Free The Captive by Victoria Holt

disagreeable than it sounds.”
    “Yes, I imagine so. But it seems the storm is dying down now.”
    “I’d never trust it. We have to be prepared for all weather. This has been a salutary lesson to us, perhaps.”
    “People don’t always learn their lessons.”
     
    “I don’t know why when they have a good example of how treacherous the sea can be. Smiling one moment … angry … venomous … the next.”
    “I hope we shall encounter no more hurricanes.”
    It was past ten o’clock when I reached my cabin. Mary Kelpin was in her bed. I went to the next cabin to say good-night to my parents. My father was lying down and my mother was reading some papers.
    I told them I had dined with Lucas Lorimer and was now going to bed.
    “Let’s hope the ship is a little steadier by morning,” said my mother.
    “This perpetual motion disturbs your father’s train of thought, and there is still some work to do on the lecture.”
    I slept fitfully and woke in the early hours of the morning. The wind was rising and the ship was moving even more erratically than it had during the day. I was in danger of being thrown out of my bunk and sleep was impossible. I lay still, listening to the wailing and shrieking of the gale and the sound of the heavy waves as they lashed the sides of the ship.
    And then . suddenly I heard a violent clanging of bells. I knew at once what this meant for on our first day at sea we had taken part in a drill which would make us prepared, in some small way, for an emergency. We were told then that we were to put on warm clothing, together with our lifejackets which were kept in the cupboard in our cabins, and make for the assembly point which had been chosen for us.
    I leaped down from my bunk. Mary Kelpin was already dressing.
    “This is it,” she said.
    “That ghastly wind … and now … this.”
    Her teeth were chattering and space was limited. It was not easy for us both to dress at the same time.
     
    She was ready before I was, and when I had fumbled with buttons and donned my life jacket I hurried from the cabin to that of my parents.
    The bells continued to sound their alarming note. My parents were looking bewildered, my father agitatedly gathering papers together.
    I said: “There is no time for that now. Come along. Get these warm things on and where are your lifejackets?”
    I then had the unique experience of realizing that a little quiet common sense has its advantages over erudition. They were pathetically meek and put themselves in my hands; at last we were ready to leave the cabin.
    The alleyway was deserted. My father stopped short and some papers he was carrying fell from his hands. I hurriedly picked them up.
    “Oh,” he said in horror.
    “I’ve left behind the notes I made yesterday.”
    “Never mind. Our lives are more important than your notes,” I said.
    He stood still.
    “I can’t … I couldn’t … I must go and get them.”
    My mother said: “Your father must have his notes, Rosetta.”
    I saw the stubborn look on their faces and I said hurriedly:
    “I’ll go and get them. You go up to the lounge where we are supposed to assemble. I’ll get the notes. Where are they?”
    “In the top drawer,” said my mother.
    I gave them a little push towards the companionway which led to the lounge and I turned back. The notes were not in the top drawer. I searched and found them in a lower one. My life jacket rendered movement rather difficult. I grabbed the notes and hurried out.
    The bells had stopped ringing. It was difficult to stand upright. The ship lurched and I almost fell as I mounted the companionway. There was no sign of my parents. I guessed they must have joined others at the assembly point
     
    and been hustled on deck to where the lifeboats would be waiting for them.
    The violence of the storm had increased. I stumbled and slid until I came to rest at the bulkhead. Picking myself up, feeling dazed, I looked about for my parents. I wondered where they could