The Sea Between

by Thomas, Carol

  Charlotte threw Ann a worried look as she slotted the last domino into the wooden box. Ann’s back was still troubling her. It would improve for a while and look as though it had mended, then suddenly get worse again. How Ann would cope when she fell pregnant again, as she inevitably would at some stage, Charlotte feared to think.

  ‘I ought to be on my way, too,’ William said and smiled as Charlotte turned towards him. ‘I’ll leave you to go to your bed. You look tired.’

  ‘I am, but stay and have a cup of tea before you go,’ she said. She glanced across at Ann. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Ann?’

  As she expected, Ann shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I think I’ll go to bed.’

  ‘Here you are, Eliza. I’ve warmed it in front of the kitchen fire,’ George said, reappearing with her coat. He had already donned his own hat, coat and gloves. He helped her into her coat, then waited by the fire while she stood in front of the mirror, stabbing pearl-headed hatpins through the black velvet folds of her hat. ‘I hope I won’t have to chase your hat down the street as William did last week,’ George said with a chuckle.

  Eliza caught William’s eye in the mirror and laughed. ‘William was very gallant, George. Not everyone would have given chase as he did, especially with it so wet and slippery underfoot.’

  Charlotte gave an amused and slightly wry smile. Had Eliza said, ‘Oh, please chase my hat, William’ she wondered? Eliza’s ‘Oh, please…’ could persuade George and William to do the unlikeliest of things. ‘Oh, please come and join us in a song, George. We need someone to sing the male part,’ she’d coaxed last Sunday afternoon. Eliza was quite an accomplished pianist and liked nothing better than to play while a group stood around the piano and sang. The first ‘Oh, please’ had fallen on stony ground; George never sang, not even in church. ‘Oh, please, George,’ Eliza had wheedled again. And, to Charlotte’s amazement, George had folded up his newspaper, walked over to the piano, loudly cleared his throat, and sung. He had a voice like a frog, which was why he never sang, and he had been flat all the way through. It had taken Charlotte all her strength not to laugh, but she had chewed on her cheeks and somehow kept singing, and at the end of the song she had clapped enthusiastically and demanded an encore. ‘Oh, please, George,’ she had said, mimicking Eliza. She had obviously mimicked Eliza a bit too well, because George had given her a sour look and firmly declined.

  ‘Ready?’ George asked, as Eliza turned away from the mirror.

  ‘I am,’ she said, and slipped on her leather gloves.

  ‘I won’t be long, Ann.’ George stooped to kiss his wife affectionately on the cheek, then left with Eliza.

  Leaving William to talk to Ann, who was putting away her threads and other bits and pieces in her sewing basket, Charlotte went off to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. When she returned five minutes later, carrying the tea tray, William was standing by the fire, warming his hands. Ann had gone to bed.

  ‘Ann’s back is sore again. I can tell by the way she was sitting this evening,’ Charlotte said quietly as she set the tray down on the table.

  ‘Perhaps she should see a doctor,’ William suggested.

  ‘She has, several times. He just tells her to rest and not to lift anything heavy, which is easier said than done when you have a child.’

  ‘I expect it will come right with time.’ Relinquishing the fire, William walked over to her.

  ‘Come here,’ he said quietly, and drew her into his arms. She closed her eyes as he kissed her, wishing not for the first time that he would kiss her with just a little more ardour. He held her as if she was as fragile as a sparrow’s egg, and kissed her lips as if they were delicate petals that would bruise if he did more than breathe on them. She couldn’t imagine William ever clasping her tightly in his arms, lifting her off the ground and whirling her around until she was dizzy, then collapsing on top of her on a grassy hillside and covering her with kisses, the way Richard had done. Charlotte, there’s more to marriage than kisses and dizzy twirls, she reminded herself. Like companionable conversations beside a warm fire on a winter’s night, such as this. Eliza was going home to a cold, empty house and a cold, empty bed, which is what she herself would have been doing if she’d married Richard. When William took a wife, she couldn’t imagine he’d be absent from his marriage bed very often.

  ‘You smell of lavender,’ William said, smiling as he drew away from her.

  ‘You smell of cigar smoke,’ she said, crinkling her nose. ‘I can smell it in your moustache.’

  He sniffed, frowning. ‘Can you? I can’t smell it.’

  Sitting down, she poured the tea.

  ‘I enjoyed the games of dominoes this evening. Did you?’ she asked.

  Pushing aside her skirt, William sat down beside her on the sofa. ‘Oh, it was a pleasant enough way to pass an hour or two, but I prefer to play cards.’ William was a keen bridge player.

  ‘Eliza played very well,’ she remarked, handing him a cup and saucer.

  ‘She did. She played a shrewd game, I thought. She’s quite a striking woman, isn’t she?’

  Charlotte arched her brows. ‘Do you think so? What do you think is striking about her?’

  ‘She has handsome features and she dresses well. She always chooses clothes that become her.’

  ‘When is it that you sail to Auckland? Is it next week or the week after?’ she asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Next week. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow evening?’

  She lowered her eyes while she spooned some sugar into her cup of tea. William hadn’t mentioned marriage to her yet, but it was obvious to one and all that it was only a matter of time before he did. Was he perhaps intending to ask her tomorrow night?

  Conscious that he was waiting for her answer, she looked up and smiled. ‘Yes, I will, thank you.’

  Leaning over, William kissed her cheek, then lit up another cigar.

  Chapter 17

  August 1868

  Richard opened his eyes and stared at the shadowy outline of the

  tallboy. For a moment he’d thought he was aboard his ship. He had drowsily mistaken the thuds for the crash of waves against the hull. But he wasn’t aboard the Nina; he was in bed with his wife, and the noise was coming from outside on the street.

  The blankets rose up like a wave, letting a rush of cold air into the bed, then Eliza’s fingers curled around his arm, gripping him tightly. ‘Richard, wake up. Someone’s knocking at the door. Whatever can they want at this hour of the night?’

  Richard shook his head, as much to wake himself as to answer Eliza’s question. Their visitor, whoever he was, was calling Richard’s name, determined to rouse him. Who the man was he had no idea—he didn’t recognize the voice. As to why the man was shouting and banging on his door, there could be only one reason: trouble of some sort. The ship most likely. She was lying at anchor in the harbour. Surely she hadn’t broken free? No, impossible. There was a wind blowing, he could hear it rattling the window, but it was by no means strong enough to whip up heavy seas.

  ‘God knows,’ he said, finally answering Eliza’s question.

  Eliza’s fingers reluctantly released their hold as he tossed the blankets back and tumbled out of bed. ‘All right, I’m coming,’ he called in the direction of the back door as he groped about for his trousers. He dragged them on then reached for the heavy velvet curtain and pulled it back a few inches, letting a shaft of moonlight into the room. Able to see better now, he pushed his feet into his boots, not bothering with his socks, then tucked his nightshirt into his trousers.

  As he headed for the door, Eliza sat up, dragging the blankets protectively under her chin. ‘Oh, Richard, I’m afraid,’ she whispered. ‘I hope it’s not bad news.’

  ‘I very much doubt it will be good news,’ Richard replied over his shoulder. He stepped into the darkened hall, racking his brain as to what might have happened. It couldn’t be the cargo. The hold was empty; it had been cleared of all the cargo yesterday. Well
, he would find out soon enough what was wrong. The bolt on the back door grated loudly against its housing as he slid it back.

  A tall, thin man, muffled up against the cold in a thick grey overcoat, peered at him as he swung open the door. ‘Captain Steele?’

  Richard nodded.

  ‘Webb—nightwatchman,’ he said, briefly introducing himself. ‘You’d better go down to the harbour at once. Your ship’s listing, captain.’

  ‘Listing?’ Richard stared at him. ‘Has she been holed?’

  Webb shook his head. ‘No. The water in the harbour is very low.’

  Richard screwed up his forehead. ‘How low?’

  ‘The harbour’s all but dry around the jetties. Go down and see for yourself,’ Webb said, turning to leave. ‘I must go—I’ve three more captains to rouse yet.’

  Completely nonplussed, Richard watched him stride off. He opened his mouth to call him back, then closed it again, deciding the best way to find out what was going on was to do as the nightwatchman had said: go down to the wharf and see for himself.

  ‘Richard, what is it? What’s happened?’ Eliza asked anxiously as he walked back into the bedroom. She had lit the lamp and was sitting up in bed, shivering in the cold night air, her dark hair spread over her shoulders like a cape.

  ‘It’s the Nina.’ Glancing across at her, Richard reached for his shirt. ‘She’s listing.’

  ‘Oh, is that all,’ Eliza said in relief.

  ‘All?’ What Richard’s tone didn’t convey, his face did. The Nina was his livelihood.

  ‘Oh, don’t glower at me like that, Richard,’ she returned impatiently. Pushing her hair back over her shoulder, she drew up her knees and pulled the blankets around her. ‘I thought someone was seriously ill—Ann, or young Charles. I’m sorry if there’s a problem with your ship, but ships are not as important as people. You might do well to remember that.’

  ‘And you might do well to remember that it’s my ship that provides the money to pay your allowance, that provides the wherewithal for you to buy fancy clothes and expensive furniture,’ he retorted. Kicking off his shoes, he plucked his socks from the chair.

  ‘I’d not forgotten your ship, Richard. How could I? It rules both our lives!’ Eliza paused, then added in more even tones, ‘Why is it listing?’

  Still annoyed with her, Richard dragged on his socks then pushed his feet back into his boots and hastily tied the laces.

  ‘Richard—why is it listing?’ Eliza repeated.

  ‘Because the water’s retreated.’

  She stared at him for a long moment, then slid down into bed and rolled on to her side. ‘All right, don’t tell me!’ she said petulantly.

  ‘The water’s retreated. As to why it has,’ stretching across to the bedside table, he turned down the wick of the lamp and extinguished the flame, ‘I’m as much in the dark as you are, Eliza.’

  Ten minutes later, Richard was standing on the wharf. In all his years as a sea captain, he’d never seen such a sight as the one before his eyes. The timber piles of the jetties were almost completely exposed. Where there would normally have been lapping waves, there was nothing but mud, shining wet and black in the moonlight, stretching out as far as the breakwater at Officer’s Point. The vessels moored at the jetties had heeled over, and the ships lying at anchor in the bay, his own included, were listing, some worse than others. The John Knox, moored at the screwpile jetty, was listing so badly that her yards were almost touching the timbers of the jetty. According to her captain, the sudden exit of water from the harbour had occurred shortly before four o’clock.

  ‘I didn’t know what the devil was happening,’ Captain Jenkins said, shaking his head as he recounted the strange events to Richard and a couple of other men. ‘One minute I was asleep in my berth, the next I was rolling on the floor. The John Knox was on such a tilt I could barely stand, and I’d the devil’s own job to get into my clothes. I could hear Webb, the nightwatchman, shouting to me, telling me to come out because the ship was on a fearful lean.’ He gave a short, dry laugh. ‘As if I’d not noticed! Anyway, I went on deck, though that was no easy task, I can tell you, with the vessel keeled over as she was. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw the reason for it. The water had disappeared and there was just this.’ He raised his hand to point to the dark expanse of mud. ‘I swear I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Nor I,’ Richard murmured, as he cast his eye over the stranded vessels. He looked back over his shoulder as the sound of voices reached his ears. Two or three men were cutting across the railway yards. Captains like himself, probably. He turned back to Jenkins. ‘Was there much turbulence when the water receded?’

  Jenkins shook his head. ‘Not enough to wake me. It was only when the John Knox heeled over that I woke.’

  Richard nodded and instinctively looked in the direction of the sea. He couldn’t see the harbour mouth, but in his mind he was visualizing it, picturing the waves, rising and falling, grey moonlit waves, tipped with sea-foam, and a huge mass of retreating water, which would eventually turn and flow back. The laws governing the tides and the ebb and flow of water were immutable. When the water did return, he had a feeling it would rush back in a great wave that would cause considerably more damage than its quiet departure had.

  Quarter of an hour later, his expectations were realized.

  ‘Listen—d’you hear that?’ the man on his left asked.

  A rumbling sound, like a strong wind coming in off the sea. Richard looked at Jenkins, who tightened his mouth grimly. Like Richard, Jenkins knew that it wasn’t wind they could hear—it was something far more formidable. The sea was returning.

  It was two or three long minutes before it came into view: a huge, towering wave, stretching across the harbour as far as the eye could see. Within a minute or two, water was surging around the stranded ships. Jenkins watched helplessly from the higher ground to which he and Richard and the other men had retreated, as the massive wave slammed into the John Knox, smashing her against the jetty. Richard held his breath as, seconds later, the advancing wave hit the Nina. Her masts reeled wildly back and forth as the huge body of water crashed into her, but to his relief her anchor cables held firm.

  As soon as the heaving seas began to settle a little, Richard and a half a dozen others ventured back on to the screwpile jetty to examine the damage to the John Knox.

  ‘Is she well insured?’ Richard asked.

  Jenkins nodded. ‘She is, thank God. She’s sustained a fair bit of damage, and the night isn’t over yet. There may be worse to come.’

  Jenkins’ prophetic fears were borne out when the huge body of water that had rushed with such violence into the harbour began to recede, taking with it a ketch that had broken her anchorage.

  ‘She’s bound to foul another vessel,’ the portly captain on Richard’s left said, shaking his head grimly.

  Pray God it isn’t mine, Richard thought. It wasn’t the Nina, but a schooner that the ketch eventually collided with. A dull crack sounded as the two hulls crashed against each other, their masts quivered as if a great hand had shaken them, the hulls crashed against each other a second time, then mercifully the two vessels remained locked together, bucking as one in the wild seas.

  The ketch wasn’t the only vessel to lose her moorings. The Novelty, a paddle steamer that had been moored at the Railway Wharf, had also broken free and was being carried out towards the heads with the powerful drawback of the receding water. Her crew were aboard her, and Richard could hear them shouting to one another as they tried to raise steam to start her engines. The water was littered with debris; splintered pieces of timber were spinning like tops as they were caught up by the swirling currents.

  Quarter of an hour later the danger had passed and the moored vessels were once again lying stranded in wet mud.

  As word of the night’s events began to spread through the town, increasing numbers of people made their way down to the foreshore and wharves, curious to find out what h
ad happened. Shortly after seven o’clock, Dan Lithgow came hurrying on to the jetty. ‘Captain—I’ve just heard the news,’ he said breathlessly. ‘How has the Nina fared? Has she sustained much damage?’

  Richard lowered the brass pocket telescope that he’d borrowed from another captain and lifted his shoulders in a stiff shrug. His whole body was stiff, from his neck to his ankles, partly from tension, but more from cold. He’d left the house in a hurry and he wasn’t wearing nearly enough warm clothing.

  ‘I can’t tell,’ Richard replied. ‘But it’ll be a miracle if she hasn’t sustained some damage, given the size of the wave that hit her. We’ll have to give her a thorough inspection.’

  Dan nodded. ‘Shall I fetch some of the crew?’

  Richard shook his head. ‘No, leave them be. There’s nothing to be done for the moment. There are too many strong currents running to risk a boat, and there could be more big waves to come, for all I know. We’ll row out to her when I’m sure it’s safe to do so.’ Eliza had accused him of caring more about his ship than about people. Well, she was wrong there. He cared a great deal about his ship, he’d not deny it, but if it came to a choice between the safety of his ship and that of his men, there was no question in his mind as to which came first. His men.

  Richard’s fears about further waves were realized not long after nine o’clock when a second wave rolled into the harbour, dealing the stricken John Knox another cruel battering. A large crowd was there to see it this time. Among them he could see Charlotte. As for where Eliza was, that was a good question. Three-quarters of the town had come down to the foreshore to see what had happened. But had his own wife come? No. Was she concerned about his ship? No. Was she concerned about him? Had she thoughtfully brought him some breakfast, as some of the other captains’ wives had done, captains who, like himself, had been up half the night? No, she had not. He knew why she hadn’t come: she was sulking because he’d ticked her off for overspending while he’d been away. She’d run up debts of over a hundred pounds on frivolous, completely unnecessary purchases. He was still thinking about the ridiculously expensive silk-tasselled velvet cushions she’d bought when he caught sight of George, standing near the Railway Wharf, and decided to walk over and have a talk with him. It had in all probability been an expensive night for George and his partner.