‘A nice cup of tea.’ She quelled the urge to laugh; if she started she might not stop. Of course, a nice cup of tea would make everything all right. ‘Yes, that will be very welcome.’ It was an effort to speak sensibly—her frantic, circling thoughts kept pulling her away from the present. She wondered if she was going to faint again. Why did I tell him about that night? But I have to be honest with him. I love him.
‘Have this now.’ Alistair pressed a flask into her hands and she made herself turn to look at him. Someone had lent him clothes, too, and he had shaved and washed and combed his hair. If it wasn’t for a black eye and the scrapes and bruises, he might be any gentleman out for a pleasure trip. ‘It is cold tea and you need the liquid,’ he said prosaically, steadying her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, as politely as a duchess at a tea party, and took the flask. It was cold, without milk or sugar, and it slid down her throat like the finest champagne.
When the boat bumped against the fenders at the quayside Dita made herself stand up and picked her way over the rowing benches to the side, determined to put on a brave face and not make an exhibition of herself in front of all these strangers. But curiously her fear of being in a small boat had gone and she stepped on to the stone steps without a qualm or an anxious look at the water slopping against the jetty. Perhaps after that great wave anything else was trivial, or else it was the emotional impact of that confrontation in the hut.
There was a crowd at the harbour side: onlookers; small groups of sailors with their officers, apparently being briefed for the next part of the search; some harassed clerks with lists and men holding half-a-dozen donkeys.
‘It’s very steep up to the Garrison,’ Lieutenant Marlow said. ‘Best ride a donkey, my lady.’
‘Very well.’ She let Alistair take her arm as they walked to the animals. She knew she should be strong and not lean on him, not encourage him in his delusion that he was responsible for her, but his strong body so close was too comforting just now to resist. He boosted her up to sit sideways on the broad saddle. ‘Alistair! Look—there’s another boat coming in with people in it. Who is it?’
‘Stay here.’ He walked to the edge of the jetty and stared down, then came back. ‘Mrs Edwards, a merchant’s wife whose name I don’t recall, and one of the Chattertons. He looks in bad shape.’ He hesitated. ‘They all do. Best you go on up to the house; the Governor’s people will look after yo
u.’
‘See whether it is Daniel or Callum,’ Dita urged. ‘Find out how he is.’ It must look bad if Alistair was trying to get her away.
This time he took longer, waiting as the three were lifted out of the boat and carried up the steps. None of them could walk. She saw Alistair bend over the limp form of the man as they shifted him into a cart, then he went to speak to the clerks and walked back, his face sombre.
‘It is Callum. He’s unconscious now and very cold. He must have dived in when we were overturned. They found him clinging to the upturned boat with the two women—he was holding them on. No sign of Daniel or Averil yet. The Bastables are all right, although she broke her arm or her ankle—the man isn’t sure—getting into the boat. And they found Dr Melchett clinging to an oar, alive and kicking. He’s a tough old buzzard.’
‘Oh, thank goodness for those, at least.’ She bit her lip as the donkey was led away, Alistair walking by her side. ‘How soon will the news reach the mainland? I must write and let my family know I am safe before they read of the wreck.’
‘The Governor will have it all in hand, don’t fret,’ Alistair said as they wound up the narrowed cobbled street.
He must be exhausted, Dita thought. He shouldn’t have to keep soothing me. ‘Of course, I should have thought of that.’ The final turn took them to the bottom of a slope so steep that even the sure-footed little donkey struggled before they came out through the gate in the castle walls and on to the wide expanse of grass and workshops that surrounded the strange little Elizabethan castle on the top of the promontory.
The man leading the donkey turned left to follow the line of the battlements, past gun platforms, to a great wide-fronted house set back against the slope and commanding a view over Hugh Town straggling between its two bays.
Footmen ran out to meet them, helped Dita down and ushered them into the warmth and the shelter of the Governor’s residence. It seemed bizarre to be walking on soft carpets, past works of art and gleaming furniture and to be surrounded by attentive servants after the cramped cabins of the Bengal Queen and the crude hut that had sheltered them last night.
The Governor’s secretary was on hand to greet them, to note their names and who they wanted notified of their safe deliverance. ‘We are sending a brig to Penzance every day,’ he explained. ‘Anyone who is fit to travel can go in it and we send news to the mainland as we get it.’ He snapped his fingers at a footman. ‘Take Lady Perdita to Mrs Bastable’s room—I hope you do not object to sharing, ma’am, but I understand she is your chaperon? And Lord Iwerne to the Green Bedchamber—again, my lord, I trust you do not object to another gentleman in the same chamber? The house is large, but with so many to accommodate—’
‘What did you call me?’ Alistair demanded and the man paled.
‘You did not know? My lord, I must apologise for my tactlessness. The marquis passed away over a month ago.’
‘Alistair.’ Dita put her hand on his arm. His face was expressionless, but under her palm he was rigid. ‘Why do you not go to your room now? You will need to be quiet, a little, perhaps.’
‘Yes.’ He smiled at her, a creditable effort, given the shock he had just received. ‘Will you be all right now?’
‘Of course. Mrs Bastable and I will look after each other.’
He nodded and she watched him walk away, his shoulders braced as though to shoulder the new burdens of responsibility that were about to descend on them. Even less, now, should he think of marrying her, she thought. He needed a wife he loved to support him in his new role.
Mrs Bastable, her bandaged arm in a sling, was tearful and shaken and Dita found relief that day and the next in helping her and attempting to boost her spirits. She had the happy idea of suggesting they nurse Callum Chatterton, who was confined to bed. He was almost silent, asleep—or pretending to sleep—for most of the time. But tucking him in, harassing the maids and bringing him possets kept the older woman’s mind a little distracted from her worries about Averil.
By the next evening the Governor called together everyone who was able and read the list of those who were dead and those who were missing.
‘Every beach has been walked and every rock that remains above high water inspected,’ the Governor said, his voice sombre. ‘We must give up hope now for those who have not been found.’
Dita sat quite still, the tears streaming down her face. They had not found Averil, but they had recovered Daniel’s body just two hours before.
‘I’ll go and tell Callum,’ Alistair said. He put out his hand as though to squeeze her shoulder, then dropped it without touching her and went to break the news. He had not touched her since she had mounted the donkey, she realised.
‘There will be a service tomorrow in memory of those who have been lost,’ the Governor continued.