The Orphan's Dream (28 page)

Even as she spoke Bodger burst into the cabin. ‘We struck a reef and we're aground.'

Gertie flew at him, pummelling him with her small fists. ‘What does that mean? Are we going to drown?'

Bodger caught both her hands in his big fists. ‘Not unless you jump overboard. Cap'n says it's safer to wait until the fog lifts so that we know exactly where we are. We ain't sinking yet.'

‘Yet?' Gertie sank down to her knees, covering her face with her hands. ‘We're doomed.'

‘Nonsense,' Mirabel said sharply. ‘The captain knows what he's doing. If we're not in imminent danger of sinking it seems more sensible to wait for daylight.'

Hubert patted her hand. ‘Bravely said, my dear.' He turned his head to look up at Bodger. ‘Look after your sister. I'm all right here. My wife will take care of me.'

Mirabel nodded to Bodger. ‘Do as he says, but come and tell me if there's the slightest chance we have to abandon ship.' She leaned back against the bulkhead, holding Hubert's hand until his grip slackened and he slept. She closed her eyes.

Someone was shaking her by the shoulder. She opened her eyes and found herself looking up into Gertie's pale face. ‘What is it? What's happened?'

‘It's getting light, Mabel. Bodger says we're stuck on the reef in sight of the Fowey Rocks lighthouse. We're to be taken to shore in the jolly boat, but you must come now.'

‘Pack a few things in one of the smallest valises,' Mirabel said, instantly alert. Rising to her feet, she stretched her cramped limbs. ‘Where's Bodger? We'll need him to carry my husband.'

Hubert raised himself on his elbow. ‘I'm not a cripple, Mirabel. I walked on this vessel and I'll walk off it.'

The sun was struggling through the fog, which hung a thin mist over the mainland, hiding its face like a bride's veil. The
Angelina
sloped at a precarious angle, part of her hull impaled on a submerged reef. The crew were prepared to launch the jolly boat with a seaman ready to man the oars and another to help the passengers into the small craft, but Hubert refused to climb in until the captain promised to ensure the safety of their luggage, although it was obvious that this was the lowest in his list of priorities. ‘I hope to refloat the old girl at high tide,' Captain Butler said ruefully. ‘The carpenter will try to patch up the hull so that we can continue to Havana for a more thorough repair.'

‘But I must have the rest of our luggage,' Hubert insisted. ‘This is a very important scientific venture, sir. I cannot continue without my equipment.'

‘I fully understand your problem, Mr Kettle. But I have a cargo to deliver and a considerable sum of money to lose if I cannot do so.'

‘Then we understand each other, Captain. I will pay extra if necessary, although if you leave us in this wild place you will not have fulfilled your part of our agreement, which was to take us to Key West.'

Polite and professional to the last, the captain agreed to send their baggage ashore as soon possible, and he assisted Hubert into the boat. ‘You'll land at a small settlement called Coconut Grove. I could take you to Havana if we can refloat my vessel, but I wouldn't want to risk making landfall at Key West.'

‘Thank you, but I'm sure we'll find another ship to take us on to our final destination.' Hubert sank down beside Mirabel and turned his face resolutely towards the shore.

Mirabel was watching the captain's expression when he gave the order to lower the jolly boat into the water, and it was not encouraging. As they approached land she could see that this was not a busy harbour where they might easily find another ship to take them on the rest of their journey. The heat was suffocating and the light intense, creating the illusion that the pale yellow sand was flecked with gold, and the background of lush vegetation was in a palette of colours ranging from lime green to the deepest viridian. It might look like a tropical paradise but there were only a few buildings and most of them little more than wooden shanties.

Bodger was the first ashore and he offered to carry Hubert through the shallows to the beach. Hubert refused politely, but accepted his help to climb out of the boat and then waded through the shallows unaided. Mirabel did not fancy having soggy petticoats and a wet skirt clinging to her legs and she allowed Bodger to carry her ashore, as did Gertie. He retrieved their cases and the crewmen rowed back to the ship, leaving them stranded like shipwrecked mariners on a coral atoll.

‘What now?' Gertie demanded, shielding her eyes from the sun, which was beating down relentlessly.

‘We should seek shade,' Hubert said with a determined lift of his chin. ‘There seems to be some sort of habitation close by. I'll go and see if there's an inn or a boarding house that will put us up until the next ship arrives.'

Mirabel and Bodger exchanged worried glances. ‘But Hubert,' Mirabel said, choosing her words with care, ‘this isn't exactly a busy port. How do we know that ships will put in here?'

‘We will find out shortly, my dear. If not I'm sure we can find transport to take us to where we will find some other means by which to travel.'

‘Don't see no railway station,' Gertie grumbled. ‘No roads neither.'

‘Those who live here arrived by some route or other,' Hubert said cheerfully. ‘It's good to be on terra firma. I feel better already.' He left his case for Bodger to carry and marched off across the sand towards a collection of small huts.

Gertie shoved her small valise into her brother's hand, pointing to Mirabel's, which was considerably larger. ‘Best make yourself useful, and you can go first in case there are cannibals and the like hiding in the trees.'

Bodger shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘You don't half talk nonsense, Gertie Tinker.' Laden with all their baggage he trudged off after Hubert with Mirabel and Gertie following close behind.

‘I'm thirsty,' Gertie complained as they neared the first shanty, which was built of wood with a stoop shaded by a canopy of woven palm fronds. A man of indeterminate age was sprawled on a chair, his grubby linen shirt open to the waist exposing a hairy chest, and his loose cotton trousers rolled up to his knees. He was barefoot and his chin boasted several days' stubble. He raised a tin mug to his lips and drank thirstily, staring at them with a suspicious look on his face.

Hubert took off his top hat, wiping the sweat from his brow with a silk hanky. ‘Excuse me, sir. Where might I find accommodation for myself and my party?'

The man drained his cup and dropped it on the floor where it bounced on the wooden planks, ending up on the bottom step. ‘Who's asking?'

‘Forgive me,' Hubert said politely. ‘I should introduce myself. I'm Captain Hubert Kettle and this is my wife, her maidservant and my man, Bodger Tinker.'

‘You don't say.' The man seemed unimpressed. He reached for a bottle which had been concealed beneath his chair, taking the cork out with his teeth and spitting it so that it landed at Hubert's feet. He took a swig and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘You want bed and board? You come to the wrong place.'

‘Then can you tell me where I could find the information I need?'

‘You ain't from round here, mister. Where are you from?'

Mirabel could feel trickles of sweat running down between her breasts and her shoulder blades. The sun was beating down on her head, striking through her straw bonnet and burning her scalp. She was hot, thirsty and hungry. They had snatched a bread roll and a cup of water from the dining saloon, but that was all she had eaten that day and it was, she guessed by the position of the sun, high noon.

‘We came from England,' Hubert said patiently. ‘We're trying to get to the Fakahatchee swamp.'

‘One of them orchid hunters, are you?'

‘You know about orchids?'

‘Not me, mister. But occasionally one or two of them might land up here, thinking they can get a passage home.' He uttered a bark of laughter. ‘Some of us have been here for years.'

Mirabel stepped forward. ‘We came from the ship that ran aground in the fog last night. There must be others that call in here?'

He turned his gaze on her, looking her up and down with a lascivious grin. ‘You can warm my bed any night, little lady.'

Bodger dropped the cases and lurched towards the man, taking the steps in one stride and grabbing him by the throat. ‘Show a bit of respect to a lady, you drunken sot. Is there anywhere we can put up until we can get away from this wilderness?'

The man's face was turning blue beneath the pressure of Bodger's fingers.

‘Let him answer,' Mirabel said hastily. ‘He can't breathe.'

Reluctantly Bodger released his hold and the man clutched his throat, making croaking noises. His gaze slid to the doorway as another man emerged from the gloomy interior.

Mirabel felt his presence, turning slowly to stare as if seeing a ghost. She could neither move nor speak as she gazed at him in disbelief. The figure leaned against the wooden doorpost as he took in the scene with a sweeping glance. He did not speak – he had no need to. She would have known him anywhere.

‘JACK.' HIS NAME
escaped her lips on a breath that was little more than a whisper. ‘It is you.‘

‘Mirabel!' The look of surprise and delight that lit his blue eyes made her dizzy with relief, but as her hands flew to her burning cheeks the diamonds on her engagement ring flashed in the sunlight, and it would have been impossible for him to ignore her golden wedding band. Jack's glance flickered to Hubert and his expression hardened. ‘I see that you're married, Mirabel. I take it that this is your husband.' His smile froze.

The sudden stomach-churning joy she had felt on seeing him was replaced by anger and disbelief. He was supposed to be dead and yet he was here, facing her like a judge about to sentence a miscreant for her wicked deeds. It was unjust and it was unfair. She turned to Hubert like an automaton, drawing on the lessons in etiquette that Miss Barton had drilled into her. ‘Hubert, may I introduce an old acquaintance of mine, Captain Jack Starke.?' She took a deep breath. ‘Captain Starke, this is my husband, Hubert Kettle.'

Hubert stared from one to the other. ‘This is an amazing coincidence indeed.' He turned to Jack, holding out his hand. ‘How do you do, sir? I believe we might have met some time in the past. Your face looks familiar.'

Now seemingly in complete control of his emotions, Jack stepped forward to shake Hubert's hand. ‘I think we might have a friend in common, sir. Miss Zilla entertains many gentlemen in her establishment. I believe we met there on a couple of occasions.'

Without giving Hubert a chance to respond Bodger pushed past them all to fling his arms around Jack. ‘Cap'n! You're alive! We was told you was drownded. It was in the papers.'

‘As you can see, it wasn't true.' Jack patted him on the back, easing him away gently. ‘How come you're here?' He glanced over Bodger's shoulder. ‘And there's Gertie too. It's quite a family reunion.'

She bobbed a curtsey. ‘It is, sir. I'm delighted to see you alive and kicking, so to speak. We was all upset when we heard your ship went down.'

Hubert cleared his throat. ‘This all sounds very interesting and I'm sure we'll hear all the details later, but could I trouble you for a glass of water, Mr Starke?'

‘It's Captain Starke,' Mirabel reminded him gently. ‘My husband has been ill, Captain. We need somewhere to stay while we sort out some kind of transport to take us on the rest of our journey.'

‘What happened to the vessel you arrived on?' Jack demanded, eyeing her with a touch of his old humour. ‘Did you lose it in the fog?'

‘Us hit the reef, Cap'n,' Bodger said, grinning. ‘I didn't jump ship this time; it jumped us so to speak. It's out there stuck on the rocks until high tide when they'll refloat it, providing the carpenter can shore up the hole in the hull.'

‘We could continue to Key West, but I rather think we'll try to make the rest of the journey overland,' Hubert said thoughtfully.

‘So where are you headed?' Jack asked curiously. ‘What on earth would bring you to this desolate spot?'

‘Orchids, sir.' Hubert's tone was not encouraging. ‘We are making for the Fakahatchee swamp, where I hope to find a particular rare orchid.'

‘It's not the sort of place to take a woman, but you're here now so you'd better step inside. It's no cooler but at least you'll be in the shade.' Jack ushered them into the shack and for the first time Mirabel noticed that there was no door, and the only window was simply a glassless hole in the wall. It was dark and the floor was packed earth, or it might be sand, it was hard to tell. A table in one corner was littered with bottles and a couple of wooden kegs, some tin cups and a wicker basket filled with oranges. Jack indicated a roughly made wooden chair. ‘Take a seat, Mr Kettle. This heat takes some getting used to, but I've grown accustomed to it.' He poured large tots of rum into two mugs, handing one to Hubert and the other to Bodger. He glanced at Mirabel, eyebrows raised. ‘Do you partake of strong liquor, Mrs Kettle?'

The acid in his tone cut her like a razor. ‘I'll take a tot with some water.' She met his gaze with a toss of her head. She had no liking for spirits but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her at a loss. It was obvious that he considered their expedition foolhardy to say the least, and her initial delight on seeing him alive and well had given way to bitter disappointment. What right had he to criticise Hubert for bringing her on the voyage of a lifetime when he himself had allowed everyone who cared about him to think he was dead?

Jack poured a drink, added a generous amount of water and handed it to her, but his attention had turned to Gertie and he relaxed visibly. ‘And a tot for you, Gertie?'