Tide of Fortune (15 page)

‘Ah,’ he nodded slowly. She knew he had guessed. He gazed at his feet for a moment, then looked up, his weather-beaten features flushed and frowning. ‘You have little reason to trust me. But please believe that I am deeply sorry for the pain I must have caused you. I see many things differently now. As for Sir George, there was simply no time to give you notice. When Lady Russell told him of your part in events, he insisted on returning with me to thank you in person.’ She saw his glance move from the cup she had not yet touched to her writing case. ‘I fear we interrupted you.’

‘No, not at all. I was writing to my grandmother, but I had finished.’

‘May I?’ He indicated the benches.

‘O -of course.’

As he slid into the bench seat furthest away she felt the knots in her stomach and shoulders loosen slightly and resumed her own seat. ‘Maggot suggested it. To keep me occupied.’

His wry smile echoed hers. Though he caught her gaze for a moment, he did not try to hold it, and looked instead at the shawl. ‘There is certainly much you could tell her.’

‘There is indeed. My grandmother is both open-minded and resilient. But I think if she were to read about some of the events that have occurred during our voyage, without me there to explain the various circumstances, she would be greatly concerned. To cause her such disquiet would be most unkind of me. So I have written in general terms rather than in detail.’

Broad returned, setting a steaming cup in front of Nick. ‘Beg pardon, Mr Penrose, but have you seen Mr Maggot since you come back?’

‘I have, Broad. Thank you.’

‘Right, sir. I’ll be in the galley if you want anything.’ As he disappeared, Nick picked up his cup, took a mouthful, then set the cup down again.

‘I understand your father wished to leave the ship?’

Though he raised his eyes to hers while he spoke, he did not try to maintain the contact. It suddenly occurred to Kerenza that this was deliberate, so she should not feel pressured or intimidated. The realisation released a little more of her tension and, drawing her cup forward, she cradled it in her hands.

‘Maggot told you.’

‘He had no choice. It is his duty to inform me of anything that might affect the wellbeing of the ship or the passengers. Why did your father want to leave?’

‘He was afraid you might be delayed here, or that you might have to take the dispatches to Admiral Hotham yourself.’

He shook his head. ‘They will go with a Royal Navy sloop leaving the dockyard in the morning. So what was his plan?’

‘To find a fishing boat or something similar that would carry us across to Tangier overnight.’

Nick shook his head again. ‘The Straits are a hunting ground for Tunisian and Algerian pirates as well as French privateers and occasional warships. It’s most unlikely he’d have found anyone willing to take the risk. Besides, without the ransom money how did he expect –?’

‘He was not in his right mind.’ She bit her lip, wanting to confess her anxiety about her father’s drinking and her fears about how it might affect their dealings with the Governor, yet prevented by the habit of loyalty even though she knew it had always been one-sided.

‘Morocco is a Muslim country, and Muslims are not allowed alcohol.’ Her head came up. It was as if he had seen into her mind and read her thoughts. ‘So he will find it far harder to obtain.’

‘I’m sure you mean to offer comfort. But isn’t Tangier a free port with a mixed population? If he is determined, it might be all too easy.’

‘Your father’s reason for going to Tangier is to obtain the release of your mother and sister. It’s possible his drinking is due, at least in part, to anxiety and frustration. I’m sure that once we arrive things will be different.’

Kerenza wanted so much to believe him. But as she looked up, searching his eyes, she couldn’t, for she sensed he didn’t believe it himself. She raised the cup to her lips once more, and felt it rattle against her teeth as she emptied it. Clearing her throat, she asked the first question that came into her head.

‘Where do Sir George and Lady Russell live?’

‘In officers’ quarters in the town, I imagine. But fortunately he was still in the Convent when I arrived.’

‘What was he doing in a convent?’ Kerenza asked in bewilderment. ‘And why would you go there?’

‘No, not a convent,
the
Convent.’ His features softened. ‘I should have explained. It’s the name of the Governor’s residence. It was built in the 1500s as a monastery for Franciscan Friars. When it was taken over early this century to become the residence of the senior British officer it kept the name everyone knew and recognised.’ He raised his cup, and Kerenza knew he was allowing her to choose whether or not conversation continued.

She had finished her drink. There was no reason to remain in the saloon. Except … Except this was the first time she and Nick had enjoyed a normal conversation since she had boarded the packet. Yes, they had spoken, but only to request or convey information. Occasions that had been fraught with tension. But this was different, now was different.

He had said he was sorry for the pain he had caused her. That had not been easy for him. Not because he didn’t mean it: clearly he did, and every time she thought about it she shivered with pleasure. What had made the apology so difficult was his obvious lack of practice. She wondered if he had ever apologised before in his life. She could have shown him how it was done. Having spent most of her life apologising for faults real and imagined, she was an expert.

But he had none of Jeremy Ashworth’s arrogance or insufferable conceit. She sensed his attitude to mistakes was swift acceptance. The past could not be changed. So look forward, not back, and move on.

Since leaving Falmouth they had endured storms, faced death at the hands of a French privateer, he had lost his uncle, she had assisted at a birth. They were both exhausted.

Though he had fulfilled his contract by delivering the dispatches, her hardest trial – caring for two people who had made her life miserable – still lay ahead. She didn’t want to think about it. Tonight, this moment, was a respite from what had been and what was yet to come. She looked up.

‘What is the Convent like?’

Seeing his shoulders drop slightly, she was comforted and reassured. The small easing of strain confirmed that he too was nervous. That meant her good opinion was important to him.

Leaning forward, he smiled, rested both elbows on the table, and toyed with his cup. ‘It’s built round an internal courtyard full of orange trees and bougainvillea. The front has a magnificent colonnade opening onto Main Street. At the back there’s a walled garden. This is a rare luxury in Gibraltar because there is so very little spare land. The grounds extend down to the water and it has its own private landing. As soon as we reached the jetty I sent one of the oarsmen to fetch servants with a chair to carry Lady Russell and her baby up to the house.’ He grinned. ‘The news spread like a gorse fire.’

She smiled back. ‘I can imagine.’

‘Sir George came out of the door at a dead run. His face when he saw his wife and baby …’ He looked away. ‘Seamen are far too sentimental.’ His tone was rough and self-mocking. ‘I doubt there was a dry eye in that garden.’ He leant back. ‘I handed over the dispatches and was asked to wait. Eventually Sir George joined me and insisted on coming to the ship to thank you in person.’

‘It was very good of him, but not necessary.’

‘He knows, as do I, that but for you the outcome might have been very different.’

Shuddering, Kerenza shook her head. It didn’t bear thinking about. She sought urgently for something to steer her thoughts from terrors that still haunted her. ‘Did I hear you tell Mrs Woodrow that Maggot once owned his own ship?’

‘He did, a mistico. It’s a bit like a shebec in that it has three lateen sails, but it’s much smaller, rarely above 80 tons.’

‘Those ships we passed when we were crossing the bay, the ones with the overhanging bow and stern, were they shebecs?’

He nodded. ‘They’re ideal for the Mediterranean. Their shallow draft allows them to get really close inshore.’

‘Was Maggot a trader, then?’

Nick’s grin made him look suddenly years younger. ‘In a manner of speaking. Actually, he was a privateer.’

Kerenza stared at him. ‘You’re teasing me.’

He shook his head. ‘Considering his grandfather and uncle were pirates, the temptation – and the pressure – to join them must have been strong.’

‘Is there a difference between pirates and privateers?’

‘There is indeed. Privateers have a legal commission from the state to capture the ships of any country their ruler is at war with. They have to carry Letters of Marque to prove their legitimacy.’

‘What happens to the ships they capture?’

‘Once the state has condemned them as prizes, the ships and their cargoes are sold, and the proceeds divided up between the privateer’s crew.’

‘Didn’t you say Maggot’s ship was sunk by the French?’

Nick’s face hardened in disgust. ‘A privateer three times the size of his shebec. Maggot was the only survivor. He was in the water for 24 hours, clinging to some wreckage, before our lookout spotted him and we picked him up.’

Kerenza’s imagination supplied a vivid picture: Maggot, floating among the dead and disfigured bodies of his crew who must surely have been his friends; amid the wreckage not just of his boat but of his livelihood. How slowly the time would have passed, especially the hours of darkness.

She recalled instances of Maggot’s kindness, his quick, cold anger at her suspicion that he would harm Judith, the mischief in his eyes as he deflected Betsy Woodrow’s wrath, his competence in dealing with her father, and his total loyalty to Nick.

‘It must have been so lonely for him.’ She swallowed the stiffness in her throat. ‘How long ago did it happen?’

‘Three years. He’s been with me ever since.’

‘Did he not wish to return to Tangier?’

Nick shook his head. ‘Because I had saved his life I owned it.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘That felt very strange. Anyway, he refused to leave me. The old hands were suspicious at first, but within a day he had learnt his way around the rigging and within a week he had proved his skill as a helmsman and navigator. When we lost the second mate to fever it made more sense to promote Maggot than take on a new man.’

‘Yet I cannot recall seeing him with you in Flushing when you attended the balls and parties.’

He raised his brows. ‘Would you have expected to?’ She felt her colour rise. ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘He knew he would be an embarrassment. As it happened he didn’t want to come anyway. He couldn’t think of the word for “bored”, but he mimed it well enough, rolling his eyes and snoring.’

Kerenza compressed her lips on a smile. ‘I can imagine. So what does he do when you are in port?’

‘The same as any seaman who has no home or family to go home to. He spends his time on the ship or in waterfront bars. He says the Muslim part of him doesn’t drink, but the English part allows him some ale. Speaking several languages, he quickly makes new friends and picks up all kinds of gossip.’

‘About the war?’ She glanced up as the watch-bell clanged overhead.

He nodded. ‘Among other things. He’ll be an ideal go-between while we are in Tangier. Though the locals tolerate foreigners because of the trade they bring, they are suspicious of the English.’

‘Why?’

‘They haven’t forgotten the occupation and how the English destroyed the city when they left.’ With obvious reluctance, he stood up. Quickly, Kerenza rose, carefully replacing the shawl in the bag.

He hesitated. ‘Now Lady Russell has gone, would you like to move back into the double cabin?’

She looked up quickly. ‘I hadn’t really thought … But if you wish to return to yours then of course –’

‘No. It’s not – I just thought – being so close to the companionway is very noisy. You may find your sleep less disturbed if you are further away.’

She didn’t dare meet his gaze. No matter where she lay her head her sleep would be disturbed by dreams of him, dreams from which she woke with tears still wet on her face; dreams that had shamed her, because to yearn for someone who had treated her so badly was surely perverse and unnatural.

But tonight he had apologised. Tonight they had talked, tentatively reaching out to each other across distance created by hurt and anger. He was trying so hard to make her more comfortable.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled up at him. ‘If it really is no trouble –’

‘None at all,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll fetch Broad, and we’ll move your trunk at once.’ As he started toward the galley door, Kerenza was overcome by giggles. He looked back, smiling. ‘What?’

She shook her head, covering her mouth with her fingertips. She felt light-headed with relief and happiness and hope. But she couldn’t tell him that, not yet.

‘My trunk,’ she spluttered. ‘It is being moved so often, I think Broad will wish it had wheels.’

Chapter Fourteen

Kerenza was woken next morning by the sounds of the ship getting under way. She yawned and stretched, feeling calmer and more rested than at any time since leaving Falmouth.

The previous night, after transferring her bed linen to the upper cot, she had climbed in. Half-expecting to toss and turn, she had fallen asleep almost at once. Stirring when the crew returned, she drifted off again with a smile on her lips at the amount of noise they made falling over things,
sshhh
ing each other, warning of dire consequences should they disturb her.

Billy rapped on the door. ‘Water, miss.’

‘Thank you, Billy.’ She pushed back the blankets and lit the lamp.

An hour later, much refreshed, her hair brushed, coiled, and pinned up high, she rolled up her green gown and stowed it in the trunk. Shaking out the peach muslin, her only clean garment, she put it on, buttoned her dark green wool jacket over it, and left the cabin. In the saloon Maggot stood, both hands on the chair back, talking quietly to the steward, who frowned as he listened intently. Looking up as she entered, they immediately stopped talking and both bowed.

‘Good morning.’ She smiled.

‘Morning, miss,’ Broad said. ‘How about a boiled egg and some fresh bread and butter?’

‘That would be lovely. Have you seen my father this morning?’

Broad shook his head as he left. ‘Not yet, miss.’

‘Your father no wake yet,’ Maggot said. ‘Is better he sleep as long as possible.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ She knew that once awake, he would only fret.

‘You no worry,’ Maggot ordered. ‘Eat, yes? Is a very busy day for you.’ Then he too left.

Kerenza enjoyed her breakfast. After making sure she had everything she needed, Broad retreated into the galley. Toy wished her good morning as he passed through the saloon, returning a few moments later with a cup of coffee she guessed was for Nick. While she ate, she listened to the sounds of the ship. Without conscious effort she had become familiar with the daily routine.

By now, one watch would have swabbed the decks and polished the brasswork. The other, roused at 7.30 after turning in at 4 a.m., would be stowing their hammocks and slinging the mess tables, hungry for their boiled oatmeal seasoned with salt, butter, and sugar.

She lingered over a second cup of tea, glad of some solitude. A very busy day, Maggot had said. Before nightfall the ship would reach Tangier. Would she see her mother and sister that evening? Perhaps that was too much to expect. Draining the cup she set it down, not at all sure how she felt at the prospect of reunion.

Broad bustled back in and, after thanking him, she went up on deck. Returning the helmsman’s greeting with a smile, she crossed to her favourite place in the stern. Looking forward along the ship, she saw Nick at the mainmast, taking sick call.

A short line of sorry-looking men waited their turn. Two had bruised, swollen faces and black eyes, confirming Broad’s prediction of a fight. The others stood with the drooping heads and hunched shoulders of men to whom bright light and loud noise were painful.

Maggot stood nearby, ready to dose them with the only two remedies the ship carried: James’s Powder to reduce fever, and calomel or castor oil to flush out unbalanced humours. Judging by their appearance, it was the latter that most would receive.

Catching her eye, Nick nodded, then turned back to address the seaman in front of him.

Tingling from the top of her head all the way down to her toes, both pleased and self-conscious at his acknowledgement, Kerenza rested her forearms on the rail and looked out over ruffled water that glittered in the morning sun.

The wind had backed, and was once again blowing from the south-east. But now, instead of holding them back, making them wait, it was speeding them toward their destination.

Gazing backward over the stern, she watched Gibraltar retreat. She thought of Judith and Sir George, and their baby. She recalled the minister standing here beside her, one hand clapped to his round, shallow-brimmed hat, his eyes filled with guilt and sadness as he had pleaded for her compassion.

Had holding Judith’s newborn baby been sufficient to crack the hard shell of envy and resentment that had encased Betsy Woodrow’s heart for so long? Kerenza hoped so for both their sakes. But that chapter of her life was over. She turned to look forward. Ahead, hazy in the distance, lay the Moroccan coast.

‘Deck ho!’ The lookout bellowed from the foretop. ‘Sail on the port quarter. Looks like a shebec, sir. Three masts.’

Maggot and the bosun began yelling orders, men swarmed across the deck, and Kerenza immediately turned to Nick, who pointed toward the companionway. She nodded and hurried down the stairs and along the passage.

Entering the saloon she stopped. ‘Papa!’

Dressed but unshaven, he was seated at the table drinking a cup of coffee. A plate of bread and butter remained untouched. His face was grey and haggard, his eyes little more than slits in pouches of puffy flesh. He tried to speak, but his voice was cracked and hoarse as if he had a sore throat. From his brief gesture she assumed the effort was too great. As he lifted the cup it shook so violently he needed both hands to raise it to his lips. Her thoughts raced and she moved with deliberate calm.

‘This is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to see you up yet.’

He set the cup down, rattling it against the saucer, and, with his elbows on the table, sank his head in his hands.

Kerenza slid into the seat opposite. She opened her mouth, about to offer to fetch him something for the headache from which he was so clearly suffering, but the
boom
of a cannon stopped the words on her tongue and made her start. Her father jumped violently, his gaze jerking, wide and fearful, from skylight to door and back to her.

‘What’s happening?’ he rasped. ‘Are we under attack?’

Having no idea, she shook her head. ‘I don’t know. The lookout warned of a ship approaching, but –’

‘I’m going to find out,’ he cut across her, struggling to his feet.

‘Papa, wait –’

‘Get out of my way,’ he muttered, pushing past and blundering out into the passage. The door to the captain’s day cabin stood open and Kerenza followed her father, unable to stop him as he barged in, slamming the door back against the bulkhead.

‘What’s happening?’ William demanded, hoarse with fear. ‘Are we being attacked? Why are our guns not firing?’ His tone changed, anxiety turning to suspicion ‘What are you doing?’

Coming in behind him Kerenza saw Nick glance up, clearly startled by their arrival. She shrugged helplessly.

He had lifted one of the seats and was bent over the open strongbox. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We are not under attack. That was just a warning shot to –’

‘That’s
my
money in there,’ William’s voice climbed. ‘You’ve no right –
I
need it – my wife and daughter … You can’t – I won’t let you …’ He lunged forward and Kerenza grabbed his arm.

‘Papa, no, stop –’

He flung her off and she stumbled backward.

Nick straightened, taut with fury. ‘That’s enough, Mr Vyvyan! Control yourself, sir. I don’t want your money. I came for this.’ He waved the folded sheet of creamy paper, through which Kerenza could see the shadow of a thick wax seal. ‘I have no intention of jeopardising this ship or anyone on it.’

His gaze flickered briefly to Kerenza and she felt instantly stronger, safer. He knew what he was doing. ‘If I were to order our guns to fire, the Algerian would cripple or sink us in minutes. How then would you rescue your wife and daughter?’

Kerenza watched her trembling father reach blindly for the nearest bench and sink onto it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered as Nick closed the strongbox and dropped the seat back into place. ‘He didn’t mean –’

‘
You
have nothing to apologise for.’

Wincing inside, for it was clear Nick considered her father’s behaviour inexcusable, she indicated the paper. ‘What is that?’

‘Our guarantee of safe passage I hope. It’s the Pass I paid for back in Falmouth. It should convince the Algerian captain to let us proceed unharmed.’ He started for the door. ‘Mr Vyvyan, kindly return to the saloon, and stay there.’ Turning to Kerenza, he lowered his voice. ‘On no account is he to come topside. If you have any trouble call Broad and Toy.’ Next moment he’d gone, taking the stairs two at a time.

‘Come, Papa.’ She slipped her hand under his elbow, half-expecting him to jerk free. But he rose unsteadily and allowed her to lead him out of the cabin. As she paused to close the door, he looked up the companionway. The light fell across his face and her heart was wrenched by the dread stamped across it. She drew him away along the passage and he shuffled after her, moaning under his breath.

Back in the saloon she guided him into his seat, then crossed to the galley door and called for the steward, hurrying back and drawing the chair forward so that her knees almost touched her father’s.

‘What if the Pass doesn’t work?’ William moaned. He turned to Kerenza with a suddenness that made her jump, seizing her hand, his grip painfully tight. ‘
Algerian
, he said. What if it’s the same one? The one who took us captive last year? What if he finds out I’m on board?’

‘Papa, please try to calm yourself. There is no reason to think it is the same man. Even if it is, Mr Penrose has the Pass. The Algerian cannot know you are aboard. Nor will he if we remain down here.’

‘You wanted me, miss?’

Kerenza swung round as Broad bustled in, wiping his hands on a grubby cloth. ‘Yes, please. I was wondering if Maggot – Would you be so good as to ask him if he could spare a moment?’

Broad sucked in a breath through pursed lips. ‘I’ll try, miss. But this isn’t the best time.’

‘I know.’ She tried to convey with her eyes what she could not say aloud. ‘But my father is
extremely
anxious.’

‘Ah.’ She could almost see him recalling what he’d heard about her father’s past, working out possible reactions, weighting their consequences. ‘Right. Back in two shakes, miss.’ He hurried out and along the passage.

‘What if they refuse to recognise the Pass?’ William demanded. ‘The Algerians think any Christian vessel, no matter what nation it belongs to, is a lawful prize. If they find my money –’ He stopped, shuddering with dread at the visions thrown up by his imagination. He gripped her hand more tightly. ‘We should never have stopped. Penrose is too young, too inexperienced. He doesn’t –’

‘No, Papa. That’s not true.’

Tossing her hand away, he glared at her through swollen and crusted eyelids. ‘What do you know? You’re just a girl. You’ve been nowhere. You’ve seen nothing. How dare you! Telling me what’s true and what isn’t. Who do you think you are?’

Clammy with shock at his aggression, her heart hammering painfully, Kerenza clasped her hands on her lap and held herself very straight. ‘I’m your
other
daughter. I did not ask to come. I’m here because you insisted upon it. You said you needed me –’

‘I do, I do.’ He sagged as all the fight and anger was replaced once again by anxiety. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean – I should not have said – but you have no idea …’ Slumping forward with his elbows on the table, he clasped his head in his hands, shaking it.

Hearing footsteps on the stairs then and in the passage, she looked up as Broad came in, hope subsumed by anxiety as he shook his head.

‘I’m sorry, miss. Mr Maggot can’t come now. He’s doing the talking for Mr Penrose with that Algerian.’

‘You see?’ William cried, glaring from one to the other. ‘Didn’t I warn you? He won’t accept the Pass. I’ll be taken prisoner again. What will become of my family then?’

‘Now, now, Mr Vyvyan. That’s enough of that.’ Broad was firm. ‘Mr Penrose knows what he’s doing. I’ll fetch you a nice cup of tea.’

‘Tea?’ William blazed. ‘Are you mad? Any moment those murdering cut-throats could overrun the ship and come bursting in here. You want to make tea? Go on, then. Go and do it. Pretend none of this is happening. Pretend everything is just fine. Go on, get out. You’re no use here.’ He covered his face with his hands, wracked with violent shudders.

Visible angry, his lips tight with indignation, the steward looked at Kerenza.

Hot with shame, she cleared her throat. ‘If you are making tea, Mr Broad, I’d really appreciate a cup.’ She tried to smile. ‘I daresay Mr Penrose and Maggot will welcome one too the minute this business is settled.’

He gave a brief nod. ‘You aren’t wrong there, miss. Be all right, will you?’ His glance flicked to her father and back.

She nodded and Broad stumped out. Kerenza turned to her father, who was totally immersed in his own fears. It was like looking at a stranger. He was her father but she no longer knew him. Reminding herself of what he had been through, she tried hard to make allowances.

But his behaviour was hard to forgive and impossible to condone. He was not alone on the ship. Whatever happened would involve everyone aboard, not just him. She might have felt more compassion had he indeed been a stranger, because then she would have had no expectations. She would not have been hoping that, after years of disappointment and betrayed trust, he might have wanted to make amends.

Tears pricked. Afraid they might fall and betray feelings he would never understand, afraid any sign of weakness in her would only re-ignite his terror, unable to sit still any longer, she stood up quickly and walked out of the saloon. But there was nowhere she could go, not even to the privacy of her cabin. She was trapped by the need to ensure her father remained where he was.

She leant against the bulkhead. Then increased noise from the deck and a subtle shift underfoot told her the packet was getting under way again. A figure ducked through the hatchway, blocking the light, and Nick came down the stairs. Seeing her, he came forward.

‘Now that’s settled there should be no more delays.’

‘That’s good.’ She forced herself to smile. In the dark passage he wouldn’t be able to see, but she hoped it might mask her distress.

‘I heard shouting.’

Afraid of making a fool of herself, she simply shook her head.