The Secret Mandarin. Sara Sheridan

In fact, I was not thinking of Robert at all and, while I avoided the docks and set out in the opposite direction, I had no thought that he might see me. I expected him to be in his cabin or sitting on deck reading some dull and worthy textbook as he set out to sea.

      Robert, however, believing I had gone, had repaired to a public house to celebrate before his ship set off. He was not a drinker as a rule but I expect I had tried him and he had hoped to blow off some steam. The place he had chosen was not a bawdy house. It lay away from the docks on the path I happened upon for my afternoon stroll. It was frequented mostly by naval officers, many of whom followed Robert into the street when he spotted me through one of the small windows and dashed outside in rage and disbelief. He bellowed my name so loudly it echoed.

      I froze and so did he. Both of us stopped on opposite sides of the narrow street, staring in incredulity and horror at the sight of each other. We hesitated. Then I turned and ran, pelting up the cobblestones, cutting into a muddy alleyway with no thought but to flee, blood pumping through me so fast that my heart was hammering. Of course, a lady is at a great disadvantage when it comes to a chase and I did not get far.

      He caught me roughly and bundled me back down the hill, dragging me most of the way. I could not imagine where he was going, could not make out the furious muttering under his breath. His fingers were gripping my arm so tightly that I thought he would draw blood. People avoided us, stepping out of the way and deliberately not meeting my eyes. I was crying. As we came closer to the port such was Robert’s fury that I feared he was going to throw me over the side and into the stinking, green sea. Instead he clutched me by the shoulders and pushed me aboard the Braganza.

      I shouted, ‘No, no, no,’ over and over. I cursed him for his hateful snobbery. I shrieked every insult I had kept to myself all the weeks I had been home. ‘You liar! You bastard, Robert Fortune! You are nothing but a Scottish pretender! Even your wife can’t bear to touch you! I’ll embarrass you now, by God! What would Jane say if she could see you like this? You’re a beast and a bully! No gentleman at all!’

      Robert did not reply. He bundled me across the deck and flung me through the door of his cabin, slamming it shut and turning the key before I could round on him. I sank to my knees, pulling the clothes off the bed, flinging papers, scattering his precious tobacco on the bare floor. I wanted to rip everything apart, to smash my way through the thick, wooden walls and destroy everything.

      ‘Let me out,’ I screamed, hammering so hard my palms hurt. ‘Let me out! You have no right, Robert! No right!’

      No one came. As my wrath wore down I lay on the floorboards and cried until at last my tears ran out. I waited a long time, the ship creaking, footsteps passing by the doorway, until at length the sounds of the ship changed, voices were raised and we cast off. Outside the tiny porthole the skyline seemed to move. We were in motion. Robert had clearly decided that if I could not be trusted to leave England alone then he would escort me himself. I could imagine nothing worse.

      I sank down onto my knees and for once I prayed. ‘Dear Lord, please,’ I said, ‘not to sea with Robert. Not with Robert. Anything, anything else.’

      But as the ship rocked this way and that, setting out from Portsmouth on her long voyage, it seemed that that was exactly what God had in mind.

       Chapter Three

      Robert and I did not speak for a month. He waited until we were suitably far from shore before he let me out of his cabin. He had it in his consideration, I expect, that I might have jumped ship and swum back had he not left a few miles of open water between England and me.

      ‘You swine,’ I hissed at him, my voice acid and my heart black, as he led me to my own quarters that first afternoon.

      I had never hated anyone as much as I hated Robert then—not even William. If I had had the opportunity I would have cheerfully pushed him overboard but our passage to the cabin newly assigned to me took us nowhere near the fringes of the ship. As it was, my trunk had been fetched from Mrs Gordon’s, a small ship’s cot had been made up for me and from there on, as Robert closed the door, not a word passed between us as we sailed south. My meals arrived from the galley on a wooden tray. Robert dined with the captain and the officers. Everyone avoided me. I had been hauled aboard red-faced and screaming, and I could only guess what Robert had told them.

      My isolation made the days and nights both long and lonely. There is little enough to do on a voyage, no privacy outside the dark, wooden cabin and scarcely any space or, indeed, occupation outside your own mind—if no one will speak a civil word to you, that is. I passed Robert frostily on deck every day that first week or two and neither he, the officers or the main body of the crew acknowledged me once. I was a pariah.

      At night I had a strange dream, that Henry, his body still that of a baby, but his face as old as his father’s, screamed abuse at me for leaving him behind. As the ship sailed further I felt the lack of him like a hunger—a physical sensation—that woke me often in the night. I had not had this on my last voyage for I had not known the child at all and my mind had been focused on William’s betrayal. Now, I tried not to dwell on these dreams and, during the long days and their endless line of blue outside my porthole, I continued with my Hindustani lessons out of sheer boredom, and read about India’s history and the customs of the Bengali region around Calcutta. Of elephant-headed goddesses and golden temples. Day after day after day, my hours in the dark cabin were punctuated only by a short and uncomfortable stroll along the deck with all eyes upon me. With a sinking sadness I resigned myself to this punishment and to my banishment once more.

      One such dreary afternoon, the line of blue at the porthole grew a streak of vibrant, tropical green and, unable to take my eyes from it, I flung open my cabin door to discover we were pulling into dock. I rushed across the deck, excited, halting in my tracks only when I saw Robert standing at the rail, his brown suit buttoned up and cravat in place. As if he sensed my movement he swung round, his blue eyes hard.

      ‘Is this Tenerife?’ I asked in a breathless rush, quite forgetting my hatred of him in the excitement.

      We had stopped here on the Regatta and the ladies had bought trinkets. Robert strode across the deck towards me and almost swept me off my feet with the force of his anger as he pushed me to the side of the steps that led up to the poop deck. I still did not immediately understand what he was doing and I continued to babble.

      ‘They have parrots here, as I recall,’ I said, pushing back against him. ‘Let me pass, Robert. It is quite a spectacle.’

      The crew were all about their business on the deck, securing the sails and making ready. The captain was above us, instructing his officers. I heard a snippet of their orders—a list ofprovisions required and names of the men who were allowed ashore.

      ‘Robert,’ I started, distracted and enthusiastic still. ‘What are you doing?’

      He had taken a thin rope and expertly tied a knot, which he slipped quickly over my left hand and then the right, before I had time to set myself free. Then he tethered me to the post at the foot of the stairs.

      ‘No. No. I promise,’ I whispered, desperate with embarrassment. ‘I will not jump ship here. Please, Robert, don’t. Please.’

      But it was no use. He grunted like an animal about to attack and then he moved off.

      ‘How could you? How could you?’ I shouted.

      My cheeks were burning. My brother-in-law turned, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s trained on its kill. I knew he was thinking of hauling me back to my cabin if I made a fuss. Damn him. My stomach turned over in fear and a single tear slipped down my cheek as I bowed my head, trying to contain my fury. I did not want to be confined to my cabin for the rest of the trip. I could not have borne it.

      ‘I will be quiet,’ I said, tight-lipped and unwilling.

      It was better at least to stand on deck and see the loading and unloading on the shore. I kept