We laughed.
‘How does it come about that you and your brother are so very different?’ asked Lucy.
‘Now, as to temperament, I couldn’t say, but I believe the difference in our size is due entirely to the circumstances of my own birth. I was such a sickling, I was given up for dead. I was born unexpectedly, a six-month infant, and as it was high summer and no coffin was ready, my father ordered some receptacle provided in which they might bury me speedily. I was brought, washed and shrouded, to the library where my father and his clergyman cousin were waiting. My father said he folded back the cloth and observed that I was so tiny I resembled a manikin, the smallest of templates for a nine-month child, my head the size of an apple, my tiny buttocks no bigger than damsons. And the only coffin that could be found, late at night and at such short notice, was an old handleless warming-pan …’
‘A warming-pan?’
‘Yes, indeed, Lady Grey. It was polished and brought to my father by two of the household servants. He rested it on the library table, lifted the lid and placed me inside.
‘But the maid noticed my little chest moving. She screamed, crossed herself and cried out to the steward that I was still alive. My father snatched me from my brass coffin and instructed his cousin to baptise me at once. I have other, more illustrious, godparents, but my original sponsors were Cooper, the household steward, and Sanders, the second under-nursery maid.’
24th May 1860
The further south we sail, the more I feel the pull of the other side of the world and the harder I find it to turn my thoughts from Te Toa. At night, the stars hang low and dazzling in the canopy of the inky sky; the Southern Cross has replaced the North Star now, and I feel it drawing me back to the Antipodes …
To escape from such idle fancies, I left the deck and returned to my cabin where I was roused from a light slumber by Lucy’s tapping at my door. It was just after ten-thirty but she seemed in unusually high spirits. She said she had had one of her headaches and had been unable to sleep so she had taken a turn about the deck for some fresh air. And, as she stood at the rail, the Admiral had passed by. ‘I’ve been talking most delightfully with him, Fanny,’ she told me. ‘He’s fifty-one years old and his situation is so similar to my own. He’s childless, too. He lost his only little boy seventeen years ago but he says he feels the loss as keenly today.’
‘Your situations are not at all similar,’ I said very firmly. ‘You’re only thirty-seven years old and you have a husband.’
‘I have a husband in name only. You know yourself he has no love whatsoever for me. It was all lavished on Makareta.’
‘Makareta is dead,’ I told her. ‘You must put her from your mind.’
‘I cannot because he has not. That’s why he’s so gloomy, so withdrawn …’
‘He’s always retreated into black moods from time to time. He’ll recover.’
‘How can he recover? We’re going back to Cape Town where she’s buried. He will mourn at her graveside.’
‘You’re being dramatic, Lucy. He can’t possibly be seen to make such a pilgrimage. Think of how people would gossip. He would be ruined.’
‘I promise you, Fanny, I long to forget but I can’t. Such humiliation. To be put aside for a native mistress …’
Briefly, I saw Te Toa before me. ‘I don’t see why the fact she was a native should influence your feelings.’
‘But she wasn’t even beautiful or accomplished. What did he see in her?’
‘I can’t say, but you must lay aside these thoughts. You’re pitting yourself against a ghost.’
‘A ghost who has devoured Sir George.’
25th May 1860
I have just bid Lucy goodnight for the second time today. I am not at all easy in my mind. After dinner, when I was almost composed for sleep, she rapped on my door and came in flushed, her manner over-bright.
‘You’ll never guess, Fanny. I went out to the deck for a little air. It’s close in my cabin, you know — and there was the Admiral. He detests card games and prefers to be outdoors, he says. He asked to accompany me and we talked most agreeably. I told him Papa was one of Nelson’s captains and he said his greatest pride is that his first commission was signed by Admiral Hardy. Only think of it, Fanny! And your papa, too, knew Admiral Hardy, did he not?’ She sat down on my bunk. ‘Now say that the Admiral and I are not alike, if you will?’
‘You may be alike in some respects but not as much as you believe.’
She stood up and moved about restlessly. ‘It’s such a beautiful evening — the moon is throwing a path right across the sea. I told Sir Harry of the Maori belief that the souls of the dead walk along it to their final resting place.’
I remained silent.
‘He said it comforted him to think of his little boy on such a path to Heaven. And then, he recounted to me a most wonderful legend of the South Seas. He said the natives say that in the Pacific Ocean, far below the reach of the sun-shafts, lurks the giant octopus, a hideous thing with a beak of iron and tentacles half as long as the top-mast. It’s sightless and tracks its prey by scent alone, releasing a spray of blinding ink through which it seizes its unwitting victim.’
‘Has he seen one?’
‘No, but he’s often heard tell of it. The natives say that in springtime, on just such a soft night as this with scents drifting over the sea, the octopus rises from its dark lair, up through the moonlit water. It glides towards the seashore where the sweet-smelling breadfruit tree, the pandanus — you remember, Fanny — bends its blossoms to touch the ocean’s surface, and there … the horrid thing is lured, crazed, by the fragrance of the flowers. It hauls itself from the water, lumbers to the trunk of the pandanus, entwines itself around her and … makes … love to her.’
I sat speechless.
‘And after it is … spent, it falls exhausted back into the sea and doesn’t rise again for a full twelve-month. Isn’t that a remarkable story?’
‘Lucy, you’re speaking to the Admiral much too intimately for such a short acquaintance.’
‘You’re quite wrong. He was entirely respectful and polite. I can see you disapprove but, after all, my husband himself collects such legends.’
‘So you’ll recount this story to Sir George?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And why not? Because you know very well his jealousy and fury would be roused. Listen to me, Lucy, I implore you. You’re in grave danger if you continue to allow even such a harmless light-hearted dalliance with the Admiral to continue.’
‘My husband has no idea of where I am.’
‘The Forte is a very small community. People will gossip.’
‘They have no reason to. And why should my husband deny me the simple pleasure of congenial company? You know how cold and uncharitable he is to me, Fanny, and I promise you he has no cause whatsoever to reproach me. All I am guilty of is conversation.’
‘Sir George may consider it criminal conversation. I think you should meet Admiral Keppel again only if you’re accompanied.’
‘Then I must ask you to accompany me tomorrow evening. I’ve promised to join him on a perambulation about the deck. He will leave a note at my door as to the time and place. His cabin abuts mine, you know.’
‘I’m pleading with you, Lucy. Be sensible. Don’t antagonise Sir George.’
‘Well, since it pains you so, I’ll be prudent.’
At the cabin door, she paused and turned to me, her eyes still bright. ‘Have you noticed, Fanny, the daintiness and delicacy of the Admiral’s hands?’
1st June 1860
As we approach Rio, my old feelings of apprehension are mounting. This is ridiculous. I am being fanciful. Have I not travelled a large part of the globe and come safe home? What are the silly fancies of an old blind gypsy woman?
3rd June 1860
This morning, under steam, we put in to Rio. The salutes from the other vessels in the harbour seemed endless and continued to echo about us as we disembarked f
or Petropolis.
7th June 1860
I was foolish to be so worried about returning here. We passed a most agreeable time ashore, the Admiral having persuaded Sir George, Mr Grant and Mr Speke to join him in hiring two open carriages in which we made several excursions. I saw no grotesques, was accosted by no one, and even the flamboyant colours of the plants no longer seemed menacing. I understand now that my fantasies were, indeed, merely the imaginings of a distressed child.
Earlier tonight, we all crowded on deck for a last sight of Rio.
‘They say the Flying Dutchman haunts the South Atlantic,’ said Lucy, ‘trying still to round the Cape.’
‘Merely a sailor’s tale,’ said Admiral Keppel, joining us, ‘isn’t it, Sir George? We seamen are known for our superstitions.’
‘That’s true,’ said Lucy mischievously. ‘Papa always said it was considered bad luck to carry a woman aboard ship.’
‘Hush, Eliza.’
‘Nonsense, Ma’am. Many captains’ wives accompany them on voyages. And how would you ladies traverse the world if no ship would give you passage?’
9th June 1860
The weather remains fair and the ship steady. Lucy and I are engaged to play together at cards.
10th June 1860
I now set down a most frightful turn of events which must be revealed to no other living soul.
Yesterday evening, after our card game, I bade Lucy goodnight and retired to my cabin. As usual, Sir George, Mr Speke and Mr Grant were engaged at whist in the saloon. I was woken by a tremendous commotion, a woman screaming and the thunder of what I recognised as Sir George in one of his rages. Another male voice appeared to be remonstrating. I rose and hastened towards the hubbub.
As I approached Lucy’s cabin, the clamour increased, Sir George’s voice dominating the din, ‘I tell you, I will have satisfaction, sir!’ He was standing outside the Admiral’s door, his face puce, saliva frothing at his mouth. With a shock, I saw that his arms were pinioned on either side by Captain Turnour and the ship’s surgeon. In his left hand he clutched a scrap of paper and, in his right, his army pistol. His struggles to free himself were so intense that, as I watched, the Captain and the surgeon were forced to grapple him to the floor.
Lucy stood pressed against the door of her cabin, staring in horror at her husband as Admiral Keppel attempted to remonstrate with him. ‘I assure you, Sir George, you’re entirely mistaken in what you surmise. There has been no hint of impropriety in your wife’s conduct. She has borne herself at all times as a lady should. I swear it on my honour.’
Sir George strained against his captors. ‘Release me at once or I’ll have you court-martialled!’ He turned his head to Keppel. ‘And you, you vile seducer — I’ll shoot you like the dog you are.’
Lucy moved a little towards him. ‘George, please. I beg you, listen. Things are not as you think.’
‘Get away from me, you Serpent, you … you Part Sinister.’
‘But George—’
‘Lady Grey,’ said the Captain, panting from his attempts to contain Sir George, ‘it would be better — and safer — for you to retire at once to your cabin.’
Lucy began to weep and I saw the Admiral make a slight movement towards her before he checked himself.
Drawn by the uproar, others were now congregating. Sir George commenced again to roar and rave. ‘Let me go! I command you to release me. I am Her Majesty’s representative. In laying hands on me, you desecrate the person of Her Royal Highness Herself. You are committing an act of high treason.’
‘If I were to release you, Sir George,’ puffed Captain Turnour, ‘I should be court-martialled for being even guiltier of an act of gross folly. I cannot condone murder aboard my ship.’
The surgeon looked about him and spied Mr Speke. ‘Mr Speke, I must ask for your assistance.’
Sir George gave a bellow of fury. ‘Don’t dare lay a hand on me, Speke.’
‘You know my cabin?’ said the surgeon to Mr Speke. ‘Go there at once. Open the sea-chest you will see in there and bring me the … the garment you’ll find within. But hurry, man.’
Sir George, writhing, began to drum his heels against the floor.
‘I need a chair from your suite, Sir Harry,’ said the surgeon. ‘A plain upright one, and make sure it’s stout.’
As the Admiral returned with a chair, Mr Speke ran back flourishing a white garment. Never for a moment releasing his grip on Sir George, Captain Turnour looked up at the small assembled crowd. ‘What the devil are you ratings doing here? Who ordered your presence? Get below to your quarters, at once, the lot of you, or I’ll have you all whipped. And you, sir’ — he inclined his head towards Mr Grant — ‘be good enough to assist us.’
‘I must ask you again, Sir George,’ said the surgeon, ‘to drop your pistol if you wish us to allow you your freedom.’
‘I shall never relinquish my weapon.’
‘It would be better for us all if you were to comply,’ said Captain Turnour.
‘Never!’
The surgeon looked towards the Captain, who gave a complicit nod.
‘Mr Speke, Mr Grant,’ said Captain Turnour, ‘as commander of this vessel, I order you, whether you wish or no, to assist the surgeon and me with the restraint of the Governor. Lives are at stake here and I must do my duty.’
The two men edged towards the prone figure of Sir George.
‘Give me that garment, Mr Speke, and hold his arm here, so.’
The four of them hauled Sir George to his feet, his arms still immobilised.
‘How dare you … what the devil …? Turnour, I order you again to release me!’
‘And now, onto the chair,’ directed the Captain. ‘Keep hold there, Mr Speke. He has the strength of ten men.’
As the surgeon and the Captain forced first one of Sir George’s arms, then the other, into the strange white garment, the pistol tumbled from his right hand, the paper from his left. With great speed, Mr Speke crossed one arm across Sir George’s body, while Mr Grant bent the other above it in the opposite direction. Then, Captain Turnour deftly wound the strings at the front of the garment around and across Sir George’s body, passing them to the surgeon to secure at his back.
Half-inside her cabin, Lucy passed a hand across her eyes.
Rocking on the chair which now held him secure, Sir George attempted vainly to free himself. His complexion was so apoplectic I feared he might have a fit and so, I suspect, did the surgeon, for he spoke to him soothingly.
‘I’ve brought brandy and laudanum for you, Sir George, and you’ll be kept in this condition only for as long as is necessary for your safety. When you’ve recovered your senses, you’ll see the wisdom of our actions. We wouldn’t wish you hanged for a precipitate murder.’
‘I am quite within my senses and I order this ship be turned about for Rio.’
‘I don’t understand what’s happening here,’ said Mr Speke. ‘Has Sir George suffered a brain fever?’
‘Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen,’ said the Captain. ‘I’d be grateful if you were now to return to your cabins.’
‘But you surely can’t be intending that Sir George should remain in this corridor, restrained in a strait-jacket?’
‘By no means. I shall order the mate to provide assistance to carry Sir George from this corridor to the surgeon’s rooms, where the surgeon and I will remain on watch until he’s convinced Sir George no longer poses a danger to himself or any other. Goodnight, gentlemen.’ His eye fell on me. ‘Miss Thompson, I’m so very sorry you’ve witnessed this. Would you attempt to provide some comfort to Lady Grey?’
‘Willingly.’
Sir George let out a roar. ‘I forbid you to enter Eliza’s room. You are as guilty as she. You’ve encouraged her in this folly.’
‘Come, Sir George,’ said the surgeon quietly, ‘you are not yourself. Go in to the lady, Miss Thompson. She’ll be in need of her friends. I’m sure the Governor doesn’t mean these harsh words
against you.’
‘I mean every word I say. They are Jezebels, both!’
‘But what has happened?’ I cried, as soon as we were both safely in Lucy’s cabin. ‘What have you done?’
‘I’ve done nothing.’
‘It can’t be nothing to bring Sir George to this.’
‘I give you my solemn word that I’m innocent of any wrongdoing. You saw the paper my husband was grasping? It was the note … He came back from his game of whist … I didn’t expect him. You know it’s always far into the night before they finish their evenings together. And he’s never before come to my cabin at such an early hour.’
‘Lucy, you must tell me. What was in the note? Who wrote it?’
‘I did … We did. It’s been my habit to talk — that’s all we do, Fanny, I promise you upon my honour — to talk with the Admiral in the evenings. You know how I can’t sleep …’
I sank my head into my hands. ‘Have you been meeting in secret with Sir Harry?’ Even as I said it, I had a vision of myself urging Tsarina on towards the Domain, to my own clandestine meetings with Te Toa. I felt again the surge of excitement, the reckless desperation of love, the heedless courting of danger …
‘Not in secret. In his stateroom.’
‘Lucy, are you mad? Are you telling me you’ve gone alone to a gentleman’s room, and in the evenings?’
‘We’ve done no wrong. Harry would never do anything to cause me harm.’
‘It’s entirely wrong for you to have been alone with him. If he cared for you, he would know that, and seek to protect your reputation.’
‘It wasn’t he who wanted our conversations. It was I, I who begged him to see me. Don’t look at me so, Fanny. Why shouldn’t I speak alone to a gentleman of things which interest me?’
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