Six Weeks by the Sea, page 5
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The drawing room at Oxton House was a chamber of severe elegance, its lofty windows affording a fine view of the garden, but its atmosphere was, on this occasion, oppressively heavy. Mrs. Swete, her formidable figure stiffly erect in an armchair upholstered in sage-green damask, gazed upon her son with an expression of mingled disdain and incredulity. The Reverend Mr. Swete, seated by the fire with his hand resting on his walking stick, appeared more pensive than angry, though his countenance betrayed a degree of concern.
Their firstborn William stood before them with an air of resolute calm, looking slightly flushed from the exertions of his earlier play on the beach. The child in question was, mercifully, not present, having been left in the care of her governess at their lodgings. Yet her shadow hung heavily over the room, as though her small figure occupied every corner of it.
‘Well, William,’ began Mrs. Swete, her voice sharp, imperious, ‘we are waiting. Who, pray, is this child with whom you have seen fit to make a public spectacle of yourself upon the sands? Do not think to prevaricate, for the truth is already half-exposed.’
William’s jaw tightened, but he remained composed. ‘The child, madam, is my daughter.’
‘Your what?’ Mrs. Swete’s voice rose to a pitch of incredulity, her usually pale features acquiring a mottled hue. ‘You dare to claim her as your daughter? And what, pray, is the mother’s name? Some woman of Antigua, no doubt – a creature of no breeding, no refinement, and, I presume, no lawful connection to yourself.’
‘Maria was a woman of Antigua, it is true,’ replied William steadily, ‘and a slave, as were her parents before her. She bore me a daughter, and in doing so she gave me new life. My Leah is now all that remains of her mother, and I have resolved to give her a place in the world befitting her innocence and worth.’
‘A slave’s child? You would bring such a stain upon the Swete name – upon my name? The daughter of a creature scarcely human?’
‘Amelia,’ interjected the Reverend Swete in a mild but firm tone, ‘let us not descend into such language. The child is here, and she is innocent. Whatever may be the circumstances of her birth, she cannot be held accountable for them.’
Mrs. Swete turned upon her husband with a look of astonishment. ‘John, you cannot mean to condone this! A bastard child of the colonies, brought to England, introduced into society under our name? I shall not endure it!’
‘I am not asking you to endure anything, madam,’ said William, his voice rising slightly but still controlled. ‘I ask only that you do not condemn an innocent child for the sins of her father, if sins they must be called. She is my daughter, and I love her. If that is an offence, then let it be mine alone.’
The Reverend Swete leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. At last he said, ‘William, you have erred, but you have also shown a strength of character in seeking to make amends. The child, whatever her parentage, is part of our family, and I shall not turn her away.’
‘John!’ Mrs. Swete exclaimed, her voice trembling with outrage. ‘You cannot be serious! This affront – this humiliation – it will be the ruin of us!’
‘I think not,’ replied her husband quietly. ‘I think it is, rather, an opportunity for us to show Christian charity.’
Mrs. Swete rose abruptly, her lace cap trembling with the violence of her indignation. ‘Christian charity? This is more than I can bear. You may do as you please, John, but I shall not stay to witness it and that child will not enter this house while I am the mistress of it.’
She swept from the room, her skirts rustling with righteous fury, and did not stop until she reached her bedchamber, where she declared herself indisposed and would stay for the rest of the day.
William, though shaken, turned to his father with gratitude in his eyes. ‘Thank you, sir. I feared I would find no ally here.’
The reverend sighed heavily. ‘Your mother will come round in time, I hope. But, William, take care – this path you have chosen is not without its trials. You must be prepared to face them, for your sake and hers.’
‘I am prepared,’ said William firmly. ‘For her, I would face the world.’
And with that, the father and son sat in silence, the weight of the moment pressing upon them both.
* * *
After the cliff walk, Parker proposed another expedition, this time to Shaldon to see the famous Amazonian Sirens, so within two days they were out together again. To avoid the evil of interlopers, the captain had suggested the party be confined to at most a snug half-dozen. Since Mrs. Austen was in bed with a cold, and therefore staying at home with her husband, in her place he had suggested Mrs. Honeychurch, proprietress of the circulating library, could act as chaperone. This sensible, genteel woman who had befriended Miss Jane and the family, as patrons of the circulating library and being so fond of novels, had agreed. It would be a pleasure to accompany the young ladies, and the two captains, she said. Her eldest daughter could take care of the library in her absence, so Sidmouth would not suffer without her.
They had a very fine day for the visit and after a long drive to Teignmouth, they awaited the ferry to carry them over to the village of Shaldon – to be conveyed by the celebrated women rowers, whose menfolk fished in Newfoundland all summer, leaving them to provide for their families. As well as ferrying people and provisions back and forth, often in dangerous weather, the women fished for oysters and salmon.
‘How do you do? exclaimed a familiar voice with delight at seeing the young people. It was the Reverend Swete on his donkey. ‘Another glorious morning, and I see you feasting your eyes on our rowers – you will see how the female inhabitants of this salutary and piscaine shore, from being accustomed to draw their subsistence in nets from the bosom of the ocean, have acquired all that firmness of tone in their bodies and that intrepidity of mind peculiar to the sons of Neptune (with a bow to the captains) – shooting their seams, rowing and navigating their boats with as much dexterity and spirit as any British tars.’
The reverend was in full flight again, turning serious to regale the party with a disaster that had recently befallen the Shaldon women, in which three of four sisters had perished while supplying a privateer, the Bellona, with a cargo of smuggled spirits, an event he had borne witness to. A strong gust of wind had capsized the ship and it had sunk perpendicular to the bottom of the ocean.
‘I was sat at table in full view of her and was admiring her beauty, and with what velocity she flew through the waters, when in an instant, she was struck, her port holes filled with water, and down she went. I never felt as at that moment in my life – I even now shudder in the relation, infandum piaget renovare dolorem!… the piercing cries of the people on the shore, who lamented a father, husband, sister or brother were almost beyond conception, distressful. Only one half was saved, the others being in a state of intoxication between the decks – miserably perished – and only one sister rescued. Now I am done with this melancholy tale. Good day to you.’
He trotted away on Joseph, his satchel and paints slung over his back, leaving Jane to muse on the sisters who had lost their lives and the one that had survived and been left behind. How could she bear such a loss?
As the ferry approached, the party observed the strapping Sapphos up close, bronzed and muscular, dressed in britches, naked from feet to knees, and wearing straw bonnets of uncouth shapes tied on their heads. Captain Parker was the first to speak. ‘I must admit, Miss Jane, I had not anticipated such a sight upon my arrival at the ferry. These women – so strong and sure of their course – put me in mind of the boldest mariners I have ever encountered. What a contrast they present to the delicate creatures of society.’
‘Indeed, Captain,’ she replied, with a laugh, ‘I confess, the notion of a woman wielding an oar with such vigour does somewhat o’erturn the usual expectations of femininity. One might almost be led to think them the very picture of a sea captain rather than the good wives of a Devonshire village.’
‘You are not wrong, Miss Jane. One might even fancy that these ladies, rather than tending to the dainty arts of embroidery and pianoforte, might be better suited to navigating the very seas themselves. I imagine they could give any British tar a run for his money.’
‘Oh, I am sure of it. If it were not for their, shall we say, unconventional manner of dress, one might suppose them some sort of naval officers in disguise. Such independence of spirit! They are, assuredly, women of the most engaging fortitude and temper – qualities not always appreciated in our own sex, I fear.’
‘So you are not averse to the idea of women showing themselves as capable as men – perhaps even in matters of the heart as much as the oar?’
‘Captain, I believe that women are as prone to folly as men, and as capable of serious judgement when the occasion demands it. As for these Sapphos, I have no doubt their hearts and hands are equally steadfast, though perhaps with less concern for the propriety of their demeanour than might be deemed fitting in polite society.’
‘And perhaps, Miss Jane, that is just what makes them worthy of admiration. After all, is it not the bold and the strong who ought to command our respect, regardless of whether they sit at the bow or the stern?’
With this flourish, he handed the three women into the first boat. Mrs. Honeychurch, who had been discomposed by the talk of Sapphos, was glad the conversation, lacking in the necessary degree of propriety, had come to an end. She asked nervously if the weather was set fair. Parker assured her that indeed it was, but Jane noticed a shadow flicker across Frank’s face as he surveyed the horizon.
The sea was as smooth as glass on the short crossing to Shaldon, a pretty seaside village of tightly packed fishermen’s cottages along narrow streets and winding back lanes, surrounded by rolling hills. On seeing the heavy fishing nets laid out to dry, Jane wondered how many women it would take to cast them.
‘Why, this is just the place for retired admirals and captains,’ said Frank. ‘Close as it is to the sea and its three fine shipyards.’
Captain Parker, energised by the sight of the yards and the Shaldon Sapphos, was of a sudden in high spirits. He drew Jane to one side and whispered a remark that caused her colour to rise. As Cassie and Frank came near, the captain clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
‘How much I am obliged to you,’ said he, ‘for telling me to come to Sidmouth! If it had not been for you, I should certainly have lost all the happiness of the party. There is such sweetness in the air of Devon; its beauty and effect not perhaps to be found rivalled.’
‘I was a kinder friend than you deserved,’ replied Frank, with a fond smile. ‘Though I long wanted you to make the acquaintance of my sisters. On the Lark, I remember your interest in the letter case I carved for Jane.’
‘And so exquisite a carving, if I may be so bold, sir? A worthy offering to a devoted correspondent. If only I had a sister to write to me at sea and care whether or not I ended at the bottom of the ocean. And I trust (from the discerning reflections of the good ladies) that your own epistles proved to be a reliable guide to all naval matters. My poor mother could hardly believe we used knives and forks, had servants to attend us, and cooks to furnish our meat with sauces.’
‘Frank’s letters were indeed detailed, and never too long,’ said Jane, with a playful expression. ‘And you were a kind and exacting commander – fastidious, too, with keeping the sloop ship shape.’
‘Ah! I see my faithful friend has tittle-tattled. Thirty lashes of the cat, for you, Captain Austen. You are referring, no doubt, to my mosquito quiz, Miss Jane? I left two mosquitoes squished on the wall above my hammock and waited to see if they were removed and the walls scrubbed clean on my return. You may be amused, Miss Jane, but the wretched things are no laughing matter in the Indies. Lost many a good fellow to Yellow Jack, and tossed him into Davy Jones’s Locker. The devil is in the details.’
Only Jane observed the shudder with which Cassie turned away, wrapping her lace shawl closely around her shoulders. The captain must have been ignorant, or had perhaps forgotten the circumstances of Tom Fowle’s death. He was not to blame. It was she who was at fault and her mortification at causing such unhappiness to a beloved sister was immense. How could she have encouraged his prattle and betrayed Frank’s confidence?
By the time they advanced to the return ferry, the breeze had increased, whipping the waves and making Jane’s untied bonnet ribbons flap and dance. Mrs. Honeychurch glanced anxiously towards the gathering clouds. As they walked, Jane and Captain Parker exchanged a look. He found the frankness of her expression captivating and though not an ‘apple cleft in two’, the resemblance between sister and brother was arresting. In character, they were dissimilar. The brother so reserved and the sister so spirited. Yet Parker was drawn to Frank’s diffident, principled nature precisely because it was so different to his own. His friend was incapable of dissimulation.
Jane observed with gratitude the loving glance Parker bestowed on her brother. ‘Your affection for Frank does you much credit, Captain. A life at sea creates bonds of comradeship, brothers in arms, does it not? Let us disprove Dr. Johnson’s claim that being in a ship is being in a gaol, with the chance of being drowned.’
‘I have never felt more liberated than on board a sloop. It is no prison to me,’ said he with a deep sigh. ‘It is no trial to respect and esteem your brother. He’s so unlike me. I could never love anyone with a disposition like my own.’
They approached the ferry via a small jetty, which creaked and groaned above the swell of water, causing Jane to look with alarm at the ever-widening gap; the boat seeming to slip away from the dock with every gust of wind. Frank took matters into his own hands, lifting Cassie into his arms and stepping across the gangplank. Jane looked at Captain Parker with a smile of assent, and he scooped her up, light as a feather, and deposited her into the ferry. ‘We must not spoil those pink slippers,’ said he with a laugh.
As if on cue the clouds united over their heads and a driving rain set full in their faces. The ferry rocked on the swell and a huge wave crashed over the bow. Unperturbed, the Sapphos rowed hard, muscles bulging, skirts hooked up beyond their knees as the ferryboat lurched and swayed and Cassie and Mrs. Honeychurch looked on in fear. In an instant, Captain Parker got up and seated himself beside them and started an amusing tale of an officer’s parrot who repeated the ribaldry of the crew, then he pointed to the dry land and predicted that the worst of the storm was over. When the wind blew noisily, he began to sing a sea shanty in a good, strong baritone. Before long, and thus happily distracted, they reached the shoreline.
* * *
The next morning, this time accompanied by Frank, Jane kept her appointment to return to the sea to be dipped. She had erred in going alone on the morning she had met Mr. Rose and vowed to be more careful. Brother and sister were subdued. Cassie had been silent and withdrawn throughout the previous evening, though she had insisted it was fatigue from the exertions of the pleasure party and the perils of the storm, which had brought on the headache. Jane had dabbed lavender water on Cassie’s temples and refrained from conversation that could only agitate.
The day was still, the sea becalmed, the morning air fresh and clear. Jane greeted Molly, entered the bathing machine and undressed into her linen smock and cap, twisting her hair into a coil. The first dip was the most bracing and she gave herself to the waves and the sharp shock of the salty sea, floating on her back while Molly held her by the arms with a practised grip. How light she felt, suspended by the gentle waves. Her thoughts drifted – to Cassie and poor Tom… and to Captain Parker and Frank – and to the morning when she had met Mr. Rose and how he had smiled at her with such warmth and sweetness of expression. She stayed in too long.
Nonetheless buoyed by the invigorating dip, she dressed and paid Molly, and sat to wait for Frank who had gone off to take another inspection of the fishing nets.
‘Did not Captain Parker speak unwisely when he told of mosquitoes and yellow fever in the presence of poor Cassie?’ she enquired as she took her brother’s arm on his return.
‘I blame myself, and myself only,’ said he. ‘The captain is not a careless man and thinks only of the comfort of others. I should have been sure to have made him fully sensible of Cassie’s loss. Her self-command and forbearance prohibit pity, and it is not always evident how much she suffers. To those who do not know her as you do, she may appear to lack your openness and ardour of mind.’
‘Her composure of temper is all to her credit. Few could endure the loss of such a man as Tom. Nor should they. And to die so far from home, and buried at sea so that she has not even a grave to visit. Do not doubt, dear Frank, the extent of her suffering. All her hopes dashed. Though, to be sure, it is no creed of mine that there is only one single and constant attachment, and that all the happiness of one’s life depends upon any particular person.’
Frank looked at her with an arched expression.
‘And that a particular person, who would appear to regard you in sincere admiration, has overstayed his welcome, has surely not escaped your attention. He may be recalled any minute, Jane, such a favourite as he is with the admiral. Captain Parker seeks a wife. You have spoken of your envy of the wives of sailors. Shall you be snug on board the captain’s frigate?’
‘As snug and cosy as you command. And I shall secure a part with the theatrical players, or, perhaps, strike some Attitudes à la Lady Hamilton.’
As they talked, they came upon a child playing in the sand, the very same one Frank had observed earlier. She was a bonny girl, with an intelligent air, but she made no sound, no utterance. Her large green-brown eyes took in everything. To his astonishment, Frank saw that she was accompanied by not only her governess but also Reverend Swete.
