Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The clock chimed again, and the echo resonated throughout the room, bouncing off the walls, reminding Nerissa just how empty it was.
Two o’clock. She sighed and closed her eyes, removing the ceiling from her view. She had been lying on this sofa for over an hour now, a book hardly read lying on her chest, unable to even think about moving, she was so bored.
Boredom, in Port Royal, Jamaica. If she had not felt so lethargic, she could have almost laughed. When they had lived in London in a house in Berkeley Square and had attended parties appropriate for a young lady of the young age of sixteen, Nerissa and her friends had dreamt about Jamaica.
The heat, the sand, the food. It had all seemed so exotic, so exciting. She had been ecstatic when her father had come home one day and told her and her mother that he had finally been promoted.
They were moving to Port Royal.
Nerissa opened her eyes, and swallowed down the feelings of regret, pain, and sorrow.
Mrs Fairchild had never laid eyes on these shores, losing her health to cabin sickness on the long voyage, and falling from the stern too late to be rescued in time.
Nerissa had arrived, grieving and sticky, on the docks of Port Royal with one half of her family stolen from her.
Now all she had left was her father and memories of London life: gowns and socials, balls and card games. There was little society here, with no one her age in whom to confide.
She had been in this room since eleven o’clock in the morning, and no one had come to call.
The door to the hallway opened and a bustling sound of busyness entered.
“Oh, Miss Nerissa, I did not see you there!” Abigail the housemaid stopped short by the door, and dropped a short curtsey. “I apologise for disturbing you, I can come back later.”
She had almost stepped through the doorway back into the hall when Nerissa spoke.
“‘Tis no matter. Stay, Abigail.”
Even her voice sounded lethargic and bored.
After all the excitement the day before of seeing Count Anthony at the court house – and even just the thought of his name, the remembrance of his face, was enough to quicken her pulse – this day was just another normal day. Life had reverted back to normalcy.
Abigail looked a little discomforted, remaining in the room with the mistress, but she cautiously walked around the edge of the room as though she was forbidden from stepping across it, and found what she had been looking for; the clock.
“Mr Fairchild has asked for this to be sent to Mr Graham, the clockmaker,” she said, as though she needed to explain what she was doing, picking up items of value that belonged to the family.
Nerissa smiled and sat up, her book falling into her lap. “Is there anything happening in the town today, Abigail? Anything at all?”
Abigail smiled shyly. “Nothing but the repairs, ma’am. You know, after the hurricane. It may have been a generation ago, but the rebuilding continues.”
Nerissa sighed. It had been a terrible thing, the hurricane, that could not be denied. But was it really worth all this effort to rebuild parts of Port Royal that had been destroyed?
There was a laugh, and she was astonished to see that it was Abigail. “You know Port Royal, ma’am. There is little here but building, and rebuilding. It is something within men, my mother thinks. Something that makes them want to build towers in the sky, to touch the clouds, she says.”
It was an innocent thought, and it made Nerissa smile sadly. It was the sort of thing that her own mother would have said.
“And the Sea Scout,” she said quickly, more to push away the thoughts of her mother than anything else. “Is it still giving tours of the bay to any newcomers?”
“Oh, yes,” nodded Abigail as she moved towards the door slowly, cradling the small clock in her arms. “Yes, though they will not be able to do so for much longer, what with the rainy season coming, ma’am.”
At her words, Nerissa was filled with the impulse to go.
She had been half a dozen times already of course.
Everyone who lived in Port Royal had done so to break the monotony of a warm summer’s day.
But there was nothing for her here, not while her father was at work, and she would do anything to feel the wind in her hair and leave Port Royal – and Count Anthony – behind for a few hours.
Without saying another word, she rose swiftly from the sofa and grabbed the shawl that she always left lying near the piano.
“Ma’am?” Abigail was looking at her, concerned at her rapid movement. “Where are you – ”
“Please inform my father when he returns that I have gone out,” Nerissa interrupted, finding her reticule abandoned on a chair and striding towards the door to the hallway. “I will not be long.”
Abigail’s mouth was open, and she followed her mistress out into the hall, stammering, “But – but Miss Nerissa, you will need to wait until Mrs Henderson is ready, you cannot go without – ”
Nerissa sighed and pulled the shawl around her shoulders – an effort made for proprietary’s sake, rather than as a response to the weather. The heat of the sun had been pouring into Port Royal all morning, and sticky heat was oozing through the now open front door.
“I am too old for a chaperone,” she snapped with little malice at the housemaid. “I am tired of being looked after as though I could break in half. Tell my father I shall be back before tea.”
The concerned murmurs of Abigail followed Nerissa as she strode out of the house, but she was accustomed to ignoring anything that didn’t quite agree with her wishes.
Mrs Henderson indeed! She had long outgrown the need to be paraded up and down the streets with an elderly woman by her side to prevent abductions and seductions!
Nerissa snorted. That kind of adventure never happened to someone like her.
Port Royal’s main street was empty. Few people liked to venture outside during the hottest part of the day, and those that had did not seem to have much choice.
“Pass it here!” A shout echoed in the street, and startled, Nerissa raised her eyes above the buildings to stare at the men who were putting the town back together. “No, a little more to the left, Eddie!”
A statue of a large angel was rather precariously balanced between two young men at the top of a building, while an older man stood in the street and directed them.
“We will never get it straight if you do not listen,” he said in exasperation. “When I say left, I mean my left!”
Nerissa hid a smile as she passed them. To be sure, nothing had quite been the same after the hurricane in 1774, but it was still encouraging to see that human nature at the very least had not changed.
It did not take her long to reach the dock, and just as she had expected, the Sea Scout was still accepting passengers on board for a trip around the bay. It was a little weatherworn, with a few gaps in the boards, the rigging a little ragged, but it had always made its way back to port.
She had been a part of the town for so long now that as she stepped gently onto the gangplank, walked across it gingerly to reach the Sea Scout, and handed over her two shillings to the sailor accepting fares, he gave her a smile and returned one to her.
“I think you’ve been our guest enough times, Miss Nerissa,” the man wrinkled as he smiled at her, “that we don’t have to worry so much about the shillings. Half fare today, but no word to the captain.”
Nerissa grinned. That was one of the few advantages of living in a town as small in Port Royal. Everyone knew you, and while that could be the downfall of a girl whose behaviour was not discreet, for someone like her it was an opportunity to walk the streets safe at night whenever she wanted.
She strode to the bow of the boat, and sighed deeply as she looked out at the churning waters.
The ocean had always held something for her, something that she could not describe.
A gateway, a path, a way to another part of the world.
The whole of civilisation was out there, somewhere, thousands of miles away.
And here she was, stranded in the catastrophe that Port Royal was, where nothing but disasters ever seemed to happen.
“All aboard!” The captain’s gruff voice rang out, and Nerissa turned to see the last passenger to ascend the gangplank and join her, currently the only other passenger.
It did not give her any sort of joy to see Count Anthony of Stratham stride onto the deck and turn left to look out over one side of the bow.
Her stomach lurched. The last thing that she wanted was to be stuck spending the entire afternoon on a boat with that man.
She did not even think, she just acted. It was only twelve steps back to the gangplank and she could disembark, return home where comfortable boredom was preferable to that man’s company.
But it was gone. The captain had been as good – or as bad – as his word. The sails were full, and the Sea Scout was moving.
In a very low voice under her breath, Nerissa said a curse word that her father would faint to have heard.
“Now then, ‘tis no word for a lady.”
She knew that voice. Nerissa spun on the spot and saw Count Anthony standing on the deck, grinning at her. It was more than her patience could bear, and the fact that he was wearing a very dashing cutaway coat did not help.
“You would hardly know what a lady would say,” she snapped. “You are barely a gentleman.”
She swayed slightly as the ship started to pull its way out of port, the breeze lifting both the sails and a few curls of her hair. Count Anthony, on the other hand, was spluttering again.
“I am unaccustomed to people attacking my status as a gentleman!”
Nerissa rolled her eyes and walked away from him with a parting quip. “You will become accustomed to it soon.”
Heavy footsteps behind her told her that the loathsome Count was following her, and her hearing was correct. Before she had reached the other side of the admittedly small boat, he was by her side.