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‘You try me, Mary,’ he said.
I hated him horribly but I bit my lip and said nothing. It was clearly fine for Robert to insult Henry, but not acceptable for the same words to be used of him. I comforted myself that this journey would be over soon enough and then I would be free of the tiresome bully. I stalked back out to the carriage and, refusing help, I took my own seat. Robert said not one word the rest of the journey and that was fine by me.
On the coast it was not raining but it was cold. At Portsmouth we were to stay with Mrs Gordon. Jane had written and reserved the rooms. All being well with the weather, we had a night to wait. Jane had thought we would prefer to spend the time on land together rather than make our way to separate cabins. This was a treat that I had not been accorded before William’s money came to bear. I regretted the arrangement, but now we had arrived there was nothing else for it.
Mrs Gordon’s house was on a busy side street close to the docks. At the front door, I dismounted and was welcomed by our cheery landlady, a fat woman wearing a plum-coloured day dress that set off the copper hair beneath her starched white cap.
‘Come in, ma’am, sir,’ she smiled. ‘I am Mrs Gordon and you will be Mr Fortune and Miss Penney, I’ll be bound,’ and she swept us inside on a tide of efficient courtesy.
The house was clean and comfortable and smelled pleasantly of sage and lavender. In the generous, wood-panelled hallway Mrs Gordon ushered our luggage into place and told us the arrangements for dinner.
‘Your rooms are the two on the left at the top of the stairs. They overlook the street,’ she informed us. We were set to ascend when a door opened and a cross-looking lady emerged from the drawing room with her husband. Mrs Gordon introduced them as the Hunters.
Mrs Hunter fiddled with a chain around her neck. She reminded me of a dog playing with its tail, the links twisting round her fingers never quite satisfying her, the amethyst and pearl locket constantly out of reach.
She inspected me plainly while Mrs Gordon introduced us.
‘We are off to inspect the Filigree before it gets dark,’ she said. ‘We sail tomorrow.’
‘You will be my shipmate, then, Mrs Hunter,’ I smiled.
‘How nice. What takes you to Calcutta?’
Behind me, Robert froze.
‘I will visit relations,’ I lied smoothly, aware of his eyes on me. ‘And my brother here is to board the Braganza.’
Mr Hunter nodded towards Robert. ‘Well now, you must envy your sister, Mr Fortune. Hong Kong is no match for the delights of India.’
This topic was no better for Robert than that of my reasons for going to Calcutta. The East India Company did not wish his mission to be common knowledge. I realised my mistake and tried to divert the conversation. This chance encounter was rapidly becoming unexpectedly difficult.
‘So you have been to India already?’ I attempted.
The Hunters giggled good naturedly as if I had said something particularly amusing.
‘Half our lives,’ Mr Hunter replied. ‘Is it your first voyage to the East, ma’am?’
I shook my head. ‘This time I hope to arrive, though.’
‘It was you who survived the Regatta? Oh my,’ Mrs Hunter’s voice rose, ‘how exciting! Freddy, Miss Penney shall be our lucky charm. No one has ever gone down twice! You must wish very much to visit your relations. What are their names? Perhaps we are acquainted.’
Myself, I would have concocted a name, but before I could answer, Robert cut in, unable to bear it any longer.
‘Mary will marry in India,’ he barked, staring pointedly at Mrs Hunter. ‘There is no more to tell.’
My cheeks burned with discomfort and quickly the Hunters excused themselves and hurried out of the front door. Such rudeness was entirely unnecessary and I rounded on Robert as the door closed behind them.
‘Did you think I would be able to embarrass you halfway across the world?’ I snapped, though in truth I pitied him. The poor man would never be free of himself. He pushed me forward a little to escort me upstairs, past the trunks that were now piled on the landing—ours and the Hunters’. He could scarcely wait to stow me away.
‘I have enough to think of, Mary. You and your bastard child are the least of my worries.’
That settled it—I had had enough. Incensed, I turned on him and as I did I saw a cricket bat piled up among Mr Hunter’s things. I grabbed it.
‘How dare you?’ I raised the bat, furiously swiping as hard as I could. ‘You pompous, self-important, short-sighted fool!’ I lost my temper.
Robert backed downstairs, away from my blows and nonchalantly and with his hackles down, easily wrestled the bat from my hands, tripping me up so that I landed with a thump on the thin carpet. The man was all muscle. My blood boiled even further.
‘You must rest, Mary. You leave tomorrow,’ he said coolly to dismiss me.
I scrambled to my feet and, disarmed and furious, I ran to the first room, slamming the door behind me. There were tears in my eyes. I cursed Robert as I sank onto the bed. How dare he? After a minute there was a soft knock at the door. I threw a pillow at it.
‘Go to hell, Robert,’ I said.
I thought he surely must regret behaving so callously but when the door opened it was the ample figure of Mrs Gordon that entered.
‘Now,’ she said, her tone comforting and motherly, ‘here is some arnica cream, Miss Penney. My guess is that fall will leave a fine bruise.’
‘Thank you,’ I sniffed.
Jane had picked our lodgings well. Mrs Gordon’s kindness only provoked me to cry more. I was in a torment of anger and humiliation. I felt like hammering the mattress with my fists.
‘Some polka you danced there with your brother,’ Mrs Gordon remarked. ‘I keep an orderly establishment as a rule. But,’ she smirked, ‘the look on his face when you took up that bat has me inclined to allow you to stay the night.’
I had no idea we had been seen.
‘I am glad to be gone tomorrow,’ I snivelled.
Mrs Gordon nodded. ‘Perhaps I will see to it that you have dinner in your room. I shall send the girl with a tray at seven.’
‘Thank you,’ I sniffed as she helped me unhook myself and I smoothed on the cream.
That night I dreamt of my dressing room at the theatre. I was drawn back vividly to everything I was leaving behind. I could smell the jars of rouge. The broken handle on my dressing table had not been fixed. There was a door in the corner that led to dark rooms, new places beyond the scope of backstage. There were fur rugs and long benches padded with comfortable cushions, and the wax had burnt very low so the flames flickered, lending the dimmest glow to the endless labyrinth of windowless rooms. The place had the air of a funfair with a dark helter skelter in one corner and a Punch and Judy show too. And somewhere I knew there was a baby, but I could not find him. I dreamt of myself wandering, tormented, searching and moving on. Leaving Henry had disturbed me.
When I woke after this restless sleep it was already light. I shook off my misgivings and dressed for breakfast. Downstairs, Robert was just finishing. He drained his glass. I wished him a good morning and slipped uncomfortably into a seat. It transpired that the Hunters had gone to church early. St Peter’s held special services for travellers about to embark and my shipmates were, it seemed, of a pious disposition. It would be awkward now but I would do my best to befriend them once we were underway. It was a long voyage, after all.
In silence, I sipped some cocoa and nibbled on a slice of bread. Outside the little window the weather was perfect for getting off. The dockside was bustling with activity, ships loading last-minute supplies and sailors turning out of the waterside inns, some drunker than others. Robert paid our bill.
‘I will escort you to the Filigree,’ he said. ‘I promised Jane I would make sure you were safely aboard. I have sent the luggage.’
I felt like a schoolgirl, but there was no point in arguing.
‘Lead on,’ I replied, falling into step along the cobbles of the sea front. I told myself it would be fine. I was set to try. Perhaps India would be wonderful and I would lead a life of exotic adventure in the Raj. Shortly, we came to a halt at the ship, right under the name, emblazoned in white above our heads. Robert gave me my passage money. I squared up to him and held out my hand.
‘I know you only want rid of me. You might not believe it but I wish you the best, Robert. Come home safe and wealthy from your adventures.’
Robert peered at my hand and then reached out to take it.
‘Goodbye, Mary,’ he said. ‘It seems unlikely we will meet again.’
He did not stay to watch me up the gangplank. I held the railing studiously. William’s money had secured a more expensive passage for me this time. The ship was bigger than the Regatta and well finished. Mostly she was laid out to cabins. Up the other gangplank they were loading boxes and casks—the final supplies for the voyage. I stood at the top of the plank and with some satisfaction, my gaze followed the figure of Robert as he made his way towards the Braganza and disappeared into the throng of bobbing heads.
‘Well,’ I thought, ‘at least I am on my own reconnaissance now. I shall find my cabin.’
I drew myself up and turned to face the deck, and my future.
This resolve, however, did not last me thirty seconds for I had no sooner moved than Mr Hunter appeared from a doorway near the poop deck.
‘Miss Penney,’ he greeted me curtly.
I nodded back, at a loss how to explain Robert’s poor behaviour the day before. Mr Hunter, however, showed no sign of discomfort at all.
‘I have come to check our cabin. Clara will follow me shortly. Perhaps I could help you to yours?’ He took my arm.
For one moment I thought perhaps it would be fine, and then my blood ran cold as Mr Hunter placed his free hand on my waist, coming too near to whisper:
‘I realised last night that your face was familiar. No one on this ship or indeed in Calcutta need know, Miss Penney, of your particular talents or your misfortune.’
I pulled back. Would I never be free of the reputation afforded me in those damn scandal sheets?
‘We can come to some arrangement, my dear. I did not expect you to be childish.’ The blaggard pushed up against me so that I could smell the tobacco on his skin and the claret on his breath. His contemptible intentions were all too clear.
‘Would Mrs Hunter find it childish?’ I challenged him.
‘A man being married never troubled you before as I understand it.’
‘I can find my own cabin, thank you,’ I retorted and turned away, catching the sneer he gave me, the half-muttered threat under his breath.
‘You don’t have a choice, you harlot.’
Robert, it occurred to me, would probably agree with him. For that matter so would William. I was fair game.
But there on the deck, quite suddenly I found that I did have a choice. I did not have the choice I wanted, of course, but that was by the by. In a flash I realised that if I was to be labelled with my shame and preyed upon wherever I went, then why should I go anywhere? Especially not on William’s say-so or indeed, Robert’s. Damn them all, why should I do what they say? It was for Henry’s welfare, certainly, but then who was to know if I didn’t embark? Who was to berate me or penalise him? In fact, the only thing that mattered was that William wouldn’t find out. Robert would be gone, I reasoned. Jane hardly left the house and certainly never went as far as Drury Lane. I had lost my family whether I went to Calcutta or not and I was never expected to return. I had tried to come back and it had not worked out as I had hoped. Now I might as well make myself happy, or as happy as I could be. I would not be subjected to Mr Hunter’s odious desires. Why should I?
Once the idea presented itself I was taken. My heart fluttering with anticipation, I climbed the steps to the poop deck without a word, leaving Mr Hunter behind me. Above, the captain was not at his post but the first officer presented himself. I had made the decision.
‘Take my trunk off,’ I said. ‘I will not be sailing today.’
‘But Miss Penney, your passage is part-paid. We cannot wait for you.’
‘I am not going,’ I said very definitely. ‘Keep the money.’
Mr Hunter had left the deck when we came back down. No doubt he thought he had the whole voyage to prowl me. I watched as my trunk was carried off and I paid tuppence to have it taken back to Mrs Gordon’s. A plan was taking shape, even as I walked away from the Filigree and all my good intentions. I could pitch up in London and use a different name. I had always wanted to be named Georgiana. The more I thought of it, the better it seemed. Would William even recognise me, I wondered, if I changed my name and my appearance? Dyed my hair darker with the walnut, plucked my eyebrows thin and wore an old-fashioned mole? I would disappear into the world of London’s theatres. Better for me to stay in England surely, than go to Calcutta. Why should I be banished when I was not the one who had broken my word? I had tried what they wanted, now I would make my own way and best of all they never need know.
Fired up, I cut along the dock, avoiding the Braganza, and walked uphill towards Mrs Gordon’s. With luck I could take the public coach back to London the following morning and have, if not everything, at least some chance of happiness. I would be in Shaftesbury Avenue in time for the evening shows. I still had friends there, people I could call on easily and who would welcome me back with a role if I wanted it. They would keep my secret, I knew, for Drury Lane is full of confidences and cover-ups and its residents are adept at their workings. Quite suddenly I felt exhilarated. I had been so cooped up that even walking alone along the narrow streets was an adventure and now here I was unexpectedly at the start of a new career. Another twist in my life prompted by a damn blaggard, I reflected, but still this felt good.
‘I shall call myself Georgiana Grace,’ I decided. It had a ring to it. Oh, yes, I would dine well at Mrs Gordon’s house and, better still, I’d play Rosalind yet.
I rapped on Mrs Gordon’s door and the maid answered. The trunk had followed me up and was now deposited in the otherwise empty hallway. Mrs Gordon hurried down from her chamber and I made my requests, checked the Hunters were now gone and, paying one night’s lodgings, I settled by the fire with a bottle of burgundy to myself, a plate of cheese and some bread.
‘I do not wish to be disturbed,’ I said and Mrs Gordon asked me no questions. It occurred to me in any case that she was the kind of person who knew the answer before the question was posed.
‘The London coach leaves at nine tomorrow. I’ll have the maid rouse you with time to spare,’ she said.
I ate, read and daydreamed. I thought perhaps that after some months had passed I might manage to see Henry in the park. I could walk there when Nanny Charlotte was sure to be taking the children out and I could keep my distance, but watch him nonetheless—see him grow up a little. The loss of Henry was at the heart of me and while I knew I would never see my sister again—that simply was not possible—perhaps, I hoped, I might be able to keep an eye on my son. The more I thought of it the more I liked my plan. At length the Filigree sailed and when it was gone, and I could no longer change my mind, I felt freedom beyond measure and I decided to take an afternoon stroll. The weather was fine and I was eager. I pulled on my gloves, checked my hat in the glass and set out to work up an appetite for my evening meal.
I wonder often what might have happened had I not left Mrs Gordon’s that afternoon. I wonder what might have happened had the Braganza set sail an hour or two before she did. For I had made my decision to disappear and it was not in my mind that Robert, of course, was still in Portsmouth. In fact, I was not thinking of Robert at all and, while I avoided the docks and set out in the opposite direction, I had no thought that he might see me. I expected him to be in his cabin or sitting on deck reading some dull and worthy textbook as he set out to sea.
Robert, however, believing I had gone, had repaired to a public house to celebrate before his ship set off. He was not a drinker as a rule but I expect I had tried him and he had hoped to blow off some steam. The place he had chosen was not a bawdy house. It lay away from the docks on the path I happened upon for my afternoon stroll. It was frequented mostly by naval officers, many of whom followed Robert into the street when he spotted me through one of the small windows and dashed outside in rage and disbelief. He bellowed my name so loudly it echoed.
I froze and so did he. Both of us stopped on opposite sides of the narrow street, staring in incredulity and horror at the sight of each other. We hesitated. Then I turned and ran, pelting up the cobblestones, cutting into a muddy alleyway with no thought but to flee, blood pumping through me so fast that my heart was hammering. Of course, a lady is at a great disadvantage when it comes to a chase and I did not get far.
He caught me roughly and bundled me back down the hill, dragging me most of the way. I could not imagine where he was going, could not make out the furious muttering under his breath. His fingers were gripping my arm so tightly that I thought he would draw blood. People avoided us, stepping out of the way and deliberately not meeting my eyes. I was crying. As we came closer to the port such was Robert’s fury that I feared he was going to throw me over the side and into the stinking, green sea. Instead he clutched me by the shoulders and pushed me aboard the Braganza.
I shouted, ‘No, no, no,’ over and over. I cursed him for his hateful snobbery. I shrieked every insult I had kept to myself all the weeks I had been home. ‘You liar! You bastard, Robert Fortune! You are nothing but a Scottish pretender! Even your wife can’t bear to touch you! I’ll embarrass you now, by God! What would Jane say if she could see you like this? You’re a beast and a bully! No gentleman at all!’
Robert did not reply. He bundled me across the deck and flung me through the door of his cabin, slamming it shut and turning the key before I could round on him. I sank to my knees, pulling the clothes off the bed, flinging papers, scattering his precious tobacco on the bare floor. I wanted to rip everything apart, to smash my way through the thick, wooden walls and destroy everything.
‘Let me out,’ I screamed, hammering so hard my palms hurt. ‘Let me out! You have no right, Robert! No right!’
No one came. As my wrath wore down I lay on the floorboards and cried until at last my tears ran out. I waited a long time, the ship creaking, footsteps passing by the doorway, until at length the sounds of the ship changed, voices were raised and we cast off. Outside the tiny porthole the skyline seemed to move. We were in motion. Robert had clearly decided that if I could not be trusted to leave England alone then he would escort me himself. I could imagine nothing worse.
I sank down onto my knees and for once I prayed. ‘Dear Lord, please,’ I said, ‘not to sea with Robert. Not with Robert. Anything, anything else.’
But as the ship rocked this way and that, setting out from Portsmouth on her long voyage, it seemed that that was exactly what God had in mind.
Chapter Three (#ulink_ea30fe4c-f2ce-51f2-bd67-fa34574afdd7)
Robert and I did not speak for a month. He waited until we were suitably far from shore before he let me out of his cabin. He had it in his consideration, I expect, that I might have jumped ship and swum back had he not left a few miles of open water between England and me.
‘You swine,’ I hissed at him, my voice acid and my heart black, as he led me to my own quarters that first afternoon.
I had never hated anyone as much as I hated Robert then—not even William. If I had had the opportunity I would have cheerfully pushed him overboard but our passage to the cabin newly assigned to me took us nowhere near the fringes of the ship. As it was, my trunk had been fetched from Mrs Gordon’s, a small ship’s cot had been made up for me and from there on, as Robert closed the door, not a word passed between us as we sailed south. My meals arrived from the galley on a wooden tray. Robert dined with the captain and the officers. Everyone avoided me. I had been hauled aboard red-faced and screaming, and I could only guess what Robert had told them.
My isolation made the days and nights both long and lonely. There is little enough to do on a voyage, no privacy outside the dark, wooden cabin and scarcely any space or, indeed, occupation outside your own mind—if no one will speak a civil word to you, that is. I passed Robert frostily on deck every day that first week or two and neither he, the officers or the main body of the crew acknowledged me once. I was a pariah.
At night I had a strange dream, that Henry, his body still that of a baby, but his face as old as his father’s, screamed abuse at me for leaving him behind. As the ship sailed further I felt the lack of him like a hunger—a physical sensation—that woke me often in the night. I had not had this on my last voyage for I had not known the child at all and my mind had been focused on William’s betrayal. Now, I tried not to dwell on these dreams and, during the long days and their endless line of blue outside my porthole, I continued with my Hindustani lessons out of sheer boredom, and read about India’s history and the customs of the Bengali region around Calcutta. Of elephant-headed goddesses and golden temples. Day after day after day, my hours in the dark cabin were punctuated only by a short and uncomfortable stroll along the deck with all eyes upon me. With a sinking sadness I resigned myself to this punishment and to my banishment once more.
One such dreary afternoon, the line of blue at the porthole grew a streak of vibrant, tropical green and, unable to take my eyes from it, I flung open my cabin door to discover we were pulling into dock. I rushed across the deck, excited, halting in my tracks only when I saw Robert standing at the rail, his brown suit buttoned up and cravat in place. As if he sensed my movement he swung round, his blue eyes hard.
‘Is this Tenerife?’ I asked in a breathless rush, quite forgetting my hatred of him in the excitement.
We had stopped here on the Regatta and the ladies had bought trinkets. Robert strode across the deck towards me and almost swept me off my feet with the force of his anger as he pushed me to the side of the steps that led up to the poop deck. I still did not immediately understand what he was doing and I continued to babble.
‘They have parrots here, as I recall,’ I said, pushing back against him. ‘Let me pass, Robert. It is quite a spectacle.’
The crew were all about their business on the deck, securing the sails and making ready. The captain was above us, instructing his officers. I heard a snippet of their orders—a list ofprovisions required and names of the men who were allowed ashore.
‘Robert,’ I started, distracted and enthusiastic still. ‘What are you doing?’
