High Sea Page 3

  “A young woman should not be travelling unaccompanied,” he said. “I would like you to join our party as a companion to my daughter.”

  Flattered as I was by this suggestion, I was not altogether certain that it would meet with the approval of Estelle. I also felt wary that, if Estelle’s assertions about her father’s controlling influence were true, he might seek to make me complicit in what she purported to be his abuse of her.

  Indebted as I was to Mr McEwan, I felt I had to broach the issues preying on my mind, even if that meant jeopardising my own prospects.

  “Sir,” I began, “might I ask you about something concerning your daughter?”

  Mr McEwan agreed.

  “Estelle tells me that when she was in England, she was in love with a young man whom you now claim is betrothed to another.”

  Mr McEwan looked grave and said, “I’m afraid Estelle is deluded where this young scoundrel is concerned. No doubt she has claimed that he is in love with her?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “I assure you, Miss, the young man in question is not in love with my daughter.”

  Mr McEwan watched me steadily.

  “I am sorry, Sir,” I began awkwardly, “but it would seem that it is your word against Estelle’s and, at the risk of offending you, Mr McEwan, as a woman I cannot discount what Estelle has told me. I cannot accept your assertion that she is deluded.”

  “You need external verification in this matter?” he suggested.

  “Yes, Sir,” I replied, aware that any such confirmation was unlikely to be available.

  Mr McEwan nodded. “The good doctor can vouch for my word.”

  I was intrigued by the mention of Doctor John in connection with Estelle’s story.

  Mr McEwan continued. “Doctor Seacombe was, some months back, engaged to be married to one Marianne Taylor. But then, out of the blue, she left him for another man. That man is the scoundrel with whom my Estelle is obsessed.”

  I listened in rapt attention to McEwan’s tale.

  “Marianne inherited a fortune from her uncle. The rogue whom Estelle claims to be the love of her life stole that young lady from the good doctor when he learnt of her fortune. If you need confirmation of any of this, you need only speak with Doctor Seacombe.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Sir,” I assured Mr McEwan.

  I no longer needed reassurance that McEwan spoke the truth – I could tell he wasn’t lying. Moreover, I knew, following his hasty exit earlier in the evening, that I could not speak to Doctor John.

  I thanked Mr McEwan again for all his help and told him that, if Estelle was in agreement to his scheme, I was happy to travel as her companion. I went to quit the gentleman’s cabin.

  “Young lady,” he said, “I must confess I do not know what to call you. What is your name?”

  “It is Samantha, Sir,” I replied.

  “Samantha,” Mr McEwan repeated. “And a very pretty name it is too.”

  I blushed at his compliment.

  “We will have to sort you out with suitable attire, Samantha,” McEwan said.

  I couldn’t help but smile at this comment, knowing full well that, given a needle and thread, I could fashion a passable gown from the least promising scraps of fabric.

  * * *

  We finally arrived in Melbourne. What a whirlwind were my first few days in that foreign country, my time divided between accompanying Mr McEwan on social engagements, amusing Estelle when her father was occupied by business and, at his insistence, looking about me to see whether I could find any commercial prospect in the district for myself.

  At the close of the fourth day I felt despondent. Appealing as the thought of a new life in the New World seemed and undoubted as I was of its potential to afford a skilled seamstress a prosperous living, I couldn’t get excited about my proposed future or even really see myself existing in this strange and infant civilization.

  And so that evening, when I was due to dine in Mr McEwan’s apartments, along with Estelle and a small party of her father’s guests, I determined to seek a private audience with the good gentleman and inform him of my desire to return home with he and Estelle, to seek my fortune on more familiar shores. This course, I knew, would hold its own obstacles: the return journey would mean having to spend another couple of months avoiding Doctor John. While this would, perhaps, not be so hard to achieve –a strong constitution on my part meant I seldom fell ill– I knew it would wrench my heart to be in such close proximity to him for so long without being able to enjoy his company or favour. And at a deeper level, I knew that my despondency surrounding my future, be it abroad or at home, stemmed from having to come to terms with the prospect that it would be a future devoid of him.

  It was with these thoughts preying on my mind that I walked into Mr McEwan’s salon, dressed as prettily as Estelle had been able to contrive, despite my lack of interest in my appearance. The comfort and luxury of McEwan’s apartments, the rich burgundy upholstered armchairs, the heat being thrown out into the room by the hearty fire roaring in the grate, its light catching the crystal chandelier and decanters set out on the sideboard, were wasted on me – I barely noticed what was about me.

  Barely noticed until, that was, I spied, from the corner of my eye, the form of a man whose near-perfect grace was instantly recognisable. As I registered the presence of Doctor John, I instinctively squeezed the arm of Estelle who had entered the room with me. As she turned to me, I said, “I’m sorry Estelle, I feel quite faint all of a sudden. I think perhaps I should not dine tonight–”

  “Nonsense Sam!” she replied. “You have simply been adversely affected by a change of temperature – Daddy will insist upon having such stifling heat in the evening!” And, grasping my hand, she led me across the room. “But we need not worry,” she continued, forcing me down into a chaise longue, “being in the company of one who has the means to restore you to health.”

  And before I had the wits to resist her interference, Estelle was standing over me, with Doctor John kneeling at my side. He placed the back of his hand on my brow.

  I couldn’t look him in the eye and felt certain his embarrassment at our meeting would be as great as mine.

  Once she was satisfied that I was being tended to, Estelle was quick to engage those about her in conversation, with the upshot that the Doctor and I were left to ourselves.

  As he removed his hand from my brow, I finally found the courage to look at him.

  “You have no temperature,” he said simply.

  “I know,” I replied and was amazed to see him smiling at me, despite the transparency of my fraudulent illness.

  “But you do seem to have suffered a shock,” he continued. “Might I prescribe a measure of brandy to calm your nerves.”

  He went to pour me a glass from the decanter on the sideboard. I was surprised by the hint of playfulness in his voice and, I must admit, felt some resentment that he did not appear to share my anxiety at our meeting. Returning and sitting beside me on the couch, Doctor John compounded my discomfort by beginning, “Only your second taste of brandy, Sam,” with a smile that met with a dreadful remembrance of my deceit.

  “Forgive me Doctor John,” I murmured.

  “No need, Sam,” he interjected, placing his steady hand on mine as it trembled. “That was in the past. I harbour a hope we can start afresh.”

  I took a deep draught of the brandy. I did not correct his assertion that it was only my second taste of the liquor. Since taking residence with the McEwans, I had on occasion drunk brandy into the small hours, talking with Estelle’s father after she had retired to bed. “A breath of fresh air,” he would say it was, to talk with me and he would congratulate me on being a young woman who knew her own mind. Why, I wondered now, did I find my strength of character sorely wanting when in the presence of Doctor John?

  “I would very much like to make a fresh start, Doctor,” I said at last, finding I could not hold his gaze once my admission had been made.r />
  Our conversation was interrupted by Mr McEwan’s call to the dinner table but Estelle was quite determined that Doctor John and I should be seated beside one another, lest I should take ill again and need his assistance. Neither of us objected to her scheme. Though it was impossible for us to talk further of private matters at table, as the evening progressed I became far easier in the Doctor’s company. And he, whilst conversing with Estelle and others about us, never let his attention wander too far from his patient. I harboured hopes that my suspected fever was just a good excuse for his attentiveness.

  But my bliss at being reunited with Doctor John was abruptly curtailed by the cruel social conventions of our times. After dinner Mr McEwan took the Doctor and other gentlemen of his party off to the drawing room to partake of cigars and billiards, whilst Estelle and I were left with the two other ladies present, both married dames older than ourselves. These ladies being very much engrossed in their own conversation, Estelle and I went and huddled on the couch beside the fire. I retrieved the remnant of the glass of brandy and shocked Estelle by taking it in one gulp. I gazed into the flames of the fire and watched them consume the wood that had been placed upon it.

  “Am I such poor company, Sam?” Estelle asked at length.

  “Of course not,” I replied. “It is simply that I am preoccupied.”

  “Preoccupied with thoughts of Doctor John,” Estelle surmised.

  At that I blushed and uttered some unintelligible response.

  “Did I do wrong to encourage Father to invite him tonight?” she pursued.

  “No,” I insisted, “I am thankful that you did. It has smoothed the waters between us.”

  “So what agitates you?” Estelle asked.

  I told her of my decision to accompany her and her father on their return passage and explained that the resolution of matters with Doctor John now alleviated the anxiety I had been feeling about his anticipated presence onboard ship.

  “But how wonderful!” Estelle exclaimed. “And how glad I am that you, like I, have rejected this uncouth country. And how overjoyed I shall be to get free of that dreadful oaf Daddy wanted me to marry. What was Daddy thinking? Wasn’t he dreadful, Sam?”

  I agreed that the said gentleman had, indeed, been quite dreadful but reflected that, to my mind, Estelle had never really been at risk of entering into marriage with him, due to the said gentleman’s all-too-apparent alarm upon encountering the formidable Estelle.

  “And how marvellous when we shall both be back in England – we shall be friends forever!”

  Though deeply dubious about the prospect of Estelle’s constancy once she was back on home turf and distracted by her many fashionable society friends, I smiled and laughed at her enthusiasm and felt truly relaxed for the first time in many days.

  “And you need never have worried yourself about the Doctor, Sam,” she prattled indulgently. “Why, didn’t he tell you? He has been offered partnership in a practice here. Daddy says he’s very eager to start a new life in the New World.”

  I felt the colour drain from my cheeks in an instant.

  “And when we are in England, I shall take you out in society and find you a most handsome and amiable husband – somebody with thoroughly good prospects of whom my father approves,” Estelle announced, laughing in the rather unhinged manner in which she had laughed during our first encounters. “Why don’t you have some more of Daddy’s brandy, Sam? I won’t tell. Isn’t it a future prospect to drink to?”

  I gazed ever more despondently into the flames and thought about the man residing in the next room – he might as well have been on the other side of the world from me, and soon would be.

  * * *

  The following day was agony. I had failed to talk with Mr McEwan during the soiree and, now I had told Estelle of my plans, feared she would deliver the news of my decision to him before I had a chance to do so myself. But now I was questioning my judgement and wondering whether Mr McEwan would think badly of me if I told him I wanted to stay in Australia after all, once Estelle had told him otherwise. Why did I want to stay in Australia? There was, of course, only one answer to that question.

  During the morning we had all been about our tasks, Mr McEwan concluding business, Estelle and I beginning to pack for the return journey. I had been reluctant to pack my own small trunk, insisting that my time was better spent aiding Estelle. The maid appeared and I thought she was about to announce lunch but instead she asked that I should see Mr McEwan in the study. With trepidation I approached his door and knocked at it.

  “Samantha, we are due to return to England in two days’ time and I need to know whether I must obtain a ticket for you too,” McEwan said briskly, looking up from the papers on his desk, as I entered the room. “You still are undecided,” he observed.

  “No Sir, I have reached a conclusion,” I began tentatively.

  He waited.

  “If I may, Mr McEwan, I should like to return to England with you and Estelle and, with your assistance, seek my fortune there.” I realised as I spoke the words that they were my true desire. My head told my heart that my other desire was futile, given that I had no reason to believe it to be reciprocated.

  “Very well,” McEwan replied, with a look that I found hard to interpret.

  “You think my conclusion wrong, Sir?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “My dear Samantha, I cannot decide the future for you. I only provide the means for whichever path of advancement you choose to take.”

  “But I feel foolish, Sir,” I admitted. “Having gone to such precarious lengths to pursue this course – and now I find that what I wanted was what I already had–”

  “But Sam, you lacked the means of advancement, which you now have. Furthermore, you have only discovered the reality of the New World because you have experienced it. Don’t repent your past ambitions, child; they have brought you to a position of insight and experience.”

  I found I had tears in my eyes. Not since my time with Mrs Rush had I felt the empowering effect of the support of one wiser in the ways of the world than myself.

  “My concern, Samantha,” McEwan continued, “is that you have no family. Please, when we return to England, don’t be a stranger to myself and Estelle. You know I would be delighted for you to remain with us and take on the role of chaperon–”

  “But Mr–”

  “Yes, I know, you wish to have your trade and means of independence –that I accept and fully support– but never forget that you have friends, Samantha.”

  I wiped a tear from my eye. “You are very kind, Mr McEwan,” I said, trying to sound composed.

  “And so,” he recommenced assertively, “we shall all enjoy a passage back to England and upon our return to native soil, we shall begin to set about securing your business.”

  I smiled and nodded, feeling more resolved to my decision now it had Mr McEwan’s blessing.

  * * *

  The day soon came for the departure of our vessel. I boarded the ship in very different circumstances to those in which I had done so in England and couldn’t help but smile to myself on account of this as I, along with Estelle and her father, prepared to shake hands with Captain Grey and his senior crew on deck. Was I happy that morning? I was happy to be returning to England. I was excited about a voyage destined to be passed in a certain degree of luxury as companion to Estelle. I was feeling positive about my future because I had the support of Mr McEwan and was absolutely blocking out any thoughts of those aspects of my life that were not as certain as Mr McEwan’s word.

  There was a long queue of first-class passengers ahead of us and so I did not see the ship’s doctor until my hand met with his.

  “Miss Samantha,” he said, holding onto my hand firmly.

  I was aghast. “I did not expect to see you, Doctor John,” I stammered. “I believed you to have taken a post in the town–”

  “Upon examining the small print, the offer was not as agreeable as I had hoped,” he returned.


  Our conversation was cut short by the need for me to progress along the line – we were holding up the queue.

  “I hope I do not have need to call upon your services to assist me this voyage,” Doctor John said light-heartedly as I moved on from him.

  I tried to laugh but found myself stifling tears as I turned from him, my emotions truly confused to behold my good Doctor again.

  * * *

  The morning passed with an excitable Estelle deliriously happy to be homeward bound. It was upon a beautifully calm sea that the ship set sail and Estelle and I spent much of the day on deck, basking in the sunshine beneath our parasols.

  When later Estelle retired to her cabin to dress for dinner, I remained on deck to watch the sun set. I had a notion that another might appear at that hour.

  Sure enough, as other first-class passengers disappeared below to don their finery and the sea breezes became distinctly chilly with the setting sun, the ship’s Doctor walked out onto the deck.

  “Good evening Samantha,” he said as he approached me.

  “Good evening, Doctor. I trust you have found everything present and correct in the sick room.”

  “Indeed, I believe we are prepared for all eventualities.”

  We had instinctively wandered to the edge of the deck, to watch the sun as it disappeared below the horizon. We stood beside one another, gazing out at it.

  “Doctor John, are you not sad to have missed the opportunity of a new life in the New World?” I asked.

  “No, Samantha, it was a rash notion based on some misinformation I received. I am glad to be returning to England.”

  “But you will continue in this post?” I enquired.

  “I think not.” Doctor John paused before continuing, “I took this job when I wanted to run away from something. You recall the story of the girl I was engaged to – the mess in which Miss Estelle was also implicated–”