The Master's Wife (4 page)

She crossed to the sleeping alcove. Pushing back the curtain she saw the nightstand. Beneath a hinged lid was an enamel basin. A cupboard underneath held a chamber pot. Light fell across the berth and her breath caught in her throat.

Immediately after proposing to her, Jago had instructed Hammer to widen the narrow berth so it would comfortably accommodate them both. She had made a mattress to fit and bought new blankets.

In that small private space they had discovered each other, shared their pasts and talked of their plans for the future. Their elder son had been conceived there. She had slept in Jago’s arms, safe, loved, until her advancing pregnancy had made it uncomfortable and unwise.

The berth had been reduced to its original size. Rejection stung like a slap. She lifted the blankets and saw the mattress had been made smaller to fit. Their time together, her presence here, her part in his seafaring life, he had erased it all. She had believed herself numb to further pain. She wasn’t.

But, having insisted on coming, she could not complain. Nor could she stay down here. If she did not show herself topside he would come to find out why. Pulling herself together, she left the door wedged open and returned to the deck.

Jago was at the helm steering a course through anchored ships of every size and rig. The crew ignored her, busy hoisting additional sails and coiling ropes over wooden pegs. Martin was in the galley shack lighting the stove.

Caseley leaned on the weather rail with warm sun and cold breeze on her face, and felt relieved. She didn’t have to talk and no one wanted anything from her.

She glanced back as the distance between
Cygnet
and the Cornish coast widened. Whatever this voyage held could not be worse than the past she was leaving behind.

At sea the main meal of meat, vegetables and a pudding was always eaten at midday. Martin put a plate in front of her containing two thick slices of boiled ham, three boiled potatoes and a spoonful of sliced carrots. In the centre of the table stood a small pot of mustard and a jar of apple and onion chutney.

‘That enough for you, missus? I wasn’t sure –’

‘It’s just right, Martin.’ She smiled up at him.

The others were served, Martin slid in beside her and the meal began. She wasn’t hungry but, with Jago watching, she knew she had to eat. She used her knife to take some chutney then cut into a potato. After swallowing the first mouthful it was easier to take the next. The men ate quickly, focused on their food.

Caseley finished and put her knife and fork together. ‘That was delicious, Martin.’

‘Look at ’n, blushing like a sunset,’ Jimbo teased.

‘Don’t say no more, missus,’ Hammer warned. ‘He’ll never get his swelled head in the galley shack.’

Aware of Jago’s gaze, she slid out from behind the table. ‘Will you excuse me?’

‘Don’t you want no afters?’ Martin started to get up. ‘’Tis treacle pudding.’

‘I couldn’t manage another mouthful,’ Caseley smiled at him. ‘Perhaps tomorrow.’

‘I’d like to say we could use ’em for cannon balls,’ Jimbo said. ‘But truth is, Mart do make ’andsome suet pudding, and jam roly-poly. Make someone a lovely wife he will.’

‘Giss on!’ Martin’s blush deepened.

‘I’ll look forward to trying some. Please don’t get up,’ she said quickly, as all three started to rise. Leaving them she went up on deck.

Nathan was at the wheel and, apart from a brief nod, he tactfully ignored her as she walked round the side of the wheel shelter and opened the door to the latrine.

Beneath a wooden seat fixed on two stout battens screwed to the plank wall was a bucket. Another bucket contained ashes and a small scoop. Small squares of newspaper pierced in one corner hung from a string suspended from a nail in the wall.

Each evening the latrine bucket was emptied and rinsed with seawater containing diluted pitch. Each morning when the stoves were cleaned out the ash bucket was refilled. It was basic but efficient and Caseley was glad of it.

After tea, while Jago took the helm and she had the cabin to herself, Martin brought down a ewer of hot water. The routine followed a pattern established when she sailed with Jago during their first year of marriage. But it wasn’t the same. Then she had prepared for bed in shy yet eager anticipation. Now – now she burned with anger and ached with loneliness.

After a strip wash she put on her nightgown, then brushed her hair and plaited it into a loose braid. Curled up in the berth listening to the creak of the timbers and the hiss of water against the hull she lay awake.

She heard the door open and quietly close, heard him moving about, then the creak of the padded bench. If she moved the curtain she would see him at the table writing the log and marking the chart. Only a few feet apart, they might as well have been on opposite sides of an ocean.

By the second afternoon the Cornish coast was no longer visible. With a strong steady breeze filling every sail,
Cygnet
headed southwest towards Spain and Portugal.

At tea time Caseley managed a slice of bread and butter but it felt like a wad of cotton in her mouth. Forcing it down with a few sips of tea, she begged them to excuse her.

Jago followed her down. ‘Are you unwell?’

‘I’m fine,’ she lied as chills raced over her skin and her head pounded. ‘Just tired. It’s a long time since – the constant motion of the ship –’

‘You’re not seasick.’

Had she not felt so awful, the mingled accusation and disbelief in his tone would have made her smile. But her amusement was fleeting. He would be debating whether to return to Falmouth.

‘No, I’m not. Nor have I ever been, as you should know.’ They reached his day cabin and she fumbled with the door handle. If she didn’t lie down soon she would fall down. ‘It’s nothing. I will be better tomorrow.’

He hesitated in the doorway. She remembered a time when he would have closed the door on the rest of the ship, undressed her himself, then held her, lain with her, comforted her and she would have drawn strength from him.

But that was before. Before the bottom fell out of her world. Before he turned for comfort not to her, but to Louise Downing.

Feeling ill and utterly wretched Caseley dragged off her clothes, leaving them where they dropped. Wearing only her shift, she pulled the pins from her hair and, as it tumbled over her shoulders, slid beneath the blankets. She closed her eyes and felt herself falling...

Awareness returned. She was warm, comfortable and deeply relaxed. But where –? Then the motion and the nearby sound of rushing water brought it all back. She was aboard
Cygnet.
She drew in a deep breath and stretched. Her hand thumped against the bulkhead.

She heard booted feet. The curtain was pulled back and Jago stood in the doorway.

‘So, you’re back.’

She sat up. ‘Back? I don’t understand
.
’

He sat on the edge of the berth, elbows on his knees. ‘Five days, Caseley. You barely stirred for five days.’

As she tried to take in what he was saying and what it meant, she saw strain and exhaustion etched on his face. ‘Oh, Jago –’

‘We should reach Gibraltar tomorrow –’

‘
What
? How –?’

‘Gales.’ The terse reply told her everything she needed to know.

‘Was there much damage?’

‘A broken yard and a ripped topsail. We got off lightly.’

‘You have a first-rate crew.’

‘I’m putting you ashore. I’ll arrange with the governor for your passage on the first ship returning to Falmouth. In the meantime –’

‘I’m not leaving
Cygnet
, Jago
.
Not until we reach Alexandria.’

‘I should never have agreed to this.’

‘But you did.’ She paused, then added softly, ‘I’m sorry if I caused you worry.’

‘You’re sorry?’ He shoved an unsteady hand through his hair. ‘It’s – you have no idea –’

‘I was tired, that’s all.’

‘Five days, Caseley. That’s not tiredness.’

‘But I’m perfectly well now. Truly. What’s the time?’

‘Why?’

‘If Martin’s not busy with dinner, could he heat some water? I would dearly love a wash.’

He gazed at her a moment longer, his lips pressed together as if to physically prevent words escaping, and strode out. As he clanged up the stairs, Caseley swung her legs out of the berth. As she stood up, the cabin floor seemed to rock. She sat down again, taking slow deep breaths, until her head stopped swimming. She would feel stronger after a meal.

The skylight above the table was open and she heard him shout for hot water, heard Martin’s yelled reply, ‘Aye, Skip.’

Jago took the wheel from Nathan. He was furious with Caseley for frightening him. He had a job to do and didn’t have time for this. He kept seeing her lying there unresponsive and relived his mouth-drying terror at the thought of losing her.

Realisation had shocked him like an icy wave as he realised it must have been the same for her as she nursed the boys, watching them get worse and helpless to prevent it.

He shouldn’t have let her come. But her determination to do so had allowed him to hope there might be a way back for them. He should have realised she wasn’t well, that exhaustion and grief had taken far more out of her than either of them realised. But she hadn’t complained, not to him. If she had, would he have heard? Self-loathing burned inside him.

Refreshed after a top-to-toe wash, Caseley put on a clean shift, stockings and her shoes. She brushed her hair and twisted it into a coil on the nape of her neck. After fastening the hooks of her corset she stepped into a petticoat with flounces at the back, then her skirt. Both corset and skirt sat more loosely on her waist. Buttoning a clean camisole she put on her jacket.

The small mirror Jago had fastened to the bulkhead reflected a pale, oval face, green eyes with purple shadows like bruises beneath them and high, sharp cheekbones. The rounded softness she had acquired during motherhood had vanished.
She was no longer a mother.
So what – who –was she now?

She turned away, clutching the back of the padded bench for support.
She couldn’t do this
. Yes, she could. She must, if she was to change her life. Being on
Cygnet
was not simply a voyage to a foreign country it was a journey to find a new self.

Jago needed her assistance. There was no going back to what had been. Could working together again help them find a new way forward? She straightened her spine, drew a deep breath, and left the cabin.

The crew’s welcome brought a lump to her throat. After each one had asked how she was feeling, Jago snarled at them to look to their tasks.

Startled, Caseley met his gaze. The bright sunlight revealed dark smudges of exhaustion under his eyes and a furrow of tension between his brows. About to speak, he shook his head and turned away. ‘Hammer, clear a space on the cargo hatch so my wife has somewhere to sit.’

––––––––

C
ygnet
sailed across the Bay of Algeciras. Ahead Caseley saw the tall limestone promontory of Gibraltar jutting out into the Strait from the end of an area of low, flat land.

It was just after two when they entered the harbour and moored alongside one of the quays. Leaving Hammer on watch, Nathan went down to have his dinner and a customs officer came aboard.

After introducing Caseley, who remained topside to give them privacy, Jago took the officer down to the day cabin.

That morning she had left off her navy cloak in favour of a skirt and matching long-sleeved fitted jacket of cream cotton printed with tiny green flowers. When she had finished dressing she looked down at herself. It was wrong, too soon...

Her fingers had gone to the buttons. Then she had lowered her hands. The navy cloak needed washing and was too warm now they were in the Mediterranean. Wearing cotton was a simple necessity, not a lack of respect. After nearly a year in unrelieved black she needed time to get used to wearing ordinary clothes again – 
and time to overcome guilt at her relief.
The straw bonnet Rosina had re-trimmed with holly green ribbon shielded her eyes from the bright sunshine.

Jimbo and Martin came towards her. ‘We’re going up the town to buy provisions, missus,’ Martin said, raising a forefinger to his forehead in salute. ‘Anything you want, is there?’

‘Will you post this for me?’ She handed him the letter she had written to Rosina with reassurance that all was well. Telling her the truth would only make her worry, which wouldn’t be kind. ‘Perhaps some fruit? You’ll need money –’

‘Cap’n took care of that, missus.’

As the pair left, the bowser cart arrived and Hammer started refilling the freshwater barrels.

The customs officer reappeared from the companionway hatch and nodded politely. Jago followed, pausing beside Caseley.

‘I have to go ashore for a short time.’

‘May I come?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m only going as far as the Custom House. We are to have a passenger. A reporter employed by Reuter’s Agency needs to reach Alexandria as soon as possible. I’m going to meet him and pick up a case of photographic equipment. Apparently it’s addressed to Miss Collingwood at the Consulate.’

‘That’s fortunate. As you need the Consul’s help, being the person to deliver the case will surely weigh in your favour.’

‘We must hope so.’

When she entered the saloon for breakfast that morning she had seen his gaze linger on her dress but he had not commented. Of course he hadn’t. Nor would he in front of the crew. Since then they had not been alone. Should she explain?

‘The only spare berth is in Nathan’s cabin,’ he said. ‘I have already spoken to him.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Go below, Caseley. You aren’t yet used to the heat.’ He started to follow the officer then turned back to add, ‘I’m glad you changed your dress.’ Then he left.

She went to the day cabin, removed her bonnet and jacket and dropped them on her bed. Once more she looked in the small mirror. Was he concerned in case she fell ill again, which might put his mission at risk? Or was it because he cared? But if he cared, if she mattered to him, how could he have resumed his affair with Louise Downing?