Free Another Heartbeat in the House by Kate Beaufoy

albatross or sea eagle or some such. I laid a hand on Mr Thackeray’s arm to draw attention to the bizarre flotsam but, being short-sighted, he discerned nothing untoward.
    â€˜â€™Pon my soul!’ I exclaimed, shading my eyes from the dazzling sunlight. ‘I could swear it is a lady in the sea.’
    â€˜A lady?’
    â€˜Yes. Look! Those are her skirts ballooning; they are keeping her buoyant.’
    Mr Thackeray’s cane clattered to the deck. ‘My wife!’ he cried. ‘It can only be she!’ Whirling around clumsily, he set off in a random direction, yelling, ‘Help! Help!’
    At this, a deckhand put his head over the bridge.
    â€˜There’s a lady! A lady in the sea!’ I shouted, waving vigorously and motioning towards the unfortunate soul bobbing in the waves. Immediately, a whistle started to shrill, and galvanizing calls of ‘Man overboard!’ went up.
    In his panic, I saw Mr Thackeray shrug off his coat, as though preparing to dive into the water. I ran to him and pulled on his shirtsleeve to restrain him.
    â€˜Stop, stop! They will get a boat to her – see, they are mobilizing already.’
    Seamen were converging on a lifeboat, hauling ropes and winding pulleys with admirable speed and efficiency. Mr Thackeray clutched my forearm; together we watched as the vessel was lowered. The sea had become choppy, and each time a wave reared, his poor wife bobbed like a piece of flotsam. She neither cried out nor struggled, nor did she appear to be in much distress. She just lay on her back, supported by the inflated bell of her corded petticoats, paddling with her hands as the sailors laboured on their oars towards her. When they reached her, they hauled her on board with scant ceremony, laying her on the floor of the boat so that she was hidden from view.
    A line of gawkers had formed. Even those who had hitherto been too seasick to navigate the deck had managed to haul themselves to the rail to witness the spectacle. I hazarded a sideways glance at Mr Thackeray, who gave me an agonized look before turning away and bowing his head.
    â€˜She’s safe,’ I told him, laying a hand on his shoulder as he started to sob. ‘She’s alive, I think, and we must trust that she is well.’
    Finally he raised his head. ‘It’s my fault,’ he said. ‘I should have known that she might try this. It is a measure of her desperation.’
    â€˜Your wife has met with an accident, that’s all,’ I assured him, ‘and luckily has been rescued.’
    â€˜It was no accident. She threw herself overboard.’
    Before I could respond to this astounding allegation, Annie came hurtling up.
    â€˜Papa!’ she cried. ‘Mama has gone in the sea again!’
    â€˜Oh, Puss!’ he groaned, hunkering down and embracing the child. Over his shoulder her little face was pale, her brow furrowed in bewilderment.
    â€˜Why does she do it? Why does she always have to go into the sea?’
    â€˜She fell, Puss. She ventured too near the rail.’ He held her at arm’s length and smoothed her hair back from her face: I recall the gesture because it was so charged with tenderness. ‘That is why I have told you not to run upon the deck.’
    â€˜But Mama was not on the deck. She was in the …’ Annie shot a coy look at me, and leaned forward to whisper into her father’s ear.
    â€˜How do you know?’
    â€˜She left me – she left me with Minnie and Brodie, and then Brodie went away and told us to be good little mice and not move. And I was good and then I got scared and did move. I left the room and went to the –’ she lowered her voice at the word ‘– privy, and when I knocked on the door there was no answer and I searched for Brodie, I searched and couldn’t find her and then I climbed up and I looked over into the sea –’
    â€˜You climbed up? Oh, dear