So Near So Far Read online

  “If we were lucky today,” said Ravenglass, the gambler, “we may well be lucky again tomorrow. It is all, in the end, a matter of luck.”

  “And local knowledge,” said Lowther.

  “We are to windward of the Manxmen there,” replied Delancey. “Manning might have done better to have local men aboard.”

  “But these fishermen from Morecambe are not really local,” objected Lowther. “They may know the ropes but they don’t know the lake.”

  “And that’s true,” said Sir Roger. “Anyway, we have given the people round here something to talk about. I hear, however, that the odds are still in favour of Peggy. Manning’s seamanship today was good, or so it seemed to me.”

  “He did very well indeed,” Delancey concluded. “His only error was in looking towards the finish instead of looking over his shoulder to see the danger that threatened him. He’ll not make that mistake again.”

  The next day’s race was a tame affair in which Peggy secured an early lead and never lost it, crossing the finishing line two cables ahead. It was a beautiful day with moderate westerly wind and Delancey enjoyed the sail and loved the scenery. He felt pity, however, for Tim Lowther, who looked more and more distressed as the race came near to its inevitable end. The trouble was that Water Nymph had won all the local races for the last six years so that defeat had seemed to him all but impossible. He had placed his bets accordingly and not on the scale appropriate to a younger son. Who would expect to be outsailed by a soldier in a craft brought from the Isle of Man? The third race would decide the match and Tim’s finances would be crippled for years to come. The example was not wasted on Delancey to whom gambling had never been a temptation but who resolved now against ever betting on anything. He had to take chances in battle, venturing other men’s lives as well as his own, and this was a fact of his trade. Mere gambling was a pastime for people who had nothing else to do, but passing the time had never been his problem. He came near to it in this sailing match but the whole exercise had a different purpose. It was Water Nymph which saved him from making a foolish marriage and gave him the chance of marrying Fiona. She had not accepted him as yet, to be sure, but he hoped and believed that she would.

  The third and final race began in what was nearly a dead calm, the lake grey and still, the clouds low and with very occasional gleams of sunshine. The two yachts drifted down the lake with fitful westerly puffs of wind, neither having any considerable advantage but Delancey proving a little quicker in using what wind there was. At a snail’s pace they rounded the Town Head buoy with Water Nymph just ahead but the wind stiffened on the run north and Peggy’s superior speed soon became obvious. When they passed the narrows near Bowness, Peggy had a steadily increasing lead. Overhead dark rain clouds were gathering by now with ragged edges blotting out the mountains. The water darkened and waves began to dash against the yacht’s port beam, the spray passing overhead and the craft gathering speed. The wind rose to a shriek and the yachtsmen could no longer see the shores. The mountains had vanished and so had the rival yacht, there being nothing to be seen but a wild waste of surging waves and drifting mist, nothing to be felt but blinding rain and stinging hail. Suddenly there came a screaming gust of unexpected fury, Water Nymph was knocked on her beam ends with masts and sails in the water, her crew clinging to her rigging as water poured over the starboard gunwale. With the yacht no longer answering to the helm, Delancey could do little except tell the others to bale and prepare to cut away the masts. They were saved the trouble, however, for both masts broke at this point and the yacht slowly righted herself, leaving booms, gaffs, and canvas in the water. Frantic baling followed amidst a further hailstorm and then the storm passed, the wind became a mere breeze, the waves disappeared, and the mist vanished north-west towards the head of the lake. As when the curtain rises at the theatre, the clouds, dispersing, revealed the fells on either side. The scene momentarily sunlit was one of breath-taking beauty but Delancey was not looking at the landscape. His attention was fixed on Peggy and he was relieved to see that she also was dismasted but afloat. Both yachts were at a standstill, with much of the course still to sail. Delancey began at once to make a plan. If he could rig some sort of jury mast and set even the jib alone, Water Nymph might still reach Waterhead and return to the finishing line. It would take hours to be sure, but it was still possible for him to win the race. He was still thinking furiously along these lines when there came the boom of a gun from the judge’s boat, accompanied by a signal which Tim Lowther was able to interpret. “The race is over,” he announced with obvious relief, “and the result is a draw.” Sir Roger’s decision was a sensible one for the race, if continued under jury-rig, might not have ended until after dark. It was obvious, at the same time, that Manning had been cheated by ill-luck of a victory which he certainly deserved. As for Ravenglass and Lowther, they had been saved by the Goddess of Gambling to whom their prayers had been directed.

  It would have been physically possible to re-rig the two yachts and stage another race in June but Lowther pleaded technical difficulties and Delancey made it clear that the race, if it took place, would happen without him. He spoke of another engagement and hoped inwardly that it would prove to be more than an excuse. The whole affair ended in friendly fashion, it being generally agreed that Peggy was the faster yacht and that Manning was as good a helmsman as his opponent. Delancey himself would have allowed that Manning was the better of the two, having had far more experience with that type of craft. For him, however, the whole affair was over and his only ambition was to reach York without further delay.

  Chapter Five

  THE “CHARLOTTE DUNDAS”

  THE COACH was approaching the City of York, where the lights were already lit. The rumbling of the coach wheels became louder as the vehicle passed through the city gates and now the coachman was flicking his horses into a final burst of energy so that he could arrive with a flourish. With stables almost in sight, the horses broke into a canter. The guard sounded his horn, some children waved and cried out, and then the coach swung into an inn yard, the horses plunging as the ostlers ran forward to hold them. The journey was over and Delancey told himself that Fiona could not possibly be there to meet the coach. The letter in which he had given the hour of his arrival would not have come in time. In any case, she would be on stage all the evening. He might expect to see her next day, at the earliest. After all, an actress, a leading lady has her work to do, her parts to learn, her rehearsals to attend…. Then, somehow, she was in his arms! Kissing him on the mouth, she cried, “You shall marry me!” Kissing her back he asked, “When?” To this she replied, “Soon!” In the inn yard while the coach was emptied of its luggage, while the horses were led away, while other passengers were greeted by their friends, they hugged each other and Fiona shed a few tears even while laughing.

  “It seemed so long!” she explained.

  ”It was an eternity!” he agreed, adding, “You are more beautiful than I remembered.”

  “And you look younger,” she replied, “perhaps because you are on holiday.”

  “Or perhaps because I am in love.”

  “Like you were with Mrs Farren?”

  “Like I never was with anyone.”

  “Where are you to stay?”

  “Here, at the—”

  “Shall we have supper here?”

  “Of course, but what about the theatre?”

  “I took the evening off so as to give my understudy her chance to play the part. She will be one bridesmaid and the theatre, I find, is in the parish of Michael-le-Belfry. How would that do? It was where Guy Fawkes was baptised.”

  “And do you think Scarborough might be the place for the honeymoon? I was never there but it seems to be fashionable.”

  There was much to discuss and Delancey took Fiona back to her lodging after supper. Saying goodnight to her on the doorstep, which took a surprisingly long time, Delancey confessed he had gone through agonies on the journey, especially over the l
ast few miles. “I half expected to find you betrothed to someone else—to Mr Matthews, for example.”

  “He is married, love. But I thought maybe you would worry and decided to accept you at once. I’ll confess now that I never had the least idea of marrying anyone else. Well, it would be absurd, wouldn’t it? Mr Matthews has promised to give me away and he has a niece who will be the other bridesmaid. I have asked about Scarborough and we can’t easily reach there in one day—not, I mean, allowing time for the wedding. We shall have to break the journey in Malton, staying perhaps at the Green Man in the Market Place. There is a good inn at Scarborough called the Royal but it is more the fashion to take lodgings there in the Crescent.”

  “Are the lodgings engaged, my love?”

  “No, but I have the address. Why are you laughing, dear?”

  “I was laughing at the fears I felt that you would refuse me. While I was worrying about that you were deciding what to wear at the wedding!”

  “The dress is not bespoke but I have chosen the cloth…. No, love. I had not the least idea of refusing you! I liked you from the day we met. Who did you think of asking to appear as best man?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it at all! You are miles ahead of me. But my former First Lieutenant lives in Westmorland, not all that distant, and might make the journey that I have just made. He would come to the aid of an old shipmate, I daresay.”

  On his way back to his inn Delancey reflected that an actress needs as much practical ability as a naval officer. She must be as ready for the curtain’s rise as any lieutenant must be ready for the morning watch, nor must she fail to cover up when someone else has missed his cue. There could be no doubt about the organisation of the wedding, due not to the bride’s parents but to the resourceful bride herself. All went as well as he expected and the eventful day ended, as planned, in the best inn at Malton where Fiona and Richard entered into a relationship which was to be passionate, loving, complete, and permanent.

  On the second day, going to bed at an earlier hour than some fellow guests thought was decent, Fiona and Richard had time to talk.

  ”By rights I should have hired a lady’s maid for you.”

  “I’ve no need for one. You found how to undress me quickly enough.”

  “But what about dressing?”

  “That is not as important. You married a slut.”

  “I married an angel!”

  “You came nearer to marrying a whore. You are the seventh man to have taken me.”

  “As if I cared! Was I the best, though?”

  “Far the best, darling. For one thing, you—oh, well, never mind—what really matters is the way you treat me like a goddess.”

  “You are a goddess!”

  “I’m not even a lady!”

  “You are, my dear. I have made you one.”

  “How?”

  “I am an Esquire by virtue of holding the King’s commission. The King’s servants address me as Esquire when they write to me. The wife of an Esquire is a gentlewoman.”

  “But my position is not quite the same. You have made me a lady, nevertheless—I see that—and I have a part to play from now on. I am Mrs Delancey and you shall see me play it to perfection.”

  “Don’t overplay it, love. You could be too ladylike!”

  “Warn me if I overdo it. While I quit the stage, I shall not cease to play a part. It will become habitual but all the time you will know that there is another Fiona. If ladies reluctantly submit to love making, as I am told they do, you will know that I demand it!”

  “You may have more than you bargained for. What then? You cannot reject me and go back to your family!”

  ”No, I can’t do that. I weep to think that I am at your mercy. I do believe, however, that we should visit my aunt and uncle at Dumbarton. They are my only relatives and I want to tell them how badly you are treating me.”

  “We’ll do that. When we come south again you shall then visit my sister at Bristol. I want to tell her how deceived I have been by a girl with all the airs of a great lady who is really no better than she should be.”

  So the journey to Scotland was agreed upon following their stay in Scarborough. They went by coach to Newcastle, sailed from there to Leith by a coasting vessel, and so went by coach again to Dumbarton which is some fourteen miles from Glasgow. It was a place of no great commercial importance, once the site of a castle built at the confluence of the Clyde and the Leven. It was not then, nor is it now, a scene of great events but it is placed within easy reach of places which were to be the very heart of Scottish industry. Mr and Mrs Sinclair turned out to be an elderly couple living in a cottage to which the Delanceys were made very welcome. Mr Sinclair, like Robert Burns in at least this one respect, had spent most of his active life as an exciseman. It was not a career which was consistent with great popularity and he had been glad to move from Perth on retirement to this cottage which his wife had inherited. Taking Richard to look at his garden, he explained that he had not seen Fiona for some years. “My younger brother Hamish,” he explained, “was a wild young man, would not settle down to any steady occupation, but was clerk for a time to a merchant who did good business at Leith. He never married but he lived for some years with a bonny Highland lass called Katrine. There was the one child, Fiona, and then Katrine died in childbirth of her second, a boy, who never lived. Fiona was brought up by poor Katrine’s sister, another wild creature—that is, after Hamish died—and I scarcely wonder at her living the life she did at one time. I cannot tell you what pleasure it gives me to see Fiona married to a good man who will know how to keep her in order. She is bonnier than her poor mother was—and she was among the prettiest lassies you ever saw—but she seems to be steadier these days and something of a lady and an officer’s wife. She’ll settle down even better after she has had a child or two.”

  Mrs Sinclair also took Richard aside and expressed her own relief that Fiona was so well married. “She had no sort of chance in early life with her mother dying so young and her aunt drinking too much and scarcely ever seen in the kirk. She was a handful as a child, or so I’ve been told, but never did real harm. She was always affectionate, you know—too much so with some of the boys—but kind to younger children. She is a good girl at heart.”

  When family matters had thus been settled, Mr Sinclair took Delancey to his workshop and revealed what was clearly his main interest in life, the building of ship models. The point of his models, however, was that they were propelled by steam. He was no inventor but had closely followed the work of Mr William Symington whose first steamship had been launched on the river Carron in 1789. It was this vessel that Mr Sinclair had carefully imitated, his working model having two paddle-wheels on the same side. She had belonged to Mr Patrick Miller of Dalswinton and had been tested on Loch Dalswinton, reaching a speed of no less than five miles an hour.

  “But all this,” said Mr Sinclair, “is only by way of experiment, you’ll understand. Mr Symington has now completed another steamboat. This has been built for Lord Dundas and is for use on the Forth and Clyde Canal. My model here is an exact replica, from which you will see that she is driven by a single stern-wheel. On a trial trip in March, only a few weeks ago, she covered a distance of nearly twenty miles at over three miles an hour.”

  “So she was not as fast as Symington’s first ship?”

  “Aye, but she had two barges in tow and was steaming into the teeth of a gale.”

  “So the trial was judged a success?”

  “Weel, it was and it wasna. The engine did fine but some gentlemen of the Canal Company were worried about the effect on the canal banks.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “Weel, I’ll confess that my interest is merely in the engine itself. The point about it is that the steam acts on each side of the piston—Watt’s idea, as you know.”

  “Just so.”

  “The piston then works a connecting rod and crank—as you see in the model—here.”

 
“Quite, I see that.”

  “Then the crank is joined with the axis of the paddle-wheel, as you can see for yourself.”

  “Very clever indeed.”

  “Yes, but copied from Pickard’s invention of 1780—the idea for the reciprocating action on the connecting rod.”

  “So Pickard should have some of the credit?”

  “Yes, but the paddle-wheel we owe to Miller.”

  “Well, I am amazed—and not least so by the skill with which you have built your model. What is this latest steamboat called?”

  “The Charlotte Dundas, named after his lordship’s daughter.”

  ”Would it be possible for me to see her in motion on the canal?”

  “It shall be arranged. I know all the gentlemen concerned. It so happens, moreover, that we are expecting a visit from an American gentleman, a Mr Fulton, who has made just the same request. You and he can visit the Charlotte Dundas on the same day and perhaps take a short trip in her. I hear that the Duke of Bridgwater is interested. We may expect a visit from him some day. Steamboats are very much the thing of the future.”

  In bed that night, Delancey told Fiona about the local interest in steamboats.

  “Your uncle told me about cranks and connecting rods, about ratchet wheels and cylinders, and I haven’t the least idea what he was talking about.”

  “You poor dear. It is the Sinclairs who have the brains.”

  “But I’d like to see this steamboat, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, I should. But why the fuss about it? When you have your frigate, the wind will blow it along and the wind will cost you nothing. But a steamboat has to be driven by a furnace which is so greedy of coal that the vessel can carry nothing else, neither guns nor cargo. It makes no sense at all!”

  “It might make sense if there is no wind or again if the wind blows from the wrong direction.”