely home,’ he offered.

  She waited by the supper table while he strode over to tell George that they were leaving. What would Richard make of our leaving together? she wondered. Ridiculous as it was, she hoped he did make something of it.

  Once outside on Oxford Street, as they set off up the steep road, William offered her his arm. To be truthful, she was very grateful to have a male arm to hang onto tonight. Two young men, who were clearly very drunk, were wandering up the street just ahead of them. She felt quite glad when she and William reached the quietness of Exeter Street.

  ‘I’ll come in and light the lamp for you,’ William offered, seeing the house in darkness.

  ‘There’s no need,’ she said, as she halted at the gate. ‘I’m not afraid of the dark.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ he said, and leaned forward to open the latch.

  Deciding it was simpler to give in than to argue, she walked up the short path to the front door, with William following behind her. Once at the door, he held out his hand for the key. She gave it to him, then turned to gaze out over the harbour at the anchored ships, clearly visible in the light of the full moon. One of those ships was the Nina.

  ‘Where do you want the lamp lit? In the parlour?’ William asked, handing her back the key as he pushed open the door.

  ‘No. In the kitchen, please,’ she said.

  She followed him down the hallway, then waited by the kitchen door while he lit the lamp on the kitchen table.

  ‘There,’ he said, replacing the glass chimney as the flame on the wick steadied. Turning, he tilted his head to the side, appraising her. ‘How’s your headache?’

  ‘About the same,’ she replied. ‘A good night’s sleep will get rid of it.’

  ‘When I was a young boy,’ he said, walking over to her, ‘whenever I had a headache my mother used to do this to make it go away.’ She felt the slight prickle of his moustache against her skin as he gently kissed her forehead.

  ‘What was that?’ She jerked her head up sharply. A floorboard had creaked in the room above, quite loudly.

  ‘Just the timbers creaking,’ William said, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead again.

  ‘It sounded like someone prowling about,’ she whispered and gave a sudden shiver.

  ‘I’ll go up and take a look around,’ William said. Patting her arm reassuringly, he set off up the stairs, boldly calling, ‘Hello! Hello! Is anyone there?’

  Charlotte remained by the kitchen table, listening to the sound of his footsteps as he moved along the landing and went from room to room. A loud thud sounded. He’d knocked something over in the darkness.

  ‘William!’ she called, walking into the hall. ‘Are you all right?’ The hairs on the back of her neck rose as no answer came from him. She was about to call again when to her relief she heard the sound of his footsteps on the landing, followed by the creak of the stairs as he came back down. He was coming down in quite a hurry. She stepped back, instinct telling her that something was wrong. Her instincts proved right the moment his head came into view. Even in the dim light she could see at a glance that it wasn’t William’s head, it was altogether the wrong shape. She let out a strangled scream and ran back into the kitchen. She was desperately fumbling with the bolt on the back door when the intruder grabbed hold of her, snaring her tightly around the waist, while at the same time muzzling her mouth and nose with his hand.

  ‘If you co-operate, I won’t hurt you. If you scream, I will,’ he gritted. He jerked her head back painfully, presumably to demonstrate how easily he could hurt her, not that she needed any convincing. She clutched the fabric of her skirt in her hands, resisting the urge to struggle, listening to the air whistling between his fingers as she tried to breathe through her squashed nose, and nodded her head.

  The crushing hold on her waist eased a fraction. ‘I don’t want to harm you,’ the male voice hissed in her ear. ‘It’s money I want. Money, jewellery, anything I can carry in my pocket that’s worth a few pounds.’ Sliding his hand up over her breast he ripped off her brooch, tearing the cream fabric of her dress. ‘I’ll have that for a start. What else is there?’ He lifted his hand from her mouth just enough to allow her to talk.

  ‘My purse,’ she said. ‘It’s in my bedroom in the chest of drawers.’

  ‘I’ve already found it,’ he said curtly. ‘What else is there?’

  She bit her lip, trying to think. Neither she nor Ann possessed much jewellery and George kept very little money in the house. ‘There’s a box, upstairs, under my brother’s bed. It has a bit of money in it,’ she said in a shaky voice, suddenly remembering the big deed box in which George kept things like title deeds and other legal documents, along with a few pounds for use in emergencies. This was definitely an emergency.

  ‘Show me.’ Grasping her roughly by the arm, he steered her into the hall then pushed her up the stairs. Her legs were shaking so badly she could hardly climb them. She led the way into George’s bedroom, fully expecting to see William’s prostrate body on the floor, but wherever he was he wasn’t there. She started to panic.

  ‘Mr Fairfield…w-where is he? Is he all right?’ She bit hard on her bottom lip, trying to stop it from trembling. Oh God, he hadn’t murdered him, had he?

  ‘Shut up. Get the box.’ He shoved her towards the bed.

  She sank to her knees and groped around until her fingers felt the cold metal of the deed box. Grasping the handle on the top of it, she dragged it out and lugged it on to the bed, then struggled to her feet and backed away from him.

  ‘I…I don’t know where he keeps the key for it,’ she stuttered, as he bent over to open it.

  Ignoring her, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled something out. She couldn’t see exactly what it was, a tool of some sort. It looked a bit like a mason’s chisel. Bowing his head over the box he set about prising the lid open. The clasp was made of stout stuff, though, and it wasn’t about to give up without a struggle. Charlotte glanced at the door, wondering whether to make a run for it while she had the chance. He’d said he wouldn’t hurt her if she co-operated, but how much was the word of a man like him worth? For all she knew, he might be intending to slit her throat; he had certainly done some harm to William. She swallowed, took an involuntary step back, and bumped into the wash stand, making the water slop about in the porcelain ewer and spill over into the basin. The ewer…she thought, picturing the big jug in her mind’s eye. A full ewer was very heavy. Praying her shaking fingers wouldn’t let her down, she twisted around and carefully lifted it out of the basin, took a deep breath and brought it down on the back of the thief’s head. There was a splintering crash, and the next instant he was sprawled across the bed, drenched and senseless, leaving Charlotte standing in the middle of the bedroom, still tightly clutching the jug handle, which was all that was left of the jug. Letting it drop on to the carpet to join the other fragments, she ran downstairs as fast as her legs would carry her to summon help.

  ‘Mr Henderson! Mr Henderson!’ Clenching her fists, she banged frantically on their neighbour’s door, and kept banging and shouting until it eventually swung open.

  ‘Miss Blake, whatever’s the matter?’ Jack Henderson asked in alarm.

  ‘A thief. A thief,’ she said breathlessly, pointing back to the house. ‘He’s…he’s done something to Mr Fairfield
. He’s still there. He’s in the bedroom.’

  Jack Henderson stared at her. Not surprisingly he hadn’t understood very much of her garbled, breathless outburst. ‘A thief, you say,’ he said, seizing on the one word he’d heard clearly.

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ She glanced anxiously back at the house. She had left the front door open in her haste to get out, and was expecting to see the thief stumble out through it at any moment. ‘He’s in the house! Hurry! Go and tie him up! If you’re not quick he’ll come to and get away!’

  ‘Come to?’ Jack asked, frowning.

  She nodded, still gasping for breath. ‘He’s on the floor in the bedroom!’

  ‘Where’s your brother?’ Jack asked.

  ‘He’s at the Colonists’ Hall,’ she said quickly, wondering why he wanted to know where her brother was.

  ‘Jack? Who is it? What’s to do?’ Mrs Henderson’s worried voice came from down the hall. A moment later, her plump face appeared over her husband’s shoulder.

  ‘There’s been some trouble at the Blakes’ house,’ he said, glancing back at her as he took hold of Charlotte’s arm. ‘Come inside, Miss Blake, and sit with my wife while I go and summon some help.’

  ‘Summon help? What’s going on, Jack?’ Mrs Henderson asked in alarm.

  ‘There’s a thief next door, it seems,’ he replied. ‘Take Miss Blake into the parlour, Betsy, and give her a cup of strong tea. She’s shaking like a leaf.’

  ‘What are you going to do, Jack?’ Mrs Henderson was looking more startled by the second.

  ‘I’ll muster a couple of neighbours, then we’ll go into the house and take a look around.’

  ‘Oh no, Jack, it could be dangerous. Go for the constable,’ Mrs Henderson said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t want you to risk getting hurt.’

  Losing patience ,Charlotte jerked her arm free from Mr Henderson’s hold. ‘Please, will you stop talking and do something!’ she shouted. ‘Mr Fairfield needs help! He’s in one of the bedrooms! I think he may be badly hurt!’