someone trampling over his future.”
“I told him the truth, Miss Irvine. If it sounded harsh, it is because it is an unpleasant truth to have to deliver. South Africa can be a difficult place to make a living. A man of his age would be better off in England, with his family.”
He was gone before she had the chance to apologize. It wasn’t until she thought it over later that she realized she had been naive. It was quite possible he was right, and she wished she hadn’t disagreed with him when she hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about.
Eleven
T wo days later the captain issued a gale warning. At five o’clock the wind began to blow and the sky turned dark. The light was sucked into a mass of granite clouds. The timbers of the ship creaked as she climbed the waves. Frances went down to the cabin and found Anne perched on the end of Mariella’s bunk. The room was cold and damp, and Mariella was vomiting into a bowl.
“What are they saying in the saloon about the storm?” Anne asked, looking at her with wide eyes. Frances gave her hand a squeeze. “We’re to keep our cabin windows shut.”
Anne stroked Mariella’s hair and gave her a cloth to wipe her face. Then she wedged the bowl in next to her and climbed into her own bunk, defeated by the swell. Frances lay down, letting her body be rocked with the sickening heave of the ocean. She tried not to think about the prospect of a gale. When Mariella begged one of them to get some more tonic for her seasickness, Frances volunteered. She was relieved to have an excuse to leave the cabin. Sister Mary-Joseph had a berth to herself a few doors down. Frances knocked and stepped inside. The narrow space beside the bunk was strewn with dirty linen and half-finished plates of food. When Frances asked her for tonic she waved her away, either too sick or too scared to talk. Frances insisted, and she said, “There’s none left.” She turned to face the wall. “You girls have taken it all.”
The doctor would have some. The surgery was at the stern of the ship, past the engine rooms. It was difficult navigating the narrow passages below deck, with their guttering lights and swinging doors. When the ship rolled, people were propelled towards you like balls down a cannon. She stepped through corridors swilling with water and vomit, then climbed the narrow stairs onto the deck. It would be quicker to cross to the stern this way, and she wanted to gauge whether the weather was really as bad as it felt down below. The wind was fierce. It snatched at the door when she opened it and blew it back hard against its hinges. She stood for a second, steeling herself against the noise, then stepped out.
The deck was a dark sweep of wet wood. Night had come on, and the weather had driven everyone but a few of the crew down to their cabins. She was at the center of a torrent of sound: the roar of the ocean, and above it the cleats rattling, and the wind screeching through the ropes. She caught hold of the rigging to keep her balance, buckling her knees to take the impact of another wave. A light curtain of spray swept over the ship, stinging her eyes. She clawed at her hair, scraping it off her face. It was rougher than she had expected.
She ran the few steps to the railings which ringed the deck and looked out over the water. The lantern at the tip of the mizzenmast dipped to the sea starboard-side, rolled up and swung down again port-side. The pocket of light swooped over the ship and out to sea, catching the surface of the broiling mass before swinging back again. It cast a fractured light over the swell, illuminating in flashes the tips of great riders thundering towards the ship.
The wind stepped up a notch, and a stinging rain flew at her in bright sparks under the circle of light. She edged her way along the deck, holding on to ropes as she went. Two sailors called to each other, their voices muted by the wind into the wordless mewing of gulls. Then, quite
“I told him the truth, Miss Irvine. If it sounded harsh, it is because it is an unpleasant truth to have to deliver. South Africa can be a difficult place to make a living. A man of his age would be better off in England, with his family.”
He was gone before she had the chance to apologize. It wasn’t until she thought it over later that she realized she had been naive. It was quite possible he was right, and she wished she hadn’t disagreed with him when she hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about.
Eleven
T wo days later the captain issued a gale warning. At five o’clock the wind began to blow and the sky turned dark. The light was sucked into a mass of granite clouds. The timbers of the ship creaked as she climbed the waves. Frances went down to the cabin and found Anne perched on the end of Mariella’s bunk. The room was cold and damp, and Mariella was vomiting into a bowl.
“What are they saying in the saloon about the storm?” Anne asked, looking at her with wide eyes. Frances gave her hand a squeeze. “We’re to keep our cabin windows shut.”
Anne stroked Mariella’s hair and gave her a cloth to wipe her face. Then she wedged the bowl in next to her and climbed into her own bunk, defeated by the swell. Frances lay down, letting her body be rocked with the sickening heave of the ocean. She tried not to think about the prospect of a gale. When Mariella begged one of them to get some more tonic for her seasickness, Frances volunteered. She was relieved to have an excuse to leave the cabin. Sister Mary-Joseph had a berth to herself a few doors down. Frances knocked and stepped inside. The narrow space beside the bunk was strewn with dirty linen and half-finished plates of food. When Frances asked her for tonic she waved her away, either too sick or too scared to talk. Frances insisted, and she said, “There’s none left.” She turned to face the wall. “You girls have taken it all.”
The doctor would have some. The surgery was at the stern of the ship, past the engine rooms. It was difficult navigating the narrow passages below deck, with their guttering lights and swinging doors. When the ship rolled, people were propelled towards you like balls down a cannon. She stepped through corridors swilling with water and vomit, then climbed the narrow stairs onto the deck. It would be quicker to cross to the stern this way, and she wanted to gauge whether the weather was really as bad as it felt down below. The wind was fierce. It snatched at the door when she opened it and blew it back hard against its hinges. She stood for a second, steeling herself against the noise, then stepped out.
The deck was a dark sweep of wet wood. Night had come on, and the weather had driven everyone but a few of the crew down to their cabins. She was at the center of a torrent of sound: the roar of the ocean, and above it the cleats rattling, and the wind screeching through the ropes. She caught hold of the rigging to keep her balance, buckling her knees to take the impact of another wave. A light curtain of spray swept over the ship, stinging her eyes. She clawed at her hair, scraping it off her face. It was rougher than she had expected.
She ran the few steps to the railings which ringed the deck and looked out over the water. The lantern at the tip of the mizzenmast dipped to the sea starboard-side, rolled up and swung down again port-side. The pocket of light swooped over the ship and out to sea, catching the surface of the broiling mass before swinging back again. It cast a fractured light over the swell, illuminating in flashes the tips of great riders thundering towards the ship.
The wind stepped up a notch, and a stinging rain flew at her in bright sparks under the circle of light. She edged her way along the deck, holding on to ropes as she went. Two sailors called to each other, their voices muted by the wind into the wordless mewing of gulls. Then, quite
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