‘I don’t know,’ Thys admitted. ‘It started a few days ago. The slaves say it’s a gift from the angels. They’ve been singing devotional songs. I doubt the angels, myself. There will prove a more earthly explanation.’
Ramona sat on the edge of a flat stone, her slim ankles outlined in the light. ‘Whatever caused it, it’s magical,’ she proclaimed. ‘Don’t you think so, Captain?’
Henderson did not reply and the girl looked chastened.
Maria squinted at the rocky path. The luminescence lit the uneven surface with an eerie blue that reflected the water. ‘We must take a sample,’ she declared. ‘The Royal Society.’
‘I’ll fetch it.’ Henderson stepped in. ‘It’s too dangerous for you to go down in the dark.’
Maria looked at her pale-stockinged feet encased in little more than slippers and was about to object, but Henderson had already started. He clambered down the rock face and stripped off his jacket, pulling back his shirtsleeves. Ramona peered over the edge, transfixed. She breathed something low in Danish. Henderson knocked out his snuff box and rinsed it in the pool. Then the captain reached into the illuminated water and, using his handkerchief as a makeshift net, scooped up the light, emptying it into the box as well he could. It took a few tries before he was satisfied. From above, the party watched as the glowing water swirled around his arm and lit the handkerchief like a bright star. Maria was spellbound as he folded the material and put the lid back on the little horn box. Where the water splashed onto the stone the drops darkened at once, as if a candle had been blown. Maria longed to see her own skin lit by the eerie light. Without a word, she slipped off her pumps.
‘Mrs Graham,’ Thys called, but he was too late.
The rocks were steep and grit caught Maria’s stockings. It got between her toes. At the bottom, Captain Henderson caught her hand and held her steady, guiding her to an even section of the rocks.
‘For the Royal Society.’ He handed her the box. ‘You are quite indefatigable, madam, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘If I were less than indefatigable I’d be disappointed, Captain Henderson.’
The captain smiled indulgently as Maria removed her long gloves and leaned over the pool. She slipped her hand through the cool water, her slim fingers trailing a fairy stream.
‘It feels like water,’ she said.
Above, they could hear Thys remonstrating with his sister as she climbed over the top, now the way had proved safe for a lady. Henderson stepped backwards to aid Miss Bagdorf’s descent, but the rocks were wet now. He slipped and landed solidly in the pool.
‘Look. Now you’re soaked, and Mrs Graham too,’ Thys called down. ‘Ramona! Don’t go any further.’
Henderson stood up, the water illuminating his legs as if they were rooted. He took a bow. His teeth glowed as he laughed. Between his lips they formed an otherworldly translucent flash of white as Ramona arrived at the pool’s side.
Maria shrugged. In such tropical conditions, water was hardly life-threatening. In many ways, the shower had been refreshing. She sat amiably on the edge, dangling her stockinged feet like a curious child.
‘What do you think causes it?’ Ramona breathed.
‘It can only be some kind of fish.’ Maria smiled. ‘Or a vegetable. Something very tiny for which great men will require a microscope. The sample will interest them in London. I wonder where it gets the light, for nothing can come of nothing. Isn’t that the way? I can write and let you know what the gentlemen make of it. Scientifically speaking.’
Ramona held out a hand towards Henderson. ‘We need to get you to dry land, Captain. You look quite sinister lit up like that.’
Instead of accepting the girl’s help, Henderson reached down. He scooped a handful of bright water and tossed it into the blackness in the women’s direction. Ramona squealed.
He mimicked Maria. ‘It will greatly interest them in London. Greatly. Maria, it’s a miracle. It defies Raphael. It defies Gainsborough.’
His teeth, Maria noticed, seemed suddenly very sharp.
‘Woman, you might never see anything so beautiful. It’s angel water. And all you can think of is science.’
Maria couldn’t help but smile, though she was aware the little gemstone was still in her purse.
If only science was all that was on my mind, she thought.
10
San Fernando
Dawn broke as Henderson and Mrs Graham climbed into a carriage and started the bumpy journey back to town. In London, it was common to live late like this, but it had been a while since she had done so. The rising sun revealed the extent of the hills, tinged by the verdant foliage of the plantation, so lush that it encroached on the track. A work party of slaves was already in the fields, a huge bare-chested overseer whipping one unfortunate. Maria had been patted dry, but one or two locks of hair had escaped Ramona’s attentions and now and then a plump drop of water seeped out.
‘Tired?’ Henderson asked.
Maria shook her head. She didn’t want to return to the ship without voicing her concerns, but here in the carriage they were alone. That made it more dangerous, for the captain was twice her size, but now was the time. She took a deep breath and gathered the words. I must make it sound casual.
‘I have something to admit, Captain. It may make you cross.’
Henderson took off his hat. His ponytail was bound with a thin chocolate-coloured ribbon. He smiled. ‘Madam?’
Her heart lurched. If he was guilty, might he throw her from the carriage?
‘I was curious about the chocolate bar I found in one of the trunks in your cabin. It was wrong of me, but I have found your secret,’ she said. It felt like jumping off the edge of a cliff. She was falling, falling.
Henderson’s demeanour betrayed nothing. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘I found your hidden cache.’ She reached into her purse and pulled out the little rock. ‘In the chocolate bar in your trunk.’
‘Well, I’ll be.’ Henderson held up the stone to the low, early morning light that lit the carriage window. ‘What were you doing rooting around in my old trunk?’
Maria’s eyes dropped to the carriage floor. ‘I was searching for a glass,’ she said. ‘To dress my hair.’
‘Really?’ He did not believe her. ‘When?’
‘Before we left the ship. I dropped the bar. It broke and I found this stone. It’s a most disconcerting haul.’ She chose her words carefully.
Henderson remained as relaxed as he’d been sitting on the Bagdorfs’ long settees. ‘The sneaky devil.’ The captain smiled. ‘This was in that old cacao brick? The Spaniards used to do it this way. The churchmen. To avoid duty to the Crown. I had no idea anyone was still employing the technique.’
Maria’s limbs flooded with relief. Involuntarily, she beamed. He had not known. ‘So these goods are not yours?’ she breathed.
‘That musty old chocolate belonged to Will – the English boy who died in Natal. He asked me to deliver it with his last breath. I couldn’t understand why he prized such poor-quality goods. I assumed he was referring to his other possessions. Now, well, no wonder it was on his mind. And I had half an idea to send it to the galley for the crew’s use.’ Henderson chortled. ‘My men are honest enough, but the cook would have been off at the first port. He’s a Yorkshireman and canny. Who would blame him?’
‘So you will pay the duty, Captain? You will turn it over?’
Henderson looked up. The pearls in Mrs Graham’s hairpiece glowed white. The edge of the feather was quivering with the movement of the carriage as she regarded him intently, the colour of her eyes picked out by her dress. It was pleasant to see her impassioned about something, even if it was only the extent of duty due to His Majesty’s coffers. But, as it turned out, that didn’t mean he was prepared to lie.
‘I shall deliver this block to Will’s business partners, Mrs Graham, and what they do with it is their business. That’s what I was asked to do, and I’m no thief. I will charge them for the p
rivilege.’
Maria pulled herself up. ‘You are a smuggler, sir, if you avoid the king’s due. You forget I am on a mission for the Emperor of Brazil. My father and my husband were captains in His Majesty’s navy. There is no question. The duty must be paid.’ Henderson’s eyes flashed, but now she’d started Maria found she couldn’t hold back. ‘The very definition of a gentleman is that he does the right thing by his king and his country.’
‘Plenty of gentlemen would take goods such as these and run,’ Henderson said flatly.
Maria shook her head. ‘It is insupportable.’
The captain’s voice grew hard. ‘As insupportable as rooting in a gentleman’s possessions, madam? For a glass, indeed. You need only have asked for one. Tell me, what gives you the right to dictate to me, and in that tone?’
He was angry, but Maria held her nerve. ‘Because I am right, sir,’ she said calmly. ‘And you know it.’
Henderson slumped in his seat. There was the nub. She probably was right, damn her – acting as his conscience once more, calling him to decency. The captain’s heart sank. The truth was that he wanted this life. A woman like Maria. Dinner with friends. To be a gentleman. He realised in a flash that that was why he was returning to London. It was what had attracted him to her in the first place – not only her beauty but also her innate respectability. She was everything good he associated with being British, and he was not worthy of her any more than he was worthy of London. He couldn’t simply put on a fancy coat and change everything. Outside, the tropical fields flashed past, but all he could think of was England.
He nodded. ‘You have the truth of it. And it’s brave of you to say.’
All his childhood, Henderson had lived in ignorance. Growing up, he had thought his mother was a lady, but she had no idea of the true nature of her life. Not even of her own husband. She was a fool who had been hoodwinked by a fine set of clothes. Henderson found her letters when his father died. She had adored the old man, writing to him all the detail of her measured English life. She prattled about new plantings in London’s parks and repairs to the family’s battered carriage, with its old-fashioned perch seat, as if these might concern him. Never once had she asked why her husband insisted she couldn’t come to Brazil. The old man must have loved her, yet he had lied to his wife since the day they met. It felt as if she’d have entirely evaporated if she found out the truth. She was an honest woman, Henderson berated himself, and he had turned out to be more of his father than of his London side. Else how could he have fallen so far?
Mrs Graham, her hands curled patiently in her lap, was waiting for him to speak. The satin of her evening gown caught the dawn light. She was an image of everything he longed for. She had seen him for what he was and, perhaps unexpectedly, the captain found he wasn’t happy to dissemble. That’s why I have not been able speak the whole voyage, he realised. I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to lie. He cleared his throat.
‘I can assure you, you are in no danger, madam. You’re at liberty to disembark the Bittersweet if the arrangement does not meet with your approval.’
‘How could I approve?’
‘You have never bypassed official channels? In all your travels? Not once?’
Maria shifted. Of course she had. ‘Never merely to make money,’ she said. ‘Forgive me.’
The captain considered. It was true that Will’s business partners would pay because he had discovered their secret. Will had said so – but money wasn’t the only matter. Henderson took a deep breath. ‘You must leave this to me. It’s not your business and is only mine by circumstance. You have no right to tell me what to do.’
He paused. If he wanted to be different from his father, then he must behave differently. He must be honest about his occupation. Henderson’s stomach turned.
‘I’m afraid it will disappoint you, madam,’ he continued, ‘but I must admit to being a habitual smuggler. It’s how I make my living, and my father before me.’
Henderson waited for a puff of smoke and a whiff of sulphur, for Maria to shout or cast herself dramatically onto the track, for the carriage to become dim and the sky to cave in, the fields folding over, green on blue. Instead, his admission hung in the air.
‘I see,’ Maria replied calmly. ‘That was not apparent.’
The captain had been enormously frank. More frank, she realised, than any man she’d ever had to deal with. She had not expected this. In her mind, if he was a smuggler he was all but evil, yet the man before her was both eloquent and thoughtful.
‘You must consider what you want to do,’ he said.
‘I worried you might harm me.’
‘Mrs Graham.’ His tone was impassioned. ‘You must know that I would never harm you. On that, I give you my word.’
And, with the early morning light flooding through the thin glass, she believed him.
As the carriage rolled down the hill, Maria sat back. She was glad she’d spoken and now her body felt heavy with exhaustion. She liked Captain Henderson, despite the fact he was in the wrong. This realisation did not perplex her as much as it ought to.
‘Does the capital penalty not concern you?’ she asked.
Henderson sat forward. ‘That I should swing for it?’ No one had ever spoken to him this way.
Maria nodded.
‘I suppose not. That is only in English territories. In the northern states, the penalty is a term in prison.’
She lifted her feet to stretch her ankles. Did the captain care so little for himself? ‘Don’t you want something better?’
Her tone was intense. Unable to form an answer, Henderson turned to the horizon. Outside the window, the sun was up.
Maria yawned. For once this had not been the usual battle about her role and what she might and mightn’t do. It made a change. Suddenly she felt exhausted. The fact Henderson was a smuggler was no longer an occasion for terror. She had learned something new, she thought – about herself as well as him. If she had been out of her depth all evening, her feet now touched the ground.
When the captain looked round, Mrs Graham’s eyes were closing. He took the opportunity to study her face. She was calm in repose and her breath was shallow as she drifted into sleep, her figure small in the seat, her skin white, in contrast to the dark leather. Her curled fingers were encased in pale-gold satin. They twitched as she slumbered. The sight felt too intimate and he looked away, grave-faced. He was certain she would never forgive him.
*
Coming into the city, the smell of the morning’s ovens was on the air. Whooping, a street urchin ran barefoot beside the carriage wheels. As they hit the rough cobbles, Captain Henderson watched over Maria Graham, anxious as a new father in case the noise woke her as the bright townhouses jolted by. As the lady slept, Henderson considered that they could drink coffee and watch the docks spring to life. He tarried for a moment before discounting the idea. She looked too peaceful, for one thing. For another, he was loathe to disturb her and perhaps bring about her early departure from the Bittersweet.
As the carriage drew up on the dock, he didn’t hesitate to lift her prone body aboard. The orchid scent lay heavy on his chest. Maria’s arm flopped and her hair came loose, unravelling like a sheet of dark silk that folded over the sleeve of his jacket. The men on deck stood to attention. One nipped ahead and opened the door to the cabin.
‘Nice night, sir?’ He grinned, eyes bright.
‘Don’t be cheeky,’ Henderson snapped.
Carefully, the captain laid Maria on the bed. The shutters were still closed and light pierced the edges of the wood, casting bright stripes along the cabin floor. Henderson deposited Maria’s velvet evening purse on the bedside and loitered, unwilling to leave. He cast his eye across the papers scattered over the tabletop. She had been making a fair copy of her work. The sheaf was piled untidily. Maria’s handwriting wasn’t as neat as might be expected and the papers weren’t absolutely in order. On top was her account of the Palace of St Cristóvão. He drew
a finger along a line of script, as if to absorb her words. Then, regarding Will Simmons’s choc-
olate slab, he removed a small knife from inside his jacket to extend Maria’s exploration. At the far end he cut away a thick chunk, exposing a roughly formed bar of yellow gold. She’d been right – it was a regular treasure trove. Careful not to disturb her, he secreted the bar, the shavings and the scatter of gemstones in his pocket. The larger stones would make a couple of carats each when they were cut. He’d lock it away in his cabin, he decided. Then he’d need to think.
Outside, Henderson repaired to the open-fronted bar where Thys had been drinking the day before. It was a cut above the usual. In one corner he found three copies of the Daily Courant, eighteen months out of date. He ordered rum and sat looking onto the Bittersweet’s mooring as he examined the monochrome engravings. He took in London’s tall buildings, the fashionable ladies and the gentlemen in their top hats. He didn’t recognise the politicians, the doyennes of society or even the king. Could the city really be his home? It felt that way.
The landlord, an ex-slave, towered above the table. ‘More rum, sir?’
Henderson shook his head. ‘I’m looking for a ship with a berth suitable for a lady. Bound for England,’ he enquired.
‘Your ship is for London, I heard.’
‘Do you know of any other?’
The man didn’t move an inch. ‘The ones flying the Jack is the ones to enquire at. Seems that way to me.’
‘The traffic is fine?’
‘Traffic, sir?’
‘To and from England. There is a regular flow?’
‘Oh yes, sir. As much as any place across the big water.’
The captain paid and took a stroll along the dock. Staring up at his own ship, he watched an open-topped terracotta bowl of thick bright blood being delivered to the galley by a half-naked child. There would be black sausage tonight to sate the men’s appetites.
Further along, three ships sported the Union Jack. He enquired of the sailors on the dockside where they were headed – two ships, it transpired, were bound for the Americas, while only one was on its way east. The Jury was a respectable enough vessel – a merchant ship run by a captain who had quit the Bombay Marine. It was to set sail by the end of the week, loaded with sugar and bound for Portsmouth. Henderson loitered. He did not want Maria to board it.
On Starlit Seas Page 11