Close to the Wind Read online

  Harry strummed his fingers on the table as he surveyed the boy. The youth held his ground, staring steadily back. He was probably about sixteen, Harry surmised, with long slender limbs not yet hardened with muscle. Yet there was something in his stance that bespoke a firmness of intent beyond his years. His eyes were his most striking feature, wide, clear, and unusually sensitive for a boy as they gazed out somewhat defiantly from under a roughly-chopped mop of brown curls.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘George. George – Miller.’

  The hesitation was barely discernible.

  ‘And why do you want to go to New Zealand?’

  ‘I’m going to look for my brother on the goldfields outside Dunedin.’

  Harry shot out a hand and caught George’s wrist, turning it over to inspect the palm. ‘Just as I thought. Your hands are as soft as a girl’s. You’ve never done a day’s work in your life. Go home, boy.’

  Harry dropped the wrist and George, flushing, stuffed his hand in his pocket. His chin jutted as he replied, ‘Your hands might have been just as soft when you were my age.’

  Taken aback, Harry laughed. The boy was quick, apparently drawing his own conclusions based on Harry’s speech which still held traces of his Cambridge education. ‘True. But I learnt fast.’

  ‘And I will too,’ George said stubbornly.

  His pluck amused Tristan. ‘Why not give him a chance, Harry?’

  At this unexpected support, the boy looked hopeful. Harry, however, was not in the habit of encouraging youthful miscreants and spoke in dampening tones. ‘Because I don’t believe him, Tris. I think Master George Miller here – and don’t for one minute think I believe that’s your real name – has run away from school and that his family is sick with anxiety even as we speak. Go home, George. There’s no berth for you on my ship.’

  Harry turned back to the table and picked up the cards Bernard had in the meantime dealt, signalling the end of interview. But even as George began to protest, the door was flung open and a child stood panting in the doorway.

  ‘Captain Trent, Mam said to come warn you.’ His voice, coming in gasps, was shrill with urgency. ‘The law’s asking for you everywhere.’

  Harry went very still. The old man – it had to be. Events had moved fast – faster than he’d expected. Just as well Sally was all set to go.

  ‘How far away, Joe?’

  ‘Just behind me. They’ve already asked at the forge.’

  ‘Thanks. Take this for your trouble.’ He tossed a coin to Joe, who exclaimed with delight when he caught it. ‘Now run away. Your mother will be after me herself if you get involved. Go.’

  But even as the door slammed behind Joe, an authoritative voice rang out in the room beyond. ‘I’m looking for a Harry Trent.’

  ‘You’re popular tonight,’ Bernard remarked as Harry sprang to his feet, looking around to room. The windows were far too small.

  ‘What on earth have you been up to this time, Harry?’ Tristan demanded.

  ‘No time to explain. Damned if I’m going to be taken though.’

  ‘The chimney,’ Willy hissed.

  In two bounds Harry was at the hearth and as he hitched himself up, he saw Master Miller toss his bundle under the table and take his place in front of Harry’s winnings.

  The air inside the chimney was gritty and clogged Harry’s nostrils as he scrambled to find a point of balance on the sweep’s narrow ledge – no easy feat given his height and width of shoulders. He straddled a corner, but as he braced his hands, he dislodged a tiny amount of soot. It floated down into the hearth and Harry cursed soundlessly.

  The door burst open and a belligerent voice cried out. ‘Harry Trent?’

  ‘No,’ said Willy sounding surprised. ‘He left a while back.’

  There was a hesitation then Harry heard the officer say in a voice heavy with suspicion, ‘You’re mighty young to be playing cards here, laddie.’

  ‘I came to find my grandfather and took the captain’s seat. See how well I’ve been doing? My grandfather says it’s just beginner’s luck, but I don’t think it can be, do you?’

  The boy’s voice contained just the right amount of jaunty pride and despite his reservations, Harry had to admit Master Miller was a remarkably quick thinker for his age.

  A younger officer spoke. ‘Did Trent say where he was going?’

  ‘No – though I fancy he may have gone to find some,’ Tristan fished for the right expression, ‘female company.’

  There was a choke of embarrassment from the younger officer who muttered apologies and it sounded like he was backing out of the room. Harry held his breath.

  But the belligerent one must have spotted the soot.

  ‘Search the chimney!’

  With a silent oath, Harry dropped into the hearth. The older man shouted for reinforcements as the younger officer rushed towards the chimney. Harry swung a punch that caught him squarely on the nose and sent him flying backwards.

  The card table somersaulted, dowsing the candles as Tristan leapt at the door through which poured a number of uniformed men. Within seconds, blows were flying in all directions. Harry was a marked man with two officers trying to bring him down. Fortunately, they hadn’t the advantage of backstreet fighting in Brazil, and Harry laid both out in quick succession before scanning the room.

  Tristan was landing one beautifully balanced punch after another on a hapless, stout young man. Bernard had two men hanging from his black neck, trying to pull him over. Some hope, Harry thought. Bernard was strong as an oak. Several officers were hopping and clutching toes as old Willy wielded his crutch and bounced on his peg leg. But where was the boy?

  Then Harry saw George, fists bunched but looking around wildly. An officer came running up behind the lad.

  ‘Watch out, George!’ Harry yelled.

  George glanced around and doubled over just as the man launched himself.

  Unusual, thought Harry as the man flew over the crouched figure and crashed into the wall, but effective.

  A blow to his own back had him spinning on his heel to look up – and up. Harry fired two quick blows, but the giant just laughed as the punches pinged off rib and jaw. Then he lifted one huge paw and landed a massive blow to the side of Harry’s head. Harry staggered, ears ringing. The man laughed again, showing the stubs of only two teeth in his entire mouth, and raised his arm again. Harry tensed, ready to duck another bone-shattering punch, but was amazed to see Goliath’s leer fade into a beatific smile. His eyes glazed then closed as he folded to the floor in a heap of brawny limbs. George, looking aghast, stood behind, clutching the remains of a chair to his chest.

  ‘Well done, George,’ shouted Harry above the din.

  ‘Harry, go!’ roared Bernard, wrestling fresh arrivals.

  ‘Yes, get going,’ cried Tristan, his jacket torn, his neckcloth askew and his eyes dancing with fierce delight.

  ‘Find out the damage, Tris. Message in a bottle.’

  ‘Got you. Now go!’

  Grabbing George’s arm, Harry shouted, ‘Come with me.’ The boy caught up his bundle as Harry hauled him away.

  The taproom was a melee of fighting, flailing bodies. Any excuse for a good fight, Harry thought grimly, keeping a tight hold on George’s arm. It was no place for a boy to be. A man lurched forward, trying to rip the bundle out of George’s hands, but the boy retaliated with a sharp kick to the shins. The man swore as Harry’s right jab dislodged a tooth and they left the would-be thief mashing his jaw.

  Falling into the warm, summer night air was bliss. Harry leaned over, hands on thighs, to draw in a couple of deep breaths while George hugged his bundle to his chest, his breaths short and sharp. Wincing with bruised ribs, his head still pounding from the Goliath blow, Harry straightened.

  ‘Fi
rst tavern brawl? Well, you kept your wits, lad.’

  George smiled but as his lashes swept down Harry knew his suspicions had been right. The boy was hiding something. Then he lifted his eyes again and Harry was struck by the hope and trust he saw in them. George was clearly not going to quit his ridiculous plan and if left alone – with those eyes, that mixture of bravado and innocence – he’d land in trouble. Serious trouble. Not Harry’s problem. He had more than enough of his own as it was. Which is why he couldn’t believe his own ears when he heard himself say, ‘You can’t stay here alone. You’d better come with me.’

  George’s face lit up. ‘Really?’

  The boy was far too expressive for his own good. Harry was severe as he added, ‘But we’ve got to run so you’d better keep up. I’m not waiting for you! Come on.’

  They sprinted up the main street until a shout from behind had them swerving down an alley that led to a narrow lane. They vaulted a wall then tore across the fields beyond. The moon was buried in clouds and several times George stumbled and would have fallen if Harry hadn’t caught him by the elbow. The boy was game, but Harry heard his breathing grow ragged as they fled along the brow of the cliffs, then dashed down into the bay where he’d left his dinghy on the beach.

  ‘Push,’ Harry ordered, and together they heaved it into the water. George tumbled into the stern, his breath coming in shuddering gasps, one hand clutched to his shirt as though trying to contain his heart. Harry seized the oars and began rowing as hard as he could for Sally, anchored further out. Just as the first silhouetted figures reached the brow of the cliffs, Harry felt the wind lift his hair from his forehead and it splintered the water around them. His legendary luck had not quite deserted him after all and he laughed. Let the bastards try to catch him now.

  ‘Well, we’re out of that frying pan, George.’

  Georgiana stared, for at that moment the moon slid out from behind the clouds. Silver light reflected off the captain’s tumbled black hair, and washed over the slants and planes of his face. Soot from the chimney streaked his skin like war paint. His eyes, a vivid blue in the candlelight, were now dark and glittering. Suddenly the well-spoken captain in the tavern resembled nothing so much as a wild pirate king.

  ‘But into what fire?’ Georgiana asked herself, and despite the warmth of the evening, she shivered.

  Chapter Three

  Even as they climbed aboard, the captain began shouting orders.

  ‘Haul up the anchor. Release the mainsail.’

  The crew sprang into action, their movements far more disciplined and well ordered than their scruffy appearances suggested, while the captain strode over to the man at the wheel. Georgiana saw surprised looks surreptitiously exchanged, though no one questioned the commands. Reeling from the swift turn of events, she struggled to believe she was here, actually here, on a ship bound for New Zealand. Yet it had to be true, she thought, as she watched the sails drop from their lashings then billow with the night’s wind.

  The events of the last forty-eight hours suddenly overwhelmed her. The flight from home had been followed by a day of jarring coaches. Then came the long search through this busy port for a ship bound for New Zealand. She’d begun to despair until her late query at the chandlers had led to the tavern, the fight and now the ship. For a second the world misted and she swayed. A hand caught her elbow and the captain was beside her, looking down into her face.

  ‘Boy, you’re all in and you’ll just be in the way on deck. Get below and we’ll talk in the morning.’

  She blinked. ‘I’m fine. I can help. Tell me what to do.’

  ‘I just have,’ he pointed out. ‘Go below, I have no use for you tonight.’ Turning, he shouted, ‘Alec!’

  A grizzled man with white whiskers materialised at his elbow. ‘There’s no need to shout. I’m right here.’

  ‘Take this boy below and find him a hammock.’

  Alec looked Georgiana up and down. ‘What’re we taking him for? We’re not needing another lad.’

  The captain glanced down at her. His eyes were very dark, but his cheekbones and jaw were rimmed with the silver moonlight. A breeze carried the musk of his sweat. He smiled and her heart did a small, unexpected flip.

  ‘Damned if I know,’ he admitted. ‘It just happened that way. He wants to work his passage to New Zealand.’

  ‘New Zealand? Setting sail now?’ Alec’s mouth clamped in a thin line.

  ‘Yes, we are. Madeira will be our first port.’

  The lines of disapproval deepened. ‘Message in a bottle?’

  The captain laughed and Georgiana thought she’d never heard such a splendidly reckless sound.

  ‘Yes, message in a bottle. Little gets past you, old man.’

  Alec shook his head. ‘I knew no good would come of that Shanghai deal.’

  ‘Stop your gloom-mongering. It’s nothing we can’t handle. Now get this pup out of the way.’ Turning, the captain called, ‘Stephen, I’ll take the wheel.’ With that he was gone.

  Alec made no further comment, just indicated for Georgiana to follow him with a jerk of his head. She picked up her bundle and followed him down the ladder. At the bottom, she paused to let her eyes adjust. There were only a couple of lanterns in this dank lower deck, their weak pools of light barely extending into the blackness. The stench was overpowering: damp timber, food stores, stale air and that unmistakable edge of male odour. They pushed their way through a number of hammocks and threaded their way around barrels, trestles and other shapes hard to discern in the dark.

  Alec led her to the far end. ‘I’ll give you a hammock in the corner here, out of harm’s way. It’s an old one, but being a bantam weight, you won’t go through it. Come here and pay attention, I’ll only be showing you this once how to tie it, so mind you learn.’

  He unearthed a dirty hammock and showed her how to fix it to the beams. ‘See, there’s a bowline at this end, you do it like this. Then at t’other end here, it’s a round turn and two half hitches. Now you try.’

  Understanding this was a test, Georgiana was determined to do a good job though it hadn’t been easy to follow the movements of the sailor’s broad fingers in the twilight of the lantern. The rope was stiff with salt and tore at her fingers, but she persisted and Alec only intervened once.

  ‘No, you need an extra loop there or you’ll be flat on your arse. Yep. Like that. Not tidy but it’ll do. Store your things in that corner.’

  ‘I’d like to help.’

  ‘Best help you can be is staying out the way. Don’t know why he brought a pup still wet behind the ears.’

  ‘Actually he did refuse,’ said Georgiana with rueful honesty, ‘but when the law came and there was a fight—’

  ‘The law? What in God’s name—?’ he shot her a look. ‘There’s bad business here, I can smell it. You hold your tongue with the others, mind. It’s none of their concern. Understand?’ Georgiana nodded. ‘Now turn in. It’s bilges and potatoes for you tomorrow. That’ll keep you out of mischief.’

  Left alone in the gloom, Georgiana looked about her with a sinking heart. Clearly the crew ate together, slept together. She hadn’t thought of that. Face it, she hadn’t thought through anything. Now, listening to the men’s feet running on the boards above her head, feeling the lurch of the ship beneath her, the enormity of her plight came home to her.

  What on earth had she been thinking? It was one thing to play at being a boy for a few hours, even a day perhaps, but such a guise was surely impossible to maintain over weeks, let alone months. If her true identity was ever discovered … Ugly, half-formed images rose before her but, as panic welled, unexpectedly she remembered the captain’s smile. Instinctively she felt she could trust him – then gave a hollow laugh. Was she mad? The captain was a fugitive from the law.

  Georgiana swung herself into the hammock and its canv
as sides enfolded her, the swaying motion foreign. Everything, in fact, felt and smelt and sounded foreign. The blackness stretched around her as she forced her breathing to slow down. Rightly or wrongly, she had chosen this path and now she had no choice but to follow it through to its end.

  She remembered her father teaching her to somersault many years ago in the circus. ‘Once you have begun the move,’ he’d told her, ‘there is no going back. Lose your courage halfway …’ and he’d grimaced.

  In the darkness, Georgiana set her jaw. Nothing was going to stop her from finding Charles and warning him – providing he was still alive. What if the illness had already claimed him? With a groan, she rolled onto her side, clamping her cheeks between her palms as if to crush the terror that gripped her at that thought. The malodorous canvas pressed against her features like a shroud. Be strong. She must be strong. Focus. Above all, keep her head.

  She wondered what cousin Jasper was doing right now and, despite her dire situation, she felt a small flare of triumph. Ha! He’d never find her here, and he’d never think to look for her in disguise.

  What a fool she’d been. As if Jasper, tall and languidly elegant, would have proposed to his gauche cousin without some good reason.

  Gold, she acknowledged, was a very good reason. But the thought still stung. True, she hadn’t loved Jasper either, but she had trusted him, had seen him as her way to escape. Well, she’d been a fool but had learnt her lesson. She would never allow herself to be duped like that again. Or to be trapped again.

  Memory of her aunt’s face puckered with dislike, her jowls heavy with disapproval, suddenly made the mildewing hammock seem almost like a sanctuary. Her hands relaxed as she recalled the exhilaration she’d felt two nights before when finally galloping away after years of resentful docility. Was that how her mother had felt the day she’d run away from her own domineering parents to join the circus?

  The hammock creaked as Georgiana flipped onto her back again and wriggled to ease the cloth that bound her breasts. The thick belt holding up an old pair of Charles’s trousers dug into her waist and her unnaturally short hair rasped against the canvas. For a second she fingered the ragged edges of what had been her only beauty, but this was no time for regrets. Having no money of her own save for the few guineas she’d taken from Jasper’s desk, this masquerade was the only way she could work her passage to New Zealand.