The Constant Heart (21 page)

'One day I will tell you everything – but not now.'

'Why not now? I could raise the alarm and have you arrested. Give me one good reason why I should let you get away with acting like a common thief.'

He took her in his arms, holding her so tightly that she could hardly breathe. His lips were so close to hers that she could almost taste his kiss. She ought to struggle. She ought to slap his face. She ought to tell him that she was not one of those free and easy girls who allow men to take liberties with them. But she did none of those things. A shiver of pure pleasure ran up her spine as his hand caressed her hair. She parted her lips and closed her eyes. Nothing mattered at this moment: she did not care who he was, or why he had come here tonight. He was here and she was in his arms, being kissed fervently and passionately. She gave herself up to the delicious sensations that were rippling through her entire being. Her senses soared to the skies and she was weightless, floating in his arms and responding to his kisses with a passion that she could never have imagined. She wanted the moment to go on forever. But he drew away from her, tempering her loss with butterfly kisses on her lips, the tip of her nose, and on her forehead. 'You must go home,' he whispered. 'Go now, before the constable comes this way on his beat.'

Dazed, she stared up into his inscrutable face. 'H-how do you know so much of what goes on here? Where do you come from, pirate?'

'It doesn't matter. But you mustn't be seen with me, and I have to go now.'

He took her by the hand and led her back to her own house. Questions buzzed round in her head like a swarm of honey bees. They had met only once before and yet he knew where she lived. She must have told him during those magical moments when they were dancing together on the crystal platform, or perhaps on the way home in the stolen launch. She had thought then that he might be an actor from the theatre at Cremorne, or a performer from one of the many entertainment booths. Now she knew that he was a genuine pirate, a thief and a renegade, and yet she did not care. 'Must you go so soon?'

'I've stayed too long, my rose.'

'But we will meet again?'

He took her hand and kissed it. 'You must forget me, Rosina. I'm a phantom. I'm not real.'

'Oh, but you are real to me, pirate.' She clung to his hand, raising it to her cheek. 'I wish you would tell me your name.'

He shook his head. 'No, I cannot. Not yet.'

'But you will? One day I will know your name?'

'Just remember that there is someone who truly loves you. I can't reveal my identity to you, even though I would dearly love to tell you who I am. But, whatever happens, be sure that no matter what trouble may befall you, your pirate will not be far away. I cannot tell you more, but I love you, and I will always love you.'

'Oh! Y-you love me?' Rosina clasped her hands to her burning cheeks. He had said the words that she most wanted to hear, and she closed her eyes, barely able to contain her joy. 'And I love you too,' she whispered. But when she opened her eyes – no one was there. He was gone and she was alone.

The news that Barnum's vessel had been robbed for a second time flew round Black Eagle Wharf like St Elmo's fire, but, as he was not generally liked, no one seemed to be sorry for him. Not only had the pirate stripped everything of value from the
Curlew
, but it was thought that he had poured lamp oil over the cargo, rendering it as worthless as the hay in the
Ellie May
's hold. Edward knew nothing of this. His weakened constitution had made him vulnerable to infection, and he had succumbed to a recurrence of the lung fever. They could not afford to send for a doctor, and Bertha had taken it upon herself to nurse him back to health. She had soaked a blanket in a solution of Calvert's Carbolic Acid Disinfectant Powder and water, and hung it in front of the door to Edward's sickroom. This, she said, would prevent the spread of the sickness, and Rosina must not enter the room until her father was out of danger.

For two days and two nights Bertha had barely left the sickroom, but on the third morning she told Rosina that she had given the captain a dose of laudanum to make him sleep. His fever, she said, had abated enough to allow her to leave him for a while so that she could rest, but Rosina was still forbidden to enter his room. When she objected, Bertha pointed out that even if she was not afraid of catching the sickness herself, she might very well pass it on to Caddie and the children. When Bertha laid down the law, it was not to be flouted, and Rosina had to resign herself to doing as she was told and executing the mundane household chores. There was a pile of dirty linen in the scullery waiting to be taken out to the copper in the yard to be boiled clean, but she had only a hazy idea how to go about this, and so the pile had grown steadily higher. Rosina had never had to fend for herself, and Bertha had been adamant that young ladies did not need to learn even the most basic rules of cookery.

When the children had clamoured for breakfast, Rosina had been horrified to discover that the bread had gone mouldy, and the dripping had been used up: even the tasty brown bit at the bottom had been licked clean by a hungry Ronnie. There was nothing left in the larder other than a heel of cheese that the mice had nibbled, and a spoonful of tea that she had saved to make a brew when Bertha awakened from her nap. In the end, there was nothing she could do except take the boys to Gladys, who gave them food and invited them to stay and play with her own children. Rosina returned home determined to make sense of the housekeeping, a skill which had so far eluded her.

She listened outside her father's bedroom door, but his breathing was even, if a bit wheezy, and he seemed to be sleeping. She went up to the attic to check on Caddy, who was scarily silent now that the initial torrent of tears had stopped flowing. She lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling while her restless fingers plucked at the coverlet. Poor Caddie. Rosina felt for her in her loss, and could think of little to comfort her, except to remind her that she needed to be strong for the sake of her children. The painful subject of the funeral had to be broached at some time, but perhaps not at this particular moment. Rosina did not know how to tell Caddie that her husband's coffin was resting in the parlour, and that the neighbours had been filing in to pay their respects. Walter had made all the arrangements for the interment, which was set for the next day. She would have to prepare Caddie for the ordeal, but one look at her ashen face and hollow cheeks convinced Rosina that it was best to leave it until the evening. She left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she searched in the dresser for a bottle of ink, pen and paper. She sat at the table staring at the blank sheet on which she intended to write a shopping list. But the scent of the Indian ink brought back memories of the pirate, and she slipped into a daydream, reliving the last precious moment that they had shared. In spite of the circumstances, there had been a small part of her that had remained untouched by the tragic events of the past few days. It seemed to her as though she was leading a double life, and there was another and happier world, which she could enter at will. When she retreated into her memories of the gaslit fairyland that was Cremorne Gardens, she was deliriously happy dancing with her pirate; but sadness overcame her as she remembered her last meeting with him and their inevitable parting. The secure world that she had always known might be crumbling around her, but the dark man in the mask was constantly in her thoughts. The memory of his kisses lingered on her lips and in her heart. Would she ever see him again? She simply did not know. He had told her he loved her, and it was that thought that kept her going when everything about her seemed to be tumbling into chaos.

It was Walter who had been her silent saviour. She trusted him implicitly, never questioning his actions or making any demands on his time. She knew instinctively that he would do everything that was required of him, and more. Dear, reliable Walter. He was her rock, and as faithful as a much loved family dog – always there, and expecting nothing in return for his loyalty other than a kind word and a smile.

She came back to earth with a jolt. This was getting her nowhere and daydreaming would not put food on the table. She must not allow a recurrence of this morning's breakfast fiasco. The children needed proper food and so did Caddie if she was to regain her strength. She threw the pen down, rising to her feet. Taking the cocoa tin from the mantelshelf, she tipped the contents onto the table. She counted the pennies with a sinking heart: she had no idea how much it cost to buy food, candles, lamp oil and coal, but it was obvious that what few coins were there would not buy very much. She decided that she must pay a visit to the grocery emporium in Wapping Street. After all, it couldn't be too difficult to buy and prepare food. Bertha did it all the time. She took the wicker shopping basket from the scullery, put on her bonnet and gloves, and set off with a determined step.

Mr Hodge, the grocer, greeted her with a cheery smile. He was busy serving a customer, giving Rosina time to wander round the shop and examine the stock. When she was a child, she had been fascinated by the sacks filled with flour, sugar, rice, currants, raisins and potatoes, standing proud against the oak counter like a row of soldiers on guard duty. There were metal-lined tea chests that had come from Assam, Darjeeling and China, and boxes of broken biscuits exuding a tempting, sugary smell that mixed with the fragrance of tea, bacon and candle wax. The counter was stacked with round cheeses, slabs of yellow butter and legs of ham glistening with sugar and studded with cloves. Everything, including the tins, packets, jars and bottles on the shelves, was marked with the price. It was only then that she realised how little she could purchase and how much they needed.

Mr Hodge finished serving a plump matron with a pound of streaky bacon and a half-pound of cheddar cheese, and he turned his attention on Rosina. 'Good morning, Miss May. And how may I assist you today?'

'Um, I'd like a . . .' She glanced round at the goods displayed on the shelves behind the counter and a feeling of panic assailed her. What did one need to make a proper dinner? Everything was so expensive. She wished that she had paid more attention when out shopping with Bertha. 'I'd like a pound of wheatmeal biscuits, please. And two ounces of tea.' She thought hard, fingering the coins in her purse. 'And half a pound of bacon.' She pointed to the cheapest cut, which seemed to be mostly fat, but would probably be just as tasty as the more expensive kind. She watched nervously as Mr Hodge weighed out the items and wrapped them in brown paper bags.

'Will that be all, Miss May?'

'Some potatoes, please.'

'How many pounds would you like?'

She had no idea. 'Er, ten.'

'Ten pounds of potatoes it is then.' Mr Hodge began tipping potatoes into the large brass bowl of the scales.

'No, I think I might not be able to carry all those. Perhaps half a dozen potatoes would be better.'

'Certainly.' The urbane smile on Mr Hodge's face did not falter as he tipped most of the potatoes back into the sack. 'And where is Miss Spinks today. Is she unwell?'

'No, she's quite well, thank you. I'm just doing the shopping for her.' She did not want the whole of Wapping to know their business. 'How much is that, Mr Hodge?'

She went home with an empty purse, and when she spread out her purchases on the kitchen table she realised that she had omitted to buy such staples as bread, butter and sugar. There had been no money left to buy candles and lamp oil, but she decided that she would think about it later. In the meantime, she needed to speak to Walter.

She found him in the counting house with his head bent over a ledger. He looked up when she entered the room, but there was a strained look about his eyes when he smiled at her. 'Good morning, Rosie.'

'Is it, Walter? Yes, I suppose it is a lovely day, but I've just been shopping in the High Street, and I really had no idea how much food costs. It's really shocking.'

His lips twitched. 'I'm sure no one would argue with that statement.'

'I need some more housekeeping money.'

'I'm afraid there is nothing left in the cash box.'

She stared at him in horror. 'Nothing? Oh, come, Walter. There must be something. We've never been that short of money before.'

'I've been going through the books, but things couldn't be worse.'