The Captain's Girl Read online

  The loud, persistent buzzing was coming from somewhere very close and I forced my eyes open. A black cat was resting against me, her eyes tightly shut, her paws tucked beneath her. It was no longer dark; daylight streamed through the hatch, filling the cabin with light. Arnaud Lefèvre was at his desk, his right hand twisting a pair of dividers across a chart. He seemed pensive, preoccupied, his frown too furtive for legitimate trading. Sir James was more gullible than I thought.

  Captain Lefèvre must have seen the cat jump. He looked up, catching my eye. ‘Are you thirsty, Cécile?’ He crossed the cabin, holding out a tall, finely etched crystal glass. My mouth was parched, my stomach rumbling, but I shook my head and he laughed, sitting down on the bench opposite me as I struggled to sit upright. My hair was everywhere, my ringlets in a tangled mess. ‘It’s freshly squeezed lemon with a touch of honey – it’s perfectly safe,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’ll drink half and you can finish the rest – that way you can be sure. You heard us talking?’

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Twelve hours from Fosse.’

  ‘Twelve hours!’

  ‘I told you I didn’t run a ferry.’ He glanced briefly at the brass clock above his desk. His eyes looked bluer in daylight, fine stubble shadowed his chin. ‘I’ll get you back first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Which morning?’ I reached for the remaining lemon juice, draining it in one go. It was sharp, refreshing, absolutely delicious.

  ‘Saturday morning, we’ll make landfall at about four.’

  ‘Saturday! But I left on Thursday…mat’s…that’s…thirty-six hours. How could you do this to me?’ I was furious. Thirty-six hours would be impossible to explain. At least from Falmouth, I could have sent an express, but now they would be so worried. Charity would be beside herself. ‘I was a fool to trust you. You’re a smuggler and you’ve put my life in danger. I thought you better than that.’

  ‘You put your own life in danger, the moment you decided to run away. I think we should make that clear.’ He was no longer smiling, his voice no longer mocking. ‘You saw at once how things were – I saw it in your face. Not quite as they should be yet you chose to come back.’

  ‘Believe me, only the direst necessity brought me back.’

  ‘Was it? Or was it the belief there’s more to life than four walls?’ He was staring at me, his blue eyes edged with brown. I saw the challenge in them, the danger – the invitation to drop all pretence and answer truthfully.

  ‘That’s a very impertinent question.’ My heart was pounding. I was used to false politeness, the veneer of social niceties, not saying what you really meant.

  ‘Sir James would never just abandon you – he would have offered you a safe option. You ride, don’t you, Cécile?’ he leant back against the cushion, one hand resting on the table. It was strange, his movements on deck so quick and decisive, yet below, so studied and watchful.

  ‘Of course I ride. You probably already know that.’

  ‘Do you gallop?’

  I could see exactly where his question was leading. It was as if he knew my mind. Yes, I galloped. Yes, I wanted to go faster than was safe. Yes, I looked with envy at the birds flying above me, the white sails on the sea. Of course I felt my house a prison, everyone my gaoler. Who would not long to break free from rigid protocol, endless hours of embroidery? ‘I was a fool. I acted on impulse and I regret it – thirty-six hours alone on a boat with three men rather hints at complete ruin, don’t you think?’

  His smile returned. ‘You’re no fool, Cécile. You notice details – that ginger jar is Ming, by the way.’

  ‘Of course, I just didn’t see it properly.’

  ‘You’ll see everything properly now you’ve got your sea-legs. We both have a secret. You can trust me – not one word will pass my lips. I’ll get you back to Fosse as soon as I can, but, believe me, you’d have been in far more danger if I’d left you alone in Falmouth.’

  Half of me was petrified, half of me thrilled. As a child, I had always longed for the forbidden, always wanting to see what lay beyond the gates. With luck, the cargo will be landed and we’ll be heading home. The thrill of conspiracy seemed strangely compelling – the same heady mix of anticipation and trepidation which spurred my gallops. I was not looking out of the window, I was breathing the air. It smelt exciting, the cries of the seagulls loud with warning. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I had been courting danger. ‘Sir James will hear nothing from me – you can be sure of that.’

  ‘Then we have an agreement,’ he said, the approval in his eyes making my cheeks flush. He glanced back at the clock, his face at once serious. ‘There’s coffee in the pot, roast beef and fresh bread in the galley…and the kettle’s nearly boiled. By the time you’ve eaten and washed, we’ll be heading home. Help yourself – there’s mustard above the stove and horseradish, if you must.’ He turned to go.

  ‘Captain Lefèvre, we’re not in any in danger, are we?’

  He paused. ‘No more than usual…but I suggest you remain below.’

  He left the galley, an earthenware mug in each hand, the smell of coffee following him up the stairs. I had slept so well. I felt refreshed, bursting with energy, my senses buzzing. Most of all, my stomach was rumbling, the thought of rare beef suddenly irresistible. I jumped from the bench, not noticing the slight sway, the floor rising and falling. I had never been anywhere near a kitchen, but a galley looked perfectly simple. A large wooden platter lay on the surface, a big clay pot strapped to the cabinet beside it. I opened the lid. Inside was the beef, wrapped in brown paper. It felt surprisingly cold and smelt so good. I unrolled the paper, the gnawing in my stomach almost unbearable. Pulling open a drawer, I grabbed a large knife and began slicing the rare beef as quickly as I could.

  I tore at the bread, stuffing both the beef and bread into my mouth, amazed at how good they both tasted. The cat was rubbing my skirt. Did cats eat roast beef? I suppose they did. I had never been anywhere near a cat before. Dogs, yes; Father’s gun dogs and Mama’s beloved pug Saffron, but cats? There might be cats in the kitchen but I suppose Saffron chased them away. I looked up. Was Saffron too overfed to run? Perhaps she just barked at them.

  Cats did like beef, plenty of it. I poured some coffee. There was steam coming from the kettle. For the first time in my life I was doing something for myself. I picked up the kettle, carrying it carefully across the cabin to the heads. A bright swathe of colour caught my attention and I looked up through the hatch.

  A huge red, white and blue flag fluttered in the wind above us. It was partly surrounded by blue and red and I stared at it, trying to recognise its message. My uncle had taught us all the code flags, yet this flag eluded me. I filled the basin, stripping off my jacket, plunging my face into the hot water.

  Immediately, a painting at home flashed through my mind. A ferocious sea battle. Huge seas. Canon fire. Blazing galleons bearing French flags.

  Chapter Nine

  On board L’Aigrette

  Friday 8th November 1793, 12:00 a.m.

  Istared through the hatch at the flag and grabbed my cloak. It was dry, the mud carefully brushed from the hem. I searched for my boots. They, too, were dry and newly polished. I pulled my hood over my head and climbed the steps into beautiful sunshine. The sea was intensely blue, the sun glinting like thousands of tiny mirrors. ‘Miss Smith, I suggest you remain below.’

  ‘I can’t, Captain Lefèvre. I’m desperate for fresh air.’

  I could sense the tension in him. His mouth was drawn tight, his brow creased. He put the telescope back to his eye, clasping his pocket watch in the other hand. We were not moving, the boat still in the water. Just one small sail caught the sunshine, the rest were rolled away.

  Jacques was tying down the tiller, his short, stocky frame hunching away from me. He was in his mid-thirties, maybe younger; it was hard to tell with the weathering of his face. He had thick, curly hair, cut short, barely contained under his black scarf. His red shirt was rolled to the elbow, his
powerful arms covered in tattoos. He nodded, his manner respectful, but he spoke to Arnaud. ‘Not like him to be late.’

  ‘Our position’s perfect. Where is he?’

  ‘Perhaps our delay’s unsettled him.’

  ‘No. We’re on time and in the right place.’

  The other sailor was no longer asleep. He was in the bow, tidying the ropes, coiling them next to the sails. He looked to be in his forties; a thick-set man, powerfully built, about my height, his hair shaved, his bald head browned by the sun. His movements were swift, sure. He was twisting and turning the rope, tucking it neatly in place but he seemed watchful, full of hostility. He must be Nathaniel, the replacement crew, not privy to the plans.

  We were in a bay, the land sweeping round us in a gentle curve. Vast swathes of marshland fringed the shore and I stood gazing at it, my eyes blinking in the sun. Arnaud came to my side and took my arm, leading me to the coach roof where he beckoned me to sit. ‘We don’t usually have to wait. They row straight out to the boat. I’m sorry for the delay.’

  ‘That’s France, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You must be insane. Smuggling from Jersey’s one thing, but from France? It’s ludicrous. No amount of brandy can be worth this risk.’

  ‘I’ll get you home, Cécile. I’ve promised you.’

  I looked across at the fringe of marshland and the huge wall running the length of the shore. There was an abbey at its centre, grey and austere; its tall, steeply sloping roof merging into the land around it. Cloisters huddled against one side, a walled garden against the other. Vast orchards stretched both in front and behind, reaching down to the huge wall which encircled everything. ‘It’s beautiful, though. I’ll give you that.’

  ‘Use this.’ Arnaud handed me his telescope and I held it to my eye. I could see the slates on the roof, ornately decorated cornices and window panes glinting in the sun. There were pointed arches in the cloisters, some roses in the rose garden. Dark purple grapes still clung to the vines; bee hives dotted the orchard. Sheep grazed the grass. Small grey birds with yellow legs were running on the dunes by the wall. It was all so beautiful. I took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of herbs drifting across the sea.

  ‘I saw birds like that by the river in Fosse.’

  He took the telescope, pointing back to where I had been looking. ‘They’re sandpipers, they nest in the marshes. And that’s a marsh hawk,’ he said, following a bird across the dune. Suddenly he swung the telescope round and, even without the aid of a lens, I saw a red flag waving. He stood up, making his way quickly back to Jacques. ‘Three waves, two rests, three waves.’

  Jacques nodded. ‘That must be him.’

  ‘He should be directly south – it’s wrong.’

  ‘But if it’s his signal—’

  ‘No. Something’s wrong.’ Arnaud spoke sharply, the anxiety in his voice making my stomach knot. He hurried down the hatch, returning almost immediately with a large chart. Spreading it out, he began comparing it to the land. ‘It puts him here – that’s too near the village. If we go any further along the coast, we’re in danger of being seen.’ He glanced across at Nathaniel. He was wringing out a cloth, hanging it from the ropes to dry. Nathaniel returned his look, all nods and smiles, but as Arnaud turned away, I saw his face change.

  Arnaud pointed to the chart and dropped his voice. Perhaps he did not trust Nathaniel either. ‘I’ll not risk going any further towards the village, nor must we be seen to row ashore. If we’re being watched, we must look as if we’re waiting for the tide to turn – nothing more.’ His voice was barely above a whisper, I missed most of what he said but I heard…have to swim…will signal back…I rushed quickly to his side, my heart thumping.

  ‘Captain Lefèvre, I hope you’re not thinking of going ashore—’

  He reached for my arm, pulling me to the hatchway, descending the steps so quickly, I almost tripped. ‘Cécile, I have to.’

  ‘No, you don’t have to. You absolutely don’t. You can just hoist up those sails and take me straight back to England. I’ll not be put in danger…not for greed and profit.’

  ‘I can’t just sail away. I need to search the area.’ His mouth was stern, his words urgent.

  ‘You’re not thinking of swimming…it’s November. The water will be freezing.’

  ‘It’s no more than two hundred yards.’ He was silencing me, the authority in his voice telling me not to question. ‘If no-one’s there, I’ll swim straight back and if I need the rowing boat, I’ll wave this flag.’ He pulled open the top drawer, taking out a folded red cloth. ‘I’ll wave twice, followed by a rest, followed by four more waves. Only that – no other signal.’ He held the red flag and grabbed my hand. His grip was warm, firm, more like a grasp. ‘I have to do this, Cécile, I have no choice.’

  I drew my hand angrily away. ‘You do have a choice and you’re choosing to leave me on a boat with two men. I don’t trust that man, Nathaniel. He’s been staring at me and I don’t feel safe.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You won’t be alone, you’ll have Jacques. Nathaniel’s probably just superstitious – sailors don’t like women on boats, they think it brings bad luck…’

  ‘He doesn’t like you, either…or Jacques…’

  I thought he would brush aside my words, but his eyes turned strangely sharp. ‘Jacques will look after you…but you’d better have this. I see no reason why you’ll need it, but if it makes you feel safer…’ He bent down, opening the bottom drawer, reaching under a velvet cloth, drawing out an elaborately decorated pistol with an ivory handle. ‘Use this, if you have to. Here, I’ll get it ready. All you have to do is aim and pull this trigger. Have you learnt to shoot?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, staring in horror at the pistol. ‘I refuse to shoot game birds.’

  ‘Just hold it firmly. Keep it steady, don’t wave it about. I’ll leave it here, under the cloth. Are you alright?’ I said nothing, but stood scowling at the velvet cloth. Adventure was one thing, pistols and smuggling in France quite another. He could see I was scared. ‘Cécile – I have to search the cove. I’ll be back within the hour; if we don’t sail by half one, we’ll risk running aground.’ As he spoke, he began taking off his jacket, stripping away his neck tie, undoing the top buttons of his shirt. He crossed quickly to his cabin, returning with a canvas bag. Taking off his boots, he put them in the bag, tying the ropes tightly before slinging it across his chest. ‘If I need the boat, Jacques will send Nathaniel. You’ll be quite safe. What’s the signal?’

  ‘Two, rest, four.’ He smiled at my prompt reply, turning to climb the stairs, taking them two at a time. I glanced at the clock. Nearly half past twelve. A whole hour to wait.

  He lowered himself from the stern, dropping silently into the blue water and I held my breath, waiting for him to surface. Across the long sweep of the bay the red flag was signalling – three, two, three. The person waving that flag was watching us, waiting for one of us to row ashore.

  Chapter Ten

  He surfaced forty yards from the boat, immediately diving beneath the water again.

  ‘He’s a good swimmer and he won’t be seen behind the reeds.’ Jacques had come to my side. His voice was gruff, his French accent more pronounced than Arnaud’s. ‘He knows what he’s doing. My orders are to sail in one hour. If he’s not back, he’s instructed me to return you to Fosse.’

  ‘What?’ I stared at him in horror. ‘Not back? He must be coming back.’

  His eyebrows formed a thick black band across his forehead. ‘Those are my orders.’

  My heart seemed to stop. ‘You’d leave without him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I could barely breathe. I felt sick with anxiety. Leaving without Arnaud Lefèvre would be unthinkable. ‘Well, he’d better come back.’

  Jacques watched the waving flag through the telescope, the tension in his body almost palpable. Nathaniel scowled from the bow, his eyes full of hostility. I pulled my hood further over my face. I d
id not like that man. I did not trust him. The midday sun was shining on the deck – warm, autumnal sunshine with still enough strength to penetrate my cloak. Glad it was keeping me hidden, I sat watching the shoreline, searching the water, watching intently for a figure to surface and swim towards us.

  The sea was the colour of sapphires, the air fresh, blowing across the land with the smell of manure. Gulls swooped across the water, birds darted through the reeds, but my eyes remained fixed on the small outcrop of rocks – exactly south on the compass. Jacques tied the tiller to the gunwale and came back to the coach roof, a pipe clamped between his teeth. He began splicing a rope. He seemed restless, like a dog waiting for his master. The heat of the sun was increasing, the hideous black cloak far too heavy. I needed to go below, splash my face and hands.

  I glanced at the clock – a quarter to one. On the desk lay the velvet cloth, the shape of the pistol visible beneath it. Below was the chart. I pushed the pistol carefully to one side, trying to make sense of the swirling outlines but the land and sea seemed indistinguishable from each other; it was impossible to differentiate one from the other. There was nothing marked – no towns, no ports, no villages. I looked up, annoyed. Where were we?

  In the alcove above the desk a row of books crowded together. One caught my eye. It was smaller than the others, pushed further back, and I reached forward, taking it from the shelf. The spine was creased, the book immediately falling open where a folded page had been inserted. It was the book Arnaud had had open when I arrived and I unfolded the page. It was a song – the words carefully written beneath the notes of a musical score. Oh, come with me and be my love. Let not thy heart be timid.

  The thought of Arnaud Lefèvre composing love songs was somehow intriguing and I looked at the carefully drawn notes, trying to follow them. I looked again. The key kept changing, there were too many beats in some bars, it was discordant, impossible to sing and clearly impossible to play. I re-folded the page, tucking it quickly back into the book. It was wrong to pry into something so personal.