Salting the Wound (8 page)

To her right was the harbour, and beyond that, the small island of Brownsea. She shivered when she looked at the well-wooded but gentle slopes, remembering that two years previously the owner had taken his own life in a fit of depression. She’d been told that the man was in the diplomatic service, and had been responsible for the war between England and America. Even there on the uninhabited island, he could find nowhere to hide from the remorse he felt, so he’d cut his own throat. Now it was said that the castle on the island was haunted by the man’s ghost.

The tide was out, exposing the rippled mud. The breeze lifted a slightly acrid sea smell from the surface, as piquant as pickles. It reminded her that she’d promised to take John to dig for cockles at the weekend. He was looking forward to it, so no doubt he’d remind her.

She lifted the skirt of her gown to negotiate a patch on the path where water seeped from a low bank of heather, exposing the dusty half boots that she always wore outside on the heath. Anything more delicate on her feet was impractical. She didn’t usually wear her crinoline hoop around the house, only when she was visiting, and found it a nuisance in the wind.

But she wore her newest gown, fashioned from cornflower blue cotton damask. Around her shoulders she wore a cream Kashmir shawl, pinned by a pearl brooch that had once belonged to her mother. Seth had given the shawl to her, a gift for Christmas from himself and John.

Jeanne Beresford was out visiting, and so was Lucian and his father. The Beresfords lived a few houses away from the Thorntons, whose house was situated halfway up Constitution Hill and had a fine view of the harbour. Perhaps she should take the silk there. But no, Daisy Thornton was a tartar by all accounts. Marianne retained a vision of her gracefully dancing the Viennese waltz with the reverend from the church, and couldn’t connect that image with the concept of the woman being a shrew. But Marianne wanted to see over the ship. She turned back towards the town.

The harbour was a bustling place today. Even the wind bustled in unexpected and short little gusts, like an infant with sudden and erratic bursts of energy. It set the ships swaying in unison, the masts pointing into a silver sky. Seagulls squabbled and squawked in the rigging.

On the quay vendors smoked eels over braziers. There were cockles, oysters and fish fresh from the sea. Provisions were lined up on the shore, waiting to be taken on board various ships. Crates of live fowls clucked and craned their necks nervously amongst the barrels of water and sacks of this and that, along with coiled ropes and tools.

Marianne found the
Samarand
at her usual berth. She was fairly low in the water, her deck level with the quay wall, which meant she was fully cargoed. Nick probably intended to sail on the next ebb tide.

Oddly, there was nobody about to challenge her on deck when she stepped aboard, but she could hear men’s voices. She had no idea where Nick’s cabin was. She stepped around the open hold to the back of the ship.

The deck moved gently beneath her feet. There was the shriek of a gull from above and a man swearing at it. She gave a soft giggle and her gaze moved up the mast. There was movement right at the top.

She tipped her head right back to see more clearly. The deck suddenly lifted in the wash of a passing boat, then it plunged. As she staggered and took a couple of steps backwards a gust of wind took her unawares. It found its way under her wide skirt and lifted her from her feet. Her legs caught on the edge of the hatch and she fell, tumbling down into the darkness.

The breath left her body as she landed on her side, one arm out to break her fall. She bounced up and over. Flung forward, her head collided with something hard enough to rattle her teeth, then she slid down between two bales and the light faded.

A noise brought her round. Stunned and dizzy she looked up towards the light, and tasted blood in her mouth. The light began to disappear as she called out, but her voice went unheard in the rumble of the hatch cover being pulled across and the shriek of gulls.

No! she thought, and reached out to try and pull herself up from between the bales. She cried out when she tried to lift her arm, and was met with excruciating pain that exploded dizzily into her head before she pitched headlong into a denser darkness than the one surrounding her.

Marianne didn’t know how many times she fell asleep. When she was awake her exhausted calls went unheeded. Gradually she found enough strength to pull herself out from between the bales, and scrambled on to the top. Her mouth hurt and she gently touched a finger against it. Her lip was swollen, but thankfully, her teeth were still intact.

They were at sea, and any romantic notion she’d clung to about sailing, quickly evaporated in the face of her fright. It was dark and smelly in the hold, and she daren’t move in case she fell further. The only comfort was that she could sometimes hear noises from above, and knew she wasn’t alone. The ship creaked and groaned, water sloshed along the side. She didn’t know if it were day or night, and huddled under her shawl for warmth.

Footsteps pattered overhead and she shouted. But they went past without a pause. This happened several times. Hunger attacked her, but the thirst was worse. Her mouth became dry and her lips cracked, and much to her embarrassment her body relieved itself and her skirt was damp. Despairingly, she knew that she’d die if she wasn’t rescued from her predicament soon. If only there was a light.

Reaching out in the darkness, her fingers encountered a wooden pole. She felt along it. There was a hook at the end, and it had been tied to a bale. Painfully, she edged it out with her one usable hand. The effort exhausted her.

For a moment she gave into tears, then tried to remember how far she’d fallen. Not very far. She’d just landed awkwardly. She stood, legs apart, balancing herself on the pitching cargo. At least it was well secured, even if she wasn’t. Taking in a deep breath she reached up with the stick. Nothing! Knowing she was taking a risk she jumped, stick still outstretched. It banged against the underneath of the hatch. The pain shooting through her encouraged her to drop it, and she heard it go bouncing off into the darkness.

‘Help!’ She screamed, and sank to her knees when there came the sound of footsteps.

The footsteps stopped.

‘Help,’ she screamed out again. ‘Please help me.’

Someone knocked on the hatch top. ‘Is someone down there?’

‘Yes, someone is down here. It’s dark and I’ve hurt myself. I’m scared.’

‘Don’t move. I’ll fetch some help.’

Nick had just enjoyed his dinner when the mate knocked at the door. ‘There appears to be a stowaway in the hold, Captain.’

Nick swore and said in annoyance, ‘But we’re two days out. Get him out and bring him to me. Send one of the crew down on a ladder to bring him up, then find him a hammock. Make sure he’s got no weapons about his body first. When he’s recovered from his fright he can work his passage.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The cabin boy had just cleared the dishes away when there was another knock. The door swung open and Nick blinked. A woman stood there, her hair all over the place. She was bloodstained, covered in dust and supported by the mate, whose hand had slipped to rest an inch away from one of her breasts.

Her elbow pressed warningly into the mate’s ribs and she frowned. ‘You can release me now. I can stand perfectly well by myself.’

Nick gazed at her in astonishment as she swayed back and forth, proving her lie.

She said. ‘Is that all you’re going to do, stare at me with your mouth hanging open, Nick Thornton? Haven’t you seen a woman before?’

‘Plenty of them.’ He smiled, thinking that whichever of those women this one was, he must have been mad to have overlooked such a delicious peach. The girl was a sight for sore eyes despite her state.

‘I came on board to look for you. I fell down a hole in the deck and banged my head. Now my shoulder hurts.’

‘No doubt it does.’ He shrugged. ‘Now you’ve found me, what exactly is it that you want me to do for you?’

‘I don’t know.’ He wished he hadn’t said it when she burst into tears and they tracked through the dust on her face. ‘I could have died. And that man . . . touched me. He said he was looking for weapons and it was on your orders.’

‘It was . . . I thought you were a man, and you most certainly could have died. Nobody would have noticed until we reached America.’ With concern he noticed the way she was supporting her arm. He stood, gazing over her misshapen shoulder to where several of the crew stood, ready to support her if she fell. ‘The woman’s injured. How did that happen?’

‘She must have done it when she fell. She said she were a friend of yours, Captain, and she’d kill me stone dead if anyone laid a finger on her. A right little tiger, she was. Wouldn’t take any help. She went up the ladder in a single-handed huff, then stamped her foot and demanded to know where Poole Quay had gone. Then she fainted dead away and banged her head all over again. She were lucky she didn’t fall back down into the hold.’ He placed a basket on the chair. ‘These belong to the young lady, I think.’

‘You meant tigress. Tigers are male and I’m a female,’ she thought to point out to the seaman.

‘Yes, miss. You certainly are. I can see that now. I apologize for making such a mistake.’

‘Apology accepted.’

The men shuffled their feet and gazed at each other, grinning.

Nick gave a pleased huff of laughter when her identity suddenly dawned on him. He crossed to where she stood, gazed down at her and smiled. ‘It’s little Aria Honeyman, isn’t it?’

‘Of course it is. I haven’t changed that much, have I? You know, you’re the only person who had ever called me that, Nick.’

His mind waxed lyrical. Miraculously, Charlotte’s young sister had changed into an exquisite sprite. More beautiful than her sister even with her delicate high cheekbones. Her mouth, although swollen, was almost overwhelmingly kissable. His expression must have said it all.

‘You can wipe that smile off your face.’ She’d hardly got that out when the ship hit a trough. Propelled forward, she cried out with pain when she cannoned into his body and his arms closed around her. Colour drained from her cheeks and there was a moment of reproach in her blue eyes before they began to go out of focus. Her knees buckled, but he had her held safely against him. Sweeping the papers from his table he lifted Aria Honeyman gently in his arms and laid her there. Her hoop went up in the air, displaying the mystery of what was underneath.

He moved between her and the men, and nodded to the mate. ‘Send the cook up. Tell him to bring his doctoring bag. The rest of you can go about your work.’ He said to the cabin boy, ‘Sam, fetch some water.’ As soon as the men dispersed he removed her shawl, then untied the hoop from under her skirt. He began to battle with the ties fastening her bodice.

Her shoulder was definitely dislocated. He folded a towel and placed it under her head, frowning when blood immediately soaked into it. Head wounds bled a lot, but on investigation he knew this one would need stitches.

She opened her eyes, her dark eyelashes fanning a couple of times while she tried to focus on him. ‘I’m embarrassed because I’m so dirty.’

‘I know, but it can’t be helped. Try not to think about it. You have a dislocated shoulder, and that needs to be manipulated back in. And there’s a deep gash on your head that will require stitches.’

Her cornflower blue eyes never left his. ‘Will it hurt?’

‘I’m afraid so. I’ll give you some laudanum, it will help to ease the pain.’

‘Thank you. I’m thirsty, Nick. Can I have a drink, too, please?’

‘I’m not surprised, since it’s two days since we left Poole.’ He poured some water from a jug into a glass, supported her head and held it to her lips. ‘No . . . don’t gulp it. Sip.’ Halfway through the process he held a vial of laudanum to her lips. ‘Swallow this before you have the remainder of the water. Tell me, how did you manage to fall down the cargo hold?’

‘There was a seagull up the mast and someone swore at it. It was too high for me to see properly so I took a couple of steps back to get a better look at it and tipped my head back. A gust of wind found its way under my skirt and lifted me off my feet, then something knocked my legs from under me. I overbalanced. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault, though wearing a crinoline hoop aboard certainly contributed to the accident. The hold should have never been left unguarded with the hatch open. You were lucky.’

Nick smiled at her when the cook arrived. ‘This is George Fisher, commonly known as Red. He used to be a barber surgeon before he took up cooking. He doubles as a doctor for the crew.

‘How d’you do, Miss.’

Aria smiled dreamily at Red, who had obviously garnered his nickname from his shock of ginger corkscrew curls. ‘Am I floating?’

‘Yes, Miss. You most certainly are, so just you lie there and enjoy it.’

Nick drew Red aside. They’d dealt with dislocations together before. ‘I’ve given her a good dose of laudanum and that seems to be taking effect. Which task would you rather do, anchor her or manipulate the shoulder?’

‘Anchor. She’s only a little thing and won’t put up much of a fight, so use feel rather than force, Captain. One click should do it. Afterwards, you can hold her down when I put the stitches in her head. My embroidery is neater than yours.’

Nick turned back to her. ‘You need to be very still, so Red is going to hold your body to steady it, while I fix it. It won’t take long.’

‘You haff lice flies, Nick,’ she slurred when he lifted her arm. ‘Lack ones.’

He chuckled. ‘Black flies, or did you mean eyes?’

‘Swat I said . . . black fires and fleas.’ She giggled. ‘You’re mixturing me up.’

‘Aria’s in a tizzy lizzy,’ he teased, and his eyes shifted to her face. She was nice and relaxed now, unsuspecting. Gently he probed around the arm socket and said quietly, ‘Now.’ When Red applied his weight to her body Nick twisted the arm socket in with a satisfying click. He winced when she screamed. Her body went rigid and she jerked against the restraint of George’s arm a couple of times. She screamed again, but more out of temper this time. The wounded expression in her eyes condemned him, and the tears trembling on her lashes made him want to cry himself.