The Truth

© Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark,

this should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 , 19, 20, 21,22,23,24, 25, 26

Richard

Catherine’s ill-luck remained until the end––she was not given a swift death. She had survived for three more days, living but not living, her breathing and her heart gradually becoming weaker and weaker. Emma suffered with her, Duncan described each night how she was sitting beside her mother in silence, whispering comforting words or reading aloud, always holding her mother’s hand.

It caused a strange becalmed atmosphere to fall over the ship. Richard’s entire crew became quieter, their conversations hushed and their enthusiasm dulled. In the evening his senior crew ate without conversation, none of them knowing what to say and all of them feeling Emma Martin’s pain emanating from the cabin on the other side of the wooden paneling. Even the wind had died leaving the ship hobbling along and Joseph seeking any small breeze to capture in the sails.

It was probably the strangest period of Richard’s life––to feel so much for Emma and to be able to do so little. He could not protect her from this. He could not even openly comfort her as he wished. In fact he had withdrawn from her once more. If he could not protect her from this pain, he could protect her reputation. Her only security from ruin was now one maid. If London society heard any rumour of indiscretion on his ship she would be cut before she even met her family. A family whom she’d never known and would now have to rely upon to support her until her father could come and take her home. Any thought of marriage now must surely be forgotten… Emma would be in deep mourning.

He had not even stepped inside the women’s cabin since the first morning of Catherine’s final days, when he’d held Emma. Now he deliberately distanced himself so she would not turn to him for physical comfort. She in turn was refusing verbal comfort. When he saw her on the deck, if she stepped out for a moment to request something, or breathe some fresher air, when he asked how she faired, her answers were single syllables. She spoke to no one unless it was necessary. Then she would disappear again. She was enduring this; breathing, sleeping and eating, but she was no more alive than her mother.

On the fourth morning, there was a knock on Richard’s door. It was Duncan. Richard was busy shaving, leaning over a bowl of water. “Come in!” he shouted so Duncan would hear.

“She has passed,” Duncan said.

The razor hovered beside Richard’s throat. She’s passed––a light––a life––a soul, snuffed out, just like that––Catherine was gone.

“Thank you for telling me,” Richard answered, turning back to face himself in the mirror. Richard Farrow, all powerful, all mighty, but his money nor his power, not even his status, could control fate and do anything to change this.

He did not curse Catherine for making this journey anymore. If she had not, he would never have known Emma as he did now. He would not have fallen in love with her. He would be groundless still, greedy. He was not now. He cared nothing for things. He cared for Emma. She was the foundation he wanted to build the next stage of his life upon, but now he would have to be very patient, sensible and sympathetic of her loss.

He was hollow inside as he finished his ablutions and dressed, then headed for the women’s cabin. No words were in his head, only silence. What could he say to give Emma comfort? There was no comfort.

Mark stood holding the cabin door open. Duncan was within. Like himself, Duncan would not risk Emma’s reputation, hence why Mark waited at the open door. The maid was outside kneeling on the deck wailing. It was customary in India to make such a noise to show your grief, his crew had given her the space to grieve as she wished.

Emma knelt inside, silent, beside her mother’s body, head bowed in prayer, her fingers clasped together, while Duncan watched; grieving in the western way.

God’s teeth, what prepared a man to deal with moments like this? Nothing. Richard lifted his eyebrows, meeting Duncan’s gaze, asking if he should intervene. But then Emma lifted her head and looked back. “Mr Farrow…” Her voice merely acknowledged him, there was no hint of emotion within it.

He did not step into the room but stayed at the open door, taking the door’s weight from Mark’s hand, so that he could step away. “Miss Martin.” No words to follow her name came, no words would suffice, words would not explain the depth of his feeling for her or how much his heart ached for her. “I’m sorry.” Another silence, but nothing more came, and so he said, “you realise we will have to bury your mother at sea? We cannot keep the body onboard because of the risk of disease. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Emma stood, she had become the stiff well-bred young woman who had arrived on his ship. The woman he had seen in Calcutta, assumed shallow, and mostly ignored. “I understand,” was all she said. There were no tears––there was no outburst––no sign of grief––just acceptance. He wanted to go to her and hold her and tell her all would be well, that he loved her and would protect her. That he would take her home to her father. But he would not. She would have to marry him then, and he would not force her hand while she was grieving, it would be wrong.

As there was nothing more he could say, he said nothing more and turned away leaving her with Duncan.

To be continued…

 The Marlow Intrigues

The Truth

© Jane Lark Publishing rights belong to Jane Lark,

this should not be recreated in any form without prior consent from Jane Lark

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 , 19, 20, 21,22,23, 24, 25

Chapter Nine

Emerald

When Emerald woke in the morning, it was as if she had slept the sleep of three nights in one she had been so deeply asleep. She felt as though she was swimming her way up from the bottom of the sea. Dr Steel had prescribed something to help her sleep and it had worked.

He’d spoken to her on the deck in the afternoon to reassure her he would do all he could for her mother and then persuaded Emerald a goodnight’s sleep would make her feel less anxious.

Last night she’d dined with her mother and helped her eat a little, then she had undressed and taken the concoction Dr Steel had sent to the cabin. She’d fallen asleep listening to the masculine voices talking in low hushed tones next door and picturing Richard’s face, when he had looked at her with kindness and concern. His eyes had hovered through her dreams, his words whispering into her sleep, ‘Whatever happens, Emma, just remember you are not alone’.

She yawned and  sat upright, stretching. It was full daylight.

Rita was kneeling in the corner before a chest, praying to a small figure of one of her Hindu Gods, which she had placed on the chest.

Emerald got up as she looked at her mother. She was lying still and silent, looking even paler than yesterday. One of her arms rested on top of the covers.

Emerald leant to hold her mother’s hand. It was really cold, and limp.

“Mama.” Emerald said softly. Her mother’s hand did not move at all and nor did her eyes open. “Mama.” Emerald squeezed her mother’s hand and shook it a little. There was still no response.  “Mama!” Fear swept the lingering cloak of sleep aside, and Emerald grasped her mother’s shoulder and shook her hard. “Mama!” She did not wake but she was breathing, her chest was lifting and lowering slightly.

“Mama!” Emerald cried again, shaking her harder, but there was no response.

The air clogged in Emerald’s throat and her breaths became a choking sound as she turned away, opened the door and left the cabin, panic roared at her as she ran across the quarterdeck. She tripped on the hem of her nightgown and stumbled, falling to her knees, then scrambled up and carried on.

Richard

Richard sat among his senior crew, eating breakfast, as they scanned the charts and planned for the day ahead. Then the cabin suddenly burst open. He turned to look, as they all did. Emma stood there, holding the door wide, wearing her nightgown and nothing else, and her hair was loose hanging to her waist in a fluid gold veil.

Richard rose, as the chairs scraped on the wooden floor as they all stood hurriedly.

Emerald’s breathing was unsteady and her gaze darted about them. “My mother!” She yelled at Richard. “She will not wake! Where is Dr Steel.”

Richard moved in an instant. “Fetch Duncan.” The order was cast across his shoulder as he took Emerald’s arm. “Is she breathing?”

“She is, but she will not open her eyes and she does not move,” Emma’s words were rushed out in a panicked voice.

He lead her back across the deck, his strides long and his teeth gritting. He had not expected this to come so soon. Hours, Duncan had said only the day before yesterday, or months. Richard had hoped for months.

When he reached their cabin, he let go of Emma’s arm and sat on the edge of Catherine’s bunk. She was whiter than the sheet and her chest barely lifted when she breathed. he held her hand, then lifted one eyelid to look into her eye. The dark pupil at the centre of her eye did not even move. It was as though she had slipped into the afterlife already but had not yet finished breathing.

Violent curses shouted through his head. At the far end of Catherine’s bunk her maid prayed for Catherine’s soul.

Still gripping Catherine’s hand, he laid his other hand on her forehead. She was intensely cold, she had very little life left in her body.

“I am here.”

Richard looked up as Duncan shut the door behind him. “Her vision has gone. She is unconscious and cold as ice.” He stood up as he spoke, getting out of Duncan’s way.

When Duncan sat on the bunk, Richard held Emma in his arms. She’d been standing motionless, solidified by fear. His mind sought words that might ease her pain. But there were none.

She’d been crying yesterday and desperate for comfort, now she was stiff and unreceptive as he sought to offer it. “Emma.” he whispered, his hand running over her loose hair. Behind him Duncan called Catherine’s name, attempting to stir her. “It will be all right?”

“No.” Emma drew away, pulling free from Richard’s hold. “No! It is not right! ”

She pushed past Richard and pushed Duncan aside, then dropped to her knees and gripped her mother’s hand, her shock turning to anger. Then her weeping became shouting. “Mama! Mama! You cannot leave me! You cannot!”

Richard gripped Emma’s shoulders, and tried to draw her back, her shoulders rocked from side to side and her arm swung out to push him away. But there was no benefit to her kneeling at Catherine’s bed and yelling at her.

His grip firmed and he pulled her up from floor and on to his lap as he sat down on Emerald’s bunk while she wrestled to be free, screaming and crying. Her body was slender and her skin warm beneath the thin cotton nightgown.

“Miss Martin!” Duncan barked at her, to make her hear some sense. “Your mother may yet hear you! This fuss will distress her, not help her!”

Immediately Emma’s battle against Richard stopped, and her cries died to a stilted sob.

He let her go. She span away to return to her mother’s side, kneeling on the floor again. Duncan grasped her hands. “She will not recover, Miss Martin. It is a only matter of time before she goes now. Will you make her last hours painful or allow her to pass peacefully?”

It was harsh, telling this young woman she must be strong when she was miles away from home, in the middle of nowhere, on a ship with men she barely knew, watching her mother die. But there was no other choice, Emma had to endure this, she could not choose to get up and walk away.

A sharp pain twisted in Richard’s gut, with the turn of a blade, as he watched Emma pull herself together, drawing on the strength which he’d known was within her. She pulled her hands from Duncan’s, then held one of Catherine’s hands in both of hers, and leaned closer to Catherine’s ear.

“I love you. I will miss you.” He heard her whisper. “I don’t want you to go.” She took a deep breath then said, “I will tell Papa you say goodbye and tell him you love him. And you know we love you, we always will, whether you are here or not.”

The emotion of empathy gritted as a pain in his gut, and he thought he could take no more, but then she turned away from Catherine, suddenly, still on her knees, and gripped Richard about the waist as he still sat on her bunk. Her forehead pressed on to his thigh.

Lord. God help them both.

His palm fell on top of her hair as he met Duncan’s gaze.

Richard had fallen in love with this young woman for her vibrancy, her beauty and intelligence, and now he must face her tragedy. His hand ran over her hair then rested on her shoulder. He could feel the quietened sobs jolting her body.

“Emma,” he whispered out of affection alone. Then he gripped her arms and drew her up so she knelt upright between his legs, and he held her against his chest, ignoring the presence of both Duncan and Rita, as her arms reached about his neck and she wept quietly.

He held Emma thus for half-an-hour as Duncan sat with Catherine’s hand in his, continually attempting to stir some response. There was none.

To be continued…

 The Marlow Intrigues