Виктория Холт - The Captive

We bought the wine and came out into the sunshine.

Slowly we made our way back to the launch which would take us to the ship. On the quay we stopped at a stall and Lucas bought one of the bags for me. It was heavily embroidered with scarlet and blue flowers.

“A memento of a happy day,” he said.

“To say thank you for letting me share it with you.”

I thought how gracious and charming he was; he had certainly given me a happy day.

“I shall always remember it when I see this bag,” I told him.

“The flowers … the bullock carts and the wine …”

“And even the swabber of decks.”

“I shall remember every minute of it,” I assured him.

Friendship grows quickly at sea.

After Madeira we were in balmy weather with smooth seas. Lucas and I seemed to have become even firmer friends since our day ashore.

Without making arrangements we met regularly on deck. He would seat himself beside me and we would talk desultorily as we watched the calm sea glide past.

He told me a great deal about himself, how he had broken the tradition in the family that one of the sons should have a career in the Army.

But it was not for him. He was not really sure what was for him. He was restless and travelled a good deal, usually in the company of Dick Duvane, his ex-batman and friend. Dick had left the Army when he had and they had been together ever since. Dick was in Cornwall now, making himself useful on the estate, which Lucas supposed was something he would have to come to eventually.

“Just at the moment I’m uncertain,” he said.

“There is enough to do on the estate to keep both my brother and me occupied. I suppose it would have been different if I had inherited. My brother Carleton is in charge and he’s the perfect squire … such as I should never be.

He’s the best fellow in the world, but I don’t like playing second fiddle. It’s against my arrogant nature. So . since leaving the Army, I’ve drifted a bit. I’ve travelled a great deal. Egypt has always fascinated me and when I found the stone in the garden it seemed like fate. And so it was, because here am I at the moment, travelling with the elite such as your parents . and of course their charming daughter. And all because I found a stone in the garden. But I am talking all this time about myself. What of you? What are your plans?”

“I haven’t made any. I’ve cut school, you know, to come here. Who knows what the future holds?”

“No one can be sure, of course, but sometimes one has the opportunity to mould it.”

“Have you moulded yours?”

“I am in the process of doing so.”

“And your brother’s estate is in Cornwall.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, it’s not far from that place which has been in the papers recently.”

“Oh … what’s that?”

“Did you read about the young man who was on the point of being arrested and disappeared?”

“Oh yes. I remember. Wasn’t it Simon somebody? Perrivale, was it?”

“That’s it. He took his name from the man who adopted him. Sir Edward Perrivale. Their place is some six or eight miles from ours. Perrivale Court. It’s a wonderful old mansion I went there once… long ago.

It was about something my father was involved in to do with the neighbourhood and Sir Edward was interested. I rode over with my father. When I read about the case in the papers it all came back.

There were two brothers and the adopted one. We were all shocked when we read about it. One doesn’t expect that sort of thing to happen to people one knows . however slightly. “

“How very interesting. There was a lot of talk about it in our house . among the servants … not my parents.”

While we were talking, the deck-swabber came by, trundling a trolley on which were bottles of beer.

“Good morning,” I called.

He nodded his head in acknowledgement and went on wheeling.

“A friend of yours? ” said Lucas.

“He’s the one who swabs the deck. Remember, he was in the wine cellar.”

“Oh yes … I remember. Seems a bit surly, doesn’t he?”

“He’s a little reserved, perhaps. It may be that they are not supposed to talk to passengers.”

“He seems different from the others.”

“Yes, I thought so. He never says much more than good-morning and perhaps a comment on the weather.”

We dismissed the man from our minds and talked of other things. He told me about the estate in Cornwall and some of the eccentric people who lived there. I told him about my home life and Mr. Dolland’s ‘turns’; and I had him laughing at my descriptions of kitchen life.

“You seem to have enjoyed it very much.”

“Oh, I was fortunate.”

“Do your parents know?”

“They are not really interested in anything that happened after the birth of Christ.”

And so we talked.

The next morning when I took my seat on deck in the early morning, I saw the deck-swabber, but he did not come near me.

We were heading for Cape Town and the wind had been rising all day. I had seen little of my parents. They spent a lot of time in their cabin. My father was perfecting his lecture and working on his book and my mother was helping him. I saw them at meals when they regarded me with that benign absentmindedness to which I had become accustomed. My father asked if I had plenty to do. I might come to his cabin where he would give me something to read. I assured him I was enjoying shipboard life, I had something to read and Mr. Lorimer and I had become good friends. This seemed to bring them some relief and they went back to their work.

The Captain, who dined with us occasionally, told us that some of the worst storms he had encountered had been round the Cape. It was known to ancient mariners as the Cape of Storms. In any case we could not expect the calm weather we had enjoyed so far to be always with us. We must take the rough with the smooth. We were certainly about to take the rough.

My parents stayed in their cabin but I felt the need for fresh air and went out on to the open deck.

I was unprepared for the fury which met me. The ship was being roughly buffeted and felt as though she were made of cork. She pitched and tossed to such an extent that I thought she was about to turn over. The tall waves rose like menacing mountains as they fell and drenched the deck. The wind tore at my hair and clothes. I felt as though the angry sea was attempting to lift me up and take me overboard.

It was alarming and yet at the same time exhilarating.

I was wet through with sea-water and found it almost impossible to stand up. Breathlessly I clung to the rail.

As I stood there debating whether it was wise to cross the slippery deck and at least get away from the direct fury of the gale, I saw the deck hand. He swayed towards me, his clothes damp. The spray had darkened his hair so that it looked like a black cap and sea-water glistened on his face.

“Are you all right?” he shouted at me.

“Yes,” I shouted back.

“Shouldn’t be up here. Ought to get down.”

“Yes,” I cried.

“Come on. I’ll help you.”

He staggered to me and fell against me.

“Is it often as rough as this?” I panted.

“Haven’t seen it. My first voyage.”

He had taken my arm and we rolled drunkenly across the deck. He opened a door and pushed me inside.

“There,” he said.

“Don’t venture out in a sea like this again.”

Before I could thank him, he was gone.

Staggering, I made my way to my cabin. Mary Kelpin was lying on the lower bunk. She was feeling decidedly unwell.

I said I would look in on my parents. They were both prostrate.

I came back to my cabin, took a book, climbed to the top bunk and tried to read. It was not very easy.