The Sea Between (12 page)

‘The constable probably,’ Jack suggested.

A minute or so later, George burst into the room. He looked as if he’d run most of the way. Sweat was trickling down his cheeks and dripping off his chin, his face was as red as a beetroot and he was panting like a dog. Behind him, looking almost as hot, was Richard.

‘Charlotte—are you all right?’ Gasping for breath, George anxiously appraised his sister’s pale face.

‘Just a bit shaken, that’s all,’ she answered.

He looked her over again, then turned his attention to his partner, who was plainly in a much worse state than his sister.

As William began to explain to George what had happened and how he’d come by his bleeding head, Richard went over to Charlotte and crouched down beside her chair. ‘Charlotte, are you sure you’re all right? Did he hurt you?’ he asked in a worried voice.

‘No, he didn’t hurt me,’ she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady. She met his eyes briefly, then looked away.

Taking the hint that she didn’t want to talk to him, Richard stood up, introduced himself to Bert Grant and the other three neighbours,
then extracted as much information as he could from the four of them about the night’s events. The constable arrived, on foot, at just about the same time as Ann and Eliza arrived in a carriage. Richard went outside to talk to his wife, then briefly returned to say that Eliza was quite distressed and he was taking her home.

The next hour was taken up by the meticulous documenting of statements. Charlotte’s statement took by far the longest time, not that she was a great deal of help. She’d seen the thief’s face very clearly in the kitchen where the lamp was burning, but seeing it was one thing, describing it was quite another. She did her best, but to be honest her description would have fitted half the men in Lyttelton. The trouble was, the man had no distinguishing features that she could think of. He was just a very ordinary-looking man in his late twenties or early thirties. Since he’d made no attempt to hide his face, it was the constable’s guess that he wasn’t a local man. ‘Was he a seaman?’ he suggested.

‘Possibly,’ she answered unhelpfully. How was she to know if he was a seaman? Recognizing that this particular avenue of enquiry wasn’t getting very far, the constable moved on to the stolen brooch.

‘Describe it,’ he said. ‘We’ll circulate a description to all the pawn shops in Christchurch and tell them to watch out for it. I don’t hold out much hope of recovering it, but you never can tell.’

She described it.

‘It’s unusual. That’s good. It’ll be easy to recognize,’ he said, as he wrote it all down. ‘Any other distinguishing features. Any inscriptions?’

‘There’s a name inscribed on the hull of the ship,’ she said. With all the neighbours gone and William safely dispatched home in a carriage, only family were present now, and she could talk more freely, confident that whatever the constable wrote down in his book wouldn’t be relayed all around the town. ‘You can’t read it with the
naked eye, but it says
Nina,
’ she said. ‘And beneath the clasp is my name—
Charlotte.
’ There was more than just her name there, but she wasn’t prepared to tell the constable the rest of the inscription.

It was nearly midnight when she finally tumbled into bed. Sleep was a long time in coming, though, and when it did come it was filled with bad dreams. Some about the thief; some about Richard. In one dream, she had dreamed she was sleeping…sleeping not in her bed, but on a stormy sea, her arms wound tightly around her naked body, her hair flying wildly in the wind, waiting for Richard’s ship to come and rescue her. But no ship had come, and she had woken to find the salty wetness on her cheeks was not seawater, but tears.

R
ichard rolled on to his back and stared at the darkened ceiling. Breathing out a low sigh, he turned his head towards the window, wondering how many more hours there were until dawn. He sighed again and turned his head the other way to look at Eliza. He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear her breath coming low and even in sleep. She was facing away from him, curled up like a cat. He yawned and stared at the ceiling again. He was dog-tired. He hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep since the night of the magic lantern show, the night he’d unexpectedly seen Charlotte again. No, don’t think about her, he told himself. He squeezed his eyes shut in a vain effort to squeeze her out of his mind—it was thinking about her that was keeping him awake.

The
Nina,
think about the
Nina,
he told himself. The image of his ship instantly conjured up the image of a smaller one, forged from silver. He thrust his right leg out of bed and let it fall with a soft
whumph
on top of the counterpane. The swine, ripping it from her dress like that! Charlotte had put on a brave face, but the thief had frightened her. He had seen it in her eyes, heard it in her voice when she’d spoken. Dragging his leg back into bed, he rolled on to his side and stared at the window again. Fairfield had looked pretty shaken up, too. What exactly is their relationship? he wondered. Fairfield had escorted Charlotte home, but she surely isn’t thinking of marrying him? No, surely not. The man’s an idiot. Fancy going
upstairs empty-handed, not even taking a lamp with him! No wonder he got clouted over the head, bloody fool. And having let himself get knocked senseless, he left Charlotte to fend for herself. And fend she had. How many other women would have had the wit or courage to smash a water ewer over the head of an intruder?

‘She certainly doesn’t lack mettle,’ he murmured.

Disturbed by the sound of his voice, Eliza stirred in her sleep. Richard rolled restlessly onto his back and stared at the ceiling again. Lyttelton, both women in Lyttelton. He hadn’t realized that Charlotte was living there. His mother hadn’t mentioned it in any of her letters, not that she’d mentioned Charlotte at all in the few letters he’d received from her. If he’d known Charlotte was in Lyttelton, he would never have bought a property there. As for what he could do about it now…it was hardly fair to uproot Eliza and shift her somewhere else, especially when she’d taken such a liking to Ann and was so delighted with the house. If his mother had shown a little more warmth towards Eliza, and if Eliza had shown a bit more liking for the farm, he might have suggested that Eliza should move here to the farm. As things stood, though, that was out of the question. Eliza had made it quite plain that she wanted to live in a port, not out in the wilds, as she put it. She’d lived in a port all her life. As for his mother, he could almost see her comparing Eliza with Charlotte; and she’d by no means forgiven him for marrying Eliza with ‘such precipitate and premature haste’, which were the words she’d used in one of her letters to him. It had not in fact been as precipitous and hasty as she’d made out. He’d known Eliza for quite some time.

He glanced across at Eliza, then pushed the blankets back, slid quietly from the bed and padded over to the window. Pulling the curtain aside he gazed out over the hills. The sky was starting to take on a light grey hue. About an hour until dawn, he reckoned. Letting the curtain fall back, he dragged off his night-shirt and dressed.
Quarter of an hour later he was riding across the hills, leaving his wife once again alone in their bed.

It was well past dawn when he got back; well past breakfast, too—his stomach was growling. As he made his way back to the house, he caught sight of his mother, the long ties of her white apron fluttering in the wind. John Blake was with her. Richard pulled on the reins, slowing his horse to a walk, as he watched them. They were discussing the new barn. John was pointing to it, and his mother was nodding in agreement. Flicking the reins, Richard rode down the last stretch of hill. He had a great deal to thank John for. John had been more than generous in the help he’d given to Letitia after Ben’s death.

As he rode into the yard, John walked over to greet him. ‘How are you, Richard? Your mother was just telling me that you and your wife arrived last night. It’s a little late, but may I offer you my congratulations on your marriage.’

Dismounting, Richard clasped John’s hand warmly and smiled, wondering if John felt as awkward as he did. The last time they’d met, he’d been courting John’s daughter with a view to marrying her. ‘Thank you, John. And may I also thank you very sincerely for all the help you’ve given my mother these past months. I’m greatly in your debt.’

John waved his hand dismissively. ‘I did no more than any other neighbour would have done.’

Richard shook his head. ‘You’ve done far more than most neighbours would have done, John. Far more.’

John gave a small shrug, then dipped his head towards the horse. ‘Been on an early morning ride, have you?’

‘Yes. I thought I’d make the most of the day.’

‘You’re here for a week, I hear.’

‘We are.’

‘Your wife is living in Lyttelton now, Letitia tells me,’ John remarked casually.

Richard glanced across at his mother. He had told her last night that Eliza was living in Lyttelton. She had made no comment, but he could tell from the expression on her face that she thought he shouldn’t have settled Eliza there.

‘We shifted into a house there last week,’ Richard said and proceeded to explain how it had come about. In fact, Eliza had been keen to settle in Auckland where her cousin was living, having heard good reports of it in her cousin’s letters. When they’d arrived in Auckland, however, they’d discovered that her cousin had recently sold up and gone to Australia. Eliza had been understandably disappointed, and her disappointment had somewhat soured her impression of the place. A poor sailor, she’d been adamant that she wasn’t sailing all the way back to England. He’d therefore suggested to her that she might wish to see if she liked the farm or perhaps Lyttelton. At the finish of his explanation, he added quietly, ‘I didn’t realize that Charlotte was living in Lyttelton with George and Ann, John.’

John nodded. ‘Did you call on them?’

Richard shook his head. ‘I saw them on Saturday evening at a magic lantern show. I’ve some news for you, too.’ Tossing the reins over the horse’s back, he proceeded to tell John and Letitia about the burglary. At the finish of his account, John was looking very grim-faced.

‘You’re sure Charlotte wasn’t harmed?’ he asked.

Richard gave a reassuring nod. ‘She was just very shaken up.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about this last night, Richard?’ Letitia looked at him reprovingly.

‘Because it was late, Mother, and I was very tired.’

‘What about George’s partner? Is he recovering?’ John asked.

‘I assume so.’ Richard hadn’t heard that he wasn’t, not that he’d enquired.

Letitia gave a sympathetic cluck with her tongue. ‘Poor man. He could have been killed.’

Richard looked away, feeling rather less compassionate. It was Fairfield’s stupidity that had placed Charlotte in such a dangerous situation.

‘Do they hold out much hope of apprehending the man?’ John asked.

Richard shrugged. ‘I’d say the chances are fairly slim.’

‘How did he manage to get into the house?’

‘I don’t know. Forced a window, I expect.’

‘Were any other houses burgled?’

‘I don’t know,’ Richard said.

‘How’s Ann? How did she take it? Did it upset her? A shock like that isn’t good for a woman in her condition,’ John said, frowning.

‘She seemed to cope with it. She was concerned for Charlotte, naturally,’ Richard replied.

John stared at the ground and shook his head. ‘God, whatever are things coming to when a woman isn’t safe even indoors!’

‘Come inside and have a cup of tea, John.’ Letitia reached up to pat his arm. Her fingers lingered on his sleeve for a moment, then she let her hand fall to her side again. ‘Come along, Richard,’ she said, as she turned towards the house. ‘Your breakfast is waiting for you. And so is your wife.’

‘Where is she?’ he asked.

‘In the parlour.’

In the parlour and not very happy, if his mother’s tone was anything to go by. ‘I’ll be in shortly, as soon as I’ve unsaddled the horse,’ he said, and led it into the stable.

Deciding he’d better go and see his wife before he sat down
to breakfast, Richard walked down the hall to the parlour. In the kitchen, he could hear his mother and John still discussing the events of Saturday evening. Eliza was sitting on the sofa, doing her needlework, when he walked in. She looked up, then looked pointedly down again and continued to prick her needle through the white fabric stretched over her tapestry frame.

He walked over to her, crouched down in front of the sofa, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. Pulling back, Eliza looked at him accusingly.

‘I couldn’t sleep. I went for a ride,’ he said simply.

‘In the dark?’

‘It was light enough to see.’

She pursed her lips impatiently. ‘I didn’t know where you were!’

‘You were asleep, Eliza.’

‘I woke up and missed you. I went all round the house looking for you. I was worried! You should have woken me and told me that you were going out!’

‘You were fast asleep. I didn’t want to wake you,’ he repeated. Pushing himself to his feet, he removed her tapestry frame from her hands, dropped it on to the sofa, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He took his time, holding her close to him, until the cross stiffness in her body gave way to appeased suppleness and she relaxed in his arms.

As he released her lips, he looked down at her and smiled. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

She nodded. ‘With your mother.’

Taking hold of her hand, he tugged her towards the door. ‘Come and keep me company while I have mine. Then we’ll go for a walk.’

An hour later, they were walking across the hillside together. It was a good day for a walk, pleasantly warm and with little wind. He turned to look back to the house as the faint sound of voices drifted
up the hill. John was in the yard, speaking with Bill Evans; no doubt checking that all was in order. John had hired Bill as a farm labourer to work on the farm, and, according to his mother, Bill was an excellent man. Richard turned back again, watching Eliza as she stooped to pluck a flower from among a clump of long grass. He wasn’t sure…it possibly meant nothing at all…but when his mother had reached out to touch John’s sleeve in the yard earlier…it had crossed his mind that things might be progressing a little beyond friendship between the two of them. His mother had been widowed for nine months now. She was still wearing her black silk mourning dress and still spoke about his father a lot, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t considering remarrying. John had been widowed for some years. A widow and a widower, living on neighbouring properties, both of a similar age, who got on well…it wasn’t out of the question.

‘Look, Richard, a buttercup.’ Walking towards him, Eliza held it out for him to see. ‘They’re so pretty, aren’t they?’

He took it from her and twirled the stem between his fingers so that the flower spun like an upturned parasol. ‘They’re weeds,’ he said with a smile, and handed it back to her.

‘Nonsense, they’re wild flowers,’ she said, adding it to the small posy she’d collected.

Richard slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. ‘What are you going to do with them? Put them in a vase?’

She smiled at him and shook her head. ‘No, I’m going to press them. Then I shall make greetings cards with them.’

‘That should keep you busy,’ he said.

‘I need things to keep me busy,’ she returned.

He smiled and kissed her lips. The comment hadn’t been lost on him, though. In the last letter that Eliza had written to him, she’d complained several times about how long the days were. ‘Eliza,’ he said quietly, ‘are you quite sure that you don’t want to go back to
England? Would you be happier living with your parents?’

She looked down at the bunch of wild flowers, already beginning to wilt in the warm sun, and shook her head. ‘No. I like being mistress of my own home. I think I shall settle in Lyttelton all right.’

‘I did warn you, Eliza.’ He paused and waited for her to look up. ‘I told you before you married me that I’d be away at sea a lot.’ He had no cause to feel guilty on that score. He had been brutally honest about how much he expected to be away.

‘Yes, I know you did,’ she said, and continued walking up the hill.

Half an hour later they were walking back down again, their walk cut short by the cold easterly wind that had suddenly sprung up.

‘Back already? That was a short walk,’ Letitia commented as Richard walked into the kitchen. She was sitting on a stool with a bowl on her lap, peeling apples.

‘A chilly easterly sprang up,’ he said.

‘Oh, that’s a pity. Where’s Eliza?’

‘She’s gone to do her hair. It got tousled in the wind.’ Reaching into the bowl on his mother’s lap, he pulled out a spiral of apple peel.

Letitia smiled wryly. ‘You used to do that when you were a boy, when you were no higher than my knee.’

‘Yes, and I got my fingers rapped for it.’ Grinning, he popped the peel into his mouth.

Letitia gave an amused laugh. ‘You’re too big to have your fingers rapped now.’ Leaning forward, she dropped the peeled apple into the bucket of water beside her stool. ‘Does it look as if it might rain, Richard?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ he said.

She picked up another apple, then looked at him again. ‘Do you think you could climb up on to the roof before you leave? It’s leaking.
Every time it rains, I get a puddle in my bedroom, just inside the door. John had a look, but he couldn’t find what was causing it.’

‘I’ll have a look at it tomorrow morning, Mother,’ he said.

Ten minutes later, the leaky roof was causing problems of a different kind in one of the other bedrooms.

‘I was hoping you might take me out for the day tomorrow!’ Eliza said sharply. ‘Now you tell me you’re going to be up on the roof for half the day.’