Race Before the Wind

Copyright © Jill Salkeld 1988

Part Two: 1816-1822

The Venturer's Agent

Chapter Five

Tom put everything he had - all his enthusiasm and energy - into the pursuit of professional success. He lived for the Free Trade; belonged to it, heart, mind and spirit. It was only during nights ashore that he dreamed of Jess; and if sometimes, waking in the dark at West Mills, he would bite his knuckles to keep from groaning in anguish, no one was there to mock him for it.

He spent less time at the cottage than Hicks would perhaps have liked, using it as a base rather than a home. Having been a guest of the Vaillants for so long, he was often included in invitations addressed to them, and attended a fair number of society functions and dinner parties. One evening around the piano at Nelson Place, Sophie, amid much hilarity, taught him to waltz. The birth of a son, Raoul, had proved a sufficient outlet for her maternal urges; her gibes at Tom had ceased, and were readily forgotten; and he, learning from his initial mistake, was careful not to patronise her.

He continued to see a good deal of Trekker Verity. The two young men, opposites in more ways than one could count, were mates in a way that Tom and Gaspard could never be; for the Frenchman could not quite discard the role of tutor, whereas Trekker was content to follow rather than lead.

In the autumn of 1817, Gaspard resigned as Hick's agent. There had already been one serious encounter with a Revenue cutter that season, three men from Winter Witch having been wounded by cannon and musket-fire at close range. The smuggling vessel had been lucky to reach Keyhaven, where she had been laid up for repairs ever since. Only the prompt jettisoning of her cargo had saved the crew from arrest. This incident, closely followed by the trial and imprisonment of six of Bezant's tubmen, intercepted during a trek inland, had silenced the last of Gaspard's doubts. He was ready to enjoy his new career as a timber merchant.

As everyone had known would happen, Skipper Deacon of Marshlight became master of Bold Intent, and Aristo Elderfield, then serving as second mate aboard the larger vessel was appointed as Marshlight's new skipper, and as venturer's agent in Gaspard's stead.

Tom had been a well-liked second mate - something few men achieved. Being counted neither as an officer nor one of the ordinary seamen, it was to become isolated and despised by all. Yet, in spite of his popularity, there was a strong feeling in Hick's fleet that someone so young, after only eighteen months' experience at sea, and with his head stuffed full of book-learning, was not fit to take command of a ship crewed by twelve men.

But Marshlight, alone of the three luggers, had a young crew, four were not yet twenty-one. Of the rest, only two voiced their resentment publicly. One of these requested, and was granted, a transfer to Bold Intent! The other, an old sailor of sixty winters, took the opportunity to retire from the Trade.

This could hardly have suited Tom better. Permitted by Hicks to choose replacements, he signed up Jeremy Lomer at once. Against all odds the youth had turned out to be a bold and capable seaman, and his loyalty to Tom was unquestionable. No one else aboard Bold Intent had shown Jem much kindness, nor taken such a genuine interest in his studies.

To fill the last berth, Tom went to Eddie Verity. Trekker had grown disillusioned with a tubman's life; the merciless weather of 1816, with no summer break, had given him a taste of the aches and pains he could expect in middle age if he continued in the job. He had also fallen out with the Fordyces' butler, over his regular sampling of the household's contraband.

He looked askance, however, at Tom's suggestion, put to him one night over a drink at the Angel.

"If you be claiming, Aristo, that sailors don't get wet -"

"At least you'd have oilskins. Besides, you wouldn't have to traipse around night after night with those bloody kegs strapped round your neck. That's got to make a difference. Christ, I worked long enough hours in rain and frost before I came to the coast, but those six months with Bezant were killers."

Trekker was still looking for problems. "Don't know if I can take orders from 'ee. And what if I don't like he?"

Tom sorted out the pronouns and said with conviction, "If you really couldn't stand working for me, I'd get you a transfer. But if you hated the life..... well, there's that risk. Could be difficult to find another law-abiding job ashore, with so many men out of work, Bezant might take you back, though - and you can move into the spare room at West Mills, and stay as long as you like."

Trekker had been orphaned at the age of five, spent the next ten years in the workhouse, and served six months' hard labour for stealing a dozen eggs, though Mr. Fordyce did not know it. Tom believed it was the fear of being homeless and alone that made him so wary of change.

His assessment of Trekker's character was accurate. The young tubman pushed his cap to the back of his head, and beamed.

"Aye, aye, skipper, he said.

Eddie Verity took to life on shipboard like a born seaman; and if he followed orders with an occasionally satirical grin, or even a tug at his forelock, Tom had no complaints. Trekker had settled into his new family, with curses and venomous humour which barely disguised his readiness to learn from every member of the crew.

The men accepted Tom more willingly than he had expected. Though quieter than Gospel Deacon, he was more decisive and less capricious, so that they knew where they stood. Discipline was strictly enforced, and offenders would find themselves kept busy at such futile tasks as scraping the anchor chain; but Tom used the whip only once. Just before Christmas, while Marshlight lay at anchor off the Brittany coast, he rowed back to the ship sooner than anticipated, after negotiating a thorny deal with a tightfisted tobacco merchant. Two of the youths were keel-hauling Jeremy Lomer through the icy water - "all in fun, like skip, and no harm meant."

He gave each of them six heartfelt strokes, trembling with fury; and he came to understand how dangerous power could be. For if he had surrendered to his anger then, he would have flogged them until their bones showed white.

When the punishment had been inflicted, he gave them salve to cool the weals; but they looked at his face, and they never touched Jem Lomer again.

The Christmas festivities in England were muted and apologetic, the whole country mourning the death of the Princess Charlotte in childbed. The streets of Lymington were dismal with the daily ebb and flow of black coats and gowns. George Ward, landowner and man of business, dubbed by many the 'Island King' celebrated the bright return of spring with a ball at his Cowes home. Tom was sent a personal invitation, on the strength of his close friendship with the families of Hicks and Vaillant; and he crossed the Solent with them aboard Escapade, the one vessel in Hicks' fleet with cabins fit for passengers.

They tied up alongside the new Fountain Quay at West Cowes, and sauntered uphill. The night was fine and warm so that even Sophie was not tempted to hire a carriage. Benjamin Hicks, who had powdered his head as a sign of respect for their distinguished host, was still abstractedly shining a waistcoat button as the party threaded a path among the carriages on the drive.

Northwood House was imposing; but Tom had been there twice before, and he was accustomed, by now, to hearing his entrance announced in grand houses. The ballroom was hot and crowded, humming beneath the dazzle of chandeliers.

"These damned functions would be twice the fun," he muttered to Gaspard, "if half the invitations were lost in the post."

Sophie, overhearing, gave him a reproving tap on the chest with her fan. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement; she loved these glittering occasions. "Now, Thomas, we are here to enjoy ourselves. Let me see....." Her gaze roamed the ballroom as the orchestra, having paused for refreshment, began playing a waltz. "There must be someone you have not met. Why, of course! Miss Fordyce came out this season, and you have been away so much, I am certain you were never introduced. Come with me - come, Thomas."

Tom grimaced over her head at Gaspard, who was trying not to laugh. But he allowed Sophie to lead him around the edge of the dance floor, interested to see how Miss Louisa Fordyce would have changed in two years. He had not looked for her in the street since the summer of '16.

Tonight the family was not easy to ignore. Mrs. Elizabeth Fordyce was holding court. Surrounded by a group of young officers, who served aboard one of the vessels attached to the new Yacht Club, the lady was conducting an animated monologue on the state of the country.

"So I told him, naturally, that the fellow are idle from birth, and their wives no better. One only has to look at them, for surely one need not be dirty just because one is poor? How can they expect decent people to employ them? Naturally, one does what one can, but....."

Mrs. Fordyce's words, Tom reflected, exactly matched her voice and manner. Poisonous effervescence. Champagne laced with arsenic.

Louisa Fordyce stood apart from her mother and bemused father, her gloved hands fingering a chair-back as though she would have liked to sit down, but did not dare. She had grown tall, and her figure was no longer thin, but slender and narrow-hipped. Attractive if one liked boyish waifs, which Tom did not, particularly. But her pale, freckled prettiness showed up well, he thought, beside her mother's painted beauty.

"Louisa, my dear, how are you?" Sophie was saying. "I've been wanting for so long to introduce you to Mr. Elderfield..."

The girl had raised her head at Sophie's first words, and she saw Tom before she heard his name. Her lips parted slightly; the green, guileless eyes widened. He acknowledged the moment of recognition with a smile in which mischief vied with courtesy, and won.

"I'm very glad to meet you at last, Miss Fordyce, he said.

"And I, you," she murmured.

The introductions continued; but Tom had met most of the young men before, and Mrs. Elizabeth Fordyce was determined to secure his whole attention. Her fund of coy looks and pert smiles was inexhaustible, it seemed that every new male acquaintance must be treated as a likely conquest.

"And you are Captain Hicks' agent at the saltern, I believe," she said. "And the skipper of Marshlight. Do you not find it a terrifying responsibility?"

"Challenging, perhaps."

"Dear heaven, how coolly you say it - just as if we did not all know, Mr. Elderfield, what the position entails, Louisa," she called to her daughter, who had shrunk back against the wall, "why, whatever is the matter, child? Did you not hear, Mr. Elderfield works for Captain Hicks?"

"Yes, Mama. I know."

Well, heavens, you finally meet a brave and splendid young man, who might have stepped straight out of one of those novels you so adore, and you cannot say two words to him."

Louisa gazed at her mother in speechless horror, her face scarlet.

Elizabeth Fordyce sighed, and fluttered her fan, smiling ruefully at Tom. "My apologies, sir. One could tolerate a daughter being plain, if only she were endowed with an ounce of intellect - or, indeed, spirit. Whatever have I done to deserve such a dreary creature?"

This was too much. Tom spoke directly to Louisa. "Would you like to dance, Miss Fordyce, or is your card already full?"

"No. That is, yes......"

Elizabeth Fordyce said, smiling, "How gallant you are, sir. The poor child so rarely has the opportunity."

He steered Louisa on to the dance floor. When he drew her against him, in the embrace which had originally made the waltz such a scandal, a tremor went through her. He wondered if she was still afraid of him, and yet, guiding her through the first steps, he felt her start to relax.

"You dance beautifully," he said.

"You did not have to.....just because we had met once. My mother would have danced with you."

He looked away from her upturned face, for his thoughts were not fit for her to read. At last he said, "The French make little mannequins - dolls, dressed in the latest Paris fashions, for seamstresses all over Europe to copy. We import them sometimes." In command of his features now, he smiled down at Louisa. "Have you ever seen one?"

The girl shook her head.

"Their faces are wax," he said, "too perfect to be real, with painted cheeks and lips"

Louisa cast a glance in her mother's direction, as though fearful of being overheard. "You must not say such things."

"Such things as what? That dolls are only scraps of soulless frippery?"

Louisa gave a breathless little laugh, half in shocked delight, half in awe.

"Miss Fordyce," he said, "you are far prettier than your mother, if only you'd believe it."

She did not believe it; he saw the doubt in her eyes, the terror of being mocked and taunted. It was something outside his experience, that anyone could be so utterly without self-esteem. However harshly Tom had judged himself for his behaviour at times, he had never felt basically inferior to the next fellow.

But then, all his life he had accepted as natural that a smile from him would usually bring a warm response; had taken for granted, too, the physical toughness which had allowed him to return insult for insult, taunt for taunt, dare for dare, and survive the consequences. He had been luckier than this despised and fragile girl.

Damn Mrs. Fordyce, he thought fiercely, and damn her feeble milksop of a husband! It was time someone came down on their daughter's side.

"Have you got a horse of your own?" he asked her.

"Yes.....I don't ride very often."

"Would your parents let you come riding in the Forest?"

She forgot the steps of the waltz, and stood motionless before him, amid the whirling dancers. "Sir, do you mean.... with you alone?"

"Captain Hicks," he said solemnly, "would vouch for my character. But I thought the Vaillants might come too."

"I don't understand," she said. "I told you, Mr. Elderfield you need not feel under any obligation.

"Miss Fordyce," he said, grinning and rolling of his heavenward. "I want you to come riding. Would you like to? Yes or no."

"Yes," she said, almost in a whisper. "I would like it very much."

Part 2, The Venturer's Agent, Chapter 6

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