‘Very well, miss.’
Lucetta breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind Phyllis. So far so good. She had not expected it to be that easy.
The cab drew up outside the shipping office in Wapping Wall. ‘Wait for me please, cabby,’ Lucetta said as she alighted from the vehicle. Without waiting for his reply she made her way carefully through the ankle-deep slush. A bell jangled as she entered the office, closing the door carefully behind her. She paused as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom of the oak-panelled room with its high counter and walls lined with hard wooden seats. A coal fire smouldered in a grate but its feeble glow gave off little heat, and the candles in the wall sconces guttered, almost extinguished by the draught of ice-cold air that had followed her in from the street.
The clerk perched on a high stool behind the counter was wearing a muffler and mittens and the tip of his nose was cherry-red. ‘May I help you, miss?’ His nasal voice had a rasp to it which suggested that he was suffering from a head cold, and he peered at her with watery red-rimmed eyes. ‘If it’s your allotment you’re after we don’t pay out until midday Saturday.’
Lucetta shook her head. ‘No, I came for information only.’
‘If it’s sailing times you want, then they’re posted up on the board,’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of the wall behind his head.
‘No, that’s not it either,’ Lucetta said, forcing herself to be patient. After all, the poor fellow looked as though he ought to be at home tucked up in bed with a stone hot water bottle at his feet. ‘What I wanted to know was if you have a list of survivors from the wreck of the
Caroline
?’
‘I’m not at liberty to give out such information.’
‘I just want to know whether Captain Sharpe was amongst the survivors.’
‘I can say that he was, miss.’
‘And do you know where I might find him?’ Lucetta held her breath, waiting for his answer.
‘In the mad house, miss. Sadly the captain lost his mind completely and had to be locked away for his own safety.’
Lucetta stared at him in disbelief and horror. The man she remembered had seemed like a tower of strength; she could not imagine him collapsing either mentally or physically. ‘But the other officers, did they survive?’
‘No, miss. Sadly not. Although I believe the first mate was not on board at the time of the tragedy.’
‘That would be Mr Cutler.’
The clerk took a ledger from beneath the counter and leafed through its pages. ‘Yes, miss. He arrived back in London on board the
Louisa
at the end of June.’
‘And his whereabouts now?’ Lucetta gripped her
gloved hands together so tightly that she felt her knuckles crack. She hardly dared to breathe as she waited for him to search for the information.
‘Mr Cutler was paid off. He is no longer in the employ of the Far Eastern Shipping Line. I can’t help you any further. Good day, miss.’
‘You must have his home address on your books.’
‘Like I said before, miss, I’m not at liberty to give out such information. Now I must ask you to leave as I need to speak to the shipping manager.’
Tucking the ledger beneath his arm, he slid off the stool and was about to open the door directly behind him when Lucetta called him back. ‘Wait, please. I am desperate to find Mr Cutler. Can you not stretch a point just this once? I would not ask if it were not so desperately important to me.’
‘Like that is it?’ The clerk pulled a red and white spotted handkerchief from his pocket and sneezed into it. Wiping his nose, he eyed Lucetta’s waistline. ‘You don’t look very far gone, but then we all know what these boys are like when they come ashore.’
Lucetta’s cheeks burned but she made no attempt to hide her blushes. She met the clerk’s gaze with a beseeching look. ‘Please, sir, have pity on a poor girl.’
He stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and replaced the ledger on the counter top. ‘Well, if I am called away on business and you are overcome by curiosity, I daresay I can’t be blamed.’ He opened the inner door and left the office without a backward glance.
Lucetta seized the leather-bound volume and flipped
through the pages, peering at the lines of neat copperplate writing. She ran her finger down the entries beginning at
A
for Adams, until she came to
C
for Carson, Carter, Clarke and finally
Cutler, Samuel, first mate. Cutler’s Boatyard, Union Street, Salcombe, Devonshire.
Lucetta did not need to write the address down. It would be engraved on her heart forever. She closed the ledger and hurried out to the waiting and extremely irritable cabby, who complained that he would have to charge her double for keeping his horse standing about in such inclement weather. She could not have cared less. If it took all the money in her purse it would have been worth it to discover Sam’s address, even if he lived at the far end of the country. She had no idea how she would get to Devonshire but if there was no alternative, she was prepared to walk all the way.
‘No, absolutely not,’ Mary said firmly. ‘That is utter folly.’
‘But I love him, Mary. Sam would have been told that I had drowned with the rest of the unfortunates on board the
Caroline
. The clerk said that he had been paid off and I can only assume he would have gone home to Salcombe.’
Mary stopped brushing her long dark hair and she turned her head to give Lucetta a direct look. ‘You have no proof of that. He might have signed up for a voyage with another shipping company. He could be anywhere in the world by now. After all, it is almost six months since he learned of your unhappy fate.’
Lucetta swung her legs as she perched on the edge of Mary’s bed. ‘His family must live at that address, and they’ll know where he is. I will find him, Mary.’
‘Then write him a letter. Send it to his home. You could have a wasted journey if you travel all that way on the off chance, and you may even learn something that will break your heart.’
Lucetta leapt to her feet. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘He might have had a sweetheart waiting for him in Devonshire. You knew him for such a short time, and if he believed that you were lost to him, he might even have married.’
Lucetta covered her ears with her hands. ‘No. No, I won’t believe that. Sam loved me as desperately as I loved him. He would never have betrayed me in such a way.’
‘He is a man, Daisy. And you were supposed to have been dead and buried. Write that letter, I beg of you. Stay here with us until you hear one way or the other.’
‘I know what you say makes sense, but I can’t bear to sit around doing nothing.’
‘Papa will be home tomorrow. Maybe he can help you trace Sam, and in any event he will be able to give you much better advice than I. Please reconsider. Wait just another day before you make any rash decisions.’
‘I don’t know,’ Lucetta said, pacing the floor. ‘I just don’t know what to do for the best.’
‘Write to him,’ Mary said firmly. ‘Phyllis will take the letter to the post office first thing in the morning,
and in the meantime, perhaps we ought to pay a visit to your old school. The teachers there are certain to remember you, and with their testimony as proof of your identity I’m sure Papa will take up your case. Your uncle would be forced to recognise you and you would be restored to your home and your rightful inheritance. Think what your papa would have wanted for you, Lucetta.’
‘You’re right, I suppose.’ Lucetta sank down on the window seat, staring out onto the gaslit square. Moonlight reflected off the fallen snow, turning the railed gardens into a fairyland of sparkling whiteness.
Mary rose from the dressing stool and came to sit by Lucetta’s side, taking her cold hand in a warm grasp. ‘The snow makes everything look clean and beautiful, doesn’t it?’
Lucetta nodded wordlessly. Her head ached almost as much as her heart and she drew her hand away, staring down at her calloused palms. ‘Perhaps I could wait until after Christmas.’
‘Your hands will heal and I doubt if Sam would care anyway,’ Mary said, smiling gently. ‘Go downstairs and write that letter or you won’t get a wink of sleep tonight.’
Lucetta threw her arms around Mary and hugged her. ‘You are so good to me. I can’t think what I have done to deserve friends like you and Giles.’
‘I can’t speak for my cousin, but I’ve always wanted a sister and there was something appealing about you, Daisy, even when you were so very ill in hospital. I knew then that you were a special person.’
‘Don’t, Mary. You’ll have me in tears if you go on like that.’
‘I’m not working tomorrow so we’ll take a cab to Highbury and pay a call on Miss Milton. Then we can present my father with the facts of the matter.’
Next morning, Phyllis was sent off to the post office with the letter that had taken Lucetta half the night to compose. She had thought it would be easy to put her thoughts and emotions onto paper, but when she was faced with a blank sheet the words would not flow. The Sam Cutler she had known in Bali seemed to be worlds away from the son of a boat builder in Devon, and for the first time she was assailed by doubts. Would he remember her as fondly as she remembered him? And if they did meet again, would he love a homeless and penniless girl who could bring nothing to their marriage other than herself?
‘Stop worrying,’ Mary scolded as they settled themselves inside the hansom cab, having given the driver instructions to take them to Miss Milton’s Academy in Highbury. ‘Nothing will have changed if Sam really loves you.’
Lucetta nodded, staring down at her gloved hands. ‘It’s been a long time since we were in Bali. Perhaps it was just a flirtation on his part. The clerk in the shipping office seemed to think that girls like me are abandoned all the time. He thought that I was …’ She hesitated. ‘You know what I mean, Mary.’
‘Then shame on him,’ Mary said, chuckling. ‘Anyone with half a brain can see that you are an innocent.
Giles said as much the other day and he has plenty of experience with young ladies.’
Lucetta stared at her in surprise. ‘Is Giles a flirt then?’
‘No. Well, not more than any other good-looking man of his age, but he has three younger sisters, so he is used to tears and tantrums and broken hearts. You will meet the Misses Harcourt on Christmas Day when we go to their house for dinner.’
‘No, really, I can’t. I mean, they don’t know me.’
‘Nonsense, Daisy. Giles will have told them all about you and they will be longing to hear your romantic story. They are nice girls really and they won’t bite.’
Lucetta was not convinced. She lapsed into silence, staring out of the window at the snow-covered streets and pedestrians muffled to the eyes against the cold as they went about their daily business. Steam rose from horses’ sweating hides and their breath curled up around their heads in clouds. Crossing sweepers worked extra hard to keep the roads free from the slush mingled with horse dung and straw, and ragged urchins hung about on street corners, begging for money. Lucetta shuddered at the sight of their pathetic bare limbs turning blue with cold and their haunted eyes that seemed too large for their pinched faces. She recalled her flight from Frog Hall when she had stumbled through the snowstorm with nothing more than a thin shawl to keep her warm and dry, and she wished that she could do something to help the poor and needy. But for the grace of God and the kindness of Giles and Mary, she would be living on the streets now.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of a carter beating his ancient nag that had fallen to its knee between the wooden shafts of a wagon that was too heavy for it to pull. She closed her ears to the cries of a woman being beaten by a ruffian who no doubt claimed to be her legal spouse. No one went to her aid. Passers-by crossed the street so that they did not get involved.
It was a relief when the cabby finally drew his horse to a halt outside the imposing building in Highbury Crescent where Lucetta had spent most of her childhood. As she stepped down from the cab she felt an almost overwhelming wave of sadness. The first time she had arrived here it had been in the family carriage with her father, who had accompanied her into the building to make sure that Miss Milton received his daughter cordially. He had not left until he was satisfied that the strait-laced headmistress had grasped the fact that his only child was to be treated with kindness and respect. Papa had not believed in the use of corporal punishment for young ladies, but he had been a strict disciplinarian as well as a loving parent. Lucetta’s heart was heavy with guilt as she remembered the terrible night when he had suffered a stroke after finding her in the consulate garden with Sam. Papa might be alive now if they had not made that fateful voyage on the
Caroline
. She jumped as Mary laid a hand on her arm.
‘It must be hard on you, Daisy, but I’m afraid we will perish from cold if we stand here much longer simply staring up at the building.’
‘Of course,’ Lucetta murmured, hurrying towards the school gate. ‘They will know me here. Of course they will.’
‘Are you sure this is your old school?’ Mary asked, pointing to the signboard which nestled amongst the laurels in the garden. ‘It says
Principal, Miss Martha Shannon
. Didn’t you say that the headmistress was Miss Milton?’
Lucetta frowned. ‘This is the right place. I should know; after all, I spent eight years of my life here.’
‘Best knock on the door, Daisy. There must be someone who will remember you.’
Lucetta rapped on the knocker and waited, holding her breath in anticipation of seeing a familiar face. Would it be Maisie or Ada who opened the door? They had been maids at the school when she first started and had been little more than children themselves, having been selected by the redoubtable Miss Milton from the Foundling Hospital. Lucetta recalled how Maisie, who could not have been much more than twelve or thirteen at the time, had comforted her when she had cried for her mother, and had wiped her tears away on the corner of her apron. She hoped it would be Maisie who opened the door, but it was a stranger who faced them with an incurious expression on her plain face.
‘School’s closed for the holidays.’