The Sea Between

by Thomas, Carol

  Richard, however, seemed to really enjoy riding—she glanced across at him and smiled—and was also a very good horseman; surprisingly so, given the little amount of riding he’d done. Perhaps not all that surprising, though, as it was second nature for him to tune his movements to those of a shifting ship, which was probably why his body moved so naturally with the movement of a horse.

  As they reached a grassy terrace, Richard reined in his horse and dismounted. ‘Charlotte, I know you love riding,’ he said. ‘But d’you think we could walk for a while? It would make conversation considerably easier.’

  Faced with little choice, she slipped down from the saddle. Leaving her horse to graze, she walked over to join Richard, who didn’t appear to be itching to walk. He was standing, staring out across the bay.

  ‘Do you remember the first time we rode out together?’ he asked quietly. ‘You took me to Shelf Rock and I kissed you. Well, I’d very much like to kiss you now.’ He turned towards her, his expression serious. ‘May I?’

  She stared at him, wondering why he was asking for permission. He hadn’t asked for permission at Shelf Rock. It was a few seconds before she tumbled to what was at the bottom of it. Richard was asking her if she was willing to start afresh and let him court her again.

  In answer, she stepped towards him. Taking her in his arms, Richard pulled her close and kissed her. She closed her eyes as memories flooded back. In her father’s yard when he had returned from sea, after being away for six months, he’d held her in his arms like this and kissed her—a hard, urgent kiss that had told her far more eloquently than words how much he’d missed her. This kiss, unrushed, gentle, and indescribably intimate, encompassed a much deeper loss than a six months’ parting. It was a kiss that spoke of the loss of years.

  It was several minutes before Richard released her lips. Still holding her close in his arms, he rested his forehead against hers. ‘Charlotte, I want you to be my wife,’ he said softly. ‘But I’m afraid to ask you, because I’m afraid you’ll say no again.’ Drawing his head back, he looked earnestly into her face. ‘Last time I asked you, you said you’d marry me if I agreed to make changes to my shipping routes. I wasn’t willing to do that at the time, but I am now. My situation has changed, though. I’ve got a child whom I’m responsible for and I’m not sure how you’d feel about raising Suzannah, knowing she isn’t mine, and knowing who her father is.’

  Charlotte lowered her eyes uneasily. George wasn’t the only one struggling with guilt. She hated having to deceive Richard like this, but she had no choice.

  Misinterpreting her silence as hesitancy, Richard let out a long, low breath, then said quietly, ‘Will you give it some thought, Charlotte? Over the next week or two?’

  She looked up, nodded, and smiled. ‘Yes, I’ll give it some thought,’ she said.

  She knew what her answer would be. It would be yes, but it wouldn’t hurt Richard to wait for his answer. Suzannah was a lovely child, and Charlotte didn’t think she’d find it hard to raise her as her own. As for everything else…Richard would still be away quite a lot, and in some ways she knew she was settling for second best, but if she’d learned nothing else in the past five years, she’d learned that life didn’t always turn out exactly as you’d like it to.

  Taking hold of her hand, Richard drew her down on to the grass, easing her backwards until she lay full-length on the hillside, cradled in his arms.

  ‘I love you, Charlotte,’ he whispered, and bent his head to kiss her.

  An hour later they were still lying on the damp grass, locked in each other’s arms; Richard on his back, his left arm wrapped around her waist, while she lay curled up beside him with her head resting on his chest, listening contentedly to the steady beat of his heart.

  Chapter 28

  October 1870

  The Queen’s Hotel had a reputation for plush comfort and excellent food, so the dining room was always well patronized, but it was especially full tonight. In addition to the hotel guests, a party of local people were dining there this evening. Charlotte smiled with amusement as Mrs Lawrence waved cheerily to her, then immediately inclined towards the woman sitting on her left and whispered confidentially in her ear. She and Richard had been spotted together a number of times over the past week or two, and tongues had started wagging. No one had been so impolite as to ask outright about their relationship, but it amused her to see the convoluted lengths that some went to in their efforts to find out. It amused her even more to see how the takings in the till had been increasing in proportion to the growing speculation.

  As they continued to wait for someone to attend to them, Charlotte looked herself over in the ornately framed mirror hanging on the wall to her left. She was wearing the dark blue dress that she’d bought earlier in the year in Christchurch. It was simply cut, but really quite elegant. Richard was wearing a dark grey suit.

  ‘Ah, here’s a waitress coming at last,’ Richard commented as a plump young woman, wearing a spotlessly white apron and cap, hurried over to them.

  ‘Captain Steele—I reserved a table,’ Richard said as the waitress looked up at him enquiringly.

  ‘If you’d be good enough to follow me, sir, that’s your table in the alcove,’ she informed him, already leading the way to it. Looking back over her shoulder, she added apologetically, ‘You may have to wait a while for your meal, I’m afraid, sir. The dining room is fairly full, as you can see, and we’re short-handed in the kitchen this evening.’

  ‘We’re not in a hurry to eat,’ Richard replied. Once at the table, he pulled out a chair, waited for Charlotte to sit down, then sat down opposite her.

  ‘Will you be wanting to order your meal now sir? Or shall I come back in a few minutes?’ the waitress enquired. ‘There’s a choice of roast beef, duck or lamb this evening.’

  ‘Roast beef for me, thank you,’ Richard replied without hesitation. ‘Charlotte?’

  ‘I’ll have the same,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘And would you bring two glasses of your best port,’ Richard asked.

  As the waitress hurried off in the direction of the kitchen, Richard looked across to the party of diners seated around a long table on the far side of the room. The white-bearded man at the head of the table had risen to his feet to propose a toast. ‘I wonder what the occasion is,’ he remarked.

  ‘A freemasons’ dinner, I think,’ Charlotte replied. ‘Mr Percy, Mr Campbell and Mr Heywood are masons, and I believe Mr Lawrence is, too. They’ve got their wives with them tonight.’

  Richard looked at her curiously. ‘I thought their membership was supposed to be highly secretive. How did you find out they’re masons?’

  ‘Oh, I find out all kinds of things.’ Her eyes narrowed mischievously. ‘It’s surprising what some of my customers talk about while they’re making their purchases.’ She thought it best not to add that the current topic of conversation was him.

  Richard shook his head and laughed. ‘Shame on you, Charlotte! Engaging in tittle-tattle!’

  ‘Engaging in tittle-tattle, as you call it, is extremely good for business,’ she returned. ‘It’s a very necessary part of selling.’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for that,’ he said with a grin. ‘You appear to have learned quite a lot about managing a shop.’

  She lifted her shoulder in a dismissive shrug. ‘Isobel used to say that one can learn anything, if one has sufficient incentive.’

  ‘What was your incentive?’

  ‘I didn’t want to fail.’ She paused then added, more honestly, ‘No. I wanted to prove to my father and to George and Edwin that I could manage a business, because none of them believed that I could.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly proved that you can,’ Richard complimented her.

  Charlotte leaned back as a silver tray suddenly appeared at her right elbow. The port had arrived. She waited until the waitress had gone, then picked up her glass and raised it in salute.

  ‘Many happy returns,’ she said warmly. Richa
rd had invited her to join him for dinner to celebrate his thirty-sixth birthday. At least, that was the reason he’d given, but she suspected that he was also planning on asking her to marry him and hoping to receive a ‘yes’ as a birthday present. She took a small sip of port, then set the glass down again. Slipping her hand into the pocket of her dress, she pulled out a small box and placed it on the table in front of him. It was wrapped in brown paper, tied with dark blue ribbon. ‘For you,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Shall I guess what it is?’ Richard asked.

  She shook her head. ‘No. Because you’ll probably guess right.’ In a box that size, there were only two masculine items that would fit: a tie stud or cuff links.

  Richard laughed and opened it. ‘Ah, a tie stud. I thought it might be.’ He studied it for a moment, then looked up and smiled. ‘A very fine one, too. Thank you.’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ he added, ‘I have a gift for you, too—if you’ll accept it.’ Setting the box down, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, then extended his hand across the table. His fingers were curled around so she couldn’t see what the gift was, but she was fully expecting it to be a gold wedding ring. She was wrong, however. As Richard uncurled his fingers it was silver, not gold, that shone from his palm. He was returning to her the silver brooch that she had returned to him.

  Lifting it from his hand, she placed it on her left palm then turned it over, interested to see if he’d had it re-inscribed. He had.

  As she looked up, Richard met her eyes and said quietly, ‘Will you wear it for me on Christmas Eve, Charlotte?’

  She smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, I will,’ she said simply. Richard had changed the wording of the inscription to read: To my wife, with my love, R. And she had just agreed to marry him, on Christmas Eve.

  ‘Shall we take a walk along the jetty before I take you home?’ Richard suggested, offering her his arm as they stepped outside on to London Street some two hours later. They’d had a long wait for their meal and it was now nearly half-past nine. Not that they’d been scratching around for topics of conversation. They’d been discussing the wedding arrangements and where they would live as man and wife. They were both agreed that they would marry at her father’s farm, in the garden if it was fine, and agreed also that they would live in Lyttelton. As to where in Lyttelton, that would depend on what was available. They had also discussed her shop. Charlotte had been fully expecting that Richard would want her to sell it, since she’d have Suzannah to look after once they were married. But to her surprise he’d said that if she felt she could manage both the shop and Suzannah, she could keep the shop for as long as was practicable. Richard had changed over the past five years. Not greatly, just a little, but that was how change usually happened. Gradually. She glanced up at him and smiled. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so happy.

  ‘Yes, a walk would be nice,’ she said. A cool nor’easterly wind was blowing and it would probably be even cooler on the jetty, but she was warmly clad.

  As they made their way through the railway yards down to the jetty, the wind became noticeably gustier, whipping her skirts about, winding them around her ankles and making walking quite difficult. It was also doing its best to rip her hat off. Wide-brimmed hats weren’t designed for windy weather. Unhooking her arm from Richard’s, she anchored her hat down with both hands.

  ‘Take it off.’ Before she could object, Richard reached up and pulled out the two large hatpins that were holding it in place. ‘Here, give it to me,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I’ll put it in the railway shed over there. It won’t take any harm for half an hour. We’ll collect it on our way back.’

  She looked dubiously at the shed, wondering how clean it was, then reluctantly handed the hat over. Once on the jetty, however, where the wind was even stronger, she was glad Richard had made her take it off. They certainly wouldn’t have been able to walk along hand in hand, as they were now, if she’d been clinging to her hat with both hands. Thankfully, at the end of the jetty someone had helpfully left some heavy wooden crates, stacked in twos and threes. Standing in the lee of them, they could barely feel the wind at all.

  Taking her in his arms, Richard kissed her. As he released her lips, he said quietly, ‘I love you, Charlotte. I’ll love you as long as I have breath to love. I want you to have my children. I want to grow old and grey with you.’

  She placed the palm of her hand against his cheek and smiled. ‘I love you too,’ she said simply.

  Turning his head, Richard kissed her fingers. ‘I never stopped loving you, you know. I tried to, but I couldn’t.’

  Charlotte tilted her head, her eyes still fixed on his. ‘Did you love Eliza when you married her?’ It was a question she had wondered about, wanted to ask him many times.

  Richard lowered his eyes, then turned and looked out to sea, staring sightlessly across the dark water, as if he was looking back in time and space, across the vast oceans to the distant shores of England, where he had married Eliza. At length, he answered quietly, ‘I didn’t love Eliza as I love you, but I did have quite a lot of feeling for her. I met her the year before I met you and I’d been thinking of asking her to be my wife. Then I met you and everything changed. When you turned me down, I decided to ask Eliza. I knew she loved me and was willing to marry me, and you weren’t.’ The wind soughed and whistled through the gaps between the wooden crates as Richard continued to stare out across the waves. The only other sounds were the splashing of the waves against the piles and the rhythmic thudding of moored ships, bumping against the jetty in the swell. Eventually, he turned back to her. ‘If you’d married me, Charlotte, I would have made some changes, but a man likes to arrive at his own decisions, not have them forced on him.’

  She looked at him sceptically, but refrained from commenting. Richard might indeed have made some changes to his comings and goings—eventually. But she suspected that she would have fared no better than Eliza had in trying to hurry those changes along; and the more she complained, the more Richard would have dug his toes in. He was quite right: men did like to arrive at their own decisions, and in their own time, too.

  ‘My father and your mother will be pleased when you tell them the news,’ she said with a smile, changing the subject.

  Richard gave a soft laugh. ‘I think your father would have disowned you if you’d refused me.’

  ‘I’m sure he would,’ she agreed with feeling.

  The crates creaked and shifted as Richard leaned back against them. ‘I wasn’t at all confident that you’d agree to marry me, you know. Well, I thought you’d agree eventually, but I thought you might want to wait for a while, to see if I was serious about doing only coastal trading from now on.’

  She shook her head and kissed him. ‘I don’t need to wait for you to prove it, Richard. You gave me your word and I know you’ll keep it.’ Just as he had kept his word to Eliza, he would keep his word to her.

  Lifting his hand, he ran his thumb gently down her cheek then tucked it beneath her chin, tilting her face up so that he could look directly into her eyes. ‘I’ll still be away quite a bit—you do realize that, Charlotte?’

  ‘Yes, I realize it,’ she said.

  ‘You won’t mind?’

  She gave an accepting shrug. ‘It’s not what I’d choose. But I can live with it.’ With compromises, one inevitably had to settle for second best.

  Richard nodded, looking as if he appreciated the honesty of her answer, even if it wasn’t the answer he would have liked to hear.

  ‘Well,’ she said, smiling as she leaned forward to kiss him again. ‘Shall we walk back to the house? It must be well after ten.’ And it was getting quite chilly.

  Clasping her lightly by the shoulders, Richard kissed her softly on the lips, then reached for her hand. ‘Come on then,’ he said.

  They hadn’t gone more than three or four steps, however, before he came to a sudden halt. His eyes had been attracted by the same thing as Charlotte’s: an orange glow in t
he sky, about halfway up Oxford Street. Above it was a billowing grey cloud. Smoke.

  ‘That doesn’t look good,’ he said grimly. ‘Something’s on fire. A building by the look of it.’

  Charlotte sucked in a deep breath. Whatever was burning was well ablaze, and in a wind like this it would be hard to stop the fire from spreading. Her haberdashery was almost certainly at risk.

  Taking off at a brisk stride down the jetty, Richard tightened his grip on her hand. She was having to break into a run to keep up with him. ‘I’ll take you home, then I’ll go and help,’ Richard said. ‘They’ll need all the men they can muster to bring a blaze like that under control.’

  ‘No, I’m coming with you,’ she said definitely, as they hurried across the railway yard. ‘If my shop is going to go up in flames, I need to salvage a few things from it first.’

  ‘Charlotte, you’re going home! You’re not going anywhere near that blaze!’ Richard squeezed her fingers, hard enough to hurt, making it plain that he wouldn’t be letting go of her hand until he’d seen her safely back to the house.

  Knowing she’d be wasting her breath arguing, she saved it for the steep climb up Canterbury Street. As they reached the intersection of London Street, Richard stopped so they could survey the scene down the street. It was the Queen’s Hotel that was ablaze. Flames were leaping into the sky, and she could hear the greedy crackle as they devoured the timbers. It would only be a matter of time before the flames leapt across the road. Once there, it was just a small jump down Oxford Street to her shop.

  ‘Are your premises insured, Charlotte?’ Richard asked matter-of-factly, as he turned away and continued up Canterbury Street at a fast stride.

  ‘Yes, they are,’ she said breathlessly.