The Sea Between

by Thomas, Carol

  ‘In the parlour.’

  In the parlour and not very happy, if his mother’s tone was anything to go by. ‘I’ll be in shortly, as soon as I’ve unsaddled the horse,’ he said, and led it into the stable.

  Deciding he’d better go and see his wife before he sat down to breakfast, Richard walked down the hall to the parlour. In the kitchen, he could hear his mother and John still discussing the events of Saturday evening. Eliza was sitting on the sofa, doing her needlework, when he walked in. She looked up, then looked pointedly down again and continued to prick her needle through the white fabric stretched over her tapestry frame.

  He walked over to her, crouched down in front of the sofa, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. Pulling back, Eliza looked at him accusingly.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. I went for a ride,’ he said simply.

  ‘In the dark?’

  ‘It was light enough to see.’

  She pursed her lips impatiently. ‘I didn’t know where you were!’

  ‘You were asleep, Eliza.’

  ‘I woke up and missed you. I went all round the house looking for you. I was worried! You should have woken me and told me that you were going out!’

  ‘You were fast asleep. I didn’t want to wake you,’ he repeated. Pushing himself to his feet, he removed her tapestry frame from her hands, dropped it on to the sofa, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He took his time, holding her close to him, until the cross stiffness in her body gave way to appeased suppleness and she relaxed in his arms.

  As he released her lips, he looked down at her and smiled. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

  She nodded. ‘With your mother.’

  Taking hold of her hand, he tugged her towards the door. ‘Come and keep me company while I have mine. Then we’ll go for a walk.’

  An hour later, they were walking across the hillside together. It was a good day for a walk, pleasantly warm and with little wind. He turned to look back to the house as the faint sound of voices drifted up the hill. John was in the yard, speaking with Bill Evans; no doubt checking that all was in order. John had hired Bill as a farm labourer to work on the farm, and, according to his mother, Bill was an excellent man. Richard turned back again, watching Eliza as she stooped to pluck a flower from among a clump of long grass. He wasn’t sure…it possibly meant nothing at all…but when his mother had reached out to touch John’s sleeve in the yard earlier…it had crossed his mind that things might be progressing a little beyond friendship between the two of them. His mother had been widowed for nine months now. She was still wearing her black silk mourning dress and still spoke about his father a lot, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t considering remarrying. John had been widowed for some years. A widow and a widower, living on neighbouring properties, both of a similar age, who got on well…it wasn’t out of the question.

  ‘Look, Richard, a buttercup.’ Walking towards him, Eliza held it out for him to see. ‘They’re so pretty, aren’t they?’

  He took it from her and twirled the stem between his fingers so that the flower spun like an upturned parasol. ‘They’re weeds,’ he said with a smile, and handed it back to her.

  ‘Nonsense, they’re wild flowers,’ she said, adding it to the small posy she’d collected.

  Richard slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. ‘What are you going to do with them? Put them in a vase?’

  She smiled at him and shook her head. ‘No, I’m going to press them. Then I shall make greetings cards with them.’

  ‘That should keep you busy,’ he said.

  ‘I need things to keep me busy,’ she returned.

  He smiled and kissed her lips. The comment hadn’t been lost on him, though. In the last letter that Eliza had written to him, she’d complained several times about how long the days were. ‘Eliza,’ he said quietly, ‘are you quite sure that you don’t want to go back to England? Would you be happier living with your parents?’

  She looked down at the bunch of wild flowers, already beginning to wilt in the warm sun, and shook her head. ‘No. I like being mistress of my own home. I think I shall settle in Lyttelton all right.’

  ‘I did warn you, Eliza.’ He paused and waited for her to look up. ‘I told you before you married me that I’d be away at sea a lot.’ He had no cause to feel guilty on that score. He had been brutally honest about how much he expected to be away.

  ‘Yes, I know you did,’ she said, and continued walking up the hill.

  Half an hour later they were walking back down again, their walk cut short by the cold easterly wind that had suddenly sprung up.

  ‘Back already? That was a short walk,’ Letitia commented as Richard walked into the kitchen. She was sitting on a stool with a bowl on her lap, peeling apples.

  ‘A chilly easterly sprang up,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, that’s a pity. Where’s Eliza?’

  ‘She’s gone to do her hair. It got tousled in the wind.’ Reaching into the bowl on his mother’s lap, he pulled out a spiral of apple peel.

  Letitia smiled wryly. ‘You used to do that when you were a boy, when you were no higher than my knee.’

  ‘Yes, and I got my fingers rapped for it.’ Grinning, he popped the peel into his mouth.

  Letitia gave an amused laugh. ‘You’re too big to have your fingers rapped now.’ Leaning forward, she dropped the peeled apple into the bucket of water beside her stool. ‘Does it look as if it might rain, Richard?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ he said.

  She picked up another apple, then looked at him again. ‘Do you think you could climb up on to the roof before you leave? It’s leaking. Every time it rains, I get a puddle in my bedroom, just inside the door. John had a look, but he couldn’t find what was causing it.’

  ‘I’ll have a look at it tomorrow morning, Mother,’ he said.

  Ten minutes later, the leaky roof was causing problems of a different kind in one of the other bedrooms.

  ‘I was hoping you might take me out for the day tomorrow!’ Eliza said sharply. ‘Now you tell me you’re going to be up on the roof for half the day.’

  Richard raised his brows in surprise as he regarded his wife’s reflection in the mirror. ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of this trip, Eliza.’

  She tilted her head to the side and brushed her hair crossly. ‘I was going to suggest it to you this evening. Can you not get the local carpenter to look at the roof? It’s not as if you can’t afford to pay a tradesman.’

  He could quite easily arrange for a carpenter to repair it, but he was damned if he would bow to petulant behaviour like this. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I told my mother that I would look at the roof.’

  ‘Another morning when I shall see nothing of you!’ The tortoiseshell hairbrush landed with a thud on the dresser. She gave him a sour look, then strode over to the bed and sat down on it. ‘I know your mother’s been recently widowed, and I don’t grudge coming here so that you can spend some time with her, but I do take objection to your repairing her roof while we’re here—especially when it’s not necessary—and expecting me to amuse myself as best I can while you’re mending it.’

  ‘Eliza, I think you’re making a great deal of fuss about nothing,’ Richard said.

  ‘It isn’t nothing to me, and it isn’t only the roof—it was the middle of the morning when you came back from your ride. I know you went riding because you couldn’t sleep, but you didn’t make any effort to get back in time to have breakfast with me.’ She turned her head to the side and impatiently raised her hand to wipe away the tears that were sliding down her cheeks.

  Richard looked away, part of him feeling annoyed with her for trying to stop him from mending his mother’s roof, part of him feeling guilty because he knew damned well she was right—he hadn’t made any effort to get back for breakfast. He looked back again as Eliza gave a hiccupping little sob. He drew in a deep breath, then walked over to the bed and sat down beside her.

  ‘Here.’ He held out a
handkerchief.

  She looked up at him through tear-fringed lashes, then took the handkerchief from him and wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said hoarsely as she handed it back. ‘It’s just…everything seems to get spoiled. The lantern show last Saturday evening. The walk this morning. And now the plans I had for tomorrow.’

  Tossing the handkerchief on to the quilt, Richard pulled Eliza into his arms, drawing her close to him so that her head lay against his chest, tucked beneath his chin. Her hair was loose and was spread across his shirt in a dark, silky curtain. He ran his fingers through it, alternately fanning it out and stroking it. ‘I’ll take you out for a ride in the morning, Eliza,’ he said quietly.

  She lifted her head and pulled away so that she could see his face. ‘What about the roof?’

  ‘I’ll look at it now.’ He would let her have her way regarding her plans for tomorrow, but he wasn’t going to have her dictating who should mend the roof.

  It took Richard all afternoon to find what was causing the leak and do the necessary repairs. As it turned out, it was just as well that he mended it then; the wind turned southerly during the night, and they woke the next morning to the sound of heavy rain beating against the bedroom window.

  Eliza lay on her back, staring gloomily at the curtains.

  Richard watched her for a minute or two, then reached for her. ‘Come here,’ he said softly.

  She turned her head to look at him, disappointment written in her eyes.

  ‘Come here,’ he said again.

  She rolled over, into his arms. He kissed her, then made love to her.

  Chapter 12

  June 1867

  Father, it’s so good to see you again,’ Charlotte said warmly as she helped him out of his wet coat. She hadn’t seen him since Christmas.

  ‘It’s good to see you too,’ he agreed, pushing a dripping lock of grey hair back from his forehead. ‘How are you, Charlotte? You sound as if you have a cold.’

  She shook the rain from his coat before hanging it up on the cloak-stand. ‘Just the remains of one. We’ve all had coughs and colds. Are you well?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t complain.’ He turned to look down the length of the hall, running his eye over the dark wooden panelling, then lifted his head to look at the ornate plaster moulding on the ceiling.

  ‘Well, does it meet with your approval?’ she enquired. It was the first time her father had seen George’s house. It wasn’t the house he had come to inspect, though; it was his new grandson, Charles, now nearly a month old.

  ‘What I’ve seen so far looks to be all right. George is still at the office, is he?’ John asked, turning back to face her.

  She nodded. ‘He won’t be home for another hour. Ann is upstairs, resting.’

  ‘How is she?’ He glanced back at the stairs, frowning.

  ‘Improving, but she tires easily. The doctor says she has to rest as much as she can to build up her strength again.’ Ann had had a long, hard labour that had ended in a painful forceps delivery, and her recovery was not being helped by a baby who demanded to be fed every two hours.

  ‘And how’s my grandson?’ John asked.

  ‘He’s very well. He’s upstairs with Ann, sleeping,’ she said. ‘You’ll hear him soon. He’s due to wake, and when he does he’ll let the whole house know about it.’

  John gave a soft laugh. ‘Is he gaining weight?’

  ‘Rapidly.’

  ‘Good. He needs to,’ John said, his face serious again. ‘I was quite concerned when I received George’s letter and he said the baby weighed only six pounds. Edwin’s three children all tipped the scales at seven.’

  Charlotte smiled reassuringly at her father. ‘The doctor says he’s very healthy.’ She didn’t tell him the rest of what the doctor had said. She’d overheard him telling George that if Charles had been any larger Ann’s life might well have been in jeopardy. ‘Go into the parlour, Father. I’ll tell Ann you’ve arrived,’ she said.

  ‘No, don’t disturb her,’ John said, lifting his hand to stay her. ‘Let her rest. I’ll sit and talk to you until she comes downstairs.’

  ‘How was your journey?’ she asked, leading the way to the parlour.

  ‘The journey to Christchurch was very pleasant. But the Sumner Road isn’t one I’d care to travel on very often. The road is in a very poor state, littered with fallen rocks. The coach was lurching all over the place.’

  ‘We’ve had a lot of rain over the past month. Heavy rain always washes rocks and debris down on to the road. You aren’t the first to complain about it.’ She stooped to remove the newspaper from the seat of the armchair where George had left it, and tossed it on to the occasional table, before sitting down on the sofa.

  ‘How long until they finish the rail tunnel?’ John asked.

  ‘They’re saying it should be completed and the railway operating by the end of the year.’

  ‘It’ll make a big difference to the port.’ John’s forehead puckered into a slight frown as he settled himself into the armchair opposite her. ‘Will it have an adverse effect on your shop, do you think? You may find you lose some of your custom to Christchurch.’

  ‘I may do. Or I may gain by it. It’s hard to say,’ she said.

  ‘Is the business making a profit?’

  ‘A modest one.’

  John’s eyes flicked briefly around the room, appraising the furnishings, then returned to his daughter. ‘I don’t know why you purchased a haberdashery,’ he said in disapproving tones. ‘You’ve no experience in managing a business or purchasing stock or bookkeeping. I’m damned if I know why you decided to invest in something you know nothing about.’

  ‘George thought the shop would be a very sound investment,’ she defended.

  ‘So he told me, but he was speaking in general terms when he said that to you. He didn’t know you were considering purchasing it. You know Sarah’s pregnant again, I suppose?’ he asked, evidently deciding to let the other matter drop.

  ‘Yes, Edwin told us in his last letter,’ she said with a smile. ‘How is she?’

  ‘The same as she always is for the first three months,’ he replied matter-of-factly.

  Sarah suffered from morning sickness in the early stages of her pregnancies, something which Ann hadn’t suffered at all. Ann’s difficulties had come at the end of her pregnancy. ‘The children—are they well?’ she asked. ‘Edwin mentioned in his letter that Arthur had a fever.’

  John nodded. ‘He did. He’s as right as rain again now, though. It’s Mary Ellen who’s ailing at present. Sarah’s been up to her three or four times every night. I think she’s getting a bit weary of it.’

  ‘I expect she is,’ Charlotte agreed. The blessings of children were as mixed as they were plentiful. ‘And how is Letitia?’ she enquired.

  ‘She’s very well. She sends her regards,’ he added with a smile.

  ‘Has she come to terms with the loss of her husband, do you think?’

  ‘I think so, in so much as one ever comes to terms with something like that,’ John said. The armchair gave a soft creak as he leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach. ‘Anyway, tell me your news, Charlotte. George’s partner, William Fairfield—you’ve been seeing quite a bit of him, I hear.’

  She didn’t need to ask how he’d heard: she knew very well that George kept her father well informed about her activities.

  ‘I’ve accompanied him to one or two shows,’ she admitted.

  ‘And had dinner with him,’ added John.

  George had been thorough in his reporting.

  ‘I didn’t dine with him alone. There were four other guests besides me,’ she said, putting it into perspective.

  ‘Are you fond of him?’

  She gave an ambivalent shrug. ‘I enjoy his company.’

  ‘He appears to enjoy yours. I’d like to meet him while I’m here.’ John fixed a patriarchal eye on his daughter. ‘Just in case things should progress further between the two of you.’

&nb
sp; ‘I believe George has invited him for dinner tomorrow evening. He’s invited Eliza, too,’ she added.

  ‘Do you see much of Eliza?’ John asked.

  ‘I don’t, but Ann does,’ she replied. ‘I’m usually at the shop when she calls.’

  John eyed his daughter shrewdly. ‘Is that deliberate?’

  ‘No, of course it isn’t,’ she lied. The truth was, she avoided Eliza as much as she possibly could.

  Clearly not convinced, John said, ‘You don’t find it awkward, with her living in the same town and forming a friendship with Ann?’

  ‘No. Why should I?’

  ‘She’s Richard’s wife. You had strong feelings for him once. And he for you. Letitia is concerned that you might find the situation difficult,’ John said quietly.

  Rising to her feet, Charlotte stepped across to the brass woodbox and tossed a log on to the fire, sending a flurry of red and gold sparks floating up the chimney. ‘There’s nothing between Richard and me any longer, Father. It makes no difference to me where his wife lives. So you can reassure Letitia next time you see her that she needn’t concern herself on my account.’ She put another log on the fire, and turned back to face him.

  John studied her for a moment, then smiled. ‘It was actually for myself that I was seeking reassurance, Charlotte.’

  They both turned to look at the window as the gate creaked open, footsteps sounded on the path to the front door, followed by a knock on the door.

  Excusing herself, she went to see who it was.

  The visitor was a uniformed constable, who introduced himself as Constable Marsh from the Lyttelton constabulary. A silver brooch matching the description she had furnished had been found and he had brought it along for her to identify. She closed the door behind him, then examined it.

  ‘Yes, it’s mine,’ she said, turning it over in her hand.

  ‘The clasp is broken, I’m afraid, miss,’ he said, pointing to the broken claw. ‘But I’m sure a reputable silversmith will be able to repair it for you.’

  She nodded. There was no silversmith in Lyttelton, though—she would have to wait until she was next in Christchurch to see about getting it mended. ‘Where did you find it?’ she asked.