‘She had the chance to marry him, and didn’t,’ John said tersely.
Letitia squeezed his arm gently. ‘Water under the bridge, John. What’s done can’t be undone, so it’s no use crying over it.’
John sighed deeply. No use at all. But he couldn’t help regretting it all the same.
‘Will you want to go and visit your grandchild in England when it’s born, Letitia?’ he asked quietly. ‘I’ve no objections to your going, if you wish to.’ To his surprise, Letitia shook her head.
‘No, I don’t think so, John. It’s a long way and I’m not as young as I was. And I’m a very poor sailor. No, I think I’ll just enjoy your grandchildren.’
John smiled and nodded. Letitia was doing her best to appear philosophical, but she’d been deeply hurt by the letter that Richard had written to them, advising them of his intention to take Eliza back to England. For his own part, he thought it very poor of Richard to send a letter via George and not come in person to tell his mother about his plans. Very poor indeed. Richard had gone down quite a few notches in his estimation after he’d read the letter.
Putting it from his mind, he said. ‘Shall we see if Charlotte has something suitable for Sarah’s birthday?’
Letitia arched her brows and the corner of her mouth curled up in an amused smile. ‘You mean to say you intend to step inside a ladies’ haberdashery, John?’
John laughed. ‘God forbid, no! I intend to stand outside and admire the view. I’ll leave the choosing to you, Letitia.’
Chapter 25
September 1870
It was over eighteen months since Charlotte had seen Richard, and a lot had changed during that time. He was a father now. He had a daughter, who bore his name, if not his blood. Eliza had called her Suzannah, after her mother. Richard had settled Eliza in a house not far from her parents, in Southampton, and apparently lived with her when he was ashore. Whether it was for appearances’ sake or for convenience or whether he’d forgiven her and was trying to make something of their marriage, it was hard to say. There had been some significant changes to his sea travels, too. He had sold the Nina at the beginning of the year to purchase a vessel more suited to shorthaul voyages around the English coastline and the Mediterranean. For Charlotte, it had been confirmation of what she had already known: that their paths wouldn’t cross again for a very long time. She was expecting it to be years before she saw him again, so when she saw in the distance, one Saturday afternoon, a man standing on the Government Jetty who had a look of Richard, she didn’t give him much of a second glance. She regularly saw men who had a look of Richard, but they were never him.
A light nor’easterly wind was blowing, capping the choppy waves in Erskine Bay with white foam, and she was out walking with ‘an interested party’, as George liked to refer to the men who called at the house from time to time to invite her out. Nice as they were, so far none of them had made her feel as if she’d like to spend the rest of her life with them. Perhaps she was just too fussy. The latest interested party was William Roach—another William. He worked at the Bank of New Zealand. He was a keen swimmer and regularly swam across the bay and back again. He also had a fascination with beetles and had quite an impressive collection. Beetles were the focus of today’s conversation: he’d found a very unusual bright green one, one from foreign parts that had found its way ashore via a ship, so he thought. He’d brought it along to show her, dead now, thank God. By the time they reached the Government Jetty, with her mind on beetles, Charlotte had forgotten all about the man she’d seen in the distance, so the very last person she was expecting to see standing on the deck of a moored ship was Richard. He had obviously seen her some time ago, and was watching the two of them as they walked slowly down the jetty.
She stared at him, thunderstruck, her thoughts written all over her face. Because Richard wasn’t alone: Eliza was with him. She was holding her daughter in her arms, facing away from them, as yet unaware of their presence. How could he? Charlotte thought incredulously. How could Richard bring Eliza and her daughter back to Lyttelton? What in God’s name was he thinking of!
Suddenly aware that Richard was no longer listening to her and that his attention was elsewhere, Eliza twisted her head around and looked over her left shoulder. Except the eyes that curiously met Charlotte’s were not Eliza’s eyes, nor was the face. It was a face that Charlotte didn’t recognize at all. Passengers, just two passengers. Charlotte’s shoulders sagged with relief. Her relief was far from total, though—her chest was still as tight as a drum and tightened even more as Richard turned to speak briefly to the woman, then came on to the jetty and walked over to them.
‘Good afternoon, I’m Richard Steele,’ Richard said, addressing himself to William.
William stared at him, obviously wondering why on earth a ship’s captain should want to introduce himself to two total strangers, out for an afternoon stroll along the jetty. Suddenly conscious that a bright green beetle was lying in full view on the palm of his right hand, he curled his fingers around it and quickly dropped his hand to his side.
‘Er…good afternoon,’ William returned.
Turning towards Charlotte, Richard said quietly, ‘I need to speak to you, Charlotte. In private.’
Charlotte glanced at William, who was not surprisingly looking slightly taken aback. ‘Captain Steele and I are related by marriage, William,’ she said, by way of brief explanation. ‘Would you excuse me, please? I’ll see myself home.’
With little choice, and very graciously in the circumstances, William left.
‘Come aboard,’ Richard said. Assuming her agreement, he turned back towards his ship. It was called Firebird. The woman with the child, she noticed, was still hovering on deck, watching them, although she was trying to pretend that she wasn’t. She was probably waiting for someone to come and collect them. It was her luggage, no doubt, that was on the jetty. Charlotte glanced at Richard as she walked past him. There was something wrong, she could see it in his face; and whatever it was it had brought him back to Lyttelton.
Once on deck, to Charlotte’s surprise, instead of ushering her below to the privacy of his cabin, Richard beckoned to the woman. Her daughter was squirming around in her arms like a fish, wanting to be put down. Giving in to her, the woman set her down and let her walk beside her. She was a pretty child with fine dark wavy hair and lovely blue eyes; coming to a halt an inch or two from Richard’s legs, she looked up and smiled prettily at him. Stooping, Richard picked her up.
‘You can go ashore now, Mary. I won’t be needing your assistance with Suzannah any further,’ Richard said quietly to the woman. ‘I’ll have one of my men take your luggage to the Mitre Hotel.’
Charlotte’s throat tightened as the little girl wound her arms around Richard’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder. This was Suzannah. Eliza’s child. George’s daughter.
They stood in silence, waiting until Mary had left the ship, then Richard turned to her and said in the same quiet tones, ‘Eliza is dead.’
Charlotte swallowed and looked away. She had known even before he spoke that that was what he was going to tell her, but it hadn’t lessened the shock any. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a hoarse voice. She looked back again, at a loss to know what else to say.
‘Come below,’ Richard said as Suzannah started to wriggle in his arms. ‘Then I can let Suzannah walk about without fear of her getting under my crew’s feet.’
She followed him below, blinking back tears. Tears for Eliza—she hadn’t had much in the way of happiness in the last few years of her life. Tears for this pretty little girl who now had no mother, and no father either. She had Richard, though, and Charlotte could tell from the way Richard held her that he had some feeling for the child.
Once in the safe precincts of his cabin, Richard put Suzannah down and handed her a bunch of keys that were lying on his desk. Easily amused, she wandered around, shaking the keys like a rattle, poking them in between the floorboards and into any other
nooks and crannies she could find.
‘How did Eliza—?’ Charlotte stopped short, not able to bring herself to finish the question. There was no need anyway. Richard knew what she was asking.
‘Pneumonia,’ he replied.
‘Were you at sea?’
To her surprise, Richard shook his head. ‘No, I was with her. She took ill a day or two before I was due to sail, so I stayed ashore and let my first mate take command. She had influenza and it turned into pneumonia. The doctor told me that her condition was serious and that she mightn’t survive, but it still came as a shock when she died.’
Pulling her handkerchief from her pocket, Charlotte wiped her eyes. She had felt every emotion under the sun for Eliza in the relatively short time she’d known her—jealousy, anger, disgust, pity, and now this deep feeling of sadness.
‘After the funeral, I sold the house and chattels then signed a contract to transport a cargo to Lyttelton,’ Richard continued. ‘I carry a few passengers these days so I offered Mary a free passage in return for looking after Suzannah during the voyage. I’ll be taking Suzannah to the farm tomorrow. I’m going to ask my mother and John if they’ll look after her, just in the short term, while I sort out my affairs.’
She stared at him for a moment, then said hesitantly, ‘Did Eliza’s parents not want to care for her?’
Richard shook his head again. ‘Eliza’s mother wanted to, but her father would have none of it. He made it quite clear to me that Suzannah is my responsibility, not theirs. He isn’t fond of children.’ He looked down at Suzannah, who had come up to him and wound her arms around his legs. Reaching down, he ruffled her hair and said quietly, ‘Go and play, Suzannah. Go on, off you go.’
Tears welled into Charlotte’s eyes again as she watched Suzannah trot off, rattling the bunch of keys. This little girl was George’s daughter. Her niece. John and Letitia’s granddaughter, though not in the way they believed her to be.
‘Richard, I’m so sorry,’ she whispered and shook her head helplessly, hoping that her face would tell him what she couldn’t find the words to express.
Richard nodded and looked away. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, too. Sorry that she died so young. Sorry that I asked her to marry me. All I did was make her miserable. And Eliza certainly regretted marrying me. She made no secret of that after I took her back to England.’
Charlotte lowered her eyes, not knowing what to say.
‘If only we could turn back the clock. God, I would!’ With a loud sigh, Richard clasped his hands behind his neck and drew his elbows in tightly together, the way men do when they are anguishing over something.
‘You can’t shoulder all of the blame,’ Charlotte said gently.
Richard closed his eyes. ‘No, but I must shoulder some of it. If I blame myself for nothing else, I blame myself for asking Eliza to marry me. It was a mistake, and everything else that happened sprang from that.’
‘She didn’t have to marry you, Richard. She chose to,’ Charlotte said quietly. ‘Eliza knew what you were when she accepted your offer: she knew you were a sea captain and she knew what that would mean.’
Richard looked at her, his hands still clasped like a self-inflicted millstone around his neck. ‘You knew what it would mean and that’s why you refused me. Eliza didn’t think things through the way you do, though; she didn’t realize just how much she’d be alone.’
‘Oh, I think she did,’ Charlotte returned. ‘But I think she thought things would change once you were married.’ Eliza, however, had greatly underestimated the pull of the sea, just as she had greatly overestimated the pull of the marriage bed.
Letting out another deep sigh, Richard let his hands fall to his sides. He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever word he’d spoken was drowned out by a sudden howl of pain from Suzannah.
Frowning, he strode over to her and picked her up. ‘A splinter in her finger again, I expect. She’s always getting splinters in them. I’ve tried to teach her not to run her hands over the floorboards, but she won’t learn.’ Patting Suzannah’s back, he walked around the cabin with her, quietly talking to her until her sobs died away to tearful hiccups. ‘Yes, it is a splinter,’ he said, examining her right thumb. ‘I’ll get it out later when she’s asleep.’
Charlotte reached for the edge of Richard’s desk as the ship rocked to one side then rocked back again, in response to the swell wave from a passing ship.
‘Have you been seeing him long, the man you were with?’ Richard asked casually.
‘No. Not long,’ she answered.
There was a short silence, then he said, ‘Do you see anything of Fairfield?’
‘No. He’s in Wellington now.’ She didn’t bother to expand. ‘Will you see Ann and George before you leave for the farm?’
To her relief, Richard shook his head.
‘I won’t have time. I’ll call on them when I come back from the farm. I’ll be ashore for at least a month, maybe longer. It all depends.’
As Richard turned to cast his eye over the pile of documents stacked neatly on his desk, he breathed out a long sigh. Thinking it a game, Suzannah pouted her lips and blew on his face, then put her fingers against his mouth, clearly wanting him to do another sigh. Richard smiled at her, blew a puff of air through her fingers, then put her down.
He watched her for a moment or two, but when turned back to Charlotte his face was serious again. ‘Charlotte, I don’t want to push you off my ship when you’ve only just come aboard, but we’re ready to cast off and drop anchor in the bay. My crew are still aboard and they’re itching to go ashore.’
She nodded and turned towards the cabin door. ‘Are you staying aboard your ship tonight?’
‘No. I’m staying at the Queen’s Hotel. Suzannah and I, that is,’ he amended.
‘How long will it take to drop anchor?’
‘An hour. Why?’
‘Would you like me to look after Suzannah while you’re doing whatever you need to do, since Mary isn’t here to look after her?’
Slipping his hands into his pockets, Richard studied her for a moment, then said quietly, ‘You don’t feel any resentment towards her, do you?’
She shook her head, surprised that he would even ask. ‘No. Of course I don’t. Children can’t choose the manner of their making.’
Richard looked away, a deep frown puckering his brow. If the ship had been made of glass he would have been able to see Voelas Road, where Suzannah had been made, for that was where he was looking, in his mind’s eye.
‘Well?’ Charlotte prompted quietly.
He looked back and smiled. ‘Thank you. I’d be grateful, if you can spare the time.’
Two hours later she was back at George and Ann’s, preparing to break the news of Eliza’s death to them. The news about Suzannah, too.
As she walked into the parlour, Ann looked up from her needlework and greeted her with her usual smile. George was buried behind the spread wings of his newspaper.
‘Richard is in port,’ Charlotte said quietly.
With a crackly rustle, George lowered his newspaper to his knee and looked at her.
‘I have some bad news,’ she said softly. ‘Eliza has passed away.’
Ann let out a stunned gasp and George stared at her in mute shock. By the time she’d finished the rest of the account, Ann was sobbing her heart out. Pushing himself to his feet, George went over to comfort her, looking not far from tears himself.
Chapter 26
The yard was ringing with the sound of iron against iron. Muffled up against the biting southerly that was roaring up the valley, Richard and John were crouched on top of the barn, hammering nails into the barn roof, which had taken a battering in the previous night’s gale. The loosened shingles had kept Richard awake all night, clattering around in the wind. Amazingly, Suzannah had slept right through it.
Let’s hope she sleeps through the night again tonight, Richard thought as he hammered in another nail. They’d been at the farm for almost a fortnight, and j
ust about every night the house had rung with Suzannah’s screams at some ungodly hour. His mother had got up several times to help him to settle her in her cot again and was taking the disrupted nights in her stride—a small price to pay for having her granddaughter there. John had tactfully not mentioned the nightly screaming sessions, but he was no doubt wondering how many more he’d have to weather. Richard breathed a loud sigh and pulled another nail out of his pocket. He would have to have a serious talk with John and his mother sometime soon, because his short-term plans would affect them quite a bit.
He pulled up the collar of his jacket as a hail of white pearls began to pepper the roof. Within seconds, the shingles were running with them. The past two weeks there’d been one storm after another. Gritting his teeth, he hammered in another nail. By the time he and John had got the roof fully secured, they were both blue with cold.
‘You brought some damned awful weather with you, Richard.’ John smiled wryly as he shrugged off his long oilskin coat.
Richard smiled back at him as he briskly rubbed his hands together, trying to get some warmth into them again. ‘Well, I’ll do my best to take it away with me again when I leave. Speaking of which,’ he added in more serious tones, ‘I need to discuss my plans with you at some stage, John.’
John nodded, turned briefly to hook his oilskin over a nail, then walked over to the wooden crates that were stacked at the far side of the barn and sat down on one. ‘What are your plans?’ he asked bluntly.
The Sea Between Page 30