Tide of Fortune (7 page)

While Judith was drinking the prepared infusion, there was a knock on the cabin door. Kerenza opened it to find Billy, the ship’s boy, with the slop bucket. Telling him to wait outside, and shushing Judith’s protests, she quickly emptied the chamber pot, rinsed her hands, added the washing water from the basin, then passed the bucket back to him.

‘Oh, that’s better,’ Judith breathed, handing over the empty cup and lying down again. ‘Very soothing. My dear, I feel so guilty –’

‘Please, don’t,’ Kerenza begged. ‘When I imagine what this voyage would have been like for me if I’d had to share with someone like Mrs Woodrow –’

‘Heaven forbid!’ Judith made a fending-off gesture. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘Indeed. So please don’t apologise. Truly, there’s no need. Try to sleep a little. And if you can’t, well, think about your husband and the welcome you will receive. He’ll be so happy to have you home.’

Judith smiled up at her. ‘You are a very special young woman.’

Kerenza shook her head; glad the lamp behind her kept her face in shadow. Not special enough. ‘I shall leave you to rest now.’ Pulling on her hat, she picked up her grandfather’s heavy cloak, and slipped out, closing the door quietly. She paused to fasten the cloak, staggering as the schooner rose and plunged. The air in the passage was colder but less stuffy, and the sounds of the ship were louder.

At the bottom of the brass stairs, drawn toward the daylight after the cabin’s gloom, she hesitated, glancing toward her father’s cabin. He must know she was on board. Surely he would realise she had tried to see him? The fact that he had made no attempt to seek her out could only mean he did not wish to. So what would be the point of knocking?

He was her father. Yet she had hardly recognised him the night he had arrived so unexpectedly at her grandmother’s house. He had said he needed her. But it seemed that until they reached Tangier he had no desire to see her and preferred to spend his time with Captain Penrose. Though, considering their similar experiences, it was hardly to be wondered at if the two men derived comfort from each other’s company. For who else could appreciate or truly understand what they had suffered?

To feel slighted was foolish. It was just that she had hoped the voyage would provide an opportunity to get to know her father again, to overcome their estrangement. She knew only a fraction of what he had been through – was
still
going through. For not until her mother and sister had been rescued would his nightmare end. So, instead of condemning his behaviour, she should try to make allowances. But in order to do that she needed to see him, talk to him.

As she lifted her hand, anxiety gripped her. Was this really such a good idea? Dismissing her doubts, she tapped on the door. She waited a moment, then tapped again. This time she was sure. More a growl than recognisable words, at least it proved he was there. She reached for the handle and realised her heart was galloping and her throat paper-dry. Why was she so nervous? He was her father.

Turning the handle, she opened the door, recoiling from the gust of fetid air pungent with brandy fumes and the sour-apple smell of the chamber pot. The cot filled half of the narrow cabin. At the far end, Kerenza saw a shaking hand emerge and push aside the greatcoat flung across as an additional blanket. William Vyvyan’s face appeared, pallid and creased. ‘Wha –?’ he mumbled, puffy eyes narrowed against the light.

‘It’s me, Papa, Kerenza.’

He groaned, withdrawing his head like a tortoise.

She stood frozen. Was he unwell? The smell of brandy told its own story. But was it more than that? Should she offer help? But to do what? She swallowed. ‘Papa?’

‘Go away. Get
out
!’

The rebuff was as brutal and shocking as a slap. Quickly she pulled the door shut and stood, trembling, her heart hammering against her ribs. She could not return to the cabin without disturbing Judith. And should Betsy discover her in the saloon without a book, writing materials, or even some sewing, the questions would amount to an inquisition. She could not face it.

Grasping the rail with one hand and the skirts of her cloak in the other, she ran quickly up the brass stairs to the deck. Above her, low grey cloud with a strange apricot tint raced across the sky, obscuring the few remaining patches of blue.

As she stepped out of the companionway, the biting wind snatched her breath. But it cooled her burning face, tasting clean and sweet after the foulness below. Holding on to the hatch, she glanced around.

Two men in the ratlines high above the deck were trying to free a tangle of wood and canvas – all that remained of the main topsail – while others put reefs in the two huge fore and aft sails. Nick’s warning not to get in the crew’s way echoed in her head. A seaman at the huge wheel nodded briefly, then switched his gaze to the compass in front of him.

A door opened on the lower side of the curve-backed structure behind him and Maggot emerged. Seeing her, his swarthy face creased in a grin and he came forward, sure-footed as a cat despite the packet’s leap and plunge.

‘You want fresh air, yes? Sun gone, but no rain yet.’

Not trusting her voice, she simply nodded, and took his proffered arm. Passing the low skylight behind the binnacle housing the compass, a movement below caught her eye. She was looking down into the captain’s cabin. Her heart tripped on a beat at the sight of Nick bent over a chart-strewn table trying to rub the tension from the back of his neck.

As she stepped into the lee of the oddly shaped hut the roar lessened and the sensation of being pushed by a giant hand suddenly ceased. The wind in
Kestrel’s
sails had tilted the schooner so that the heaving, foam-streaked water looked awfully close. But this small space offered greater protection than any other part of the deck.

‘Is safe here,’ Maggot said. Studying her, he frowned. ‘You sick?’

‘No.’ Kerenza shook her head and quickly wiped an errant tear from her cheek. ‘It’s just the wind. I’m fine. Thank you.’ To distract him she indicated the oddly shaped hut. ‘What
is
this?’

‘It protect man at wheel. One side is store for paint, lamps and oil. In other side is –’ His glance slid away for a moment as he struggled to find the word. ‘Is jakes …
Muzpot
 … For men.’

Realisation dawned. ‘Of course,’ Kerenza said quickly, feeling herself blush. She recalled overhearing her grandfather complain about having to organize a “bucket and chuck it” latrine shelter for officers and crew on deck in order to avoid offending the sensibilities of female passengers. She sought hurriedly for another question. ‘Why is the back curved like that?’

‘Sometimes waves very strong. If back straight like front –’ Maggot shrugged ‘– sea would smash, and wash away.’ He glanced along the deck then back to her. ‘I go now. Come back short time. Yes? You wait.’ It was a warning. As she nodded, he bowed and left.

Relief at being able to stop pretending all was well was swiftly followed by despair. She felt so dreadfully alone
.

Judith Russell’s appreciation made performing small tasks for her a pleasure not a hardship. So resisting the urge to confide was becoming ever more difficult. Yet resist she must, for Judith was already burdened with recent bereavement plus the anxiety and discomfort of making this voyage so close to her confinement.

But on top of Nick’s implacable coldness and Betsy Woodrow’s constant sniping, her father’s rejection was almost too much to bear. Kerenza held on to the rail, swaying with the movement of the ship as scalding tears slid down her cheeks. Sobs convulsed her. Biting hard on her lower lip she choked them down. She must not let go. Then she heard her grandmother’s voice.

“Come now, Kerenza. That’s enough.” The words were brisk and crystal clear. But behind the sternness Kerenza divined the love that for the past four years had been helping to rebuild her shattered self-esteem. “This is not an easy situation. But you surely did not expect it to be. For occasional relief from overstretched nerves a little weep is an excellent remedy. But to become a watering pot will swiftly inspire scorn rather than sympathy.”

‘Miss Vyvyan?’

Startled, for she had not heard anyone approach, she jerked round. Nick stood frowning down at her, blocking both her view of the deck and her escape. 

Chapter Six

Fizzing shock tightened every nerve. She felt briefly faint as blood drained from her face then rushed back, engulfing her in heat. Turning her head away, she raised the gloved hand furthest from him, swiftly wiped her wet face, swallowed hard, then faced him again.

‘Mr Penrose?’

‘If you are unwell, it would be wiser –’

‘I am perfectly well, thank you.’

His glance lingered on her tear-stained cheeks. His expression was set and hard, giving nothing away, but a muscle jumped at the side of his jaw. ‘Then may I suggest you spend some time with your father? Were you to do so, he might feel less need to seek out the captain’s company.’

The implication that she was neglectful brought Kerenza’s chin up. ‘If the captain does not desire my father’s company, surely he is capable of saying so?’

‘You
know
the captain is not a well man.’ The rage and pain in his piercing gaze unnerved her, for it was far greater than his accusation warranted.

‘Indeed, I am sorry for it. But if you, the senior officer and his nephew, are unable to influence the
captain’s
behaviour, why do you assume I have any chance whatsoever of influencing my father?’

He avoided answering and instead threw another accusation. ‘You are of course aware that your father brought a considerable amount of brandy aboard?’

She stiffened. ‘I was not. Nor am I responsible for my father’s actions. Mr Penrose, I should tell you that my first meeting with my father since this ship left Falmouth took place less than half an hour ago.’

Grim-faced, he stared at her. ‘Why so long? Did you not try –?’

‘I have tried every day. But my father was never in his cabin. He was with the captain. As I was warned by the steward not to knock on the captain’s door, what was I supposed to do?’

His face tightened. ‘You say you talked with your father a short time ago?’

‘To say we talked would be an exaggeration. When I knocked on his door he – he asked to be left alone.’

‘And you obeyed? Did it not occur to you that he might be in need of –?’

‘Whatever my father currently has
need
of,’ Kerenza cried, ‘it is certainly not me. He made that abundantly clear.’ The injustice of being blamed for something that she could not have prevented even had she been aware broke down what remained of her self-possession. ‘You may believe me, Mr Penrose,’ she said bitterly, ‘when I tell you that I have no more wish to be aboard this ship than you have to see me here.’

The skin around his nostrils whitened. ‘In that case, why did you come?’

‘Because my father asked – no –
demanded
that I accompany him. He made it impossible for me to refuse. He needs me to take care of my mother and sister on the voyage home.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘I understand they are at the governor’s palace in Tangier.’

‘They are guests of the governor?’

‘No, they are his prisoners.’

He stared at her. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘My mother and sister are being held for ransom,’ Kerenza said wearily. ‘Surely you knew?’

‘No, I did not. Why should I? With only three days in which to arrange repairs and get the ship ready for sea again, I had little time ashore, and none to listen to gossip.’ He stopped as if jabbed by an unwanted thought, then continued. ‘My sole interest in the passengers was to learn how many would be aboard, and to ensure adequate provisions for them as well as the crew. I had no idea of names or identities until I collected the final list with the mail just before we sailed.’

When you became, as Maggot observed, short-tempered and uncommunicative. Kerenza bit her tongue. She had said too much already.

His frown deepened. ‘I don’t understand. The British government is on friendly terms with Morocco. The sultan, Mulai Suleiman, and the Dey of Algiers have both agreed treaties that allow British naval and merchant ships sailing to the Mediterranean to purchase a Pass that guarantees protection from attack by pirates or privateers. So
why
is the governor holding your mother and sister?’

‘I don’t
know
,’ Kerenza cried helplessly. ‘I know only what my grandmother pieced together from what little my father told her the night he arrived in Cornwall. Perhaps you have forgotten –’
Or choose not to remember.
Betraying heat climbed her throat and flooded her cheeks, but she forced herself to carry on. ‘My parents and sister left Falmouth for Tangier a year ago. My father chartered a ship to carry a cargo of wool and cotton goods to trade for a return cargo of fruit, wine, hides, and olive oil.’

‘There is nothing wrong with my memory.’ It seemed from his grim expression that he remembered far more than he wished to.

Nor mine. She looked away, too bruised to risk further hurt. ‘On the outward voyage the ship was captured by an Algerian privateer. My mother collapsed with a fever, and my father persuaded the Algerian captain that she might have smallpox. The captain put my father ashore in Algiers and he was imprisoned there. Then the wound he had sustained during the attack became infected. I understand that when he recovered my father struck some kind of bargain with the captain. When eventually he arrived back in Tangier he was told that my mother and sister were guests of the governor, who would be pleased to return them to him on payment of a substantial
gift
, the size of which would increase the longer they remained in the palace. I don’t know how he got back to England, only that he arrived in Falmouth the same day that you returned from Lisbon.’ She paused for breath. ‘He went directly from the ship to the packet office and learnt from the agent that the next Gibraltar packet was not due to leave for another two weeks. But
Kestrel
would be sailing for Gibraltar within three days. My father had no choice, and nor did I.’

She gripped the rail, staring through clouds of fine spray at the heaving masses of dark water marbled with foam.

‘Miss Vyvyan.’ Nick’s voice was hoarse with strain. ‘I need – there is something – I believe you are acquainted with my cousin, Lieutenant Jeremy Ashworth?’

She turned her head, gazing at him blankly. ‘I beg your pardon?’ What had that to do with anything? His question brought back memories long since buried beneath far more important events.

Among her friends and acquaintances attending the supper-dance that evening, she alone had not been instantly impressed by the tall, blond Third Lieutenant. Beside her, Sophie had almost swooned as he entered the room. ‘Kerenza, look! It’s Lieutenant Ashworth. His father is Captain of the
Hercules
, you know. Is he not wonderfully handsome?’

Perhaps because her heart belonged totally, irrevocably to Nick, Kerenza was able to observe the newcomer with greater objectivity. ‘To be sure, he has regular features.’

‘Regular –? Oh Kerenza!’ Sophie stamped her foot in intense irritation. ‘Is that all you can say? I swear he is the handsomest man I have ever seen. See how his hair gleams?’ She sighed dreamily. ‘Like gold sovereigns. That smile!’

‘Indeed,’ Kerenza murmured. ‘He is all charm.’ And self-importance. Though of similar height, he lacked Nick’s breadth of shoulder. He was air and quicksilver to Nick’s earth and iron. She sighed, wishing Nick had been able to come. He had planned to. But in a hastily written note delivered to her that afternoon he apologised that an urgent family matter made his attendance impossible. His uncle, or his mother? However, he hoped to see her very soon.

She had read the note several times, sensing behind the careful phrasing all his frustration and disappointment. The childhood loss of his father and consequent early responsibility had enhanced Nick’s natural reserve. But his inability to frame flowery compliments did not indicate lack of feeling. On the contrary, often when their eyes met what she read in his gaze made words not merely inadequate but unnecessary.

She would have willingly remained at home herself. But having accepted the invitation, good manners demanded she attend.

‘Oh, Kerenza, he’s looking this way.’ Raising her fan so it masked the lower half of her face, Sophie fluttered it provocatively. ‘I wish I had worn my gown with the pearl rosettes. It is far prettier than this old rag. Oh,’ she squeaked. ‘He’s coming over. Do you think he’ll ask me to dance?’ Kerenza had remained silent, wary without knowing why, yet not wanting to dash her friend’s hopes.

Lieutenant Ashworth had bowed to them both. After dropping a curtsy Kerenza started to turn away as if to speak to another acquaintance, politely indicating to the lieutenant her lack of interest and expectation. But to Sophie’s devastation it was Kerenza he asked to dance.

Caught by surprise, she had no time to think of an acceptable excuse. Before she could demur, he was leading her into the set where she felt her smile grow fixed as he boasted at length about the actions in which his ship had been involved.

Then he cajoled her grandmother – who either did not notice or completely misinterpreted Kerenza’s pleading glances – into allowing him to accompany them in to supper.

Though she knew herself the object of envious glances, Kerenza was not flattered. Her discomfort increased when, having introduced Nick’s name into the conversation by informing her that Nick’s mother and his own were sisters which made Nick his cousin, he then spent an astonishing amount of time comparing Nick’s seagoing career unfavourably with his own.

Eventually she shook him off by appealing to his vanity: reminding him that he owed it to all the other young ladies present to spread his addresses more evenly. She returned to her grandmother, only to learn that he had announced his intention to request permission to call on her.

‘No, nana, absolutely not. He is the most insufferable, conceited, odious –’

‘I thought so too,’ her grandmother agreed, stopping Kerenza in mid-rant. ‘But had you liked him, I would have made an effort to be pleasant. Ah well.’ She sighed. ‘You may be easy, Kerenza. I shall ensure he pays his respects elsewhere.’

‘Am I correct?’ Nick’s voice jolted her back to the present. ‘You are acquainted with Lieutenant Ashworth?’

Kerenza thought fast. Good manners, and the family relationship existing between the two men, demanded she say nothing detrimental – even though the lieutenant had clearly felt no such constraints. ‘We have met,’ she answered carefully.

‘That’s all? You
met
?’

‘Yes. At the Roseworthys’ supper-dance.’

‘As you and I met, at the Antrims’ party.’ It was his first acknowledgement of what they had shared, but his tone chilled her with its bitterness.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Kerenza shook her head. ‘Oh no. You are mistaken. The two events could not have been more different.’

He stared hard at her, as if trying to see into her heart, read her thoughts, and she could feel tension emanating from him. ‘Would you call him a friend?’ As she started to shake her head, his eyes narrowed. ‘Something more, perhaps?’

‘No!’ Her denial was immediate and she realised both her tone and expression betrayed her distaste. It could not be helped. ‘We were introduced. He favoured me with his attention –’ recalling his snide criticism rekindled her indignation ‘– until persuaded he should not neglect the other young ladies. He indicated a wish to call on me. However, I preferred him not to do so.’

Nick’s face was as grey and hard as granite. ‘Indeed? Others remember it differently.’

Kerenza stared at him, bewildered. ‘What others? I don’t understand.’

‘No?’ His scepticism stung.

‘No! Perhaps if you were to explain –?’

‘What point would it serve? Your recall of events is so different from my cousin’s.’

He didn’t believe her. She had yearned, ached, for a chance to talk to him, to find out what had happened, why he had changed. What had Lieutenant Ashworth to do with it? Unless … It was clear that the two cousins had talked and her name had been mentioned.

What had Lieutenant Ashworth said? Why would he so distort the truth? What did it matter now? Having nothing to hide, she had answered Nick’s questions with total honesty. He didn’t believe her.

She could scarcely breathe for the pain. Her eyes filled, but she tossed her head, blinking furiously. She would not break down in front of him. Dignity was all she had left. She met his gaze directly. ‘I have no idea why your cousin should lie to you, Mr Penrose. But as you have chosen to believe him –’ and not me ‘– you are right. We have nothing more to say to one another.’ She looked past him and saw the second mate. Having caught sight of Nick, he was turning away. ‘Maggot!’ she cried desperately. ‘Please – I want to go below.’

‘Wait.’ Nick reached out to steady her. ‘I will escort –’

‘No!’ Kerenza recoiled. ‘You have done enough.’

By nightfall the wind had risen to a full gale, whipping up high waves whose rolling, tumbling crests filled the air with icy spray. It screamed through the rigging and buffeted the crew as they slid and staggered along the steeply angled deck.

Sending Maggot to the wheel with an able seaman to help him, for it would take the strength of two to hold the packet to her course, Nick ordered both watches topside. Eventually his voice cracked from trying to shout above the deafening noise, and Nick had to use Billy to convey his orders to the bosun.

‘Hold fast,’ he warned, gripping the boy’s bony shoulder. ‘One hand for the ship and one for yourself.’ Then he had watched, tight-lipped, as the boy raced away, trying to dodge the seas crashing in over the lee rail and swirling knee-deep along the deck.

He had brought down the fore-topsail immediately the main blew out. The gaffs on the fore and mainmasts had followed soon after. Now the schooner tore along under foresail and headsail, climbing steep, foam-veined mountains, careening down into the trough on the other side, only to face the slow, shuddering climb once more. It was exhausting and uncomfortable, but the ship was in no immediate danger.

A mocking cheer eased the tension when, after being confined for two hours in the cramped paint store preparing all the lamps, Ned Burley had eventually staggered out, splattered with oil and cursing angrily.