The Sea Between (4 page)

‘I do,’ Isobel said. Her sharp brown eyes fell on Richard and narrowed slightly. ‘What’s your opinion, Captain Steele?’

Richard gave her a blank look. He didn’t really have an opinion. ‘I’ve never given the matter any consideration,’ he answered truthfully.

‘Then it’s high time you did,’ Isobel said.

Richard’s eyes widened in surprise. Isobel had spoken to him as if she were scolding a naughty child. Feeling quite taken aback, he looked away, intending to catch his father’s eye and toss him a look which said in no uncertain terms, ‘You’re right, she
is
bloody rude!’ But instead of catching his father’s eye, his own was caught by Charlotte. She was laughing. Not overtly, but she was laughing all the same. She had covered her mouth with her fingers so no one would see her smile, but she couldn’t cover her eyes and they were twinkling like beacons. Suddenly realizing that Isobel was talking to him again, he swivelled his eyes back in her direction.

‘You might also like to consider, Captain Steele, whether the property laws relating to married women are fair and just. Is it just that, when a woman marries, she is required by law to forfeit any property she owns? That thereafter it becomes the property of her husband—his to manage and control, his to bequeath in his last
will and testament to whomsoever he pleases? To his mistress, if he so chooses? Paraphernalia, clothing and personal ornaments—those are the only possessions a married woman may bequeath in her will, for as the law stands they are all a married woman owns! The rest belongs to her husband. As for the laws in England pertaining to adultery—how anyone can defend the justice in those and maintain that they are fair and equitable is beyond my comprehension. A man may divorce an adulterous wife, but how can a woman divorce an adulterous husband when divorce would leave her penniless? Moreover, adultery alone is usually insufficient grounds for a woman to be granted a divorce. She must prove that her husband has mistreated her, and if she can’t prove it then the law expects her to stay married to him, and to turn a blind eye to the fact that he keeps a mistress. Show me a
man
who’d turn a blind eye in an intolerable situation such as that!’ Her impassioned speech finished, Isobel leaned back in her chair, tightened her mouth, and gave a small nod as if to say, ‘Consider the justice of those things, Captain Steele.’

Richard gave her a long look. He was tempted to present his own views on some of the issues she’d raised, if only to show her that he did have some views on them, but if he did they’d be arguing all night and, given Isobel’s sharp tongue and her indiscriminate use of it, he felt that this was one occasion when discretion was indeed the better part of valour. So he merely said, ‘It wasn’t I who made the laws, Mrs Wyatt. I merely do my best to abide by them. As we all must.’

‘We must indeed,’ Letitia chipped in quickly. ‘Anyway, enough of laws. Tell our guests about some of the other countries you’ve been to, Richard. I know Charlotte has been looking forward to hearing about them.’

Taking his mother’s cue, Richard launched into a rambling
description of the port of Hobart Town. So intent was he on making sure that Isobel did not get on her political soapbox again that he spent the next hour describing one port after another. John interrupted him regularly to ask him questions, and Charlotte asked him one or two; but it was Isobel he was most aware of, sitting on the sofa in her black dress and white lacy cap, silent as a sphinx, watching him with those intelligent brown eyes of hers. He had the distinct feeling that she was playing with him, playing with all of them in fact, making them all sit on the edge of their seat while they waited to see if she would raise another contentious issue. Would she or wouldn’t she? Keeping them guessing.

By ten o’clock, he was starting to feel that it was high time that someone else did some talking. Let the sphinx fix her beady eyes on someone else for a while!

‘Anyway, enough of my sea voyages,’ Richard said and turned to smile at John. ‘My parents and I would like to hear about the encounter with the boar.’

‘Yes, tell them about it, John,’ Isobel prompted.

‘Oh, there’s really nothing much to tell,’ John evaded.

‘Nonsense,’ Isobel said. ‘I’m sure they’ll find the story extraordinarily interesting.’

The look John shot her spoke volumes, but a look was not sufficient to keep Isobel silent.

‘Charlotte killed the boar. Singlehandedly, with a spade.’ Isobel’s thin lips curled into a crooked smile as she looked from face to face, at the Steele family’s stunned expressions. ‘What do you think of that?’

When the Blakes finally left, shortly after eleven, Richard breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. Isobel Wyatt was not only rude, she was
exhausting. It was impossible to relax in her company. God alone knew how her family coped with her.

‘I can see why you warned me about Mrs Wyatt,’ he remarked as he poured two large rums—one for himself and one for his father, who had collapsed in his favourite armchair and looked as if he could use several stiff drinks. His mother was finishing off the last of the tea.

‘John was terribly vexed with her,’ Letitia said. ‘I could tell from his face. I expect he’ll have a few things to say to her on the way home.’

‘I’m sure he will,’ Ben agreed. ‘Not that it’ll make a jot of difference. If Isobel thinks it, she says it, and the devil take the consequences. Damned if I know how John tolerates her. An evening in Isobel’s company is worse than spending an evening sitting bare-arsed on a bed of nettles!’

‘Ben!’ Letitia raised her brows reproachfully, but she couldn’t keep back the smile.

Richard laughed and walked over to hand his father his rum. Given the choice, he’d take the bed of nettles any day. ‘She’s a widow, I presume?’

Letitia nodded. ‘She’s been widowed for over thirty years. In fact, I think she’s been widowed twice.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me. Isobel would drive any man to an early grave,’ Ben said shortly.

‘Ben, that’s a wicked thing to say!’ Letitia raised her brows again.

‘She’d have driven
me
to an early grave,’ Ben returned, unabashed.

‘She has some very strong views about adultery,’ Richard commented. ‘I can’t help wondering if one of her late husbands, or maybe both of them, kept a mistress.’

Ben pulled a sour face. ‘Well, if they did, who could blame them? Poor devils. A man would need some respite from a woman like her.’

Lifting his glass, Richard took a large swig of rum. He closed his eyes, savouring the satisfying heat as it travelled down his throat.

‘How long has she lived with her brother?’

Ben looked at Letitia, frowning. ‘Do you know, Letitia?’ Letitia shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. She’s been living there for a few years, but she didn’t emigrate with them, because she mentioned once that she used to look forward to John’s letters, telling her about New Zealand. I think she probably sailed out after John lost his wife, to help Charlotte with managing the household affairs.’

‘How long has John been a widower, Mother?’ Richard asked.

‘Seven years. I do know that because Charlotte told me she was only fifteen when she lost her mother and she’s twenty-two now.’

Loosening his tie, then the stud in his collar, which had been biting into his neck all evening, Richard went to sit on the sofa where he could sprawl out.

‘I was surprised Isobel came. She doesn’t usually accept our invitations,’ Letitia said.

‘Thank God!’ Ben inserted with feeling. He shook his head. ‘All that talk of women and the law. As if we want to discuss that sort of damned thing when we invite neighbours for supper. As for her telling you it was high time you considered the right of women to vote, Richard—does she think you’ve nothing better to do?’

Richard leaned back, resting his left arm across the back of the sofa. ‘I was sorely tempted to ask her what she thought about the laws pertaining to discipline at sea, then when she admitted she didn’t know the first thing about them, tell her it was high time
she
considered
those
laws.’

Ben laughed. ‘Well, it’s as well you bit your tongue, because, as surely as night follows day, she’d have had an answer for you. I’ve yet to see anyone get the better of Isobel Wyatt.’ He paused to take another sip of rum. ‘You’ll have formed quite a chequered opinion of our neighbours, I imagine.’

Richard shrugged. ‘Isobel aside, the rest of the family seem very pleasant.’

‘Charlotte looked very fetching tonight, I thought,’ Letitia remarked casually.

‘She did. She’s a very handsome young woman,’ Ben agreed.

‘And quite handy with a spade, by the sound of it,’ Richard added.

Ben laughed and shook his head. ‘I’d have liked to hear the full tale, but it was quite obvious that John didn’t want it discussed. I wonder why?’

Letitia stared into her teacup speculatively. ‘Well, it’s a little shaming for Edwin, isn’t it? I mean to say, we all assumed that Edwin had shot the boar. I expect he feels extremely embarrassed by what happened.’

‘Letitia, we don’t know what happened,’ Ben pointed out.

‘No, but one can guess,’ she returned. ‘And it’s my guess that Edwin was attacked by the boar, became incapacitated, and Charlotte ended up having to defend the two of them.’

‘But Edwin wasn’t incapacitated, Mother,’ Richard corrected. ‘The boar ripped his leg and it would have been very painful, but he could have stood on it and he could have swung a spade, too.’

‘Well, maybe he dropped the spade when the boar attacked him, and maybe Charlotte picked it up and killed the boar with it,’ Letitia suggested.

Richard shrugged. ‘Well, whatever the explanation, she showed a lot of courage.’

The three of them fell into a thoughtful silence. Eventually, Ben spoke. ‘That young woman from London, Richard, the one you mentioned last time you were home—you said you’d had dinner with her and her father a few times and walked out with her a time or two—how’s that progressing? Are you thinking of asking her to be your wife?’

Richard smiled at his father. ‘I think I’d be wasting my time. Her cousin proposed to her and she accepted him.’

Ben shook his head and gave a long sigh. ‘It’s time
you
proposed to somebody, Richard. You’ll be thirty soon. It’s time you gave your mother and me some grandchildren.’

Richard tossed his father a wry smile. ‘I thought it was only women who craved grandchildren, Father.’

‘Well, you’re wrong there. Men crave them, too, but for different reasons.’ Ben leaned forward, his face serious. ‘When I die, Richard, everything I possess will be yours, and I’d like to think that in time it’ll pass on to your children. If you don’t produce any heirs, who’ll inherit everything when you die? Some distant damned relative in England, that’s who. Well, I don’t want that to happen! A man doesn’t labour all his life for that.’

Richard lowered his eyes to his glass of rum. He swirled the contents around the sides for a moment, then looked up again and said evenly, ‘I do intend to marry, Father, but I don’t have much opportunity to meet women, let alone court them. You know how seldom I’m ashore.’

‘Well, you’re ashore now,’ Ben said. ‘And there’s a very fine single woman living less than a mile away. Charlotte. She’d make you a first-rate wife, Richard. She’s intelligent, resourceful, and she can look after herself—something your wife will certainly need to be able to do, with you away at sea so much.’

‘She’s also a very pretty young woman,’ Letitia chimed in. ‘If you
don’t snap her up, someone else will. John’s planning on sending her to live with her brother in Lyttelton soon, and she’ll have no shortage of admirers there.’

‘We’d like you to spend some time with her while you’re here.’ Ben fixed a serious eye on him.

Richard gave his father a long look, then raised his glass and swallowed down a mouthful of rum. ‘I’ll give it some thought, Father,’ he said, as he lowered his glass. But his tone made it plain he wasn’t committing himself to doing anything beyond that.

‘Do that,’ Ben said, making it plain from his tone that he expected Richard to do rather more than just think.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Richard leaned over and undid his shoelaces. He pulled off his shoes and pushed them under the bed, then stripped off his socks and tossed them under the cane chair. Frowning, he stared at his bare feet. His mother and father were hoping he’d marry Charlotte—they’d made that crystal-clear. He knew why they were so keen on the idea. Quite aside from the fact that they liked Charlotte, there would be significant advantages in terms of the farm, advantages which his father would be considering. John Blake was a good neighbour, but he’d be an even better one if his daughter was married to his neighbour’s son. His parents probably had it in mind to suggest that Charlotte could move in with them if he married her. That arrangement would please his mother. She’d like nothing better than to have grandchildren running about the house.

Rolling backwards on to the bed, he clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He had to admit that he found Charlotte a very intriguing young woman. She was obviously very intelligent. She hadn’t said a great deal, but it was clear from the
questions she’d asked him about America that she knew more about the country than he did.

He sighed and closed his eyes.

‘So,’ he said aloud. ‘My parents like her, there are advantages in terms of the farm, and she’s quite attractive.’ Were they sufficient reason to court her with a view to marrying her? He thought about it for a few minutes, then with another loud sigh opened his eyes. ‘No, they aren’t,’ he said.

But they were definitely sufficient reason for getting to know her better.

M
iss Blake—Captain Steele is here, asking if he may speak with you,’ Jessie Hall announced from the parlour doorway. ‘You’ll find him outside, in the yard, talking to your father.’

‘Well now, I wonder why Captain Steele wishes to speak to you, Charlotte?’ Isobel remarked tartly.

‘He’s wondering if Miss Blake will accompany him on a ride across the hills,’ Jessie explained. ‘I heard him asking Mr Blake.’

‘I see,’ Isobel said crisply.

‘What do you see, Aunt?’ Charlotte enquired pleasantly, rising to her feet, but not to the bait.

‘The beginning of a courtship. Why else would Captain Steele be inviting you to ride with him?’

To be truthful, Charlotte didn’t much care what had prompted the invitation—it would get her out of the house and, more to the point, away from Isobel. The past two days had been terrible. It had rained almost non-stop and Isobel had been as bristly as a yard broom. To make matters worse, Ann and George had returned to Lyttelton and Sarah had spent most of the time in bed with a cold, with the result that Charlotte had spent two long, wet days cooped up with a bad-tempered aunt and two bored young nephews. She knew very well what was nettling Isobel: she was still simmering like a pot of soup from the row that she and John had had on the way back from the Steeles’. John had been absolutely furious with her. ‘A
rude, ill-mannered old woman!’ he’d called her. ‘An embarrassment to the family!’ Not one to be cowed by strong words, Isobel had sneeringly retorted, ‘And you, John, are a typical male bigot!’ which had only served to add more fuel to John’s fire. The two had barely exchanged a civil word since.

‘Ah, Charlotte!’ John turned a beaming face on his daughter as she emerged from the house. ‘Captain Steele has just arrived. He’s wondering if you’ll join him on his ride. His mother has been telling him what a fine horsewoman you are.’

‘She tells me you ride like the wind,’ Richard said. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t, so you may have to settle for a somewhat slower pace today. Assuming you’re agreeable to accompanying me, that is.’ He smiled, a wide, charming smile which was obviously intended to do just that—charm her.

Well, Charlotte mused, perhaps Isobel is right about Richard Steele. He doesn’t have the look of a man who’s been coerced into doing something against his will.

She smiled back at him. If Richard did have it in mind to court her, she’d no objection at all. He was an interesting man and she liked him. Whether she liked him enough to marry him—assuming that marriage was what he had in mind—only time would tell; but when they’d had supper with the Steeles on Tuesday evening she’d certainly found herself looking at him in a way that she couldn’t recall looking at a man before. He was quite a good-looking man, although good looks, of course, were always a matter of opinion. However, no one could argue with the fact that Richard was well built. And he would weather well. If you must marry, be sure to choose a man who will weather well, Isobel had advised her in one of her regular aunty talks. In Richard’s case, one only had to look at Ben to know how Richard would weather. The two men were like peas in a pod. Although sixty, Ben still had a good head of dark hair, although his sideburns and
moustache had turned grey. The skin around his eyes was scored with lines and he had two very deep lines running down from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth, but he was still quite a good-looking man for his age; still straight-backed, still solid-chested, and still as strong as an ox. Richard had inherited both his looks and his build. He would also one day inherit Ben’s farm.

‘I’d be very pleased to accompany you, Captain Steele,’ she replied and gave him a charming smile of her own. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her father, sporting a smile as wide as a frog’s.

‘I’ve brought a picnic lunch.’ Richard dipped his head towards his bulging saddlebag. ‘I hope you have a good appetite, because my mother has packed enough food to feed a regiment.’

Charlotte glanced at the saddlebag, then at the sky. The sun was shining and it was reasonably warm for September, but the wind was coming from the south and there were one or two smudgy dark clouds hanging about, which might or might not indicate rain in the offing. It was the sort of day when it was difficult to say what the weather would do. September was renowned for its fickle changes.

Reading her thoughts, Richard said, ‘My father seems to think the weather will hold good.’

‘If it doesn’t, there are places where we can shelter,’ she said. If it came to a pinch, she’d much rather be wet outdoors with Richard than dry indoors with Isobel.

‘My daughter knows these hills like the back of her hand,’ John stated proudly. ‘Take Richard up to Shelf Rock, Charlotte—there’s a magnificent view from there.’

‘Yes, I will,’ she said. It was quite a long ride, but what did that matter?

Ten minutes later they were riding across the hills together. A light easterly wind was blowing, making the flush of spring grass ripple like waves. All around, in the valleys and on the hills, ewes were feasting
on the tender new shoots, their fleeces heavy and thick with winter growth. They were due to be shorn. Intermingled with them were the new season’s lambs. At this time of year, the hills rang ceaselessly with their bleats and the answering calls of their mothers.

‘How long has your family lived here, Miss Blake?’ Richard enquired. He glanced across at her and smiled.

‘Eight years,’ she replied.

‘Do you like living here? It’s very isolated.’

‘It is, but I’ve grown used to it,’ she returned. ‘I’ve no great desire to live in a town.’

‘Nor I,’ he agreed.

‘But you have no desire to live on a farm either.’

‘No. My father wanted me to be a farmer, but I had no interest in it.’

‘You’re lucky you were allowed to make your own choices,’ she commented, thinking of her brother Edwin. As the oldest son, it had gone without saying that he’d work on the farm. George, the second son, had been allowed to make his own choice of profession.

Richard shrugged. ‘My father was in a difficult position. When I started insisting that I wanted to go to sea, I was fourteen and my grandfather was still alive. His health was poor, so he was living with us. He’d been the captain of a barque for most of his working life and was delighted that I wanted to follow in his footsteps. It made it very awkward for my father to raise objections, when my grandfather was so strongly in favour of it, particularly as my grandfather had let my father pursue the profession of his choice, breeding cattle. I’ve my grandfather to thank for quite a few things. When he died, seven years ago, he bequeathed me some money and said it was to be used towards the purchase of a vessel. It enabled me to buy the
Nina.
’

‘You’re very fortunate,’ Charlotte remarked. ‘Not everyone’s dreams come to fruition as effortlessly as yours have.’

‘I’ve worked hard for what I have.’

Ignoring the mild rebuke in his voice, she said, ‘I’m sure you have, but there are people who work far harder than you do, whose dreams will never be realized as yours have. Your crew, for instance—I’m sure some of them dream about owning their own ship. But how many will?’

‘Very few,’ he conceded, then added, with a smile: ‘You’ve inherited some of your aunt’s bluntness, I see.’

She laughed. ‘If my aunt were here, she’d challenge you to define the difference between bluntness and honesty.’

‘Why? Does your aunt think they’re the same?’ he asked.

‘No, not at all,’ she said.

‘Then how would she distinguish between the two?’

‘Aunt Isobel says that if people don’t like what they hear, they call it bluntness; and if they do like what they hear, they call it honesty.’

Richard laughed. ‘Well, there’s certainly some truth in that. How would your aunt distinguish between bluntness and rudeness?’

Knowing what he was alluding to, she tossed him an apologetic smile. ‘She doesn’t, I’m afraid.’

Obviously agreeing with her, Richard nodded. ‘Well, despite her abrasive way of speaking, she has some interesting points of view. D’you think many women feel as she does and want the laws changed?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Charlotte replied honestly. ‘I doubt many women feel as strongly as Isobel, but if my aunt is to be believed a growing number of women are petitioning for changes.’

Richard looked at her quizzically. ‘What’s your own opinion? Do you think women should be allowed to vote alongside men?’

She gave a noncommittal shrug as she veered to the left to avoid a boggy patch of ground. ‘It wouldn’t concern me if I never cast a vote; I’m quite content to leave voting to men. But I agree with Aunt
Isobel about the laws relating to divorce and property: they’re very unfair and need to be changed.’ She looked at him, expecting him to disagree, but to her surprise he nodded.

‘Yes, they do appear to be unfair. I’d never considered them until your aunt made such an impassioned speech about them—they’re the sort of thing you only consider when you have a need to. But after your aunt had pointed out all the injustices, I could see that she had a point.’

‘If you tell Isobel that, she’ll have you writing letters to Sir George Grey supporting the case for change,’ Charlotte said.

‘She petitions Sir George Grey?’

‘Regularly. Him and a score of others.’

Richard looked at her in amazement. ‘Does she receive any replies?’

‘Sometimes. Mostly just acknowledgments from clerks. But occasionally she receives a letter from someone influential.’

‘Does Grey reply to her letters?’

She laughed. ‘I think the Governor has better things to do than to reply to my aunt’s epistles.’

They rode on up the valley, still discussing her aunt, until they reached the big stock pond, where they stopped to let the horses drink. Obviously wanting to stretch his legs, Richard walked around the perimeter of the pond, casting his eye over the steep hills that rose up on all sides in deep folds. They were dappled with the shifting shadows of the clouds being chased across the sky by the southerly breeze. Charlotte stayed with the horses, watching him. Even walking around a pond in the middle of nowhere, Richard had an air of command about him. It was as visible as the clothes he wore. He was wearing just a regular jacket today, not his brass-buttoned captain’s jacket, but even in his ordinary jacket one could see at a glance that Richard was a man who was used to exercising authority.

‘Nothing but hills, everywhere you look,’ he said, smiling, as he rejoined her.

‘A change from nothing but sea,’ Charlotte returned. ‘Don’t you get tired of looking at the waves, day in day out?’

‘Tired of the sea?’ He looked at her in surprise, as astonished as if she’d suggested that he might tire of eating or breathing. ‘I’d soon tire of these hills, but I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the sea. The sea is alive. It has power, has moods, presents challenges.’

She cast her eye across the hills, watching the grass moving gracefully in the wind, the tall flax leaves twisting and flapping, catching the sun as they swayed about, the tussock grass with its shredded pale gold tips. The hills too were alive, changing with the seasons, having moods and presenting challenges. They weren’t always benign like they were today. But obviously Richard couldn’t see that. She turned away, reached for the reins, and mounted her mare again.

As they continued along the throat of the valley, Richard began to tell her bits and pieces about his life, describing his childhood and the farm in Sussex where he’d grown up, his school years, and finally his early years at sea.

‘I wanted to join the crew of a whaling vessel, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. I was hoping that my grandfather might take my side, but he was against it too. He said whaling ships were filthy tubs and that it was a dangerous profession, so I joined the crew of the
Mary Jane,
a cargo ship, under Captain Firth. He taught me all I know about sailing. They were good years aboard the
Mary Jane.
’

‘And now you’re captain of your own vessel,’ Charlotte remarked with a smile.

‘Yes, I am,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s what I always aspired to—to own my own vessel.’

They rode on in silence for a while, winding their way up the valley, picking their way around the squelchy patches of ground,
which were plentiful after two days of heavy rain. Eventually, Richard picked up the conversation again, on a different topic altogether.

‘Did you really kill that boar with a spade?’

She nodded. She wasn’t in the least surprised that he was asking her about it. Isobel had well and truly let the cat out of the bag about how the boar had died, but John had made quick work of closing the bag again. He’d simply changed the subject, leaving the Steeles in something of a vacuum regarding the finer details.

‘Where was your brother? Why didn’t he kill it? Had he passed out?’

She shook her head. ‘Edwin was higher up the hill. He was in an outcrop of flax bushes. The boar had slashed his leg, and he was trying to make his way down to me.’

Richard’s eyes widened visibly. ‘You mean you were alone when the boar attacked you?’

‘Yes.’

He stared at her, looking quite stunned, then said hesitantly, ‘I know it’s none of my business, but when you and your brother rode into the yard I couldn’t help noticing that you appeared to have argued. Your brother looked furious with you and you looked furious with him.’

‘He thought I’d been reckless.’ She turned to meet his eyes, interested to see his reaction to the rest of her account. ‘The boar didn’t attack me, you see. It attacked Edwin’s dog, Duke. Duke had gone for the boar, trying to save my life, but the boar savaged him. He was badly injured and I knew that the boar would attack him again and finish him off unless I did something. So I picked up the spade and…well, the rest you know.’

Richard stared at her again, at a complete loss for words.

Eventually, it was she who broke the silence. ‘Tell me, do
you
think I was reckless?’ It was hard to tell from his face what he thought.

He nodded. ‘Yes, I think you were very reckless. And also very plucky.’