The Sea Between

by Thomas, Carol

  Quarter of an hour later he heard the gate squeal, then the sound of footsteps going around to the back of the house. The kitchen door opened and he heard Molly’s voice informing Eliza that he was home. He waited for her in the bedroom where they could be private, expecting her to come to him straight away, but to his surprise it was three or four minutes before she appeared in the doorway.

  At first glance, windswept and rosy-cheeked from the fresh air, she looked the picture of health, but her eyes, her strained smile, told a different story. Walking over to her, he took hold of her hands. ‘You’re not well,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve a headache, that’s all,’ she replied quietly.

  Richard drew her into his arms, holding her close to him. ‘Molly said you’ve been having a lot of headaches recently. Have you seen the doctor about them?’

  Eliza shook her head. ‘He’d only tell me to lie down with the curtains drawn.’

  He kissed the top of her head gently. ‘You don’t usually suffer from headaches. What’s been causing them? Have you been worrying about something?’

  She shook her head again.

  ‘Well, something must be causing them,’ Richard persisted. ‘You’ve never suffered from headaches before, Eliza. Molly said you’ve been vomiting too. D’you feel sick now?’

  ‘No, not just now.’

  Deciding it might be best to question her further later in the day, he smiled and kissed her. ‘Where have you been? Molly said you’d gone for a walk.’

  ‘I walked up the hill. I thought the fresh air might ease my head.’

  He frowned and kissed her again. ‘You’d have done better to stay indoors. Walking in the hot sun doesn’t do a headache any good.’ Taking hold of her hand, he led her over to the bed. ‘Lie down for an hour. You’ll probably feel better if you do.’

  She glanced down at the white embroidered quilt on the bed, her own handiwork, then looked back at him. ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Look through the correspondence.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘No. Come on, lie down. I’ll draw the curtains,’ he said, and went over to pull them shut.

  Leaving her to rest, he went into the parlour. He walked around, casting his eye over the furniture and ornaments, familiarizing himself with things again, as he always did on his first day ashore. Eliza had bought herself a new piano stool. The hearth rug was new, too. He nodded approvingly at the rich deep colours. Eliza mightn’t be good at managing her purse, but he couldn’t fault her taste. He looked back over his shoulder at the writing bureau. Eliza hadn’t even mentioned it, which had surprised him. Still, she did have a headache. Where was the best place to put it? He looked around, considering. Somewhere where it would get good light from the window. Where the card table was would probably be the best place. He briefly considered rearranging things, then decided to wait until he’d consulted Eliza. Picking up the wad of envelopes and papers awaiting his attention on the silver tray on the sideboard, he settled down in an armchair and started to go through them. Quarter of an hour later, the papers were strewn about his lap and he was dead to the world.

  It was nearly seven o’clock when Richard woke. Gathering up the papers from his lap, he stacked them on the arm of the chair and stood up, yawned, stretched, then walked into the hall. Assuming the silence and closed bedroom door meant that Eliza was still resting, he went to see what there was for dinner. As he walked into the kitchen, the gleaming brass candlesticks winked at him from the mantelpiece. Molly had long since gone home, but he was pleased to see she’d left a tray of food on the table, covered by a white cloth. He lifted the corner up, hoping she’d prepared something tasty and filling. Beef—good, he liked beef—cold sausages, cold potatoes, cheese, boiled beetroot, some chunks of bread, and a small dish of mustard. He dropped the corner again, wondering if Eliza felt like some food, then turned to look over his shoulder as he heard the bedroom door open and the sound of her footsteps coming down the hall.

  Eliza smiled at him as she came into the kitchen, looking slightly better, he thought.

  He smiled back at her. ‘How are you feeling now?’

  ‘Better, thank you.’

  ‘Would you like some dinner?’

  She glanced at the tray on the table and gave an unenthusiastic nod. ‘Just a little.’

  ‘Sit down. I’ll serve it out,’ he said, pulling out a chair for her. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she walked over to the table and sat down, while he collected plates and cutlery from the dresser. If she was no better tomorrow, he would insist on her seeing the doctor. He leaned across the table and set a plate in front of her, then arranged the cutlery around it. ‘What would you like to eat?’

  ‘Just a slice of beef and a potato.’

  He frowned, but didn’t press her.

  ‘I haven’t thanked you yet for the writing bureau,’ she said quietly as he dropped a slice of beef on to her plate. ‘It’s lovely.’

  ‘D’you like it?’ He frowned, not at all sure that she did. He couldn’t see why she wouldn’t like it—it was just that her smile wasn’t quite the delighted one he’d expected.

  ‘I do. It’s lovely,’ she said again. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Did you find the card?’

  She looked at him blankly.

  ‘In the small drawer between the compartments for letters.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Oh,’ he said in a flat voice. She obviously hadn’t examined the bureau very thoroughly.

  ‘I’ll go and get it,’ she said, pushing back her chair.

  ‘No.’ He flapped the fork at her, gesturing her to stay put. ‘You can read it later.’ He dropped a potato on to her plate then proceeded to fill up his own. She’s got a headache, Richard, he reminded himself once again. But headache or no headache, he really did think Eliza might have shown a bit more interest in the bureau and been a little warmer in her thanks.

  Making up his mind not to dwell on it, he sat down opposite her. ‘What have you done while I’ve been away?’ he enquired.

  ‘What I always do,’ she said. ‘Sew. Visit Ann. Go for walks around the town. Go to church. Go to Christchurch on the train occasionally, when I can find someone to accompany me.’

  Well aware that she was making the point that he couldn’t accompany her, he lowered his eyes and began to cut up his beef. ‘I see you’ve bought a new mantel clock,’ he remarked, changing the subject. ‘Where did you buy it?’

  ‘In Christchurch.’ She pushed the prongs of her fork into her potato, sliced off a small piece and put it in her mouth.

  Eliza hadn’t volunteered the name of the shop, he noticed. A sure indication that it had come from an expensive one.

  ‘It looks heavy,’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘It is.’

  ‘How did you get it home? Did you hire a carrier to take it to the station?’

  ‘No, I was with George and Ann when I bought it, so George carried it for me.’

  ‘Have there been any big changes in Christchurch?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said, slicing off another small corner of potato.

  They sat for a minute or two, eating in silence, then Eliza said, ‘How were your voyages?’

  ‘All right,’ he said noncommittally. Experience had taught him that it paid to be extremely non-committal about his voyages, not to say anything that even remotely suggested he sometimes found them long and tiring, or that the seas had been rough or dangerous, and thereby provide an opening for Eliza to harangue him about quitting the sea and doing something else for a living.

  ‘Were they profitable?’

  ‘Average.’ Experience had also taught him that it paid to be noncommittal about profits too, given Eliza’s propensity for spending them.

  They fell silent again. While Richard steadily ate his way through the mountain of food on his plate, Eliza slowly ate her way through her potato, slicing finer and finer slivers off it. She eventually finish
ed it and placed her knife and fork on the plate, leaving her beef untouched.

  ‘Is that all you’re going to eat?’ he asked, frowning.

  ‘I don’t fancy the beef,’ she said in a tone that immediately made him give up any thoughts he might have had about insisting that she eat it.

  He chewed on his sausage, watching her. During the three years they’d been married, he’d come home from sea to quite a variety of moods and receptions, but he’d never seen Eliza in a mood like this. Her eyes were roaming constantly around the room, as if her thoughts wouldn’t be still, and if she’d licked her lips once she’d licked them fifty times. There was more wrong with her than just a headache.

  ‘Eliza, what’s the matter? You look worried,’ he said. ‘What is it? Have you overspent your allowance again? Is that it?’

  She tightened her lips, looking for a moment more like the Eliza he knew. ‘No, I have not! I’ve kept a record of everything I’ve spent, right down to the last farthing, if you want to see it.’

  ‘What is it then? I can see something’s troubling you,’ he persisted. ‘Are you worried about these headaches you’ve been having?’

  ‘Nothing’s troubling me.’ She licked her lips again and looked away, her eyes resuming their restless travels around the room. But after a few moments she looked back and said in a high, tense voice, ‘All right, there is something. I don’t want to go to the farm for Christmas, Richard. I don’t feel well enough.’

  He leaned back against his chair and eyed her suspiciously. Eliza was quite open about her dislike of staying at the farm. If she had the choice, she would far rather remain in Lyttelton for Christmas, just the two of them. He wouldn’t put it past her to contrive headaches and sickness as an excuse for them to stay at home.

  ‘The headaches I’ve been having make me feel sick,’ she continued. ‘I can’t travel long distances if I’m feeling sick. You go, if you want to. I don’t mind staying here on my own. It’s not as if I’m not used to it.’

  Ignoring her barbed comment, and well aware that she’d mind very much if he went to the farm without her, he said evenly, ‘I’ll call on the doctor in the morning and ask him to come and examine you. He might be able to prescribe something that will help.’

  ‘I don’t want to see him. He’ll only prescribe rest,’ she returned impatiently.

  ‘Well, if he does prescribe rest, that’s what you’ll have to do,’ he replied. ‘In which case, I’ll ask George to give my mother and John our apologies and explain that you’re not well enough to travel.’

  ‘Richard, I don’t need you to stay and coddle me! I’m well able to look after myself. God knows, I do so often enough.’ She looked away, biting her lip, then said in a shaky voice, ‘I’m sorry. I oughtn’t to have said that. I’m tired. I’ve not been sleeping well. I’m—’ Clasping her hands to her face, she burst into tears.

  Richard stared at her. He was damned if he knew what to make of Eliza. Her moods were swinging all over the place. Scraping his chair back, he walked around the table and crouched beside her chair. ‘Come here. Let me hold you,’ he said gently.

  Twisting around, she collapsed on his shoulder and broke down in loud sobs.

  Richard wrapped his arms around her. That night Eliza wasn’t the only one who slept poorly.

  The following morning, Richard had his first insight into just how ill Eliza had been over the past few weeks, and it was very obvious there was nothing feigned about it. He watched her guiltily as she retched into the porcelain wash-bowl, feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself for doubting her. She’d woken with another headache, complained of feeling dizzy, and within two minutes of getting out of bed had started vomiting.

  Deciding it was high time she saw a doctor, Richard walked into town to arrange a house visit. Dr Smythe, however, like most doctors, was a busy man and it was late afternoon when he finally arrived. Why Eliza hadn’t seen the doctor earlier, Richard couldn’t for the life of him understand. The only thing he could think was that she’d got it into her head that she was seriously ill, and was afraid to see the doctor in case he confirmed her fears.

  At the finish of his examination, Dr Smythe emerged from the bedroom and joined Richard in the parlour.

  ‘Well?’ Richard prompted.

  ‘I don’t think you need be too concerned about your wife’s health, Captain Steele,’ Smythe reassured as he slipped his stethoscope from his neck. ‘I don’t think she’s suffering from anything serious. Her headaches are obviously making her feel sick, however, and I’m puzzled as to why she’s suddenly had such a rash of them. She’s not worried about anything, is she?’

  Richard shook his head. ‘Not that I’m aware of. I asked her yesterday if she was worried about anything, but she said she wasn’t.’

  Smythe nodded thoughtfully as he slipped his stethoscope into his leather bag. ‘Well, it could possibly be the weather causing her headaches. We’ve had an extremely hot December and some very blustery nor’westers, which do have a tendency to cause headaches, but they don’t normally cause nausea. As for the latter, I did wonder if it might be morning sickness, but Mrs Steele seems quite sure that she’s not carrying a child. I’d like to get a clearer picture of how frequently she vomits. Your wife said she’s been sick only once today, but when I tried to ascertain how many times she’d been sick on previous days her memory was rather muddled. I don’t suppose you would know?’

  Richard shook his head. ‘I only arrived home yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘How long have you been away, Captain Steele?’

  ‘Four months.’

  ‘How does your wife cope while you’re away?’

  ‘All right, as a rule,’ Richard said, frowning.

  ‘Your wife lives alone?’

  ‘Yes, she does.’

  ‘You’ve no children?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Do you employ a housemaid?’

  Richard nodded. ‘She comes in for an hour or two each day to do the cleaning and some cooking. She doesn’t live in. Eliza prefers this arrangement.’

  ‘Your wife spends a lot of time on her own, then?’

  Well aware where the questions were leading, Richard answered, ‘I’m the captain of a sea-faring cargo ship, doctor. I’m of necessity away for long periods. Eliza has friends, though. She’s not entirely alone.’

  Smythe nodded then reached into the side pocket of his bag and pulled out his prescription pad. ‘Well, unfortunately I don’t think we can rule out your long absences as a possible contributing factor to your wife’s present ill-health, Captain Steele. Stress often builds up gradually over a period of time, so a person can appear to be managing quite well but eventually they reach a point where they can no longer cope. Headaches, nausea, tension—all of which your wife is exhibiting—are typical symptoms of stress. Has she shown any signs of stress in the past?’

  Richard shook his head. ‘Nothing like this.’

  ‘Has she had any out-of-the-ordinary difficulties to deal with during the past few weeks?’

  Richard shook his head again. ‘Not that I know of. She’s not mentioned anything.’

  ‘I suggest you quiz her,’ Smythe said. ‘As for treatment, I’ll prescribe something for her headaches and the nausea, and I strongly recommend that she rests and doesn’t overtax herself. I suggest she takes a tonic, too. The chemist will be able to recommend one. If she hasn’t improved in a month’s time, she must see me again.’

  He briskly wrote out a prescription, then left.

  Keen for Eliza to start taking her medicine as soon as possible, Richard took the prescription to the chemist, purchased an assortment of tonics, then walked home via Norwich Quay, mulling over what the doctor had said. If his long absences were indeed affecting Eliza’s health, he would have to take steps to do something about it. Exactly what steps was another question. He’d cross that bridge if and when he came to it.

  Eliza was in the parlour when he got back. She was standing by the sideboa
rd with her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, and he had the distinct impression she’d been crying. Deciding that it might be better to pretend he hadn’t noticed, he smiled and went over to her. ‘Headache pills,’ he said cheerfully, lifting a small round pill-box from the paper bag crooked in his left arm. He set it down on the sideboard. ‘An emulsion to settle your stomach.’ He lifted out a brown glass bottle and set that down beside the pills, then held out the bag so she could see the tonic bottles. ‘And the chemist assures me these will make a new woman of you in no time.’ He leaned over to kiss her cheek.

  Turning away, she walked to the window seat and sat down, her arms still wound tightly around her middle.

  Frowning, Richard deposited the bag of tonics on the sideboard. There was something terribly wrong with Eliza and he wished he knew what. She was a jangle of nerves. Had something happened to upset her while he was at sea? ‘Quiz her,’ Smythe had said. He breathed out a low sigh and decided it might be simpler to come straight to the point. ‘Eliza, these headaches and the other symptoms you’ve been having—Dr Smythe said they could be caused by worry, stress. Did something happen to upset you while I was away?’

  Tears welled into Eliza’s eyes and her bottom lip began to tremble uncontrollably. ‘Yes, something did happen,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘You’re always away. You’re never here, Richard. I don’t see you from one month to the next. I blame you for what’s happened. You’ll blame me, but the blame is as much yours as mine.’

  Richard’s frown deepened. Blame? What the devil was she talking about?

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she said in a tight, choked voice.

  Richard stared at her. Pregnant? Pregnant? If Eliza was pregnant, he knew with absolute certainty that he wasn’t the father. Last time he’d been ashore, in August, they hadn’t made love once. He walked slowly towards her, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to find an explanation other than the obvious one.