Greek Wedding (7 page)

‘Had his some time ago. With Mr. Brown.'

‘Price, what shall I do?' Phyllida leaned forward impulsively to ask it.

‘Nothing, miss. If you'll take my advice. Just leave it. He'll come about.' And with this bleak encouragement, he left them.

‘May we go up on deck?' Cassandra felt positively sorry for her niece when she heard her put it to Price as he poured her second cup of coffee.

‘I don't know, miss, I'm sure. Would you like me to find out?'

‘Oh yes, please! And, Price—'

‘Yes, miss?'

‘Say we'll be quiet as mice. Tell Captain Barlow—'

‘Yes, miss.' He understood her perfectly.

The message Price brought back was not encouraging. ‘Could you wait until this afternoon to take the air, miss? The captain says there's less chance then of our meeting a Turkish ship.' His tone quite failed to carry conviction. Cassandra wondered whether he even intended it to. She was not at all surprised, when she and Phyllida emerged into brilliant afternoon sunshine, to find the deck empty save for the lookout.

But a canvas shelter had been rigged up just forward of the ship's tall, slender, funnel. Two chairs and a table stood in its shade, and she was glad enough to settle at once in one of them and watch as her niece took a quick turn to the ship's rail and back.

‘I feel like a prisoner out at exercise! Do you think Mr. Renshaw has told the captain he's not to associate with us either?'

‘Well, it is Mr. Renshaw's ship,' said Cassandra mildly but was relieved just the same to have Phyllida's conjecture refuted by the appearance of Captain Barlow himself.

He looked, poor man, hideously embarrassed as he made his enquiries as to their well-being, and received their congratulations on last night's escape. ‘Mr. Renshaw begs that you will excuse him,' he said at last. ‘He's not feeling quite the thing today.'

‘Kind of you, Captain,' said Phyllida dryly. ‘But this is too small a ship for pretences. He won't meet me, is that it?'

Cassandra thought Barlow looked relieved. ‘That's precisely it, miss. It will make it much easier for all of us if we just admit it. Of course,' he hurried on, ‘Mr. Renshaw said nothing about his reasons. Some misunderstanding, I'm sure—'

‘Not at all,' said Phyllida. ‘It was my fault entirely. But—it's awkward, isn't it?'

‘Deuced awkward, miss. Excusing me, ma'am. It's too small a ship—'

‘We'll leave it at Nauplia,' Phyllida interrupted him. ‘I shall want to spend some time there anyway, making enquiries about my brother.'

‘But, Phyllida,' interposed her aunt, then hesitated. How could she point out to her niece, in front of the captain, that they were, for the moment, penniless?

‘You're thinking of funds?' Phyllida did not share her scruples. ‘Surely Nauplia is as much of a capital as Greece has got right now? There must be an American representative of some kind there, who will make us an advance until we can get in touch with Mr. Biddock on Zante. We can do that just as well overland as by sea.'

‘I don't know about that, miss.' Captain Barlow looked unhappier than ever. ‘You can't rightly know what's been going on in Greece. The news is terrible. I doubt if it would be possible to get a message across by land.'

‘It's as bad as that?'

‘I'm afraid so. It all seemed to be going so well for the Greeks until Ibrahim Pasha arrived from Egypt. Since then, it's bad. He's got Modon, and Navarino, and Tripolitsa, which gives him pretty well full control of the Morea. He could have had Nauplia last year, by all I hear, if it hadn't been for a gallant stand by one of those Greek brigand captains, someone called
Makriyannis. But, don't you see, that was a kind of miracle. It won't happen every time. You know how divided those poor devils of Greeks are among themselves? Half the time they've got two governments going at once.
If
not three. And, meanwhile, who knows what Ibrahim will do now Missolonghi's fallen? The word, when we were at Nauplia, was that they were afraid he'd be back there soon, while Reshid Pasha, who's responsible for mainland Greece, had a go at Athens. Well: what's to stop him? And what's to stop Ibrahim taking Nauplia any time he really sets his mind to it? I don't think you ladies ought to leave us there, I truly don't. Let us take you on to Zante—to the Ionian Islands—where you'll be safe on British soil? Please?'

‘And make poor Mr. Renshaw spend half the day in his cabin to avoid me? On his own ship! Not on your life, Captain.'

It looked, for the moment, like deadlock. ‘When shall we reach Nauplia?' asked Cassandra.

‘All going well, some time tomorrow. The wind's freshening; we're going to put on some sail and take advantage of it. If it holds we might be there quite early. Mind you, I'm not going in there until I've spoken a Greek ship and made sure all's well.'

‘It's as bad as that?'

‘Quite as bad. I didn't save you ladies from the Turk at Constantinople to hand you over to him at Nauplia. I do beg you'll be considering your position before we arrive. It shouldn't take more than a few days to round the Morea and deliver you safe and sound on Zante. And now, if you'll excuse me—' He turned away to shout an order and the two women watched as the square sail was run up on the funnel. ‘You'd think it would catch fire,' said Cassandra.

‘Yes, it does look risky. Father said the
Savannah
had an adjustable elbow to her funnel so they could direct the smoke and sparks away from the sails. I see Captain Barlow just relies on extra lookouts.'

‘And tubs of water,' said her aunt approvingly. ‘He's a very sensible man.'

‘Yes. But if you think I'm going to take his advice and stay on board all the way to Zante, you're crazy.'

‘Let's wait and see.' Cassandra never believed in rushing her fences. ‘We can't decide till we know how things are at Nauplia. Even you will hardly insist on going ashore if it's in the hands
of the Turks. Nor would Captain Barlow take you. They've risked enough for us already.'

‘Yes. I wish I knew how much coal their bunkers hold. If we can't put in to Nauplia I suppose we'll have to go clear round to Zante before coaling up. Look at that miserable little bit of sail, and think what it will be like, cooped up here, out of coal, while we wait for a wind to take us round Cape Matapan.' And without waiting for an answer, she resumed her restless promenade up and down and to and fro on the deck.

Cassandra watched her anxiously and actually found herself hoping that Nauplia would turn out to be in the hands of the Turks, so that the question of going ashore there would not arise. No good pretending that she could influence Phyllida's decision. She folded her hands tightly in her lap and found herself wishing for that beloved and soothing standby, her embroidery. A shadow fell across her and she looked up to see Price.

‘Will you be taking your tea on deck, ma'am? You and Miss Vannick?'

‘If it's no trouble.' A quick look established that Phyllida had vanished from the deck. Was it also, visibly, an anxious one?

Apparently it was. ‘It's all right, ma'am,' said Price. ‘She's in the cabin. Crying, I rather think. I'll fetch her when tea's ready. No,' he had seen Cassandra's instinctive movement. ‘I'd leave her, if I were you. She needs it, don't you think?'

‘Price, you're extraordinary.'

‘Thank you, ma'am.' He seemed, for once, to hesitate.

‘There's one thing, if I might make so bold as to ask it?'

‘Anything, Price.' What could be coming now?

‘Thank you. It's Mr. Renshaw's linen,' he said, suddenly confidential. ‘I can manage—ahem—everything else, but I'd counted on Miss Helena's woman to do the fine work on the linen. I don't know what the master will say if he finds he's not got a shirt fit to dine with the High Commissioner, when we get to the Ionian Islands. That was the last one he put on yesterday, of the evening ones, that is, and full of burns now. Little holes, you know. I wouldn't know how to set about them.'

‘Price!' She sounded like a warhorse hearing trumpets. ‘Do you mean they need mending?'

‘That's just exactly it, ma'am.'

She smiled up at him a little mistily, and he thought what an
unusually pleasant lady she was. ‘And I was just missing my embroidery. I hate to sit idle. Price, I saw a needlebook in that box—' She paused, at a loss how to describe that heart-rending collection of offerings for Helena.

‘In the saloon,' he finished for her. ‘I'll fetch it, ma'am, and the shirts, before I make the tea.'

So Phyllida, emerging from the companion-way red of eye but apparently calm, found her aunt busy sewing. ‘Do look, love,' Cassandra said cheerfully. ‘Did you ever see such fine linen?'

‘What on earth are you doing?'

‘Mending Mr. Renshaw's shirts,' said her aunt, blandly ignoring storm signals. ‘And high time too. Poor Price had counted on the abigail to do it.'

‘Abigail? What do you mean?'

‘Of course, you don't have them in America. The lady's maid. Helena's. Price thought she would do the fine mending.' She laughed. ‘He said he could manage—“ahem, everything else”.' She found herself waiting anxiously for Phyllida's reaction.

When it came, it was a reassuring peal of laughter. ‘God bless Price,' said Phyllida. ‘Hand me a shirt, Aunt. Maybe we can earn our keep on this ship after all.'

‘You'd better do the cravats,' said Cassandra nobly. ‘They're finer still. I was really wondering how I would manage.'

*          *          *

They spoke a Greek ship later that evening, and Price brought news with supper for two to the saloon. ‘They were fresh out fom Nauplia,' he said. ‘All's well there, so far. Captain Barlow hopes to arrive towards mid-day tomorrow. We don't use sail at night, of course, for fear of sparks from the funnel.'

‘Yes.' Phyllida was thinking about something else. ‘Price, do you think you could persuade one of the crew to let us have his kitbag? I promise to pay for it, handsomely, as soon as I'm in funds.' She turned to Cassandra. ‘I hate to take so much as a toothbrush off this ship, but I don't see much alternative, do you? Besides, I expect Mr. Renshaw will think it cheap as the price of getting rid of us.'

‘There'll be no need, miss.' Price spoke a shade repressively. ‘I'm speaking out of turn, I know, but it's only what the captain
will tell you after supper. Mr. Renshaw plans to leave the ship at Nauplia and make the journey by land. He says he'll enjoy it, specially if it's dangerous. And of course, he's quite right. As an Englishman—and not unknown—he'll be a deal safer from Turks
or
Greeks than you two ladies. He's planning to see the ruins at Argos and all kinds of other antiquities on the way.' He paused for a moment and Cassandra was increasingly aware that this was the most calculated of indiscretions. ‘I think it will do him good,' he went on. ‘There's been something on his mind since Constantinople—'

‘There has indeed,' said Phyllida angrily. ‘Us.'

‘No, miss, not that, excusing me. There was something he got in his mail there. Bless you, miss, I've served Mr. Brett since he was in short coats. I know when things go wrong with him, and they was worse than wrong before you ever put in an appearance. And not just on account of Miss Helena either. There was something new. So, what I'm trying to say is, if you ladies are half-way grateful for what he's done for you, you'll let him go ashore and make the land trip, without—excuse me—making a potheration over it?' He ended on a note of question, and looked relieved when Phyllida burst out laughing.

‘You're a fiend, Price,' she said. ‘As if I wasn't far enough in the wrong already, I have to accept this sacrifice too?'

‘That's about it.' He was pleased with her. ‘And—there's another thing. You ladies will be able to manage without me? I thought we might try and find you a girl in Nauplia, but I won't say I'm hopeful.'

‘You go with Mr. Renshaw?'

‘I always go with Mr. Renshaw.'

*          *          *

‘Do you know,' said Phyllida, drinking the wine Price had poured before he left them. ‘I actually think he's fond of Mr. Renshaw.'

‘Fond of him! My good child, he adores him. You might think of that a little, next time you feel like losing your temper with Mr. Renshaw. He and Price seem to disprove the saying about no man being a hero to his valet. And—did you notice—Price has been with him for ever.'

‘ “Fidus Achates”,' said Phyllida crossly. ‘Aunt, I do beg that
you won't make me feel any worse than I do already. How can I accept such a sacrifice from someone who detests me?'

‘How can you not?' said her aunt.

So Captain Barlow, arriving nervously with the coffee, found his mission a good deal easier than he had feared. When he left them it had been agreed that they would make the journey round the south of the Morea on the
Helena
, while Brett Renshaw and Price travelled overland. ‘The government at Nauplia will provide them with a bodyguard,' said Barlow. ‘I think Mr. Renshaw is looking forward to the trip.'

‘And if he's killed by the Turks it will be my fault,' said Phyllida.

‘But why should he be? He has his
laissez-passer
— It's not as if he was a Philhellene.'

‘It certainly isn't,' said Phyllida. ‘Captain Barlow, will it be possible for me to go ashore at Nauplia and make enquiries about my brother?'

‘I'd be relieved if you'd let me do it for you, miss. I've thought about it a good deal. You know (or maybe you don't) what these Greeks are like. They're great ones for the main chance. If they know what store you set by hearing of your brother they may be tempted to make up all kinds of tales—for what it's worth to them, do you understand? I think it would be better if I made the enquiries, casual-like. And I'll have plenty of time'—he anticipated her objection—'while we're coaling. If there is any coal in Nauplia.'