Unclaimed Heart (26 page)

She leapt to her feet and loosened the rope, and the pearler began to settle. The shallow breaking waves over the rocks skidded past to starboard. He held his breath against the possibility that some deeper submerged rocks might catch them, then released it again as they sailed into the clear.

Constance collapsed to her knees with relief. “I thought we were done for.”

“Of course we're not done for,” he said with a wry smile. “We are the King and Queen of Today.” He examined the damage to the main mast, feeling a pang of guilt for Captain Blackchurch. It wouldn't take much to repair, and it certainly wouldn't stop them sailing home. A lucky escape.

And now, a little village came into view. A collection of thatch huts huddled between coconut palms. Dotting the shallows were men on fishing stilts, their lines cast into the water. In the distance, three small vessels bobbed in the water at anchor.

Constance looked around. “That's it, isn't it? That's Ranumaran.”

“I think so.”

She pointed back behind them, towards the coastline. “I saw a cave near the reef. I think it's the hidden temple.”

“I will check Nissanka's map, but I think you are right.”

“Can we anchor here?” she said. “I've waited sixteen years; I can't wait another moment.”

Henry took his breakfast in the library, trying to save time in the day. He had some correspondence to write for Howlett before the buyer arrived to look over the pearler. Birds twittered in the garden, and the sea breeze gently troubled his papers on the desk. He put a paperweight on them and turned to the morning's mail. Usually, it was only business and general correspondence for Howlett, but today he saw immediately the one addressed to him. He slit it open, expecting another letter full of disappointments. He'd had more than a dozen that began,
Dear Sir, I regret that I do not have any information to add. . . .
It seemed he had chased Faith as far as he could, and he was already preparing himself for the trip home.

But this letter expressed no regrets, and Henry found his blood jumped when he read the first few lines.

Henry paused here, his mind spinning. Faith Wicks? She had adopted
that
name? The insult was too great to bear. He took a breath and continued.

Again, Henry had to pause. The idea of Faith in service to anyone . . . it was unimaginable. She had too much pride, surely. Things must have gone very badly for her. He didn't know what to feel. Pity? Anger? He returned to the letter.

Henry turned to the letter from Faith. It detailed only what Carver had said; there was no hidden meaning to squeeze from the words. But he stared at it a long time nonetheless. It was in her handwriting, the only thing he possessed that she had touched after her disappearance from his life.

Faith Wicks. He knew now why she had disappeared. It was as his sister Violet had suspected and, although she had warned him, the dashing of his hopes was spectacularly painful.

He hadn't long to nurse his feelings though, as the door opened quietly and Chandrika stood there, an anxious expression on her brow.

“Yes?” he said, clearing his throat, folding up the letter neatly.

“Captain Blackchurch, Miss Constance and Miss Orlanda both failed to come down to breakfast. I checked their rooms, and they are both empty.”

“Empty?” He pushed back his chair but didn't rise. “Well, they must be somewhere together, concocting some nonsense. What do Mr. and Mrs. Howlett say?”

“They told me to come and ask if you knew anything.”

A prickle of unease. Orlanda was wild, but surely she couldn't have compelled Constance to do anything too foolish. “I know nothing.”

“Thank you, sir. I shall report back to you if I hear any news.”

Henry stood and began to pace. He moved to the French doors and gazed into the garden. Constance was cross with him, that was for certain. But she was a reasonable young woman.

Wasn't she?

The door to the library burst open behind him, this time without an accompanying knock. He turned and saw Maitland standing there, flushed and shoeless.

“Captain, the
Queen of Pearls
is gone!”

“Gone? How can it be gone? You were aboard it.” He noticed that sand clung to Maitland's coat and trousers, and groaned. “A bad night for sleeping on the beach, Maitland. I have a buyer coming today, all the way from Colombo. He hoped to sail her back this afternoon.”

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“The question is, how on earth are those two ninnies sailing it? Constance knows her way around the ropes, but Orlanda doesn't strike me as—”

“Orlanda?” he said. “Orlanda's here. She's been . . .” He lowered his voice. “She's been with me.”

“Then how . . . ? Constance couldn't sail the pearler single-handed. . . .” Dawning realization. His heart fell all the way to his feet, and he pressed his hand against his forehead in the hopes it would still his thoughts. “Alexandre, of course,” he muttered. He was paralyzed, afraid to move or breathe. It was happening again: the woman he loved, disappearing into the dawn.

Maitland grew uncomfortable with the long silence. “Sir? What do you want me to do?”

“Ready
Good Bess
for immediate departure. We have about an hour before the tide dips too low.”

“But where will we go? We don't even know which direction they've gone in. South, north, across to India?”

Henry's voice grew strident with rage. “Yes, yes, they could be
anywhere
in the world. I am well aware of this, Maitland, as I am well aware that you were
anywhere
when you should have been
somewhere
, and that was aboard that damn pearler. Find Orlanda; she might know something. And send Chandrika to search Constance's room.” He slammed his fists on the writing desk, making the inkpot jump. “We have to find my daughter.”

The beach at Ranumaran was not as pleasant as the one at Nagakodi. A thin strip, gravelly rather than fine sand. With Nissanka's map in her hand, Constance and Alexandre found their way back towards the reef that had almost claimed
La Reine des Perles
, to find the cave.

Already, she was preparing herself for disappointment. In her imagination, the hidden temple had been a roomy system of underground tunnels. Habitable, of course, even cozy, with the warm ocean roaring just beyond its front door. But the opening of the cave she had seen was small and dark. Alexandre led the way, leading her up on rocks. She was careful not to cut her feet, using her toes to cling to the hard surface. Then they were there.

Dank. Poky. No tunnels leading off to hidden places. Simply a cave that smelled of dead fish and old seaweed, around five feet high at the entrance, just tall enough to stand within, though not for Alexandre, who had to duck. The let-down was acute, almost taking her breath away.

Alexandre picked up a stick of driftwood and moved around the cave, poking at the walls. “I can't see any tunnels,” he said.

“That's because there are no tunnels,” she sighed. “This is it. The hidden temple of Ranumaran. A stinking little cave in the cliff face.” She sank down to sit on a flat rock near the cave entrance. Half a beam of sunlight fell into her lap. “I've brought you all this way, caused all of this trouble, for nothing.”

Alexandre sat next to her, and together they watched the sea break over the reef for a few minutes. “I'm sorry that you are disappointed, Constance,” he said. “But I am not sorry I came with you.”

She turned to him and admired his profile. Then he turned, smiled at her, and leaned in to kiss her. “Dear Constance,” he murmured against her hair.

“What now, Alexandre?” She pulled her knees up and grasped them.

“Remind me again what Nissanka said.”

Constance screwed her eyes shut, turning the memory over in her mind. “He said an Englishman came here every day for years; he would stay for an hour and then go again. Though who he was, I've no idea. I had thought he was visiting Mother. That perhaps he had constrained her somehow, or . . . perhaps she knew him. He was taking care of her. I don't know. But Mother wasn't here. Nobody could live here.”

“So why did he come?”

“To meet her? Perhaps she came from somewhere else?”

“But why here? Why would anybody come here to meet? There are many other, nicer places. Safer, without rocks everywhere. There must be something about this place particularly.”

“Nissanka said the locals thought he was praying. They said it was his temple, because he told them he went there for faith. For Faith.”

Alexandre mused, watching the water. Constance couldn't think straight, reality rushing in on her. She would have to go back, explain herself to her father, and say goodbye to Alexandre forever.
All for nothing.

“Constance?” he said, at length, in a very gentle voice that made her frightened, because why would he speak so gently unless he feared hurting her?

“Yes?”

“Look out from the cave. What do you see?”

She turned her eyes out. “The sea.”

“You can see the sea from anywhere along the coast. What can you see from right here?”

She looked again. “The reef.”

He turned his sad gaze to her, and realization began to dawn on her. Tears pricked her eyes.

“I'm so sorry, Constance,” he said. “But I think I know what happened to your mother.”

“No, Alexandre,” she said, because she didn't know what else to say.

“That reef is barely visible until you're on top of it. It would be so easy for a ship to sail right into it. In bad weather, or at night, getting out of the water and onto land would be near impossible. Perhaps possible for a man, a strong swimmer. But for an English woman with little experience of the sea . . .” He took her hand in his. “The strong swimmer would never forgive himself, especially if he loved her. He would return, again and again, to the place he lost her. To pray, in a way. To be near her.”