On Starlit Seas

by Sara Sheridan

  ‘This gentleman wants to see the lady who was hurt.’

  Though the girl seemed frightened, she still voiced her objection. ‘But she is abed, Uncle. All the guests is.’

  The innkeeper loomed over his niece, as if he there was a chance he might bare his teeth and bite off her head. Henderson was a paying customer and a gentleman. He could have whatever he wanted.

  ‘Take me to her.’ Henderson stepped in. ‘She’ll be pleased, I promise. I’ve come to help.’

  The girl’s eyes moved slowly over the captain’s boots, as if she was evaluating the validity of this statement by the quality of the leather. Then she bobbed a curtsey and picked up a candle, slipping past her uncle as if she expected a passing blow, which happily did not transpire.

  Henderson followed her up a dark wooden staircase against the end wall. On the upper floor, off a landing, there were private bedrooms. The girl stopped outside one of them, the light from the candle pooling as she knocked quietly on the door. Her pink hand was tiny. She moved to knock again, but Henderson stepped in.

  ‘It’s fine. You can go now,’ he said. ‘I’ll come down later and you can show me my quarters.’

  The child hesitated but didn’t argue. She handed over the light, bobbed a curtsey and disappeared along the corridor in the dark. Henderson knocked again, harder. There was no reply. He turned the iron handle.

  ‘Maria, are you all right?’ he said as he stepped inside.

  The room was small and, as far as he could make out, was mostly furnished with a thin mattress that was raised from the floor on a makeshift wooden base. Around it, a scattering of straw covered the bare boards on all sides. Henderson leaned down and shook the sleeping figure under the covers gently. ‘Maria, wake up.’

  The woman stirred, pulling away from his touch. Her face was in the shadows. ‘Augustus?’ she said sleepily.

  ‘It’s James.’ The captain gratefully pressed her hand to his lips. ‘I came directly I heard. I knew you’d been too long and there must be trouble.’

  The hand was pulled back smartly and the woman sat bolt upright. Her vague outline seemed somehow wrong. Henderson moved the candle closer and realised his mistake too late as a high-pitched scream emanated from the woman’s lips. He fell back. This room, now he came to think on it, didn’t smell right. There was not a drop of orchid oil. If anything, it smelled of musty vegetables.

  ‘Help,’ the woman screamed. ‘For God’s sake. Mercy.’

  ‘Madam,’ he objected. ‘Please. There has been a dreadful misunderstanding—’

  Before the sentence could be finished, however, Henderson found himself pushed against the open door by a bulky man who appeared from further along the hallway, bounding in his direction like a huge lolloping guard dog. The captain dropped the candle, which snuffed out, leaving the room once more in darkness. It flashed through Henderson’s mind that the fellow downstairs had a cudgel and that if he came to the woman’s aid it would be difficult to fight him off.

  ‘What the hell are you doing in my sister’s room?’ the man sneered, spitting into Henderson’s face.

  It was so dark that the captain could barely make out the fellow’s features. ‘It’s a mistake. I’m looking for the lady who was hurt when the stage was robbed.’

  The fellow didn’t listen. He held the captain by the neck, his grip tightening. ‘Some mistake,’ he spat as Henderson tried to push him off. ‘It sounds to me as if you are trying to press an advantage. Did you assume my sister was unprotected?’

  ‘I’m looking for someone else. I don’t care about your sister. Truly.’

  The grip tightened further and, realising there was no other way, the captain brought up his knee sharply. The man let fly a yelp and fell. Henderson blundered onto the landing in the pitch. He was about to make for the stairs when there was a sudden crack. A door opened and Maria appeared, holding a lamp. She glided along the boards in a white nightgown. Her feet were bare.

  ‘James? Whatever is going on?’ she asked as she pushed past the captain and looked into the bedroom.

  The man on the floor was moaning and the woman had got out of bed to attend him.

  ‘Maria,’ the lady said, ‘help me with Augustus. The brute! The brute!’

  ‘What have you done?’ Maria turned on Captain Henderson.

  ‘I came to help. You were hurt . . .’

  Maria’s eyes hardened. ‘I’m not hurt. Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Maria stooped to help Augustus to his feet and stationed him at the end of his sister’s bed.

  ‘Mrs Graham, do you know this man?’ Augustus managed to get out. ‘He kneed me in the stomach.’

  Henderson knew this to be untrue. He had kneed the fellow lower than that.

  ‘James, you can’t go around breaking into a lady’s bedroom. Poor Miss Calcott must have had the fright of her life. I hope you’ve apologised.’

  ‘It was an honest mistake,’ Henderson mumbled.

  Maria corrected him. ‘It was not. You went to the wrong room, but you intended to disturb me in the night, I expect. Breaking into a lady’s bedroom – I can think of little more perturbing. What on earth were you thinking?’

  Henderson’s blood was up. ‘I was thinking, Mrs Graham, that you might require assistance. I rode three hours straight in the dark on account of the thought.’

  ‘I came to my sister’s assistance, sir.’ Augustus got to his feet. ‘And I shall take the ladies back to London tomorrow without any help from you.’

  ‘Is this your brother, Maria? Thank God you’ve recovered.’

  Maria baulked. Henderson’s familiarity was beyond the pale. Could he not see that? If he cared for her at all, he must be more careful.

  ‘There is absolutely nothing wrong with me,’ she said firmly. ‘Mr Calcott is not my brother. I don’t need an escort and I certainly don’t need some kind of saviour. It’s quite idiotic.’

  ‘But you challenged highway thieves. You were beaten.’

  ‘Well, there you have a sum of half the story. And though it’s none of your business, Miss Calcott also took the public stage from Bristol. When we were held up, I did challenge the highwaymen. I secured my manuscripts when they stole the rest of the luggage. Such papers have no value, except to myself and Mr Murray, and in that matter the men were quite reasonable. However, Miss Calcott, realising my success, decided to try her luck at rescuing a painting in the same fashion. A painting by Augustus, actually, who is her brother, and that did have a value.’

  ‘Brigands,’ Augustus spat.

  Miss Calcott sank onto the edge of the bed, as if unable to stay on her feet as a result of the mere memory of what had transpired during the robbery.

  ‘I can’t imagine what you were thinking when you set out on this, this . . . imposition,’ Maria berated Henderson. Her temper flared. How could he be so foolish?

  Henderson felt himself deflate. ‘But you could have continued to London on another stage – you’re two days late at a minimum, and Murray is expecting you. If there’s nothing wrong, why didn’t you simply carry on into the city? There have been other coaches.’

  Maria enunciated clearly, as if she were speaking to a simpleton. ‘I stayed to look after Miss Calcott, who, like me, was travelling alone. We sent a message to Augustus, who arrived this afternoon to take her back to town. He has kindly offered to escort me as well, so I don’t need to try my luck again on the public stage.’

  ‘I thought—’ Henderson started.

  ‘What you thought is crystal clear, but it certainly isn’t your place, James. It doesn’t work this way,’ she hissed. ‘And that you don’t understand that is, frankly, most ill advised. Now please, gentlemen, I will attend to Miss Calcott.’

  Dismissed, Augustus limped into the hallway. Henderson followed, looking so diminished that his erstwhile opponent took pity on him.

  ‘Come along,’ the fellow said. ‘Why don’t we have a nightcap? They’ll get you a room, I expect.’

  Downstairs,
if the innkeeper had heard the fracas above him he showed no sign. He sat by the fire picking his teeth until, at Mr Calcott’s invocation, he fetched some scalded brandy. In the light, Henderson weighed up his opposition. Calcott was sturdy and in his early forties. He wore britches and a loose shirt. His hair was in a state of disarray, which he attempted to remedy by pushing his hand over it.

  He introduced himself. ‘Augustus Calcott.’

  ‘James Henderson.’ The captain shook hands and slumped into his chair.

  ‘How do you know Mrs Graham?’

  Henderson laughed. ‘I captained her crossing,’ he explained. ‘From Brazil.’

  Calcott nodded sagely. ‘I see,’ he said, his eyes sharp. ‘I expect a fellow could be filled by admiration for her very easily. It must happen all the time. She’s a remarkable woman. My sister and I owe her debt of gratitude. She interposed her body, you know, when the brute struck. She told him that was enough.’

  Henderson nodded. Of course she had. ‘I was only trying to help,’ he said weakly. ‘I worried she had come to harm.’

  Calcott took his place at the other side of the fire. His auburn hair had resisted his ministrations and flopped across his face. ‘She’s right, though, isn’t she? It isn’t your place.’

  The innkeeper returned with two tankards.

  ‘I made ’em sweet, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Now, if there’s anything else, just shout on little Eleanor. She’s behind the bar. I’m off to bed. There’s a free room, sir, at the end of the corridor. The only one we have left, as it happens.’

  Henderson took a deep draw on the brandy as the innkeeper retreated. After the long ride, the hot, sweet drink tasted delicious. He needed something to pick him up. He had been humiliated, and he felt it.

  ‘Quite a ride in the dark, I imagine,’ Calcott said jovially. ‘Not sure I’d risk it. You were lucky, old man. The robbers are still out there, you know.’

  Henderson rallied. He might have been proved foolish, but he wasn’t a coward. ‘A man on a horse doesn’t carry much. From their point of view, it’s probably best to wait till daylight and pick on a fancy coach. I take it you have a fancy coach, Mr Calcott?’

  Calcott laughed. ‘You like her, don’t you?’ He drank deeply. ‘Well, she’ll never forgive you for this. You made her look ridiculous.’

  Henderson’s stomach turned. The fellow was quite right. He wasn’t on board the ship now, with only the crew to notice. Maria had been furious. He’d made a serious error of judgement.

  *

  Aboard the Bittersweet, long past midnight, the lamps strung on deck shifted in the swell. Three men had fallen asleep aft and one of them was quietly snoring. In the gloom, Clarkson was showing Richard Fry how to throw a knife, spinning the sharp point towards a target. Richard’s face displayed a beatific expression as the blade sailed through the air and embedded itself deep in the side of a wooden barrel marked with chalk.

  ‘That barrel is about the size of a man’s body,’ Clarkson pointed out. ‘If you can hit it, then you can land a fellow. Kill him stone dead,’ he said pleasantly, retrieving the knife and handing it over. ‘Go on, have a try.’

  Richard tried not to imagine what his mother would make of the exercise, though the spectre of her disapproval pleased him tremendously. He found his balance and eyed the barrel, drawing the knife back over his shoulder before letting it fly.

  ‘That’s a good shot,’ Clarkson said delightedly as the tip found its mark.

  The boy as good as beamed. Fry let the knife fly a second time and grinned when it embedded itself more deeply. ‘Practice makes perfect, eh?’

  A balmy breeze shifted the lamps. Two sailors took their places on watch, nodding at Clarkson as they passed.

  ‘Shore leave tomorrow, Sandy,’ the mate said cheerily to one of them. ‘You going to find yourself a woman?’

  The other sailor laughed as his fellow squirmed. Almost six foot tall and wiry, Sandy could climb the rigging like a monkey, but he was shy with the girls. He took up his position overlooking the dockside without gracing the company with an answer.

  Richard leaned against one of the barrels stacked at the mizzen.

  ‘And you, sir,’ Clarkson enquired. ‘Will you be leaving us soon?’

  Fry shrugged. He didn’t want to. He was supposed to visit the Gowers, his cousins who resided across town in Marylebone, a far more respectable parish than Greenwich. Their home was a pleasant place, but the boy had not come to make social calls and small talk. The rough conversation below decks and the opportunity to see up close how the crew lived was far more compelling. He liked this side of the big city. It was sophisticated, even if it was rough. During the daytime, you could hear French spoken where the immigrants gathered. Jews spoke Spanish on the market stalls and he’d caught snatches of Gaelic where the ragged, stinking Irish picked up what work they could, mostly in the building trade or as stevedores, unloading cargo if they were lucky. In the evening, he’d heard you could find a whore talk in whichever tongue you wanted. Even Latin, if you were so inclined. Richard was not a papist, but he was still intrigued. He let the knife fly once more and again it found its mark.

  ‘Have you ever killed a man, Mr Clarkson?’

  Clarkson crossed his arms. ‘Hardly a man on board hasn’t,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘Travelling’s rough. One voyage last year, we lost two men in separate brawls – one tavern or another. They get fired up on rum, see. You need to practise.’ He nodded at the pockmarked barrel. ‘That is, if you’re considering going to sea.’

  Richard’s interest wasn’t in seafaring. He was playing at being a sailor, but he’d die at home in his bed, he was sure. The thing was, he wanted to taste real life – the livid scars and the thick-fingered competence of the crew had given him a flavour for it. Like a child with a new toy, he didn’t want to quit the ship before he’d heard every story.

  ‘Do you think the captain might take me with him on his errand? Do you know where he’s gone?’

  ‘That’d be his lookout. He’s the captain,’ Clarkson said.

  The mate was sociable, But he was unlikely to confide in this scrap of a lad. Fry launched the knife at the barrel once more.

  ‘I’m getting the hang of it,’ he said. ‘It’s all in the balance.’

  23

  Back at the inn

  In White Waltham, the atmosphere the next morning over breakfast was strained. Maria wouldn’t look Henderson in the eye and, having spent the rest of the night considering the captain’s actions, she remained fuming. The party sat in silence over a table laid with bread, cooked ham and warm ale. Augustus alone was bluff, checking outside and reporting that it was a fine June morning.

  ‘Let’s get you back to Kensington,’ he said to his sister, gently placing a long woollen wrap around her shoulders. As their heads moved together, Henderson noticed a striking family resemblance – hazel eyes, dark auburn hair and a complexion that particularly suited green. ‘If we start now we should make it home for a late luncheon.’

  There was, of course, no luggage. Maria only had her papers, which lay on the table, and the clothes she had been wearing for some days – the grey travelling dress and short black boots. Augustus tipped generously on the ladies’ behalf, for the inn had hired them linens.

  ‘Did you save both manuscripts then?’ Henderson tried.

  Maria nodded. ‘And the letter of introduction to the bank.’ She smiled. ‘The fellow who robbed us couldn’t read. He didn’t know the difference.’

  ‘Capital, isn’t it?’ said Augustus. ‘And, madam, you must allow me, in gratitude for what you did, to replace one of your lost outfits at our expense. An evening dress, perhaps? Miss Calcott uses a wonderful dressmaker not far from us at the Gravel Pits. I know it doesn’t sound promising, but they have tremendous satins. It would be my pleasure to arrange a fitting and, if you will permit me, to pick a colour.’

  Henderson turned, expecting Maria to object. ‘Mrs Graham is very independent, sir,’
he said.

  ‘I’d be delighted.’ Maria smiled. ‘How very kind of you, Augustus.’

  There was an awkward silence. Maria eyed the captain, her gaze unfaltering. This prompted the Calcotts to rise and see the carriage was brought round. They had a coachman, who had slept in the stable and was now readying the horses.

  ‘Augustus says you’ll never forgive me,’ the captain admitted when they’d gone.

  Maria stared blankly. ‘You mentioned last night that Murray was expecting me. How do you know, Captain Henderson?’

  ‘I paid a visit. We docked at Greenwich two days ago. I thought you would be in town and I half hoped to find you there.’

  ‘You went looking for me at Mr Murray’s Albemarle Street address?’

  ‘Yes. You said I might call on you and I had hoped to engage Mr Murray in conversation about botanical concerns. It occurred to me I might write something. A book perhaps. About chocolate.’

  Maria’s eyes hardened further. ‘You have no sense of etiquette, do you?’

  ‘I left England when I was twelve years of age.’

  ‘Please don’t call for me at John Murray’s offices again. The permission to call on a lady is at her own address, Captain Henderson, not that of her friends, or her publisher. Once, you promised not to harm me. I want to be clear that this is harm, sir. Going there. Coming here.’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘You stand to ruin my reputation in London before I even return.’

  ‘If I was wrong, I’m sorry, but—’

  Maria cut in savagely. ‘Of course it was wrong, James. Don’t you understand? I trade upon my reputation. It’s almost as if you wish I’d found trouble and that only you would be able to remedy. If you continue the same way, people will talk. When you call for me at John Murray’s, it smacks of the lapdog, James. It reeks of an illicit affair and they will sniff that out. Can’t you see that your uncalled-for intrusion last night would have been the end of me in normal circumstances? And how would you replace the life I have? Publication? Respect? My own money? No – you’d have me marry a reformed smuggler. A liaison from which neither of us could possibly benefit. You must be sensible. If you disgrace me, I lose everything. If you disgrace me, how can I help you rise? How quickly might we both tire of that? I want the best for both of us, and your reckless behaviour will give it to neither. I’m lucky the Calcotts are so decent. They’ve promised not to breathe a word. They are acquainted with my aunt, of course.’