Love Under Fire Page 4

  The child was amusing, there was no doubt about that. She might look little better than a beggar, but she had certainly been educated.

  “Would you tell me a little more about yourself?” he suggested. “As you see, I am asking you in all politeness.”

  “It’s a boring subject that your Lordship will find little of interest in,” Elvina replied. “Let me tell you other things instead. About the War, of the difficulties and discomforts your countrymen have suffered in this foreign land, of their victories – and their defeats. Is not that what you will be interested to hear?”

  It was uncanny, Lord Wye thought, how this child seemed almost to read his thoughts. It would interest him.

  “And what will you know about it?” he asked lightly. “At your age you should have been kept at home doing your lessons.”

  “I have walked about the streets and talked to the men resting between the battles,” Elvina answered. “I have been to the hospitals and tried to help the wounded – when there were too many for the orderlies to cope with and not enough volunteers amongst the women of the town. I have heard the soldiers talk of their battles and have watched many of them die, speaking of the Duke of Wellington as if he was a kind of God who had led them to Heaven – instead of to death and destruction.”

  Lord Wye sat down suddenly in his chair.

  “Go on talking,” he urged her. “Tell me more.”

  *

  Some hours later Elvina looked round the cabin that had been allotted her.

  “You will be comfortable, it is the cabin that Lady Bowhill occupied on the way out,” Lord Wye had said to her.

  Elvina, seated on the edge of the bunk, decided that Lady Bowhill must be the woman who had tried to cling to Lord Wye last night and who had complained so passionately at his departure.

  He was bored with her, she thought shrewdly.

  Walking across the cabin with difficulty, because the ship was lurching in a most uncomfortable manner, she looked at herself in the looking glass that was fastened securely to the wall.

  For a moment she thought that she must be crazy.

  Last night in the cracked mirror in her own bedroom and in her hurry, it had been difficult to see the result of Juanita’s dye and the walnut juice. But now her darkened face stared back at her and she was almost frightened by her own ugliness.

  Her hair, which had waved naturally, hung straight and lank. The dye combined with the salty air had made it sticky. Elvina wondered what would happen if she washed it and then decided that it would be far too dangerous. She had applied the walnut juice to her face, neck, arms and legs well diluted, but, even so, it had made her skin very brown.

  ‘It’s not surprising that he believed I was Portuguese,’ she told her reflection and made a resolution to remember to have a faint accent.

  It had been easy enough to assume when Lord Wye was asking her questions, but when she grew animated she had suddenly become aware that her voice was clear and untrammelled by anything but animation.

  “Why do you speak such good English?” Lord Wye had asked her.

  “My parents had English friends in Lisbon,” Elvina replied truthfully.

  “And, of course, your sister married an Englishman,” Lord Wye added.

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  Elvina now wished that she had not invented a mythical sister waiting for her in England and yet once she was aboard she had begun to think that she should have a reason for being so anxious to reach England.

  It did not seem very reasonable for her to explain to Lord Wye that she was running away because of the cruelty of her stepmother and the drunkenness of her father.

  Even if he believed her, he might still feel beholden to send her back to those who she rightfully belonged to.

  It was when she was lying in the hold of the ship, having crept in under cover of the darkness and hidden herself behind some bales, that the weals from the whipping that Juanita had given her earlier in the day began to hurt unbearably.

  There had been so much for her to do, first of all dressing Juanita and then going to watch the ball that she had not been concerned with the ache and the stiffness of her own body.

  Alone in the darkness, the only sound the lap of the water against the sides of the yacht and the tramp of the armed guard overhead, she had thought that never again could she suffer die indignity and pain of being beaten by Juanita.

  She tried to count up how many whippings she had endured and found it impossible to remember them.

  There had been too many. Just as there had been too many slaps and pinches and screaming rages of abuse when Juanita cursed her and told her the day would come when she would cast her out and leave her to the mercy of the soldiers.

  Elvina knew only too well what they meant. Men who had come out of battle or were just going into it, for that matter, wanted only two things – drink and women.

  And once they had the drink it did not matter to them much what the women looked like. Young or old, so long as she was a woman they had a use for her.

  ‘I have escaped! I have escaped!’ Elvina told herself when morning came and she knew it by the sounds of activity on deck although there was no light in the hold.

  She heard the anchor being weighed and the yacht began to move. She put her thin little arms round her body and hugged herself.

  Her back might ache, she might be hungry and thirsty.

  Nothing mattered except the fact that she was being carried away from Juanita, from Lisbon, from the misery of a house haunted by the ghost of her dead mother and the degradation of her seldom sober father.

  She had not meant to come out from her hiding place for a long time, perhaps when they had been at sea for a day or more.

  But two seamen surprised her and, although she had tried to escape from them, they had caught her.

  ‘I am safe now,’ Elvina told her reflection in the glass.

  She wished that in her disguise she did not have to look so hideous. But once again her instinct had been right. As the English child of an English parent, Lord Wye would have taken her back to Lisbon.

  She did not know why she had not invented a name for herself.

  It seemed silly, but she did not wish to lie to Lord Wye any more than she was absolutely obliged to do. She had indeed kept as near to the truth as was possible in saying that nobody loved her and she was unwanted.

  The mythical sister in England had been a necessity, so had the fact that her father was dead.

  ‘He is dead as far as I am concerned,’ Elvina justified herself. ‘Half the time he is not aware of my existence and for the rest he believes what Juanita tells him. He died when my mother died and therefore I have no one, no one at all.’

  There was a sudden hint of tears in her eyes and then she smiled.

  ‘I am Elvina Nobody from Nowhere!’ she told her reflection and suddenly she was laughing.

  Laughing at the adventure of it all, at the excitement of being at sea and knowing that England lay ahead. England – and perhaps a chance of meeting her mother’s relations.

  She put out her hand and touched the locket. It was safe where she had put it, hidden between her breasts and she looked down at the ring on her little finger.

  That was there too, her only two treasures, two things that had belonged to her mother. They were more valuable to her than all the wealth in King Joseph’s baggage carts.

  She jumped up suddenly, remembering why she had come to her cabin. The midday meal was to be served in a few minutes in Lord Wye’s cabin.

  She was to eat with him.

  She washed her hands and face a little gingerly. She was half-afraid that the dye would come off in the basin. But she need not have been afraid, that stain was good and, when she combed back her hair from her forehead, it seemed to have a little more life in it

  ‘I shall get quite used, in time to being a brunette’ Elvina decided. ‘And when we get to England, I can wash it away until I look like myself again.’ />
  Over the round neck of her gown she put a clean white fichu, which made her skin seem in contrast darker than ever.

  Then she went back to Lord Wye’s cabin.

  It seemed to Elvina that she had never had so much to eat before.

  There were fresh lobsters, roast chicken, young mountain lamb, fruit and wine. There was also cheese made from goats’ milk by the peasants, which Lord Wye declared that he found delicious.

  “Do you eat like this – every day?” she asked.

  He put out his hand impulsively and laid it on hers.

  “You poor child,” he said. “I am ashamed how we in England forget that you and your countrymen have suffered a great deal on our behalf. Perhaps by being kind to you, Elvina, I shall be able to pay back a little of the debt we all owe to Portugal.”

  His hand was strong and warm on hers and in response her eyes seemed to shine in her small pointed face.

  “You are kind,” she said. “I was sure of it when I heard you say – ”

  She stopped suddenly. She had been about to add – ‘that you were sorry for the children last night’ and realised that it would be a mistake.

  Instead she substituted,

  “ – that you would take me to England.”

  “And when we get there I will find your sister. I promise you that,” Lord Wye smiled, taking his hand away and pouring her out another glass of wine. “It should not be difficult to trace a Captain Thompson through the Army records. Do you like your brother-in-law?”

  “Very – much,” Elvina said a little stiffly.

  Lord Wye was being frank and open with her and she hated having to lie to him.

  “Tell me about yourself, my Lord,” she said quickly. “What do you do?”

  “I have a country estate in Hertfordshire,” he answered, “and a house in London.”

  “You are married?”

  Elvina was sure that he was not and yet she wanted to be quite certain. She was not sure why she was so interested.

  “No, I have avoided that enviable state so far,” Lord Wye responded with a smile.

  It made it easier that he was a bachelor, Elvina thought. A married man might know more about women and might be more suspicious.

  A plate on the end of the table leapt in the air and crashed to the floor.

  “It is getting rough,” Lord Wye said, as if they had not been pitching for several hours.

  “Steward. Clear the table.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  The Steward took away what remained of the meal. There was no doubt at all that the sea was getting much rougher.

  Now it was impossible to stand up. Everything moveable in the cabin had been fastened down.

  The lanterns overhead swung dizzily backwards and forwards, creaking as they did so, and Elvina had to cling to her chair with both hands.

  There was the sound of orders being given outside.

  “What is happening?” Lord Wye asked the Steward.

  “We are takin’ down the mains’l, my Lord.”

  “That will slow us up,” Lord Wye said angrily. “Tell the Captain to shorten it, but not to take it down completely.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  The Steward staggered from the cabin and Lord Wye settled himself in his chair.

  “Frightened?” he asked.

  Elvina shook her head.

  “Why should I be? You are not afraid.”

  “Women usually are afraid of storms,” Lord Wye replied. “But then you are not a woman, are you, Elvina?”

  She smiled.

  “If getting older is going to make me afraid of things like that, then I would rather remain as I am – ”

  “ – a very naughty child!” Lord Wye finished, but his voice was not severe and his eyes were twinkling.

  “Are you angry with me, my Lord?”

  He almost believed that there was a hint of genuine apprehension in her voice and in the clearness of those strange hazel-green eyes.

  “I ought to be,” he answered. “I ought to be extremely incensed with you, first of all for invading my yacht and secondly for disturbing my privacy. I had looked forward to a quiet voyage with no one to talk to and no one to distract me. But shall I tell you the truth?”

  “Yes, please do,” Elvina said.

  “I am damned if I don’t enjoy having you here. I can hardly credit that I should want to talk to such an incalculable imp of mischief, but I do.”

  He smiled at her again.

  Their eyes met and Elvina felt as if a sudden shaft of sunshine had come through the portholes to illuminate the cabin.

  No one had ever been so kind to her before.

  No one had ever told her, since her mother had died, that they wished to talk with her.

  And then, as she looked at him, her heart beating a little quicker because of her happiness, the door was suddenly burst open and a gust of wind swept in almost like a tongue of fire.

  “The Captain’s compliments, my Lord,” Mister. Sanders gasped. “We’ve got to take the mains’l down. The main mast is cracking!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Afterwards Elvina could never remember in detail what had happened during the rest of that day and most of the night.

  She could only recall being flung across the cabin so often that in the end she remained on the floor and even had difficulty in preventing herself from being rolled like a barrel to and fro with the movement of the yacht.

  Outside there were hoarse shouts, the sudden shriek of a man in pain, the cracking and creaking of the ship’s timbers which sounded at times as if the yacht itself was breaking in half.

  Once Lord Wye came into the cabin to fetch a sling for a man who had broken his arm.

  He snatched the first thing he saw, some small flags that had fallen from the drawer and which were lying all over the floor with a miscellaneous collection of other objects.

  He was soaked to the skin and looked very different from the dandified gentleman who had left the cabin some hours earlier.

  “What is – happening?” Elvina asked him.

  “We are still afloat,” he answered with a smile, his teeth were very white in contrast to his face that had been whipped by the wind and rain.

  “Are we in – danger, my Lord?”

  “Perhaps,” he replied. “But we shall survive. The yacht is well built.”

  He held onto the table to prevent himself from toppling over.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Elvina nodded,

  “It’s better to lie on the floor than be thrown onto it.”

  “You have more common sense than most people,” he smiled. “Don’t be afraid. This damned wind must abate some time.”

  It seemed doubtful, Elvina thought, hearing the shrieking fury of it, swirling around the yacht, so that she realised that she and Lord Wye were shouting at each other.

  “You are wet,” she exclaimed. “Have you no coat?”

  “I have not time to put one on,” he answered.

  She realised that in some strange way he was enjoying the battle with the elements, the feeling that he was pitting his strength and that of his yacht against nature itself.

  “Is the mast all right?” she shouted.

  “I think it will hold,” he replied. “And if the worst comes to the worst, we shall be picked up by one of the English ships. There are plenty of them in the Bay if we could but see them. When this blinding rain clears, we shall be able to send a signal for help.”

  His words made Elvina realise how serious their plight was. But before she could question him further, he had gone. She was left alone in the dishevelled cabin.

  Hours went by. Everything that could fall onto the floor had fallen, everything that could break had broken.

  Elvina wedged herself against the leg of the table and clung to it. She could see and hear the waves through the porthole and it seemed to her that they must be breaking over the whole ship.

  Some time
during the afternoon there was a tremendous crash. It was like a cannon shot and she knew that the mast had gone.

  She heard it fall upon the deck and was aware by the sudden list of the whole ship that the sails were dragging them to starboard. She could hear the men being ordered to cut them loose and she longed to go to the door and she what was happening.

  She had, however, been to sea too often in her life not to know that, when anything went wrong, a woman on board was a nuisance and an encumbrance.

  Besides she was well aware that it would not take much strength of wind or wave to sweep her overboard. She did not need to be instructed to stay where she was.

  She knew instinctively that it was the thing she must do and so, despite her curiosity, she went on clinging to the fat carved leg of the oak table, which was battened securely to the floor, while she listened to what was occurring outside.

  A little later she realised that they were free of the sails. The mast had been chopped off and thrown overboard. Now they were drifting with the wind at the mercy of the tempest.

  Strangely enough Elvina was not afraid.

  She had been, desperately tremblingly afraid of Juanita, especially when she held a whip in her hand, but the fury of the elements was something that had never frightened her.

  It did cross her mind that they might be drowned, but somehow it did not seem to matter.

  ‘If I die,’ she thought, ‘I shall be with Mama. If I live, I shall not have to go back to face Juanita and her beatings.’

  In the next few hours she slept a little, still clinging by instinct to the table leg and it was with a start that she heard the cabin door open.

  She felt the sudden gust of cold wind sweep around the cabin and realised that Lord Wye was visiting her once more.

  He was wearing an oilskin now, a rough, coarsely cut one such as seamen wore, but the water was seeping from his clothes and running down over his boots making pools of water on the floor as he walked across it.

  He reached for the edge of the table and guided himself to a chair.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Elvina.

  She looked up at him and gave a little cry. His face was smeared with blood where, on one side of his forehead, there was a huge gash.