Rain fell in a relentless deluge for the entirety of Hester’s first week at Newchurch Manor, all of Canterbury sodden and grey. Diana sighed and bemoaned the impossibility of venturing out, but the howling wind and bullish clouds suited Hester just fine.
There was nowhere she wanted to go, nothing she wanted to do. Food had lost all its flavour and wine was sour. Even sleep was elusive, and refusing to give her any release from the thoughts of Nathaniel that tormented her. She felt like a ghost walking the halls of the great house and knew she must look like one too, pale and silent as she drifted from one room to the next, seeing her sister and brother-in-law exchanging worried glances whenever she appeared.
They meant well, and Hester appreciated their concern, although the sight of them sitting on the same sofa, heads close together in intimate conversation, drove a shard of agony directly into her chest and she much preferred to be alone.
Escaping soon after breakfast on the seventh day, Hester wandered the impressive gallery, tracing her own steps back and forth until she lost count. An uninterested glance outside showed the rain had finally stopped, the storm’s fury spent, and the Manor’s grounds were at last emerging from their gloomy shroud. They would be beautiful, no doubt, once the sun came out, but Hester’s thoughts turned instead to Nathaniel, the constant ache beneath the bodice of her gown increasing as she conjured up his face.
How terrible it must be, tossing and turning on rough waves. I pray the better weather here makes its way to the sea and keeps him safe.
She pressed her lips together so tightly it hurt, another surge of bitter regret rising in her gullet. Her last words had been so cold—what if they really were the final ones she’d ever speak to him, laced with hurt and anger she hadn’t been able to control? Perhaps he hadn’t deserved an affectionate farewell, but his expression as he’d watched the carriage take her away was burned into her mind, and every time she recalled it another pinprick of pain drove into her skin.
But there’s nothing to be done. He set sail days ago and must be miles away at this very moment.
Forcing her spine straighter, she pulled her shoulders back, not realising how much they had slumped into a miserable curve. Nathaniel had gone to sea, just as he’d said he wouldn’t, and Hester could only wait for his return. It might take weeks, months, or even—if last time was any guide—years for him to walk back through her door, and the prospect of tolerating her heartbreak for all that time made her grit her teeth on a cry of despair.
They had come so close to finding a home in each other—or so she’d thought—and to have it ripped away from her was an agony like none she had known before.
‘How could he leave me?’ Hester murmured to her reflection in the gallery window, another set of grave blue eyes returning her stare. ‘How could we have had so many wonderful moments that in the end meant nothing at all?’
That morning spent out on the ice, Nathaniel’s cheeks pink with cold and his grin from ear to ear as he took his first wobbly strides...
Diana’s ball, when he’d appeared as if from nowhere to surprise her after she’d thought he wouldn’t come...
His candlelit face in his bedroom, burning with desire but still holding back until she gave him permission to proceed—and then what had come after, sensations so vivid she could still feel their essence even now...
Screwing her eyes shut, Hester wrapped her arms tight around her body as if she could ward off the memories that came from all sides, each one a jagged knife seeking somewhere soft to stab. They hurled themselves against her defences, wearing them down in a merciless battle of attrition that left her gasping and desperate for somewhere to hide.
‘Ma’am? Are you unwell?’
As though from a great distance away Arless’ voice cut through the clamour and Hester’s eyes snapped open at once. She didn’t know when her maid had entered the room, but she’d never been more relieved to see her—a welcome distraction from death by a thousand cuts.
‘No, no. I’m perfectly well. Were you searching for me?’
Arless didn’t look entirely convinced by the denial, but she was far too well trained to probe further. Instead she held out a letter, the sight of it sending a sudden flurry through Hester’s nerves.
‘This came for you, ma’am.’
Hester’s pulse quickened as she took the envelope and turned it over, willing her fingers not to shake—although in the next moment disappointment settled heavily on her chest. It wasn’t Nathaniel’s bold, sweeping writing, and for one long, horrible beat Hester thought tears were going to spring up in her eyes at how sharply her hopes had leapt upwards.
But for what reason would he write to her?
And how would he manage to send a letter from the middle of the sea?
Unhappiness chasing out all but the vaguest curiosity, Hester nodded to the waiting maid. ‘You must be itching to get out now the rain has stopped. I don’t feel much like venturing outside but take the rest of the morning yourself if you’d like.’
Arless’ brow twitched into a frown of concern at Hester’s bleak face. ‘Thank you, ma’am. Is there anything I can do for you before I go? It hardly seems fitting to leave when you seem—forgive me—so unsettled.’
The same rigor mortis smile Hester had forced for the past week became necessary once again. ‘I’m not unsettled in the least. Please do go and enjoy yourself.’
The maid hesitated, on the very brink of a refusal, but then her usual tact won out. ‘If you’re sure, ma’am. Thank you.’
Hester kept the smile stitched in place until Arless was safely out of the gallery and then allowed it to fade, the corners of her mouth turning down until not a trace remained. She’d almost forgotten the letter in her hand, but slowly she sank onto the window seat, breaking the seal and beginning to read with barely any interest at all.
That was...until she reached the second paragraph.
Hands clasped behind his head, Nathaniel lay back on his bunk, staring blindly up at the wooden ceiling. He knew every knot by now, every imperfection in the rough boards that he’d studied for nearly a week already and would for months to come. The Luna hadn’t even left harbour yet, with foul weather keeping the ship stubbornly docked, so there was nothing for him to do but wait—wait and endlessly torture himself with memories of Hester in those times when her smile had lit up both the room and his life.
He closed his eye, a sigh coming all the way up from his boots. What would she be doing at that very moment? She’d still be in Canterbury, most likely. Only twenty miles away, but it might have been on another planet for all he could reach her. Hester was beyond his grasp now and would be even if she’d stood right next to him, his fatal mistake driving a wedge between them there was no hope of overcoming—as she had made agonisingly plain.
That final glimpse of her through the carriage window would have to last him, and still with his eye firmly shut Nathaniel tried to picture her face.
Even when rigid with repressed emotion the lines of her countenance had been beautiful to him, Hester’s profile carved from marble or snow or something else cold but no less a work of art for its chill. She’d held his gaze until the very last moment, two chips of blue ice boring into his soul and leaving him in no doubt that what they saw there was wanting.
The desire to race after her and declare his love had gripped him like an iron fist, but he’d found he couldn’t move, and then she was gone—disappeared through the rain, leaving him alone but for the resounding jeers of his own regrets.
Ship bunks weren’t known for their comfort, this one being no exception, and Nathaniel shifted in a vain attempt to ease his aching back. Every muscle was strained and his neck was tight as a bowstring, getting worse every time he wondered how Hester fared. The only consolation he could find was that Jacob had finally agreed to stay behind at Shardlow. His willingness to weather another hideous sea voyage had been a true testament to his friendship, but it was something that Nathaniel hadn’t, in good conscience, been able to allow.
There was no call to separate him from his Hannah, if marriage is indeed where that’s headed. At least with Jacob at home there will be somebody to look out for Hester when she returns...not that I imagine she would appreciate such a thought.
If he couldn’t be with his wife himself, Nathaniel mused grimly, Jacob was the next best thing. Hester wouldn’t be completely alone, a trustworthy pair of hands waiting to scoop her up even if she didn’t know it. There was nobody on earth more fit for the task than Morrow, but it was still small comfort for Nathaniel as he waited, with rising impatience, for the wind to change.
If he had to go he’d rather it was now. The sooner he left, the sooner he could return and try to mend whatever remnants of their relationship Hester might have been merciful enough not to throw on the refuse heap.
A tap on the door of his tiny cabin roused him from his unhappy thoughts.
‘Yes?’
‘Captain said to tell you the wind’s changed, Mr Honeywell’ came a gruff voice from outside. ‘The storm’s passed on and we’ll be fit to sail today.’
The scuffling of footsteps moving away again told Nathaniel no reply was required, which was probably just as well. Relief rose at finally being able to break this accursed waiting, although the knowledge that he would soon be miles from Hester made his chest ache all the more.
With an effort he forced himself up from his bunk, stooping immediately as the low ceiling of his cabin attempted to greet the top of his head. He was barely able to turn around in the cramped space. A bed, two shelves and a minuscule desk were the only things squeezed in, apart from himself, with no room to spare. It was more a cupboard than a cabin, and a pitiful home for the weeks and months to come.
Making for the deck, Nathaniel had to hunch his broad shoulders to fit through the narrow gangways and stairs until he clambered out into the cold air, darkness replaced at last by pale sunlight filtering through cloud.
A salty tang danced on the breeze, all about him a flurry of activity as the crew readied the Luna to weigh anchor. By the look of it he was the only one whose spirits hadn’t lifted at the turn of the wind: rough laughter and shouts rang across the port, some men swarming up to check the rigging and others rolling laden barrels across the glistening deck, but all working with a cheerfulness the driving rain had made impossible. At this rate they would be ready to sail within a few hours, and Nathaniel’s hand curled into an involuntary fist as he scanned the bustling harbour, hoping without hope to catch a glimpse of dark blonde ringlets.
If Hester appeared he’d jump right off the ship to meet her, and hang what his father might think—but there were only sailors in place of beautiful vexing women and, choking back another sigh, Nathaniel went in search of the Captain.
He found Captain Bright standing near the wheel, watching proceedings with the unflappable calm only many voyages could bestow upon a man. He glanced over his shoulder as Nathaniel approached, acknowledging his presence with a nod.
‘Mr Honeywell. Ready to sail?’
‘More or less. It’s about time—I don’t see how there can be any rain left.’
‘Never say that.’ The older man took an unhurried puff on the unlit pipe clenched between his teeth, his attention still fixed on the bustle unfolding around them. ‘The weather gods like to play their tricks when you least expect it. I’d have thought you the last person to tempt fate after what happened last time. The Celeste sank without trace, didn’t it?’
‘I’d be surprised if lightning struck the same place twice. Or perhaps once was enough and the men already call me a Jonah.’
Captain Bright removed the pipe and levelled a shrewd look at Nathaniel’s tight face. He wasn’t the least bit cowed, too weathered and world-weary to fear any man’s bad temper. ‘No, sir. Not in my hearing at least.’
Nathaniel rubbed his brow, slightly ashamed of his terse response. It wouldn’t be surprising if the crew thought him bad luck, considering the fate that had met the Celeste. Seafaring men were a superstitious lot, and having one among them who had gone down with a ship was never going to make him popular—even if he could hardly be blamed for it running into the jagged rocks that had led to him and only a handful of survivors being captured.
‘I suppose that’s something to be grateful for. I can’t say I’d appreciate the men plotting to throw me overboard.’
‘Of course not.’ The Captain leaned forward and spat a stray shred of tobacco neatly over the side. ‘Even so...I hope you found time to say your goodbyes? None of us ever knows which voyage might be our last.’
Under cover of straightening his hat, Nathaniel allowed himself a swift grimace. Perhaps he was the superstitious one. Captain Bright seemed to have sensed the unease nestling in his chest, uncannily reading something in him that Nathaniel wanted to hide. His farewells to his mother and Jacob had been painful enough, but Hester’s...
If that was the very last time they would speak he’d die an unhappy man indeed, doomed to be haunted by the echo of her frozen face for eternity, or whatever awaited him beyond the mortal veil.
Her image would be the thing that accompanied him at that moment—the last memory flashing through his mind as life slipped from his grasp and everything grew dark. He might not always have loved her, but now that he did nothing would ever wrench her from his heart: not his father’s scheming, nor a thousand miles of ocean, not even Hester’s own disgust. She owned him now, his soul tethered to hers, and no matter what happened it would be her name he whispered with his final breath.
‘Only a few hours more and all this will be behind us.’ Captain Bright took a deep breath of sea air, contentedly stretching out his arms as if he was more at home on the ship than on land. ‘In truth I yearn to be off again. There’s nothing here to keep me, and I have nobody wanting me to stay.’
‘No.’ Nathaniel allowed his eye to stray to the horizon, and then to the waves rising and falling in a steady rhythm he would have to learn to endure. ‘Neither do I.’
‘Read it again, Hess. Slowly this time.’
Diana sat so close to the edge of her seat that Hester might have worried she’d fall if her thoughts hadn’t been so completely absorbed by the letter in her trembling hand. Both sisters’ eyes were wide, unable—or perhaps not daring—to believe something so astounding could possibly be true.
‘I’ll try, but I’m shaking so much I don’t know if I can.’
Hester laid a hand over the place where her heart leapt in a frenzy, each beat so powerful she felt it all the way down to her slippered feet. Taking a shuddering breath, she tried to steady herself against the parlour chair she had collapsed into, both Diana and Lavendon starting in alarm when she’d burst through the door.
Rereading the letter might help her to understand it herself, too bewildered to comprehend it while her head spun with more questions than answers.
The first paragraph was unremarkable. Only once her unexpected correspondent’s pleasantries were out of the way did he move on to make her jaw drop and the earth stop turning on its axis.
I beg you will excuse my writing, but concern for my closest friend, your husband, makes it impossible for me to remain silent any longer. A sea voyage is a dangerous undertaking, and in the event he doesn’t return it would be wrong for you to be left without an accurate understanding of both his recent actions and his true feelings.
Under any other circumstances I wouldn’t presume to interfere. The depth of Nathaniel’s misery at the prospect of parting from you, however, was more than I could bear. Our bond is now a brotherhood, and if there is even the smallest possibility my interference can bring about a happier situation I must act.
In the hope that this letter might show the real man, rather than the man others have forced him to appear to be, please allow me to share the story of our time in Algiers—and how Nathaniel Honeywell saved my life.
Hester swallowed, stumbling over the unfamiliar handwriting and her mouth dry. She knew what was coming, but still hardly believed the evidence of her own eyes as they travelled the folded page, skittering across words and spattered ink.
On one side she sensed Diana listening with bated breath, Lavendon on the other just as intent as his wife.
I believe you know the Celeste was sunk off the coast of Algiers. What I think you weren’t told was that I was the one who pulled your husband from the sea and dragged him ashore.
Although I meant to help him, I’m afraid he was destined for the same fate I’d lived for the past year: to be captured by slavers and sold into servitude with little chance of escape.
To her left Hester heard Diana’s soft gasp, although her own breaths came too shallow for there to be any to spare. Her Nathaniel—her witty, handsome, aggravating Nathaniel—sold like cattle to labour beneath the burning sun... The very thought of it pierced her like a savage blade, cutting through the despair of the past weeks to slice down to the bone. Emotion too intense to name flared like a bonfire, the protective side of her spirit blazing hotter than the sun that someone had dared treat him with such disdain.
Her palms prickled with sweat, the parlour fire cold in comparison as she gathered the courage to continue.
I’ll spare you the details of our day-to-day lives. Suffice to say it was a cruel existence that left scars on both body and mind which will never fully heal. Some of our fellow slaves died from exhaustion and disease, and those who survived often wished they hadn’t.
The only thing that kept us going was the glimmer of hope that we might one day be rescued and a sense of camaraderie that gave each other strength. It took Nathaniel a while to realise the value of both leaning on and caring for others, but once he had seen the light he changed from a selfish youth into a dependable man that I was, and still am, proud to call my friend. Where once he thought only of himself, he began to consider those around him, although I had no idea just how deep this consideration would run.
I apologise in advance for any distress caused by what comes next, but if you are to learn the full truth of your husband’s determination to better himself I can’t leave it unsaid.
Hester looked up, needing a moment to ground herself before she could carry on. Even having read the letter twice over she had to steel herself, flames still lapping around her that crackled with rage and pity and the sudden crystal-clear yearning to fold Nathaniel in her arms.
Diana was like a statue, waiting for her to speak, the parlour so silent Hester could hear every rustle of the breeze outside.
One day I was tasked with carrying a load of stone from one place to another. The foreman was displeased with me for some perceived slight, and as punishment nobody was permitted to help me. By the time I had made five or six journeys I was dehydrated and weak. The sun that afternoon was unendurably strong, and Nathaniel could take it no more.
Disregarding the foreman’s orders, Nathaniel took over my task so I could rest, ignoring my pleas not to risk punishment and carrying the rest of the stone himself. When the foreman learned what was happening he came in a fury, swinging his whip and swearing to beat me bloody.
The end of the whip caught Nathaniel’s eye, resulting in the wound covered by his patch, but despite his own agony Nathaniel stood over me and wouldn’t move away. I have no doubt that in my weakened state a beating would have killed me and that your husband saved my life, even though he knew the penalty for such disobedience was the severance of a finger.
The foreman was so distracted that he forgot about me, allowing me to live until the British Navy came with their almighty bombardment and we were finally freed.
Out of the corner of her eye Hester saw Diana reach for Lavendon’s hand, gripping it so firmly her fingers turned white, and nausea turned in Hester’s stomach as unwanted images ran like wildfire through her mind.
One after the other they streaked past, sickening in their lurid brutality: Nathaniel’s face running red with blood from his ruined eye, a half-dead figure at his feet and another raising its arm with a blade flashing in one hand. Her heart pounded against her ribs and her hands still shook, her revulsion second only to the anguish of imagining how much Nathaniel must have suffered.
You know better than anyone that your husband is a proud man. He believed that if you knew how far he had fallen your feelings for him would change, so ashamed was he of how low he had been brought that he believed he was tainted and unworthy—something his father has held him to ransom with, alongside the threat of disinheritance. For my part, I feel his actions in Algiers were heroic, not shameful, and I confess I can’t imagine what more convincing proof there could be that he is capable of far greater things now than he was when the Celeste set sail.
Before leaving Shardlow House he expressed sorrow that his word will mean nothing to you now he has felt forced to break it. I pray that mine might have some weight instead, and that you will believe your husband’s devotion to you is as real as his change for the better. Perhaps your maid, Miss Hannah Arless, could vouch for whether I am considered trustworthy, should you wish to satisfy yourself on that count?
Once again, I beg forgiveness for presuming on subjects you doubtless feel are not my concern. My only excuse is the desire to save my friend unhappiness born out of misunderstanding, and to assure you, in the strongest terms, that this latest absence is neither his highest priority nor of his choosing.
There is only one place Nathaniel would ever choose to be: next to you. Whether there’s any hope of his love being returned or not.
I remain, madam, your most obedient servant,
Jacob Morrow
Hester sat back in her chair, the letter hanging from numb fingertips. Nobody said a word. None of the three people sitting in the parlour could think of any way to respond—three minds blank with horror and amazement that robbed them of all possibility of speech.
They must have remained like that for some minutes, although it felt like hours before Hester could break from under the spell that held her in place.
‘Nathaniel a slave. All this time and I never knew.’
Slowly Lavendon rubbed the back of his neck, looking every bit as stunned as Hester felt. ‘None of us did. He never gave so much as a clue. To have endured all that without mentioning it once... If everything written there is true, there can be no doubt he’s changed beyond all recognition.’
A curious warmth filtered through Hester’s blood, even as shock and dismay still ran riot. Could Mr Morrow indeed be telling the truth? Surely nobody could tell such macabre lies, a tale that horrendous too awful to be anything but fact. If Jacob could be trusted it would turn every assumption she’d made on its head, bringing the faint gleam of a hopeful dawn where once she’d seen only endless night.
One word had jumped out at her from the untidy scrawl: love.
Jacob writes that Nathaniel wants me to return his love.
In uncharacteristic silence Diana rose to her feet and moved unsteadily to the bell rope hanging at one wall. Without even needing to ask, Hester knew exactly what she was going to do, almost able to read her sister’s mind as her own began to pick up speed and range over what might not be impossible after all.
A white-capped head appeared round the door and Diana spoke as normally as she was able. ‘Would you fetch Miss Arless, please? It’s extremely important she’s brought here at once.’
‘Yes, Your Ladyship. She mentioned going into town but she hasn’t left yet. I’ll bring her now.’
The maid withdrew, her swift footsteps echoing away down the corridor, and then Arless’ quiet voice brought with it a welcome sense of calm.
‘Yes, ma’am? Do you need me to stay after all?’
Hester attempted a smile, although her muscles seemed to have frozen stiff. ‘No, no. I’m sorry to call you back for a moment. I just want to ask you something before you leave.’
Arless came fully into the room and stood beside the fireplace, waiting obligingly for Hester to continue. She seemed mildly curious, but not uneasy, and her steady presence gave Hester a gentle nudge to proceed.
‘I believe you’re well acquainted with Mr Morrow?’
The maid blinked in surprise, a giveaway trace of colour creeping into her cheeks. ‘Yes, ma’am, but only in the proper way. Mr Morrow is a gentleman, and would never attempt anything untoward.’
‘Of course. In truth I’m glad you know him so well. Could you tell me more about his character?’
‘His character?’
‘You know...’ Hester pressed further, trying not to let her rising eagerness show in her tone. ‘Is he honest? Trustworthy?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Arless’ face glowed pinker still, suddenly so unlike her usual reserved self that Hester’s smile softened into something infinitely more real.
‘Mr Morrow is the very best of men. I’d have no hesitation to take him at his word, and he’s so kind. Funny, too, ma’am, and good to his mother... He speaks fondly of his sisters, all three of them, and I’ve never once heard him exchange a cross word with anyone.’
It seemed her lady’s maid could wax poetic about Jacob Morrow all day, but Hester had heard enough. ‘I understand. Thank you, Arless. Please go and enjoy yourself—I think you might take the afternoon as well as the morning.’
Clearly at a loss as to why the interrogation had taken place, Arless dipped a curtesy and left the parlour—perhaps before she could be asked any more compromising questions. Hester watched her go, her hands clutching the letter so hard the paper was in danger of being torn clean in half.
‘Well. It would certainly appear this Mr Morrow is a man of his word.’
Lavendon stretched out an arm and gathered Diana to him, anchoring her at his side with instinctive concern. Hester wondered if her own face was as pale as her sister’s, as the two regarded each other with matching bewildered blue eyes.
‘I agree. Arless has been with Hess for years. She wouldn’t lie, even if she didn’t have such an obvious fancy for him.’
Hester took a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to order her thoughts. Every sense seemed to have abandoned her, only dizzying wonderment left to fill the gap left by everything else. That one word—love—came to her over and over again, the sweetest whisper in her ear that Hester had ever heard, and the longing to believe it was so strong it burned beneath her gown.
‘So what are you going to do? How will you act now you know Nathaniel didn’t choose to leave, but rather was blackmailed into it by his wretched father?’
A touch of the old spark had resurfaced in Diana, nothing able to keep her down for long. She leaned forward to look into Hester’s face, keen as a hound following a promising trail, but Hester could only helplessly shake her head.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. Even if Jacob is right—and that’s a colossal if—Nathaniel sailed days ago. He must be miles away by now.’
‘Not necessarily.’
Lavendon leaned forward just like his wife, the pair of them alight with an excitement that sent shivers through Hester’s insides. It was infectious, setting her caution alight and tempting her to send it up in smoke.
‘The weather has been appalling right up until this afternoon. There’s a chance Nathaniel may still be stuck at Dover, waiting for a favourable wind.’
Hester’s breath caught halfway out of her body. ‘That can happen?’
Lord Lavendon nodded. ‘It can. Given how stormy this past week has been, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Nathaniel is still there.’
Hester sat motionless, like a statue perfectly still apart from the rise and fall of its chest as she reminded herself to breathe. It would be easy to forget such an inconsequential thing while so many other thoughts clamoured for her attention, horror and compassion mingling with that tentative glint of hope she hardly dared allow.
Why hadn’t Nathaniel told her what had happened, instead of allowing his father to hold such sway? It made her stomach roil to think of him bearing such unimaginable pain—pure, white-hot rage simmered that somebody had inflicted it upon him, although admiration tempered the very worst of her wrath. The old Nathaniel would never have sacrificed himself for the sake of another, throwing doubt on the conclusion she’d thought so settled and making her wonder if, perhaps, she had made the most terrible mistake.
She had to know for certain.
There was only one question to ask and it slipped out before she realised her lips had even moved, her mind already racing on to what might lie ahead if she was brave enough to reach out and seize it. There was no other way, and although it would take all her courage Hester knew what she must do, instinct guiding her onwards like the gentle hand of fate.
‘Diana, Lavendon...please may I borrow a horse?’