Greek Wedding (14 page)

Something splashed in the water close to the rowboat. Price watched for a moment as it began slowly to draw away. ‘Mad drunk, miss, and dangerous. I oughtn't to be so glad to see you.'

‘Oh yes you should. I ought not to have left. I know that now. I had no idea … But where is he? What's he doing?'

‘Throwing Miss Helena's things out of the cabin window. The captain and Mr. Brown are with him, but he's beyond minding them. He's been at it ever since you went ashore.' No mistaking the reproach in his tone. ‘And eaten nothing.'

‘Lamentable.' She moved briskly past him and down the companion-way to surprise several members of the crew loitering in the yacht's long corridor, listening to the sounds of strife from the saloon. ‘Good evening.' Her chilly glance sent them scurrying back to their own quarters, and she waited till they were out of sight before pushing open the door of the saloon.

Chaos. Brett, wildly untidy, in his shirtsleeves, had his back to her as he delved in Helena's box. Barlow was beside him, vainly expostulating, Brown was trying to shut the saloon window. The room stank of brandy, and an empty bottle bore mute
witness to how Brett had spent the afternoon. A chair lay broken at the head of the table, and another bottle had been hurled at the gold-framed looking-glass, which was cracked from side to side.

‘Dear me,' said Phyllida.

‘Oh God!' Brett straightened up and turned to face her. His face was flushed, his hair wildly disordered. He was holding a tiny, silver-mounted pistol. ‘You.' He pronounced each word individually, as if with a great effort. ‘You should have stayed away. Or come sooner.' His hand was steady as he checked the little weapon. ‘Loaded. Thought I'd never find it. Bought for Helena. Manton's. Tell her it came in useful in the end. Keep off, you—' Barlow had advanced a cautious step. ‘And you, too.' Brown was immobile at the window. ‘Can't you see I'm talking to a lady? To two ladies? A death-bed speech: “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” I should have known it was no good.' He was speaking directly to Phyllida now, the others forgotten. ‘I should have learned. “Don't touch me,” she said. Loathsome. Like a snake, a toad … Untouchable. Should have known.' Suddenly he smiled at Phyllida with immense charm. ‘You knew. Just don't interrupt me this time—' His hand shook as he raised the pistol, and he had to steady it with the other one.

‘Nonsense,' said Phyllida. Dared she try to take the pistol? No; movement would provide the final spur. ‘So you'll let Helena win?' she said.

‘She's won already. You don't know the full humour of it. Mr. Bidd … Bidd … Biddock told me today. My uncle's leaving her his estate. To make up for my cruelty. Mine! Drunk in church. Shame! And she waiting in her Val … her Valenciennes. “Don't touch me!” Rich Helena; lucky Helena! Give her my con … my congratulations.' Once again the pistol wavered upwards.

‘You care so much for money, Mr. Renshaw?'

‘Who doesn't?' But the contempt in her voice had got through to him. ‘You shouldn't have come. No sight for a lady. Blood. Should be Helena. “Don't touch me.” Blood on her little white slippers. Blood on her veil.'

Keep him talking. And, suddenly, inspiration: ‘Have you made your will, Mr. Renshaw?'

Surprisingly, he laughed, a queer horrible croak of a laugh.
‘That's the cream of it. Made it before my marriage. Everything to her; to Helena. All my debts … A present for Helena … A bride gift—a blood gift…'

‘And the
Helena
too?'

‘The—Oh!' This was something he had not thought of. She could see his drink-logged brain trying to grapple with the new idea. ‘The
Helena
?'

‘For another honeymoon?' She had his attention now and pursued her advantage. ‘Mr. Renshaw, what you do to yourself is you own affair, but first listen to me: I've come to see you on a matter of business. Surely you'll pay me the courtesy of a hearing?'

‘Courtesy?' He was coming back to them as from a great distance. ‘Business? At your service—Brown, a chair for the lady.' And then. ‘But you were to call me Brett.' He dropped the pistol on the table and looked down at his crumpled shirt. ‘No state for business. Ladies present… A thousand apologies.'

‘I should just about think so, sir.' Price bustled forward. ‘In your shirtsleeves indeed! And the saloon looking as if a tornado had struck it! If you'd be so good as to step up on deck for a moment, ma'am, we'll have all shipshape for you in a jiffy.' One hand adjusted Brett's straying cravat while the other whipped the pistol out of sight. ‘Give us five minutes, ma'am?'

It was longer than that before Barlow joined her on the deck. ‘Thank God you came.'

She did not want to discuss it. ‘How is he?'

‘Asleep. He sent you a thousand apologies and fell asleep as he spoke. Don't blame him too much, Miss Vannick. And—another thing. He thinks you're staying. He insisted on being put in my cabin … the one he's been using. If he should wake and find you gone … Miss Vannick, would it be asking too much?'

‘Of course I'll stay.' She was delighted to have the decision made for her. ‘I'll write a note to my aunt at once. She can explain to Mrs. Biddock. Mr. Renshaw's ill—' She was working it out as she spoke. ‘I can't put my proposition to him till the morning—till he's better. I feel in honour bound to stay and nurse him. It would never do to leave him to the tender mercies of a lot of men. Price is with him?' She broke off to ask it anxiously.

‘Yes, and Brown is tidying up the saloon. The less the crew
know of this, the better. There's rumours enough going about the ship as it is. Miss Vannick—'

‘Yes?'

‘I've no right to ask it, but you said something about a proposition?'

‘Yes.' Why not tell him? ‘I want to charter the
Helena
, Captain Barlow.'

‘Thank God.'

*          *          *

By the time Cassandra was rowed out to the
Helena
, the saloon was tidy again and Price was setting the table for dinner. ‘I knew you'd come!' Phyllida kissed her warmly.

‘Of course I've come. If Mr. Renshaw needs nursing, I'm the one to do it. Poor man—' A bright, intelligent glance suggested that she knew exactly what was the matter with Brett. ‘Frankly, Phyl, I was delighted to get your note. One afternoon of Cissie Biddock was enough for me. Where her poor husband can have found her is more than I can imagine. Underbred, a gossip…' She coloured angrily, remembering the questions Mrs. Biddock had asked about Phyllida. ‘And as for her children—'

‘Horrid little boys,' Phyllida agreed. ‘Poor Mr. Biddock.'

‘He was a horrid little boy too.'

‘Yes…' Thoughtfully. ‘Really, if it were not for the convenience of his handling Brett's affairs too, I'd be inclined to move my business to Mr. Barff, of whom everyone speaks so well.'

‘But you can't until the will is proved. What are we going to do, Phyl?'

‘Stay here until we hear from Alex, And then—I've a plan, Aunt.' She told her about her idea of chartering the
Helena
. ‘Poor Brett! I've no doubt Mrs. Biddock told you how things are with him. You'll help me persuade him, Aunt Cass?'

‘I'll try.' If Cassandra had noticed that the gold-framed looking-glass was missing from the wall, and one of the chairs from the table, she did not remark on it, and Phyllida was grateful to her. The yacht was too small for any discussion of Brett's state.

He did not appear in the morning, and Price reported him as
still far from well. And that was likely enough, Phyllida thought, after the amount of brandy he had drunk. So long as it was only that. But suppose he felt he could not face her, after yesterday's scene? She half smiled to herself. Last time they had quarrelled, it had taken capture by pirates to restore them to speaking terms. Perhaps this time she would have to wait until Alex returned with news of Peter. She refused to believe that there would not be news. Alex had promised to find out: he would do so. His return would solve everything.

She was waked early next morning by a bustle in the harbour, and hurried eagerly up on deck. How like Alex to have made such a good time. But it was a strange ship that was being moored inland from them. ‘It's the British packet, miss,' the lookout told her. ‘No quarantine for them, I reckon.'

And indeed Phyllida, swallowing disappointment, could see a lively going and coming to the new ship. She saw Biddock being rowed out to her and wondered if by any miracle the packet might bring news that Brett's uncle had changed his will once more. Summoned below by Price, she found her aunt already at the breakfast table. ‘It's the British packet, Aunt Cass. Do you long to go home on her?'

‘Not so long as you're staying.'

‘Bless you. I knew you'd say that. Good gracious! Can we have company already?' A boat had scraped against the
Helena's
side.

‘It sounds like it.' Aunt Cassandra calmly finished her coffee. ‘It might not be a bad thing either.'

‘No.' Anything to get Brett out of that dismal cabin.

Captain Barlow appeared, looking flustered, at the saloon door. ‘There you are, Price! Excuse me, Miss Knight, Miss Vannick. You must call Mr. Renshaw. At once. I've never been so surprised in my life. Perhaps you ladies—In the meantime—It seems an odd kind of welcome for the poor young thing. Really, I don't know what to do for the best.'

‘Captain Barlow!' Phyllida could hardly help laughing. ‘If you'd be so good as to explain. Price will need to know what to say to Mr. Renshaw.'

‘Of course. Forgive me. It was having it come plump like that. I'm just a seaman, these are too deep waters for me.' And then, pulling himself together. ‘It's Mr. Biddock. Up on deck. He's come from the packet. No, that's not right. He's come from his
home, he says. He thought it best to take her straight to Mrs. Biddock, he told me.'

‘Her? Good God, Mr. Barlow, not Helena?'

‘Helena! Lord bless you, miss, not her. No, it's Miss Renshaw come out on the packet to join her brother, and what Mr. Biddock was thinking of to take her ashore I'm sure I don't know.' But he looked uncomfortable, as if he had a pretty good idea.

‘Well! If this isn't the outside of enough.' For once, it was Cassandra who took command. ‘Price, tell your master I will be delighted to accompany him on shore to fetch his sister. Unless he would prefer my niece to go out with me? Tell him, would you, that the sooner his sister is out of Mrs. Biddock's house, the happier I shall be.'

‘Thank you, ma'am.'

As he withdrew, Cassandra turned to Phyllida. ‘Tell me, did you even know he had a sister?'

‘No. But then, he talks so little of his life in England. Captain Barlow, you must know. How old is Miss Renshaw?'

‘A mere child, miss. She lived with their aunt and uncle, you know. Ever since their parents died.'

‘With … Not with
the
uncle?' No good pretending Barlow did not know everything about Brett's being disinherited.

‘Precisely, miss.'

‘Good God. And he's had her on his mind too. No wonder—'

She paused at the sound of altercation from Brett's cabin. ‘Of course I'm going like this.' His voice was raised in a vigorous anger that she found most encouraging. ‘This is not a morning call, you fool. I'm fetching Jenny. And why on earth that idiot took her there in the first place—'

Suddenly conscious that they were all listening, Phyllida and Cassandra both spoke at once. ‘I'll just fetch my—' said Cassandra, and: ‘I'd best go up on deck and speak to Mr. Biddock,' said Phyllida.

She opened the saloon door as Brett burst out of his cabin, with Price, still protesting, behind him. ‘Be damned to Mrs. Biddock.' Brett was wearing his sailing costume of loose shirt and duck trousers. ‘I'm in a hurry, man.' And then, suddenly aware of Phyllida: ‘Forgive me.' Surprisingly, he laughed. ‘There seems no end to the apologies I owe you. But no time for that now. I must get that fool of a girl back on board the packet
before it's full up.'

‘You're never thinking of sending her back?'

‘What else can I do with her? I suppose she has quarrelled with my uncle on my behalf, bless her silly little heart. Well, she can't afford to. You'll have to help me make her see that, Phyllida. Or, better still,' he looked past her into the saloon: ‘You, Miss Knight? I'd be most grateful if you'd come with me. It's good of you to offer.'

‘Of course I'll come. But I think you should listen to what your sister has to say for herself, before you decide what to do with her.'

‘Of course I'll listen.' Impatiently. And then, with a half laugh. ‘You don't know Jenny. I'll have no option. But she'll have to go back just the same. You know as well as I do, Miss Knight, that this is no place for her.'

Phyllida threw back her head in a laugh her aunt suspected of being near-hysterical. ‘You sound for all the world like Mrs. Biddock. Another reputation dies!'

‘Nonsense!' He turned on her furiously. ‘You know I don't mean that. But she's a child, I tell you. There's her education to be considered; her future. What's to become of her, wandering about the world with a lost cause like me? I can't
do
anything for her, don't you see?' It had been eating into him. ‘She's got to go back to my uncle, however much she dislikes it. And however much
I
do. But at least I hope I'm beyond considering myself.'

‘Yes,' said Cassandra Knight. ‘I see all that, Mr. Renshaw, but I still think you should wait to see what the child—Jenny—has to say. And as to education; I think I could make shift to help you there.'

‘You're too good. But we must be going. God knows how many people will have booked passage on the packet already.'