Robert peered out of his office window and frowned at the lowering sky. The morning had been bright and golden, but now mid-afternoon looked like twilight. A bank of clouds was already building to the west, piling up in a ridge to block out the sunshine, turning the sky a drab, monochrome grey. It might all come to nothing, but he’d have to keep one eye on the horizon. A sea storm could blow up in minutes and, if it did, they’d need to work quickly to cover the dry docks and batten down the workshops.
He glanced towards the gates, distracted by the arrival of a carriage. His carriage. Damn. He swore softly under his breath, torn between conflicting emotions of frustration and excitement, wondering what strange impulse had possessed him to invite Ianthe to visit the shipyard that day. He’d been under no obligation to do so. She hadn’t learnt to swim properly yet and there was no rush to show her around, yet he’d heard himself issue the invitation at breakfast as if his brain weren’t in charge of his mouth. It hadn’t helped that she’d been wearing her new blue-and-white striped dress, his favourite of their recent purchases, with her hair scooped up in a loose chignon that made her features look softer and her doe eyes even bigger and more captivating, like pools of rich toffee gazing at him across the table. She seemed to have gained weight in the past week as well, her cheeks filling out and taking on a healthy glow he hadn’t seen there before. Somehow the thought of spending a whole day away from her had seemed far too long to contemplate.
He moved away from the window and rolled down his shirt sleeves, vaguely discomforted by his own eagerness. She was becoming a distraction. There were a thousand things he ought to have been doing that past week, and yet he’d spent his time organising picnics and swimming lessons instead. He ought to have been drawing up legal papers and visiting the bank, but he’d felt strangely unfocussed, unable to concentrate, thinking about his wife far too often for comfort. He ought to have been closing the deal with Harper and yet he’d had to remind himself even to think about it. He wasn’t sick—he wished he could explain such uncharacteristic behaviour so easily—but whatever the matter with him was, it seemed to have started on the beach, in that moment when she’d asked what he wanted and he’d realised he wanted to kiss her.
He’d found himself asking the same question repeatedly over the past couple of days, telling himself that the answer was obvious—Harper’s shipyard. That was what he wanted, what he was working towards, what he knew how to get—it was the whole reason he’d married her, for pity’s sake! She was a means to an end, not an end in herself. And yet on its own, somehow the shipyard didn’t seem like enough any more. As if there was something else he wanted as well. Something he wanted more.
No. He pushed open the front door, dodging around some barrels as he strode purposefully across the yard. He wasn’t going to think about that. He was probably just nervous about the dinner he’d arranged for the following night. Harper was ready to sign the deed of sale, he could sense it. A good dinner, arranged by his respectable wife, with Giles and Kitty there for support, and the yard would be his. That was surely all he was worried about. He certainly wasn’t fool enough to fall in love with a woman he’d married for business reasons. Love was for fools. Love caused pain. It had brought his mother nothing but suffering. He didn’t, couldn’t care for her. Even if he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
‘Ianthe!’ He raised a hand in greeting, resenting the tightening sensation in his chest as she turned to smile at him.
‘Oh, Robert. Your driver was just telling me there might be a storm coming.’
‘He might be right.’ He took another look at the sky. It seemed even darker than it had a few minutes ago.
‘It was sunny when I left.’
‘Sea climates are unpredictable, especially when the weather’s been warm like this.’
‘Is it a bad time to visit? I can always come back another time.’
‘No,’ he heard himself answer incredulously. It would make a lot more sense for her to visit another time, but now she was there he felt strangely reluctant to let her go again.
‘If you’re sure.’ She looked around the yard, craning her neck with curiosity. ‘Are all these buildings yours?’
‘These four workshops and the two dry docks over there. We have our own loft for sail-making as well, but when I buy Harper’s it’ll be twice the size.’
‘Very impressive.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled, suddenly unable to contain his enthusiasm. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around.’
Eagerly, he led her across the yard and into the largest, barn-like workshop, stopping beneath a giant grey hulk.
‘What is it?’ Ianthe looked between him and the hulk uncertainly.
‘You tell me.’
‘It’s metal. Is it a ship’s hull?’
‘Exactly, but made entirely of iron. When it’s finished it’ll be the first full steam ship we’ve ever built. One of the first in Whitby.’
‘It’s huge! How long until it’s ready?’
‘Four months maybe.’
She looked impressed. ‘So won’t you build any more wooden ships at all?’
‘A few smaller ones, perhaps.’ He led her outside, past a group of surprised-looking metalworkers, to one of the dry docks. ‘Here’s where we still work in wood. This cat’s almost finished.’
‘Cat?’
‘It stands for coal-and-timber ship. Most people call them colliers, but Whitby cats are famous. They’re shallow with wide beams, easy to pull on to the shore.’
‘What are they doing?’ She gestured to where two men were working on the deck with mallets and chisels.
‘They’re caulking the planks, driving oakum into the seams to make them watertight. It’s a skilled job. Too much or too little pressure and the planks leak.’
‘And will you still need caulkers once you switch to metal ships?’
He grimaced. ‘The decks will still be made of wood, but it won’t be the same. We’ll have to retrain as many people as we can.’
‘So such skills might be lost? That seems a shame.’
‘It does. It’s one of the reasons why men like Harper don’t want to see it happen. I sympathise, but the alternative is that we all go bankrupt.’
She let out a long breath, gazing around with an expression of admiration. ‘It’s incredible. How do you organise it all?’
‘Practice.’ He frowned suddenly, feeling a rush of salty air on his skin. That was it—all the warning he needed.
‘What’s the matter?’ She followed his gaze out to sea. ‘Is it the storm?’
‘The start of it. Come on.’ He took a firm hold of her hand, pulling her behind him. ‘You need to get inside.’
‘What about you?’
‘I need to shut everything down.’
He flung open the door to the offices, almost dragging her along the corridor to his room at the back. It wasn’t much—a spartan, wooden-floored office with a paper-strewn desk in the middle—but it had the benefit of large windows along two sides, perfectly positioned to see everything that went on in the shipyard.
‘You’ll be safe here.’ He strode across to his desk and pulled out a red leather chair for her to sit down. ‘Don’t move. I won’t be long.’
* * *
He was gone so quickly that Ianthe didn’t have a chance to answer.
She glanced briefly at the chair he’d pulled out for her and then crossed to the window instead, watching as he strode back out into the yard. A group of serious-looking men approached him at once and they all huddled together, talking intently for a few moments before marching off in different directions.
There was a low rumble of thunder, and she looked up at the sky. The clouds were definitely gathering now, lining up like a battalion of grey soldiers, ready to charge at the harbour. She looked back to where Robert had been standing, but he wasn’t there any longer. Anxiously, her eyes searched the yard, skimming over the caulkers and joiners and ropers who were all rushing to close the workshop doors and take shelter. Where was he?
She gave a cry of relief as she found him at last, out on the mudflats, though how he’d reached them so quickly she had no idea. He was working alongside his men, hauling giant tarpaulins over the mud before hoisting them up and over the boats on the shore, trying to provide the half-built vessels with some protection from the elements.
She tightened her grip on the windowpane as it started to rattle ominously, wishing she could do something to help. The wind seemed to be gaining in strength every second. What had started as a gentle breeze now had the power to almost wrench the tarpaulin out of their hands. Robert’s shirt was billowing around his chest like a sail, while the boats in the river were pitching from side to side so violently it looked as though they might never come upright again.
Then the rain started. There was no drizzle, no light warning shower, just a sudden sheet of water falling straight from the sky, drenching the men in seconds. There were only a few of them left outside now, Robert amongst them, hammering pegs into the mud as he lashed the tarpaulins to the ground. She fought the urge to call out to him, hardly daring to breathe until he finally got up, waving at the others to take shelter as he ran back towards the office.
‘Robert!’ She hurtled out of the room and down the corridor.
‘I’m all right.’ He slammed the door shut, running a hand through his hair as a puddle started to form around him. ‘Where are the clerks?’
‘Who?’
He gestured towards another door. ‘My clerks work in there. Are they still here?’
‘I haven’t seen anyone. Oh!’ A vague memory came back to her. ‘The door banged a little while ago. I saw some men run across to the workshop. That must have been them.’
‘They were probably going to help.’ He nodded with satisfaction. ‘They’ll be safe over there.’
‘What should we do?’
‘Keep away from windows for a start. The storm’s worse than I expected.’
‘Will the boats be all right?’
‘We’ll have to wait and see. There’s nothing we can do about it now.’
‘What about the ships out in the harbour?’
His expression turned sober. ‘Those aren’t the ones to worry about.’
‘You mean the ones at sea?’ She gasped at such a terrible thought.
‘This type of storm rises up out of nowhere. I don’t know of any ships due in port today, but if there are any out there and they don’t reach the harbour in time... It wouldn’t be a good place to be.’
She shuddered, and he put an arm around her before pulling away quickly again.
‘I’m soaking.’
‘It’s all right.’ She leaned back into his embrace. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Wait.’ He reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. ‘I don’t want you catching a chill.’
‘Me? What about you? Your trousers are soaking wet, too.’ She clamped a hand over her mouth as she realised what she’d just said. Bad enough that he was standing half-naked in front of her already. She oughtn’t to encourage him to remove anything else! ‘Not that you should take them off. I didn’t mean that.’
He arched an eyebrow sardonically as he pulled her towards him, resting his chin on the top of her head. ‘Tempting as that sounds, this may not be the best time.’
‘No.’ She bit her lip, listening to the howl of the storm outside and trying not to think about the feel of his skin against her cheek. His body felt warm and solid and surprisingly smooth. What did that mean, not the best time? The words implied there might be other occasions...
‘How long do these storms usually last?’ she asked the question to distract herself.
‘It depends. Sometimes twenty minutes, sometimes hours.’
‘Hours?’
‘Scared of being alone with me?’
She opened her mouth to retort, before practically leaping into his arms at the sound of a heavy pounding on the door.
Robert reacted at once, setting her gently to one side as he heaved it open to reveal a man in sailor’s clothes, soaking wet and wild-eyed, looking as if he were being pursued by some kind of monster.
‘Steady!’ Robert grasped the man’s arms as he stumbled inside. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Wreck... Saltwick Bay.’
‘What?’ Robert’s jaw tightened at once. ‘There’s a shipwreck?’
‘Aye.’ The man hauled in a deep breath, gasping between words. ‘I was up...on the cliffs. Saw it...hit sandbank.’
‘What kind of ship?’
‘Merchant vessel.’
‘How many crew?’
‘About a dozen.’
‘Is it damaged?’
‘The mast...doesn’t look good.’ He’d regained some of his breath now. ‘But it’s still salvageable. I ran down the cliff, went to the first yard I found. They told me to come here and find you.’
‘Why?’ Ianthe heard the quaver in her own voice.
Robert paused for a moment before answering. ‘I’m on the lifeboat crew.’
‘But you said it was dangerous out there!’ She whirled on the sailor in panic. ‘You can’t ask men to go out in this!’
‘I know that, ma’am.’ He looked faintly guilty. ‘But I had to do something.’
‘It’s our job.’ Robert’s voice sounded stern.
‘But...’ She felt the blood drain from her face as the full horror of the situation dawned on her. Without Robert and the lifeboat, the crew of the stricken vessel would be doomed. But if he went, he’d be risking his own life. She felt appalled by the impossibility of the choice.
‘It might not be possible anyways.’ The sailor seemed to be trying to comfort her. ‘In this weather, they’ll have a job getting the lifeboat past the harbour wall. And even if they manage that, they’ll be fighting the current just to get round the cliff.’
‘But isn’t there some other way to help?’ She didn’t know which side she was on now.
Robert met her gaze, holding it sombrely for a few seconds before his expression cleared abruptly.
‘There is. We won’t go around the cliff. We’ll go over it.’
‘You mean carry the boat over?’ The sailor nodded appreciatively.
‘It’s been done before. Then we can launch from the other side.’
He strode back into his office, re-emerging a few seconds later wearing a large oilskin overcoat. ‘It’ll take a few hours, but it’s the safest option. There’s no lightning, only rain and wind.’ He rested a hand on the sailor’s shoulder. ‘Go over to the workshop and ask for my foreman, George. Tell him I need volunteers. Then you have a rest. I’ll be there in a few minutes.’
He advanced towards her as the other man ran outside, grasping her shoulders as he stared down into her face.
‘I’ll take you across to the workshop, too. You can stay there until the storm passes and then...’
‘No.’
He frowned. ‘Ianthe...’
‘I’m coming with you.’ She jutted her chin out determinedly. ‘You said you needed volunteers.’
‘You can’t carry a boat!’
‘No, but you’ll need someone to look after the crew you bring back to shore. I can do that.’
‘I’ll have enough to do without worrying about you, too.’
‘But you’ll leave me here to worry about you? No!’ She stamped her foot angrily. ‘You said you wouldn’t stop me from doing anything I wanted!’
‘What?’
‘When you proposed. You said I could do whatever I wanted.’
‘Within reason!’
‘This is a good reason. The crew on that ship need help. I want to help them and you said you needed volunteers.’
‘That’s not what I meant and you know it! Dammit, Ianthe, see sense!’
‘I am seeing sense. And you’re wasting time! Now are you going to let me come or not?’
‘Fine.’ He swore violently before kicking open the door of the other office, wrenching another oilskin off a peg by the entrance. ‘Put this on and stay close to me. It won’t be easy, but once we get going, you can’t change your mind.’
‘I know that.’ She pulled the coat over her shoulders. It was several sizes too big and smelt of oil and tar, but it felt reassuringly thick, enough to keep out the worst of the elements. ‘I’ll keep up, I promise.’
‘All right.’ He looked her up and down approvingly before taking hold of her hand. ‘If you’re sure about this then let’s go.’
He opened the door, and she staggered backwards at once, caught off guard by the force of the wind. Fortunately, Robert seemed not to notice, pulling her on towards the workshop as she clutched the hood of her coat tightly around her face.
‘Mr Felstone.’ George met them at the door. ‘He says you’re planning to go over the cliff?’
‘Aye.’ Robert’s expression was grim. ‘Any volunteers?’
‘Ten men here. I’ve sent some lads round t’other yards as well so we should get a few more.’
‘It’s a long way and the storm’s not over yet. No one’s under any obligation.’
‘We know that, sir.’
‘Good. Then we’ll meet at the lifeboat station in twenty minutes.’ He glanced down at her for a moment, as if he were on the verge of saying something, before changing his mind. ‘The sooner we get started, the better.’