A World Apart (33 page)

She set off for the cluster of ships at anchor and asked anyone who looked to be a source of reliable information if they knew of any ships about to set sail for England.

The hours passed frustratingly. She found seamen about to leave for every port from Auckland to New York — anywhere except England. Then, late in the afternoon, a lone fisherman, his line trailing in the water as he leaned against a dockside bollard, looked up when she asked.

‘Ah. The
Lady Caroline
. Docked here a week and more ago. She left this morning, headed for Southampton. That be her.' He pointed. A mile down harbour from the wharf, a tall ship lay remote from the shore, apparently at anchor, its sails limp against the rigging.

‘That ship? Headed for Southampton?'

‘Aye, ma'am.'

‘But it's…it's anchored.'

‘Nay, ma'am. Becalmed. She left about noontime. On the tide. Then the wind dropped. She'll likely sit there until the breeze springs up.' He pointed again. ‘Those clouds. Bearing in from the west. It's likely they'll bring a breeze with them. And some rain, most likely.'

‘But how can I get to the ship?'

‘You cain't, ma'am.'

‘What if I took a rowboat, a pinnace?'

‘Like as not, as soon as you left the wharf, the wind would spring up. Then the last you'd see of the
Lady Caroline
would be her topsails swelling in the wind.'

‘But I'm prepared to pay. A lot of money. For whatever will get me to the ship in time.'

‘You cain't, ma'am. The good Lord ain't yet made a ship as can sail with no wind.'

Eliza's resolution flared like a flame in a just-stoked boiler. ‘Not true, sir,' she snapped. ‘Have you not heard of ships driven by steam engines?'

‘Aye, that I have, now you says so, ma'am.' He laughed. ‘But they be no more than a joke. Specially round these parts. Why, the last steamship what visited Sydney Town, it…' He hesitated, then stared towards the end of the long wharf. ‘There, ma'am. See that tall chimney? Black, with a wisp o' smoke floating round the chimney top?'

‘Yes, I see it.'

‘That be the
Cornish Maid
,' he said. ‘A laughing stock round the docks. No sails.'

‘Thank you, sir.' Hitching her skirts, Eliza ran. She ran until her breath came in gasps. She slowed her pace, gathered her skirts higher about her legs, and ran again. Her feet began to hurt. The fashionable boots she'd bought in Dorchester were not made for gallivanting along the docks of Sydney Town.

Just as she felt she must stop to catch her breath, or faint, a wisp of lazy smoke wafting from the black funnel appeared from behind a building not a couple of hundred yards away. She staggered to the spot, her legs hurting terribly. A gangplank led to the deck of the small, tidy iron ship. She ran down the gangplank and called, gasping to recover her breath.

‘Halloo. Is anyone aboard?'

‘Aye.' A white-bearded man, his tattered clothes stained with oil, his hands black, poked his head up through a manhole.

‘Want to earn yourself fifty pounds, sir?' she gasped.

‘Fifty pounds?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, then. I might indeed. But what — ?'

‘Get me to that ship.' She pointed. The
Lady Caroline
still lay becalmed exactly where she had sat a few minutes earlier.

‘What ship? Oh. The
Lady Caroline
.' The man laughed. ‘She be bound for Southampton. It'll be a good long time afore anyone sees her again.'

‘Do you want to earn fifty pounds?'

‘Yes. Indeed I do, ma'am. But — '

‘Get me to that ship. Here. Here's twenty five. The rest when we get there.' She fished in the pouch she drew from her skirt pocket, then held out her closed hand. When he opened his own, she dropped the coins into it. For a moment, he looked surprised. She watched his face as it slowly registered the unlikely fact. A golden-haired young gentlewoman, well dressed in the fashion of the moment, had a small fortune on her person, and that if he acted with due despatch, he could earn fifty pounds.

‘The name's Moss, ma'am. Isaac Moss, master of the
Cornish Maid
. Glad to be of service.'

‘I'm Eliza…Downing. And I must make that ship before the wind takes her away.'

‘Aye aye, madam. I'll see to boiler. We could weigh anchor in, oh, five minutes.' He disappeared down the manhole. She heard muffled shouts, the sounds of coal being shovelled, a hiss of steam. Then a string of noises followed, of metal clinking on metal, of the crash of coal
landing in a grate. A boy appeared from another manhole and stood by the bollard, his hand on the rope holding the ship to the wharf.

Then came an ear-piercing toot on the whistle. Eliza looked up to see a jet of white steam squirting from a vertical pipe above her head. Black smoke began to belch from the funnel. Another man appeared and applied himself to the winch that would raise the anchor. Soon that anchor, dripping with mud, came into view. Another deafening blast came from the whistle.

‘Cast off.' She looked up to see Captain Moss standing on the tiny bridge, calling to the boy at the bollard. The boy loosened the rope attached to the bollard, flicked it free. She heard the clanking of gears, the hiss of steam. Then the ship moved, so suddenly that Eliza had to clutch the rail to save herself from falling. The surge of power as the captain engaged the steam engine had been strong enough to shift a hundred tons of iron as if it were a toy. In moments, the ship turned at right angles to the wharf and headed towards the Lady Caroline.

She looked up at the captain as he spun the wheel. It must be interesting to drive a steamship. There would have to be a means of steering the ship to a chosen compass bearing, a way of regulating its speed, a way of knowing the pressure of steam in the boiler. She would love to stand beside the captain as he managed the complicated task of navigating his ship to its goal. And with a desperate woman beside him, urging him on, he might squeeze a morsel more steam from the labouring boilers. But then he would hardly welcome a woman standing close to him, distracting him, as he concentrated on his exacting work. Wait! She was paying for this exercise. Paying handsomely. She was entitled to do as she wished. She walked to the flimsy ladder leading to the bridge, hauled herself up, and stood by the captain.

‘I should like to watch. If you don't mind,' she said. The man turned, looked into her face, eyes wide. She wondered if there might be some superstition against having a woman on a ship's bridge. Sailors were notorious for their superstitions, especially those concerning women.

‘Why the Devil — ?' He stopped. Doubtless the prospect of more money had brought forth his civil side. ‘But of course, ma'am. Should I fetch you a chair?'

‘No, thank you. I'll see the better if I stand.'

He fixed his eyes on the way ahead. Eliza would stand silently beside him and watch. Questions might distract him. She turned to look back towards the wharf. To her surprise, it already seemed a long way off. The ship carved a foamy wake as it sped down the harbour. A string of waves from the wake splashed against the rocky breakwater. The ship must be making a speed of four or five knots an hour.

‘May I ask, ma'am, why you want to go to the
Lady Caroline
?' the captain suddenly asked after he'd managed the wheel silently for some minutes. ‘Are you bound for Southampton?'

‘No. I simply wish to rescue a friend of mine. A passenger. Bring him back to shore.'

‘What might the skipper say? When we pull up alongside?'

‘Why, I really don't know. I simply have to save my friend. Whatever it takes. He set sail for Southampton under a…misapprehension.'

‘The captain won't take kindly to having the fare whipped out of his pocket.'

‘He's welcome to it.'

‘Very well, ma'am.'

The ship cleared the breakwater and turned her nose towards the
Lady Caroline
. Now there was nothing but a stretch of turquoise water between them. The sun, which had shone brightly all morning, disappeared behind a cloud.

‘We'll get a breeze right soon,' the captain said. Those clouds…' He pointed. Eliza stared at the ship ahead of them, lying as still as a rock. Then, as she watched, she saw a topsail flutter. The sail below it flapped for a moment. It was as if the ship was waking from sleep, rolling up its shirtsleeves, preparing to go about the business of the day — beginning a months-long journey to the other side of the world.

‘Look!' she cried. ‘The sails. The wind.'

‘Aye,' the captain muttered. ‘The master will be wanting to set sail. It be a fearsome long way to where he's headed.'

‘Will we catch them?' Eliza's mouth had gone dry. She swallowed. The captain answered by sliding open a panel in the floor.

‘More coal,' he shouted through the panel. ‘The breeze is begun to blow. Give her all the steam she can take.' He reached down and turned a steel wheel near his foot. In moments, more black smoke belched from the funnel. The ship seemed to inch forward a mite faster. They were close enough now to the
Lady Caroline
to see sailors climbing the rigging. The topsails now swelled, filled by a breeze which seemed to come faster every minute. Eliza felt the chill of it across her sweating forehead. The
Lady Caroline's
bow dipped. She turned to a new compass bearing, aligning to better catch the wind.

Inch by inch, the distance between the two vessels continued to shrink. But the action aboard the
Lady Caroline
told a too obvious story. Men were spread along the yardarms from end to end of the ship. The crew were setting the sails to catch the breeze that freshened by the minute. Indeed, they were setting sail for Southampton.

‘Are we going to make it, Captain?' Eliza could stand the tension no longer.

‘Well, ma'am. The wind, it's blowing up a bit, ain't it.'

‘What can we do?'

‘I don't rightly know, ma'am.' He wiped the sweat from his brow. Black smoke now positively spurted from the
Cornish Maid's
funnel. Eliza could feel the steam engine throbbing beneath her like a pounding heart — like her own heart had begun to pound. And still they hardly gained an inch on their quarry.

‘Tell me, ma'am. What is your friend's name?' the captain asked suddenly.

‘Harry De Havilland. Mr Harry De Havilland.'

Squeeeeep! The captain had pulled a rope hanging from the ceiling. The whistle shrieked, hurting Eliza's ears. Squeeeeeeep! It sounded again. A man appeared in the bow of the
Lady Caroline
, trained a telescope towards the
Cornish Maid
. Then he waved to the sailors aloft above his head. The steamship rapidly closed the gap.

‘Ahoy there.' Captain Moss bellowed. Would the sound have carried to the other ship?

‘Request permission to come alongside,' he shouted. Nothing happened. Then the man with the telescope put it down, reached for something on the deck.

‘Permission granted. Come alongside.' Eliza heard his musically bellowed reply. Captain Moss slowed the flow of steam. The engine fell quiet. As the
Cornish Maid
brushed the timbers of the bigger wooden ship, someone threw a rope down to it. The boy on the
Cornish Maid's
deck caught it, made the steamship fast to its larger sister. Now a man looked down on them from no more than a dozen feet above.

‘You have a passenger on board, sir.' Captain Moss shouted. ‘Mr Harry De Havilland. We have a lady on board who wishes him to disembark. Return to shore.'

‘Hold hard, Captain,' the man above him replied. By now the
Lady Caroline's
passengers had come to the rail, curious to see why their ship had hove to, what had occasioned all the tooting and black smoke. As Eliza looked up, she saw Harry staring down at her.

‘Haarrry!' She called with all the energy that had boiled inside her since she'd heard of his presence on the
Lady Caroline
.

‘Eliza! What — ?'

‘Come back to me!'

By now the other passengers had begun to take a pressing interest in the conversation. The sight of the man who had haunted her dreams made her heart explode.

‘I love you, Harry. Come to me.'

‘You're alive!' The joy in his voice overflowed like a waterfall.

‘Come!' She shouted again, hurting her throat in the process.

‘Wha — how did you — ?' He stared down at her as she watched his face slowly accept the miracle playing out below.

‘Harry! Come back to me. Now!' She watched as his face changed from disbelief to puzzlement — to joy.

‘I'll run to my cabin. Fetch my baggage.'

‘Just come!' she screamed with the last of her breath. Two burly sailors appeared, one each side of Harry. They rolled out a net made of stout rope and threw one end down onto the
Cornish Maid's
deck. The boy grabbed it and made it fast. Then the sailors picked up Harry, one to each arm, and lowered him onto the net. As the two ships lurched, he tumbled down the net, onto the steamship's deck. As he stood, dusting the rope fibres from his jacket, the line of passengers cheered, clapped their hands noisily. Eliza climbed down onto the deck from the bridge.

As he stepped off the tangle of rope and onto the
Cornish Maid's
deck, she threw her arms round him. Then the kiss. Eliza crushed him close, kissed him like she'd never kissed before. His lips, his body, his soul, melted into hers…

After a long time they eased apart, gasping for breath, their smiles fit to split their faces. From the rail above, a wave of cheers broke out. Not a few of the women wiped away happy tears.

‘Lovers reunited.' A loud male voice boomed from the railing, rich with a music of its own. The overwhelming joy of everyone watching glowed from their faces. ‘And may you sweethearts both live happily ever after.'