Chapter 12
The squall turned into a severe and lasting storm. The ship was hard-driven and began to rise and dip quite sickeningly throughout the day.
It brought a recurrence of seasickness for Caroline, and this time several other passengers were sick as well.
The wind whipped the waves into something quite terrifying, and Caroline, between nausea and vomiting, was quite pale with terror that the ship would break apart.
For once, she was thankful they had no window or porthole in their little cabin.
It felt as if they were running up mountains and down valleys, and the ship yawed so hard to the side on some of them, she could only clutch the mattress and pray they were not inverted.
She distantly heard Richard telling her that the Marstons, Mrs. Scott, and Anne were also hard taken.
It was perilous even for him to leave the cabin.
Even Captain Wentworth admitted it was a serious storm—she heard him say so when he came to their door to check on them.
The ship was in too much distress for tea to be made, but he brought them a small flask of lemon-water that she used to wet her mouth.
It stung her cracked lips, but the flavor helped cover the truly terrible taste that lingered there.
It was a nightmarish day, and even Richard at times was overcome.
He leaned his elbows on his knees until his head was almost between them, looking quite green.
The day gave way to an even worse night in which she barely slept at all, woken by stomach cramps or claps of thunder.
Her body was empty, but still the heaves of nausea did not fully leave her.
Her mouth and eyes were dry and her body weak.
She was at first embarrassed for Richard to hold her so comfortingly while she looked and felt so wretched, but by the end she could hardly care.
The waves and wind began to lessen sometime the following day, and Caroline at first distrusted it, convinced it was a trick to give her false hope. But as the bed stayed more or less horizontal and her abused stomach began to quiet, she finally dropped into a real sleep.
The entire company was lethargic and a little morose as they recovered from the storm.
No one had felt well for those dreadful two days, even if not all had been so vilely sick.
And no one had eaten much of anything. The cook rallied to make quick breads and fish chowder for the crew and passengers using both ovens.
Now they were grateful for the warmth of the ovens, for the storm had brought a cold wind.
Captain Wentworth was the only one of the passengers—to no one’s surprise—to have weathered it mostly unscathed.
It had frustrated him to have so little to do during a serious storm, but he had at least checked on all the passengers, distributing what relief he could in the form of brandy, lemonade, water, and extra basins.
He had even made himself useful emptying and cleaning basins, along with the steward and a few sailors, and Caroline was rather horrified that a captain of the British Royal Navy should humble himself to such a task.
He seemed to take it in stride, however.
“Any job is better than none in such extremity. But I will say, there is nothing I would’ve done differently than Captain Smythe, and a captain can’t give a higher compliment than that.
As the gale increased he kept us running under very short sail.
He put the helm hard a-weather—that means away from the storm—which brought her stern around to the sea, and the fore-top sail was clawed up to the main rigging to make the Lady Mary snug as could be.
She mainly received the force of the waves on her stern, which is her broadest and strongest part. ”
Captain Smythe heard the latter part of this, and his gruff face plainly showed that he was gratified. “That’s right,” he added. “Although, at first I did have the storm stay-sail spread on the top mast and kept full, but that didn't work enough to steady the ship, hence the fore-top sail.”
“How much time have we lost?” Richard paused while a creaking and shower of light drops heralded the re-opening of the upper grate. They all breathed a little easier with the fresh air and light, despite the chill. “Did the storm blow us very far off-course?” he asked.
“I came to inform all of you on that point,” Smythe said. “We checked the chronometer and the sextant, and based on celestial time, we’ve only been pushed forty-five miles off course.”
“Only? Forty-five miles is quite a lot, isn’t it?” Sophia asked.
“On land perhaps, but not on sea. Why, we can go a hundred and fifty miles a day with a good spanking breeze like what we have now. I believe we could still reach Lisbon in a week, if we keep this good trade wind.”
The idea of land in a week cheered everyone considerably.
And after a breakfast, or more like lunch, of fresh fish in chowder, boiled ham, and grape jelly, everyone was a little more themselves.
The captain even allowed a little extra fresh water for washing, since they’d filled some of the empty barrels with rainwater.
Salt-water baths seemed to be all the sailors expected.
They used the “sea soap” to scrub down on the deck and the pump and hose to rinse one another off, but Caroline found it glorious to have a whole bucket of fresh water to herself.
She even washed her hair, after a fashion, when Richard was done with the water.
She had just gotten her hair cut before their trip.
It wasn’t a Bedford crop—a la Titus—or anything so bold, but it was much shorter than it had been.
It was now just below her shoulders. Long enough to put up, but the front was short enough to curl easily with even a little encouragement.
Despite her shorter hair, her arms were shaking by the time she finished.
Her two days of misery had left her weak.
Richard helped her dry her hair with a linen towel and even helped her brush it when she found her hands were trembling.
“I should call Susan to help me,” she said.
“But I am here now, and Susan isn’t.”
“She is probably done assisting Anne.”
“Do you want me to go?” His voice was kind but also a little sad. “Is there some reason you don’t want my help?”
“I feel rather pathetic. I didn’t know I was such a poor creature.”
“Nonsense. You were terribly sick, my dear, it’s no wonder you need some time to recover.”
“Very well. Thank you.” It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his helpfulness—but it made her tense. A maid was supposed to help with these things. A husband was not.
Caroline had been doing rather well in her effort to be the new version of herself, but while she was sick, she had faltered.
She did not perfectly recall every moment, but she knew she had not been a very good patient.
She remembered half-delirious complaints, moans, and possibly even recriminations against him for bringing her—although she wasn’t certain which of those she might’ve spoken aloud and which remained a tangled mess in her mind.
In short, she felt she had some ground to recover, and having her husband wait on her like a maid did not seem like recovery. If only her hands would not shake, she would be in better frame.
“Caroline,” he raised the towel to her hair again, also drying her neck. “Are you angry with me?”
“No, not at all. If I said something while I was sick—I take it back. I was so nauseated! Please don’t take anything I said to heart.”
“Of course not—I seem to recall some choice oaths leaving my mouth during those dreadful two day as well. I hope you won’t hold that against me.”
“I don’t even remember.”
“Good. But that isn’t what I mean. Ever since we left Falmouth, you’ve been increasingly—distant. I thought perhaps I’d done something to offend you. Or perhaps I failed to do something you wanted.”
“What? But I’ve been taking such care to be—” She broke off, unwilling to reveal too much.
But she had taken such care to be even-tempered and uncomplaining!
She found herself frustrated and defensive.
“I have barely complained to you about the cockroaches or the smell, the goat’s milk, or—or anything. What fault have you to find with me?”
He put down the comb and turned her to face him.
He looked quite perplexed. “I’m not finding fault with you, and no—you haven’t complained.
But after we were married you were so open; I felt we were friends as much as husband and wife.
But now—less so. You still smile and you still talk—some—but I feel I’ve been set behind a wall. ”
Caroline shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I hardy know myself. You have also not spoken of Charles or Jane or any of our mutual friends in weeks. Is it—” he hesitated, “is it so unpleasant to think of Darcy and our friends there? Do you regret your decision?”
“Of course not.” Caroline didn’t talk about Darcy and Elizabeth or Charles and Jane because she was still unhappy with her conduct then, not because she still suffered an unrequited tendre for Mr. Darcy.
But she was not one to ruminate on the past; she preferred to stay in the present.
“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of. I love you very much.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I want you to talk to me.”
Traitorous tears rose up in her throat—no doubt another symptom of her seasick days and her current weakness. She did know what he meant, but what else could she do? Behind the wall of silence was her uncertainty and selfishness. Her fear and cynicism.
Richard sighed. “You can tell me anything, you know. I don’t mind if you complain about the vermin—nasty little blighters—or if you have second thoughts about this journey.”
Caroline nodded.
“I’ll leave you to rest. I love you, my dear.” He kissed her head and left her in the cabin.
Anne was up on deck that afternoon, along with most of the others. Only Caroline and Lady Marston remained below.
The freshness was delightful after days of breathing the fetid air of their own sickrooms.
She walked to and from the foremast, while the maids were in the stern “watching for more o’ them flying fish.
” Mr. Belvedere was minding his own business with a sketchbook while sprawled on a large coil of rope, although his position did allow him to watch Sophia.
Sir Mark and Sophia were in the bow and nodded to Anne when she passed them.
Finding herself breathless after a few turns, Anne sat on the small, inverted dinghy that was stored on deck. The mast and rigging partially blocked her view, but she could hear Sir Mark and Sophia.
“Only a week till Lisbon, barring more bad weather,” he said.
“Yes. I heard. I’m glad.” Sophia sighed.
“Are you? Leaving things to the last minute, aren’t you, missy?”
“Maybe. It’s complicated.”
Under normal circumstances, Anne would never continue eavesdropping when she realized someone did not see her—but these were hardly normal circumstances. What did Sir Mark mean about the last minute? Did they have something to do with Lady Marston’s missing amethysts?
Anne was really perturbed at the ongoing conflict. She wished greatly that the passengers could stop looking at one another with suspicion—but here she was, listening in on a semi-private conversation.
Sitting below their line of sight as she was, with a web of rope and rigging between them, Sir Mark and Sophia would only see her if they turned around and stooped a little.
“I’ll do what I must,” Sophia said. “Only it would be easier—”
“Is something wrong?” Mr. Belvedere broke into Anne’s listening.
She jolted, her guilt at eavesdropping making her jumpy and self-conscious.
Mr. Belvedere looked only concerned, having come up behind her while she was distracted. “Would you like my arm to go below, Mrs. Wentworth? I noticed you wilting a little.”
Sophia and Sir Mark came over to express their solicitude, and even the goat came to investigate.
Anne was embarrassed both to be caught listening and to have created a fuss.
She was also annoyed that she had not heard the rest of the conversation!
But that was not Mr. Belvedere’s fault; he couldn’t know that he had interrupted something that might explain the theft.
“I’m fine, I promise,” Anne assured them, “but thank you all for asking. I just needed a moment to catch my breath.”
“We are all terribly fatigued after the storm,” Sophia agreed.
Anne had only seen her in bits since the storm, but now in the clear, watery light of day, she noticed a bruise on Sophia’s forehead. It was faint, but it discolored her left temple and the side of her forehead before disappearing under her dark hair.
“Oh, no—did you get hurt?” Anne asked, touching her own head in the same place.
Sophia’s hand flew up to the bruise, and she pressed it with surprise. “Oh. Oh! I—I didn’t know it had colored up. I tumbled out of bed during the storm and bumped my head on the bedframe, but it doesn’t hurt much. It must look worse than it is.”
Anne did not normally suspect people of lying any more than she normally eavesdropped on private conversations, but she couldn’t help doubting.
While it was possible that Mrs. Scott had fallen out of bed during the horrible storm, no one else had been so shaken.
After the strange conversation about leaving things to the last minute, Anne was less inclined to believe her.
Mrs. Scott’s surprise and panic at the question did not help.
Sir Mark frowned. “I didn’t see that, either! Hm, it’s bad luck for I think that mark’ll get darker before it gets lighter, and you won’t like that. A man wouldn’t care, but women get crotchety about their faces! However, I daresay you’ll be right as a trivet by the time we reach Lisbon.”
“I’m sure I will. It’s nothing. But I think I’ve had enough air. Good afternoon, everyone.”
Mr. Belvedere hesitated for only a moment before saying, “I’ll just make sure she navigates the steps safely.”