by Celia Rees
'Father?' I stepped forward to remind him of my presence.
'Is a husband found for you?'
I shook my head.
'Prospects? In your mother's last letter, she had hopes of someone ... '
I saw James Calthorpe's bloody nose and shook my head.
'Good. Good.' He rubbed his hands as though warming them. 'These younger sons – they've not got a pot to piss in. Never mind that they're aristocratic. No point in throwing good money after bad. So you're not committed?'
'Well, not exactly
'What do you mean?' He looked at me sharply. 'Speak plain.'
I took a deep breath, determined to tell him and get it over. Hope surged within me. If I played my cards correctly, I might marry William directly. It would be one less expense for him. It was a way of getting me off his hands.
I did not play my hand well.
'I'm promised.'
'Oh?' His eyes narrowed. 'Who to?'
'William. He was in Bath. We met and 'William? What William?'
'William Davies. You know him.'
He rubbed the stubble on his chin. 'Father used to captain the Andrew and John? Mother keeps The Seven Stars?'
'Yes. That's him. He's ... '
'A sailor. You'll not marry a tar.'
'He's not a tar. He's a naval officer.'
'Naval officer!' My father gave a short bark of a laugh. 'He's still a tar. They all are.'
'But we're promised
'Not now you're not. You can't marry without my permission and I'm not giving it.' He read the expression on my face. 'Think me harsh, do you? Think me cruel? Go and ask the widows and orphans of Bristol, let them tell you what's cruel. I've lost everything. Everything!' His voice was trembling. 'What ships I have left will have to be sold to repay the debt. Do you understand?' He stood up and came towards me. 'You would do your part, wouldn't you? If I asked you to. For me? For the family?' He touched my cheeks, his fingers tracing over my skin with an old man's tremor.
'Of course, Papa!' I had no idea what he was talking about, no idea what I was promising, but his distress and sudden infirmity frightened me. What else could I say?
'Good girl! My good girl. My Nancy! Always honest and true! Your brother Joseph has turned out a sot and a waster, but I knew I could depend on you. You are my daughter and you will do your duty.' He leaned on to the side of the desk, edging his way back to his chair, going hand over hand, like a man on a tilting deck. 'I have one chance left,' he said as he dropped into his seat. 'One chance, and one chance only.'
He muttered the words with his chin sunk into his chest, so they sounded slightly slurred. Then he looked up at me, his mood changed, his old self snapped back again.
'There will be no more talk of marrying sailors. I'm expecting a guest at dinner. Make sure you've lost that sulky expression by then, Miss. It's enough to sour milk. I want you at your most charming. I want you looking your best. Tell Susan. Now send Joseph to me. We must see what we can salvage from this mess.'
The destruction at sea had been general; my father was not the only one to suffer. His, however, was the greatest loss. A whole convoy had gone down, its crews drowned, its cargoes hauled away by wreckers or dissolving in the waters of the Channel. The only ships my father had left were those that had been in port, or far off abroad and not expected home for a long while.
'It's all over Bristol. Only one ship saved out of the whole lot coming in,' Susan told me when she came back from town. 'Crewed by foreigners, all dark-skinned fellows, with gold in their ears and coal-black ringlets. Not a jack of them speaks a word of English. Came through the storm with hardly a sail torn or a spar broken. Must have been captained by the Devil himself, that's what they are saying in the port.'
The harbourside gossips were nearer to the truth than they could have ever guessed.
The mysterious captain of the sole surviving ship was to be our dinner guest, but the dinner was never given. The roast beef my father loved so much charred on the spit; the plum pudding he'd ordered to be made boiled away on the stove until it was as solid as a cannonball. My hair was half brushed, spread about my shoulders, when we heard a scream from downstairs and the sound of pounding feet, then further cries and shouting from all around the house.
I was not yet dressed, so Susan ran out to see what could have happened to cause such a commotion. She came back slowly, her thin face pale and pinched.
'What is it, Susan?' I turned from the mirror. 'Whatever is the matter?'
'It's your father, Miss,' she said quietly, her eyes filling with tears. 'He's been took badly. They're bringing him upstairs now.'
I ran from my room, still in my corset. Robert and the footman were carrying my father between them. His head lay slumped against Robert's chest, one hand hung down, knocking against the banisters. I ran to help, taking his arm by the sleeve. It was limp and heavy as I lifted it on to his chest. His face was grey and his jaw hung slack. The cheek towards me was puckered, lifted as if by a giant hook. His eye was half open, the white suffused with blood.
'Is he – ' I looked up at Robert, who shook his head, frowning as if to say, 'Not yet.'
'The doctor's been called for.'
They took him to his room and Robert laid him down as gently as if he were a sleeping child. He stood for a moment, looking down at him. He sent the footman away and asked for warm water and clean linen. I left him tending to his master, tears in his eyes.
"Tis apoplexy, the Missis says,' Susan told me. 'Her last husband was took with it. She knows the signs.'
The doctor came and shook his head. There was nothing he could do. Most people thought Mrs Wilkes might go to pieces, but after the first shock she kept her head. She sent for Henry to come from London, and Ned from his regiment.
It took my father three days to die, so they both arrived in time to say their goodbyes. We were called to his bedside when it seemed he couldn't last much longer. Henry and Joseph were already there, standing each side of him. I stood at the end of the bed, Ned next to me, listening to each shallow whistling breath, counting the seconds between them, wondering if there would be another. Just as it seemed that he could last no longer, his hand gripped Henry's sleeve and he pulled his son to him. Joseph and Flenry bent down, their ears close to his mouth. His words were slurred, his voice a hoarse bird caw. I could not hear what he said, but they both nodded.
'We promise, Father,' they said together.
His hand went slack and he turned his head away from them. He never spoke again.
Outside the house, straw was strewn in the drive to deaden the sound of hooves and wheels. Inside, the mirrors were turned, shutters closed and curtains drawn. My father lay in his coffin in the dining room, surrounded by tall clear-burning beeswax candles, Robert standing over him in quiet vigil. Men came to see my brothers, to pay their respects and offer condolences. They spoke in murmurs and stepped softly, but many were owed money and they were anxious to know what would happen to their investment. Business wouldn't wait, even for the funeral. Henry offered them Bristol Milk and cake along with placating words and reassurances that all was well. They drank their sherry, brushed the crumbs from their waistcoats and agreed to give Henry a little more time to order his father's affairs.
'That's all I need,' he said. ‘Just a little while.'
After they had gone, he'd retire to the library to spend hours bent over the books, looking at agreements. He would come out hollow-eyed, and drawn. We were ruined; no two ways about it. Only a miracle could save us. The creditors would wait until after the funeral, but after that they would take it all.
I do not know to whom he prayed, hut our saviour was the foreign sea captain who had come through the storm unscathed. Bartholome, the Brazilian, came ro our house the day before the funeral. His very presence set everyone talking and whispering in corners. The man was a mystery. Nothing was known about him. It was as if he had sprung up among us like a devil from a trap door, brandishing a pitch fork. No one even knew his full name.
Legend gathered around him, swirling about him like a great black cloak. Flis age, the country of his birth, his early history, were all unknown. Even his looks were deceptive. He must have been as old as my father, but he looked much younger. He wore no wig and the thick black hair failing to his shoulders had no grey in it. There was no surplus flesh upon him and his face was curiously ageless. His prominent features seemed carved from some hard wood. His thin moustache and beard were clipped close as though they had been painted on to his dark skin.
He had been a buccaneer and had acquired fabulous wealth during his years as a freebooter, that was all Bristol knew. To us, he was a planter with a colourful past. He had used his booty to buy land and his Jamaican holding was next to ours. My father had been in business with him for many years, providing slaves and acting as factor for his sugar. He'd been a guest at our house before, and now he'd come to offer his condolences and something more. He spent hours locked away with my brothers and when he left, he took our troubles with him.
I met them in the hall just as the Brazilian wras leaving.
'Miss Nancy.' He bowed to me. 'I'm so charmed to see you again, even at this sad time.' He took my hand. His long fingers were heavy with rings, square-cut rubies and emeralds. He stood looking down at me with eyes so black as to show no pupil. They held a gleam of red, almost purple, like overripe cherries, or deadly nightshade berries. 'I am truly sorry for your loss,' he murmured as he lifted my hand to his mouth. 'Whatever assistance I can give ... '
His lips were warm and moist inside the close-clipped soft silkmess of his beard and moustache. It was like being caressed by a panther. I had to steel myself not to snatch my hand away.
'Thank you, Sir. You are most kind.'
'The last time we met you were but a child ... ' He smiled, his red lips parting to show a gap between his front teeth. A gap shows lust, so Susan said.
'Yes, I remember.'
I'd been thirteen, maybe fourteen. Hardly a child.
'Now you are quite the young lady.' His eyes left my face.
'As you see.' I looked down at myself.
When he smiled, the skin around his eyes wrinkled, betraying his age. He continued to stare at me expectantly, but I could think of nothing more to say. Then he seemed to recollect himself.
'Yes, Sirs.' He turned to my brothers and shook hands with them. 'We do well. Very well.'
I assumed he was referring to whatever had been agreed, and that it would be enough to save the business. My brothers shook his hand warmly and saw him out. I suspected nothing, although they would have been laughing if my father had not still been in the house. They were talking loudly about getting cargoes in and of buying ships again. I felt glad, I remember, relieved. I might even have felt grateful to the Brazilian for helping us out, for showing such generosity.
When I think of it now, my innocence makes me shudder.
The next day, my father was to be buried at St Mary Redcliffe, the church that he had attended since he was a boy. He'd never missed a Sunday when he was in Bristol; now he'd be there for ever more.
The church was dim and gloomy. Black clouds outside threatened more rain and brought darkness to the early afternoon. The candles were lit, their flames guttering as more mourners entered. The only splash of brightness was Ned's red jacket; then, as I turned round, my eyes caught a glitter and spark. Bartholome had come in behind us. Halfway to the altar, he dropped to one knee in genuflection. The diamond cross he wore on his chest swung out, catching the candlelight and shining like a constellation of stars in the gloomy aisle. People shook their heads in disbelief and disgust. No one had done such a thing here for more than a hundred years. Nostrils flared at this whiff of popery and the God-fearing folk of Bristol turned away in disapproval. Bartholome seemed unconcerned and, when he saw me staring, he smiled, his gap-tooth grin white against his black beard. Susan dug me in the back, as if I needed reminding not to gawk about at my father's funeral.
The service was over quickly. We were soon all filing out into the driving rain. Only my father remained behind, soon to lie under the flagstones where all men walked.
My brothers had commissioned an alabaster plaque to be carved, with no cost spared. The design was to be of things to do with the sea and the plantation: ships, sugar cane, kneeling slaves. There was to be a weeping fountainhead at the top, the mark of my father's business, and a skull in the corner, like on the other memorials: a reminder that death comes to us all.
The will was read in my father's study. I was not yet sixteen, and not invited to attend. Henry and Joseph were appointed my joint guardians. Henry was to take over the business in Bristol, with Joseph going to Jamaica. They quarrelled about that as they had quarrelled about everything else since they were boys. Henry prevailed just as he always did. Besides, it was father's will. Even Joseph would not defy his dying wish, although it left him angry and resentful, muttering that Henry had always been Father's favourite and had the best of everything. I almost felt sorry for him, but when I offered my sympathy, he told me to save it for myself.
'You're coming with me. Didn't you know?'
I had no idea. The shock I showed at the news quite cheered him.
'Why? Why should I go?'
He put his hands together in mock prayer. 'Father's will.'
I was living in a house of secrets. Everyone knew more than I did. Even Susan.
I went in search of her, and found her in my bedroom sorting through my summer clothes.
'I'm sorry for it, Miss Nancy, I truly am. It'll not be the same with you gone.'
'You knew, didn't you?'
Susan nodded.
'Why did you not tell me?'
'I was told not to.' She busied herself folding and refolding one of my dresses.
'But why?'
'In case ... in case you ran away – '
'Ran away!' I sat down on the bed, mystified. 'Where would I go?'
'I'm sure I couldn't say ... ' Susan looked at her hands. She was hiding something else. I could tell by her face.
'Well?'
'The Missis thought you might panic and bolt off.'
'Who with? Where to?'
'With William. 'Twasn't me, Miss.' She hurried on. 'Honest. I never said a word, but she's got eyes in her head. She seen you with him at Bath.'
'I've not even heard from him.'
Pride made it hard for me to admit this, for I had expected word from him and that hope had been the only bright spot in all this grey misery, but every day my hope had faded. Now its stock was almost nothing.
'I dare say it's for the best,' Susan said, with a false jollity. 'You'll probably meet some young planter out there with pots of money.'
'I don't want any young planter.' I stared at her. 'You know something else, don't you? What is it, Susan? Tell me!'
She looked at me, obviously in two minds.
'He called.'
'When?'
'Just before the Master was took bad.'
'Why was I not told?'
'Been forgotten in all the confusion.' She hesitated, unsure whether to go on. 'There was a note, though,' she said, finally. 'From him.'
I felt my expectation unfurling from the place where I had folded it away.
'When? What did it say?'
'T'other day. What it said, I couldn't say. Missis got hold of it and threw it in the back of the fire. Said that what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you. Notes from him would only put ideas in your head and encourage you to do summat stupid.'
'But you could still have told me!'
'She said if you found out, she'd know who'd told you, and she'd dismiss me.' Susan began to cry, dabbed at her eyes with her apron.
I reached for my writing things. 'Perhaps it's not too late. I could send a note to William.'
'There'd be no point.' Susan sniffed and shook her head. 'Navy left for Portsmouth this morning. Cook told me. Her Noah is serving on one of the ships. I am sorry, Miss, truly! But there's nothing you can do!'
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She was right. I could do nothing to prevent what was happening to me, so I helped to sort my summer clothes, taking them out of their presses ready to be packed into trunks. As I worked, I tried to put William out of my mind, but how could I? Where was he? What would he think of me? To send word, and yet to receive no reply? I certainly would have run away with him, if I had known, if the chance had been offered to me. My life seemed blighted. Bleak as a winter's day.
I didn't blame Susan. She had been a true friend, and I didn't want to think ill of her. I even gave her some trifles of jewellery: a pearl brooch that she'd always fancied, along with a coral necklace and matching earrings.
Perhaps Mrs Wilkes sensed a change in me, or perhaps she felt sorry now for what she had done, for that night she treated me differently. She poured chocolate from her special silver pot and talked about my new life in Jamaica and what would be expected of me. It was as if I had crossed some kind of line, some invisible divide between girl and womanhood.
'It's a shock for a young girl ... ' She paused, pleating her skirt with her fingers. 'Especially at first. Not at all what one expects. Takes some getting used to ... '
'I'm sure,' I said, thinking that she was still talking about life on a plantation.
'I'm the nearest thing you have to a mother, so it rests on me ... ' She paused again.
I looked at her expectantly. She was rarely at a loss for something to say.
'But he's hardly ever at home, so I hear,' she finished. 'So he shouldn't bother you over much.'
She hurried off to organise Susan and to supervise the last of the packing. I followed after her and the conversation went out of my mind. In the morning, I would be departing. I had other things to think about. Anyway, I thought that she was talking about Joseph. And since when had he bothered me?
It draws a bitter laugh, even now, to think that I was ever so naive.
8
I don't know how many days I kept to my cabin, confined by seasickness and general wretchedness. The steward, Abe Reynolds, came and went, bringing me food I couldn't even look at without wanting to heave.
'You got to eat, Miss,' he said, tugging at one of his long earlobes and looking aggrieved as I rejected yet another little delicacy meant to tempt me. 'Perhaps you're in need of some air. Ship's steady now. Wind's set fair. How about a turn on the deck? Other passengers find it quite a reviver.'