‘Nonsense,’ said Captain Barlow. ‘I’d shoot you, rather than give you up, Miss Vannick. But don’t you think you are being unnecessarily gloomy? Of course Sultan Mahmoud’s got his messengers out today. I expect they’ve been riding all night, on every road from Constantinople. But surely they must have more urgent affairs than the question of two women? The Sultan declared war on the better part of his army yesterday. The Corps of Janissaries are spread throughout his empire. Naturally, he’ll want to send first news of their dissolution, to arrange, I suppose, a series of murderous scenes like yesterday’s. I’m not sure the messenger you saw isn’t a good omen for us. Don’t you see? By the time we get to the Dardanelles, the news will be out. If there are Janissaries on guard duty there—which I should think there are bound to be—they’ll have other things to think of than stopping one private yacht. And it apparently on fire, too.’
‘I do hope you’re right,’ she said. ‘But you must promise me, both of you, that if the worst should happen, you will give me up.’
‘We’ll promise nothing,’ said Renshaw. ‘Naturally, in a crisis, Captain Barlow must do what he thinks best for the safety of his ship and crew. He’s got more sense than to bind himself with promises.’
Just because it was so reasonable, she found his answer infuriating. ‘I must see if my aunt is awake.’ She met Renshaw’s man, Price, at the foot of the companion-way, and stopped to thank him for the trouble he had taken over her clothes.
‘That’s all right, miss. I was sure you wouldn’t want to be wearing Mr. Renshaw’s any longer than you must.’ His eyes met hers with a look that spoke respectful volumes. ‘And, besides, that’s a very practical rig-out for a young lady on board ship, if you’ll excuse me saying so. Skirts is all very fine on dry land, but there’s nothing like—ahem—gentlemen’s wear when it comes to the sea breezes. In fact, I hope you won’t take it amiss, but I’ve made so bold as to ask around among the crew. We was on shore at Hydra, see, just for half a day and I reckoned some of them would have come back with sourveneers like. And sure enough Mr. Brown—him as minds the engines—had bought an outfit for his daughter. It’s much like what you have on, miss, only a very becoming shade of dark blue. Mr. Brown said he’d be honoured if you’d accept of it, to make a change like. And you won’t mind me valeting you, till the master can arrange something more suitable?’
She had faced death dry-eyed, but this unforced kindness overset her completely. ‘Mr. Price, you’re an angel.’ Her eyes were aswim with tears. ‘Please thank Mr. Brown a thousand times for me and tell him I’ll be proud to wear his daughter’s costume—and will replace it as soon as I am able. As for valeting—’ She smiled at him mistily. ‘It’s wonderfully kind of you, but I’m an American, you know. I’ve never had a maid. I can look after myself, thank you just the same—and my aunt, too.’
‘I’m sure you can, miss, but not on this ship, you mustn’t. If you’ll excuse the liberty. It’d be much easier, all round, if I was to look after you, see?’ His pale, intelligent face was telling her much more than he could say.
‘ “When in Rome, do as the Romans” you mean? Thank you, Mr. Price. I think I understand. Only, it will be so much trouble for you—’
‘Nonsense, miss.’ It was what everyone seemed to say to her this morning. ‘It will be a pleasure. Only, you’ll not mind my telling you—not “Mr. Price”—just “Price”.’
‘Oh dear!’ And then, the tears suddenly too much for her, ‘Price! Could you possibly lend me your pocket handkerchief?’
‘I’d be honoured.’ It was perfectly clean, and both whiter and softer than any linen she had ever felt, so that she found herself wildly wondering whether he carried a special one (doubtless Brett Renshaw’s) for the succouring of damsels in distress. But he had another question for her. ‘And now, about the saloon, and meals?’
‘Oh yes!’ she was delighted to have this point raised. ‘You must go on just as usual, Price. Mr. Renshaw and Captain Barlow eat in the saloon do they?’
‘Mostly, miss, except when Mr. Renshaw is in the glooms, if you understand me. Then the captain’s been eating with Mr. Brown. It’s a bit difficult, on a small boat like this, you understand, to keep things as they should be, but I hope I do my best.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ She was suddenly aware of a delicious aroma of coffee mingling with the familiar, indefinable smell of ship. ‘Is it breakfast time now?’
‘Just on, miss.’
‘Then come right in and get on with it. I’m sure my aunt will be up by now, and anyway you mustn’t let us make any difference to the way you run things. We’ve our own cabin, when we want it—or rather poor Mr. Renshaw’s.’
‘Don’t you trouble yourself about him,’ said Price comfortably. ‘A bit of distraction was just what he needed. But if I could come and lay the table?’
‘Of course.’ Opening the saloon door, she found her aunt up and dressed in her durable black. She had drawn the curtains at the stern windows so that morning sunshine flooded the big, untidy room, and was looking with disapproval at the dust it revealed.
‘Mr. Price!’ She greeted him with enthusiasm. ‘The very person. I’m sure you could find me a duster?’
‘Presently, ma’am. I’m afraid things ain’t quite as shipshape as I could have wished in here, but maybe Mr. Renshaw won’t mind if you do a bit of tidying.’ It was both apology and warning.
What an admirable creature he was, Phyllida thought. ‘Who cares about a little dust?’ she said cheerfully. ‘Frankly, breakfast is my main consideration. Would it be right, do you think, Price, if I were to ask you to invite Mr. Renshaw and the captain to do us the honour of joining us for it?’
‘It would be quite right, miss.’ He looked at her, now, with approval. ‘I’ll pass the word to the cook, right away, and then deliver your message.’
* * *
That day seemed endless. Confined to the saloon, Phyllida pretended a calm cheerfulness she was very far from feeling. She racked her brain for some expedient that might save them all. It was no use. If she were to slip over the side, and swim for it, her aunt’s presence would still condemn the others if a search were made. And what foolishness to have swum for it, and very likely drowned, if Captain Barlow was right, and there was no search.
Her bitterest regret was that she had lost her carefully hoarded stock of opium while escaping from the Seraglio. It had got wet when she swam out to the boat she had stolen, disintegrated into a sodden mess in the pocket of her trousers, and been carefully washed out by Price. Whatever happened, the Turks must not catch her alive. What had Barlow said: ‘I’d shoot you myself—’ So that was all right…
She was distracted by Miss Knight’s voice. ‘Look! There’s someone riding along the shore. Isn’t it one of the Sultan’s men?’
Another messenger. ‘I believe so.’ She made her voice casual. ‘Captain Barlow says the Sultan will be sending in all directions, today, to order the murder of the rest of the Janissaries.’
‘You don’t think it’s about us?’
‘I hope not.’
This messenger, too, was pulling slowly ahead of the ship, and she could not help wondering whether Captain Barlow’s plan of waiting till dusk to approach the Dardanelles was wise. Suppose it merely gave the Turks time to prepare for their capture? No use thinking like that. She concentrated on the view of undulating green hills from the cabin window, with here and there a mountainous island, rising sharply from the still water. The light was beginning to change at last, and the hills were closing in on the ship. The moment of crisis must be very near. Last time they came through the Dardanelles, she had been a helpless prisoner, locked in her cabin, so that though she could remember the ship’s being stopped, she had no idea where the Turkish strong-points actually were.
‘I’m sorry, Aunt, what did you say?’ She dragged her attention back to Cassandra.
‘I was wondering if they have check-points at both ends of the straits. I was asleep last time
. It seems extraordinary, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ What was there to say? ‘Aunt Cass, if we are stopped, tell them at once that you are English. It might make a difference.’
‘If we are stopped, child, I don’t think anything will make much difference.’
Chapter 4
‘If we could only do something!’ Phyllida stopped short at the sound of rushing feet on the deck above them. ‘What’s going on up there?’
Miss Knight was reading a Bible Price had produced for her. She put in a careful finger to mark her place. ‘I expect we’ll know soon enough.’
‘It sounds as if something were wrong.’ Phyllida opened the saloon door and peered out into the empty passage-way, now lit by hanging lanterns. The engines’ clanking sounded louder than usual and there was a strong smell of hot metal. ‘Thank goodness, here’s Price.’ She moved aside to let him enter with a loaded tea-tray. ‘What’s going on, Price?’
‘Nothing to fret you ladies.’ But there were black smudges on his usually immaculate white jacket. ‘I thought you might like a cup of tea to pass the time.’ He set the ornate silver pot on the table in front of Miss Knight. ‘Mr. Renshaw and the captain are staying on deck. They send their excuses.’
It seemed unlikely to Phyllida, but she was grateful for the intention of his lie. ‘Where are we, Price?’
‘Pretty close now, miss.’ He did not pretend not to understand her. ‘We’ll be under their guns any minute. Terrible poor shots, they are, the Turks, by all reports. If you ask me, our greatest danger is that they’ll hit us by accident. If they try to stop us at all, which I doubt. You never saw such a head of smoke as we’re making, and sparks flying in all directions. Captain Barlow’s got all the crew that can be spared from the engines out on deck damping down.’
‘I wish we could help,’ said Phyllida impulsively.
‘Don’t think of it, miss.’ It was a warning. ‘You just stay here and drink your tea and don’t fret. A few hours now and we’ll be out in the Aegean, laughing at the Turks.’ He moved over to the stern windows. ‘Captain Barlow said I was to make sure you had the curtains drawn nice and tight.’
Phyllida smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, Price, we won’t try to look out.’
‘There’s nothing to see anyway. Not yet.’ He lifted his head at the sound of another rush of feet on the deck above. ‘I think I’d best be going, if you’ll excuse me, ladies. The sparks is flying pretty free up there. But nothing to worry about, of course. Captain Barlow is a gentleman it’s a pleasure to sail with.’
‘Just so long as the boilers don’t burst,’ said Phyllida.
‘That’s what Mr. Brown says—’He stopped short, looking at her with respect. ‘You know about these steam engines, miss?’
‘Enough to know ours oughtn’t to smell the way it does right now.’
‘But look at the pretty turn of speed we’re doing. Mr. Brown says he reckons we’re beating every record. He was on The Rising Star, you know, before she left for Chile. She could do twelve knots on a good day, but he says we’ve got her beaten to a fare-thee-well. They’ll need wings to catch us, and pretty sharp shooting to hit us, so you drink your tea, ladies, and count on me to let you know if there’s anything you need to know.’
And with that they had to be content. Miss Knight lifted the heavy teapot. ‘Cream and sugar, Phyl?’
Phyllida was studying the meal Price had provided. ‘What a man, Aunt! Any minute now, we’re going to be sunk by gunfire, or blown up by a bursting boiler, and he’s brought us cucumber sandwiches and three kinds of cake. I wish the English were all like him.’
‘Poor Mr. Renshaw,’ said Cassandra.
* * *
But up on deck, Brett was enjoying himself. ‘This is more like living,’ he shouted to Barlow, as the Helena surged through the darkness, sparks flying in all directions, and the deck hot underfoot near the funnel. ‘Price!’ He saw his man emerge from the companion-way. ‘Fetch a bucket and damp the deck round the funnel here.’ And then. ‘Are your charges behaving themselves?’
‘Good as gold, sir. Drinking tea like the ladies they are.’ If it was a rebuke, it was delicately administered.
‘Good.’ He turned away to help fight a fresh shower of sparks on the after-deck. ‘We don’t want them burned to death in the saloon.’ A quick glance at the belching funnel. ‘You don’t think Brown is over-doing it, Barlow?’
‘I hope not, sir. Look! Here they come!’
The Turkish boat was putting out from where a cluster of lights showed ahead. Lanterns at prow and stern showed the banks of rowers bending to their oars. ‘Give me the trumpet,’ said Brett. ‘I’m going to speak first.’
‘First?’ Puzzled, Barlow handed him the speaking trumpet.
‘Yes.’ The two ships were closing swiftly now. ‘Attack is the best mode of defence.’ And then, in stentorian Turkish through the trumpet: ‘Help, there! We’re on fire! We’re going to blow up any minute. Throw us a line, for pity’s sake, and help us slow down.’
A quick order in Turkish and the rowers backed water, holding the galley a little way off. ‘What ship?’
‘English. Stop us, for God’s sake, we’re out of control. Here, you,’ to Barlow, ‘get ready to throw them a line. It might just save us.’ A fresh shower of sparks gave point to his words.
It also seemed to make up the Turks’ minds. Another order, and then a shouted command. ‘Keep off!’
It was hardly necessary. In the short time they had talked, the Helena had surged forward through the straits. The Turkish galley was already well astern when they saw her turn and head back for the lights on shore.
‘Oh, well done, sir,’ said Barlow.
Brett laughed. ‘A lively scene for Childe Renshaw’s Pilgrimmage! With an apology to Lord Byron, of course. If only life could be all action, Barlow, I might be a happy man.’
‘We’ve got action aplenty now, sir, if you ask me. Just look at those sparks! Shall I send below and tell Brown to damp down his engines?’
‘No! Not till we’re through the straits.’ He laughed, and quoted: ‘ “Pleasure and action make the hours seem short”.’
* * *
Down in the cabin, time passed more slowly. ‘Oh God, who’d be a woman!’ said Phyllida. ‘Always waiting…’ And then, ‘I know.’ She crossed the saloon quickly and for one horrified moment her aunt was afraid she was going to draw the curtains and look out. But she was merely looking for something in the shelves under the stern windows. ‘Look! I noticed it this morning.’ She came back with a chess board and a box containing an elaborate, carved set. ‘Black or white, Aunt?’ She laughed. ‘Can you really believe that Helena played chess? Or do you think that poor man intended to teach her?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know.’ Disapprovingly. ‘And I’m sure you ought not to speak of her like that.’
‘Of Helena? But we don’t know any other name for her, do we? Would you like me to ask Price?’
‘No, Phyllida, I would not. Nor am I at all sure whether Mr. Renshaw would like us to be playing with his chessmen.’
‘Then he should be down here entertaining us,’ said Phyllida, arranging pawns. ‘Aren’t they beauties, Aunt? Do you think he had them specially made for her?’
‘Probably,’ said her aunt repressively. ‘And all the more reason why he should not find us amusing ourselves with them.’
‘Amusing ourselves! Aunt Cass, do you happen to remember that two days ago we were slaves in the Sultan’s harem? That I was expecting momently to have to kill myself rather than submit to his “passion”? And that, right now, we are careering down the Dardanelles so fast that if there are islands in the way we will probably run into one of them—if the boiler doesn’t settle our business by blowing up first? Don’t you mind the idea of death? I hate it. I’ve so much living to do. How can I bear the idea of ending here, in the dark, with so much that I’ve never seen, never thought, never done? Do you know, sometimes, in the harem, I wondered if it m
ight not be better to live, whatever happened, to be the Sultan’s toy, his amusement, his drab— Oh, I’m sorry—’ She answered her aunt’s horrified expression. ‘But don’t you see, here I am, twenty-seven and never lived. To die would be so wasteful.’
‘I don’t know what you mean, child.’ Her aunt chose the easiest point to answer. ‘Never lived? What in the world would your poor father say?’
‘Father?’ She thought about it for a moment, then smiled. ‘I think he would understand. Why do you think he brought me? He saw there was no way I could really live at home. A woman? A thing! For a man to play with, and get children by: never, never to talk to.’ She laughed, suddenly. ‘I suppose one should give the devil his due, after all. Can you imagine an American husband planning to teach his bride chess? I just wish I knew whether Mr. Renshaw had consulted Helena. Oh!’ The saloon door had opened behind her, and she was aware, just too late, of Brett Renshaw himself. ‘Mr. Renshaw! You startled me. I do hope you don’t mind my appropriating your beautiful chess set to help us pass the time.’ She was babbling, and knew it, but in face of his white and, momentarily, silent rage what else was there to do? ‘I beg your pardon,’ she went on, absurdly, and, her aunt thought, almost pitifully.
‘I beg yours, Miss Vannick, for intruding on your privacy. I merely came to tell you we are out of danger for the time being, but from your tone I collect you were already aware of it. I won’t intrude on you further. Your servant, ma’am.’ His bow, formal, and oddly final, was for Aunt Cass.
‘Oh dear!’ Phyllida moved a pawn at random. ‘He’s very angry.’
‘And I don’t blame him,’ said her aunt roundly. ‘I hope you’re ashamed of yourself, Phyl, because I certainly am.’ And then, as Phyllida dissolved, suddenly, into tears. ‘Oh, darling, I’m sorry!’
‘So am I. How could I be so stupid, so heartless…’ She delved into the pocket of her tunic, produced the handkerchief Price had lent her earlier in the day and blew her nose. Then, looking at it: ‘It’s even his handkerchief! I wish I was dead.’
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