Coming Home (4 page)

C
OLLY GULPED. ‘I see. Good.' He regrouped as best he could. ‘Ah … as my wife?'

‘Yes,' she said tersely. The door shut again.

Colly grinned and grinned and grinned. He had never before experienced the strange sensation of walking on air, but at the moment his feet did not seem to touch the ground. ‘Pull yourself together, Hetherington,' he ordered himself. ‘This is going to be the hardest thing you've ever done.'

But try as he might to be sensible, he couldn't quite quell the hopeful clamour inside him. He hailed another carriage and returned to the booking office.

He did not tell a straight-out lie. He mumbled just enough information to let the clerk believe that he and Miss Colebrook had married the day before, but that Miss Colebrook had not expected to be able to leave her position at such short notice. However, she had been given permission so …

In other words, he dissembled. He deserved to be struck dead. Not that he had got through life by telling no white lies at all, but he had just told the biggest one ever.

To his embarrassment the clerk smiled indulgently. ‘Congratulations, sir. May I wish you both happy?'

Colly stalked back to the inn feeling like the lowest scum in Porto. But at least he now held two tickets in the names of ‘Brigade-Major and Mrs Hetherington.'

Next morning he intercepted Juliana as she rushed towards the hospital.

‘I'm late,' she warned him.

He grinned. Association with him was turning Little Miss Neat and Tidy into a less-than-bandbox-perfect young lady. Yesterday she had been damp and dishevelled. This morning she looked rumpled. The poor thing had probably lain awake all night worrying, then slept late
this morning. There was little point in reassuring her she had nothing to fear – not from him anyway. All he could do was keep his distance and gradually she would learn he meant her no harm.

Harm! He would give her the world if he could. ‘I have the tickets,' he said. ‘The
Maximus
has docked and the
Resolution
is hove-to within the harbour mouth. When they have both been provisioned we'll set sail. We must travel in convoy to avoid French privateers.'

An anxious expression crossed her face and he cursed himself for mentioning privateers. She simply wanted to get to England and hadn't given a thought to the dangers of the voyage.

‘Have you told Dr Barreiro yet?' he asked.

‘Yes. Last evening. I feel bad about it because he and his wife have been very kind to me.'

‘So they should. Dr Barreiro will find it very difficult to replace you.' He reflected that finding another such convent-trained nurse who would work amongst filth and death uncomplainingly would be nigh on impossible. ‘You are a true heroine, Miss Colebrook. But I dare say many men have told you that,' he finished, off-handedly.

She grinned, her slightly imperfect front teeth clenching on her lip. ‘No. Most men either gasp for the laudanum or the … er … chamber pot.' Then she sobered. ‘That is something I must forget when I reach England. I am sure that nice young ladies
never
,
ever
mention chamber pots.'

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘No, Miss Colebrook. I can't say I've ever heard one mention the humble chamber pot.'

She smiled, then gasped as a bell tinkled in the distance. ‘Oh! I must go.' And with a flurry of skirts she rushed out of the sunlight into the dimness of the hospital.

Colly shut the doors behind her.

F
OUR DAYS LATER Juliana unpinned her apron for the last time. From habit she placed it in the sluice bucket. Dr Barreiro was unlikely to find a replacement nurse for a while, and in the meantime one of the maids would no doubt snaffle the apron. She was welcome to it and to the spare one already at the laundry.

As she pushed open the front door of Sao Nazaire for the last time, Juliana's hand shook on the doorknob. She had burnt her bridges. She was leaving the place where she had toiled for three years and was throwing in her lot with a man who had been accused of rape. She was so very frightened, but she was glad too; glad to be quitting the death and despair.

She stepped out into the street. The day was drawing in. This would be the last time she would walk these streets alone at night. Everyone living on the northern slopes near the hospital knew the nurse from Sao Nazaire who limped home late at night. She felt safe.

If it had been Lisbon, that would have been very different. For many years Lisbon had been a dirty, unsavoury place with a reputation for crime and corruption. That was why she had chosen to work in Porto. A woman alone needed to protect herself. Then she remembered a time when she had failed to protect herself and quickly thrust it out of her mind.

She stopped to look back at Sao Nazaire for the last time and a tall man crossed the cobblestones to stand beside her. Stepping into his shadow, she paced along beside him.

‘Good evening, Miss Colebrook.'

‘Good evening, Brigade-Major Hetherington.'

He cleared his throat. ‘From now on we must dispense with “Miss Colebrook” and “Brigade-Major Hetherington”. In company we had best use “Mr and Mrs Hetherington”. My friends call me Colly.'

She nodded. She already knew that, and a lot more besides. In his semi-conscious state he had mumbled about many things. ‘Colly is short for Colwyn, is it not?'
Deus
. She hadn't meant to say that.

‘Yes. Colwyn is my mother's maiden name.'

She hurried to speak before he realized she had made enquiries about him. ‘I am named for my mother and grandmother. I am Juliana Carlotta Ervedosa Colebrook.'

He paused for a moment, then resumed walking.

‘Is there something wrong, sir?'

‘No.'

Another pause. She could have sworn he was savouring her words.

‘Do you have a portmanteau or bandbox you would like me to convey to the ship? I've paid a man to keep an eye on our belongings until we sail.'

‘Thank you, sir. You must let me know how much you have remitted on my behalf. I shall repay you before we sail. I am visiting the bank in the morning.' She was conscious that her voice had risen.

He merely nodded in the half-dark.

Thank goodness. Her hackles subsided. He was not going to take advantage of the situation. Just because circumstances forced her to be
temporarily
dependent on him, she did not want him to feel responsible for her. Most men would have taken over. Then again, she had not found him to be like other men. That was why she couldn't help liking him even though it would be most unwise to trust him too far.

Colly was her only chance of making a better life for herself. He might not be perfect, but then, neither was she. Colly didn't know it but she was already ruined.

She glanced at him sideways. He prowled beside her, his long legs eating up the flagstones, his hazel eyes fixed straight ahead. She would always remember this walk – the long, smooth Portuguese dusk with him at her side. As they drew further away from the city centre the air grew cooler and tiny fireflies flicked beneath bushes in the orange-scented gardens. This was her favourite time, the only time she got to smell the fragrant flowers she loved.

Colly murmured, ‘You will miss Portugal.'

‘Yes. I expect to be very homesick.' She swallowed hard. ‘But I know I'm doing the right thing. A woman on her own needs her relatives.'

He frowned and did not respond. Obviously his opinion of families had not changed overnight.

‘Will you miss anything in Portugal, sir?' she asked, presuming she would receive a resounding ‘No!'

‘The bright colours,' he answered at last, ‘and, of course, my horse.'

‘Your horse?'

‘Yes.'

Was he serious?

He was. ‘He's a prime piece of horseflesh. Because of the overcrowded ships it's not possible to take him back to England. But I shall miss him. He's quite a character.'

He sounded deeply regretful. She remembered he had once told her that his father's estate housed one of the best studs in the south of England. No doubt he had been tossed on the back of a horse while he was still in leading-strings. She smiled at a mental vision of a miniature Colly Hetherington, all long legs and fierce concentration, astride a pony.

‘Here,' she murmured at last. ‘This is my street. And that is my house.' She pointed out the iron fretwork gate propped open to reveal a cool inner courtyard. ‘Thank you for escorting me.' It would be ungrateful to say it had been unnecessary.

He brushed it aside. ‘We sail on the high tide at three. After you have been to the bank, I will carry your packages down to the ship.'

She laughed. ‘Sir, I have very few packages. I came to the hospital with nothing, and I shall leave with very little more.'

‘But you must have mementoes of your parents and suchlike?'

‘My father left everything in his will to his fellow collector in Coimbra. But I have my mother's tortoiseshell hair combs and some rings her parents gave her. That is enough.'

A
ND INDEED, ON the following day when they crushed themselves into their tiny cabin on the
Maximus
, he saw that his big portmanteau and greatcoat took up a lot more space than Miss Colebrook's meagre belongings. They shuffled around trying to make room for each other, and eventually managed a compromise. When one person stood, the other sat on the bunk.

As they began to unpack there was a brisk rat-tat on the door and Juliana blushed when Colly squeezed past her, holding his breath. The decision to undergo this purgatory had been his, but he was having grave doubts about his ability to carry out the charade, and the ship had not even left port yet. He opened the cabin door to find the ship's captain standing there, cap under his arm, beaming.

‘Good afternoon, sir. We sail in about an hour.' He peered around Colly. ‘Mrs Hetherington, glad to have you aboard, ma'am. May I congratulate you both on your recent marriage?'

Colly felt Juliana stiffen. He nodded to acknowledge the captain's wishes and hoped the damned man would be quiet and go away. But no …

‘Lieutenant Harding and his wife are next door to you, Brigade-Major. I believe he is partial to a game of cards.'

Oh, what wondrous luck. A chatty captain and a friendly neighbour. Colly took Captain Petty's proffered hand but did not vouchsafe any personal information.

‘Ah, well, I shall see you at dinner,' the captain said, and left.

Colly closed the door and turned to Juliana. ‘We had best not become too friendly with Lieutenant Harding and his wife, just in case they come to suspect….'

Juliana's awkward blush receded as she straightened up from folding his greatcoat. To his surprise she tossed the coat carelessly into a corner.

‘I understand, Mr Hetherington. The next few weeks will be very hard to bear if you persist in reminding me that our “marriage” is a
myth. I am well aware of it. I shall do my best to make sure our charade is not discovered.' She turned aside to place her hatbox on top of her valise. ‘Shall I hang a blanket down the centre of the cabin so I don't encroach on your space?'

‘What the devil?' Colly demanded. ‘You must do as you please, madam. I am going up on deck.' He slammed the door behind him.

 

Ouch. The gentleman was not amused. Well, neither was she. She was annoyed, not with Colly, but with herself. Because Colly had a light touch on the reins, she had been lulled into playing childish ‘if only' games in her head. She knew better than to indulge in such silliness.

Then her delicate stomach roiled in the old, familiar pattern. Whenever her father had announced, ‘Well, that's that. Nothing much in the way of artifacts on this site. We shall move on', her stomach had started up a nagging discomfort. During her years at Sao Nazaire she had found the appalling sights and sounds she endured were best coped with on an empty stomach. Even the smallest sip of tea had her stomach burning after particularly gruesome operations. Perhaps in England, supported by her relatives, she would find peace and stability and her rebellious stomach would settle.

But it would not happen today.

Timber creaked. They were under way.

She climbed on deck to watch the coastline of Porto recede. Etched against the blue sky, the tiled roofs splashed their colours like flowers. The little
Resolution
ploughed valiantly along astern of them. A fresh south-westerly blew. By evening, Portugal would be just a smudged blur on the horizon. She might never see Portugal again.

‘
Adeus
,' she whispered, straining to see the cupola on the roof of the hospital perched on the distant hill. The jumble of houses and trees on the lower slopes blurred.

She wiped her eyes and went below.

A
LTHOUGH THE FOLLOWING wind abated a little, their journey was brisk. No French vessels were sighted at any stage. True to his promise Colly spent a good deal of the voyage on deck, but intermittent rain squalls followed by several days of rough seas exacerbated the ache in his leg. He was comfortable sitting on an upturned keg playing cards with Lieutenant Davidson and Lieutenant Harding, or lying propped on one elbow swapping apocryphal war stories with the men sleeping on deck. But when he took a turn about the deck with Juliana on his arm, the uneven lurch and sway had him clenching his teeth against the hot claws of pain digging into his thigh.

Juliana watched him as anxiously as a hen with one chick, and when he was no longer able to negotiate the companionway without wincing, she said, ‘Enough. Lie down on the bunk. I shall massage your leg.'

Colly closed his eyes. She wanted to
rub his leg
? Good God! He was in enough torment now without that.

But she was determined. ‘You must spend more time in the cabin. It is ridiculous that you suffer so, going up and down, up and down.'

Colly gritted his teeth. ‘Very well, but I shall massage my own leg.' She was a nurse, for heaven's sake. Surely she understood what would happen if she hovered over him, with her hands on his thigh?

She did. Pink in the face she collected her sewing and shot across to the other side of the cabin. Then she perched on top of his portmanteau trying to look unconcerned. But before she bowed her head he saw the fear on her face. His fists clenched. Didn't she know by now that she could trust him?

When they finally sighted Plymouth off the port bow, Colly was so grateful he damn near jumped overboard and swam ashore. He had spent the last few days in a state of extreme sexual frustration. Miss Juliana Colebrook swanned around the small cabin as if she really were his wife.

A button came off his uniform. She sewed it back on.

The old sabre wound on his chest itched and she produced a jar of salve. She did not offer to rub it on to his skin.

He lost several guineas dicing with the men sleeping on deck, and she pursed her mouth up in a wifely way but forbore to lecture him.

She brushed down his uniform unasked, and washed out his shirts.

Each morning the cabin boy brought her a jug of warm water for her ablutions and she dismissed Colly with a sunny smile saying, ‘I shall be with you directly.'

Once he had lingered long enough to see her slide the wrapper down over her creamy shoulders, dragging her camisole with it. Delicate hollows beneath her shoulders had gleamed in the warm light filtering through the open porthole. He had bolted down the corridor as if the hounds of hell were after him. And in a way, they were.

For the subterfuge of being Juliana's husband had become an ideal he cherished above all others. He could not imagine a fate closer to his heart. Whether they promenaded around the deck arm-in-arm conversing with the other travellers, or just stood side by side leaning on the ship's rail staring into the inky blue Atlantic swells, he knew this was where he most wanted to be – beside Juliana. He stored up every moment in his mind against the lonely years. Because when they arrived at Trewbridge there would be no more Juliana and Colly.

And the nights! The nights were a peculiar mix of heaven and hell. He slept on the floor, but no amount of discomfort could distract him from sensual dreams of a soft, naked Juliana curling into his body with a pleased murmur. He was restless and throbbing from the moment he laid his head on the makeshift pillow till sun-up. Sometimes only his own surreptitious hand made the nights bearable. He had had to throw a couple of good handkerchiefs overboard. God forbid that Juliana found out what she did to him. Especially considering the charges against him. She would be terrified.

To add to his misery the weather grew hotter and the cabin was like a furnace.

After dinner he usually pretended to write in a diary while Juliana brushed her long, dark hair. Then he would leave the cabin so she could do whatever it was women took forever to do. When he returned he would find her lying in bed facing the wall.

He had fashioned a roll of bedding that he wedged on the edge of the bunk.

‘What is that for?' Juliana had asked.

He had felt his face flush and hoped desperately that she didn't notice. ‘It is in case the boat hits rough seas. I do not want you to be
cast out of bed.'
And on top of me
, he thought. That bedding represented the gulf between them, and reminded him not to attempt to cross that gulf.

Fortunately she kept the bedsheet drawn up to her neck. Even when she tossed in her sleep, and she did a lot of that – sharing a cabin with a rapist was hardly conducive to a sound night's sleep – somehow she managed to keep the sheet anchored.

Until the last evening before they docked at Portsmouth.

Humidity hung like a pall on the air. The passengers milled around on deck in the purple dusk saying their farewells. The ship already sailed in the lee of the land and was expected to dock at dawn next morning. When they went down to their cabin, Colly opened the porthole as wide as it would go. Then he left Juliana to get ready for bed.

When he returned he found her sitting up in the bunk, fanning herself. Fine beads of sweat dotted her face and neck and she wore only a shift.

Colly swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing about like corn in a hot frying pan.

‘It is dreadfully hot,' she complained. ‘Almost as bad as Portugal in summer.'

‘Yes.' Sweat trickled down his spine and collected in the small of his back. ‘But there is only one night left.' His unspoken ‘thank goodness' resonated in the air between them.

‘Will you mind, Col—er, Brigade-Major, if I do not wear the sheet tonight?' she asked. Her eyes begged him to make this easy for her.

Swallowing, he managed, ‘No, of course not.' What else could he say?

‘Thank goodness,' she muttered, and to his consternation she pulled aside the sheet and dropped it on the floor. Then she rolled over and lay on her stomach, all in one swift movement.

Oh, God. The glimpse of her dusky nipples beneath the shift had been bad enough. But the way she lay now, all sprawled out … like a feast for his delectation.

Rubbish
, he told himself.
Lust is overriding your common sense, you bloody fool
.

He rolled up the spare blanket as usual and placed it carefully along the edge of the bunk. Trying to keep his eyes averted from the smooth, neatly rounded little hillocks perilously close to his hands, he felt around until he had the barrier erected to his satisfaction. But the barrier wasn't the only thing erected by the time he'd finished.

No. This was no good. It was agony. But a ‘newly married man'
could not sleep up on deck. Already Davidson had commented on Colly's predilection for the company of men rather than his lovely wife.

But it was the last night, thank God. He could last one more night, couldn't he? In the half-dark he pulled off his boots and stripped down to his shirt. He reached for the folded blanket that would be his pillow – and stopped still, not daring to breathe. His fingers had encountered a warm, silky surface. Oh Lord! He leaped back and bashed his elbow against the bulkhead.

‘S-sorry,' he muttered.

To his horror she
sat up
, although she had the good sense to hold her hands in front of her breasts this time. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Just getting the blanket. Using it for a pillow.' He seemed to be talking in abbreviated sentences, but he was afraid that if he spoke normally, his voracious desire and discomfort would leach into the words and she would
know
.