The Trespass (51 page)

First she quickly washed her face, scrubbed at it, rinsed her mouth, spat him away. Then she took a towel and wiped up her own vomit from the table.
So clearly she saw the maid Lucy, cleaning up after her, in another life.
She looked about her again, as she had when she was first locked in. The room was square, with one window that looked out on to the harbour and a smaller one on to a side alley; there was no other door than the one Peters was guarding. Her room was visible to anyone passing in the street but in the alley, in the dark, she might be invisible. She stared out. What else could she do but jump out on to the road below when night came? While her father was addressing the meeting of the settlers. Through the window and along the busy, bustling waterfront, the sun was low on the horizon.
How could she have let her guard down, waited too long at Edward’s house? How could she have persuaded herself that distance would keep her father away?
People walked along the road as if this was an ordinary day, she saw a man calling and a young boy bowling a hoop along; the hoop was light and got lifted by the wind and the boy ran after it, laughing with delight. Soldiers marched by again in their red coats. Small boats lay tied to posts on the shore: whaleboats, small rowing boats, native canoes; the wind was making the water rougher now, the small boats moved and jostled, bumping drunkenly. Out in the harbour, the
Lord Fyne
lay at anchor near the
White Princess
which her father said was to take her with him to Sydney on their journey back to England. Far, far out she thought she saw a sail. She remembered the voices:
the natives say the
Seagull
from Africa will land tonight, it will bring spices, pepper and myrrh.
Beside the hotel people were selling potatoes and honey. She would have to wait for the darkness. Few people noticed a lady in a black dress staring intently out of the hotel window, with her hair undone.

Suddenly the door opened again. Harriet turned quickly.

‘Your father has sent for you,’ said Peters. ‘There are soldiers here again. You also are to be escorted to Government House, your father has decided you should dine there, with him, before he addresses the meeting.’

Harriet’s heart skipped a beat.

But she could do nothing before dark. And she would meet other people. Perhaps somebody would see that her father was mad, and she would be saved.

THIRTY

The new, fast sailing ship the
Seagull,
with its cargo of spices and special passengers, finally crossed the straits in the late afternoon, the Wellington winds waiting. Lucy, having sung the boy George to sleep: having sung
I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls with vassals and serfs by my side
as the ship heaved and rolled (for some reason the song that soothed him most); having waited, holding his hand, until sleep came at last, now stood on deck with Quintus. They had buffeted past the dark coastline for several hours, what they were searching for was a sight of their final destination and Lucy discussed with Quintus the coming reunion with Miss Harriet. Benjamin, who had been standing alone at one end of the ship, joined them as they approached the heads where the pilot boat was already waiting. Quintus stood with his ears up and his nose forward.

‘He understands, you know,’ said Lucy to Sir Benjamin Kingdom, ‘he knows he’s going to see Miss Harriet soon.’

‘I believe he does,’ said Benjamin, watching Quintus.
Why should he believe his own instinctive feelings and not those of Quintus?
He stared ahead, watching the pilot boat and several small schooners fussing around the new sleek ship that had come into their care. Benjamin was perplexed beyond reason. Here they were, arrived safely at last after all that had happened to them – and here it was again, that odd, unexplained uneasiness, beating its wings against his heart. He ran his hands through his unruly curls that were lifted and tangled by the wind, decided he had done far too much thinking at sea: he would leave everything to Ralph, which was as it should be, and would set off as soon as possible on his search for the
moa.

He smiled at Lucy. ‘Quintus probably knows more than the rest of us put together,’ he said, only partly joking, and he craned down to see what the pilot did, did not see that Lucy stared at him, something on her mind.

*   *   *

Lucy had become indispensable to the Kingdom brothers.

On Tristan da Cunha the survivors of the wreck of the
Cloudlight,
although so kindly looked after by the islanders, had huddled together, reliving their nightmare: waiting for rescue. Most of them just wanted to go home. George’s mother and father had been drowned like most of the steerage passengers, George had miraculously lived and the Kingdom brothers had taken him under their wing. The boy had survived, but spoke very little. He still saluted Ralph, his friend forever, but in a stoical way, as if not wishing to disappoint. He held Lucy’s hand a great deal and sat a great deal with Quintus the dog, not speaking. The brothers would have given much to hear the chirpy voice say ‘hello, hello?’ again.

When Lord Ralph understood at last that the dog Quintus was Harriet’s dog, that the young girl he thought he had seen before had been Harriet’s maid (had been there on the very evening at the Highgate Cemetery that had changed all their lives), he almost considered it a sign from heaven (although he considered Lucy’s determination to bring Harriet’s dog across the world somewhat foolish). He had offered her more money than she had ever been paid in her life to come onwards to New Zealand with them and look after George and then return to England with them all when they had found Harriet. But she had curtseyed and said that although she would be very glad, with them, to find Miss Harriet, she didn’t want to go back to England. Lucy had many bad memories of her life in Spitalfields, but the terrible, unforgettable vision of her friend Annie trying to jump from the wild rocks of Tristan da Cunha would be part of her forever. And she had decided, as the terror came back to her over and over, that the dream she and Annie had dreamed to themselves – a new and different life in a new and different place – must somehow be realised, for Annie’s sake also. She could not articulate this to the Kingdom brothers of course, who would not anyway have delved into the mind of a servant, but Ralph had seen the girl jump into the raging waters and had respect for her courage, and on the journey from Africa with few passengers and mostly cargo Benjamin had enjoyed her company and her view of the world. She looked after the boy and the brothers, was forever grateful that the bottom of the
Seagull
carried cargo not passengers, and was paid most generously. She carefully put away every penny for her new life.

As the
Seagull
had sailed with its small ragbag of unexpected passengers through the Indian Ocean in record time; as the few survivors spoke less of the
Cloudlight,
or the drunken Captain, or of Tristan da Cunha, or of the terrible day, Benjamin had patiently taught George to read and to tell the time and George’s eyes had widened in amazement at these new things that he had somehow learned and he became engrossed in any books he could get his hands on. He also became fascinated by the brothers’ pocket watches, would plead to be allowed to hold them against his ear and listen to the ticking. But he would seldom come up on deck, could not bear to stand on deck and look at the sea. (Perhaps standing on the deck brought back to his small mind another time, the time he had stood on deck with his mother and the Reverend Boothby and warned him of monsters. As it was decided best never to speak to George of the shipwreck or his lost parents, George’s exact frame of mind was not known.) Lord Ralph would have forced him on deck daily, wanted to make a man of him. But Benjamin and Lucy prevailed upon Ralph to let the boy get safely to New Zealand first before he considered manhood. Ralph reluctantly complied but spoke severely to George most days now.

‘You must take your fate like a man, George, if you are to be a man!’ And George saluted stoically but did not speak.

Only Lucy knew the depths of George’s terror, sleeping in the same small cabin, waking over and over again in the night to comfort the unspeakable horrors of his dreams. Night after night he would cling to her and she would sing to him. Slowly her high, clear voice would calm his small heart and his wild eyes would close again. But she would see expressions of terror cross his face over and over, even as he slept. And perhaps it was George’s nightmares that at last penetrated Lucy’s own dreams: Harriet had once clung to her too in desperation. Lucy had begun to dream, as they approached New Zealand, not of Annie jumping from the wild rocks, but, night after night, of Harriet. Sometimes she saw the white figure, shadowy on the stairs of the dark London house, carrying a knife.

*   *   *

Now as they approached Wellington and the culmination of all his hopes and plans and desires Lord Ralph Kingdom, his body wild with excitement and anticipation, sat in the saloon calming himself with a large Scottish whisky. His thoughts were full of Harriet and their impending meeting: he must marry her now, marry her
here,
in Wellington,
I cannot wait another day!
He nevertheless was trying to write a letter to his mother to be sent off, he hoped, as soon as they landed, to catch the first ship. She would have had no news of them since they left: she had to be told about the wreck of the
Cloudlight,
the safety of her sons and the death of her cousin, the Reverend Boothby. Ralph sat, dipping his pen into the ink, but he kept thinking of Harriet Cooper.

Benjamin entered the saloon.

‘Go up, Ralphie,’ he said, ‘I will add to the letter and finish it. Wellington is at last in sight and who knows but you may see Miss Cooper, waiting at the quay even now!’

Ralph bounded up the iron steps to the deck, the wind at once catching his hair and his clothes; he was strong and young and his life stood before him: he never remembered feeling so happy. The days in London with ballet dancers and gaming clubs and duels now seemed like a dream. His travels had changed him, strengthened him: his love had made him strong. He would marry Harriet and they would have a large family and live in Kent with his mother who would learn to love Harriet and he would attend the House of Lords as was his duty. Ralph knew that the world belonged to him: knew that after so terrible a journey everything would fall into place when he found again the woman he loved.

‘There, Lucy,’ he said as he leaned beside her on the deck and the dark hills drew nearer and the choppy sea sent spray to cover their faces and their clothes. ‘Quintus knows, look how he stares. After all that has happened, there is our destination.’

Lucy, who had been deep in thought, suddenly looked up. ‘Lord Ralph, excuse me,’ she said. ‘Please keep looking at them hills. I’ve got to tell you something.’

‘What is it, Lucy?’ he said, smiling indulgently at her. (
Soon now, perhaps even tonight, he would see Harriet again. He would take her in his arms and never let her go.
) Lucy did not answer at once. He glanced down at her: her little fourteen-year-old face was serious and pale.

‘You’ve got to look at the hills, sir,’ she said in a tight, determined voice, ‘so’s I can tell you.’

Again he indulged her: nothing could dent his happiness and his anticipation. It was just beginning to get dark and the setting sun etched the line of the hills in the distance. The wind blew, but still the harbour was beautiful.

‘It’s about Miss Harriet.’

He looked at her sharply.

‘Look away!’ she commanded, almost angrily, and he did so, bemused.

Lucy frowned at the immensity of her task. But she knew she had to speak, for Harriet’s sake. ‘Lately,’ she said at last, ‘I been dreaming about Miss Harriet and I started being scared for her again, like I was at Bryanston Square.’ Lucy, too, stared at the sunset. ‘There’s some things,’ and then she paused, wondering what words to use. Then she started again. ‘Don’t look at me when I’m talking or I won’t be able to tell you all this. I seen some things in Bryanston Square that – that I think I should tell you but I dunno how to use the words.’ She saw that he still looked at the hills but that he was frowning now, that he did not like her talking of his beloved. She took a deep breath. ‘Sir Charles didn’t think I saw, but I did. He – he done things.’ She cast a nervous little glance sideways; he had not turned but he was very still. ‘There was plenty of men like that at Spitalfields,’ she said in disdain, ‘it was nothing new to me. But I thought the gentry was different.’ She screwed up her courage.

‘He came into her room, in the night.’ Her voice was very low: the wind took her words and delivered them to the man standing next to her.
I cannot tell you,
Harriet had said to him.

‘She used to vomit, when he was gone. She run away from him.’

He turned to her at last, looking at her with a mixture of horror, anger, disbelief and deep distaste that anyone in the world, let alone a servant, should say to Lord Ralph Kingdom such unspeakable, unsayable things.

‘I seen these things in Bryanston Square,’ she said doggedly, as canoes appeared with natives on board, calling excitedly to the
Seagull.
Quintus ran up and down the deck, wagging his tail and barking. ‘Why else would she run away so desperate? And when I went back to try and get a reference, after Miss Harriet had disappeared, the servants said Sir Charles was planning to come and fetch her back. And the reason I thought I needed to tell you all this is I’ve been thinking what my dreams might mean. Suppose he’s already here? She might need us to rescue her! We wasn’t delayed as much as we might have been on the island with the
Seagull
seeing the smoke and coming to get us. But who’s to say who passed us? Or maybe he’s already taken her back again to her horrible life!’

A Maori canoe came near, the Captain shouted to them to get out of the way, but they only laughed and sped past, brown men using the paddles with strength and grace, shouts of their language echoing upwards, the wind seeming to bother them not at all.