Salting the Wound (7 page)

Closing her eyes Marianne breathed in the soft July air. It smelled of the sea, the mud, and the perfume of the heather just coming into bloom on the heath.

She imagined Nick standing there on his deck, his feet planted firmly astride – a slightly menacing figure in black. He would be able to see the house from the deck, could be looking at them through his telescope. She felt sorry for him. Opening her eyes she caught a flash of sunlight on glass, and waved.

‘Who are you waving to?’ Charlotte said, momentarily looking up from the wonder and admiration of her babies, who were tucked up next to her now.

Marianne smiled, for she’d never seen her sister look so soft and loving. Her eyes were filled with the miracle of her two perfect infants. It had been a special day. Both Charlotte and the babies had survived the birth without too much fuss, and the infants were making little baby noises. Charlotte was responding with her own little baby noises, the secret language between mother and child, soothing them as though she’d always been a mother.

‘I’m waving to your husband and to Lucian, of course. They’re all coming. I’d better go down and let them in.’

‘Don’t tell Seth what the babies are. I want to surprise him.’

Marianne wondered how Nick would take this news as she went down the stairs. She remembered the length of silk she’d found after the last time he’d visited. Had that been nearly a year ago? It would give her an excuse to visit him if she took it back it to him. Then she could gently inform him that Charlotte had become a mother.

C
harles Barrie’s house was situated on the north side of Bedford Square and indistinguishable from its neighbours. Built of donkey-brown brick relieved by the addition of Coade stone trim, the reserved facade, with its oblong windows and a solid door crowning a rise of four steps, served to remind passers-by that, although hidden from their sight, the occupants were not only well heeled but usually well bred.

Amongst the professional classes residing around the square was the occasional aristocrat. Justice Sir Charles Barrie was one of them. His money was inherited, wisely managed and invested. As well, he lived comfortably on his earnings as an eminent judge. But money and good breeding didn’t necessarily buy happiness. Now, some twelve months after his eldest son and heir had succumbed to cholera, Charles was sorely troubled.

Coffee cup cradled in his hands he gazed at the man seated on the other side of his fireplace. ‘I’m fifty-five next month, Edgar. I need to find my surviving son and bring him home.’

‘When did you last hear from Jonathan?’

‘Several years ago, at least six, so he’d be twenty-seven now. We parted on bad terms. He wrote to me from Van Diemen’s Land shortly after he arrived, to tell me he’d married a governess he’d met on board ship. You know how impulsive Jonathan is. It was probably somebody unsuitable with her eye on the main chance.’

‘You told him that?’

‘To my eternal shame. He also asked me to forgive him for disobeying my wishes. I bitterly regret not doing so now.’

Edgar Wyvern, barrister, gazed at him over his glass. ‘Tell me about the disagreement you had with him.’

‘Oh, you’ve heard it all before I daresay. Jonathan gave up his legal studies when I fully expected him to join his brother in the firm. He said he wasn’t cut out for it. He wanted to become a botanist, travel the world and devote some time to his art.’

‘Surely that’s not so bad a profession.’

‘It wouldn’t be if one didn’t need to earn a living. But I thought so at the time, since he was halfway through his law studies and he had a position in a fully established practice waiting for him. Jonathan asked me to give him the legacy his mother left him. I refused, since I had control of it until he was twenty-five. He stormed off and bought a ticket on the next ship leaving England with only the courtesy of a short note. It advised me that I was wrong and he certainly knew what was best for him.’

Edgar chuckled.

‘It wasn’t funny. I was more furious than worried.’

‘I’m sorry, Charles. I was amused by his similarity of nature. Admit it, it’s the same sort of thing you would have done in your youth . . . tweaked your father’s nose.’

Charles’s shrug was accompanied by a shamefaced grin. ‘Thank goodness I’ve learned a little wisdom since.’

‘Hmmm . . . that’s a debatable point. Wisdom doesn’t necessarily come with age, or with the donning of a judge’s wig and gown. Consider what has happened between you and Jonathan.’

A shamed expression settled on Charles’s face. ‘You’re right of course, Edgar.’

‘What was his reply to your letter?’

‘He again requested the legacy. I hurled the letter into the fire and wrote back to tell him to ask for it when he was of legal age to inherit it. He didn’t.’

‘You’ve tried to contact him since?’

‘Yes. Four years ago. In the first letter I offered to transfer his legacy in case he was in straitened circumstances. When he didn’t answer, after a year had passed I wrote again. Both letters were returned recently, unopened and with addressee not known scribbled on them.

‘I wrote again, advising him of his brother’s death. There has been no answer so far. Now I am worried. Jonathan wouldn’t have carried a grudge this far. He wouldn’t have ignored news of the death of his brother or moved on without leaving a forwarding address. I need to know that he’s all right. Damn it, Edgar, I miss him, and I need some counsel on this. You’ve always had a good nose for ferreting things out and coming up with something fresh.’

‘Did Jonathan mention the name of the woman he married?’

‘Yes, but I’ve forgotten it . . . it was something simple, so I’m sure I’ll remember it in time.’

‘It might jog your memory if you check the shipping lists for the day he left, especially if he met her on board. We need to have as much information as we can before we involve anyone else.’

‘I’ll do that this afternoon.’

‘We’ll do it together, then it will take only half the time. When we know the ship they sailed on we can put the matter in the hands of an investigator. There is one I know of by reputation. He is young, but has a wise head on his shoulders I believe, and had contacts in Van Diemen’s Land. Do you have a likeness of Jonathan?’

‘There’s a photograph of us together . . . but it’s the only one I’ve got, and I’m loath to part with it.’

‘Can you find someone to copy his likeness from it?’

‘That shouldn’t be too hard.’ He sighed. ‘If only communication didn’t take so long.’

‘One step at a time, Charles. Be patient. That’s the best you can do for now, unless you wish to make the journey to Van Diemen’s Land yourself.’

‘I’m not that adventurous, and neither am I a good sailor, but if the journey becomes necessary, I will.’

‘You’ve considered the worse result, I suppose.’

Pain ripped through Charles. He stood, moving to the window, which afforded him a view across the Bedford Square gardens. Of course he had taken a pessimistic approach, and often. For now though, he’d put it aside. ‘Yes, Edgar, I have. But if that proves to be the case, wondering about it will be worse than knowing. Besides, surely his wife would have contacted me by now, unless she cannot write.’

‘The woman must have been well educated, otherwise she wouldn’t have been employed as a governess. But a governess to whom?’

A visit to the shipping office enlightened them a little. The ship’s records showed that Mary Elizabeth Ellis had been travelling alone. There was no mention in the ship’s log of a marriage taking place on board the ship, which, as luck would have it, happened to be in port at the time. Her former master was retired, and living with his daughter in Chiswick.

Charles’s visit to him proved fruitless at first, for the man was old. Captain Forrester, his eyes a faded blue and his skin grizzled from years at sea, was seated in the corner of the local inn.

Charles brought him a tot of rum and took it over. ‘Good day, Captain Forrester. I’m looking for a young man who sailed to Australia on board one of the ships you captained. May I join you?’

The captain was happy to talk about his years at sea, but he couldn’t remember Jonathan or Mary Ellis, and he didn’t pretend that he did.

‘The memory isn’t what it used to be. It comes and goes like the tides, you see. I could say a prayer over the dead and bury bodies at sea, and I could hold a service on Sundays and sing the praises of the Lord, but I wasn’t licensed to marry passengers. Not proper like.’

‘A pity.’

‘Sometimes we might have a reverend travelling with us who would say the words over people, but any marriage that took place would have been entered in the ship’s log. More likely they would have waited until they were ashore so they could take their vows proper and legal like in front of a minister in a church.’

Charles handed him his card when they’d finished talking. ‘Thank you, Captain, if you remember anything about them I’d be obliged if you could let me know. I’ll be quite happy to pay for the messenger.’

Captain Forrester called out when Charles was leaving, ‘This Jonathan Barrie you’re looking for . . . he didn’t have reddish hair, did he?’

‘No, Captain. My son’s hair was a dark brown.’

He cogitated for a moment, his forehead creased into a frown. ‘Ah yes . . . I do remember now. It was the girl who had red in her hair. I forget her name, something to do with the bible. They were shipboard sweethearts. Smitten with each other they were.’

‘Mary Elizabeth Ellis her name was.’

‘Was it? Was it indeed? A lovely girl, she was, and sensible with it. She was going out to be a governess, even though she had no job to go to. I thought she was a bit on the skinny side, and she didn’t seem to be very robust to me. Why couldn’t you be a governess in England? I asked her. She gave me a smile, as if she had a secret inside her. Captain Forrester, she said, life is short. I had never seen the ocean before now, and I wanted an adventure. Now I’m having one, and for as long as I live I’ll never forget it.’

The captain smiled at the thought. ‘Your lad drew pictures. The passengers bought them from him, drawings of their children, their husbands and wives. Good he was . . . did one of me. That’s how I remembered his name. He signed the drawing on the bottom. Jonathan Barrie. Yes, he was a nice young man and you can be proud of him.’

‘Be certain that I am. Do you know what happened to him?’

‘No, sir. Once the passengers disembarked at Hobart town they were no longer my responsibility.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Happens that all that talking has made me thirsty. A pint of ale wouldn’t go down badly.’

‘Of course it wouldn’t. How very remiss of me. You’ve been very helpful.’ Charles bought the man his ale then took his leave. If nothing else, the visit had revealed something of Jonathan and the woman he’d married. He was relieved that he’d been wrong about Mary Ellis . . . though if they’d wed he must start thinking of her as Mary Barrie.

T
wo babies made an awful clamour. In the past two weeks Jessica had developed a high-pitched trill that she could turn on in an instant. Mitchell, who’d been named after Seth’s father, a man who’d also been a soldier, had a warbling cry that intensified as it worked its way up the scale to a full-throated roar. Marianne had playfully added his grandfather’s rank to his name, and the boy was now referred to as Major Mitchell by all of them.

When one baby began to cry it was a signal for the other to join in.

Donning a dark blue bonnet that matched the colour of her eyes, Marianne grimaced at her sister. ‘How can you stand it? I haven’t slept properly for the last week.’

Neither had Charlotte by the looks of her, even though Seth had hired a wet nurse to help out.

The noise stopped abruptly when Charlotte put Jessica to her breast and the girl started to suck, making satisfied little mewing noises. Charlotte gazed down fondly at her daughter’s golden head. Major Mitchell gulped greedily from the wet nurse. They would swap children halfway through, because, although Charlotte’s milk was thin, she didn’t want her children to get too used to another woman’s milk.

‘Is there anything you want in town?’ Marianne asked her.

‘No . . . Seth has a list. You should have gone in with him when he took John into school.’

Marianne offered Jessica a meaningful look. ‘Your babies were quite determined to keep me awake last night and I overslept. I’m thinking of taking up residence in the stable with the horses until the twins learn how to sleep through the night.’ She stooped to kiss her niece’s golden head to take the sting from her words. ‘It’s a nice day, I’m happy to walk.’

‘So am I. I’m sick of staying in bed.’

‘Lucian said you must stay there for at least another week.’

‘I won’t tell him if you don’t. I’ve heard that gypsy mothers squat to give birth, then just get up and get on with it.’

Marianne grinned. ‘I thought you didn’t believe gypsy tales.’

‘I do now, since Jessica came to my rescue. I’ll just walk around the room to stretch my legs.’

‘Well, don’t overdo it.’

Sparing her a moment, Charlotte glanced up from her admiration of her baby. ‘Why are you going into Poole?’

‘I need a new sketching block, and I thought I might pay a visit to Jeannie Beresford. She’s to become engaged shortly and I’m hoping I’ll get an invitation to her ball.’

Charlotte smiled. ‘Are you sure it’s not Lucian you hope to see?’

Marianne was not about to tell her sister that the real reason for the visit was her intention to visit Nick Thornton aboard the
Samarand
afterwards. He might show her around the ship now he was the master, which was something his uncle would never allow. ‘I imagine Lucian will be doing his rounds.’

Detouring to her room, one she’d shared with her sister when they were growing up, she picked up the sailcloth satchel that contained the silk Nick had dropped on his previous and last visit to propose to her sister. She’d looked after it carefully. Placing it with her beaded reticule in her basket she set out into a shining day. As usual, Marianne covered the ground fast. She’d always loved striding out when she walked, even though Charlotte said it was unladylike. And sometimes she ran just for the joy of it. Around her the heath was alive with flowering plants, birds and bees, and the air coloured with gaudy butterflies.