The Black Opal

A Sea Voyage

It is hard for me to remember exactly what happened on that day. There were so many comings and goings, so much whispering and heavy silences.

The news that Mrs. Marline was dead was a great shock to everyone. Dr. Everest must have sent for Dr. Marline, for he came home, in a state of disbelief and horror.

The doctors were together for a long time and then Dr. Everest left.

Nanny Gilroy and Mrs. Barton whispered together and when Annie Logan came, she stayed with them and they shut the door in case anyone heard what they were saying.

The doctor and Miss Carson were in the drawing-room together. They both seemed in a state of shock.

Estella and I talked about what had happened. Neither of us could pretend to mourn Mrs. Marline. I had many times heard the term ‘happy release’ applied to death; and I often thought how well it fitted in this case. It was certainly a release for us, and, since Mrs. Marline had been in such pain, for her also.

I heard Nanny say ominously: “There’ll have to be an inquest, and then we shall see what’s what.”

The house was different. There seemed to be menacing shadows everywhere. I felt that something tremendous was about to burst on us, but I told myself that it would be very pleasant when it was all settled, for we should be without Mrs. Marline and we could all be happy.

But life does not work out like that.

There was the inquest to come, and that ominous word seemed to crop up in every overheard conversation.

The blinds were drawn throughout the house so that the place was darkened. The doors of those rooms which had been occupied by Mrs. Marline were locked and no one was allowed to go into them.

Estella said that when people died suddenly they were cut up to see what had killed them: and, with my talent for eavesdropping, I sensed from Nanny and Mrs. Barton that, when this was done, something important would be revealed.

It was about three days after Mrs. Marline’s death when a visitor arrived at Commonwood House. She was a tall, thin, important-looking lady and I was struck by her resemblance to Mrs. Marline. She was greeted with some surprise by the doctor.

From my vantage-point, I heard her say: “I thought it was time I came.

Something should be done about the children. “

She went into the drawing-room with the doctor and there was a long pause during which I could hear nothing; and after a while Estella was summoned to the drawing-room. She was there for a long time and then she emerged, looking bewildered. She ran up to her room and I followed her.

“Who’s that and what does she want?” I asked.

“I haven’t seen her before.”

“She’s my Aunt Florence. Adeline and I are going to stay with her.”

I looked at her blankly.

“When?”

“Now,” she said.

“I’ve got to get Nanny to help me get some things together.”

“Where are you going?”

“I told you. To stay with her. She’s come to fetch us.”

“Is it a holiday?”

Estella shrugged her shoulders.

“She says it’s best for us not to be here.”

“Do you mean you’re going … now? That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

Estella was always irritable when she was worried, and I could see she was not very eager to go with Aunt Florence who, to my knowledge, had never come to Commonwood before.

“How long for?” I asked.

“I think until this inquest is over. She thinks that’s best. She says we shouldn’t be involved.”

“What about me?”

Estella shrugged her shoulders.

“She didn’t say anything about you .. only Adeline and me. And Henry’s all right because he’s at school.”

I felt more deserted and alone than I had since the days before Uncle Toby came into my life.

Aunt Florence went away, taking Estella and Adeline with her. I shall never forget Adeline’s face as she got into the station fly, with Estella, Aunt Florence and the luggage. She looked as though she were too bewildered and miserable even to cry.

Then I was alone.

It was strange without Estella and Adeline, but at least Miss Carson had not gone with them. She seemed very nervous. She told me that Aunt Florence was Mrs. Marline’s sister. They had not seen each other for years because they could not get on with each other. That did not surprise me, as I could not imagine anyone’s getting on well with Mrs. Marline; and her sister. Aunt Florence, seemed very like her.

Miss Carson said: “There was some upset in the family when Mrs.

Marline married the doctor. They thought she married beneath her by marrying a country doctor when she should have married into the peerage.” Miss Carson added, in a bitter voice which did not fit her somehow:

“What a pity she didn’t.”

I wondered what would happen to me when the inquest was over. I was aware of a feeling of doom in the house. Once I heard Nanny Gilroy say to Mrs. Barton: “We shall be called, I don’t doubt. I shall tell all I know. You can’t hold things back at a time like this. They’ll find out anyway. There’s nothing much they miss.”

“He’s not going to like it,” replied Mrs. Barton.

“People prying into his affairs.”

“People should think of these things before they get caught.”

I was beginning to wonder what would happen at this dreaded inquest.

Then Uncle Toby appeared and I forgot everything else. I flung myself into his arms. I was joyful and tearful all at once.

I said: “They’ve gone … Estella and Adeline.”

“I know. To my sister Florence. Poor little things. And they left you, did they?”

I nodded.

“Just as well, because I’ve come to take you away with me for a while.”

I could not believe that I was hearing correctly.

“Away with you?” I repeated.

“Just a little while. Till things settle down. Didn’t we say we’d sail together one day?”

“Sail?” I cried.

He looked at me and smiled

“It seemed a good idea.”

I could not believe this was really happening. Life had taken a strange turn since Mrs. Marline’s death, but this was more fantastic than anything so far. To go away from this gloomy house, with its secrets which I could not understand, to be with Uncle Toby! To sail, he had said. It was too much to be taken in all at once. It was like a dream from which I feared I would wake at any moment.

I just stared blankly at him as I realized he meant what he said, joyous relief beginning to flood through me.

I have to admit that I was too excited to think much about poor Adeline, parted from her beloved Miss Carson. Estella would not mind so much. She might even feel excited to have a change. It had not been very pleasant lately at Commonwood House. And now I was presented with this most exciting prospect-beyond everything I could have imagined.

Uncle Toby laid his plans before me. He had always said he would take me on a sea trip, hadn’t he? It seemed that this was the time. We would not have to wait long, for he would be sailing in just over a week; and there was a great deal to be done before we did. There were things I should need. Polly would help me with that.

“Who is Polly?” I asked.

“She’s my landlady. Bless Polly! What should we do without her? Well, the fact is, I rent some rooms in her house. Very convenient, really.

Well, that’s why, of course. We usually dock in Southampton and it’s my pied-a-terre. You know what that is, because I heard you’ve been learning French. It’s a little place to step into when the need arises. One day, when I’ve finished with the sea, I’ll settle. But in the meantime it’s a pied-a-terre with Mrs. Q.”

“Mrs. Q?”

“Polly. Polly Quinton, that is. She’s a real sport. You’ll love her.

She looks after those she calls her sailor boys. Oh, I’m not the only one. One of a crowd, actually. They come and go. It suits me and it suits Mrs. Q.

I’ve got four rooms at the top of the house with a view over the harbour. Not far from the old vessel, you see. Well, you know, the ship becomes part of you. Ships are wonderful. They’re temperamental . they’ve a life of their own. Funny little tricks they get up to-and each one’s different. Capricious, that’s what they are. Just like women, they say. Did you know they always call a ship “she” never “he” No, there’s nothing of a man about a ship. That’s why you get to love them, you know. “

I revelled in these conversations. He had always been loquacious and had a jaunty way of speaking, and everything that had happened in Commonwood House during those last months began to fade into a memory and I was entering a new and enthralling world, and with this exciting project ahead and the company of Uncle Toby, I was completely absorbed.

“We have just over a week before we board the Lady of the Seas,“ he told me.

“There is much to be done. Not only will you require certain garments, but there are some formalities to be seen to. I’ll arrange all that. You and Mrs. Q. can settle the other.”

As Uncle Toby had said, the house was near the docks and Polly Quinton greeted me as though she had known me all my life. She was very plump, with a rosy face and eyes which almost disappeared when she laughed, which was frequently. Everything seemed amusing to her. She had a habit of folding her hands across her large bosom and shaking with mirth.

The house was on five floors and all the rooms except those in the basement were let to sailors.

Mrs. Quinton had a special feeling for sailors, I soon discovered, for one never had to lure Mrs. Quinton into talking of herself. She would do so for as long as one cared to listen.

“My Charley was a sailor boy,” she told me, her eyes wide open and misty for once.

“He was a real man, he was. The times we had!” She shook on recollection.

“He’d come home hell bent on making the most of his leave. He was like that. They get a lot out of life, dear, that sort. Those were the days! And then that was it. He went down with his ship off South America.” She was silent for a moment, her face sad.

Then she was merry again.

“Yes, we had some good times together, and he left me comfortable. He always used to say, ” You’ll be all right, Poll, when I’ve gone. You’ve got this house. There’s a living in it. ” And so there has been. I’d stop him talking like that. It upset me. Well, he was right. I let this place off to my sailors. They remind me of my Charley. Your Uncle Toby has been with me for a number of years. He’s a real gentle man. I don’t mind telling you, dear, I’ve got a special soft spot for him.

You’re a lucky girl, you are. He’s taking you off to sea with him.

Well, I reckon that’s something, I do. I wish I’d been with my Charley when . Well, it’s no good, is it? I always felt I’d have found some way of looking after him. But that’s me. Charley always used to say, “You think you can do everything better than everyone else.” It’s true. That’s why I’d have found some way of getting him out of that sea. Well, dear, we’re going to do some shopping tomorrow. To tell you the truth, there’s nothing I like better than spending a bit of money.”

She was laughing, her temporary sadness gone.

We shopped together. We bought the garments which Uncle Toby said I should need for shipboard life sturdy shoes with soles that would not slip on wet decks; some summer dresses for a hot climate. Mrs. Quinton thoroughly enjoyed these expeditions, and so did I. Uncle Toby was away for long periods during the day, for he had business to attend to. The ship was in port and certain repairs were being done. He took me over her. And what a thrill that was! I was to have a cabin on the deck just below the bridge where Uncle Toby’s own cabin was situated.

“You’ll be a passenger,” he told me.

“A very special person. I have to look after the passengers, but for the most part the cargo looks after itself. So I shall be able to keep my eye on you.”

He showed me the dining-room with its long tables. There was a smoking-room, a music room, as well as public rooms where people could indulge in all sorts of activities, and stretches of deck where one could sit and contemplate the sea. I felt I had skipped into a fantastic new world.

And then we were sailing and this was like the realization of a long-cherished dream. My pride in Uncle Toby was excessive. He looked splendid in his Captain’s uniform and everyone deferred to him. He was the Master of the Lady of the Seas and all who sailed in her.

He had changed subtly. He was god-like and alert for the safety of all who depended on him. He was usually very occupied, but we did have moments together, and I was gratified and honoured because I believe he enjoyed them as much as I did.

He would say: “I’ll be on the bridge for some time, so I shan’t be able to be with you-but just as soon as it is possible …”

I would nod, delighted that he should explain to me, which was something grown-ups rarely did. I often thought how lucky I was to have him, for he was not really my uncle, though he always spoke and acted as though he were. I would never forget that I was the one he had taken to sea with him-not Henry, Estella or Adeline. One would have thought he would have taken Henry, because boys were usually chosen for adventures like this. Secretly I thought Uncle Toby did not like Henry or even Estella or Adeline as well as me. And that was where the miracle came in.

Occasionally, I would think of the old life, though I did not want to, but it would force itself into my mind. How were they getting on with Aunt Florence, I wondered? Perhaps they would be home by now. They would have the inquest and the house would settle down to its old routine. Lessons and walks with Miss Carson; and Mrs. Marline safely buried and unable to spoil anything again. Adeline would be pleased.

She might miss me a little, but Miss Carson would make up for that.

So it would be a happy ending for them as well as for me. Now and then the thought came to me of what would happen when this voyage was over.

I should go back to Commonwood, I supposed, and then everything would be settled.

But I did not want to think of that. I was going to enjoy every moment of this wonderful adventure first.

Shipboard life was absorbing. At mealtimes we sat at a long table, which was jolly. Everyone was friendly towards me because I was the Captain’s protegee, and they told me how lucky I was to have an uncle who took me on his ship for a long sea voyage. Sometimes Uncle Toby joined us. People all wanted to talk to him. They asked questions about the ship and he talked to them in his jolly, jaunty way which they all seemed to like.

At night I would lie in my berth in the cabin just below the bridge and think of Uncle Toby up there, looking at his charts and the stars as he drove the ship along.

I shared a cabin with a girl who was more or less my own age. Gertie Forman was going to Australia with her family father, mother and brother Jimmy to settle there.

There were two berths, one above the other, and I climbed into mine the top one by means of a ladder which could be pulled down when one needed it. It was great fun lying up there, particularly when the ship rocked.

Gertie and I soon became friendly. We explored the ship together. It was her first time on a ship too, so we had a lot in common. We discovered the public rooms and the best places to sit on deck. Not that we did a great deal of sitting; we always seemed to be dashing around. Sometimes we would talk to the sailors dark men, a number of them, who could not speak much English. But some of them were English and they often referred to me as ‘the Captain’s Little “Un’.

It was wonderful to have a companion at such times when I could not be with Uncle Toby, and Gertie and I spent a great deal of time together. Then we would lie in our berths at night and talk to each other.

I learned that the Formans used to live on a farm in Wiltshire. Gertie told me how she and her brother always had daily tasks to perform . like bringing in the cows for milking, collecting eggs from the fowls, making the pigs’ food. There was always something which had to be done on a farm. They were going to buy a property in Australia where land was cheaper than at home.

The family had left because ‘they’ — Gertie was not sure who-were planning to build a road right through the farm, which would have finished it off as a paying proposition. They were anxious about it for a long time and the Formans had hoped it would never come to pass, but, when they had known it was inevitable, they made the decision to buy a property in Australia.

I told her a little about myself, but I was guarded. I did not want her to know that I had been found under the azalea bush. She would certainly have asked how the splendid Captain Sinclair could be uncle to such a waif. I wondered what I should say if her probing became awkward. But Gertie, like most people, I have discovered, was far more interested in her own affairs than those of others, and it was not difficult to steer her away from asking awkward questions.

In spite of all his responsibilities. Uncle Toby often found time to be with me. He would take me up to the bridge and show me the charts and instruments, and then we would sit in his cabin and talk. I enjoyed every moment on board ship, but to be with Uncle Toby was the highlight of the day.

He talked to me as though I were a grown-up one of the most endearing aspects of our relationship-and when I considered the insults I had been subjected to from Estella, Henry and Nanny Gilroy, it seemed miraculous that the mighty Captain could treat me as though I were important and interesting.

He asked me how I liked shipboard life and did not wait for me to reply.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” he said.

“To feel the fresh sea breeze coming to you … the rise and fall of the waves … and the sea . the ever-changing sea that can be so soft and gentle and then suddenly rages. You haven’t seen it in a fury, and I hope you never will.”

He talked about the places we should visit. We were right at the start now and had yet to go through the Bay of Biscay.

It had a reputation for being perverse, he told me, and we had to look out for squalls. There were currents and winds to be watched.

Sometimes the elements were benign and sometimes the reverse. Then we should go through the Mediterranean and call at Naples and Suez.

“We shall pass through the Canal. That will be very interesting for you, Carmel. A little while ago you would have had to go round the Cape, but now we have this convenient Canal. You’ll like Naples. Italy is one of the most beautiful countries in the world, in my opinion Egypt one of the most mysterious. You are going to see a great deal of the world, Carmel. Do you miss your lessons? Perhaps that is not good.

But a journey like this . well, you will learn more from it than you will find in your school books . perhaps. In any case, we will tell ourselves so. It salves the conscience and that is usually a good thing to do. “

He used to talk about the ancient explorers, Christopher Columbus, Sir Francis Drake. How brave they had been, going off in their ships not in the least like the Lady of the Seas before the seas were charted not knowing what hazards they would face.

“Imagine the storms … the lack of equipment! What men! Doesn’t it make you proud? Voyages of discovery! What days they were! What adventurers!”

I loved to hear him talk like that. I caught his enthusiasm.

In my eyes, he was as great as Christopher Columbus and Sir Francis Drake.

He mentioned remote countries and I was transported back to the schoolroom in Commonwood House, and in my mind’s eye I saw Miss Carson pointing out places on the revolving globe.

A feeling of depression came to me then with a sense of guilt. I had forgotten them all so quickly, and I had a sudden qualm that all might not be well. I recalled the sly looks and the smirks I had seen so often on Nanny’s face, and the poor, sad, lost look on Miss Carson’s.

They had been such a part of my life, and now they seemed like shadows puppets belonging to another world-a world of nightmares and secrets from which I had been miraculously saved by Uncle Toby.

There were times when I awoke and thought I was in my bedroom at Commonwood House and that something terrible which I did not understand was happening. I would be filled with foreboding, then I would be aware of the movement of the ship and in the early morning light I would see above me the bulkhead and know that I had been dreaming and I was actually in my bunk with Gertie sleeping below me in this wonderful world to which Uncle Toby had brought me.

Then Gertie would call out: “You awake?” and I would joyfully answer:

“Yes.”

“What shall we do today?”

What an ideal way for a day to begin for a girl who was not yet eleven years old-though she would be in March, which was not very far away.

The Forman family had more or less adopted me because Gertie and I were such close companions. I would join them for tea or sit with them on deck and I seemed part of the family. Jimmy Forman was not often with us. Gertie and I were younger than he was and he considered us too immature for his company. In any case, we were girls and as such he had not much respect for us. He spent a lot of time with the sailors, seeking information about the ship.

Mr. and Mrs. Forman were delighted that Gertie had found a companion, and it really was amazing how quickly people became close friends on a ship. I suppose it was because we saw so much of each other.

We had passed through the Bay without much discomfort and we were sailing along the Mediterranean. Uncle Toby told me that there was a party going to Pompeii and Herculaneum, and it would be good for me to join it.

“Alas,” he said, “I shall be completely tied up with business, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t go with the Formans.”

Gertie and I had already discussed it.

“We must go,” she said, and her family would be pleased for me to go with them.

The Formans were quite happy to concede, apart from Jimmy, who did not want to go with the family but with Timothy Lees, with whom he shared a cabin.

It was a wonderful day. In my imagination I was transported to that time long ago when the disaster had happened. There, looming above me, was the menacing mountain and it was not difficult to conjure up in one’s mind the panic that ensued when the hot ash spurted from its summit, covering the city and destroying it with its inhabitants.

We had an excellent guide and, as we picked our way through the ravaged byways of the ancient city, I was seeing it all as it must have happened.

When we returned to the ship, I was in an ecstatic state, and as soon as I saw Uncle Toby, I told him what a wonderful day it had been.

He listened intently and suddenly he put his arm round me and, holding me tightly against him, said: “Yes. We need not worry about missing a few lessons. It’s all right for a while at any rate.”

I felt suddenly sombre. I did not want to think of the future. I was living in an enchanted present and I wanted it to go on for ever.

I said: “I expect Estella and Adeline are back from their Aunt Florence now and they’ll be having lessons again. I shall have to catch up when I get home.”

Home, I thought? Commonwood House. I had never thought that I really belonged, and now I could not bear to contemplate going back.

Uncle Toby said lightly: “Oh, you’ll catch up. I’ve always maintained that seeing the world is an education in itself.”

He changed the subject abruptly.

“Gertie is a nice girl, isn’t she?

You were lucky to get with her. It doesn’t always work out so neatly.”

Then he began to tell some funny stories about ill-assorted people who had shared cabins in the past.

“Ports are fun, aren’t they?” he went on.

“The next is Suez. We are staying there only a very short time, and there isn’t an excursion planned. We don’t get in until eight in the morning and we must leave at four-thirty. Not much time for sight-seeing. It’s too far from the Pyramids, and you can’t really get a taste of the allure of Egypt. I am sure the Formans will be glad if you join them. We have to go in on tenders, which takes a little time. It’s too shallow for us to get right in. You’ll enjoy it. We use the lifeboats and, of course, have to let them down, as we do if we had to abandon ship. It’s a good exercise. You’ll see. Smaller ships can get in without trouble, but we have to anchor some little way out in the bay.”

I enjoyed having such details explained to me. I was proud and happy that he considered me capable of understanding, and I forgot about the earlier references to the education I was missing, which had brought home the transience of the life I was now experiencing. I determined to enjoy every moment that I might carry it for ever in my memory.

The Formans said they would be delighted if I joined them for the day we were in Suez. Gertie told me that Jimmy and Tim Lees were going off on their own. They thought they were too old to be in family parties.

The days were balmy and when we were at sea Uncle Toby had more free time. Often I would sit on deck with him and one day, when we were talking, the ship’s doctor came by. Dr. Emmerson was a pleasant young man in his mid-twenties I imagined.

Uncle Toby said: “We are just enjoying a quiet teteatete. We don’t have them as frequently as I’d like, but Carmel is a very resourceful young lady and she manages to get along very well without my interference.”

“I am sure she does,” said Dr. Emmerson.

“May I sit down for a moment?”

“Please do. Are you ready to leave?”

“Still one or two things to do,” said the doctor.

Uncle Toby turned to me and said: “Dr. Emmerson is leaving us at Suez and another doctor will be joining us there. We can’t sail without a doctor, you know, so Dr. Kelso will take Dr. Emmerson’s place. We shall miss you, Lawrence.”

“You’ll get along well with Kelso.”

“Dr. Emmerson is going to spend some time in a hospital in Suez,” said Uncle Toby.

“He’s very interested in the ailments of the skin, and he’s making some special studies of them there.”

“Shall you be able to get ashore. Captain?” asked Dr. Emmerson.

“Alas, no, but the Formans you know, the family who are going to Australia are taking Carmel.”

“That’s good,” said Dr. Emmerson.

We chatted for a while about Suez, which Dr. Emmerson seemed to know very well, and then the doctor mentioned that he still had quite a few things to do in preparation for his departure, and he left us.

Uncle Toby said: “A nice fellow, Lawrence Emmerson. Ambitious, too.

He’ll do well. I think his family wanted him to go into the Church, but he knew what he wanted. Now he’s doing this course in Suez, but I expect he’ll be back specializing in London. Good luck to him. His family will be proud of him then. You know, my family didn’t want me to go to sea. But, like Lawrence Emmerson, I’d made up my mind. When I was seventeen, I ran away and joined the Merchant Navy. We used to do the Indian run, taking soldiers and civil servants to India and bringing them back home. It was a wonderful life and I’ve never regretted it. That’s one of the great secrets of life. Never regret.

If it’s good, it’s wonderful. If it’s bad, it’s experience. That is well worth having. It warns you not to do it again. “

I wanted to ask about the family, but remembered that Mrs. Marline had been his sister, and I was afraid of getting on to something unpleasant.

He went on, however: “I was forgiven in time, and taken back into the bosom of the family. But I was always a bit of an outsider. I did not conform, you see. I’m not a conformer.”

We laughed together, and he made no further mention of the family, but he went on to tell me more of his experiences at sea. I was going to be exactly like him, I told myself. I was going to enjoy the good things as they came and not let others disturb me.

In two days we were to reach Suez and Gertie and I talked constantly of what we would do. I loved getting into my berth and snuggling down and talking to Gertie until one of us dropped off to sleep.

The morning before we were due to arrive at Suez, Gertie told me that her father had been quite ill during the night.

“It’s one of his bad turns. Mum thinks,” she said.

“He gets them really bad. It’s his chest.”

During the day Mr. Forman’s cold grew worse and Dr. Emmerson said he must not go out the next day. Mrs.

Forman felt that she must stay with him, for these chest colds of his could turn nasty.

Gertie was woeful.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” she said.

“We shall have to stay on board.”

Mrs. Forman was distressed. She knew how much we had looked forward to going ashore, but she could not possibly leave Mr. Forman.

Gertie was so upset that finally Mrs. Forman said that, if the boys were with us, she thought we might go.

Gertie rather gloomily told me of the boys’ reaction to the suggestion. Jimmy had said they didn’t want a lot of kids trailing round with them.

“I told them it was not a lot, only two, and we’re not kids anyway.

Then my mother got angry and told Jimmy not to be so selfish, and how upset our father would be if he knew he’d refused to keep an eye on his sister and her friend so that the poor little things had to stay on board. Then Jimmy said, all right, they’d take us. But they don’t want us. “

“Perhaps we’d better not go, then,” I suggested.

“Not go! Stay on board! Not likely! We’ll have to go with them, or they won’t let us go at all.”

So the prospect was not as bright as it might have been, and, much as we resented the boys’ ungracious resignation, we decided that it was better to force our unwanted company on them than not go at all.

It was fun getting into the launch which was to take us ashore. First we must descend the gangway to the landing-stage, which was bobbing about in the swell; then we must step from that to the launch, which was drawn up at the side of the ship. This was not an easy matter, and there were two stalwart sailors, standing like sentinels, waiting on the swaying platform to help people into the launch.

They lifted Gertie and me and placed us in the boat, which was rocking rather roughly on the sea. We clutched at each other to steady ourselves, laughing immoderately as we did so while the two boys our reluctant guardians-looked at us with contempt.

It was well into the morning before we had boarded the launch, as many people were going ashore and the boats only took a certain number at a time and we had to wait for our turn. We had been warned that we must be back on board at the latest by four o’clock as the ship was sailing at four-thirty and the last launch would leave Suez at half past three.

Then we were on dry land. I glanced over the water to the Lady of the Seas, and I thought how majestic she looked, but Jimmy and Timothy were impatient to be off and we followed in their wake. After a time we came upon a market. The cobbled streets were narrow and lined with shops, like caves, with stalls in front of them. There was a great deal of noise, for everyone seemed to be shouting excitedly. Many of the men wore long robes and turbans which looked very exotic.

Everything was different from anything I had seen before. We listened to the people chattering at the stalls. They appeared to be bargaining, but, of course, we could not understand what was said; they seemed to be very fierce and at times looked as though they were about to strike each other. Then the bargain would be concluded, which must have been satisfactory for they smiled benignly on each other and in one case kissed.

The boys had paused by a stall on which were a variety of necklaces, rings and bracelets. This was because of the two dusky girls there who had called to them. The girls had long black hair and laughing black eyes; earrings hung from their ears and necklaces round their necks -all similar to those displayed on the stall. Then one of them threw a necklace round Jimmy’s neck. He looked embarrassed and the girls appeared to think it a great joke.

“Nice, nice,” said one of them.

“You buy?”

The boys laughed and the girls giggled.

A necklace was thrown round Timothy’s neck by the other girl.

The boys clearly did not know what to do, which by no means displeased Gertie and me, who were amused to witness their discomfiture. The girl who had put the neck lace round Jimmy’s neck started to pull the necklace slowly towards her, and with it Jimmy.

“You come,” she said.

Then the other girl drew Timothy towards her in the same way.

“This is getting silly,” said Gertie to me.

“Let’s go and look at those leather things on that stall over there.”

We moved over to the one indicated by Gertie. Among the goods were wallets in different-coloured soft leather with a pattern in gold embossed on them.

“It’s my father’s birthday next week,” said Gertie.

“I might buy one of those for him.” She picked up one and the salesman was immediately beside her.

“You like? Very nice.”

“How much?” said Gertie in the grown-up voice she often assumed.

“You tell me … what you pay?”

“I have no idea,” said Gertie.

“Tell me what you are asking.”

The man picked up a writing pad and scribbled a figure on it.

“I haven’t enough,” said Gertie and, turning to me: “Let’s go.”

She put down the wallet and attempted to move away, but the salesman held her by the arm.

“How much? How much?”

His hands were on the little bag she carried.

“How much? How much?” he kept saying.

We were both wishing heartily that we had not become involved in this, and I was sure the wallet was becoming less and less attractive in Gertie’s eyes.

But the salesman had a firm grasp on her arm and would not release her. He looked lovingly at the wallet and then turned his tragic gaze on us, as though to imply that the sale was of the utmost importance to him. He must have noticed that he aroused our interest and compassion, for he went on: “Poor man. Me very poor man.”

He released Gertie momentarily and held his arms as though he were rocking a baby. Then he held up eight fingers.

“Babies,” he said.

“Starving …”

Gertie and I exchanged glances. She shrugged her shoulders and took all the money from her purse. The man smiled, took the money and wrapped up the wallet.

We had freed ourselves and I was not quite sure whether it was done out of compassion or the need to escape from this embarrassing transaction.

We saw then that, while this had been going on, the boys had disappeared. So had the girls with the necklaces.

“Never mind,” said Gertie.

“We’ll be better on our own. They didn’t want us and we didn’t want them.”

We went along the narrow street, glancing sideways at the stalls, determined not to get involved in any more bargaining.

There was a maze of streets, one very like another, and we must have wandered for half an hour before we emerged from them.

We had thought we would come out at the point where we had come in and then we would have known our way back to the launch; but the scene was quite different.

Gertie looked at the watch which she wore pinned to the bodice of her dress. It was half past two.

“Let’s get one of those little donkey carts to take us back to the ship,” she said.

“Don’t you think the boys will be looking for us?”

“No. They’ll be glad to be rid of us. Besides, we’ll show them we don’t need them. Look, there’s one.”

We hailed it. The driver a boy who could not have been more than fourteen years old came up to us.

“We want to go back to the launch which takes us to our ship, the Lady of the Seas. Do you know?”

The boy nodded vigorously.

“I know. I know. You come.”

We climbed into the carriage, which was a sort of cart. We were sorry for the two little donkeys who were going to pull us along. They looked pathetically frail, but we were soon laughing and clinging together in our glee, for it was not the smoothest of rides. It seemed long and, after a while we were soon waiting rather impatiently for a glimpse of the sea.

Gertie called to the driver.

“We should be there now. Why don’t we see the sea?”

“Sea here,” cried the boy, waving his whip vaguely, but we could not see any sign of it.

What followed was like a nightmare. I dreamed of it for a long time afterwards. The vehicle was brought to a standstill and we clambered out.

“Where are we?” cried Gertie.

“This sea,” was the reply.

“Ship here.”

“I can’t see them,” we said.

“Here. You pay.”

“But you haven’t taken us there,” wailed Gertie in exasperation.

“No,” I agreed.

“This isn’t the right place.”

I was beginning to feel nervous. We had been caught once over the wallet. It was just about three o’clock and the last launch left at three-thirty.

Gertie clearly was thinking the same.

“You must take us there at once,” she said.

The young boy nodded.

“You pay,” he said.

“But you haven’t taken us there. We will pay when you do.”

“You pay. You pay.”

“What for?” cried Gertie indignantly.

“We didn’t ask to come here,” I added.

“You must take us to the launch.”

We had very little money. Gertie had lost all hers to the wallet salesman, and there was only what I had, which I knew was not a great deal. But we had to get back to the launch which would take us to the ship.

I tried to explain. I opened my purse.

I said: “All this is yours if you take us back to the launch.”

He looked contemptuously at the money.

Then he nodded.

“You pay. I take.”

He took all the money and, still nodding, he turned and leaped into the driver’s seat and drove off.

We looked at each other in dismay. We were far from the ship, without money, bewildered and more and more alarmed with every passing moment.

The awful realization came to us. We were alone in an alien country.

The people were unfamiliar: recent experiences had taught us that we must be wary; it was difficult to communicate with them, for we did not speak their language. We were helpless, numb with fear, too scared to think clearly, and we were old enough to guess a little of the horrors which might befall us, but not old enough to have a notion of how we could cope with the situation.

The thought flashed into my mind that only a miracle could save us.

“Only God could help us.” I had spoken my thoughts aloud.

Gertie was staring at me.

“What can we do?” she said in a whisper.

“We can pray to God,” I said.

I suppose faith grows strong when we are in desperate situations from which there appears to be no escape except through Divine help. I knew mine was the faith of desperation. I believed because I had to the alternative was too awful to contemplate. And I think Gertie felt the same.

We stood very still, closed our eyes and put the palms of our hands together.

“Please, God,” we whispered, ‘help us to get back to the ship. “

We opened our eyes. What had we expected? To see the dock and the launching place materialize before our eyes?

Everything was exactly the same. Nothing had changed . except ourselves. We had faith. The panic had left us. We would find our way back somehow. God would show us the way.

Gertie had taken my hand.

“Let’s go along there. I am sure we came past that place.”

I noticed the big white building which stood a little apart from the others.

I said: “We’ll ask in there. That’s it. Someone will be able to speak English. They’ll help us.”

Gertie nodded and we hurried towards the building.

And then . the miracle happened. A man came out of the building and there was something familiar about him. I saw that it was Dr. Emmerson.

I was exultant. God had answered our prayer.

“Dr. Emmerson,” I called.

He stopped. He stared and then he hurried towards us.

“Carmel! What are you doing here? The ship sails at four.”

“Dr. Emmerson!” I panted.

“We’re lost. A man brought us here and left us. He said it was the dock.”

Dr. Emmerson looked puzzled for a second or so. Then he hesitated no longer. He hustled us away from the building One of the donkey-driven carriages was approaching. He hailed it and said something to the driver. He could speak the language and there was a moment of excited talk. Then we got into the carriage and drove off at great speed.

We somewhat incoherently told Dr. Emmerson what had happened.

“I can’t think why you two young girls were allowed out on your own!”

“We weren’t,” said Gertie.

“We lost the boys,” I explained.

Dr. Emmerson looked shocked.

“I only hope we can make it,” he said.

“Time’s running short.”

“The last launch goes at…” I said.

“Yes, I know.” He looked at his watch and was clearly worried.

I was silently giving prayers of thanks all the time while Dr. Emmerson was urging the driver to go faster. I could see by his gestures that the man was getting the utmost speed out of the poor donkeys.

The joy of seeing the dock was great, but dismay followed. The last launch had left a few minutes before we had arrived and was on its way out to the Lady of the Seas.

We got out of the carriage. Dr. Emmerson gave the driver money and we stood for a few seconds, staring at the departing launch which seemed to be rapidly reducing the distance between itself and the ship.

Dr. Emmerson looked very dismayed.

There were a few rowing-boats on the water. He shouted to one of them.

He was pointing to the Lady of the Seas and to us. I guessed what he was saying. They came to a hasty agreement and the next moment we were all climbing into a rowing-boat.

It was slow progress. We saw that the launch had reached the ship and the passengers were already on board. The launch was, in fact, being drawn to the deck from which it usually hung. The ship was preparing to sail.

There were some men standing on the landing-stage which was in the process of being dismantled. Dr. Emmerson shouted to them. It was not easy to get their attention, but at last he did.

He shouted: “Two little girls. Passengers. The Captain’s niece.”

He had their attention. We were tremendously relieved. We were going to be all right but we had known we would be when our prayers were answered.

There was some time to wait. Several people had come out on to the deck and were leaning over the rail, looking at us.

Dr. Emmerson was clearly greatly relieved. He was confident that he would get us back on board now. He must have been wondering what he would do with two girls on his hands.

He said: They can’t set up the landing-stage again. I expect they’ll let down a rope-ladder. “

“A rope-ladder!” I cried, looking at Gertie.

“That’ll be fun,” she said, with more apprehension than conviction.

She was right to be concerned. It was no easy matter.

We were bobbing about in our little boat, which seemed very tiny and frail beside the Lady of the Seas.

The people from the deck watched while the ladder was being lowered.

“You’ll have to be careful,” said Dr. Emmerson.

“This can be a tricky business. They’ll be waiting up there to catch you, and I’ll help from here below … but there’s a little distance when you’ll be on your own. Understand?”

“Yes,” I said.

He caught the end of the ladder as it descended.

“You first, Carmel,” he said.

“Ready? Go carefully. On no account lose your grip on the rope. Hang on to it at all cost. And don’t look down at the sea. Keep your eyes straight ahead. Ready?”

I was off. He was holding me until I got beyond his reach. Then for a short time I was alone, clinging to the ladder as Dr. Emmerson had advised. I took one cautious step after another. Then I felt hands from above. Two strong sailors had hauled me on to the deck.

Then it was Gertie’s turn.

We stood beside each other. We were safe. We had seen our miracle and felt exalted. I knew Gertie felt as I did.

We looked down at Dr. Emmerson who was smiling very happily. The look of anxiety had completely disappeared from his face.

“Thank you. Thank you, Dr. Emmerson,” we shouted.

“Goodbye,” he replied.

“And don’t do it again!”

People were surrounding us, among them Jimmy and Timothy.

“Idiots!” said Jimmy.

“What did you think you were doing?”

Mrs. Forman was hugging us, half laughing, half crying.

“We were so worried,” she said.

“But, thank God you are safe.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Let us thank God.”

There was a great deal of fuss about the adventure. Uncle Toby had heard nothing of it until we were safe on board. It was the law of the ship that he was not to be disturbed at such times except with emergencies, and our failure to return on board in time would not be considered a disaster in nautical terms.

He was very disturbed when he learned what had happened, and I realized even more what potential dangers we might have faced.

He sent for me to go to his cabin an hour or so after sailing.

“Never, never let a thing like that happen again!” he said sternly.

“We wouldn’t have let it happen then if we could have helped it,” I told him.

“You could have helped it. You should have stayed with the boys.”

“We didn’t mean to leave them. They just disappeared.”

“You shall never go ashore again unless you are with a reliable person.”

He had never been angry with me before, and I could not stop my tears.

I had been so elated to be safe, and to have incurred his anger made me more unhappy than anything else could.

He relented at once and took me into his arms.

He said: “It’s only because you mean so much to me. When I think what could have happened …”

We were silent for a while, clinging to each other.

“Never … never…” he began.

“No, I won’t. I won’t, I promise.”

After a few moments, he was his old self again.

“All’s well that ends well. I can’t be grateful enough to Emmerson. It was a miracle that he happened to be there.”

“Yes,” I said with conviction.

“It was a miracle.”

“He’s a good fellow. I’ll write to him and you and Gertie can enclose a note.”

“Oh, we will, we will. I’m so happy to be back with you, and you’re not really angry?”

“As long as you don’t do anything so foolish again.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’ll be careful. I promise.”

So all was well. I was back and Uncle Toby was only cross with me because he loved me so much.

He sent for Jimmy and Timothy. He must have talked to them very severely, for they emerged from his cabin red-faced and solemn. They were subdued for several days afterwards.

Mrs. Forman blamed herself. She should never have allowed us to go, she said. But she was assured that she must not blame herself; and in any case she had been so worried at the time about Mr. Forman. He was now making satisfactory progress and would be recovered completely in a few days.

That incident had an effect on Uncle Toby. He was a little quiet at times, and sometimes absentminded, as though preoccupied in some way.

We were together as often as before, and I believed that, whenever it was possible, he wanted to be with me; and what he enjoyed most was sitting in a quiet spot on deck and talking to me.

There were occasions, though, when he would lapse into silence rare with him in the past and he would begin to say something, and then seem to change his mind.

This change in him had come about since our dramatic adventure and I believed it had something to do with that.

Then I learned what it was all about.

We had dined and it was one of those occasions when Uncle Toby had an hour or so to spare. It was a beautiful night, the sea was calm and a full moon was making a path of light across the water, and there was no sound but the gentle swishing of the waves against the sides of the ship.

Uncle Toby said suddenly: “You’re not a child any more, Carmel, I’ve been thinking that perhaps it is about time you began to learn a few things.”

“Yes?” I said eagerly.

“About me,” he said.

“About yourself.”

I was tensely, eagerly waiting.

“Please tell me. Uncle Toby. More than anything, I want to know.”

“Well, in the first place, I’m not your Uncle Toby.”

“I know. You’re Estella, Henry and Adeline’s, of course.”

“Yes. I’m that all right. Perhaps I’d better start from the beginning.”

“Oh yes, please.”

“I told you that my family didn’t want me to go to sea, didn’t I? I wasn’t like the rest of them. Well, you knew my sister, the doctor’s wife. You wouldn’t say I was like her, would you?”

I shook my head vigorously.

“I wasn’t like my sister, Florence, either.”

“The one Estella and Adeline went to … Oh no!”

“That’s the one. You see, I am most unlike them all. They all conformed, except perhaps Grace herself, who married the country doctor who was considered unworthy by the family. But then, it was probably that he was the only one who had ever showed any desire to join forces with Grace, so it was the doctor or no one. I’m being unkind. The fact is, I was never close to any of them. You can understand why I went to sea.”

I nodded. Certainly I could understand anyone’s wanting to get away from Mrs. Marline, not counting the rest of them.

“You were so different,” I said.

“Chalk from cheese, as they say.”

“But you were reconciled afterwards.”

“Let me tell you how it was. When I was a young officer, my ship was stationed in Australia, In Sydney actually. It’s a fine place and the harbour is grand. One of the finest in the world. Didn’t Cook say that when he discovered it? And he was right. Well, there we were based and there we took on our passengers and cargo and sailed round the world . just like the Lady of the Seas … to places in the vicinity mostly. Hong Kong, Singapore, New Guinea, New Zealand. I was twenty when I met Elsie. I was young, hot-headed, romantic you might say. We were married.”

“You have a wife?”

“Kind of.”

“How can you have a wife … kind of ?”

“You were always a very logical young lady, and you are right. You either have a wife or you don’t. What I mean is that ours was not like most marriages. We see each other now and then. I’ll see her when I get to Sydney. We’re good friends, but we don’t share our lives any more. We both decided it was best that way.”

“But she is your wife.”

“Marriage vows are binding. You’re either married or you’re not. So we are.”

“Shall I see her?”

“Yes. You’ll meet Elsie. She and I are the best of friends. We don’t see each other very often. Perhaps that’s why.”

“You don’t really like her.”

“Oh, but I do. I like her very much. We get on well for a time. She’s a good sort.”

“Then why … ?”

“There are things you’ll understand later. Human beings are complicated creatures. They rarely do what they’re expected to. She couldn’t leave her country, and I’m a wanderer. She’s got a comfortable little place near the harbour. She was born there. Native heath and all that. But I want to talk about us … you and me.”

“Yes,” I said excitedly.

“We took to each other from the start, didn’t we? There was something special, wasn’t there?”

“Yes, there was.”

“We were drawn to each other. Carmel, I am your father.”

There was a deep silence while joy flooded over me.

“You are pleased?” he asked at length.

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He took my hand and kissed it tenderly.

“It’s the best thing that ever happened to me, too,” he said.

I sat in wonder. If I could have been granted my dearest wish, it would have been just this.

He said: “You must be wondering how it all came about.”

I nodded blissfully.

“When I heard you had been left behind in Suez, it gave me such a shock. I could only be thankful that I did not hear until you were safe. I should have been frantic. I should have left the ship and gone in search of you. And that would have been the end of my career at sea. “

“Oh, I’m sorry … so sorry.”

“I know. It wasn’t your fault. Those stupid boys should have taken more care of you. The idea came to me that you were growing up and it was time you knew the truth. It was then that I decided to tell you, Carmel. I did not know. I had not an inkling until the doctor wrote to me. I was in New Zealand when I received the letter. Posts are often delayed, as you can imagine. Dear old Dr. Edward. His heart was in the right place. You see, he knew. Thank God he did.”

“They would have sent me to an orphanage. I should never have known you … or who I was.”

That prospect seemed doubly gloomy now that I could compare it with what I should have missed.

“Even Grace had to relent and look after you when she knew you were one of the family. But let me tell you. Your mother was a gipsy girl.”

“Zingara!” I cried.

He looked at me in amazement.

“She became that. She was Rosaleen Perrin. You knew?”

“I saw her once.” I told him how I had become acquainted with Rosie Perrin when she had bandaged my leg, and how later I had met Zingara.

“She must have come there to see you. What did you think of her?”

“That she was the most beautiful person I had ever seen.”

“She was unlike everyone else in every way.” He smiled reminiscently.

“I was at Commonwood House for all of three months. I had a long leave due to me and the ship was going into dock for a thorough overhaul and refit. It was during that time that I met Rosaleen. I was deeply attracted by her.”

“And she by you.”

“It was a wild and deep attraction while it lasted.”

“It did not last?”

“It did not have a chance to. There had been someone who came to the encampment … something about material he was collecting for a book he intended to write about the gipsies’ way of life. He had been interested in her ever since then. That was not surprising. She and I used to meet at night in the woods. I have travelled a great deal and known many people, but never one like Rosaleen. She was having tuition for a stage career and she was bent on that. I would not be there for ever. We both knew that it could not last and we were the sort of people to accept that. I knew nothing of your existence until Edward wrote and told me. I’ll explain all that. She left you at Commonwood House because she thought it was the best for you. She was full of her own sort of wisdom. She was a great one with the cards and that sort of thing. She reckoned she had special insight. She would have worked it out that it would be best for you. She would never have let them send you to an orphanage. You were her child and mine and the best place for you was not with her … or the gipsies. It was Commonwood House.”

“And you knew I was there.”

“That’s what I’m going to tell you. Edward-Dr. Marline knew of my passion for Rosaleen. He deplored it, naturally, but he knew. Poor man. He was caught with Grace, and a nice dance she led him. He did not approve of my way of life. A wife in Sydney and wandering fancy free around the world. Yes, he knew about Rosaleen. He remonstrated with me.

“Grace must never know,” he said. As if I would have thought of confiding in Grace!

“There was a little shop in the High Street in those days. The Old Curiosity Shop, it was called. It’s not there now. I don’t suppose it paid, but it was a pleasant little place. A Miss Dowling ran it; a nice little lady, but with no head for business.

“She had all sorts of curios in the window, and one day

I saw this pendant. It had an unusual inscription on it and I went in to see it. Miss Dowling was delighted when people were interested in her goods, and she immediately brought the pendant out of the window to show me.

‘ “I think it’s of Romany origin,” she said.

“That’s what I was told.

These signs mean something. Good luck, something like that. It usually is. ” Well, I decided to give it to Rosaleen, so I bought it. She loved trinkets and the gipsy association would amuse her.

“As I was coming out of the shop, I saw Edward. He was just going in because he was interested in an old book Miss Dowling had. We found the book and we chatted with Miss Dowling, who mentioned the pendant.

“As we walked back to Commonwood House, the doctor asked me about it, and I showed it to him and told him about the Romany designs which had some meaning and which the gipsies might understand. He was always intrigued by anything like that and he was immediately interested in the pendant. I felt he was rather reluctant to hand it back to me.

Then he went on to give me a lecture on this gipsy association of mine. Gipsies were a wild and reckless people, he warned me.

“I answered him in my flippant way and told him that life was littered with pitfalls and, if one watched out for them all the time, one would fail to see all the blessings which were undoubtedly there.

“I’m fond of the doctor, and I think he is of me. Moreover, I was desperately sorry for anyone who had married Grace. I think he was aware of my sympathy and grateful for it and, although he deplored what he called my attitude to life, I think he was a little envious of it.

“I used to talk of him to Rosaleen. She was very interested in everything at Commonwood. She knew about Adeline’s deficiencies and said it was a punishment for Mrs. Marline’s arrogance and pride. I pointed out that it was a pity poor Adeline should suffer for her mother’s sins.

“Well, the point of all this is that, when you were found, the pendant was round your neck, and Edward immediately knew whose child you were and he told Grace. Her brother’s child was a Sinclair and that must not be forgotten. So she agreed that you should be brought up in the Marline household.

“And Rosaleen, satisfied that her child was in the best place, went away and pursued her career. The doctor wrote to me and told me that my daughter was at Commonwood House, being brought up with his children.

“You can imagine how excited I was. A daughter of my own! There had been no question of children for Elsie and me. Elsie couldn’t have them. It was one of the reasons why things went wrong between us, I believe. Elsie’s the motherly kind. You’ll see when you meet her.

“I longed to see this daughter of mine. It was unfortunate that I was so far away. You were three or four months old when Edward’s letter reached me. I wanted so much to come home. But there I was, on the other side of the world, and it was four years before we met.

“Meeting you was wonderful.”

I clasped my hands together, remembering.

“Everything changed when you came,” I said.

“Everything was different.”

He turned and kissed me.

“And that, my daughter, is exactly as it should be.”

I was in an ecstatic mood. Life was wonderful! At last I belonged, and there was no one I could have wanted to belong to more than to this wonderful man who was my father.

It was not surprising that I believed in miracles.

Each day seemed full of pleasure. I would awake with a feeling of intense delight. I was afraid to go to sleep in case I dreamed that this wonderful thing had not happened and was only part of a dream.

Not until I was wide awake in could I assure myself that it was really true. And then I would be completely content.

I wanted to shout to everyone: “I am the Captain’s daughter,” but I could not do that. It would be too complicated to explain. I could not even tell Gertie. No, I must remain Carmel March, and he must be Uncle Toby until we reached Sydney and I met Elsie.

Uncle Toby still called him Uncle Toby and I would sit on deck whenever he could spare the time and talk of the future.

We agreed that he would remain Uncle Toby until we reached Sydney.

Then we should say goodbye to the people with whom we were travelling and it was unlikely that we should see any of them again. Then, should I call him Father? Papa? They didn’t seem to fit. For so long, I had called him Uncle Toby, so he suggested it should be just Toby. Why not? We must drop the Uncle. So we decided on that.

I should, of course, have to go back to Commonwood House and be educated. He reckoned it would be a good idea for me to go away to school. Estella would certainly go. It would be different now that I was known to be her cousin-not the gipsy foundling.

I grimaced, thinking of school.

“It has to be,” said Toby dolefully.

“Education is something you can’t do without and you won’t get the right sort roaming the seven seas with your newly-found father. Time passes. We shall meet whenever we can, and when an opportunity comes along I may take you to sea with me. In the meantime, we have the rest of this voyage to enjoy. I am so glad you know the truth. I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. I thought you were too young, and then the moment seemed to come.”

“I am so glad to know.”

“Well, now we’ll go on from there.”

“It will be different at Commonwood House now.”

“Without Grace,” he said.

“I hope Miss Carson will be there.”

“It won’t be so bad, you know. And there will be those times when we can see each other.”

“I wish you were not so often away.”

“Life is never perfect. It’s better to accept that and not crave for the impossible. It is not so bad now, is it?”

I said with fervour: “It’s wonderful!”

The days were passing too quickly. I wanted to hold back time. We should soon be in Sydney. I looked forward to seeing that great city of which I had heard so much, but I was beginning to think of it as the first stage of my great adventure, and when we left it, I should be on my way back to England. There was some time ahead yet, but everything must come to an end; I should be back to the old life. I should have to go to school. The halcyon days would not last for ever.

That was why I could not bear them to pass so quickly.

The Indian Ocean would always have a special place in my dreams. Those balmy days, when I walked on deck with my father or sat with him looking out over that benign and beautiful sea; and those nights in the cool of the evening when we talked of the future and the glorious present. He would point out the stars to me and speak of the mystery of the universe and the wonder of living on this floating ball which was our planet.

“There is so little we know,” he said.

“Anything could happen at any moment … and the lesson of that is that, if we are wise, we should enjoy every one of them as they pass.”

I can appreciate those days now: and I can smile at the innocent child who believed that she had found the perfect way to live.

However, it is good to know such happiness and perhaps one is fortunate not to know that it cannot last for ever.

We had rounded the north coast of Australia and had come down the east to Queensland. We spent a day in Brisbane and, as Toby had much to keep him in port, I went off for the day with the Formans.

They had changed. They had been so eager to reach Sydney and begin to take up their hew life, but now that they were almost there, I sensed a certain apprehension. They had been full of hope; land was cheap in Sydney, they had said, and if people worked hard, they could not fail to succeed. It all seemed so simple to talk of, but when it was near at hand, the doubts began to appear. It must be a wrench to leave one’s native land, even though ‘they’ were planning to make a road through your property and destroy its prosperity.

Gertie was a little withdrawn, and it was not the same as our first shore excursion. I remembered Naples with nostalgia. But, of course, I did not then know who my father was. I was in good spirits, but that did not prevent my feeling for the Formans.

We explored the city stretched out on either side of the River Brisbane. We visited Moreton Bay and the slopes of the Taylor Range on which the buildings which comprised the city had been erected. We listened to our guide’s account of how, in the early part of the century, it had been a penal colony; but we were all a little absentminded.

Gertie and I talked in our berths that night. Neither of us was tired -or if we were, we were disinclined for sleep.

“It will be different there,” Gertie was saying.

“I suppose I’ll have to go to school. It’s such a bore being young.”

I agreed.

“It’s funny,” went on Gertie.

“All these weeks, we’ve been seeing each other every day, and when we get to Sydney, we’ll say goodbye and perhaps never see each other again.”

“We might. I might come out to Sydney.”

Gertie was silent for a while.

“Before we go, you ought to give me your address. I can’t give you mine because I won’t have one. I can give you the place we’ll be staying at, though. It’s a boarding-house run by a friend of someone we knew at home. She’s fixed us up there and we’ll be staying till we find a property.”

“I’m glad you thought of it,” I replied.

“We’ll write to each other.

That’ll be good. “

We both fell silent, a little comforted at the thought of not losing this link with a part of our lives which we should always remember with pleasure.

In two days we should be in Sydney. Toby had said that the ship would be in port for a whole week, and we could leave it and stay with Elsie. He often did this in such circumstances, he told me. All the passengers would leave then and, before we sailed on, we should embark others and in due course begin the journey back to England. It was necessary to stay that time as the ship was having an overhaul and needed some repairs.

“You’ll enjoy getting to know Elsie,” he said.

“Elsie’s a good sport.”

I was eager to see Sydney. In his graphic manner, Toby had told me a great deal about the place. He loved to talk of the old days. We sat on deck in the evening after dinner, and he explained how the First Fleet had come out in 1788 with its shipload of prisoners.

“Imagine those men and women, cramped up in the hold … very different from a nice cosy berth in a cabin shared with Gertie Forman on the Lady of the Seas, I can tell you. Sailing out from a home which most of them would never see again … to a new country and they knew not what.”

I shivered as I listened. I saw those men and women, taken from their homes . some of them little more than children . my age perhaps wondering what would become of them.

“Captain Arthur Phillip … he was the one who brought them out, and you’ll see his name here and there about the city. Sydney itself is the name of one of our politicians. And that of another, Macquarie, that’s a name you’ll see. He was a governor of New South Wales. He was a clever man. He did a lot of good to the colony.

He wanted them to feel they were not so much convicts expelled from their own land as colonists making a new one good to live in. He was the one who encouraged them to explore the land around them. It was in his time that they found a way across the Blue Mountains. Before that there was a feeling among the aborigines that the mountains could never be crossed because they were full of evil spirits who would destroy those who attempted to get to the other side. But they got across . and what was on the other side? Some of the best grazing land in the world. “

Tell me more about the Blue Mountains,” I begged.

“Magnificent. We’ll go there one day. We won’t be afraid of spirits, eh?”

That was how he talked, and I was all eagerness to see this land, but at the same time my pleasure must be tinged with sadness, because I hated to say goodbye to Gertie.

We had arrived. The ship had become oddly unfamiliar. I said goodbye to Gertie and her family. Mrs. Forman embraced me warmly and said: “We won’t lose each other, dear. We’ll be in touch.”

Mr. Forman had shaken my hand, and Jimmy had said a somewhat embarrassed goodbye. He had been rather shamefaced since our Suez adventure when Toby had reprimanded him so sternly. Gertie had given me a brusque goodbye, which I knew meant she was deeply moved by our parting. And now all the passengers had gone.

I was waiting for the summons to Toby’s cabin, and then he and I would leave the ship but only temporarily, of course.

He had said: “This happens now and then. We have a longer stay in port than usual and I’ll have a night or two at Elsie’s. It makes a change. Of course, I’m back and forth to the ship all the time, but it’s good to be on land for a spell.”

So, I was going to Elsie’s. I had not thought a great deal about her until now. His wife! They couldn’t get on as married people, but they liked each other otherwise. Surely it was very unusual for husbands who had left their wives to go back and stay with them for a friendly visit? But then, most things were unusual with Toby.

I walked round the ship, into those deserted public rooms. How different people make places! I went on deck. I leaned over the rail, looking at that magnificent view. I imagined coming in with the First Fleet and that I was a poor prisoner who had been sent away from home.

And I thought how fortunate I was. I might have been sent away to an orphanage. But my beloved father would never have allowed any harm to come to me. And that was how it would always be.

Elsie’s house was set in grounds of about three acres. It was built in the old Colonial style with a platform round the front and six steps leading up to a porch before the main door.

We were about to mount these when a little dark man came running from some outbuildings which were obviously stables.

“Captain! Captain!” he cried.

“Why!” said Toby.

“If it isn’t Agio! How are you. Agio? It’s good to see you.”

The little man stood before Toby, grinning. They shook hands.

“Missus waiting. Miss Mabel, work hard. All clean. All waiting for Captain.”

“I’m glad of that,” said Toby.

“Polishing for me, is that it?” He winked at Agio to show he was joking as he went on: “I should have been heart-broken if they hadn’t put on a bit of polish to greet me.”

He turned to me and, at that moment, a door opened and a woman came on to the porch.

“Captain!” she cried, and flung herself at him.

“Mabel, Mabel … wonderful to see you. This is Carmel.”

He was smiling at me and, before Mabel had time to speak, another woman came out of the house.

“Well, here you are at last, Toby,” she said.

“What’s been keeping you? I saw the ship come in early this morning.”

“Duty, Elsie. What else could keep me?”

She kissed him on both cheeks and he said: “This is Carmel.”

She turned to me. She was tall, with reddish-brown hair a good deal of it coiled about her head. Her eyes were decidedly green. They sparkled and her teeth were very white against her suntanned skin.

There was an openness about her. I knew at once that she was the sort who would say exactly what she meant. There would be no subterfuge about her. I liked her immediately. She was a person one could trust.

“Carmel,” she was saying.

“Well now. I’ve heard about you and now here you are. Come to Sydney, eh? Had a good trip, have you?”

She took my hands and looked intently into my face. I wondered fleetingly what a wife would think of a daughter her husband had had, who was not hers. But not for long. Elsie would have said what she thought of it and she did not appear at this stage to think it was so very odd.

“A pity you’re only staying a week,” she said to me.

“Can’t see a lot of the place in that time. And there’s something to see, I can tell you. Well, we’ll make the most of what we have. And what are we doing standing about here? Come on in, you two. Now, I reckon you’re hungry.

Don’t suppose they fed you very well on board that old thing, did they?”

She threw a glance at Toby which showed she was teasing, and he said immediately: “Our food was excellent, wasn’t it, Carmel?”

“Oh yes,” I said.

“It was very good.”

“You wait until you see what we can give you, love. Why, at the end of the week, you’ll be wanting to stay here. I’ll take a bet on that.”

She took my arm as we went in, and I could see that Toby was very pleased by this reception.

“You know where to go, To be,” said Elsie. It sounded strange to hear his name pronounced thus, but I had to learn that Elsie had a habit of shortening people’s names. She turned to me.

“Always the same room when he stays here, which isn’t as often as I’d like. But we have to make the best of what we can get, don’t we? And you, love. I’ll show you where you are. You’ve got a lovely view of the harbour. We’re proud of our harbour. Show it off when we’ve got the chance. You’ll find a bit of mail in your room, To be. Letters from home. I’ve been storing them up, but don’t start on them yet, because you’ve got a meal waiting for you.”

Toby stretched himself and looked up at the sky and at the house.

“Good to be here,” he said.

“Good to have you,” said Elsie.

“Isn’t that so, Mabe?”

“I’d say,” said Mabel.

“And Agio agrees with us,” said Elsie.

The aborigine grinned.

“He’s a good boy. Agio. He wouldn’t go walkabout when the Captain’s coming.”

Agio shook his head and grinned.

When I asked later what was meant by this, Toby told me that the aborigines were good workers when they worked, but it had to be remembered that they were unused to living in houses or being confined in any way, and now and then the urge came to them to ‘go walkabout’ which meant going off. Sometimes they came back, sometimes not; but one could never be sure; and even the most devoted ones could take it into their heads to go walkabout.

“Now come on in,” Elsie was saying.

It was undoubtedly a warm welcome. I thought of Mrs. Marline greeting Lady Crompton on the rare occasions when she had come to Commonwood House. How different that had been!

My room was large and, as Elsie had said, had a good view of the harbour. There was a bed, wardrobe and washbasin, a dressing-table and a few chairs. The floor was wooden blocks with a few mats on it. The room had been furnished with the essentials and again Commonwood was brought to my mind by its very difference.

I had been told to come to the dining-room as soon as I was ready, and when I opened my door Toby was just coming out of his room.

“All right?” he asked, with a touch of anxiety in his voice.

“Yes. It’s fun.”

“I knew you’d get along with Elsie. Most people do.”

“Except you,” I said.

“Oh, that’s different. We get along well in most things, but not in marriage.” He took my arm and pressed it.

“Pity,” he went on, ‘but that’s how it is. You’ll like it here. There’s lots to see. Elsie couldn’t wait to meet you. Come and look at my room. “

It was very like mine-wooden floor, rugs and essential furniture.

“Not much like Commonwood,” said Toby.

“No … I was thinking that.”

“Different atmosphere. No formality here. It’s all open and honest.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“I feel that.”

He ruffled my hair and kissed me.

“I’ve just combed it!” I said.

“Never mind. Elsie won’t scold.”

I looked round his room.

“There are a lot of letters waiting for you,” I said.

“Yes, I didn’t want to delve into them yet. They can wait. Nothing important, I guess. Come on. Let’s go down. Otherwise there’ll be trouble.”

It was a good meal. We were joined by Mabel, who seemed to be a kind of housekeeper friend There was a young girl of about fifteen who waited at table. She was Jane and again I was struck by the lack of formality. And because it was all so different from Commonwood, I found myself yet again wondering what was happening there. It would all be changed now Mrs. Marline had gone. Miss Carson would be there and Adeline would have nothing to fear.

Elsie talked a great deal in a bantering sort of way to Toby, but her conversation was directed mainly at me. She told me what we must do while we were in Sydney. There was so much she wanted to show me. We could take a boat trip across the harbour. That’s if I wasn’t a bit tired of boats! But this would be a little rowing-boat perhaps. Though there was a ferry. Did I ride?

“Oh, goo do You need a horse out here. You’d be lost without one.”

We’d have some meals outside.

“The weather’s good, you see. You can rely on it more than you can at home.”

I discovered that she often talked of England with a kind of affectionate contempt. Things were always done better ‘down under’, which was Australia. I learned afterwards that she had been born in Australia, and had never been to England, yet she called it ‘home’.

Toby said that some people did that here. Their roots were in England, he supposed, because their parents or grandparents had come out and settled, looking for a better life. Some may have found it, but whether they had or not, the Old Country was ‘home’ even to those who had never seen it.

It was all very interesting to me a different phase of that wonderful life to which Toby had introduced me.

I slept deeply that night, and when I awoke, I got out of bed, opened the glass doors and stepped on to the balcony with the iron railing.

It was a very pleasant sight. I could look out to the harbour, its bays bordered by green shrubs which grew down to the water. There were tall trees, which I learned later were of the eucalyptus family, and yellow blossom which they called wattle.

I liked Elsie very much already. She was warm and friendly, even though she could not get on with Toby in marriage. But they did otherwise, well enough, I supposed, since he called on her whenever he came to Sydney. And standing there, looking out across that most majestic of harbours, I was thinking once more of this happy turn in my fortunes, when I was suddenly startled by a burst of mocking laughter. It was as though some satanic creature was jeering at me for my complacent acceptance of the good life which had miraculously become mine. I looked around. There was no one near.

When I saw Toby and Elsie, I felt tremendously relieved. They must have heard it too. They did not seem to be in the least surprised: they were engaged in deep and clearly serious conversation. It was all very strange, for they were not quite like the lighthearted people they had been the night before. If I had not been wide awake, I should have thought I was dreaming.

Suddenly they looked up. Their expression changed as they saw me. They were smiling now.

“Good morning,” cried Toby.

“Had a good night?” added Elsie.

“Good morning. Yes, thank you.”

“Goodo,” said Elsie.

Then there was that mocking laugh again.

Elsie made a clucking noise with her tongue.

“Those old kookaburras at it again.” And as she spoke, a bird about seventeen inches long, of a grey-brown colour, flew past and settled in a branch. Then another flew out to perch beside it.

The laughter rang out again and I realized that it came from the birds.

“They want their breakfast,” said Elsie.

“I feed them with the others.

That’s why they come here. Funny noise they make. But you get used to it. Laughing Jackass, they call them. And you can see why. Sounds as though they’re jeering at you. Perhaps they think I’m a silly old woman to bother with them. It’s time we had our breakfast, too, I’m thinking. “

I joined them and we sat down to coffee, bacon and eggs and freshly baked bread.

“The way they do things at home,” said Elsie.

“We stick to the old customs. That’s right, eh, To be?”

He said it was, and we talked about what we would do that day. He would be going down to the docks to the ship and he was not sure how long he would be away. Elsie was going to take me round the house and gardens and show me how they lived ‘down under’.

We were all very merry again. Toby left us as arranged and I watched Elsie feed the birds. It was a wonderful sight as they fluttered round her beautiful creatures of many colours. They looked like parrots and budgerigars the sort we kept in cages at home. These were all round, chattering with satisfaction as they flew round her. There was something essentially peaceful about the scene. I saw the kookaburras there, taking their share.

Then I heard their mocking laughter. It was no longer disturbing.

Elsie told me I would enjoy meeting people.

“People are different in Australia,” she said.

“Different from where you come from, I mean. None of this high and mighty ” I’m better than you are. ” We’re all equal here’ although some are more equal than others, as they say. ” She added with a nod, ” As long as they remember that I’m in charge and they do as I say then that’s all right. “

“Well, that’s just the same…” I was beginning to say, but she grinned.

“You’ll see what I mean, love,” she said.

“We’ve got two maids, Adelaide and Jane. You’ve seen Jane. Then, of course, there’s Mabel.

That’s the household. Mabe’s a treasure cooks and keeps everything going as it should be. Jem and his wife and son Hal live over the stables, but they’re in and out of the house all the time. And Agio’s there too. Sometimes he goes off, but we’re never sure whether he’s coming back. I don’t think he’ll ever go altogether. He certainly won’t while To be’s here. He’s got a special feeling for To be. Well, most people have. There’s something about him. Well, let’s make our tour of the house. “

We did. It was spacious and wood was very much in evidence. It was furnished with simplicity and with an eye to necessity rather than adornment. There was a wash-house, large pantry and storage rooms, a still room and a large kitchen with a huge range, ovens and a long wooden table.

I met all the inhabitants and I knew what Elsie meant when she said there was no formality as we had at home. Everyone was free and easy and, as Elsie said, that was fine as long as they did the work they were there to do.

“Who wants caps and aprons and ” call me Madam”? Mrs. Sinclair is good enough for me.”

She said that a little wistfully, and I wondered if she would like to be Toby’s wife in all ways instead of his just calling when his ship was in Sydney.

During that first morning, she told me that her grand father had been sent over to Sydney in the early days of the settlement. He was no criminal. He had aired his views too openly. He had been working in one of the mills and trying to get rights for his fellow workers.

“Like one of those Tolpuddle Martyrs. Well, he never forgot what they had done, but he wasn’t the sort to wear himself out railing about something that could never be put right. So, he set about doing his seven years and then he found a piece of land. He worked hard and did well for himself. Then he went gold-mining out Melbourne way. My father followed in his footsteps and they made quite a fortune. So there we were, in a country which seemed good to us, and there was never any talk of our going back.” I found it all absorbing and wanted to hear more.

“You will, love,” said Elsie.

“I was never one for keeping my mouth shut.”

“You must tell me. I shan’t be here long, you know.”

“Oh, we’ll find plenty of time to talk, you’ll see.” And so the morning passed and in the afternoon Toby came back. I was in my room hanging up some of my things in the wardrobe when I heard the sound of his horse.

I went to the window. Elsie had apparently heard it too. She came out of the house and ran to meet Toby. They were walking back to the house together. There was about them an unaccustomed seriousness-like that I had noticed early that morning when the sound of the kookaburras had disturbed me.

They hesitated for a while and stood still, talking earnestly. I called to them. They looked up and their expression changed. They smiled at me. Oddly enough, I fancied there was something forced about their smiles; and the uneasy feeling that all was not as well as they wanted me to believe came to me. I almost expected to hear the mocking laugh of the birds, but, having been fed, they had moved off. I went downstairs to meet Toby and Elsie.

“You’ve had a good morning, I gather, looking round the place,” said Toby.

“Oh yes, it was very interesting.”

Elsie said: To be wants to talk to you, love. ” She looked almost appealingly at Toby, and went on: ” Look, why don’t you do it now? Go into the sitting-room . just the two of you. “

I was not sure, but I fancied Toby looked reluctant, and that she was urging him, but he said: “All right then. Come on, Carmel.”

So we went into the sitting-room and Elsie went out and left us alone.

I looked in consternation at Toby. I was certain now that all was not well.

“There’s something I have to tell you, Carmel,” he began, and hesitated.

I looked at him questioningly. It was unlike him to be at a loss for words.

“I thought there was something,” I said.

“You were different then.”

“It’s a big decision.”

“About what?”

“Well, you see, Carmel, things have been happening at home.”

“At home?”

“At Commonwood House. It’s the doctor.”

“What about him?”

“He’s not expected to live.”

“You mean, he’s dying?” I said stupidly.

“He’s had a lot of worry … and that’s how it is. Estella and Adeline are going to live with Florence, and Henry, too, of course. So you see”

“You mean, they won’t go back to Commonwood House?”

“Yes, that’s about it.”

“And the doctor is very ill? How can they be sure he’s going to die?

Mightn’t he get better? “

Toby was looking over my head. I had never seen him like this before.

“You see,” he said.

“We have to think of what is going to happen to you.”

“Is Miss Carson going with Estella and Adeline?”

“I don’t know about Miss Carson. I should not think so. I only know that Adeline and her sister are going to Florence. She will look after them.”

“You mean there is no place for me?”

He looked relieved.

“The problem is,” he went on, ‘that I haven’t a home there. Just a lodging and then I must be away most of the time.

You see what this is all about? “

I felt very uneasy, for Toby was obviously very worried.

He must have sensed my fear, for he put an arm about me.

“There’s no need to worry. Not while I’m around,” he said.

I clung to him.

“I know.”

“You’re my little girl and I’m here to look after you, so there is really nothing for you to worry about. You won’t have to go to Florence.”

“Oh, I know that. She wouldn’t want me.”

“But this is something that has to be considered very seriously.”

“Yes. Elsie knows, doesn’t she?”

He nodded.

“She’s helping to figure it out. She thought you shouldn’t be left in the dark but should be told as soon as possible.”

“What should I be told?”

“I can’t take you back to England with me because there would be nowhere suitable for you to go when you got there. You’re only eleven years old. That’s too young to be alone when I’m miles away at sea.

Besides . after this trip, I shall be away from England for a year at a time. The Lady of the Seas is more often on this side of the world. In fact, she’s reckoned to be based in Sydney more than any other port. I shall be calling here fairly frequently. Elsie had this idea, and I must say it seems a good one.

The best we can come up with at short notice. When I sail next week for home, you stay here with Elsie. In about four months’ time I’ll be back in Sydney. “

I looked at him in utter dismay and he went on quickly:

“I know your voyage is only halfway through. I did not think this could possibly happen. I thought things would be straightened out at Commonwood by the time we got back and then it would all be more or less as it was before, and when Estella went to school you would go with her. What is most important is for us to be together as much as we can. Is that not what we want?”

I nodded vigorously.

“I know what a blow this is. We have been wondering how we could tell you. Elsie thought there was no point in pulling the wool over your eyes. You should at least know what had to be. She said you were too smart to be bamboozled. This is our plan … Elsie’s and mine … and yours now. You can trust Elsie. She is one of the best. She says you should stay here. You can live with her. There’s a good school not too far away. A boarding-school where you can get a good education.

You’ll go there and in the holidays you’d be with Elsie, and when my ship comes in, you and I will be together. “

He drew back and looked at me searchingly. Then suddenly he put his arms round me and held me tightly.

“It’s the best thing, Carmel, my darling child. I assure you, in the circumstances, it is the only way.”

I was too bewildered to take it in. I could only cling to him and assure myself that he was still there, that he was my father and he would love me for ever. But the wonderful journey home would not take place. He would go away in a very short time, and it would be a long time before I saw him again. This new country was to be my home.

It was too sudden and too bewildering to take in all at once. I was in a way like one of those people who had been taken from England and sent to a new land uncertain, disbelieving that this could really be happening to me. But I was not like those people. They had had no one, and I had Toby to love me, even if he had to leave me. And there was Elsie at hand, and I was already fond of her.

My thoughts went back to that early morning when I had suddenly heard the mocking laughter of the kookaburras. I had thought that the laughter sounded like a warning. Perhaps it had been in a way.

Life had seemed too good, and perhaps life is not like that.

Then I thought: But Toby is my father. Nothing can change that. I may not see him for a long time, but he will come back. He is truly my father and he will always be there.