Close to the Wind Read online

  Copyright © 2013 Zana Bell

  Published 2013 by Choc Lit Limited

  Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK

  www.choc-lit.com

  The right of Zana Bell to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-1-78189-028-8

  To Geoff, our kids, the mokopuna and the rest of the crew who all mean so much to me.

  Contents

  Title page

  Copyright information

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  About the Author

  Introducing Choc Lit

  More from Choc Lit

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank Gill and Iona for their invaluable feedback in the early stages of the book. Thanks also to Rob and Jo, Kali, Derry and Michelle for their nautical input, and to the Voyager New Zealand Maritime Museum and Equestrian Sports New Zealand for their advice.

  A special mention must go to the wonderful Kath who is canny in her suggestions, dedicated in the pursuit of obscure detail, and tireless in pouncing on grammatical glitches.

  And of course my great gratitude to the Choc Lit team who have welcomed me aboard so warmly and who have provided such wonderful support throughout the process.

  Chapter One

  England, August 1868

  It was midnight when Georgiana swung herself up into the oak tree that grew outside her bedroom window on the third floor of Ashton Hall, her blood fizzing with exhilaration. She’d just given her final performance as Dick Turpin and the rousing applause of her bucolic audience still rang in her ears. It had also been a splendid ride home, a moonlit gallop through the silvered countryside, lying low over Sheba’s neck. Her boy’s cap had whipped off and her hair had tumbled down. It would take hours to comb out, but she didn’t care. Tonight, nothing mattered. Soon she would be married and escaping Aunt Ashton forever.

  But even as she began to climb the very familiar branches, she saw light spilling from the billiard room immediately below her room. Georgiana pulled a face as voices wafted down to her through the open windows. So Lord Walsingham was still visiting. She paused on a branch almost level with the room and heard the click of billiard balls. ‘Jolly good shot,’ she heard Jasper say. ‘I fear I’m on the ropes.’

  Jasper was a master at billiards, so he must be throwing the game. Georgiana wished he wouldn’t. She wanted him to defeat his employer. Despite his affability, she had taken a dislike to their guest who’d arrived unexpectedly that afternoon. Lord Walsingham was short and rotund, the buttons on his waistcoat straining when he sat, and though he smiled often, his eyes were unnaturally sharp. Jasper liked to boast that Lord Walsingham and his partner Lord Iver were the backbone of the nation’s tea industry and that he was their right-hand man. But her cousin, usually so urbane, had laughed a little too loudly at Lord Walsingham’s quips over dinner. He’d fidgeted with his knives and been short with the footman.

  Another click of the balls and Jasper cried, ‘Well done, sir. You’ve vanquished me. Shall I get us a brandy then rack the balls again?’

  ‘Yes, do that. I have at least one more game in me.’

  Georgiana frowned, mistrusting the smooth-toned humour and shrank back against the tree trunk. She was loath to climb past while they were so close to the window. It was irrational but she couldn’t help feeling that Lord Walsingham would detect the slightest unaccountable noise. The thought of being discovered made her shiver.

  There was the rattle of balls being racked then broken. ‘Nicely done.’

  Did Jasper hear his sycophantic tone? Perhaps, because he went on to speak with elaborate airiness. ‘I confess I was a little surprised – though delighted naturally – to have you visit today, Lord Walsingham. It was lucky business should bring you to this neck of the woods.’

  Lord Walsingham chuckled. ‘Ah, my boy, that’s why I employ you. You aren’t a fool. I do in fact need to have a talk with you. Besides, I was curious to meet your fiancée.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Jasper sounded guarded.

  ‘She’s not—’ Lord Walsingham paused and Georgiana couldn’t resist leaning out at a perilous angle to peer through the leaves. Walsingham was lining up his shot, his small round eyes fixed on the far pocket. ‘Not in your usual style, but no doubt you will deal well together.’

  How strange, that’s what Jasper had said. Marry me, Georgie, I think we’ll deal well together.

  ‘Thank you.’

  This colourless response tugged her heart a little, but her mind was quick to point out that, in fairness, he had never spoken of love. Neither had she, though since his proposal Georgiana had been trying to kindle suitable wifely emotions. She was certainly grateful, for Jasper would take her away from Ashton Hall and her carping aunt, his step-mama. They’d live in Shanghai for some of each year, just as he did now. That would be exciting. Besides, she was fond of Jasper. He’d always been tolerant of his two young cousins and since Charles had disappeared to the goldfields of New Zealand, he’d been the only one to show any interest in her, offhand though it was.

  ‘She’ll tolerate your, er, interests, I suppose?’

  Jasper was a compulsive gambler. He was also known to appreciate the company of dashing young widows. However, marriage was preferable to the certitude of another failed season and a life sentence with Aunt Ashton.

  ‘She’s not in a position not to.’

  Jasper was only stating the truth. It would have been nice though, if his answer had been different.

  ‘No. I can see that. With her looks and
manner …’ Lord Walsingham didn’t say any more. Didn’t need to. Georgiana was well acquainted with her faults, though Aunt Ashton never missed an opportunity to point them out.

  ‘The wedding will take place within the next month.’ Lord Walsingham’s voice was affable, but this was unmistakably a command. Startled, Georgiana almost slipped and had to quickly pull herself back.

  ‘Next month? That’s impossible!’ Jasper exclaimed. ‘How would I explain such a rushed affair?’

  ‘Very soon, you’ll be recalled to Shanghai where you’ll remain for the foreseeable future. It’s only natural, therefore, that you’ll wish to take your bride with you.’

  There was silence. Then Jasper spoke, voice wary. ‘I don’t understand, sir. You have my word that I won’t renege on our agreement. I’ll marry my cousin and half the gold mine will be yours.’

  Gold mine? What gold mine? Georgiana had the strangest feeling she’d just walked into the wrong play.

  ‘I know that, m’boy. I’ve paid so many of your debts, you should be grateful that I’m settling for only a half-share.’

  There was a click of balls.

  ‘The mine is only a part of it,’ Walsingham said. ‘Events are moving swiftly and I’ve taken action to ensure they advance our cause.’

  ‘Our cause?’

  The inflection was not lost on Lord Walsingham. He sounded amused. ‘Yes, our cause. Your future is now locked in with mine, make no mistake.’ His tone became brisk and businesslike. ‘Iver is determined to finish the company, so he needs to be removed.’

  ‘What?’ Jasper sounded astounded. ‘Why on earth …?’

  ‘He’s become squeamish about trading opium for tea since his boy Eddie became so foolishly addicted.’ There was a pause and a click as another shot was taken. ‘Threatens to bring the whole industry down. Just waiting for “proof” to arrive. Apparently Eddie’d been recording our actions in the war and has sent his papers back to England. I believe they are on their way, even as we speak.’

  Jasper made a choking sound.

  ‘Just so, m’boy. Three hundred women and children killed outside Shanghai. Imagine if that became public knowledge. As soon as Iver receives Eddie’s papers, which he says are due any day from China, he plans to go to the Prime Minister.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  Georgiana heard the splash of more brandy being poured, the clink of a bottle put unsteadily back down on the table.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Walsingham. ‘Hence the need to move swiftly.’

  Now Jasper’s voice held both fear and suspicion. ‘You said removed?’

  ‘When the papers arrive, he’ll contact me. So far, I’ve been very sympathetic with Iver’s volte face. But when I get word, I have a man ready to destroy the papers and deal with Iver.’

  There was silence. Everything was very still. The smell of jasmine wreathed the air. The full moon shone bright and cold. The night was warm, but Georgiana realised she was shaking. None of this was real. It couldn’t be. The script was more melodramatic than any play she’d acted in. She waited for laughter, for Walsingham and Jasper to reveal it was all a hoax.

  But Walsingham continued in the same inexorable way. ‘Once Iver has been dealt with, my man will leave England immediately. It’s sensible, therefore, to kill two birds with one stone, as it were.’ There was a note of ironical humour that curdled Georgiana’s blood. ‘He’ll find your cousin in New Zealand.’

  Georgiana pressed her hand very hard against her mouth, teeth sinking into skin.

  Jasper sounded shaken. ‘There’s no need, sir. I told you, he’s fatally ill.’

  Ill? Impossible. Charlie never got sick. Why did she know nothing about any of this?

  ‘So you said.’ There was another click of balls. ‘My man will simply ensure your fiancée does indeed inherit the mine.’

  Jasper made another choking sound. ‘Marriage for gain is one thing, but I won’t be party to murdering my cousin.’

  Lord Walsingham sounded both amused and sympathetic. ‘You don’t have any choice. The debts you owe me are considerable. Besides, I know about the Chinese girl.’

  There was a stunned pause. ‘What? How?’

  ‘I have eyes everywhere.’

  ‘It was only a bit of fun,’ Jasper stammered. ‘I never guessed – I mean, how would anyone? – the silly girl would kill herself!’

  ‘A daughter of a high-ranking dignitary at that. Imagine the scandal. Go against me and you won’t escape justice, you know.’

  There was a long silence and when Jasper spoke again, his voice rasped. ‘You won’t get away with this.’

  ‘No? I think I will. All you need do is marry your cousin and sail away.’

  ‘I want no part of this.’ Jasper cried.

  ‘It’s too late,’ Lord Walsingham pointed out. ‘You’re in over your head. Take this lifeline or you will drown, my dear boy. I guarantee it.’ And he chuckled.

  Unable to take any more, desperate to escape this nightmare, Georgiana climbed swiftly and vaulted into her room. Back to the wall, she slithered to the floor, pulling her knees in tight. She could feel the wild pace of her heart. Nothing made sense; it was all unbelievable. One fact burned. Charlie was in danger. He was very ill and an assassin would soon be after him. She had to get there first. But how? He was at the bottom of the world. She had no money, no friends. If she told her story, Jasper would deny it. Walsingham would simply laugh. No one would believe her.

  She dug her fingernails into the knees of Charlie’s old trousers. Trousers. Slowly she looked down at the boy’s shirt she wore on her escapades. The idea was preposterous. Yet she had fooled audiences for some months now. She could do this. She could – for Charlie.

  Chapter Two

  The wind was picking up outside and Harry glanced from the cards in his hand to the small tavern windows. The long summer twilight had softened into night and it must have been an hour since a lad had lit the two small gas lamps on the walls of the anteroom and provided a branch of candles for the table. Soon Harry would need to get back to his ship, but he was loath to leave this haven of peace and camaraderie. Sitting here with his friends he was almost able to pretend yesterday hadn’t happened.

  He spread his cards out over the scarred boards of the table. Tristan took one look and swore, throwing his own hand down with such force that the candle flames danced. ‘Christ, you really do have the luck of the devil, Harry.’

  Old Willy gave a crack of laughter around the pipe lodged in the corner of his mouth. ‘T’aint luck, lad, ’tis skill.’ His grizzled ginger beard compensated for his bald pate above.

  Bernard cocked his head to one side, his teeth white against his gleaming black skin. ‘But does the skill lie in the playing of cards or the handling of them? Let us check your sleeves, Harry, for I swear you’re hiding a few aces up there.’ His voice held the velvet notes of his Jamaican background.

  Harry laughed as he scooped his winnings towards him. ‘Poor losers, the lot of you.’

  ‘Well, it’s time one of us beat you. And to think it was I who used to be the reigning champion when we were at Harrow.’ Tristan shook his head, then flicked fluff from his immaculately cut jacket. ‘Your vagrant life has taught you wicked ways, Harry my lad. Speaking of which, surely you aren’t serious about taking your leaky old tub all the way down to New Zealand.’

  For a second, violent images from yesterday flared and Harry’s fingers tightened as though once more around that old bastard’s neck. His smile was easy however, as he forced his fingers to relax.

  ‘A comment like that could find you facing my pistols at dawn, Tris. Sally’s a grand vessel and has been around the world more times than you’ve been to Scotland.’

  He gathered the cards together and began to shuffle them.

  ‘But New Zealand?’ Tris
eyed Harry. ‘What are you up to? Surely you aren’t planning to join in this latest gold rush?’

  ‘He’s not so daft,’ Willy scoffed.

  Tris raised a brow. ‘You don’t think so? Harry’s the prince of madcap schemes.’

  ‘That’s because poverty,’ said Harry as he dealt the next hand, ‘is only noble in fairy tales.’

  ‘So you’re planning to become a miner?’ Bernard was incredulous.

  ‘No.’ Harry paused. His mission, even to himself, sounded insane. So far he hadn’t told anyone, even the crew. He’d just announced to them this morning that they’d be leaving for New Zealand the following day and to ready the ship for the voyage. He looked around at his friends’ curious faces. ‘I’m looking for a man,’ he temporised and was saved as a knock at the door distracted his companions.

  ‘Bring in the brandy,’ Tristan called out.

  It was not the publican, however, but a youth clutching a bundle. For a second he hesitated in the doorway, eyeing the four men grouped around the table littered with cards and glasses. Then his gaze fixed on Willy and with a deep breath he stepped forward.

  ‘I’m looking for Captain Trent.’

  His well-modulated voice was curiously at odds with his travel-stained, ill-fitting clothes, and Tristan cocked a brow at Harry as he leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Not me,’ said Willy, taking his pipe from his mouth and pointing at Harry. ‘Him.’

  The boy turned and his eyes widened as they travelled up the length of Harry’s outstretched legs. Harry was amused as the boy continued in his unconscious, somewhat censorious examination, taking in the rolled sleeves and unbuttoned neck of Harry’s shirt before finally coming to rest on Harry’s face.

  ‘Captain Trent?’ He sounded uncertain, as if suspecting a prank.

  ‘That’s right,’ Harry said. ‘Why do you want me?’

  The boy paused and then, coming to a decision, he stepped closer. His face was white and strained, but there was a determined set to his mouth. ‘I’m looking to work my passage to New Zealand and the chandlers in the lane said you were headed there.’