The Orphan's Dream (33 page)

‘Let me get nearer, Bundy,' Hubert said, his voice trembling with emotion. ‘Give me your knife so that I can ease the roots free. I want to take home living specimens.'

Jack moved closer to Mirabel. ‘This might take some time. Let's get you onto dry land.'

She was about to refuse, but Bodger was pushing so that he could get closer to Hubert and there was a scramble of bodies churning up the water, to the obvious annoyance of a couple of snapping turtles that had been lazing just below the surface. ‘I'll follow you,' she said reluctantly. The dark water felt like treacle as she waded slowly towards dry ground, and her sodden skirts hampered her movements. The mud sucked at her feet, and fronds of resurrection fern growing on overhanging tree branches slapped at her face. Jack reached out to help her onto firm ground.

‘Thank you.' She withdrew her hand, wrapping her arms around her body as she turned to watch Hubert's efforts to prise the orchid roots from the tree trunk.

‘You can't avoid me forever,' Jack said softly. ‘And you can't deny that you have feelings for me.'

‘No, I can't deny it, but it's no good, Jack. You can see how things are.'

‘I see a beautiful young woman tied to an elderly man by a promise she made when she was under duress.'

‘That's not true. I wasn't forced into anything.'

‘He took advantage of your situation.'

‘Don't do this. I meant what I said yesterday.' She turned away resolutely. ‘There can never be anything between us, Jack.'

‘Never is a very long time.'

Hubert was like a new father, nurturing his ghost orchids as if they were his own flesh and blood. They were packed individually and carried as tenderly as newborn infants, each one receiving his full attention. He seemed to have forgotten his aches and pains and his eyes shone with enthusiasm as they packed up camp next day and made ready for the trek back to Coconut Grove.

Mirabel was everything a solicitous wife should be during the long days that followed. She kept close to her husband, making sure that in his desire to protect his precious orchids he did not neglect himself. It was the only way she could demonstrate to Jack that she meant what she had said. She was Hubert's wife and there it must end. It was only at night, when she lay beneath the stars listening to the steady breathing of those around her punctuated by Abraham's loud snores, that she allowed herself to grieve for the love she must deny. In the velvety darkness she was painfully aware that Jack was wide awake even when it was not his watch. The telltale scent of his cigarillo wafted in the night air, and the desire to join him, if only to talk and take comfort from his presence, was almost unbearable. She resisted somehow but wanting to be with him was a nagging ache that would not go away.

They had endured the steamy heat of the Fakahatchee swamp and survived the scorching sun on the prairie, and on the fifth day they finally reached their destination. Hubert's first concern was for his plants and he rushed them into the cabin at Mama Lou's, leaving Mirabel to her own devices. Bundy had been paid and he announced that he was going to the beach hut to get drunk, inviting Jack to join him. The Bahamian porters said their goodbyes and marched off to the hotel. Gertie was left to unpack on her own as Bodger had mumbled an excuse and followed in Bundy's wake.

Mirabel found herself alone with Jack for the first time in almost a week. ‘I suppose this is goodbye,' she said lamely.

‘If that's what you want.'

‘It's what must be, you know that.' She could not bring herself to look him in the eye.

He seized her by the hand. ‘You can't do this, Mirabel. Leave him and come away with me.'

‘Don't.' The word came out on a sob as she snatched her hand free. ‘I can't.'

He fixed her with a hard stare. ‘You're prepared to destroy both our lives for the sake of a selfish old man who loves orchids more than he does you.'

‘That's not fair and it's not true.'

‘You're condemning yourself to a loveless marriage with no hope of having children of your own.'

It was true and she knew it, but she was trapped both by her own conscience and the vows she had made in church. Miss Barton had quite literally instilled the fear of God in her at an early age, and although Mirabel was in no way superstitious, she still believed in eternal hell. It was a place with which she had become familiar during the journey back to Coconut Grove. Her mouth was dry and she was overcome by exhaustion. ‘I'm sorry,' she whispered. ‘I can't do this any more.' She was about to walk away when Bodger suddenly reappeared, waving his arms as he ran towards them. ‘A ship,' he cried joyfully. ‘There's a ship at anchor and a jolly boat heading for shore.'

Events moved so quickly that Mirabel was swept along like a leaf caught up in a fast current. The ship had come from Nassau, stopping off to take on fresh water before setting sail for Newport News with a cargo of fresh fruit, vegetables and rum. Hubert had been revitalised by the prospect of taking his prizes home and had hurried off with Bodger intent on speaking to the captain. They returned two hours later, tipsy from imbibing a quantity of rum, but triumphant, having secured berths for them all as far as Newport News.

‘You must tell Captain Starke, Bodger,' Mirabel said urgently. The thought of leaving Jack without a word was too much for her to bear. ‘He should know what we're planning.'

Bodger grinned drunkenly. ‘He must come with us. I shall tell him so.' He wagged his finger at Mirabel and tottered off into the undergrowth.

That night they slept in their cabins at Mama Lou's and the next night they slept on board the
Virago
, having said their goodbyes to everyone except Jack, who was nowhere to be seen. Mirabel had watched and waited, hoping that he would at least come to say a final farewell even at the last minute, but there was no sign of him and she knew she had only herself to blame. She boarded the
Virago
feeling as though she had left a vital part of herself on shore.

It was only when she awakened next morning to the sound of the waves lapping the wooden hull of the ship and the captain shouting commands to his crew that she realised they were really on their way home. London with its teeming streets and terrible poverty existing cheek by jowl with extreme wealth had seemed like another world. Now they were on their return journey to a life that she had come to question, but which nothing could alter. She had chosen her path and she must bear the consequences of that decision.

Hubert did not put in an appearance for breakfast in the cramped saloon where the crew took their meals. Mirabel made a show of eating but she was not hungry. She made her excuses and went to Hubert's cabin, expecting to find him prostrate from sickness, but he was sitting on his bunk holding one of the orchids in his cupped hands. ‘Isn't it perfect?' he said, smiling. ‘They've survived this far, although I doubt if we'll get them to London in this state, but I hope they will set seed. I can't be sure if they've been pollinated but it would be such a coup to be able to propagate them myself.'

‘I thought you might be unwell,' Mirabel said, staring at the delicate bloom with a rush of near hatred. It was something tangible to blame for her heartache. But for the wretched ghost orchid she would never have gone to Florida, and if she had remained in ignorance of Jack's survival she might have lived a reasonably contented life. Knowing that he was alive and well and that he loved her was going to torture her as long as she lived, and it was all the fault of the peerless little flower that had captured her husband's heart and soul.

‘I am quite well, as you see,' Hubert said happily. ‘Perhaps I have conquered mal de mer after all.' His smile faded. ‘If I should fall ill I want you to promise me that you'll look after the orchids. You mustn't allow them to die.'

A sudden desire to snatch the plant from him and toss it overboard was quickly crushed and she managed a faint smile. ‘Of course, Hubert. Just tell me what to do.'

They were two days out when a sudden tropical storm hit them in the middle of the night. The ship bucked and tossed on the giant waves, hurled about like a child's toy. Mirabel climbed out of her bunk and was thrown against the bulkhead with such force that she was momentarily winded.

‘What are you doing?' Gertie shrieked, holding on to the rails of her bunk. ‘Are you mad?'

‘I've got to make sure that Hubert is all right.'

‘Don't go out there. You'll be killed.'

Mirabel lurched towards the door and wrenched it open. The ship ploughed into the trough of a wave and she slithered along the deck towards Hubert's cabin. Despite the fact that Bodger would be there to look after him she had a terrible feeling that all was not well. Seawater came crashing down the companionway but she struggled on, slipping and sliding, her nightgown already soaked and clinging to her like a cold compress. The vessel peaked momentarily on the crest of a huge wave and she was able to grab the door handle. She burst into the tiny cabin expecting to see Bodger but Hubert was on his own, slumped against the bulkhead with the ghost orchids clutched in the crook of his right arm.

‘Are you all right?' Mirabel demanded anxiously. In the pale light of the paraffin lamp swinging precariously from its hook in the masthead, she could see that something was wrong. ‘Hubert, speak to me.' She peered closer and was horrified to see his mouth hanging slack with a dribble of saliva running down his chin. His facial features were distorted and his left arm hung limply at his side. ‘What's wrong?' She tried to prise the orchids from his grasp but a low moan escaped his lips and he recoiled from her. ‘All right,' she said hastily. ‘I won't take them.' She took a step backwards, eyeing him warily. ‘Where's Bodger? He should be here taking care of you.'

Hubert remained motionless, but he was in little danger of falling from his bunk as he seemed to have wedged himself against the bulkhead. There was nothing she could do other than to sit with him and pray that the ship would weather the storm, although it felt as if hell had been let loose and the Atlantic Ocean was about to swallow them in one great greedy gulp.

Someone was shaking her by the shoulder and she opened her eyes, staring blearily into Bodger's anxious face. ‘What's up with the guv, missis? I can't get a word out of him.'

In her dreams she had been with Jack, sailing on a calm sea towards eternal happiness, but Bodger's bedraggled appearance brought her back to reality. ‘Is he worse?' She rose to her feet, leaning over the bunk. Hubert had not moved and the orchids were still clutched to his chest. She prised them gently from his grasp. ‘I'll take great care of them, my dear. Bodger has come and he'll make you more comfortable.' She turned to Bodger, lowering her voice, although it did not seem as though Hubert was aware of his surroundings. ‘How far are we from port?'

‘The captain reckons we'll make landfall this afternoon, in spite of the bashing we had from the storm. It was one of the worst I've seen on this coast that wasn't one of them tornadoes. Our cabin trunks were washed overboard even though I lashed them down.'

Mirabel was too concerned for her husband's state of health to care about the loss of personal items. They had not been in a position to bargain when the captain refused to stow their belongings below decks as the hold was filled with cargo. There were, she thought grimly, more important matters to discuss and Hubert must be her main concern. ‘We're heading for Newport News?'

‘Aye, missis.'

‘Will we be able to get a ship to take us back to England from there? Or will we have to return to New York? I know so little about these things.'

‘We might find a tramp steamer to take us home if we wait long enough, but if you want to travel quickly and in luxury we'll have to get to New York, and it'll cost you money.'

She dismissed this with a wave of her hands. ‘That won't be a problem. My husband has made ample provision for our travelling expenses. The most important thing now is to make him comfortable. If you could lift him I'll fold back the coverlet and we can get him into bed properly, but he's in desperate need of a doctor.'

‘What's up with him?' Bodger lifted Hubert, holding him while Mirabel rearranged the bedding. ‘There you are, guv,' he said, laying him down gently. ‘That's the ticket.'

Mirabel drew him aside. ‘I don't know, but I think it might be apoplexy. I seem to remember one of the men who used the soup kitchen collapsing with something similar. He died.'

Bodger laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Don't worry, missis. We'll get him to a sawbones on shore.'

Battered and with ragged sails, the
Virago
limped into Newport News in the early afternoon as the captain had promised. An hour later they had booked into the hotel where they had stayed on their way to Florida. It was, Mirabel realised, only a few weeks ago, but it felt like a lifetime. She sent Bodger to find a doctor while she sat with her sick husband, but she did not need a physician to tell her that Hubert was mortally ill. He was quiet most of the time but only as long as he could see his beloved orchids, and they had been placed on a table at the foot of his bed. The papery white flowers were drooping sadly, the delicate petals turning brown at the edges. Mirabel knew in her heart that they would not survive the journey home, but she dare not think too far ahead. The main thing was for Hubert to believe that they would live and produce seed so that he could fulfil his ambition to propagate the species. The flowers might be dying, but she suspected that in Hubert's eyes they were as fresh as the day they were hacked from the trunk of the custard apple tree.

She jumped to her feet as someone tapped on the door. It was, as she had hoped, Bodger returning with a doctor.

Mirabel went down to dinner that evening accompanied by Gertie. She had not wanted to leave Hubert, but Bodger had insisted on remaining at his employer's bedside, and Gertie had persuaded her that she must eat in order to keep up her strength. The doctor had not been hopeful. His words echoed in Mirabel's head, and they were not encouraging. ‘Your husband is a very sick man, Mrs Kettle. I don't wish to alarm you, but I would not recommend a long sea voyage in his condition which might deteriorate quite suddenly, although I sympathise with your desire to return home. The decision must be yours, ma'am.'