No Place For a Lady Page 4

  On their fourth night at sea there was a horrendous storm. Waves crashed against the side of the ship, lightning crackled and lit up the entire sky, and the frightened whinnying of horses filled the air. Lucy couldn’t sleep a wink but sat petrified by their porthole, watching the violence of the storm outside, while Charlie spent the night down below, sponging the horses’ nostrils with vinegar in an attempt to calm them. At one stage there was a terrible cracking sound, like an explosion, and for a moment Lucy feared they had been attacked by the Russians. She wrapped the silk bedspread around her, rubbing it against her lip for comfort as she used to do as a child when she fled to her mother’s bed after a nightmare. If only Charlie would come soon. There were a few terrifying hours before the worst was over, but as soon as dawn broke with a pale pink shimmer, the storm passed and the ship stopped rolling.

  Charlie returned with some awful news: ‘The mizzen top and the main top mast broke at the height of the storm and crushed a man’s leg as they fell to deck.’

  She was shocked. ‘Will he be all right?’

  He shook his head. ‘He’ll lose the leg, for sure. Two of our horses – Moondance and Greystokes – perished. I couldn’t settle them and the poor creatures raved themselves to death.’

  ‘Is Merlin all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank goodness. Biscay is always rough but this is the worst storm I’ve experienced and it followed us right down the coast of Spain and Portugal. At least we’re through it now.’

  Spain and Portugal: names Lucy had previously only seen on her father’s globe. She knew that Columbus had sailed from Portugal and imagined it as being very exotic. ‘Will they be able to mend the ship?’

  ‘Yes, the carpenters are hard at work.’ He noticed Lucy’s anxious expression and pulled her in for a hug. ‘Everything will be fine, my love. And you have been extraordinarily strong in the face of adversity. I knew you would be.’

  She was thrilled with the compliment. ‘You must be exhausted. Why not lie down and rest awhile?’

  ‘I think I will. Come lie with me.’

  Lucy held him close until he fell asleep and then she rose, dressed quietly and slipped up on deck to gaze out at the millpond sea glittering in the early morning light. The ship was close enough to shore for land to be visible and she shivered at the thought they were getting ever-nearer to the mysterious Turkish lands.

  ‘What is that huge black rock?’ she asked a passing sailor, and he told her ‘The Rock of Gibraltar, Ma’am.’

  She stood watching as they pulled up beneath it then came to a halt, becalmed in the Straits. The Rock’s sheer slopes towered high above the ship’s main mast, like an ominous shadow against the sky.

  On the 8th May, the Shooting Star docked at Valletta in Malta and all were allowed to go ashore. Adelaide had fully recovered and she and Lucy, along with Charlie and Bill, descended the gangway to the dock, the ladies sheltering beneath parasols from the heat of the sun. ‘What larks!’ Lucy cried, scarcely able to contain her excitement as she set foot on foreign soil. Locals flocked around trying to sell them hand-coloured cards, china knick-knacks and bonnets made out of scratchy straw. They sat in a café near the dock sipping tea and watching fishermen drag boxes of fresh fish up the slope. One man was pounding a freshly caught octopus against a rock – to tenderise its meat, Charlie said – and Lucy flinched at the blows. They dined well in a local hostelry, with fresh fish in a cream sauce, tender lamb chops, and delicate little custard puddings. A fiddler played in the corner and once they had eaten Charlie persuaded the waiters to clear some tables so there was room for dancing, which he led in high-kicking style, pulling Lucy up to join him in a lively polka. Bottles of jewel-coloured liqueurs were produced, made from fruits Lucy had never heard of: prickly pear, pomegranate and carob. The ladies tried delicate sips but found them over-strong.

  They were joined by Major Dodds, who challenged Charlie to drink a shot of each spirit behind the bar and said he would do the same. Their aim was explained to the bartender who lined up glasses in a row, which they supped in carnival style. A game of cribbage was initiated and Lucy could tell from Charlie’s excited whoops that he was winning.

  ‘They call him Lucky Charlie,’ Adelaide told her. ‘No matter what the game, he seems to have a knack with cards.’

  Lucy hadn’t known that her husband liked gambling. Dorothea was very disapproving of gamblers and would have considered it a black mark against him, but Adelaide didn’t seem to see any harm in it. Lucy was learning more about her husband all the time. It wasn’t just his funny dancing style, and the fact that he was said to be lucky; she had never realised how popular he was with his fellows and it was heart-warming to watch. She had no regrets about coming away with him; she just wished it had been possible for her older sister to share her joy.

  The next day she wrote to her father. Charlie had asked her not to write before they set sail in case Dorothea made one last attempt to stop them, but she missed her papa and now they were on their way she could see no harm in it.

  ‘The soldiers’ and officers’ wives are one happy family,’ she wrote, ‘linked by a warm camaraderie and eagerness to explore our new surroundings. We are enjoying the foreign aspects of Malta, with its fragrant flowers trailing up the walls of houses and twining round balconies, the dark-eyed children who follow us in the street, and the uncannily bright blue of sea and sky sparkling in sunlight.’ She sucked the end of her pen then continued: ‘I hope that you are in good health, Papa, and that your back is not troubling you. I will write again when I can, but do not worry if you don’t hear for a while as we may not be able to post our letters when in the field.’ She signed the letter ‘Your loving daughter’. She didn’t ask after Dorothea, still cross whenever she thought of her meddling. Her sister had believed she was behaving as a mother to Lucy, but in fact their real mother, the irrepressibly gay woman who had died when Lucy was thirteen, would have been wildly enthusiastic about this trip. Lucy imagined her crying, ‘My darling, what fun! Be sure to write and describe all the details. And bring me back a Russkie’s helmet!’

  Before they set sail from Malta, Lucy was astonished to hear that five out of the thirteen Hussars’ wives had asked to be sent home to England. The rigours of the voyage had been too much for them and they did not want to continue further. She remonstrated with one woman.

  ‘Won’t you stay to support our brave troops? Think how much comfort it would bring your husband to have you with him. Please say you will reconsider.’

  The woman shook her head, a little shamefaced but determined. ‘It’s too hard on the ship. You have a nice cabin but we’ve been stuck in that awful dormitory listening to the sounds of each other vomiting, and breathing smells the like of which I hope never to come across again, while being tossed around in an old wooden bucket.’

  ‘But the war will not last long. With the British and French joining the Ottomans, it is three armies against one. The Russians can’t possibly hold out.’

  ‘All the same, I can’t take the risk, Ma’am. I have four children. I have to get myself back to them in one piece.’

  Lucy bit her lip, thinking of the sobbing women in Plymouth Dock who would have given anything to be there. It was incomprehensible to her that someone could decide to leave just as the adventure was commencing. Granted, the voyage had been unpleasant but now they were all together, exploring the island by day and throwing impromptu parties every night, she was filled with excitement at the prospect of the coming months. She was doing her duty to her country and to her new husband; who would have thought it would turn out to be such fun?

  Chapter Five

  After Malta, the Shooting Star sailed into another storm, so violent the ship keeled onto its side and the horses were hurled off their feet. It passed quickly, leaving a fierce heat like the inside of a bread oven, and an overpowering stench that resembled (and possibly was) rotting sewage. Lucy spent much of her time leaning out of her porthole to catch the breeze, gazing at th
e hazy contours of the islands and coastlines they passed and the fishing boats painted in vivid blues and turquoises like the colours of the sea.

  At cooler times of day, she and Adelaide strolled on deck and exchanged confidences. One morning, Adelaide asked how Lucy and Charlie had met, and Lucy described it with animation, enjoying reliving the moment.

  ‘Him declaring that he would be my slave was a bit of fun, but I knew from his eyes he was serious as well. He said he would give me his heart and I could do as I wished with it, even trample upon it.’ She smiled fondly. ‘When he called on me the following morning, we couldn’t stop talking. He told me about being in the Hussars, about his love of horses … and then he asked about my family. And when I told him that my mother died when I was thirteen, I swear there were tears of sympathy in his eyes. I think that’s when I truly began to fall in love with him. He was so compassionate.’

  Adelaide took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your mother, my dear. Thirteen is very young to be without a mother’s guidance. Do you have siblings with whom you can talk, perhaps an aunt to advise you?’

  Lucy grimaced and turned to look out to sea. ‘I have a sister, Dorothea, who is thirteen years my senior, but she is a stern old maid, who took against Charlie and tried to prevent our marriage. She said we hadn’t known each other long enough – but we knew from the start we were perfect for each other. Both of us are outgoing on the surface but lonely underneath. We were instantly as close as close can be.’

  ‘How long had you known each other before you got engaged?’

  ‘Nine weeks.’ Adelaide raised an eyebrow and Lucy hurried on. ‘For some people that might not seem like much but when you are in love, why wait? I couldn’t bear him to go off to war without me. Even an hour apart is difficult, a day unbearable. Don’t you feel the same way about Captain Cresswell?’

  Adelaide cocked her head to one side. ‘My story is quite different because Bill and I grew up knowing each other. We lived nearby, our families were friends, and we played together as children. The realisation that we loved each other came gradually, and I think our families knew before we did. We married around your age – are you eighteen or nineteen, my dear?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘And it was blissful. But then we had some difficult years when I lost four babies in a row …’ She stared out towards the horizon, her voice flat. ‘I felt terrible for Bill. Such a fine man should have a son, and it seemed I would not be able to give him one. I became very ill and almost wished I would die so he could be remarried to a woman who would be able to give him an heir. And then, at the age of twenty-eight, when I had long since given up hope, along came another pregnancy. I rested all the way through, never venturing out of the house, and my daughter Martha was born hale and hearty, followed a year later by little Archie.’ She turned to Lucy, eyes glinting. ‘Bill was beside himself with joy when he held his daughter for the first time. He was nervous as he cradled her tiny body in his big hands,’ – she curved her own hands to demonstrate – ‘and I have never loved him as much as I did at that moment. You see, love changes through the years. We had our childish love, when we played together as youngsters, then the love of sweethearts and the thrill when we were newlyweds, but going through adversity together deepens love and makes it more true. You’ll find this with Charlie, my dear. You’re only at the very beginning.’

  Lucy was enthralled. ‘What an inspiring story! You make me want to be a better wife to Charlie so as to earn this deeper love you talk about.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. And in time you will prove to your sister Dorothea that Charlie is a worthy husband for you. She’ll come round, I know she will. If nothing else, she is going to want to meet her nieces and nephews one day.’

  Lucy blushed. ‘That blessing, I hope, is a little way off.’ Charlie had assured her he was taking precautions, although she wasn’t entirely sure what these might be.

  ‘Of course,’ Adelaide teased, ‘but babies have a way of surprising you, just as my two did.’

  ‘I realise now why they are so precious to you, after such a long wait and so many disappointments.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Adelaide blinked hard. Evidently it was difficult to talk of them. ‘If only your children could one day help to heal Charlie’s rift with his own family. I wish that could be so.’

  ‘Do you know the Harvingtons?’ Lucy was keen to hear about them. Charlie had painted them as heartless but surely they couldn’t be all bad.

  ‘Bill has met them and told me a little. It’s such a tragedy.’

  ‘They must be very harsh people to cast off their own son. Charlie told me it was over some debt or other. Why do his brothers not forgive him at least? I know he feels desperately sad about it.’

  Adelaide’s eyes widened, and she seemed lost for words. ‘At least he has you,’ she said finally. ‘He told Bill he loves you so much he would do anything for you. Already we can see how much you have helped him to overcome his grief. Now I think it’s time to prepare for luncheon, my dear. Shall we go down?’ She offered her arm.

  When Lucy reached the door of her cabin, one of the soldiers’ wives, a Mrs Williams, was hurrying along the corridor towards her. ‘May I come into your cabin for a moment, Mrs Harvington?’ she asked, her tone urgent, and Lucy replied ‘Yes, of course,’ thinking that perhaps the woman wished to borrow some item she had forgotten to bring herself.

  ‘Sorry to intrude, but Mrs Duberly is after me,’ Mrs Williams whispered and put a finger to her lips.

  Just then they heard Mrs Duberly charging along the corridor, calling for Mrs Williams. Lucy quickly pulled her cabin door closed and the two women stood quietly until her footsteps had passed.

  Mrs Williams gave an indignant snort. ‘I agreed to act as her lady’s maid on the ship but I didn’t think that meant I had to be her general skivvy. She wants me up all night laundering whatever lace handkerchief she might have blown her dainty nose into during the day, then woe betide me if it is not dry by morn when she wants to use it again. The woman’s a battleaxe. Not a human bone in her body. She’s only interested in her beloved horse.’

  ‘Can’t you resign from your position?’

  ‘I tried, but she threatened to have me put off the ship. Says I only got a place on board because of her. So it seems best I just stay out of her way.’ She cackled. ‘I’m rather enjoying making her charge round huffing and puffing with ill temper.’

  Mrs Williams winked at Lucy before opening the door a crack and peering out to check it was safe to leave.

  ‘Thanks, Ma’am,’ she said. ‘I reckon as far as officers’ wives go, you’re one of the decent ones.’ She slipped away and Lucy smiled to herself, while hoping that Mrs Duberly never found out about her complicity.

  On the 18th May, the Shooting Star entered the Dardanelles, an enclosed channel with high rocky coast on either side, thickly covered in dark green trees running from just above the waterline to the top of its slopes. The ship was becalmed for two days while awaiting a steamer to tow them to Constantinople and the ladies had ample time to view the cattle and mules grazing wild in the forests. Lucy borrowed a pair of binoculars and peered with curiosity at a Turkish fort high on a rock, with some camels at the gate and soldiers in bright red uniform milling around.

  They arrived in Constantinople at sunset on the 22nd and Lucy’s first impression was of tall slender towers (Adelaide told her they were minarets) standing stark against the rosy-orange of the sky. As they admired the view, a melancholy chant echoed round the town, and Adelaide told Lucy it was the Muslim’s call to prayer, an exhortation that was repeated five times a day. Lucy was thrilled at the exoticism of it. They hadn’t even disembarked but already she could tell that this city was much more foreign than Malta. Once they were at anchor, hawkers paddled out on boats that looked little more than large wicker trays, holding up goods for sale: bales of fabric, live chickens, and unfamiliar fruits. It was too dark to see but still they ca
lled out in English: ‘Hello lady, beautiful things, very cheap.’

  By daylight, Constantinople was impressive, with houses painted in pretty shades of mustard, terracotta, pale blue and mint green, surrounded by dark green trees and masses of purple flowers. Adelaide explained that the city was sliced in two by the Bosphorus, the wide strait in which they were at anchor. One side was Europe and the other Asia, making the city unique in straddling two continents.

  It was a disappointment when they disembarked to find the quay was made of rotting planks on which they had to tread carefully for fear of falling into the foul water below, where a dead dog floated amidst some yellowish foam. The water in Malta had been clear turquoise, but this was murky brown.

  For three nights they were to stay in the Selimiye barracks, a fine building from the outside, built of brick around a huge quadrangle with turrets on each corner. But as they entered they were assaulted by a fetid smell of unknown origin that had the ladies covering their noses with handkerchiefs. The rooms they were shown to were filthy, with a thick layer of dust on each surface and stains of an alarming nature on the walls. During the first night, Lucy provided sustenance for a number of insects who seemed to find a way to bite her skin even when she swathed herself from head to toe in her mother’s bedspread. Next morning she had eighteen angry red lumps on her skin, which itched like the devil, including one on her cheek about which she was particularly self-conscious. For some reason they had left Charlie alone.

  ‘Your blood is so much sweeter than mine,’ he soothed. ‘I’ll find a net to cover the bed before night falls.’

  Lucy attracted more bites during the day, and the itch became fiercer if she scratched them. Adelaide advised that she cover her skin with lemon juice to deter the creatures and went to the barracks’ kitchen herself to procure some lemons. It made Lucy feel sticky but she didn’t get any more bites and the itch in existing ones lessened a little.