The Heart of love Page 8

  Verena sat down and began to cry softly to herself. She could not understand why she felt as she did or why she was so upset that the Marquis had caught her watching him. Even though she had been warned that he liked his staff to be seen and not heard, he had not been unkind or harsh towards her –

  ‘I must stop this foolishness at once,’ she resolved.

  *

  The days passed and Verena found herself unable to resist creating opportunities to see the Marquis. Whether it was with some query on that evening’s dinner or to find out which flavours pleased him.

  She longed to pass comment on his library, and in particular, the books on Ancient Greece and Rome, but she dare not. She knew that no humble chef would be familiar with such titles and to express an interest would raise suspicion.

  The weather grew warmer and she sensed the ship turning. The sun was now rising directly in front of them.

  Verena asked one of the crew where they were and he grunted, “We be somewhere off the coast of Portugal and that there is Lisbon.”

  He waved his hand towards the horizon.

  Verena stared hard and was sure she could just about make out the coastline. “Ar, I’ll wager we’ll dock in Gibraltar tomorrow mornin’.”

  “That soon?”

  “Ar.”

  She felt a sudden sense of anticipation. Dry land! They had only been at sea for four days, but already she missed it. Much as she loved the swell of the ocean, she longed to see green trees and grass.

  She could hardly sleep that night for excitement. After dinner had been cleared away and everyone had eaten their fill, she went up on deck.

  It was a fine evening and the ship was gliding effortlessly through the water. The comforting chug of the engines and smell of coal enhanced the atmosphere.

  She moved to return below deck as it was time she turned in. While she held the rails, she noticed a solitary figure standing on the top deck by the bridge. It was not the Captain, he was too tall.

  ‘The Marquis! But what is he doing up there?’

  He was looking intently out to sea. Although his back was to her, she could see that he was not moving a muscle.

  ‘Why does he stand like that,’ she wondered, ‘he cannot possibly see anything, it is too far and too dark.’

  It occurred to Verena that he held the air of a troubled man. Had she been able to see his face, she felt sure that she would have found his brow furrowed and his eyes full of conflict.

  Once more, her heart surged out to him. She wished she could comfort him.

  ‘But how can I? I am just a servant and one dressed as a boy at that. These feelings that I have for him are impossible, quite impossible!’

  *

  The next day dawned bright and sunny. There was a definite air of excitement around the ship as the crew made ready to dock in Gibraltar.

  Pete was busy washing down the deck.

  “Have to have it just so for his Lordship,” he said as he scrubbed. “I want to make this deck as clean as my mother’s neck. Ha, ha!”

  Verena winced, the boy could be so crude and disrespectful – how he stayed out of trouble was a mystery to her.

  “You are looking forward to coming ashore wiz me?” she enquired. Her voice low and gruff.

  “Not ’alf. I’m going straight to the nearest tavern and ordering a foaming draft of ale.”

  Verena raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, you will do zis without me, I do not care for alehouses.”

  “Ooh, what a toff,” countered Pete.

  She returned to the galley and began to prepare luncheon. The store cupboard was starting to look quite bare – but for some potatoes and pheasant, there would be no more meat for the table until she could find a suitable market.

  Arthur arrived at midday ready to serve the meal.

  “This is humble fare compared to what his Lordship has been eating,” he commented, sliding the serving dishes onto the dumb waiter.

  Verena shrugged.

  “Zis evening I will make the big meal, but until I can go to the market, ’is Lordship will have to like it. I cannot magic a pig out of thin air!”

  Arthur laughed gently.

  “Now, wouldn’t that be a thing if you could, Jean! I’d make my fortune out of you.”

  Verena instantly felt nervous – would the luncheon displease the Marquis? She grumbled to herself as she bustled around, making the pudding.

  ‘I do hope not. But what can I do short of casting a line over the side and hoping to catch some of his precious octopus.’

  She was suddenly aware of the ship pitching from side to side quite alarmingly. As she grabbed onto the countertop to steady herself, Jack appeared.

  “Don’t you fret, Jean. No need to look so scared.

  We’re just coming into port. It is always like this – cross currents, you see.”

  Verena nodded and felt her way along the counter to the dumb waiter, the strawberries in fruit jelly were wobbling wildly to one side and she wanted to get them onto the chute before they slid off.

  The ship’s engines roared beneath her feet and the ship lurched backwards.

  “We’re docking,” shouted Jack.

  Verena hastily pulled on the ropes and sent the strawberry confection hurtling upwards. She hoped that Arthur was still in the Saloon to receive it.

  Sure enough, a few moments later, the dumb waiter ground into action and a selection of empty plates and the remains of the pheasant and potatoes appeared.

  Verena noted with satisfaction that the Marquis had taken a fairly substantial portion. She would have difficulty in eking it out for the Captain and Arthur.

  ‘For a troubled man, he has a healthy appetite,’ she mused to herself.

  Although she herself ate like a bird, as befitted a lady, she was appreciative of a man with a love of food.

  Half an hour later she was walking down the gangway to the dock with Pete at her side wheeling a small handcart. His cap was set at a jaunty angle and he whistled all the while.

  Verena was immediately overcome with the sights and sounds of Gibraltar.

  In front of her everything seemed to be in the shadow of the Rock that loomed overhead. The port was much larger than Poole, she noted, and twice as busy.

  They soon found the market. As it was so late, Verena was dismayed to find that much of the fresh fish had gone, but she did manage to purchase a small octopus and some fine-looking sardines, a local delicacy. The fisherman spoke English, as did many folk round about.

  It did not take her long to fill Pete’s cart and it was not without some persuasion that she pulled him away from a tavern not far from where the Seahorse was berthed.

  “You must come back to the ship and ’elp me with the food,” she instructed him.

  Pete just sighed a merry twinkle in his black eyes.

  “Right you are, but as soon as we’ve unloaded this little lot, I’m off! We’re not sailing until tomorrow’s tide, so that will give me plenty of time to sample Gibraltar’s fine ales.”

  Verena shook her head and smiled to herself.

  ‘He is such a lively fellow. I am so glad he is on board. I so enjoy being around him.’

  It took her nearly two hours to put everything in its place. She carefully salted some pork she had found on a market stall and hung up a fine Spanish ham in the cool of the pantry.

  There were crates of bright green vegetables, lemons and oranges with their leaves still attached, jars of fiery red pimenton made from sweet ground peppers and fat strands of ruby-red saffron, sacks of rice, juicy onions and large, knobbly garlic whose skin was still fresh and pliable.

  She had not been able to resist a tray of dates from Morocco and had stocked up on almonds with which to stuff them for dessert.

  ‘I will put a feast before the Marquis,’ she vowed, pulling the octopus out of the bag to inspect it. The fisherman had given her precise instructions on how to prepare it – the dish was to be her piece de resistance tonight.


  Arthur entered the galley, carrying an empty lemonade jug and glasses.

  “Don’t forget his Lordship has a guest this evening,” he reminded her.

  A cold hand of fear gripped Verena – she had put the guest to the back of her mind, not wishing to dwell on the fact that there may be a rival for her affections. She felt quite sick for a second and was forced to sit down.

  Arthur raised an eyebrow and left the galley, obviously thinking she was having another tantrum.

  ‘How foolish I am,’ she admonished herself, ‘how can this guest be a rival when the Marquis does not even know that I am not a boy! He could never fall in love with me whilst I am in disguise and it is quite the silliest notion for me to entertain.’

  However sternly she talked to herself, she could not ignore the aching feeling in her heart.

  As she bustled around the kitchen, trying hard to compose herself, there was a commotion over her head.

  She could hear baggage being thrown into the hold and the cries of the crew as they ran hither and thither.

  ‘It must be the Marquis’s guest,’ she thought with a sinking spirit. ‘I must throw myself into my cooking. Tonight will be no different to any other night. In fact, I will make this meal extra special.’

  Verena put her very heart and soul into the preparation of that night’s dinner, a thousand wild thoughts chasing around her mind.

  ‘And if I threw myself on his mercy and revealed myself?’ she pondered, as she heated the new Spanish griddle she had bought, ready to throw on the onions and the octopus. ‘What would he do? I could tell him I was fleeing in fear of my life – that is not so far from the truth – and perhaps he would take pity on me and forgive my deception.’

  By the time she had sprinkled the last grains of salt on the octopus dish and added a good pinch of pimenton, she had convinced herself that she was nothing but a silly, addle-headed girl and that the best course of action was to keep quiet.

  Just before the dessert of dates stuffed with almonds was served, Arthur appeared in the galley.

  “My goodness, that tentacle stuff went down well,” he said, sniffing appreciatively at the dates. “Mind you, just give me some of that ham and some fried potatoes for my dinner. I don’t fancy what they ate. Too foreign for me, Jean.”

  Arthur’s stoic Englishness made Verena laugh and forget her troubles. She passed him the salver of dates.

  “I assure you, Arthur, I will be only too ’appy to fry you some potatoes.”

  “Good, glad to hear it. Now, let’s get this lot upstairs. His Lordship is in a good mood this evening – must be his companion’s influence.”

  His companion! Verena’s heart sank to the very bottom of her boots. So it was a lady friend after all. She could not bear to ask Arthur for confirmation and she did not want to reveal herself to be that interested.

  Slowly, she gathered up the dirty crockery. Jack had not appeared that evening, neither had Pete. The rest of the crew were most likely enjoying the benefits of being on land, so they would not miss the lack of supper.

  Her appetite vanished. She was just about to retire to bed when Arthur appeared puffing and panting at the galley door.

  “His Lordship wants you up in the Saloon right away.”

  “No, I cannot,” she began.

  “Don’t worry,” Arthur continued, “his Lordship is in fine fettle and he wants to speak to you personally about the meal and relay his compliments. Come on, don’t dawdle, him and his guest are waiting.”

  Verena sighed and undid her apron. It was no use. She had to face whatever was about to happen.

  She steeled herself as she followed Arthur up the stairs.

  Her heart was beating so hard that she found herself short of breath.

  The lights in the Saloon were very low – there was just one candelabra burning in the middle of the table.

  As she approached, she could smell the Marquis’s fine cigar and hear his voice rising in merriment.

  ‘Laughter,’ she thought, quite surprised. ‘I have not heard him laugh once since we set off from Poole.’ Arthur announced her arrival and he ushered her into the dark smoke-filled room.

  As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see the Marquis standing at the end of the table, a decanter of port in his hand.

  “Ah, Jean,” he said upon seeing her. “That was a most excellent meal – and you found me some octopus. Superb.”

  It was now Verena’s turn to be unable to meet his gaze. She stood before him with her eyes cast downwards.

  “We enjoyed it immensely,” he continued, “you surpassed yourself, well done!”

  Verena forced herself to look up, and as she did so, her eyes now used to the light, she glimpsed a figure seated at the dining table.

  Her heart skipped a beat as not a woman, but a man loomed out of the darkness to light his cigar from one of the candles on the table.

  “Hear, hear! Thumping good dinner,” he added in staccato tones.

  Verena could have fainted on the spot – the waxed whiskers and face red with good living were horribly familiar.

  No, the truth behind the riddle of the Marquis’s guest was far worse than a mere sweetheart – that she could have borne.

  No, the man who stood before her, puffing contentedly on a cigar, was none other than Lord Mountjoy, one of her stepmother’s closest friends from London!

  He was a vile man who had made unwelcome advances to her during a brief visit to Rosslyn Hall not long after the new Countess had arrived. His lewd insinuations had deeply shocked her.

  “May I present one of my oldest friends, Lord Mountjoy,” exclaimed the Marquis.

  Lord Mountjoy advanced towards Verena, locking eyes in a way that chilled her to the bone.

  As the Marquis continued to speak, Lord Mountjoy’s eyes never left her face. Verena felt hot then cold.

  If there was one person in the entire world who could expose her as a fraud, it was he.

  At last, he spoke directly to her, “D’you know, I have the darndest feeling that I know you from somewhere. Now, isn’t that curious?”

  The Marquis shrugged,

  “I cannot see how, Jean has spent his life in France, studying fine cuisine. This is his first voyage out of that country – not unless he has a secret past he is concealing from us!”

  The pair laughed heartily, Verena shuddered. She had the most terrible feeling that she was about to be unmasked.

  As she stood under the unflinching gaze of Lord Mountjoy, she was hardly paying attention to what the Marquis was saying. There was an awkward silence and she realised that he had just addressed her.

  “Jean?” he said, questioningly, “maybe I should speak in French, you may not have understood what I said.”

  “Don’t go all parlez-vous on me, Jamie old boy,” protested Lord Mountjoy. “You know I don’t speak a darned word of the lingo!”

  Verena looked shocked. It was the first time she had heard the Marquis’s first name spoken. And to hear it said in such a cavalier way!

  James! James. Such a sweet name!

  The Marquis frowned at Lord Mountjoy. He obviously did not approve of such informality in front of the servants. Verena understood implicitly – had the same happened to her, she would have been most upset.

  The Marquis turned to Verena and began to tell her in French that their next stop was Marseilles, a day or so away. She would have another chance to take on more provisions as they would then be sailing off into the Mediterranean and would not dock again for more than a week.

  As he spoke, her heart fell into her boots. Two whole days.

  The Marquis dismissed her from the room with a kindly wave of his hand, but Verena took no joy in his newfound bonhomie.

  ‘Oh, what am I to do?’ she howled to herself, as she ran along the deck. ‘By the time we reach Marseilles, that awful man will have remembered who I am and will have me put ashore. I will be stranded. How can I stop him from finding out who I really am? I feel so
alone. What on earth am I to do? I am at the mercy of that dreadful man!’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  All that night, Verena lay awake on her bunk.

  As the bells sounded for the last watch, she rose up and kissed the photograph of her mother.

  ‘Oh, Mama, if only you were here. You would know what I must do to avoid being discovered.’ She kissed the photograph once more with fervour before placing it back on the small cabinet by her bed.

  Her eyes felt hollow and her mouth dry.

  ‘I will go to the galley for a drink of water,’ she decided.

  Cautiously she dressed in her uniform before stealing out of her cabin.

  ‘I do hope that everyone is asleep,’ she thought as she slipped through the corridors. ‘The Marquis and Lord Mountjoy were up rather late – they were playing music for hours after we had all gone to bed.’

  The galley was strangely quiet when she reached it with only the purr of the engines beneath.

  Verena helped herself to a glass of water and drank it standing up. She was just about to pour a second, when she heard a noise in the corridor outside.

  Her heart missed a beat as she froze to the spot. Straining her ears she could distinctly hear shuffling noises – like someone in their slippers was kicking invisible dust.

  ‘It must be Lord Mountjoy,’ she thought to herself, in a panic. ‘He has been lying in wait for me and now he’s come to confront me!”

  Verena stood terrified in the galley for quite some time. Eventually, she plucked up the courage to creep towards the door and peer down the corridor.

  There was nothing and no one there.

  She ran all the way back to her cabin, leaving her glass of water behind.

  *

  At around half-past six, Verena gave up any notion of sleeping. She arose from her bunk and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were sunken with a black smudge under each one. Her skin was pasty and drawn.

  ‘I am glad that no one expects me to look decorative,’ she mused as she left her cabin once more for the galley. ‘Today I am grateful for being just a chef and not a lady on constant display.’

  Once there she took down the book of menus and scanned the pages.