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He had taken a thin rope and expertly tied a knot, which he slipped quickly over my left hand and then the right, before I had time to set myself free. Then he tethered me to the post at the foot of the stairs.
‘No. No. I promise,’ I whispered, desperate with embarrassment. ‘I will not jump ship here. Please, Robert, don’t. Please.’
But it was no use. He grunted like an animal about to attack and then he moved off.
‘How could you? How could you?’ I shouted.
My cheeks were burning. My brother-in-law turned, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s trained on its kill. I knew he was thinking of hauling me back to my cabin if I made a fuss. Damn him. My stomach turned over in fear and a single tear slipped down my cheek as I bowed my head, trying to contain my fury. I did not want to be confined to my cabin for the rest of the trip. I could not have borne it.
‘I will be quiet,’ I said, tight-lipped and unwilling.
It was better at least to stand on deck and see the loading and unloading on the shore. I kept my head high. The whole crew were in good spirits as the stocks of fresh water, fruit, meat and vegetables were replenished.
‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ they said, tipping their caps as they passed me, acknowledging my existence for the first time since I came on board.
No one mentioned the rope that bound me or even looked at it and I tried not to dwell on what Robert had done though I was furious with him.
Robert had written to my sister and now at length I saw her name on a packet that was passed down to the dockside. As it passed me by, I felt sad that Jane would know I had been caught trying to get away. She always worried so, as if the spectre of our father might be waiting in the wings to punish any wrongdoing. I did not wish to add my own missive home. I could think of no words that would calm her. Robert, I surmised, would make a better job of that. My apology could wait. Had he told her, by postscript, I wondered, that he had tethered me to the ship? That he had confined me by force? That in a matter of weeks he had struck me, kidnapped me, bound me and bullied me? He had a fire in his belly that belied his bookish existence in London—how could my sister have married such a brute? But then I could not be sure whether Jane would be more horrified by my behaviour in sneaking off the Filigree or her husband’s in press-ganging me to his own voyage.
All in all, I was left for four hours tied to the deck that day in Tenerife. My wrists were as painful as my furious heart as I tried and failed to loosen the bonds. When we sailed away from the port at last, heading back to sea, I watched the yellow houses on the dockside recede until they were only tiny pinpricks on the blue horizon—a final goodbye to all that was even vaguely familiar. The coast of Africa lay ahead.
When Robert came to cut me free my body tightened with fear and anger. God knows what he might do next. I said nothing, only regarded him with clear disdain and held his gaze defiantly as he removed the ropes. Still he did not speak, only stood back to let me return to my cabin.
Over the following week Robert maintained his silence. Whenever I saw him he was tending his plants. Glass cases like huge trunks had been bolted into the deck. He watched over them devotedly, like a child with a fallen fledgling. And they thrived. As the weather became warmer he appeared to relax. He worked without a jacket, or when he was not working he sometimes sat reading. The day he first said something to me it was a week since the ship had pulled out of the Canaries. I had taken to walking the deck for an hour each morning, as there were gulls and jumping fish to watch where we followed the coastline.
‘These Ward’s cases have done well,’ he said as I passed him on my way down the deck.
There was no sign of viciousness in his voice. It was as if we were in the habit of passing our time chattering to each other and this casual comment was not a landmark—he sounded just as he used to in the drawing room at Gilston Road. For a moment I found it difficult to comprehend that Robert had spoken to me at all and I was not sure how best to reply.
‘Ward’s cases,’ Robert repeated, tapping the top of the glass box.
I could see out of the corner of my eye the cabin boy stop coiling rope and silently watch us. The child was the only person on board who routinely acknowledged my presence. He never spoke but always nodded in recognition when I passed him and was often sent to deliver my tray. One time I had offered him a scrap of cloth to bind a cut on his arm, but he had fled from my cabin in terror. It made me wonder what reputation I had been afforded among the crew. Robert sat down on the deck and continued.
‘At first I was troubled by weeds. But what I realised, Mary, is that if unwanted seed can germinate on board so can wanted ones. On the way home I shall try it. I shall embark with bags of seed and arrive with saleable seedlings worth a great deal more.’
He poked his trowel at a bougainvillea plant he had brought on board. The flowers were a beautiful, deep pink. They bloomed in abundance all over the wiry stems. Robert picked one and passed it to me.
‘Robert, you know that you have bullied me half to death,’ I accused him. I was not that easy. ‘And you seem to expect simply to take up normal society. I am angry.’
I held the flower in my hand.
‘Yes,’ he said, a slight tremor in his voice. ‘I am angry too, Mary. You lied. You did not keep our agreement. But we are beyond Europe and there is no point in argument now and every point in coming to terms.’
‘No apology then,’ I suggested.
Robert’s body became tense at once and he leant forward, his voice too low for anyone else to hear. I think he wanted to strike me, but he was holding himself back.
‘And did you apologise? You are headstrong, Mary Penney. You simply do whatever you please. I took in your son for Jane’s sake but that lodging did not come free of charge. If you leave he will be recognised a Duke’s grandson, one day a Duke’s son, too, with a title of his own. Don’t you want that for him? For us all? And I catch you in Portsmouth and your ship has sailed. Come now.’
I bit my tongue but I am sure my eyes flashed with fury.
‘Think on it,’ he said. ‘I have done what’s best for the boy.’
And he returned to his work as I stalked away. He had a point, of course, God damn him. I knew he did.
In my cabin, I placed Robert’s flower in a tiny glass of water on my bedside table. It was the brightest thing I owned by far.
That night, after dinner, I took my life in my hands and crossed the deck to Robert’s cabin. The weather had become hotter and I was uncomfortable despite the breeze. My only sleeveless gown was of a pale eau de nil tulle. I coiled my hair in the French style to keep it off my shoulders. I had come to try for a peace. Some kind of resolution. Robert was right—there was no point in quarrelling so far from home though it was difficult to quell the anger in me. I paused a moment, took a deep breath and then knocked.
‘Come in.’
Inside, lit by two oil lamps, Robert was surrounded by his books. He stuck stringently to his suits the whole voyage and was still wearing evening dress, having dined earlier with the captain. His face was dark from the sun and lines of paler skin showed at his wrists. If he was surprised to see me he showed no sign of it.
‘Mary,’ he said. ‘Can I offer you…’he gestured towards a decanter on the side table.
I shook my head.
‘Robert,’ I started with my heart pounding, ‘I have come to ask you, where am I heading? You have kidnapped me and I don’t have a clue of your plans.’
‘I had no choice, Mary,’ he started his defence.
My fingers quivered. I did not intend to fight with him—that would not get me what I wanted and I knew now that he would simply force me to do whatever he decided was best. Straining against my instincts, I stepped further into the room and shut the door behind me.
‘You were probably right,’ I conceded. ‘I had promised to leave. Only that fellow Hunter recognised me. He threatened me and I walked off the ship. He wanted…relations I was not prepared to accord. And now, Robert, I merely want to know where I am going and when I might get there.’
Robert shifted uncomfortably before he replied.
‘Oh, Mary. I had no idea that man had…’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said miserably. ‘You are right in that I intended to stay in England and I should not have done so.’
I waited momentarily and Robert nodded, clearly deciding that I was at least rational.
‘The captain’s plan is to dock somewhere on the western side of the Indian continent but he told me he must consider weather conditions to the other side of Africa before he can be sure.’ Robert jerked his head to the left indicating the general direction of the land mass. ‘It is only then he will make his judgement where we will port.’
‘Will you leave me there?’ I asked plainly.
My hands were still quivering.
‘We are bound for Hong Kong,’ he said quietly. ‘I have paid your passage.’
The truth was, of course, that Robert did not trust me to stay in India. I can hardly blame him. Shortly after we embarked he amended his original plan. He discarded Calcutta and chose to take me somewhere remote that had the advantage of a less regular passage, as well as being a hub for his own voyage. His plan was to use Hong Kong as a rallying point at the end of his trip. He would therefore be able to check on me over time. It made sense now I thought of it.
‘I see,’ I said, hiding my surprise.
‘We have another eleven weeks or so. The current to the other side will bear us more swiftly.’
I hung my head. I knew the currents around the African coastline only too well. I had to be practical and control myself. Robert took my silence for fear.
‘There are no monsoons at this time of year, Mary. I trust Captain Barraclough. He is prudent.’
This half-hearted attempt at comfort annoyed me but I said nothing. I was further and further from London, that was all. At least now I knew.
‘Did you tell Jane that I am here?’
Robert nodded. ‘As briefly as I could,’ he said.
I suppose that was fair of him.
That night I stayed up late. As the humidity increased I found myself keener on the clear, balmy, black skies than the midday swelter. I excused myself from Robert’s cabin and took a turn around the deck. The wide sky was breathtaking, more pinprick stars coming into focus every minute. The only sound was the boat cutting through the water, slapping against the swell. I have always been a night owl rather than a lark. It felt like a very long voyage as we sailed into the inky blackness ahead. I was childish, I suppose, but with tears on my cheeks I surreptitiously snapped the stem of one of Robert’s stupid plants in a silent rebellion. I ripped the bright flower to pieces and threw it over the side.
When we came to cross the equator, the traditional initiation to the Southern Hemisphere was due for anyone who had not passed that way before. The ship was all excitement and the cabin boy—the only person on board who had not been that way before—was nowhere to be found.
On my first voyage it was only the ladies who had not previously crossed the line. The crew showered us with buckets of seawater on deck and we toasted our luck with Madeira. It had been a fête of good spirits. The Braganza’s cabin boy, however, was not treated so kindly—he was found hiding in an empty barrel. They bound his hands with rope and then hauled him over the side. He emerged minutes later, spluttering, bruises appearing on his childish skin and bad cuts where the rope had chafed him. The crew made him drink more than he was able, holding his nose and pouring rum down his throat.
‘Enough of that!’ I said, horrified. ‘Enough. Stop it!’ But no one listened and my voice was lost in the jeers of the horde, while Robert held my arm tightly in his grip as we watched from a distance. I expect he worried that I might fling myself among the sailors and attempt a rescue.
My eyes filled with tears though I knew it was foolish. It had not been so long since I spluttered seawater myself.
‘It’s cruel,’ I said simply. ‘That boy is so young.’
‘Sometimes you are too soft, Mary,’ Robert chided me. ‘I hope you are not going to make a fuss. It will be worse for the lad if you do.’
I let it be though my blood boiled. The life at sea is hard and I did not at that time realise that being half drowned was the least of the child’s worries. Drunk and exhausted they let him fall asleep.
Later that day, alone in my cabin, I put my mind to remembering everything I had heard about Hong Kong. It was an island; I had seen that on the map. And it had not long been British. The London Times had been sceptical when China had handed it over. They said the place was hardly worth taking. The truth was that it sounded even worse than Calcutta—some god-awful backwater full of second-rate pioneers. As I stacked the now useless Indian books in one corner of my trunk, I resolved to ask Robert to let me read some of his books about China because, apart from this scanty impression, a Chinese embroidered shawl the wardrobe mistress used at Drury Lane, and a beautiful lacquered cabinet William had in his London drawing room, I knew not one thing about where we were going.
My bougainvillea was already wilted and I slipped the faded bloom inside a flyleaf to press it as I packed my things away. ‘The colour was bound to dampen down,’ I thought sadly and wondered if Hong Kong might supply as steady a contingent of suitable husbands as had been expected from the Indian colony.
‘Is this the best I can hope for?’ I asked myself but, of course, there was no one to reply.
There was still a long way to travel. Even by the time we had reached the Cape of Africa we had not yet covered half the miles. It felt as if I had spent a whole year at sea. When we encountered the storm it scared me more than I expected. Thankfully, my voyage home through these waters had been uneventful, the variety of weather limited. This time the sea reared mountainously and we were closeted below decks. The petty officer escorted us to the hold. The ship was keeling so hard that it was difficult to remain on the wooden bench, though it was bolted to the floor.
‘You will not lock us in,’ I begged.
The officer did not answer me. He directed his comments to Robert.
‘Stay below decks,’ he said. ‘It is safer. Some will be swept away in this.’
Then he fastened his greatcoat and left.
We were below for hours as the weather raged. The winds were high, the water towering exactly as it had the day the Regatta went down. Robert paced up and down, worried only about his Ward’s cases, while every tiny creak had my heart pounding as I waited for the ship to split in two. This time would I be lucky enough to be driven towards the shore or would I be swept further south to the open ocean? Robert hardly noticed my anxiety, such was his concern for his plants. He muttered under his breath about the ropes holding the canvas covers he had fitted in place. He worried about how low the temperature might drop or if the cases would flood. He had no sense of our mortal danger at all. From time to time a sodden deckhand passed and sent up another man to relieve him.
At last, after several hours, Robert could not bear the uncertainty. Despite the petty officer’s warning he pulled on his coat and went to check the damage. The ship pitched and rolled. The storm had not abated. I thought longingly of home. Not London, but my childhood home. I admit, it crossed my mind that should Robert be swept away I would return there. When he did come back I could see he had properly realised our peril. He was drenched to the skin, his pink flesh icy and a cut on his leg.
‘One case has smashed,’ he reported, indicating the bloody slit. He must have fallen against the broken glass. ‘The one with the bougainvillea,’ he said absentmindedly, for the plants were less important to him now he had seen the height of the storm.
At that moment there was a loud crash above us as some part of the rigging came free on deck. I screamed, my whole body taut, waiting for the force of the water to smash everything and toss us away. Robert placed a hand on each of my shoulders and shook me.
‘Stay calm, Mary,’ he directed sharply.
At first I could not speak for terror. Then I found my voice.
‘This is how it happened before,’ I said, trying to explain, ‘the ship split. That noise…’
Robert cut me off. ‘Your panic serves no one.’
‘Those who have not been stung will not fear a bee the same as those who have,’ I retorted.
He really was hardly human sometimes.
Robert took his handkerchief from his pocket and bound his wound. He took a draught from his hip flask and offered it to me. I shook my head.
‘Go on, Mary. It will help,’ he said.
I took it but did not thank him. The man was unbearable but his brandy warmed me. I could feel myself flush.
‘I know you want sympathy. But my sympathy will do you no good, Mary. We have to do our best if Captain Barraclough does not succeed in riding the storm. If we will die, we will die.’
I snorted, handing back his flask. The brandy instantly made me drowsy. I have never been one for spirits on an empty stomach and now I sank down on my knees. Low to the boards I was rocked by the movement of the ship without fearing I might fall, and, despite all my apprehensions, the lateness of the hour prevailed, exhaustion overtook me and I drifted fretfully to sleep.
When I awoke the ship was steady and Robert was gone.
‘We are safe,’ I breathed and climbed the wooden ladder onto the deck.
The sky was clear as far as I could see. It was as if there had been no storm at all. As I emerged into the scorching heat Robert was salvaging battered plants from the end case. The bougainvillea petals were smeared over the shattered glass, the soil soupy with seawater.
‘Help me, Mary,’ he directed.
My fury stung me. It was clear these stupid plants meant more to Robert than I or anyone else. I could not forgive the fact that his first comments did not concern the welfare of the crew or our good fortune in surviving the storm. I surveyed the battered plants with no pity.
‘If they will die, they will die,’ I pointed out and swept past him back to my cabin.
I was not allowed ashore at the Cape although Robert must have trusted me more by then because I was at least allowed my freedom. I sat on deck under a makeshift parasol and watched the supplies being loaded. Bare-chested men with gleaming ebony skin carried boughs of fruit on board. They brought sacks of cornmeal and barrels of palm oil on their heads while I fanned myself regally with an ostrich feather, which I had bought leaning over the side and bartering in sign language with an old Indian man on the dock who seemed fascinated by the whiteness of my arms. While the loading of the ship diverted me, I admit that the views above the bay held my attention more. The flat mountain and the verdant countryside were entrancing. I found it difficult to harbour a grudge in such a setting.
Robert repaired his case and restocked it. He chose grape vines that were delivered in terracotta pots and slotted into the empty spaces under the newly puttied glass.
‘Perhaps,’ he hazarded, ‘we shall start a vineyard or two in China. They make rice wine, you know. And five grain spirit. Now they can try a hand at a decent claret.’
This amused the captain, who had come to stand with us as Robert bedded down the vines and soaked them well.
‘Are you recovered from the storm, madam? My petty officer tells me you were distressed,’ he said.
Before I could answer this Robert stood upright.
‘My sister is now quite recovered,’ he said as if this should end the matter.
Captain Barraclough, however, persisted. ‘I can imagine how frightening such an experience must be for a lady.’
