Trade Wind (17 page)

“We held a memorial service,” sobbed Aunt Abby, clasping the other hand. “Oh, if only I could feel sure that this isn’t a dream and that I shall wake up and find it isn’t true!”

“Your hair—” gasped Cressy between tears and laughter. “Hero why? Oh honey, your poor face…You look as though you had been in a battle. Does it hurt real bad? Weren’t you terrified? How did it happen? And to think that it was Dan—I mean the
Daffodil
—that found you.”

“It wasn’t. Well, not exactly…’ Miss Hollis hesitated and looking at her uncle took a deep breath and said resolutely: “I think, Uncle Nat, that I had better tell you at once that I was picked up by a ship called the
Virago
.”

“The
Virago
?” exclaimed the Consul sharply, “you mean that blackguardly slave ship? But I thought—”

He swung round to glare at Lieutenant Larrimore who shrugged and said resignedly: “Yes, I’m afraid that is so, sir. It was Frost’s ship that picked up your niece when she fell overboard, and the reason that she came ashore in my charge was because I had occasion to stop and search the
Virago
this morning off Chuaka Head, and discovered your niece to be on board. We decided…that is, Frost suggested…that in view of his—er—reputation in these parts, it might save Miss Hollis embarrassment if we let it be supposed that she had been found clinging to a spar and been picked up by my ship.”

“He did, did he?” growled the Consul. “Then I guess he must have a few good feelings left, after all. I’m obliged to him. But it won’t work out: his men are bound to chatter.”

“It is plain that you do not know Rory Frost, sir,” said the Lieutenant wryly. “Those men of his are closer than oysters when it suits them.”

“And your own. Lieutenant?”

“I will answer for mine, sir. I have explained the situation to them and they will not talk. The only thing that worries me is why Frost should have suggested such a thing in the first place, for it’s not like him.”

Hero shook out her crushed skirts and said crisply: “There I cannot agree with you. I imagine that it is his own reputation that he is concerned about and not mine at all. It stands to reason that men engaged in illegal traffics can have little reason to trust each other, and I daresay if it were known that the Consul’s niece had occupied a cabin on the
Virago
for ten days, and then been returned in safety to her uncle, some of Captain Frost’s more dubious associates might suspect him of playing a double game. For myself, however, I am quite prepared to tell the truth, because—”

An agitated outcry from her aunt interrupted her: “Oh, no dear! On no account! You cannot
possibly
know that man’s reputation. I do not mean just slaves. He is a
shocking
libertine. Why, there was Mrs Hallam who…and an unfortunate girl from Mozambique (a missionary’s daughter, too! quite dreadful) and that Frenchwoman, what was her name? who ran away from her husband and then tried to poison herself when he took up with a half-caste dancer from Mombasa, and—”

“Mrs Hollis!” bellowed the Consul, scandalized.

“Oh goodness!…of course…I-I guess one shouldn’t mention such creatures. But when one
knows
Well, you can see what people would say if it were known that Hero had spent ten days in his company. It would not do at all. People are so-so…”

Aunt Abby broke off with a fluttering, helpless gesture of her small plump hands, and her husband said impatiently: “Yes, yes, we all fully understand the situation and if we are to accept this version—and I reckon we should—we had better agree on what is supposed to have occurred.” He turned to glare at the Lieutenant and added: “
You’re
the one who’ll have to think up the answers to that!”

“I know, sir,” concurred the Lieutenant without enthusiasm, “and all I can suggest is that we say that her recollection of the whole affair is extremely vague, but that she must have remained afloat with the aid of some piece of wreckage for several hours until a providential wave flung her aboard my ship, and that owing to shock, exposure and severe bruising she was unable to answer questions for several days. That will account for the delay in bringing her to Zanzibar, and should serve to satisfy the curious.”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Aunt Abby. “One does not like to tell deliberate falsehoods, but right now I can’t help feeling that we are justified in—in—”

“In telling deliberate falsehoods,” said Hero bleakly. “I guess so. And now, please, if you will show me to my room, Aunt, I will see if I cannot do something towards improving my appearance.”

Escorted by all three ladies, none of whom felt able to let her out of their sight, she was swept up to a cool white bedroom that looked out upon a garden full of flowers and trees, where there was the luxury of unlimited fresh water to wash in. But it was disconcerting to discover that her uncle having decided that her luggage had better be returned to Boston, her trunks were still on board the
Norah Crayne
; for barely ten minutes later Clayton had arrived, breathless from running, and hammered impatiently on the door demanding to see her immediately. This being out of the question until she had something better to wear than that dreadful dress, he had been forced to kick his heels downstairs while Mrs Fullbright left to arrange for the trunks to be sent from the ship, and Cressy helped her cousin out of the much mended black poplin, poured hot water and demanded answers to an endless stream of excited questions.

The luggage had arrived within the hour, but it was midday before Hero descended to the drawing-room. And though a careful application of calamine lotion had been unable to do more than minimize the spotted effect produced by a dozen mosquito bites and tone down that distressing bruised eye and jaw, a very creditable transformation had been wrought Freshly ironed folds of black sarsenet spread demurely over a crinoline whose hoops, though moderate, served to emphasize the slenderness of Hero’s waist while drawing attention to her admirable proportions, and her short-cropped hair, newly washed and freed from the stickiness of salt water and the sweat of die hot nights, curled about her head in a childish manner that was reminiscent of the style made fashionable earlier in the century by such beauties as Madame Récamier and the Lady Caroline Lamb.

The effect of those curls was undeniably frivolous and Hero regretted the dignity of that heavy chignon. But studying herself in the glass she was not too dissatisfied with her appearance, and had been able to go down to meet Clayton feeling slightly more like the stately Miss Hollis who had embarked on the
Norah Crayne
y and less like the bedraggled castaway who had arrived that morning on a ship with a reputation, like that of her Captain, that did not bear investigation.

9

Clayton had not been alone, and Hero could only feel thankful for it, since she was a little uncertain as to how she should greet him. Their last meeting had been an emotional one and she was not entirely sure what she had said, or how far she had committed herself But fortunately Aunt Abby and Uncle Nat, Cressy, Amelia and Lieutenant Larrimore had all been in the drawing-room; together with Captain Fullbright, who had leapt forward to wring her hand and offer gruff but heart-felt congratulations.

Hero replied to him politely but at random, for looking past his shoulder at Clayton, she was startled by the expression on that handsome, Byronic face.

Clay was standing stock still, staring at her with an unflattering mixture of shock, dismay and outraged incredulity, and it was instantly obvious that owing to the general turmoil no one had remembered to warn him that his love was not in her customary looks. Hero’s heart sank while the colour rose painfully to her cheeks, but he recovered himself almost immediately and came quickly to meet her, both hands outstretched:

“
Hero
—Oh, my dear!”

He brushed past Captain Fullbright, brusquely interrupting the older man’s congratulations, and grasping her hands lifted them and kissed them passionately: “I can’t believe it!” said Clay emotionally: “We had given up all hope. They told us that there was no chance of your surviving in such a sea, and I thought I should go out of my mind!”

Hero looked down at his bent head and then above it at the other faces in the green-shuttered, white-walled room. At Uncle Nathaniel blowing his nose to disguise his feelings, Captain and Mrs Fullbright radiating relief, Cressy and Aunt Abby smiling with wet eyes and Lieutenant Larrimore looking carefully at nothing. There was something in the Englishman’s expression—something that she had no time to define—that deepened the hot colour in her face and made her suddenly aware of embarrassment and a new and entirely unfamiliar feeling of panic.

She had always hated to be touched and Clay knew it. But she could not snatch her hands away, because that would only wound him. It was her own fault for meeting him like this—in public and under the watching eyes of strangers. She should have seen him at once and alone, and not kept him waiting, for naturally he would be shocked at the change in her appearance, and it was only the effect of that shock that was driving him to behave in so emotional and possessive a manner in front of all these people. But they were not betrothed. Or were they? Clay ought not…

Hero glanced again at Lieutenant Larrimore, but the Englishman was no longer looking at nothing. He was looking at Cressy, and that carefully blank expression that had so disconcerted her had gone from his face. She could not even remember why it should have disturbed her, and when Clayton lifted his head and smiled at her she thought, as she had thought so often before in the days when he had been courting her,
How handsome he is!

It was going to be very pleasant after all—beginning all over again and getting to know each other once more as two quite different people: older and more adult people. Relief welled up in her, and with it a heady feeling of excitement; and forgetting the barely healed cut on her lip she laughed aloud and gaily. And instantly regretted doing so, for it had been exceedingly painful—and not only to herself. The smile vanished from Clayton’s face and he dropped her hands and stepped back as swiftly as though she had struck him. But having started to laugh she found that she could not stop, and she clapped her hands over her mouth as much to stifle her unfortunate mirth as to protect her lip from splitting again.

Everything had gone awry, and this was not in the least how she had visualized her arrival in Zanzibar and her meeting with Clayton. She had thought and dreamt and planned for it so long, but now Clay’s hurt, shocked face and Aunt Abby’s horrified one, the unmistakable embarrassment of the naval Lieutenant and all the alarming and improbable happenings of the past ten days and the last four hours suddenly and for no reason at all struck her as wildly funny, and she laughed and gasped and laughed again, and could not stop.

“She’s hysterical,” cried Aunt Abby agitatedly. “Hero honey, now do stop. Cressy—the hartshorn! Now, now, dear, we all understand how you feel. Clay, fetch a glass of water—and my smelling salts! It’s just nerves.”

“No, it’s not,” gasped Hero, subsiding on to the sofa. “Oh mercy! now I’ve split my lip again. Clay, do stop looking like that. I know it isn’t funny, but if only you could have seen your face when you saw me! You looked so h-horrified. And so s-shocked when I laughed. I didn’t mean to laugh, but I couldn’t help it because suddenly it all seemed so absurd…all of you d-dressed in deep m-mourning and holding a m-memorial service for me, and then seeing me walk in alive and looking like a—a disorderly Billingsgate doxy!”

Lieutenant Larrimore was betrayed into a grin, and Aunt Abby, who had never heard of Billingsgate and certainly never met a doxy, said: ” Really, Hero! I cannot think where you can have picked up such a dreadful expression!”

“From Captain F-Frost,” giggled Hero, staunching a trickle of blood from her lip with a vast bandana handkerchief gallantly proffered by Thaddaeus Fullbright.

“
Frost
?” exclaimed Clayton, thunderstruck. “Did you say Frost?”

“He s-said that was what I looked like, and as soon as I s-saw your face I knew he had been right. I guess I should have w-worn a b-bonnet and veil, and b-broken it to you gently. I’m so sorry. Clay. I wasn’t laughing at you. Truly I was not It’s just that it was so funny. Do I look like a disorderly doxy?”

A chorus of indignant protests answered her, and Captain Fullbright observed heartily that she looked just about wonderful to him: “A sight for sore eyes, ma’am. And I know Mrs Fullbright, who has been blaming herself for it all, will agree with me. It is a miracle that you’re alive, and what are a few cuts and bruises against that? They’ll heal soon enough and you won’t be a mite the worse. And now, if you ladies will excuse us, Mrs Fullbright and I’ll be getting back to the ship. We sail tomorrow morning on the tide.”

Lieutenant Larrimore recollected urgent business at the British Consulate and left with them; though reluctantly and with a glance at Cressy that immediately recalled to Hero’s mind the comments that Captain Thaddaeus had once made on the score of Cressy’s interest in the Englishman. But either the Captain had been mistaken or else the boot was on the other foot, for Cressy had shown only the barest civility towards the Lieutenant, and her acknowledgement of his farewells as he took his leave was noticeably cold and distant.

The door had barely shut behind him when Clayton turned swiftly on Hero and said in a hard grating voice that she had never heard him use before: “What was that about Frost? Where did you meet the man? How did he come to say such an outrageous thing to you?”

“What outrageous thing?” said Hero, bewildered.

“You said five minutes ago that he had described you as a—as a disorderly doxy,” said Clayton angrily, “and I should like to know how in tarnation he had the opportunity to do so?”

“Why, on the
Virago
, of course. Didn’t they tell you?”

Aunt Abby said faintly: “It was Captain Frost who rescued her, Clay dear, not—”

“Frost! But she arrived here with Larrimore. It was Larrimore who brought her back. She was on the
Daffodil
, Joe Lynch told me—he saw them arrive. He was—”