Free Tide of Fortune by Jane Jackson Page A

should be. Judith and Kerenza remained silent but clasped each other’s hand as the guns roared again, not in unison but in a rolling cannonade that seemed to go on for ever. When eventually it stopped, no one moved. In the ear-ringing silence Kerenza waited. Above her head the sounds altered, losing their urgency. There was a brief hiatus as the ship returned to her original course.
    She released her breath. ‘I think they’ve finished.’
    ‘So I should hope.’ Betsy flapped a handkerchief in front of her face. ‘Donald, fetch me my vinaigrette. I have such palpitations as you would not believe. It is quite intolerable that we should –’
    ‘There is a war on, Mrs Woodrow,’ Judith reminded her dryly. ‘For myself, I can only applaud Mr Penrose’s foresight in preparing the crew for an eventuality I’m sure all of us hope will not occur. Now, I think I should welcome a little fresh air. Kerenza, would you be so kind as to accompany me?’

    The following morning, as the bright, beady eyes turned toward her, Kerenza braced herself. Betsy’s smile was a mere widening of the mouth, devoid of goodwill or humour.
    ‘Are you not concerned, Miss Vyvyan?’ she enquired with spurious concern. ‘We have been at sea four days now, and your father has not joined us for a single meal.’
    ‘Not really, Mrs Woodrow.’ Kerenza was finding the barbs easier to deflect. For each morning before they left the cabin, Judith whispered bracing encouragement in terms that, could he hear them, would surely horrify her diplomat husband. ‘My father has not been well. Just at present he finds being in company something of a strain.’
    ‘Is that so?’ Betsy’s tone was waspish. ‘Yet he is able to spend much of each day with the captain to no ill effect.’ She snorted her disapproval. ‘That’s another thing. No one else had even seen the captain, let alone spoken to him. It seems a very odd way to run a ship. A captain should be visible. How else is he to retain the respect and control of his crew?’
    ‘I would imagine a successful and far-sighted captain employs officers in whom he may place total trust,’ Judith replied, carefully lowering herself onto the bench closest to the door. The Woodrows were in their usual place, their backs to the ship’s side, so Kerenza moved to the far end of the table facing the stern.
    ‘Well, I still think –’ Betsy began, then stopped, her attention diverted by the sound of footsteps in the passage.
    As Nick entered the saloon his gaze caught Kerenza’s, but instantly he looked away. She saw his fist clench and felt her own heart contract. She had to stop reacting like this.
    ‘Ah, Mr Penrose –’ Betsy began.
    ‘Good morning.’ His tone and manner were abrupt, preoccupied. The smart uniform he had been wearing the day they sailed had been replaced by an old blue jacket bleached across the shoulders by strong sun, scuffed, unpolished boots, and dark breeches that were snagged and salt-stained.
    Windblown hair fell across a frowning forehead, there were shadows like purple thumbprints below his eyes, and his tan was blotched with the pallor of exhaustion. But he had shaved and the faint fragrance of his soap, borne on the draught from the passage, wrenched Kerenza’s heart. As she fought crowding memories, he closed the door.
    ‘Broad will be bringing your breakfast,’ he informed them, ‘so I’ll be brief.’
    ‘Will you not be joining us, sir?’ Judith inquired pleasantly.
    ‘No, ma’am.’
    ‘Really, Mr Penrose, this is too –’ Betsy turned crossly to her husband as he touched her arm. ‘What is it, Donald?’
    Ignoring her, Nick continued. ‘I thought you would wish to be warned. The weather is changing, and that will mean rough seas.’
    Kerenza had been vaguely aware of subtle alterations in the ship’s motion. Her sleep had been disturbed by an increase in the number and volume of creaks and groans from the timbers. Now she understood the reason for