The Sea and the Sand

by Christopher Nicole

  Toby stared back. His cheeks were flushed, but there could be no doubt of his determination. ‘I shall, of course, make a formal representation to your father when we reach Gibraltar, but … will you not say yes to me, now?’

  She drew a long breath. ‘Have you truly considered those opinions you affect to despise, Mr McGann?’ she asked. She was being utterly foolish not to accept him without hesitation, but she could not take so easy a way out of her problems under false pretences. Even supposing marriage to so upright a character as Toby McGann really was an easy way out.

  The Pucchinis looked from one to the other, their animation fading into anxiety.

  ‘I care less for them now than I did four years ago,’ Toby declared. ‘Please believe that, Felicity.’

  ‘I …’ She bit her lip. She simply had to think. ‘I will abide by my father’s decision, sir,’ she said, and left the room.

  *

  Marriage! To Toby McGann. But marriage, to any man? It was not something she had considered for a moment. But then she had considered nothing of what was to happen to her. She had been afraid to. She knew only that she wanted time to think, and evaluate, and understand, and perhaps recover from her disease … a great deal of time. Perhaps the entire rest of her life. A life which would slowly dwindle into lonely memories.

  But marriage … To share herself, what she had become, what she had been made, by Mohammed ben Idris … To undress, and reveal herself … That at least would not be a problem after a month or so, and she could not possibly be married in less than a month. But to He naked in the arms of a man and not reveal herself to be a wanton creature … The thought was impossible.

  Toby stood at her elbow as the Rock loomed above the horizon. He at least had no doubt of her answer, even if he was too much of a gentleman to press the matter further; he had certainly celebrated with the Pucchinis that evening before leaving Syracuse. Since then he had been nothing more than a charming and ideal companion, never encroaching, never even attempting to take her hand, but always there when she ventured on deck — Isaac Hull had allowed her the use of the captain’s cabin — to walk beside her, point out things of interest, answer her questions, exclaim with her at the dolphins which cavorted beneath the schooner’s bows. He might have been her oldest friend, instead of the man who wished to marry her.

  Why? Because she was beautiful? There were a great many beautiful women in the world. Because he had indeed carried her image in his heart for five years? That suggested a remarkable immaturity, or, more hopefully, a singularly constant nature. Or simply because he felt it was the duty of a gentleman to propose marriage to the woman he had rescued from a fate worse than death. That was the most frightening thought she had ever had.

  But whatever the reason, there was the point; he was a perfect gentleman. Idris had not been a gentleman. She knew nothing of gentlemen. And she was afraid to learn. Afraid that, having learned, she might yearn for Idris? That was an even more damnable thought than to be married out of pity. But for a gentleman, even Toby McGann, to suspect that she could feel passion, that she had come to expect passion, that she needed passion … and such passion!

  ‘Are you nervous?’ he asked. He took this as the main cause for her moods of silent introspection. It was a serious matter, and one he could understand, returning to one’s parents after four years of separation in such circumstances. But in what circumstances? He had no idea. She knew that now. He simply had no idea. But he wanted to be her husband. Out of curiosity? There was another damning and damnable thought. But how she wanted to have his powerful protection for the rest of her life, even if it meant living a lie …

  ‘Yes,’ she lied. Because in fact she was no longer nervous at all. The apprehensions of meeting her parents had been submerged by the greater apprehensions of responding to the man beside her.

  ‘Do not be,’ he told her. ‘I intend to be at your side.’

  No one in Gibraltar had any idea what they were about, saw only an American schooner putting in for food and water. Heavily veiled, and wearing her Italian gown which effectively disguised her nationality, Felicity was escorted ashore by Toby, and a carriage hired for the ride up the hill. She looked out of the window with considerable interest; she had never seen Gibraltar before, and by concentrating on the unusual contours of the Rock she could maintain her pretence of nonchalance. Because now the apprehensions were mounting thick and fast. And yet, secure in his support, she was determined that she would be herself, no matter what … and pray that her family would accept her as such.

  Yet she was surprised when he suddenly took her hand. He had not actually touched her since they had left the Pucchinis’ house. But now he squeezed her fingers. Her head turned abruptly. ‘Courage,’ he said.

  She gave him a quick smile, then looked out of the window again. It was just dusk, and the setting sun was playing on this western side of the Rock, bringing flickers of light from the houses and the catchments.

  ‘It was like this when I first saw it,’ she said. ‘From over there.’ She pointed at the African side of the channel. ‘I had not thought ever to see it again.’

  ‘And to think that I was but eight miles distant,’ he said. ‘God, what tricks fate does play.’

  ‘But you found me in the end,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘I found you. And I promise you that you will never have to look upon this Rock again, once you have left it in my care. Unless, of course, you wish to.’

  The carriage was stopping, and he helped her down. ‘Shall I go in first?’

  ‘Please,’ she said.

  He went up the path, knocked on the door, raised his hat as it opened. ‘Mrs Crown? Thank heavens I find you here. I am Toby McGann, lieutenant, United States Navy.’

  ‘Mr McGann,’ Mrs Crown said. ‘Why … I had not expected to see you again.’

  ‘Because the last time I was here you received such terrible tidings,’ Toby agreed. ‘But ma’am, if you will but brace yourself for a surprise, and a most pleasant one …’

  But Mrs Crown had already looked past him, at the tall veiled woman behind him, and had recognised her daughter. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said, and took a step forward. Then, as Felicity started to respond, she just as quickly took a step backwards. ‘Oh, my God!’ she said again, casting quick glances to left and right to see if any of her neighbours were looking. ‘You’d best come inside.’

  She was still retreating, down the short hallway to the door to the parlour, Toby waited, and after a moment’s hesitation, almost as if she expected the door to be slammed in her face, Felicity came forward and passed him to enter the house. He followed.

  Mrs Crown reached the parlour door, still retreating; perhaps, he thought, she feared to turn her back on them. ‘Charles,’ she said.

  ‘Charles … Jonathan …’

  ‘Oh God,’ Felicity muttered.

  Toby took her elbow and guided her into the room. Charles Crown and his son were on their feet; Jonathan Crown still wore the uniform of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. Both were looking at once mystified and thunderstruck.

  Julia Crown was panting. ‘Felicity …’ she gasped.

  Felicity drew a long breath and entered the room. ‘Mother could not bring herself to embrace me,’ she said, and threw the veil back from her face. ‘Would you be so bold, Father?’

  Charles Crown stared at her, then looked at his son.

  Jonathan took a step forward. ‘Felicity?’ he whispered, and looked at Toby as he might have done at a magician. ‘But how?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Toby began.

  ‘But soon told,’ Felicity countered. ‘I have spent the past four years in the harem of Mohammed ben Idris, Vizier to the Dey of Tripoli. From there, but just a week ago, I was rescued by the American Navy, in the person of Mr McGann.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Julia Crown said a third time, and sat down heavily on the settee.

  Charles Crown came forward to stand beside his son. ‘My dear
Felicity,’ he said, and took her hands. Once again she seemed about to move forward for an embrace, but checked herself as he hesitated. ‘My dear, dear girl. We had thought you dead.’

  ‘I thought it best to live,’ Felicity said. ‘For as long as possible. I considered that the most Christian thing to do. Was I wrong?’ She gazed at her father, who was speechless.

  ‘Now you …’ Jonathan Crown changed his mind about what he was going to say. Toby suspected it might have been something like, ‘have come back, to our horror and disgust. No, dear sister, it would have been more convenient had you been dead.’ Instead of saying the words, however, he looked at Toby. ‘Perhaps, sir, you would be good enough to withdraw. This is a private family affair.’

  ‘Affair?’ Toby demanded.

  ‘I would prefer Mr McGann to stay,’ Felicity said. ‘He has a right to do so.’

  Her family gazed at her; they could remember no such firmness in the girl they had lost and forgotten.

  ‘I … ah …’ Toby licked his Ups. ‘I am aware that there must be a great deal you wish to say to your daughter, Mr Crown, Mrs Crown …’ He ignored Jonathan. ‘And I am equally sure there is a great deal she has to say to you. But as my stay here must necessarily be short, I must …’ His turn to draw a long breath. ‘It is my great honour to ask for Miss Crown’s hand in marriage, sir.’

  The three gazes had been transferred to him.

  ‘Oh my God!’ remarked Julia Crown for the fourth time.

  ‘Marriage?’ Charles Crown was dumbfounded.

  Jonathan Crown gave a short laugh. ‘You mean you are seeking a just reward for your gallantry, Mr McGann. Or are you performing an act of charity?’

  Toby kept his temper. It was no part of his plan to quarrel with his future brother-in-law.

  ‘Or did “rescuing” involve some other act of which we are unaware?’ Jonathan Crown went on.

  Felicity stepped forward at last, passing Toby, to slap her brother on the cheek. It was a forceful blow, and Jonathan staggered.

  ‘Why, you little whore?’ he shouted and raised his own arm, but was checked by Toby’s giant hand on his wrist. ‘Let me go, sir. Let me go.’

  ‘I shall,’ Toby promised him, ‘if you agree to behave yourself. I will say, sir, that I am amazed and disgusted by your reaction to your sister’s return.’

  Jonathan stared at him, undecided how to respond.

  ‘It is certainly not an occasion for quarrelling,’ Charles Crown said. ‘But my dear Mr McGann …’

  ‘I know it must appear a sudden and perhaps prejudiced decision to you, sir,’ Toby said. ‘But I would beg you to believe that I have been in love with Miss Crown since the occasion of our first meeting, off Dominica, in 1800, which you may recall.’

  ‘Bless my soul,’ Charles Crown remarked. ‘Bless my soul.’

  ‘There’s a tale, if ever I heard one,’ Jonathan observed prudently removing himself behind the settee.

  ‘This,’ Felicity asked at large, ‘is a welcome?’

  ‘My dear girl,’ Crown said, taking her hands again. ‘Oh my dear girl.’ Cautiously he kissed her on the cheek. ‘We are shocked. Welcome … why, we are overjoyed. Your boxes …’

  ‘I have no boxes, Father,’ Felicity said. ‘I have what I am wearing.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ Julia Crown remarked.

  ‘Toby,’ Felicity said, ‘will you please take me away from here.’

  ‘Ah …’ Toby had no idea what to do. Felicity of course had no inkling of the instructions given him by John Rodgers. And surely these people were going to get over this initial, rather unpleasant reaction, and remember she was their daughter?

  ‘Now, Felicity,’ Charles Crown said, attempting to take her hand again, and being rebuffed as she stepped away. ‘This should be a joyous occasion. Yes, indeed, a joyous occasion.’ He appeared to be attempting to convince himself. ‘As for Mr McGann’s gallant proposal, well … why do you not retire with your mother and leave us men to discuss the situation … ah … man to man.’

  Felicity looked at Toby. ‘I should prefer to stay.’ she said. Her cheeks were pink.

  ‘Now, you look here,’ Jonathan Crown began.

  Felicity sat down. ‘You cannot harm me with words or opinions, brother. If Toby wishes me to leave the room, then I shall do so.’ She looked at him.

  ‘Of course I wish you to stay,’ Toby said. ‘As this matter concerns you as much as anyone.’

  Julia Crown began to weep.

  ‘Here, I say … well, what a kettle of fish, eh?’ Charles Crown remarked at large. ‘I think what we need is a glass of wine, eh? Jonathan, would you be so kind?’

  Jonathan Crown hesitated, and then went to the sideboard and poured three glasses of sherry.

  ‘I would like one too, please,’ Felicity said.

  Jonathan looked at his father, who gave a hasty nod.

  ‘Now, then,’ Charles Crown said. ‘Let us all toast your safe return. Oh, indeed, it is a joyous occasion. The most joyous occasion I can recall. Will you not join us, Mother?’

  His wife gave a loud sniff, and Jonathan snorted.

  ‘And I would also like to drink a toast to you, Mr McGann,’ Crown pressed on bravely. ‘For having restored our daughter to us. That was behaviour above and beyond the call of duty, as they say, and we shall remain forever in your debt. However, I do wish you to understand that we expect nothing more of you. And neither does Felicity, I am sure …’

  ‘I happen to love your daughter, Mr Crown,’ Toby said quietly. ‘That is why I wish to marry her.’

  ‘Love.’ Jonathan gave another snort. ‘Another man’s castoff whore? By God, sir, your tastes do you no credit.’

  Toby stared at him, but continued to speak quietly. ‘Were you not about to become my brother-in-law, sir, I should ram those words back down your throat with my fist.’

  ‘You would, would you? What do you suppose gives you the right to march into our house and announce that you are about to marry my sister, simply because you picked her up from the floor of some filthy harem? What are you, McGann? You are not even a gentleman. Oh, you wear a uniform. A uniform which is the laughing stock of Europe, treated with contumely even by the Moors. Why, sir, I have no doubt you and your compatriots are the laughing stock of the entire world. But yet, yours is a uniform which befits a man who is the son of a dirt farmer and sometime Irish smuggler. Oh, I know all about your illustrious forebear, sir. A deserter from the Royal Navy, a known pirate, and a red-handed revolutionary. Do you suppose my sister would even consider marrying into such a brood, had her Moorish master left her with any senses?’ Toby allowed him to say his piece, although it was difficult not to throttle the scoundrel there and then. When Jonathan appeared to have run out of breath, he replied, continuing to keep his voice and his temper under control. ‘My father fought for freedom, Mr Crown. And he won it, too, from stiff-necked tyrants such as yourself. No doubt that sticks in your craw. As for whether or not I am the man to marry your sister, should we not allow her to make that decision? I assure you that I can discern nothing the matter with her senses, save that she would appear to me to have more courage than the average woman.’

  ‘Ah …’ Charles Crown began, but he was interrupted by his daughter.

  ‘Yes,’ Felicity said. ‘I think I am old enough to make that decision. I would like to marry Mr McGann, Father.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ Toby cried; it was the first time she had actually said yes.

  ‘My dear girl,’ Charles Crown protested.

  ‘You will marry him over my dead body,’ Jonathan snapped.

  ‘If that is a necessary condition,’ Toby said, now totally jubilant where before he had been unsure of himself, ‘be sure I will be happy to accommodate you.’

  The two men gazed at each other, Jonathan’s face rigid with anger, Toby’s smiling — and then Jonathan looked away. He could estimate that even if he were a better swordsman, and he did not know that, he would never get near enough to prove it, such
was Toby’s reach, while as Toby was also a serving officer he might well be a good pistol shot.

  ‘Why are you so anxious to retain me, brother?’ Felicity asked, ‘as you find my experiences so distasteful? Is it so that you can lock me away for the rest of my life, as an awful example of woman’s misfortune?’

  ‘Leave this house,’ Jonathan declared, determined to retrieve some of his prestige, ‘and you need never come crawling to us again. There will be no dowry, and Father will cut you out of his will. Is that not so, Father?’

  ‘Why, I …’ Charles Crown scratched his head, displacing his wig.

  Julia Crown wept more loudly than ever. ‘I shall not trouble you again,’ Felicity said. ‘You may suppose that I am indeed dead, or that I have remained lying on the floor of my filthy harem, as you put it. Mr McGann, I most humbly apologise for my family. But if you do indeed love me, I beg you to take me away from here.’

  Toby hesitated for a last time, as once again Rodgers’s words came back to him. What would Father have done? Why, Father would have said the devil with Congress and John Rodgers’s strictures. This is the woman I love, and will have, come what may.

  ‘Immediately,’ he said. ‘The Enterprise sails at midnight.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Gibraltar and Long Island — 1805-7

  Isaac Hull stood on the quarterdeck of the USS Enterprise,gazing at the man and woman in front of him, and scratched his head. He was several years older than Toby, but having begun his sailing career in the Merchant Navy was no senior; the two had known each other all their service lives.

  T know what I want to do,’ he admitted. ‘But I also know what I should do, for the good of your career, Toby.’

  ‘That is probably finished now, anyway,’ Toby said. ‘But I may be able to relieve you of any responsibility in this business. What date were you commissioned, Isaac?’

  ‘Why, 1 March, 1798.’

  ‘I was commissioned on 1 February, 1978,’ Toby said.