Chapter Twenty-Four

THE VILLAGE WAS a hive of activity. People worked tirelessly to repair the damage caused by the hurricane. Eva and Iris insisted their house staff tend to the needs of their own families and properties before worrying about the relatively minor damage sustained at Wolfe-Chase Lodge.

It was just approaching sunset when they arrived at number 5 Anchor Rise.

“Ladies Wolfe-Chase, thank you so much for comin’,” Robin said as he opened his sky-blue front door.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Iris said cheerfully. “Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

Eva pulled off her elegant velvet gloves. She was dressed in a deep purple taffeta dress, which swished noisily as she moved. Iris was wearing a more modestly styled floral cotton dress, the same hue as Robin’s door.

“There was. Please, come in, come in,” he beckoned, leading his guests into his living room.

The fire blazed in the hearth and cast a cosy glow around the room. On her way in, Eva took in the surroundings of Robin’s home. Though she lived only a few doors away, she had never been inside before. The house was warm and inviting, and its narrow hallway didn’t feel cramped, as she had imagined, but more like a friendly embrace. She looked up to the first floor landing and saw the striking portrait of Captain Erasmus Shipp. She felt his ghost was watching over her, waiting to see what she would do next. Mrs. Whitewater was sitting on an armchair by the fireside in the living room and greeted the women cordially.

“May I offer you both some tea?” Robin asked.

“Actually, Mr. Shipp, if this is about what I suspect it’s about, we might be better off with something a bit stronger,” Eva said.

“Fair point. I’ll get the good stuff,” he said as he unlatched his cabinet and removed four small glasses. “And you can call me by my first name, you know. We’re not fancy ’ere.”

“Sorry, Robin,” Eva said, the name still sounding odd on her lips. “Force of habit.”

From a decanter, he poured some whiskey and handed one each to his visitors, beckoning them to sit on the settee while he plonked himself on the vacant armchair. “And while we’re at it, you can call ’er Morwenner.”

Morwenna caught Eva’s attention and playfully rolled her eyes as she sipped from her tumbler. “Mrs. Greenaway told me it was you who Sylvia Farriner overheard speaking of Erasmus Shipp’s pirate past.”

“Ah, yes. I’m sorry about that, I hadn’t realised she was listening,” Eva said, somewhat taken aback.

“Don’t worry. I saw how you stood ready to leap to my aid should things with Sylvia turn physical. I won’t soon forget that. Not to mention it’s because of you we know of Erasmus’ heroism in defending the village. For that, I will always be thankful. We both will. Now, what’s this all about, Robin?”

“My father’s disappearance,” he said.

He told them about Erasmus’s journal and the letter it contained.

“Dad wrote about that man you mentioned, Oughterlauney,” Robin said. “Said ’e were part of ’is crew for a while. Said ’e were a troublemaker, a violent man. ’e kicked ’im off the boat. In your father’s records, did you read anythin’ about ’im? About what ’e were up to when the Chase Company ships found ’im? Why do you think my dad would sign onto a vessel under ’im?”

Eva thought about this, trying to divine Erasmus’s motivations.

“Well, the thing is, we don’t know if he actually signed on to be a crewmember. That’s a bit of information that seems to have been repeated so often it’s become the truth. Usually, if a ship sinks, my father launches a full investigation, but obviously this was an exception. We have none of the Caldera’s records. We don’t know what your father was doing on board.”

She paused there when she saw the growing disappointment in Robin’s face. He’d obviously pinned all of his hopes on her possessing some kernel of information that would clear up this one, final mystery.

“Perhaps Captain Oughterlauney had threatened him?” Iris suggested. “We know your father marooned him and stopped him from attacking the island. Maybe he came back here for revenge. Threatened him. Threatened to hurt you, even. Pirates have all sorts of arcane codes of honour and conduct. Your father might well have surrendered himself to save you. Sacrificed himself.”

Robin’s brow furrowed as he considered this new possibility. In private, Eva would later swear she could actually hear the cogs turning in his mind.

“Morwenna, did you speak to Captain Shipp that night?” Iris asked.

Morwenna nodded. “He was rattled—preoccupied. I stopped him on the road.It was late and we had to talk quickly. He said he was on his way to speak Barnabas. He could have already been threatened by Captain Oughterlauney by that point, I suppose. He was angry, flustered. Frightened, I think. He rushed off away from me. I called to him, but he wouldn’t stop. It was the last time I saw him.”

Eva wasn’t prone to affectionate displays and was surprised by the urge she felt to hug Morwenna, who looked so very forlorn at that moment. She knew it would be inappropriate, although she suspected it would be secretly welcomed.

“How do we know he went to the Caldera?” Eva said, breaking the moment.

“He was seen by the lighthouse keeper at the time,” Morwenna said. “He watched him rowing out to the ship. They raised anchor and sailed off as soon as he was on board.”

“Dad left a will with ’is journal. ’E must ’ave thought ’e might not be comin’ back. Those last few lines ’e wrote, they were different—scratchy. It must have all ’appened so quick, ’e didn’t get time to write it down in detail. I think you’re right, Iris. Oughterlauney must ’ave threatened ’im. Maybe that’s what ’e and Barnabas Whitewater were really arguing over. In ’is letter, Dad said ’e were going “to put an end to this.” Maybe ’e meant put an end to the feud between ’im and Oughterlauney? Barnabas probably tried to stop ’im, and that’s why they fought?”

Robin looked at Eva with bright, hopeful eyes. She could see how Robin wanted so desperately to find some redeeming quality in his father, some justification for his actions, some noble reason for abandoning him.

“I’m sure that’s correct, Mr. Shipp,” she said, slipping into formality out of habit and a desperate desire to sound sincere.

“Dad went to the Caldera to stop Oughterlauney, but before ’e could, your company’s boats found them. If they’d attacked Oughterlauney sooner, if they ’adn’t waited…What was it, a matter of a few ’ours? The time it took for Thomas Oughterlauney to come to the island, threaten Dad, and then sail toward Blackrabbit? A few ’ours earlier and Oughterlauney would ’ave been sunk before settin’ foot in Blashy Cove. A few ’ours earlier and I’d still ’ave Dad. Just a few ’ours and everythin’ would’ve been different. Everythin’ would’ve been better.”

 

Robin had pitched in wherever he could—helping to fix the schoolhouse, recovering personal items scattered by the winds, and assisting with any other odds and ends that needed doing. He even helped remove the wreckage of boats from the beach. Everyone said they thought he’d avoid seeing the remains of Bucca’s Call, but he defiantly cleared up all the parts, ready for disposal. Regardless of how much it pained him, he refused to wait for someone else to do it.

Most of his time had been spent working on the roof of Morwenna’s cottage. The basic framework was in place already, and thatching had begun. When it became too dark to work outside, he’d set about fixing the floorboards in his own home, and giving them a new coat of paint. He had also, along with some other men from the village, offered his service to the Trease family to aid in the recovery of their water wheel at the farm. Straddling the stream, it had acted as a filter, catching all of the soil and mud washed down from the hills. It had taken half a day to dig it out, but once it had been moved into the courtyard, the farm’s carpenters could begin the job of repairing it.

Robin stood on the first floor landing of his home with his father’s journal clasped in his hand. He faced the portrait of Captain Erasmus Shipp, the painting he passed by every day, and saw it through new eyes. At several feet high, it had loomed large in his life, in more ways than one. It used to be a painting of a hero, of an idol—but now it was a painting of a philanderer, and a pirate, and above all, a man. Just a man.

Eva and Iris had stayed only a short while, and Robin had assured them he bore no ill will towards them for the actions of Eva’s father. Morwenna had gone to bed, leaving Robin alone. Brooding wasn’t in his nature, but this evening, he found himself unable to do much else. At times like this, his instinct was to cast off in Bucca’s Call and clear his mind on the open sea. He felt the loss of his silly old boat now more than ever, and far more than he felt able to let on, for how could he voice that particular sentiment now, with everything else going on? It was foolish of him to even be thinking of it. Feeling frustrated, he stuffed the journal into his overcoat, grabbed a lantern, and stormed out of his tall, thin house.

It was late, but there was a murmur of activity coming from the Moth & Moon. Robin walked right past it and made straight for the pier. Stomping along the whole length of it, he sat at the farthest end, dangling his legs over the edge like he used to do when he was a boy. He set the lantern down next to him, and it wasn’t long before it attracted a couple of tiny brown moths who flittered around it, trying in vain to break through the brass-and-glass enclosure to the dancing flame within. After the hurricane, the water level had retreated to its usual height, and in the inky blackness of night, the waves were discernible only where they were touched by the moonlight—a scattered reflection, endlessly shifting. A delicate, pale arm stretching out to the horizon.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the journal. Undoing the leather strap, he flicked through it with his stubby, square fingers, opened it to a random page and began reading. Here, by the gentle lapping sea, his father’s voice came ringing across the years, clear as a bell.

“It’s been a hard few years. There has been much turmoil and strife. Much suffering and loss, but it will all have been worth it, for it was all for my son.”

Robin closed the journal, sat for a while, breathing in the cold, crisp, salty air, and watched the moon sink slowly into the sea.