Rebel Heiress (3 page)

‘Why should I? My dear sir, I have lived with a maiden aunt all my life and when I hear myself cry “fiddlestick!” like her, I could cut my own throat.'

He laughed. ‘We'll have you swearing more heartily before you get to England. Never fear for that. And so to the last point of our agreement. I have a young brother who longs to be in Parliament. When you have come into your own, will you speak to your father for him?'

‘Of course I will.' Warmly. ‘But I beg you will not hope too much from my influence. My father may not choose to acknowledge me. That is the risk I have to take. I cannot wait to write and ask his permission to come, for if war does break out, I shall be caught here.'

Captain Gilbert picked up his hat. ‘No if about it, Miss Marchmont. I am told it is as good as settled in Washington. That is why we sail tonight. I will send for your boxes this evening. And I beg you will bring as little as possible. We carry a full cargo and all you bring must be stored in your own cabin. No need to bring provisions for the voyage; you will dine at my table. I nan best have an eye to you so.'

‘Captain Gilbert, I do not know how to thank you.'

‘Then do not try. I shall regret this piece of madness speedily enough without being badgered by your thanks. And so, I have no doubt, will you, when we meet our first northeaster. Have you ever been to sea before? No? I thought not. Well, don't expect me to nurse you, that's all. You'll just have to sink or swim with the rest of us.' He shook her warmly by the hand and took his leave.

For a moment, after he had gone, she panicked. How could she be ready by evening? Then she pulled herself together. She must be; there was nothing else for it. The rest of her aunt's long-hoarded collection of letters she burned unread on the
dying fire, then quickly began to pack her few possessions in the strong black box that had held the letters. Her aunt had had rigid views about dress, and neither of them had ever had more than two stuff gowns, one for everyday, another exactly similar, but newer, for best. Henrietta packed her best, wondering how its severe lines would look in stylish England. A warm pelisse went to join it — she would wear Aunt Abigail's sable coat. It was not new, and she had to suppress a feeling of revulsion as she remembered how often she had walked meekly behind it to church, but it was good, and she knew she would be glad of it.

This part of her packing was soon finished. Then came the more difficult task of deciding what else to take. A miniature of her father and one of her mother, black-haired, blue-eyed and laughing, were tenderly wrapped in a pair of hand-knit woollen stockings. And, after a pause, the companion portrait of Aunt Abigail joined them. After all, those two were the sum of her American family; they must both come with her on this English venture. Then she turned to her books, which would fill a smaller box. She would be glad of them on the long voyage. Her Bible and her Shakespeare were soon packed, then she paused to consider what else of the family library she should take. Aunt Abigail had always frowned upon reading as a sinful waste of time, and the sight of her niece with a book had been the cue for her to produce some particularly repulsive piece of household mending. Now, Henrietta stood in the neglected little room that had once been her grandfather's study dazzled by the riches before her. To have so much time … She must be able to make the most of it. Boswell's
Life of Dr. Johnson
was an immediate choice: She had never had time to finish it. Her own treasured copies of
Clarissa Harlowe, Evelina
and
Belinda
went to join it: They had given her the only glimpses she had had of life in England. What else would be useful to prepare her for the Old World? The poems of Dryden and Pope, Lord Chesterfield's
Letters to his Son
and finally Burke's
Speeches
completed her little library. She must learn all she could about the complexities of English politics in which her father played so prominent a part.

She was cording the second box when a knock at the door announced the arrival of two red-faced English sailors. Grinning from ear to ear and swearing at each other amicably as they worked, they quickly loaded her boxes on to their hand
barrow. ‘Cap'n said as how you'd have all ready, miss, but us never believed ‘un.'

Departing, they warned her to be aboard by seven o'clock at the latest: ‘Cap'n sails with the tide and never waited yet for man, woman, nor child.'

Henrietta looked at Aunt Abigail's big old-fashioned watch which she had pinned.to the lapel of her dress. It was five o'clock already. She had little enough time. But her farewells were soon said. Calling on Miss Jenkin, she found Miss Cabot with her and was relieved to be spared a visit. As for them, they were struck as near speechless by her news as they were capable of being. ‘To England!' exclaimed Miss Jenkin, and ‘Tonight!' chimed in Miss Cabot. They kept it up so faithfully with exclamation and counterexplanation that Henrietta found no need to explain what her Aunt Abigail had done. Grateful for the necessity of haste, she thanked Miss Cabot again for her kind offer, entrusted to Miss Jenkin the care of her aunt's elderly and repulsive pug dog, kissed them both warmly and left to hurry to Mr. Anderson's house.

To her relief he was at home, and to her still greater satisfaction insisted on accompanying her to the docks.

‘It would be far from seemly for you to be walking through that part of the town in the dark, alone,' he said as he shrugged into his overcoat. ‘Of course I will accompany you and lend what appearance of propriety I can to this venture. For I must tell you, Miss Marchmont, that I have been gravely troubled in spirit about you since we last met and have prayed ceaselessly for guidance. I only trust that what I have done may prove for the best, but indeed this seems a desperate enough undertaking of yours. To be going upon the sea, alone, among a parcel of rough and unruly sailors — and Englishmen at that, who are known the world over for their ribaldry. Miss Marchmont, I wonder whether even at this eleventh hour I should not urge you to turn back.'

‘Dear Mr. Anderson.' She took his arm and encouraged him gently towards his own front door. ‘I beg you will not trouble yourself about me. You have provided me with a most admirable protector in Captain Gilbert. I shall do very well, I promise you.'

But he continued his prophesies of doom all the way to the docks, so that Henrietta was heartily glad to see the
Faithful
at last, looking alarmingly small, at the dockside. Captain Gilbert
was on deck, delivering an impassioned and blasphemous harangue to a group of sailors. Mr. Anderson began to go purple in the face. Henrietta seized his hand and shook it firmly.

‘Mr. Anderson,' she said, ‘I have just remembered something. I believe I forgot to extinguish the fire in Aunt Abigail's — I beg your pardon, in your house. I beg you will lose no time in going to ascertain that all is well. It would be a shocking thing if my last act in this country should be to commit arson.'

He was in agony. How could he leave her alone on the docks? And yet, to lose the house that would be such an improvement in his circumstances … And all the time, Captain Gilbert's stream of language continued unabated. It was truly, Henrietta thought, a virtuoso performance, without a single repetition.

She tried again. ‘Dear Mr. Anderson, I beg you will go. I shall do very well, I assure you. See, here comes one of the ship's officers.'

And indeed what appeared to be a schoolboy was approaching them along the dock, his uniform however proclaiming that he was in fact an officer on the
Faithful
.

‘Miss Marchmont?' He saluted her smartly. ‘Captain's orders, you are to come aboard at once. And no visitors allowed. We sail immediately.' And then, with a complete change of tone: ‘I say, miss, isn't it a lark, your sailing with us? I only hope you won't be too damned — I mean deucedly — uncomfortable.'

Mr. Anderson drew himself up to his full height and swelled out his chest. He was about to make a speech. Henrietta knew the signs all too well and felt that it would be more than she could bear.

‘Mr. Anderson,' she said, ‘I must beg you will go. I feel more and more positive that I left the fire burning and the tinderbox near it. Pray, pray lose no more time, but hurry back there. I should never forgive myself … And I shall do very well with this gentleman.' She took the young officer's arm and let him guide her up the narrow gangplank before Mr. Anderson could do more than bid God to bless her. Pausing once to turn back when she reached the deck, she could see him dodging his way through the crowd with unclerical haste. She turned with a smile to the young officer. ‘I must seem very heartless to part so easily with my last friend.'

He was still young enough to blush. ‘Not a bit of it, Miss Marchmont. We are all to be your friends. Captain's orders. I am Tom Singleton, and very much at your service.'

At that moment there was a furious roar from the stern of the ship where the cargo was still being loaded. ‘Singleton! Goddammit, Singleton, where have you got to?'

‘Oh' — she had not thought his colour could have been higher — ‘I am afraid, Miss Marchmont, I must leave you.'

‘Of course. I shall be very happy to stand here and say goodbye to Boston. We sail at once, you say?'

‘As soon as the cargo is in and the hatches closed. It will be no time now …' An even more furious — and to Henrietta quite unintelligible — roar from astern interrupted him and he turned and left her at a run.

She leaned against the rail of the ship and gazed up at the little town on the hill. Night had closed in now, and here and there a light showed already. Miss Jenkin and Miss Cabot would be sharing their frugal supper. It was Friday. There would be baked beans and brown bread. Oddly enough, this thought brought the first suggestion of tears behind Henrietta's eyes. She had not, she thought dismally, any real friends to leave — her aunt had seen to that. But to leave all one's habits … It was a wrench, there was no doubt about it. On Sunday, the pew would be empty that she had occupied faithfully in King's Chapel ever since she was old enough for silence — and that, in Aunt Abigail's opinion was very young indeed. But this was no time to be remembering her aunt's tyrannies, minor or major. She was free, she was going to England, she was mistress of her fate at last. The thought was a formidable one, and she found herself shivering as she had at the graveside — with cold? with fright? Best not to enquire too closely.

But the chaos on the afterdeck had suddenly cleared itself. There was a new volley of orders from Captain Gilbert on the bridge, and then, miraculously, Henrietta saw the gap between the ship and the dock begin to widen. They were away … she had escaped. It was good-bye, Boston.

Much later, when the stars were all out in brilliant show, and the lights of Boston had dwindled in the distance, Captain Gilbert joined her at the rail.

‘So you got here,' he said. ‘I am sorry not to have welcomed you on board, but you will have seen that I was occupied. Now, I am to lecture you. Tonight is very well; it is natural that you should wish to see the last of your home. But from now on you will be below in your cabin when night falls, and stay there till morning. My crew are a good enough set of men, but they are no saints. I will not have them tempted.

She coloured, grateful for the concealing darkness. ‘I am sorry; it shall not happen again. But to tell truth, I do not know where my cabin is. Mr. Singleton was somewhat pressed for time…'

He laughed. ‘I remember. Well, I will show you to your cabin myself. You will find that we do not stand on ceremony in the
Faithful
.' He led her down a steep companionway into stuffy darkness full of strange smells. One quavering lantern lit their way to the little cabin where Henrietta's boxes had been stowed.

‘I trust you will not feel yourself too much confined,' he said as he left her. ‘My cabin is next door; we will sup there in half an hour.'

This gave Henrietta ample time to stow away as many of her few possessions as the limited accommodation of the cabin would take. The rest would simply have to remain in the two boxes, piled in a corner. She then tidied her hair, added a clean white collar to her dark dress, and knocked timidly on the door of the next cabin. Captain Gilbert greeted her as formally as if she was attending a dinner party on shore and introduced her to his officers, a huge redheaded man called Frank Forster, and a fair-haired Henry Trenchard, who looked almost as young as Tom Singleton.

It was an oddly formal meal, despite the cramped quarters, for Captain Gilbert's cabin was not very much larger than Henrietta's own. Conversation lay mainly between Gilbert
himself and Frank Forster, with Henrietta exerting herself to take at least some part. Luckily for her, Aunt Abigail's iron training held. ‘You will not be thinking of yourself,' her aunt would have said, ‘but of your duty to others.' Through many a long gathering of Boston elders Henrietta had acted on this precept and now she found it of golden use to her. As for the two younger officers, she could not make out whether they were tongue-tied out of deference to her, or to the captain, or both. Either way, she found that their bashfulness gave her courage and before the meal was over she was boldly questioning Captain Gilbert about the chances of war.

‘Chances,' he said, ‘there's no question about it. The resolution is taken by those damned warmongers in Washington. It is merely a matter of days before the declaration is sent. Not that I am surprised, mind you. Our Orders in Council are an iniquitous business — death to trade — should have been repealed long since. No, I don't altogether blame your people for acting on them. It's been a mismanaged business from the start, but you must remember that we have a tiger by the throat in Europe. Boney has kept Government too busy for cool thinking.'