Close to the Wind Page 4

  She swung herself into the crow’s nest with a grunt of satisfaction and looked out. Below her the sails billowed while the sea and sky stretched seamless to the horizon. The breeze was steady and strong and she drew in a deep breath. Ashton Hall seemed a million miles away.

  Impulse seized her and she pulled off her shoes before climbing onto the railings of the crow’s nest. For a second she squatted, getting the feel of the sway of the vessel. Then slowly, she stretched her arms out and rose to her feet. Her concentration was absolute and only very distantly was she aware that far, far below the crew had stopped work to watch. Eyes forward, Georgiana took a step, feeling the railing under her toes. She took another, then a few more. Sally shivered as it hit a larger swell, the reverberation carrying up the mast, amplifying as it went. Quick as a cat, she leapt back into the crow’s nest.

  Her descent was swift and within minutes she was back at the foot of the mast where the captain was waiting. Flushed with pride at having passed her first test, she couldn’t help grinning. Some of the crew laughed, but Harry’s eyes narrowed into furious slants of blue.

  ‘What in all hell were you playing at, you little idiot? You could have killed yourself. What would’ve happened if you’d suddenly lost your nerve?’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ she assured him. ‘My father made sure of that.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘Roderigo da Silva, the Human Swallow.’

  Harry looked bewildered.

  ‘Famous trapeze artist,’ she added helpfully.

  ‘Your father was a trapeze artist?’ His tone was incredulous.

  ‘I know, it seems a bit unbelievable,’ began Georgiana.

  ‘A bit?’

  ‘But,’ she continued, ‘it’s true. I was raised in a circus until I was twelve.’

  Harry rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘George Miller, none of your stories makes sense. For a start, if your father was da Silva, how on earth can you be Miller?’

  Aunt Ashton had made Charlie and her relinquish their father’s name when they’d gone to live with her, replacing it with Bellingham, their mother’s maiden name. They couldn’t have such a heathenish surname, she told them. Georgiana took some pleasure in claiming it back now, even though it did not help her convince the captain of her identity.

  ‘It was the first name that came into my mind. If I’d told you last night that my name was da Silva, you would never have believed it.’

  Harry grunted and propped a shoulder against the mast, folding his arms across his chest. ‘I’m not sure I believe you now. So your father was Portuguese?’

  ‘Actually, he was born in Spain – but you know how it is with circus folk. They move around. I have no idea who my grandfather was on that side. My mother’s side is different – English right back to the Domesday Book.’

  His expression remained sceptical. ‘Where are your parents now?’

  ‘They’re dead.’ She spoke the words baldly. Even after all the years, she still found it hard to speak about. ‘They both died when I was twelve. I’ve been raised by my aunt ever since.’

  The captain’s gaze was unwavering, but his voice was less brusque as he asked, ‘So why are you running away?’

  His eyes looked into hers, pulling her away from painful memories, back into this sunlit world. It must be the depth of colour, she thought, that made it seem that his eyes could look right into her soul.

  ‘I’m not,’ she began, but as his mouth tightened she modified her story. ‘Well, not really. My brother truly is on the goldfields, but he’s ill and I need to help him.’

  ‘Does your aunt know where you are?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’ll be mad with worry.’

  ‘No, she won’t. She always said she didn’t deserve to be saddled with a couple of circus brats.’

  Harry raised a brow. ‘Is that what she called you?’

  Georgiana shrugged. ‘When she was angry.’

  ‘And what did you do to provoke this anger?’

  ‘Nothing!’

  Now both brows arched. The captain was clearly not a man to be fobbed off with half-baked replies.

  ‘Well nothing serious at any rate,’ Georgiana amended. ‘For instance, she once became furious when the groom caught Charlie and me walking along the ridge of the stable roof.’

  ‘Such behaviour might indeed be cause for some concern,’ Harry suggested.

  ‘It wasn’t dangerous, if that’s what you mean. We could have done it blindfolded. Besides, we hadn’t deliberately set out to annoy her – we were just practising our tightrope skills.’

  Harry shook his head. ‘One of you, I can already see, is a handful. Two brats must have been a nightmare, poor woman.’

  Despite the severity of his tone, Georgiana saw humour glint in his eyes and couldn’t help smiling back. ‘She certainly made it clear there was no pleasure in raising us.’ Then she became serious again. ‘Even so, she was appalled when my brother went to New Zealand. She’d never have allowed me to join him.’

  The humour had disappeared. She could see the captain was still unconvinced.

  ‘Can’t you see, I had to run away. He hasn’t got anyone else to help him.’ To her horror, her voice caught in her throat. Drawing herself up, she added half-defiant, half-imploring, ‘You’d do the same for your brother – anyone would.’

  For a second Harry went absolutely still as he stared out over the ocean. It was as though he’d forgotten all about her, but when he did turn back, she was surprised by the bleak intensity of his expression.

  ‘I’ve never known what it is to have a brother,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you are right – blood ties may prove thicker than I know.’ He paused, then became brisk. ‘This madcap adventure of yours will lead you into all sorts of trouble, you know.’

  Georgiana squared her shoulders. ‘I’m not afraid.’

  The captain was unimpressed. ‘That just shows how rash and foolish you are. Still,’ he said as he straightened up from the mast, ‘seeing as you’re hell-bent on going, I’ll take you to New Zealand.’

  Relief flooded her. ‘Thank you!’

  Her errant heart fluttered too, though she tried to ignore it.

  ‘But,’ he added sternly ‘you’ll work hard, learn the ropes and not do anything foolhardy. There are many ways to die at sea without pulling stupid stunts. Understood?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Amused curiosity crept into the captain’s eyes as he stuck his thumbs into his belt. ‘By the way, how did you sort things with your aunt?’

  ‘I left a note saying I’d run away to my old circus.’

  Again he surveyed her. ‘You are nothing if not enterprising, but do you have any regard for the truth?’

  She was affronted. ‘Of course. Apart from my name, everything I’ve told you is the truth.’ And it was, she comforted herself. She’d just omitted some details …

  Harry glanced sideways at her. ‘Hm, time will tell. In the meanwhile you can learn to swab the deck as soon as you’ve eaten. Go find Alec in the galley.’

  Harry scratched his throat as he watched George go. There was something indefinable about the boy that made him uneasy. In many ways he was no different from a dozen other such lads Harry had met on his travels, runaways in search of adventure. George was a particularly engaging example of these scamps. He was still young and stupid enough to be fearless, though there was a resolution about him that was interesting. But it was more than that. With this boy Harry felt a strange bond that was almost unsettling.

  He well understood how George and his brother would have provoked the aunt. Society ran on a web of invisible social codes, incomprehensible to those who had not been raised with them. Harry vividly remembered the shock of being whisked from his humble cottage to boarding life at Harrow whe
n he’d been twelve. He’d had to learn quickly all the basics of life again: how to dress, how to talk, how to walk, even how to eat to avoid unwanted attention and disapproval. It appeared George and his brother had been neither so sensible nor so compliant.

  You’d do the same for your brother – anyone would.

  Young Miller was wrong. Most lads would have neither the courage nor the resourcefulness to undertake such a foolhardy expedition. Yet despite the boy’s brave front, Harry had heard the catch in his voice, had seen the stricken look in his eyes. His brother really was all he had in a world that cared little for orphans.

  Why then did his gut still warn him of trouble? The brat, with his expressive face and steady grey eyes, seemed guileless yet Harry’s instincts were on alert. He knew deep down he should have just left the boy at the tavern.

  Enough! Harry shook his head. He didn’t have time to waste on a scruffy schoolboy. He’d keep an eye on young George but beyond that – well, time had a way of unravelling deceits.

  Unbidden, images of subterfuge and betrayal rose in his mind and his hands tightened on the railings till his knuckles were white. Then he let out a long, slow breath.

  Like a game of cards, life had to be played lightly.

  A consummate player, Harry well knew that a man who has nothing to lose can risk everything. For that reason he made it a policy not to care about anything – anyone – in his life. Except for Sally and his crew of course.

  Yet ever since his fateful visit to Iver two days earlier had set off this lamentable chain of events, he’d been plagued by damnable feelings he did not want to confront.

  You’d do the same for your brother.

  Harry winced. Then he thought of the hovel which his gentle mother had called home and the bile rose in his throat. Turning, he looked up at the sails which were as threadbare and patched as a fisherman’s trews. He knew of a dozen boards in Sally’s hull that had needed replacing over a year ago. Sailing the old girl now was a gamble, an enormous gamble. No one would buy her in her current state – she was ripe to be sunk. Yet the thought of her valiant decks wrecked upon the ocean floor squeezed his heart.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. Nothing needed to be decided yet. First he’d go to New Zealand and seek out his man. Then he could choose whether to follow through and become a rich man, thus saving Sally and his crew, or walk away – a poorer but better man.

  He looked out over the water. The sea behind them was empty, his pursuers left many miles behind. Still the hair on the back of his neck prickled …

  Fortified by cold porridge, Georgiana learnt to swab the deck. It took a while to do, but it wasn’t so difficult, she thought as she stood back to admire her handiwork.

  ‘Get rid o’ tha’ bucket o’ water ’fore someone steps in it,’ a seaman growled, jerking a thumb to the railings.

  Picking up the bucket, she threw the water over the side of the vessel, only to have it promptly blown straight back, saturating her. Gasping, she still thought to pluck the sodden shirt away from her body so her bound breasts wouldn’t be seen by the laughing crew. Humiliation took the form of attack and she rounded on the grinning men.

  ‘You knew. Why didn’t you warn me?’

  One old seaman with an empty eye socket laughed. ‘Consider yourself baptised. Ye’ll not throw anything over the windward side again, will ye?’

  Dirty water ran down her face from her hair. It smelt awful. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry, further down the deck, pause in his conversation. She forced a laugh. ‘No, that’s one lesson learnt.’

  Harry gave a brief nod before turning back to Stephen, the helmsman. It was stupid, but this casual gesture of approval sparked a warm feeling in her heart as she wrung out the tails of her shirt and shook her head like a dog.

  Still, the crew wasn’t about to let the new boy off quite so easily. For the rest of the day Georgiana received a number of cuffs as the sailors sought to speed up her learning of the sails, sheets and winches. And it worked, she noted, rubbing her head after a blow which had sent her staggering for not noticing a rope trailing off the side of the deck. She’d never do that again.

  By dinnertime, she was ravenous even though the glutinous stew didn’t look appetising. Georgiana carried her plate to the table where the rest of the crew were already tucking in and squeezed next to Bert. Some glanced up and there was a strange air of jovial anticipation. Eric, a boy of about sixteen, was grinning.

  ‘Tuck in, lad,’ said Bert.

  Suspicious, Georgiana picked up her spoon. The stew looked grey in the dim light, but she took a mouthful. Something squirmed on her tongue. She shrieked and spat it out, shuddering as a fat weevil crawled to the edge of the plate. The men erupted with laughter.

  ‘What’s the matter, boy? Doncha like fresh meat?’ asked Bert. ‘You’ve got yourself an Alec special there.’

  She stirred the stew, seeing movement all through it.

  ‘Eat the lot, or Alec won’t be pleased.’ Eric seemed delighted to have a new boy to take the brunt of the jokes.

  She lay down her spoon. ‘I’m not very hungry.’

  ‘What – food not good enough for you? Or d’you need one of them butler men to help you? I’ll feed you meself, fancy boy, if you can’t manage.’

  Georgiana looked across into Mack’s small eyes and a thin, very cold trickle of fear went down her spine. Most of the crew were rough, but she sensed an underlying malice in Mack. The other men waited. They didn’t seem to care if she ate or not, but clearly they wouldn’t come to her rescue, either. Pulling the plate back in front of her, she picked up the spoon and took a mouthful. She couldn’t bear chewing and it was hard to swallow. She retched, her eyes watering, but somehow she got it down.

  Mack gave an ugly grin. ‘That’s it. All of it.’

  She took another mouthful, coughed and retched. Think of Charlie, she told herself. Think of him. Doggedly she kept her head down, though out of the corner of her eye she saw Mack looking sour as she battled on. Just as she got to the final mouthful, Bert clapped her on the back, nearly sending her face down into her plate.

  ‘Well done, lad. Lots of goodness in them critters. A few more of ’em and you’ll be as big as me.’

  He gave her a friendly grin that was minus several teeth. Mack gave no sign he’d noticed at all.

  After dinner, the air soon became clogged with pipe smoke, causing Georgiana to cough.

  ‘Here lad, take a shot of rum to clear the throat.’

  She didn’t want to but took the cup and dashed down a gulp with what, she hoped, would pass for boyish enthusiasm. It did not so much clear the throat as strip it raw and her subsequent choking was everything the grinning crew had hoped for.

  ‘Go on,’ Pete urged. ‘Take another sip and drown the little bleeders in your stomach.’

  But Georgiana, wiping her eyes, shook her head and held up her hand. ‘I’m not about to provide the entertainment all the evening,’ she said hoarsely.

  ‘Oh but you are,’ said Bert. ‘New crew always does something to show what they’re made of. Play the fiddle. Dance. Sing. Wrestle with one of the crew. You want to take on Big Jack here? Great odds offered.’

  Georgiana’s heart sank. What on earth could she possibly do? Her only talent was acting. Then she smiled and nodded. Shifting her position, she gave the impression of arthritic knees. Her face fell into dour lines and, squinting ferociously, she mimed trying to thread a needle.

  ‘Why, it’s One-Eyed Pete mending sails!’ cried Eric, and the crew’s laughter bounced off the beams.

  ‘Go on lad, do another.’

  She thought for a minute then rose, pretending to stir a pot. She gave a phlegmy cough, dropped invisible food on the floor then scooped it up, plopping it back into the stew. With a backhanded wipe to her nose, she bellowed, ‘Dinn
er’s up you good-for-nothings.’

  The men fell about, eyes streaming with laughter.

  ‘He’s got your number, Alec,’ wheezed Bert.

  Harry dropped down the hatch, landing light as a cat. ‘What’s all the fun?’

  ‘Ye must see the laddie – he’s got a wicked talent, cheeky devil,’ said Alec. ‘Do another for the captain.’

  Georgiana became a chunky boy creeping into the galley.

  ‘It’s Eric about to steal some biscuit,’ cried Big Jack, ‘I’ve seen him thieving a thousand times.’

  Georgiana straightened and, pretending to be abashed, scratched her rump. Eric reddened as the laughter once more resounded and he received some good-hearted cuffs. Georgiana was happy to see Harry laughing, too.

  ‘You’ve a fine talent there, brat. Let’s see more.’

  For the next half-hour Georgiana took off a number of crew and there were even cries for repeats but finally she pleaded, ‘Enough. I’m worn out.’

  ‘Yes, it’s time for everyone to be turning in,’ said Harry.

  ‘You too, captain,’ Alec said. ‘You look worn to a rag.’

  Harry stood and stretched. ‘Bed will be good,’ he admitted. ‘There are a couple of things to attend to first, though.’

  As he disappeared up the ladder, Alec watched him go with a shake of his head. ‘Bad business,’ he muttered, and Georgiana wondered again what crime the captain had committed. Who was the enemy he spoke of? The crew’s easy acceptance of last night’s escape did not alleviate her unease, though as yet she’d seen nothing to enhance it either.

  The rest of the men were stringing up hammocks and Georgiana’s skin prickled with a new apprehension. Would they undress? Would she be expected to? Why oh why had she fallen so fast asleep the night before? Hands clumsy with nerves, she busied herself with her own hammock as she watched surreptitiously. But as the hammocks were secured, the seamen rolled into them, many of them still fully clothed. Relieved, she soon had her own up, and worn out, she tumbled into it.