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  TIDE OF FORTUNE

  A novel by Jane Jackson

  Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2012

  ISBN 9781909335219

  Copyright © Jane Jackson 2012

  The right of Jane Jackson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  Other titles by Jane Jackson

  Chapter One

  ‘Must we go?’ The words were out before Kerenza could stop them. It was too soon. She needed more time. But how long would it take? She had not seen him since – While her mind shied away from the still-raw memory, her skin burned with relived mortification.

  He would be back any day now. The Lisbon run rarely took longer than four weeks even in winter. When Kestrel returned, her respite would end. For with village life and society centred on the packet service, it was inevitable that they would meet again.

  ‘Indeed, we must.’ Aurelia Danby’s nod was decisive. ‘Maude Tregenna is a dear friend. Though Harry is now a senior captain, I’ve known him since we were children.’

  Kerenza shivered. To snub her like that, and in public; Nicholas Penrose could have offered her no greater insult. She still did not understand why. What had prompted the sudden switch from attentions that promised far more than friendship, to withdrawal? Sensing her grandmother’s concern, she forced herself to respond.

  ‘I saw the Lady Anne when they were bringing her in alongside the quay. She’s suffered dreadful damage. Half her main mast shot away, hatch covers and skylights all smashed, and her jolly-boat beyond repair.’

  ‘But no one killed,’ her grandmother reminded. And as their eyes met the words hung unspoken between them. This time.

  Sometimes she woke, swollen-eyed, hating him for what he’d done. Yet, despite the shock, the hurt, and an ocean of tears, she loved him still. It was a tiny flame. Barely a glimmer in the darkness that filled her soul. Though she mocked herself for a fool, it burned bravely on, refusing to die.

  Aurelia’s handsome features stiffened in disgust. ‘Why can that appalling little Corsican not confine himself to attacking naval vessels? At least they are well armed and able to defend themselves. What possible honour can there be in besieging packet-ships?’

  ‘None at all, Nana.’ An involuntary smile twitched Kerenza’s mouth at her grandmother’s indignation. ‘But honour is not their object. What Napoleon’s privateers want is the ship to sell as a prize, and the cargo, of course. Being on the Jamaica route, Lady Anne was carrying bullion as well as rum and tobacco.’

  Aurelia’s expression held grim satisfaction. ‘Well, this time they got nothing. Harry saw them off and brought the Lady Anne and all her crew home.’ Her tone softened. ‘Kerenza, Maude has Harry back safe. If she wants to hold a dress-ball to celebrate, how can we refuse to share her relief and delight?’

  Shame prickled, and Kerenza felt herself flush. Her grandfather had been a packet captain. It was seven years since he had died during attack by an American privateer soon after leaving New York. If her grandmother possessed enough generosity of spirit to be happy that her friend’s husband continued to return home safely when her own had not …

  ‘I’m sorry, Nana. Of course we must go. Only –’ she hesitated.

  ‘My love, I’m aware it’s not easy for you to be in company at the moment. And I know Kestrel is due back any time now –’

  ‘It’s not that, Nana.’ Honesty compelled Kerenza to add, ‘Well, not just that.’

  ‘What, then? Though I imagine I can guess.’

  Kerenza drew the paisley shawl tighter across her slim body. Her high-waisted apple-green muslin gown had long sleeves and was double-layered. But this past month she had felt constantly cold. ‘Attending balls and parties when –’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘It just feels wrong to be going out and enjoying myself.’

  ‘Ha! So at least you admit that you do enjoy yourself?’

  Kerenza nodded guiltily. ‘Sometimes. Quite often, in fact. Though I know I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Why, for heavens’ sake?’ her grandmother demanded, visibly exasperated. ‘What possible purpose can it serve for you to cut yourself off from society? Surely you have more sense than to believe that remaining at home, brooding and miserable, will somehow bring your parents back sooner.’

  ‘Nana, we don’t even know if they are still alive.’

  ‘We have heard nothing to suggest they are not,’ Aurelia countered.

  ‘No,’ Kerenza had to agree. ‘But it’s been almost a year since they disappeared.’

  ‘All the more reason for continuing to hope. My dear, I know Mr Penrose has caused you great unhappiness.’ Kerenza flinched but, appearing not to notice, her grandmother continued. ‘Until then you were handling the whole wretched matter so well.’

  She wasn’t really. She lurched between hope and despair, between love – because they were, after all, her family – and hate for the way they had treated her. But if her grandmother could face the world, or at least the village, with calm self-possession, how could she do less?

  ‘Nana, sometimes when I try to picture them, I can’t see their faces clearly.’

  ‘My dear child, after all this time it would be very strange if their images had not blurred a little.’

  ‘Yes, but it seems so – disloyal.’

  Aurelia snorted. ‘And what reason have you to feel loyalty toward any of your family?’ Her tone changed, betraying for the first time a hint of anxiety. ‘Kerenza, if – when – they return, will you want to go home again?’

  ‘No!’ Kerenza’s response was swift and vehement. ‘Nana, you must know I’ve been happier here with you than I ever was there. It’s just –’ She shrugged helplessly, not sure herself what she meant or what she felt.

  ‘Listen to me, child. We know the ship was sighted in Leghorn six months ago, so it cannot have sunk in a storm. If it was sufficiently seaworthy to reach the Italian coast, presumably it had first delivered your parents and sister safely to Tangier. Clearly something has prevented them getting word back to us. But I think we should assume that wherever they are, they are together.’ She sniffed. ‘For all the comfort that will be.’

  ‘Nana!’

  ‘Forgive me, my dear. I should not have spoken so. They are your family, and indeed mine. Although –’ her tone hardened ‘– they never valued you as they should, and certainly not as I do. But enough of that.’ She dismissed the subject with a brief flick of bony fingers. ‘Kerenza, regarding – this other matter.’

  Wincing, but grateful for her grandmother’s tact, she lowered her lashes and blinked stinging eyes.

  ‘Pleading a head cold excused you from two supper-dances and Mrs Edwards’s card party. But if you continue to decline invitations you will inevitably provoke speculation and gossip. You cannot want that.’

  ‘No. No, I don’t.’ Kerenza shivered again. Knowing how quickly gossip spread in the village, inevitably embellished as it passed from one mouth to another, she had managed, in public at least, to maintain a brave face. The effort had cost her dearly, the flesh melting from her bones. Minnie, the housemaid who doubled as her dresser, was spending an hour every afternoon taking in gowns that had fitted perfectly two months ago. But thro
ugh pride and sheer effort of will she had succeeded in convincing all who knew her that Nicholas Penrose was of no particular importance or interest. He had simply been one of the many young packet and naval officers in whose honour parties and dances were held most nights of the week.

  ‘Neither would I. Nor,’ Aurelia added gently, ‘would it be wise to permit young Mr Penrose, or any man for that matter, the conceit of believing himself your only source of happiness.’

  But he is. And always will be. Furious and helpless at the tyranny of her heart, Kerenza swallowed. ‘I know you’re right.’ Perhaps if she said it often enough she could make herself believe it. ‘Don’t worry, Nana. I won’t let you down.’

  Aurelia rose quickly from her chair and grasped Kerenza’s shoulders.

  ‘My dearest girl, of course you won’t.’ Her strong features softened in a loving smile. ‘You have more strength and courage than you realise.’

  Biting her lip, Kerenza glanced out of the window. A sky the colour of bluebells hinted at spring. But in the harbour, visible across the roof of the old cellars, the water looked dark and cold. Small boats pitched on choppy, foam-frilled waves and the larger ships stirred and tugged at their moorings. A gun boomed, making her start as it signalled the arrival of another packet-ship bearing letters, dispatches, and news from abroad. But hope had been blunted by too many disappointments.

  Drawing her away, her grandmother guided her toward the door. ‘Come, my dear. Let’s go upstairs and decide which of our gowns to wear. We must look our best. Maude will want to make this a very special occasion.’

  Nicholas Penrose stood at the starboard side of the quarterdeck, watching the crew move faster and with greater purpose than at any time during the voyage. The echoes of the signal gun were lost beneath the squeal and rattle of blocks and the bosun’s bellow as the two huge gaffs were lowered and their canvas swiftly roped to the booms.

  ‘Ready the cutter!’ he shouted, watching two seamen run to obey.

  In the four weeks he’d been away, not an hour had passed that he hadn’t thought of her. Her face haunted him. He saw her as he had seen her at the parties and dances: her eyes sparkling like sunlight on the sea; her cheeks flushed.

  ‘Load the mailbags, sir?’

  He nodded, indicating the portmanteaux, weighted with cannon balls and shrouded in tarpaulin, standing against the companionway hatch.

  Thank God he’d found out in time. The ache in his chest felt like a kick from a horse. But at least he had not made a complete fool of himself. To think he had been planning to propose marriage. Christ, it hurt.

  Glimpsing movement, he turned to see the second mate emerge from the companionway, his sea-going gear exchanged for the regulation dark blue coat, blue breeches, white stockings, and black buckled shoes. Nick raised his brows in silent question, and felt his heart sink as Maggot shook his head.

  ‘You let him go alone, he fall overboard and drown.’

  Nick bit back a curse. ‘Take over.’ He glanced down at his faded, salt-stained coat, wool trousers, and boots. ‘I’d better change.’ He turned toward the aft companionway.

  Hurled along by a south-westerly gale, Kestrel had taken only seven days to cover the distance between Lisbon and Falmouth. But the fast passage had been paid for in damage to canvas, spars, and rigging. And though Maggot had shared the watches, Nick had slept little. His eyes were sore and gritty and every muscle ached from combined tension and exhaustion. And he still hadn’t decided what to do.

  ‘You go quick,’ Maggot growled, looking over Nick’s shoulder. ‘Customs boat coming.’

  ‘Did you –?’

  ‘Is all safe,’ the second mate reassured. Pulling a leather drawstring purse from inside his jacket he held it up. ‘He come, he go. No questions, no trouble.’

  Nick ducked through the hatch and clattered down the brass stairs. Catching sight of her in the crowded street, his heart had soared with pleasure at the unexpected meeting. Then memory had kicked in, causing his head to resound with the warning that had destroyed his hopes and dreams, his vision of the future.

  As the colour drained from her face, he had glared into her eyes; torturing himself by seeking the guilt he knew would be there. Not seeing it, he had experienced an instant’s lacerating doubt. But by then he was past. She was behind him. For ever. He had done the only thing possible. But his fury at being made a fool of was overwhelmed by a wrenching grief. He had loved her.

  At the bottom of the stairs he turned aft toward the captain’s quarters. With only a token knock, he opened the door.

  An oblong table bolted to the cabin sole filled the space between the arms of a padded leather bench that formed a shallow U-shape at the rear of the day cabin. The table’s surface was a clutter of books, charts, an inkstand, ruler, and octant.

  Samuel Penrose was seated on one end of the bench, his head bowed over a steaming mug clasped between hands that shook uncontrollably. Beneath the fragrance of strong coffee Nick detected other, less pleasant smells.

  Toy emerged from the tiny sleeping cabin carrying a covered bucket and a bundle of linen. Shooting a brief glance at the captain, he hurried across to Nick.

  ‘I done my best, sir,’ he whispered.

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ Nick kept his own voice low. ‘How did you manage to shave him and get him into his uniform?’

  ‘’Tisn’t no trouble when you knows how, sir. Been with him 15 years, I have. Be some poor job if I couldn’t do the necessary when he’s a bit under the hatches.’ Loyalty made Toy’s tone slightly defensive. ‘But you can’t let’n go up to the Packet office by hisself.’

  ‘I can see that.’ As Nick smothered a yawn, Toy shook his head.

  ‘Post office should never have sent’n back to sea. ’Twas bleddy obvious he wasn’t fit. How could he be after what he been through?’

  Nick gazed at his uncle, anger warring with compassion. After Nick’s father died when he was ten, Sam Penrose had assumed responsibility for him, his mother and his two sisters. It was Sam who had paid for his schooling and his apprenticeship. It was thanks to Sam that at 24 he had 12 years’ seagoing experience, his mate’s ticket, and a driving ambition to one day own and command his own packet-ship. He owed Samuel Penrose.

  But this, Sam’s first voyage since his escape from prison in France, had been spent below deck either raving drunk or sprawled unconscious on his bunk.

  Nick’s nails dug into his palms. Without Maggot …

  Toy cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, Mr Penrose.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Toy.’ He ran his fingers through salt-matted hair, craving a hot bath, a decent meal, and at least ten hours’ uninterrupted sleep. But they would have to wait. There was still much to be done. ‘The Customs boat’s on its way.’

  Toy sniffed. ‘That’ll be Jim Petherick. Greedy sod, he is. Anyhow, don’t you worry, Mr Penrose. ’Tis all took care of. Bosun made sure both watches got everything stowed while we was passing the Lizard. And he done the collection. Maggot have got the purse.’

  ‘Yes, he showed me.’ Had Maggot paid his share as well? He must remember to ask, and if so to reimburse him.

  ‘Jim won’t hang around, not if he know what’s good for’n. I reckon by the time you’re ready he’ll be gone again. There’s hot water in your cabin. I told the boy to fetch it down when he brung the captain’s.’

  Half an hour later, after the briefest of inspections, the Customs Officer had departed, the heavy purse nestling inside his coat.

  Clean and tidy in his best uniform, Nick sat in the cutter’s bow. His uncle, as Kestrel’s commanding officer, sat at the stern with the two leather portmanteaux containing the mails and dispatches at his feet.

  A captain’s first job on returning to port was to hand over the mails to the Packet agent. Some captains waited for one of the clerks to come out to them. But Sam Penrose had always preferred to take the bags ashore himself to hand over to the Packet agent in person. And if Nick could keep him upright long
enough, the usual procedures would be observed. But what about the next trip?

  The voyage home had been a waking nightmare that allowed little time for rest. But Nick had spent his few quiet moments wrestling with an insoluble problem. Did he remain aboard Kestrel knowing that though Sam was the ranking officer. his mental condition coupled with his drinking made him incapable of command? That responsibility for the ship, the mails, and any passengers would fall instead on his shoulders?

  The alternative, if this voyage was to be considered repayment of his debt to his uncle, was to apply for a mate’s berth on a packet bound for Jamaica where opportunities for private trading would greatly increase his savings. But if he left Kestrel, so would Maggot. Saving Maggot’s life had bound the Tanjawi to him with an oath of gratitude and loyalty stronger than chains of iron. How would Sam manage? Who else would care enough to cover for him?

  At least the struggle to reach a decision had given him something to focus on, to take his mind off Kerenza Vyvyan. Nick rubbed his face. He was so tired.

  Back on board the packet, Maggot was supervising the departure of passengers and their luggage. The carpenter and sailmaker, both trusted hands, had already organised their gangs. Tomorrow morning both jollyboat and cutter would be sent to pick up ropes, spars, and canvas. And with luck, by tomorrow evening most of the repairs would be complete. Only then would the crew be allowed ashore. With the money made from their ventures and goods to sell they would be intent on a good time. Many of the ordinary seamen – criminals, men escaping the press, harbour dregs hired each voyage – would simply disappear. Replacements would have to be hired.

  But that was next week’s problem. And if he decided to leave, it wouldn’t be his. Right now, he had enough to worry about.

  As the cutter’s crew bent and strained at the oars, Nick angled himself so he could look toward Falmouth. Sam had told him years ago that a mate could not learn to be a captain. Only when he had the responsibility of command would he discover whether he was up to it.