Race Before the Wind

Copyright © Jill Salkeld 1988

Part Three: 1826-1831

The Men of Enterprise

Chapter Two

Their arrival alongside the Falcon was only the beginning. Although Mr Day descended to the skiff with alacrity, he pronounced himself unable to reduce the dislocation in such an unstable craft. Having strapped Tom's arm securely, and correctly deduced that the patient could not climb the ladder, he arranged for Tom to be winched aboard.

Tom would not have wanted to ensure such an ordeal again. The ascent was far from smooth; but not until his helpless and suspended body swung against the hull did he achieve his wish and pass out.

When he drifted back to reluctant awareness, he was lying on his back, head pillowed on the lap of a woman in a lemon silk gown. He was surrounded by finely dressed folk and uniformed seamen. At his feet the twins stood pale and defiant beside Lord Canon, who was the Commodore's Chief Officer. Tom knew Canon, having served once as a steward aboard the previous Falcon in '23, on a short cruise to Lisbon.

"What is the diagnosis, Mr Day?" Lord Canon asked.

Day was kneeling to examine the injury as well as he could through Tom's jacket. Tom gasped in pain at his touch, and felt the silk-clad woman flinch.

"Straightforward displacement," said the surgeon. "No fracture, as far as one can tell."

The woman said, "Surely you'll at least give him brandy, Mr Day, before you set to work?"

Tom's heart jumped, for the woman was Jess.

"Liquor would not take effect immediately," said Day.

"The longer I delay, the more difficult my job will be. If I act now, before the muscles start to cramp, it should take only a few minutes." He looked down enquiringly at the patient.

Tom had no objection. He quailed at the prospect of waiting another twenty minutes or so, even for the sake of getting drunk.

With Day's necessary assistance he sat up and edged back against the steps leading to the foredeck. Better that way, the surgeon said, with a trace of humour. Less undignified than writhing about in front of ladies. Jessica sat above him, with her knee against his sound shoulder. She took his hand so the surgeon began.

Not long, Day had said. A few minutes. For Tom it seemed an eternity of impossible pain; and if hell existed, it was here and now aboard the Commodore's luxury yacht, with Jessica Tandy, whom he had lost forever, holding tightly to his left hand. Tom clenched his teeth and fought to control his ragged breathing; but he clutched Jessica's hand convulsively, and was glad when an officer ushered the twins below. Before the end he rolled his face against the folds of lemon silk, and drew more comfort from Jessica's nearness than he had thought ever to need again.

Day knew his job however. The bone crunched finally into the socket; the agony receded to a throbbing ache. Tom relaxed with a sigh of inexpressible relief.

"Thank you, sir," he said, letting go of Jessica's hand and glancing up at her. There were tears on her face. "I'm sorry I squashed your fingers, Jess", he said.

"Don't be silly."

Luke and Honor, he thought. His own children.

It was nearly time for the first race, the Gold Cup. With the exception of Lord Canon, the crowd was drifting away to watch. Day, eager to join them, gave Tom a last perfunctory examination and a sling which he was forbidden to take off.

"Don't use that arm for a least two weeks," Day said sternly. "There's a considerable amount of damage to the ligaments and so forth. Give them a chance to heal. No more heroics, unless you want a repeat of today's trifling inconvenience."

After the surgeon had gone. Tom slowly picked himself up. Now that the shoulder injury had stopped blotting out every other discomfort, he felt bruised all over; and when he stood upright his strained back muscles locked in an excruciating spasm.

It took his breath away. Jessica exclaimed in concern, and Lord Canon said dryly, "Since you are patently unfit to report for duty, Elderfield, I shall signal Medina to that effect. Lord Yarborough will be coming aboard shortly. I know I may speak for him in saying you have earned our hospitality." He regarded Tom's soiled and crumpled Medina uniform with disfavour. "You may borrow a spare Club uniform from one of my crew. Perhaps you would care to wear it when lunch is served." The suggestion came somewhere between a question and a command.

"I'll be honoured, sir. Thank you very much."

Canon paced in leisurely fashion to the port side. Jessica said coolly, "We must talk. I have a cabin reserved for my use today.

"A pity to miss the race," Tom said, and raised a lop-sided grin at her look of exasperated disbelief. "Marvellous inventions, yacht races, for occupying the mind."

The seven great yachts slipped their moorings at the second gun, fired by Lord Yarborough from a cutter lying off the Castle. Luke and Honor appeared from below decks, and sidled warily to the guardrail beside their mother. Jessica bent and whispered to Honor, who at once protested.

"I have said I'm sorry, and I am. I can't keep saying it all day, can I, Mr Elderfield?"

"Very boring," he agreed, meeting Jessica's eyes to silence her intended retort. "No real harm done, Jess. I've had worse backache lugging brandy kegs for Bezant." Which was not altogether true, but Honor had given herself a nasty experience and a bad fright, and her motives had not been mischievous. Maybe she had been punished enough.

"Mr Elderfield," said Luke fiercely, determined not be left out, "I'll bet you twopence that Lord Wickham founders!"

His mother snapped, "Stop showing off!"

Tom kept his thoughts to himself and watched the race.

The wind had dropped slightly; was light enough to ensure that the yachts made use of every square foot of canvas. The dipping, bounding hulls were dwarfed and at times invisible beneath shimmering acres of sailcloth. The 160-ton favourite ran temporarily aground near the start, and could not make up for lost time; but Wickham's ageing cutter Xanadu was still lying sixth.

Tom was awed by the beauty of the spectacle, but his nagging aches refused to be ignored. He felt more relief than disappointment when Jessica said, sounding tense and irritable, "All right, you've seen the start. I must speak to you, Tom, it's important. There will be races all week."

The twins were busy cheering Xanadu towards an inglorious defeat. Jessica warned them to bear in mind that they were already in disgrace before she led Tom below.

Falcon's interior decoration, discounting the gun deck, suggested not so much a yacht as a floating stately home. Jessica's allotted cabin was light and specious. It cam complete with a hearth, drawing room furniture as well as a wide bunk, and bulkheads adorned with framed maritime prints.

Tom sat on a crimson-striped chair without being invited. Jess leaned on the closed door, looking pale but determined, braced for battle.

"Are you seriously intending to lease that boatyard from Mr Ekless?" she said.

It was hardly the expected question, but Tom said with certainty, "Yes, if Mace is as keen as I am. I haven't mentioned it to him yet."

"Lord Wickham is an acquaintance of John Ekless. Not a close friend. Mr. Ekless is a good man, he won't let his mind be poisoned against you. I've spoken to him. You'll get your boatyard, if you want it."

"Good! But I don't see why it matters to Wickham either way - nor to you, at this moment. You know, don't you, why the twins rowed out to Medina?"

"Oh, better than you do." There was no joy in her smile. "Luke confessed while I was shaking the daylights out of him, just before you were winched aboard unconscious. He said they would have asked you, as their father, to fight a duel with Lord Wickham, and kill him, because, of course, a famous smuggler was bound to be an excellent shot."

Tom was in no mood to laugh at the absurdity of the idea. "What has his precious lordship done to my children, to earn their hatred?"

Jessica moved from the door, hugging herself as though for warmth. She stood with her back to Tom, gazing through the closed porthole at Xanadu on the horizon.

"You were not totally wrong about him," she said. "In his youth he was dissolute, amoral. I'm sure he sampled every possible avenue of what he would term pleasure. He gave up those pursuits long before I met him. He's in love with me - I don't know how to make you understand. He doesn't care if I'm seen with another man in the street, or at a function like this. He's jealous of no one except you, because you are the only other man I ever loved, and once, before I knew him fully, I was honest enough to tell him so. He would prefer that Mr. Ekless refuses you the lease. He would prefer to see you trodden underfoot, with nothing at all."

She paused, seeming to wait for some reaction; but Tom watched her averted profile, and said nothing.

"It took me a long while to see," she said, "that he hated Luke and Honor, simply for being a part of you and me. Many men beat their children - but the twins are not his. He beats them as if - as if he imagine they were you." A bleak silence, heavy with memories that Tom could not share. "He's too strong. I've fought him.....but I can't stop him."

It was a minute or two before Tom could say, "Then how in God's name can you stay with him?"

"That's between Lord Wickham and me. It's no business of yours."

"No business -" Tom surged to his feet, and almost cried out with the pain in his back and shoulder. He leaned weakly against the bulkhead. "God damn it, Jessica Tandy, my son and daughter are my business! I've a right to know why their mother has shut me out of their lives all these years, and why she stands by and sees them ill-treated -"

Jessica whirled on him, shouting to drown his words. "Why else have I brought you down here? I'm sick of standing by = and I won't let you destroy us!"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing will keep you from our children now, will it? Lord Wickham will believe that you're using them as an excuse to enjoy my company. I don't know what he'd do to them if he believed that."

"If you've such a low opinion of me, that you think I'd let him lay another finger on them, you can bloody well think again!"

She was no longer angry. She said with a sort of hopelessness, "My opinion of you has not changed much, over the years. That's why I want you to take our son and daughter, and bring them up where Lord Wickham can't hurt them."

Now he was speechless; for surely no woman could give up her children to a father they hardly knew. Unless the alternatives were to live in fear, or flee into friendless exile for the second time in her life.

Suddenly Tom no longer cared about holding on to his pride, if there was the faintest hope of winning Jessica back.

He said quietly, "There's a house on the Bursledon site, Jess. The master bedroom is too big for one person. I never really thought I'd ask you this again....Will you marry me, Jessie and live with me in Bursledon.

"No," she said, quite calm now. "I won't come back to you, Tom Elderfield. I'll never do that. My place is with Lord Wickham, and always will be. Won't your vanity let you accept that I'm not in love with you any more?"

"You cried for me, when Day put my shoulder back."

"Then give me credit for an ounce of common humanity! I'd have wept for the devil himself in such a plight." She drew breath as though taking in strength and courage from the air. "When you and Mace become partners, and move into that house, then you may snatch the twins. My only condition is that Lord Wickham must never know I was involved. Will you do it, Tom....for old times' sake, and for Luke and Honor?"

"Yes," he said, "as a short-term solution. I can't say more than that." He could not believe, in fact, that even his Jess was strong enough to give her children up for ever, in exchange for the love of a jealous and possessive man.

"I'd better show my face on deck," she said. "Stay here, Tom, if you like. It might help to lie down for an hour or two."

He no longer felt that he knew her at all. How could she crucify him in one breath and mother him in the next?

"I think, he said, "I ought to spend the day getting know my son and daughter."

At the Commodore's table, in a wardroom that buzzed with the conversation of more than forty guest, Tom found himself seated almost next to Lord Yarborough and opposite his elder son, the seventeen-year-old Charles Pelham. The Commodore had insisted that Tom join them, and he made a point of introducing him to everyone at the table. Most knew Tom already - either from the Medina or from society functions in the old days. There was evidently doubt in several minds as to the social standing of a steamer's Mate who had once been related to the Fordyces. To Tom's embarrassment, the problem was solved by his being treated simply as a hero, and a well-meaning lady next to him cut up his steak and vegetables.

It was Lord Yarborough himself who came to his rescue by changing the subject. "And what do you think of our Regatta this year, Mr. Elderfield?"

Tom turned to him with grateful relief, Lord Yarborough's eyes shone with good humour; the day had so far been a total success and a person triumph for the Commodore.

"I find the view from this ship rather....elevated," he said, with faint emphasis. "Luckily, my lord, I'm not afraid of heights."

Yarborough beamed appreciation, and smoothed his whiskers. "Lord Canon has been in communication with Captain Knight. You must report for duty when Medina docks at Cowes the day after tomorrow. Tonight you will be set ashore in the town, as will all my guests. These gentlemen have rooms at the hotel in East Cowes, and I'm sure would be happy to accommodate you -"

He was interrupted by murmurs of assent from the young men at the table, and glasses were raised in Tom's direction.

Tom said warmly, "It's very good of you - all of you - but I'll be staying with a friend tonight, Miss Tandy's brother."

"Ah, of course." Yarborough clicked his fingers at a sudden recollection. "You suggested once that I recommend that young rogue for employment. I hope you know that Mr. White despairs of him. Calls him a drunken libertine and the bane of his life. Also a genius. Which do you call him, Sir?"

"The most promising young designer on the Wight, my lord. I'm no expert on yacht construction, but I was weaned aboard vessels built for speed and manoeuvrability. Mace Tandy's ideas are practical and tremendously exciting." Tom drew a deep breath and added, on an inspired impulse. "That's why I'm going into business with him. My experience and capital, and Mace's talent. A winning partnership, wouldn't you say, my lord? Together we'll build the fastest yachts on the Solent."

"Bursledon, my lord, where a bend in the river gives shelter from the sou'westerlies."

Yarborough grunted, apparently unimpressed. "Forget your grand notions, young man. These are bad days for local shipbuilders."

"Yes, if one depends on Navy contracts. But look around you. "Tom waved his fork at a porthole. "The crowds must be three or four hundred per cent up on last year. A great many of those spectators are people with money to spend. Haven't I heard that you've a waiting list of gentlemen falling over themselves to join the Royal Yacht Club? It has to be the fastest growing sport in the country."

"Bravo!" This, rather surprisingly, came from young Charles. "I have been nagging my father all summer - have I not, Papa? - trying to convince him of exactly those facts. If I can only persuade him, you may build me a forty ton flyer for next year's Regatta. There, sir, your first commission!"

There was general laughter. Tom was disinclined to take the offer as a joke. His heart was beating against his ribs.

"After such a vote of confidence," he said lightly, eyeing Lord Yarborough, "perhaps you'd be interested to see Mace Tandy's designs. If your son is thinking of a racer, my lord, I'd guarantee he could not do better than commission it from the yard of - of Elderfield and Tandy."

The Commodore's eyes narrowed, almost disappearing among wrinkles. "You rant, Mr Elderfield, like a gypsy marketeer. Fast and fanciful words, as elusive as the breeze."

"The drawings, my lord, would vindicate me."

Yarborough hesitated, looking about to reply in caustic vein. Then he shrugged, and smiled broadly. "I shall expect both yourself and Mr. Tandy in my main cabin tomorrow before lunch, at noon precisely."

Tom held the Commodore's twinkling gaze, trying to breathe slowly and naturally. Steady, mate, he thought with rueful mockery; this is just the start. You've no yard and no partner - and you're a long way yet from signing a contract with the Commodore of the RYC.

"My lord," he said, "we'll be there. You may stake your life on it."

"I'll not go so far as that, thank you, Mr Elderfield," said Yarborough, still smiling. "You are the risk-taker among us, after all."

Part 3, The Men of Enterprise, Chapter 3

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