Виктория Холт - The Captive

In Mrs. Deardon’s company I went out to buy some clothes. We sat side by side in the carriage while she chattered all the time. She and Jack had been in Constantinople for three years.

“What a place! I was thrilled when Jack first heard of the posting .. now I’d do anything to get out. I’d like a nice cosy place … Paris Rome … somewhere like that. Not too far from home. This place is miles away and so foreign. My dear, the customs! And what goes on on the Turkish side! Heaven alone knows, you’d have experience of that. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. My dear, I know how you feel. Do forgive me. Look! You can see across the water to Scutari. That was very much in evidence during the Crimean War when wonderful, wonderful Florence Nightingale took out her nurses. I do believe they played a bigger part in the eventual victory than people know. We’re on the north side of the Golden Horn, dear. The other side is quite sinister. Oh, there I go again … we’re not far from Galata, that’s the merchants’ quarter … founded by the Genoese centuries ago. Jack will tell you all about that. He’s interested in that sort of thing. Mind you, the streets are incredibly noisy and dirty. Our people wouldn’t risk going there. We’re in the best neighbourhood Pera, you know. Most of the embassies are there … the legations and the consulates. There are some fine houses too.”

While she was talking, I would go into a kind of dream. Pictures of the island would flash in and out of my mind . of going off with Simon, leaving Lucas to watch for a sail . and then the arrival of the galley. On and on . and I would come back to the question: Where is he now? What will become of him? Shall I ever know?

“Now here is a very good tailor. Let’s see what he can do. We have to get you presentable for home.”

Her discourse went on. The great charm about it was that she did not expect replies.

It seemed a long time before we sailed from Constantinople. To board the ship much smaller than the Atlantic Star to gaze across the Bosphorus at historic Scutari, where our men had suffered so much in that hospital which from a distance looked like a Moorish Palace, to look back at the towers and minarets of Constantinople, was an emotional experience.

Mr. Deardon was a tall man with greying hair and a somewhat dignified manner. He was the archetypal English diplomat rather aloof, giving the impression that nothing could ruffle his composure or break through his reserve.

The journey to Marseilles was, as Mrs. Deardon had predicted, uncomfortable. The Apollo, being many times smaller than the Atlantic Star, took a battering from the rough seas as severe as I had previously suffered, and there were times when it seemed like a dream and that it was going to start again. If the Atlantic Star had succumbed to the fury of the storm, I wondered how the frail Apollo could survive.

Mrs. Deardon took to her bunk and did not emerge. I missed her discourse. Mr. Deardon accepted the fury of the storm with the equilibrium I expected of him. I was sure he would remain serene and dignified, no matter what the disaster.

I could now go on deck and I recalled vividly that occasion when Simon had found me there during the great storm and had chided me and sent me down. I thought: All my life there will be memories of him.

At length the ordeal was over. Mrs. Deardon quickly recovered and was her old garrulous self. Mr. Deardon listened to her perpetual chatter with composed resignation; but I was glad of it. I could listen to it vaguely while inwardly following my own thoughts, secure in the knowledge that if I betrayed inattention I should be immediately forgiven on account of the ordeal through which I had passed.

There followed the long journey through France and finally the arrival at Calais and the Channel crossing.

The sight of the white cliffs of Dover affected us all. Tears came to Mrs. Deardon’s eyes and even her husband, for the first time, showed a certain emotion by the twitching of his lips.

“It’s home, dear,” said Mrs. Deardon.

“It’s always the same. You just think of Easter and the daffodils … and the green grass. There’s no green like our green. It’s what you think of when you’re away. And the rain, dear, the blessed rain. Do you know, in Egypt they go for a year or even two without seeing a drop just those horrible sandstorms. We were in I’mailia … how many years, Jack, was it? Surely it wasn’t that . and . and hardly ever saw rain. That’s what it is, dear. It’s the white cliffs. Home. It’s good to see them.”

And after that, London.

The Deardons insisted on delivering me.

“You must come in and meet my father,” I said.

“He will want to thank you.”

Mrs. Deardon was eager to do so, but Mr. Deardon was firm, and in this he showed his talent for diplomacy.

“Miss Cranleigh will want to meet her family alone,” he said.

I looked at him gratefully and said: “My father will most certainly wish to thank you personally. Perhaps you could come and dine with us soon.”

“That,” said Mr. Deardon, ‘would be a great pleasure. “

So I said goodbye to them in the cab which waited until I had rung the doorbell and the door was opened. Then immediately and discreetly, Mr. Deardon ordered the cabby to drive on.

The door was opened by Mr. Dolland.

I gave a cry of joy and threw myself into his arms. He coughed a little. I did not realize at that moment that our household had changed. And there was Mrs. Harlow. I rushed at her. There were tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Miss Rosetta, Miss Rosetta,” she cried, embracing me.

“You’re really here. Oh … it’s been terrible.”

And there were Meg and Emily.

“It is wonderful to see you all,” I cried.

And then . Felicity. We flew to each other and clung.

“I had to come,” she said.

“I’m here for two days. I said to James, ” I’ve got to go. “

“Felicity! Felicity! How wonderful to see you,” There was a little cough. Over Felicity’s head I saw my father. He looked awkward and embarrassed.

I went to him.

“Oh, Father,” I said.

He took me into his arms and held me rather stiffly. It must have been the first time he had ever done so.

“Welcome … welcome home, Rosetta,” he began.

“I cannot express .. “

I thought then: He does care for me. He does. It is just that . he cannot express.

A tall thin woman was standing a pace or two behind him. For half a second I thought my mother had been saved after all. But it was someone else.

“Your Aunt Maud is here,” said my father.

“She came to look after me and the household when …”

Aunt Maud! My father’s sister. I had seen her only once or twice during my childhood. She was tall and rather gaunt. She had a look of my father, but she entirely lacked his obvious helplessness.

“We are all tremendously relieved that you are now safely home, Rosetta,” she was saying.

“It has been an anxious time for your father for us all.”

“Yes,” I said, “for all of us.”

“Well, now you are back. Your room is ready. Oh, it is such a relief that you are home!”

I felt numb with surprise.

Aunt Maud here . in my mother’s place. Nothing would be the same again.

How right I was. The house had changed. Aunt Maud had proved to be a strict disciplinarian. The kitchen was now orderly. There was no question of my having meals there. I should have them with my father and Aunt Maud in the proper manner. Fortunately, for those first few days Felicity was with us.

I could not wait to hear the verdict of the kitchen. Mr. Dolland discreetly said that Miss Cranleigh was a good manager and no one could help but respect her. Mrs. Harlow agreed.