An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (23 page)

And yet she could do nothing but stand there with turmoil all around her, small and insignificant in a world of hurrying and purposeful men. As if something of the intensity of her feelings communicated itself to Rodney, he turned and walked over to where she stood. Ignoring Don Miguel, he spoke only to her.

“We are for home,” he said.

The gladness in his own face found an echo in hers. “You have achieved all you set out to do,” she answered thinking only of him.

He looked across the sea, then at the
Sea Hawk,
and then back to the wide decks and the rich ornamentation of the Santa Perpetua.

“I shall not be ashamed to sail into Plymouth,” he said, and there was a smile on his lips.

“I shall be proud – exceedingly proud – to be with you,” Lizbeth told him in a voice deep with emotion.

For a moment Rodney looked at her. His eyes seemed to search her face as if wordlessly he asked her a question; and then, before he could speak, Don Miguel interrupted them.

“How many days will it take, do you think?” he asked.

It was an ordinary question and yet somehow Lizbeth felt as if it were a sword thrust between her and Rodney. She could not explain why, but she knew that something beautiful and intangible had been shattered by that careless enquiry.

Rodney did not answer for a moment. He looked at Don Miguel and his eyes darkened.

“Soon enough, Señor, as far as you are concerned,” he said and turned and walked across the deck.

Don Miguel shrugged his shoulders. He thought Rodney merely rude, which indeed he had been, but Lizbeth knew there was more to it than that.

She made an excuse to Don Miguel and went below to her cabin. There she sat down on her bunk and stared at the burnished metal mirror which hung on the wall opposite. Her small, straight nose was powdered with freckles and her skin had turned faintly golden where it had been exposed to the sun. She thought then that such traces of the voyage could easily be hidden by paint and powder. But nothing could change or disguise the feelings which lay within her heart and which had not been there when the voyage started.

She loved Rodney. She felt herself quiver at his approach. She felt her whole body yearn for him as he stood near to her so that it was hard to hold her feelings in check and keep him from guessing her secret. She thought now that she would die of shame if he were to learn that she loved him.

It was Phillida to whom he was betrothed and she wondered how she could bear to treat him as a brother in-law for the rest of her life. He and Phillida could he married as soon as they wished. The cargo of the two ships would be sold and after the prize money had been awarded, the shareholders would receive the rest. Rodney’s share of the prize awards and his part as a shareholder would come to a truly magnificent sum.

Yes, he and Phillida could be married, and she, Lizbeth, would be left behind at Camfield to bear the ill-humour of Catherine and the miseries of Francis. Phillida talked of going into a Nunnery, but Lizbeth knew that such wild ideas had not the least likelihood of fulfilment.

No, Phillida would marry Rodney whether she wished it or not. Perhaps, when she was married, she would forget her yearning for religion and settle down and be content with the task of being a wife and mother.

With a little sob Lizbeth put her face in her hands – she wanted to bear Rodney’s child, she wanted to belong to him as a woman belongs to a man. She wanted to feel the strength of his arms around her again; and then, as she remembered how fiercely he had held her, she felt the tears trickle through her fingers. Even brutal kisses were better than no kisses at all. She wanted him at that moment until her whole body ached.

How long she sat in her cabin she did not know, but after a long while she heard the ship’s bell strike and knew it was nearly time for supper. For the first time since she had left England she longed for the voyage to be over. This suffering within herself was too much to be borne long. It was best for her to be home to be somewhere she could if only for a few moments, forget Rodney and what he meant to her.

She was to think the same thing not once, but a hundred times in the next thirty days. They sailed across the Caribbean Sea without incident, watered at Dominica as they had done on the way out, and then set sail for the Canary Islands.

The men were all excited at the thought of returning home and. though Rodney’s moods were changeable. He was on the whole good-tempered and pleasant. Lizbeth should have enjoyed herself but instead she was torn by conflicting feelings which were at war within herself. It was a bitter-sweet happiness to be with Rodney, to watch him and to hear his voice and yet to know that his feelings for her were no deeper than those of an ordinary friendship – a friendship such as he might have accorded to Francis if he had come on this voyage as Sir Harry had commanded It was misery to listen to Don Miguel’s protestations of love to know that he was desperately unhappy and to realise that every mile nearer home was a mile nearer to a prison for him. If she had had something to occupy her time. Lizbeth felt that the voyage might have passed more easily. As it was, she could only think and feel and suffer, and pray that this torture would soon be at an end.

She grew pale and unable to eat and her eyes seemed too large for her small face; and although Rodney insisted on her drinking some of the rich wine that was brought to the table for every meal, it did her no good and she could not tell him what was the real cause of her frailty.

The Canaries were seen by the look-out two hours before dusk. Rodney set all possible sail on the
Santa Perpetua
so as to get her in the shelter of the cliffs before night. They watched for the sight of any Spanish ships, but the seas were deserted.

“Luck is with me,” Rodney boasted. “We are in need of water and I should have been sorry to pass the islands without calling there.”

He was speaking to Lizbeth and Master Gadstone who were both standing beside him on the quarter-deck.

“The Spaniards must find them as convenient as we do,” Master Gadstone remarked.

“That is true enough,” Rodney answered. “I expected to see half a dozen galleons as we came over the horizon. Maybe our Spanish guest was praying for the sight of a red and yellow pennant,” he added a little unkindly.

Lizbeth started. Rodney’s words had given her an idea. Slowly, so as not to betray her haste, she walked across the deck to where Don Miguel was standing, his hand on the rigging, looking out towards the islands. She felt instinctively that Rodney frowned at her as she went, but for once she did not care.

She reached Don Miguel’s side and saw by the expression in his eyes and the droop of his lips that he was depressed and sad.

“Those are the Canary Islands,” she said in a voice loud enough for Rodney and Master Gadstone to hear. Then in a voice almost beneath her breath she asked, “Can you swim?”

There was a sudden tenseness about Don Miguel which told her that he understood the reason for her question.

“Yes, I can.”

“Well?”

“ Well enough.”

“They are going to water our ships there,” Lizbeth said, aloud, still pointing. “Be ready any time after dark,” she whispered.

It was dangerous to say more. She turned back and walked towards Rodney who was watching the wind in the sails, his face preoccupied, and she did not speak to him again.

Dusk was falling as they weighed anchor in the same place as on their outward voyage. Water casks were got ready to be filled at dawn and then the ship’s crew watched for the
Sea Hawk
to come alongside them.

Supper was served as soon as Rodney was free to leave the deck. Lizbeth tried to chat brightly and easily both to him and Don Miguel. The latter she knew was on edge and she was half afraid that Rodney would guess the reason. Supper seemed an interminable meal as course succeeded course and the goblets were filled with wine again and again.

The food was not as good as it had been when they were cruising down the Darien coast, but there was fresh fish caught that very day and the salt pork which was carried aboard the
Santa Perpetua
was superior in every way to what Rodney had bought at Plymouth.

When the meal was finished, the guard was waiting outside the door to escort Don Miguel to his cabin on deck and lock him in for the night. He had not used the inside cabin since Rodney had taken command of the ship.

“Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Señor.”

Don Miguel bowed to Rodney and then to Lizbeth. There was a meaning in his eyes which belied the words and she prayed then that she would not fail him. She stayed on in the cabin talking to Rodney for a little while and at length she rose to say good night and saw him, before she left, moving to his own quarters.

She waited for a moment outside the cabin. There was a light from several lanterns, but the shadows were deep and mysterious. When she was sure that Rodney was safely behind a closed door, she hurried as swiftly as she could towards Don Miguel’s cabin.

The guard was one of the seamen whom she knew quite well by sight. He was leaning against the door post, his arms folded, a look of boredom on his face. There was music coming from the fo’c’sle and Lizbeth guessed that he wished he could be there, singing or playing cards with the other men.

She hurried up to him with the air of one who carries an important message.

“The Captain has dropped a chart on the quarter-deck,” she said. “He asks you to take a lantern, search for it, and take it to him immediately in his cabin.”

“Aye, aye, sur.” the seaman answered in the slow, soft voice of a country man which he had never lost despite years at sea; and then he glanced towards the cabin door. “Oi be on guard, ye know, zur.”

“ Yes, I know,” Lizbeth replied. “I told the Captain I would take your place.”

“Thank ’eye, Zur.”

The seaman reached up, unhooked a lantern and ran up the companion-way to the quarter-deck. It was now a question of seconds, as Lizbeth knew well. She moved swiftly to the cabin door, having already noted that the key was in the lock. She turned it quickly and then the door was open and Don Miguel stood there. They could hardly see each other in the darkness, but she felt his arms go round her, felt the pressure of his lips against hers.

“Thank you, my love, my life,” he whispered before, with a swiftness she could hardly believe possible, he had sped across the deck and dived into the sea.

She heard the splash as he reached the water and then one of the sentries gave a shout. It was answered by another on the other side of the ship.

“Man overboard! Man overboard!”

The seaman with the lantern came running down the companion-way.

“What be a-happenin’, zur?”

The question died on his lips as he saw the open cabin door. He must have guessed what had happened or he may have seen Don Miguel himself as he dived overboard. After that it seemed to Lizbeth that everything became incoherent. Men were shouting and running about the decks. As she knew only too well, few of them could swim and the few who could waited for definite orders before going after the escaped prisoner.

By the time Rodney had been fetched from his cabin Don Miguel had a good start.

“What has happened? I do not want all of you to speak at once,” he said sharply as a babel of sound arose. “Master Gadstone, perhaps you will explain?”

Gadstone had come running up only a few moments before Rodney himself and knew only one important fact.

“The prisoner has gone, sir.”

“Who? de Suavez?” Rodney asked, and then saw the open cabin door and the men crowded round it.

It took him only a few moments to get the facts from the seaman who had been on guard. There was no need to ask Lizbeth what had happened. Her face betrayed her and after one look at her Rodney realised what she had done.

He looked out into the blackness of the night which lay all around them.

“Nothing can be done tonight,” he said. “If we have time tomorrow, we will look for him; but I doubt if we shall find him again.”

He turned as he spoke to walk back to his cabin. He did not command Lizbeth to follow him, but she did so. In the light of the candles she could see his face grim and set and for a moment she was afraid of him physically. He stood waiting and it was with a tremendous effort that she forced her eyes to meet his.

“You let him go,” Rodney said.

It was a statement, not a question. Lizbeth nodded. She felt somehow she could not explain to Rodney what she felt about Don Miguel. For one thing, he would not understand. He was used to hardship and he would only despise a man who could find the hardships of prison intolerable.

“You loved him?”

Rodney’s question took her completely by surprise. She had expected a tirade against her for being a traitor, but not this simple question. She was thankful she could answer him truthfully.

“No. I did not love Don Miguel,” she answered, “but I was sorry for him. He was young and vulnerable. Now he will get back to Spain to his family.”

“You loved him!”

There was both accusation and contempt in the words.

“If I had, I might have gone with him,” Lizbeth replied.

She saw a startled look in Rodney’s face and the astonishment in his eyes; then suddenly an anger that she had not felt before seemed to well up within her.

“Can you not be content with what you have got already without wanting more?” she asked. “You could have been generous and put him ashore as you put those native men who had been ill-treated. But you wanted to drag him back to England for your glorification. You wanted to flaunt your conquest. Well, you have enough without him. He is only a boy, for all that he bears a great name and owns great possessions. You have taken so much from him already, that you could at least leave him his life.”

Still Rodney stood staring at her. Then before he could answer her, before he could say anything, Lizbeth stamped her foot and her hair flew around her face in the candlelight.

“I think I hate you!” she cried, and as her voice broke on a sob she ran from the cabin, slamming the door behind her.