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But during the night the weather became rougher and Hebe woke to find Maria wailing in terror and the luggage skidding about the floor of the cabin. The whole vessel seemed to be corkscrewing in the most extraordinary fashion.
Hebe struggled out of her bunk, tying her wrapper tight around herself. Maria did not appear to be seasick, merely frightened. Hebe recalled that Sara had some laudanum in her luggage and was wondering if a small dose of that would calm the girl’s nerves when there was a knock at the door. When she opened it Sir Richard was outside, fully dressed.
‘Hebe, dear, can you spare your maid to look after your mama? Poor Sara seems to be feeling very sick, and I cannot stay with her.’ He looked over Hebe’s shoulder at the wailing Maltese girl and back to Hebe.
‘I will come,’ Hebe assured him, ‘Maria is all right really. I will give her something to calm her nerves.’
She hurried along the passageway to Sara’s room to find her stepmother retching miserably into a bowl, her face white and strained in the flickering lantern light. ‘Ohh!’ was all she could manage before being miserably sick again.
Hebe searched through the medicine bag and found the laudanum. With a promise to return directly she took it along to Maria, mixed her a very weak dose in a glass of water, and assured her that she would instantly fall asleep. To her amazement it worked, and within a few minutes Maria was calmly dozing.
Things were not so simple in the other cabin. Sara was desperately sick, unable to keep down any of the soothing medicines Hebe tried, or even small sips of water. Hebe battled her way to find the cook, only to discover that all galley fires had been extinguished on Captain’s orders and there was no warm water to be had.
Hebe struggled back, bouncing off the walls as she went and did her best to make Sara comfortable. She wrapped her up warmly, bathed her brow, found lavender water for her temples and tried to get a little water down her every time she was sick.
The hours crept by in a noisy, violent turmoil. The smell of the bilges filled the cabin, mingling horribly with the smell of sickness, and Hebe realised that Sara was so exhausted that she was beginning to be delirious. Hebe looked at the pocket watch which Sir Richard had left beside the bunk: six o’clock.
With a reassuring murmur to Sara, Hebe battled back to her cabin where, by a miracle, Maria was still dozing, and clambered into her clothes. Then, clutching the walls at every step, she found her way up on deck.
It might be dawn, but there was hardly any light in the sky which seemed to be a mass of swirling black clouds. The wind was fierce, battering the elegant warship from constantly changing directions, howling in the rigging like damned souls in torment. And it was pouring with rain.
Hebe was drenched as soon as she emerged, her hair plastered down and into her stinging eyes. Somehow she managed to struggle towards the ladders up to the quarterdeck and collided with an officer.
‘Look out, damn it! Oh, my God, what are you doing up here, Miss Carlton?’
‘My mother is very ill, I must find the ship’s doctor.’
‘I’ll send for him, ma’am—for goodness’ sake, let me get you below.’ He took her arm and began to guide her back.
‘What is wrong?’ Hebe gasped against the buffeting wind. Somehow, even this dreadful weather did not seem enough to explain the crazy wallowing of the ship.
‘Top mast gone, snapped in the first blast. We’ve got men up, trying to cut it away, but it’s wedged fast and we can’t get control of the sails.’ He seemed to remember who he was talking to and added hastily, ‘Not that it will be quite all right soon, ma’am, these things blow themselves out.’
At that moment there was a shriek, half-carried away by the wind and a spar crashed to the deck. Falling with it, tangled in rigging, Hebe saw the young midshipman Murray.
The lieutenant pushed her unceremoniously into the mouth of the companionway and ran for the mainmast. No one seemed to be doing anything about the boy and Hebe ran out on to the slippery, tilting deck, her first rush carrying her to the point where she could clutch the fallen rigging.
‘Murray! Murray, are you all right?’ The she saw his skull was crushed and turned away, gasping with shock. There was nothing she, or anyone, could do for him.
Shakily she pulled herself to her feet, almost blinded by spray and tears. The deck was dipping wildly, the entire ship was bucking like a horse. Something else must have been damaged as the spar fell.
‘Hebe!’ Alex’s voice cut through the storm and she turned to see him with a party of marines, frantically cutting at another mass of fallen rigging. ‘Hebe, hold on!’ He began to fight his way across the deck to her and she realised his feet were bare on the treacherous wet surface. He reached her side and seized her in a grip that hurt.
‘Damn it, woman! What are you doing here?’
‘I…came for…doctor,’ Hebe gasped. ‘Mama…’
‘Get down below.’ He began to drag her back across the deck. She saw he was still wearing his scarlet coat, but it was black with water. His hair was plastered to his skull and his teeth showed white against his unshaven chin in the fitful light of the wildly swinging lanterns.
There was a sudden lull, the ship seemed to hang in the water, then with a roar a great blast of air hit them, followed by a swamping wave of water. Hebe found herself swept off her feet. Something hit her hard in the ribs, then she was falling, still with a ruthlessly painful grip on her right arm. Her mouth was full of salt water, she was blinded by it, unable to breathe, then with a force that knocked the remaining air from her lungs she hit something solid, struggled, and found it was not the deck, but the surface of the sea.
I am going to die, she thought with surprising calmness. So this was what it was like. Oh, Alex…
The agonising vicelike grip on her arm let go, then she was grabbed ruthlessly under the chin and found herself being dragged up to the surface. ‘Kick, damn it!’ ordered a voice in her ear, and she did. ‘Breathe!’ the voice demanded, so she took a deep, agonising breath and found she was inhaling air, not water. ‘Good girl,’ said Alex Beresford. ‘Now hold on to me as though the devil were after you—and pray.’
Hebe had no idea whether she managed to pray or not. She had a confused impression of being held, of kicking, and of Alex’s voice praising her, then everything finally, mercifully, went black.
Chapter Ten
