“Very good, sir. How considerate you are.”
Considerate was one word for it. Calculating was more accurate. The ship’s tossing and rolling might give Marlow a good excuse to steady Rosalind, or even hold her if things got bad. Not that he savored sailing through a bad storm.
He went up to the deck before going to his berth just to see what they’d be facing, and saw black, heavy clouds and lightning in the distance. Spring storms indeed. The rain had already reached them, big, fat drops that pattered loudly upon the deck. The waves alarmed him, already forming arching crests and foaming troughs that splashed off the ship’s bow.
“Ye must go belowstairs, my lord,” called one of the deckhands, gesturing out toward the churning waters. “We’re sailing into weather. Tisn’t safe for you up here.”
Indeed, he seemed in the way as the crew scurried about battening down the deck’s cargo and furling the sails. He hurried back down the stairs, passing some of the cabin boys as they stowed gear in the corridor. He entered his room and looked around, taking the few loose items from his desk and dresser and securing them in his trunks. He knocked softly on the adjoining door, then entered, finding Rosalind at the porthole window watching the turbulent waves.
“It’s going to storm,” she said.
“It’s already storming.” He took her loose things and stowed them as well. Her hairbrush, her mirror, the poetry book beside her bed. “I’m afraid it may get uncomfortable,” he said, as the Providence tilted precariously. “Come sit down so you don’t fall when the ship pitches and rights itself.”
“We won’t go sideways, will we?” She tried to sound light as she came to him but there was fear in her eyes. “Goodness,” she exclaimed as the ship seemed to fall through space a moment before catching itself with a bump. She fell into his arms, clinging to him as he caught her.
He wanted to enjoy the close contact but there was nothing enjoyable about the violent roll that caused it. “We won’t go sideways,” he assured her. “Ships are designed to weather storms, unpleasant as they are to experience. We shall be tossed about but we’ll survive it. Really, the weather has been so objectionable on this journey. It’s as if we’re not meant to get away from England.”
“At least we’re together. You’re less put out, aren’t you, with me here? Or…” She frowned up at him. “Perhaps I brought the bad luck.”
“Don’t get superstitious on me, darling. Not while we’re at sea.”
For two hours, the swells rose and fell in an unpredictable rhythm. Marlow lost his dinner first, retreating to the deck for a short while to puke over the rail, wishing he hadn’t eaten so much. When he returned to check on Rosalind, he found her both pale and green-tinged in color.
“I hate being sick,” she said.
“You will feel better to empty your stomach. The storm shows no signs of weakening.” In fact, his short time on deck had been a terrifying venture into the power of nature, with the waves booming against the ship’s hull and the planks awash in foam. He did not tell Rosalind the other things he’d learned, like the fact they were veering off course into the Ionian Sea. “Headed about for Greece,” the second mate had shouted when he asked about the expected duration of the storm. He’d added something about the size of waves in the open water that Marlow couldn’t hear over the howling wind.
He gave Rosalind a pitcher from his room to be sick in, then tossed it from the porthole since there was nowhere else to put it and no cabin boy to come and take it away.
“This storm is worse than the others, isn’t it?” she said, rinsing her mouth with the mug of water he offered.
“I believe it is. I hope it will blow over soon.”
He refused to think about the stories he’d heard at his men’s clubs, tales of serious storms at sea, of boats tossed about like toys for four or five days upon the water. Could he survive a week of this?
Night came, along with an increase in the ship’s bobbing and churning. They moved into his larger room because hers felt too close in the crashing noise, too oppressive. They’d finished the water they had, trying to calm their stomachs, but could not call for more. Tomorrow things would be better. They would do best to sleep.
“We ought to lie down,” he told her. “There’s no sense in staying awake.”
“I’m afraid to sleep. What if the ship capsizes? I’m fearful of drowning. What sorts of creatures live in the water below us? I can’t swim well enough to escape any of them. I’m afraid—”
He put a finger over her lips, silencing her litany of horrors. If they were to die by shipwreck now, after all they’d borne to be together… Life could not be so unfair.
“Try not to worry, darling. This is a sound ship.” At least he hoped so.
“Please don’t leave me.” She reached for his hand as if to restrain him, though she practically sat in his lap. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
“I’m not leaving you. Only let me put out the lantern.”
He took off his coat and blew out the small light he’d kept burning to comfort Rosalind. Without it the cabin went black but for flashes of lightning, which made the howling wind and crashing waves sound louder than before. He couldn’t see her, but he heard her sniffle and felt the wetness of tears where her cheek rested upon his shirt’s collar.
“Lie back on my bed, darling. Close your eyes and try to sleep.”
“We’ll fall out of bed if we sleep. And if the ship starts to sink while we’re sleeping, we won’t know it.”
“Shh.” He wished he could push the bed against the wall, to make a protected place for her to lie, but it was bolted in place. The waves’ motion made the bolts creak, but if they were both on the bed, perhaps their weight would keep it from making the unnerving sound. He stroked her cheeks and forehead, cradling her against him, and pulled the woolen covers over them. No, still creaking. How cold were the Mediterranean waters at this time of year, if they should be pitched into them when the ship foundered?
If the ship foundered. It was only an if.