Free Dangerous Waters by Jane Jackson

understood.
    The cabin that for the next three months would be her only retreat, her only source of privacy, was no bigger than a cupboard. A single bunk filled most of it. The remaining narrow strip of floor between the edge of the bunk and the doorway was occupied at the forward end by a small nightstand crammed between bunk and partition wall. A short, railed shelf was attached to the ship’s side and a small oil lamp hung from a hook in the deckhead.
    The steward edged past to place the wooden case containing her herbal remedies on the bare mattress. “Your trunk’s in there, all right?” he pointed to the space beneath the bunk. “You might have to pull’n forward to lift the lid. The boy will bring you hot water at seven-thirty each morning. Breakfast is at eight, dinner at noon, tea at five. Weather allowing, I usually make a hot drink about nine. Anything you need, you just ask. All right, Miss?”
    Weather allowing. Desperate to steer her imagination away from vivid images of wild seas lashed by gales, Phoebe said the first thing she could think of. “H – how many other passengers are there?”
    â€œTravelling light we are this time. There’s only three more besides yourself.” He cocked his head, listening. “I think that’s the last two now arriving, Miss. So I’d better go. We’ll be leaving soon as Mr Burley do come back with the mail. Why don’t you go topside? Get a lovely view of the harbour you will.“
    Leaving. Swallowing the lump in her throat that made her feel as if she might choke, Phoebe stretched her quivering mouth into a smile. “Maybe later. I just – I – Thank you.” As he nodded and turned away she pulled the door closed and in semi-darkness sank onto the mattress. It was thin and hard.
    She heard muffled grunts and curses as seamen brought down trunks and bags. Then came the clang of footsteps on the companionway stairs and male voices talking and laughing. Doors opened and closed. Then there were more footsteps on the brass stairs receding as they reached the deck.
    Above her head the sounds of activity increased. There were thumps, creaks, shouts and the thud of running feet. The ship began to move, gathering way. Then it tilted as it picked up speed. Tipped gently backward she clutched the wooden edge of the bunk, rigid with fear, her heart threatening to burst from her chest. She could hear the slap and hiss of water. Turning her head and listening intently she realized it came from the other side of the planking: the only barrier between her and the sea beyond.
    Panic began to bubble. She wanted to cover her ears to shut out the sound but dared not let go of the bunk edge. She could feel a scream forming in her throat. To stop it escaping she bit hard on the soft flesh inside her bottom lip. Feeling the packet’s motion change to a slow rise and dip she guessed they had left the shelter of the inner harbour. They were out in the Carrick Roads. She couldn’t bear to look ahead to the prospect of three months aboard this ship. Yet it was too painful to look back. She could not remember her father. And her mother’s face had faded from her memory. Only Aunt Sarah’s image remained clear. But though sometimes it was strong and vivid at other times it seemed to blur.
    Phoebe hunched her shoulders. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks to drip off her chin. What was the point of loving people? Losing them hurt so much. Too much. Suddenly she heard her aunt’s voice as clearly as if she were sitting alongside.
    â€œFor shame, Phoebe,” Sarah scolded, clicking her tongue in reproach. “I didn’t raise you to waste time feeling sorry for yourself. You are alive and should be grateful for it. Make yourself useful. Then you’ll have no time for this foolishness.”
    Letting go of the mattress with one hand Phoebe wiped her wet face with shaking fingers then dragged in a