Free Lighthouse Bay by Kimberley Freeman Page A

shrieks, frightened and, bafflingly, ashamed.
    Captain Whiteaway stands back. His conscience has been pricked awake; Isabella is pale and trembling. He drops his hand. Saves face by saying, “I’m not interested in your women’s nonsense anyway. But if I find out you and Harrow are writing love letters to each other, I’ll fire him and put you out at the next port. Arthur is my good friend.”
    “It’s not a love letter,” she manages. “It is a list. Just a list.” But her words may as well have not been spoken. He is stroking his hand over his beard, turning away.
    And after all it isn’t “just a list.” It is a plan, it is a ticket out of misery, it is a first step in escaping her husband.
    I t is three in the morning, the deepest hour of sleep. Isabella hears knocking and shouting, but it takes a few moments for her to realize this knocking and this shouting is meant for her. Arthur’s voice. “Isabella, wake up!”
    She opens her eyes. Everything is moving. She sits up, trying to steady herself. The ship is moaning. It pitches, then it yaws. Howling wind outside. Fear kicks her heart. “What is happening?”
    “Get dressed. Francis is taking us into sheltered water. He’s going to try to beach us.”
    “Beach—”
    “Just get dressed, woman!” he roars. “I’ll be back for you in two minutes.” Then he is gone, slamming out of the cabin. She hears his voice outside in the saloon, Meggy’s voice. She hearsthem go up the ladder while she is still lacing up her dress with shaking hands.
    The sea has teeth. Isabella always knew it: she never became too enamored of the sea’s beauty to see its cruelty. The sea has teeth and they are snapping at the ship. Arthur should never have confined her below deck. She was keeping them safe with her morning prayer, showing her respect, reminding the sea that she never once took her safety for granted. Isabella is cold at the center. This can’t be happening. This ship has been at sea for decades: why would this happen now, while she is on board? It is too unfair. Isabella bends to fasten her shoes. The ship lurches, stands for a moment as if on its beam ends, then slams back onto the water. Everything around her falls down; she falls down. The hatch above the saloon bangs closed. She picks herself up and runs out of her cabin and up the ladder, pushes on the hatch and finds the way blocked. She thunders with her fists on the wood. Around her feet are shards of broken crockery.
    “Help!” she shouts. “Help! There is something blocking the fore hatch.”
    But how could they hear her over the thundering sea?
    “Arthur!” she screams. “Arthur!”
    “Isabella!” His voice is muffled through the wood. “Bring the mace. A beam has snapped and is blocking the hatch. We are removing it now. Be ready and bring the mace.”
    She returns to the cabin and yanks the chest from its hiding position. She hefts it unsteadily. The key to the chest is in Arthur’s pocket, so she can’t open it and remove her precious prize. But she hauls it to the bottom of the ladder and waits. She tells herself not to panic. They are beaching the ship. They will stand on land. The wind and the rain will not be sofrightening on the land. Again, the ship pitches violently. All the windows on the leeward side suddenly shatter, and the sea pours in. Isabella yelps. The lantern light has extinguished. Dark cold water swirls around her feet, pulling off her shoes, and her heart slams in her chest.
    “Help me! Help me!” she screams. The sounds above her are terrifying. The snap of wood and the twang of ropes stretched past breaking point. Every time the ship pitches, more water foams in, but they are not sinking.
    Not yet.
    “Push on the hatch, Isabella!” Arthur calls.
    Isabella pushes, the sinews in her arms straining. On the other side, the grind of wood on wood, then the hatch shoots up.
    Arthur’s hands are there. “The mace!” he says. Isabella understands that, for the first