Chapter 23
Only a panicked bleat of terror left Sophia’s lips before she hit the water. The shock of cold and wet made her senses shriek, and the dirty brackish water filled her mouth as she went under.
The water was dark, and the salt burnt her eyes and nose. Her flailing limbs were hampered by her long skirt and petticoat. A complete panic seized her and Sohpia thrashed frantically.
Her face broke the water, but she only choked as she tried to both cough and gasp at the same moment.
It was too short, and she was under again.
The water blinded her. The wrongness of being submerged with her clothes on was part of the horror as her skirts twined around her knees like a mummy’s wrappings.
She didn’t even notice the splash nearby until a strong arm wrapped around her torso and pulled her up. She gasped and hacked, finally getting air. Clinging to the arm with desperate fingers, she kicked for all she was worth.
“Ow, ow, there! Stop,” said Mr. Belvedere, who seemed to be attached to the arm. “I appreciate the effort, but I think we’ll both be better off if you let me keep us afloat.”
“What? What—” The harbor did not have large waves, but even a small ripple was enough to go over their heads, which it did.
“Easy there,” he said as they emerged. She felt his feet kicking steadily and strongly and—somehow—he kept both their mouths just above the waterline.
“Just keep calm there. Mrs. Scott—Sophia—dash it all, I’m going to call you Sophy—the sailors will throw us a rope any moment.”
She tried to stop her frantic spasming, for she was only pulling him down.
Her hat had disappeared. She tipped her face up to the ship and the people leaning over the edge.
Her bleary, salt-burned eyes caught movement as the sailors flung something overboard.
Although they were in the harbor, the expanse of water behind and around them felt immense to Sophia.
“That’s the dandy,” Mr. Belvedere said. He panted as he fought to keep them up. “Your gown is deceptively heavy, did you know?”
With his left hand, he reached for something floating next to him. It was a short plank of wood tied to a rope. He tucked it under his arm as another low wave washed over them.
Sophia sobbed another breath. “I can’t swim!”
“I gathered that.” He shifted to pull her somewhat behind him where she could hold onto his neck. “Or you’re very committed to the pretense of ignorance.”
She half-laughed despite her fear.
“That’s better. Let’s keep in mind that the wharf is only just on the other side of the ship. This is a farce, not a tragedy.”
“Y—yes, I suppose. Can’t they pull us up?”
“Er, yes, but not together. I’m afraid I should choke if they pulled me up while you cling so charmingly to my back.
And it would mean some severe bruises for us both…
Let us hope they have a rope ladder.” The wood plank and taut rope had removed some of the strain from his body, but Sophia could still feel his legs working to keep them afloat.
Then his foot got caught in her skirt and they both temporarily submerged again as he fought to free his boot.
Captain Smythe leaned over the wall. “Hold on tight, there. We’ll pull you around to the wharf-side.”
Mr. Belvedere clung to the board, and she clung to him. The sailors above worked to tow them to the bow of the boat and then there was some kicking and dunking as the two of them got around the front keel.
“What—happened up there?” Sophia asked. “After I fell?”
“After you were pushed, you mean? Well, some of the sailors didn’t even see because they were cheering for a fight.
Captain Wentworth let loose a piercing whistle and everyone subsided.
He grabbed Lady Marston who was—er—beside herself, calling you all sorts of terrible things. And I jumped in to help you.”
“Well—that was idiotic.” She spoke breathlessly as the rope resumed its forward tug.
He turned his head, and his face was only inches from hers as she clung to his back. His hair was wet and plastered down, his lips pale from cold. “Excuse me? Enjoying your brush with death, were you?”
“You should’ve run away; somebody would’ve saved me.”
Was she mad or were his cheeks flushing? “Good point. I suppose it would be churlish to expect gratitude? No, you’re right, if anything, I’m still in your debt for that scene on deck. I’ve no idea what really happened or if it’s true what Caroline guessed, but you certainly gave me a chance.”
“Which you threw away!”
“I didn’t expect the harridan to throw you in the drink!”
“Oi, you two!” called Smythe. “A few strokes will take you to the wharf. There’s a ladder.”
The wharf was on pilings of some sort, a giant structure that extended parallel to the shore, and sure enough, there was a greenish, pitted wooden ladder leading up from the water to the platform of the wharf. The first mate as well as Captain Wentworth were now on the wharf above them.
“Wh—why is this ladder here?” asked Sophia, whose teeth were beginning to chatter.
“For dropped cargo, I assume,” Mr. Belvedere said. “There’s got to be a way to fish a crate or box out of the water and quickly get back up.”
A few strong strokes and he had them to the ladder.
He held the nearest post while she struggled to get her booted foot on the lowest rung which was somewhere near her shoulders.
It was an awkward thing, and if there was a part of her Mr. Belvedere had not touched or bumped as he tried to help her get her feet on it, she wouldn’t know.
Finally she pulled herself dripping and shaking to the next highest rung and then the next.
The water streamed down her, and her dress—thankfully a dark brown—was as heavy as wet drapes on washday.
Captain Wentworth and the mate both extended their hands to help her clamber over the edge and onto the wharf.
The sun was set now, and only lingering twilight lit the sky and water as Mr. Belvedere came hand over hand up the ladder to join them. Captain Wentworth helped him, too, although Mr. Belvedere did it with significantly more grace and strength than she had.
Anne fetched Sophia’s cloak, and a sailor ran it down the gangplank to them. Captain Wentworth helped Sophia tug it around her shoulders and tie it. She futilely pushed back her hair, which now hung in wet strands around her face.
“Are you quite well, Mrs. Scott?” he asked. “Didn’t hit your head on the ship as you fell, did you?”
“No—no. I am just tired and shaken.”
Mr. Belvedere looked a little pale around the mouth, but his cheeks were quite red. The wind picked up and cut through their wet clothes.
There was a moment of silence as the men contemplated Mr. Belvedere, and he stared back.
“Well? Shall we head back to the ship?” Mr. Belvedere demanded. “I haven’t any hankering to stand here making puddles, and Mrs. Scott is chilled to the bone.”
“Apologies,” said Wentworth, “I suppose I thought you would run. I might’ve misjudged you.”
“I might’ve given you reason,” Mr. Belvedere allowed. “But currently, I have every desire to get back on that ship and into dry clothes.”
“Yes, quite,” Wentworth said. “I promise we shall give you both time to explain further, but we shall require explanations.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less.” Mr. Belvedere gave her a quick wink as he stepped across the gangplank to the Lady Mary.
She hoped Mr. Belvedere had a plan for himself, for she was now at a complete loss, the water having stolen the last of her gumption.