Joy V. Sheridan writes

Charity Amour

CHAPTER THIRTY, part 2

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The merchant-man was winging on fore and aft anchors, a gentle offshore breeze fresh and welcoming to Fibbins’s air-deprived lungs. If the quarters he had occupied overnight were anything to go by, the passage back to England was going to prove more than a little uncomfortable. He didn’t feel inclined to moan, however, for the captain of the vessel seemed a hospitable enough sort of man, if a trifle curt when he considered that conversing needed curtailing.

Fibbins stared hard to the quayside, all but willing the shadowy forms of three mounted riders to come cantering onto the ringing cobbles. He was sure that His Lordship, Lord Seyton Clover along with Her Ladyship - how strange but quaint that sounded in his ear - and of course, his own dear sister, Molly, would appear at any moment.

Of course, John Fibbins was convinced, they should have needed to spend a night in an inn or hostelry en route, but they would not loiter about in this forebodingly dangerous terrain. No, they, like he, would be by this time, very eager to see their own homeland once again.

The ship’s company was up and about, tidying away the last minute necessities and even as he peered over the side into the grey gloom of the river, he could hear the sound of one of the vessel’s conveying crafts knocking against the stout beams of the ship. He looked again, screwing up his eyes against the chilly December morn. What a glare! By Jove! Yes, there were two riders approaching now and was that a third figure coming up behind? But even so, they seemed to get lost in the maze of little alleyways leading down to the quay.

Fibbins was willing them to be speedy, for as the captain had anticipated, a stiffish braeze was beginning to blow up. That would prove eminently suitable to waft the craft on the first leg of her homeward voyage. The ship's boat, manned by four stout-hearts was pulling off from the ship, headed towards the largest of the quays. Last minute supplies, thought Fibbins.

Surely, this would be the craft to bring his party aboard? Best not to be too concerned, he mused, for the captain was awaiting the arrival of the three. Though, 'twas true, he had indicated that he would not wish to miss the tide nor the wind because of their overdue arrival. Ah! Yes! Upon the quayside now he could make out - if he strained his eyes - the grey form of Lady Clover and that was undeniably the lithe, assured figure of his master, Lord Clover himself. They were on the quayside now. Hello, he thought, where's Molly then? He felt a twitch of agitation, which was destined to become more severe as the morning drew on. That and the sudden curtain of mist descending upon the estuary made for a very unreal and nail-biting period of suspense.

Eventually he heard the sound of oars dipping forth, headed towards the ‘Enterprise’ - for such was the name of the merchant vessel, - and the sure scraping of shod feet upon the ship’s side. He hurried to the appropriate part and helped Her Ladyship over the ship’s side and into the boat. “Me Ladyship, ’tis a pleasure to have you aboard. His Lordship is following, along with Molly?” Fibbins spoke very correctly, trying to ease the Cockney twang and the habit of throwing his ’h’s away.

Her Ladyship did not look well at all. She glanced at him as he handed her aboard, as though she did not comprehend his question. For good measure he repeated this. “. . .His Lordship will be along presently. There are a couple of small matters which he has to attend to, John. We have had an almighty and trying ordeal. Mellors was as duplicitous and venomous as you had suspected!” “And Molly? Where’s Molly?”

For by this time it had become apparent that no other figure of the feminine gender had boarded the ‘Enterprise’. With lowered eyes and lowered voice Charity spoke. “I am afraid, John, that neither I nor Lord Clover know what has become of dear Molly...” She sobbed into a handkerchief, which she had taken from the cuff of her jacket sleeve. “You ... do ... not ... know ... what ... has ... become ... of my sister?” “We lost her, John. A mist descended, she rode to the rear of us for reasons of her own, and then...well, she must have just vanished into the mists. I really don’t know ... Perhaps one of the gang who attacked us took her, poor girl...” Charity began to sob in earnest now,”... After all, she could not scream out and thereby alert us, could she?” Fibbins looked horrified, mortified. “You...say...that she has disappeared?” “Yes!” “Well, Your Ladyship, then I am afraid that it is my duty to stay right here in France and to try to find ’er. Now I know that you and His Lordship will be safe, seems only right that I should try and find my vunerable and ’elpless and voiceless, little sister. Oh, My Lordie, where ’as she got herself to now?” “Oh! John, John, what would be the point? Please, don’t.” “I must, Your Ladyship. I must! Whatever next, ’tis a thing of protecting your own kin. Blood's thicker than water after all, ’innit?” “Indeed, so ’tis said,” whispered Charity.

“I shall bid ye farewell then, Your Ladyship. I shall speak wif His Lordship on the quayside.” “As you will, John. Goodbye ... and thank you so very much for your invaluable help...”

Charity stood sobbing on the deck as Fibbins, explaining his dilemma, got a seat in one of the boats ferrying back and forth across the water to the quay. Peer as hard as she might, Charity could glimpse no more of him than the red flash of his jacket, for the mist had become decidedly pea-soup-like now. She heard a fog-horn sound in the distance and shivered, waiting apprehensively for the appearance of her spouse. She did not know how long she had stood thus, but she was surprised to be shaken from her morose reverie by the captain’s hand. “Ma’am, we shall have to set off very soon now. Has your husband not appeared yet?” “No, Captain. I did think that he was with you.” Charity’s face had blanched grey to tone in with the mist. “He is probably somewhere aboard the craft then,” mused the captain. He continued: “I hope that your man finds his sister in one piece ...”

With that he stomped off across the now swaying deck, for one of the heavy anchors had already been raised and the sails were beginning to catch the down-blowing draught. Charity felt her body prickle with icy fear. Nervously she twisted the signet ring which acted as her wedding band about her finger. A seaman tapped her lightly on the arm. “Excuse me, madame, but should you care to follow me, the captain says I am to direct you to your cabin.” Charity chewed thoughtfully upon her lip. “What? Oh yes. Thank you.” She followed the seaman below deck and sniffed appreciatively about the cabin. It was not large or grand by any means, but it was the compartment aboard ship which would deem her and her beloved spouse safe passage home after all. The few belongings that had been brought aboard were stacked neatly in one corner.

Charity reached for the portmanteau. She could not dislodge the terrible feeling of apprehension which persisted, causing a tight band about her chest. She would satisfy herself that she was legitimately Lady Seyton Clover. Cool fingers unlocked the travelling bag and she extracted the folded parchment. Her eyes mirrored the shock which her mind already registered. The wedding certificate was not properly signed! It was incomplete. She felt weak and all but sloped with rapid heartbeats of trepidation against the bunk. “Oh . . . my. . . dear . . . God. .” she thought. But had not Seyton said to her, in the case of direst calamity, should any thicker evil befall them, that should he decease, or like poor Molly vanish, and she not be believed to be the legitimate wife and heir to his name and fortunes in London, then the signet ring would see her suite believed and honoured on his estates in the West Indies? Indeed, he had, but where was His Lordship? Her heart was all but exploding inside her ribcage and with a sickening jolt, blackness fell upon Charity. She swooned away with fear and exhaustion upon the bunk.