Race Before the Wind

Copyright © Jill Salkeld 1988

Part Two: 1816-1822

The Venturer's Agent

Chapter Nine

A fortnight after the Northwood ball, the Elderfields' first quiet evening for some time was disturbed by a visit from Mace Tandy.

Brandishing a magnum of duty-paid champagne, Mace loped with speed and jubilation into the parlour. He wound his arms around the maidservant who was announcing his arrival, kissed her hard to silence a squeak of protest, and deposited her outside the door. "Wait, for me, little witch," he said, with an overt wink, and kicked the door shut.

He turned to see Louisa looking shocked, clutching a circle of embroidered silk in a tambour-frame. Tom was on his feet and laughing.

"Do you mind keeping your hands off our servants? And what's the idea of bursting in here like - "

"A bucketful of firecrackers?" Mace could not contain his joy, could barely stand still; this was the greatest day of his life. "It was you, wasn't it? You've sweet-talked Thomas White -"

"Into what?"

"You know damn well!"

"Don't swear," and Tom mildly, "in front of my wife."

"Oh...." Mace felt vaguely sheepish and, with difficulty pulled himself down to earth. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Elderfield."

"Would you like to sit down?" said Tom, in a tone that brooked no refusal. He waited until Mace perched on the edge of a chair before adding, "You've been offered a job, then, have you?"

"At White's yard. White's of Cowes! Only the best bloody - er -"

"Pardon granted."

"He's the best employer on the Island - the most prestigious yard - really gives his men the chance to use their talents. His son is experimenting all the time with new designs - there's even a pool for testing scale models -"

"When do you start work?"

"He said Monday, Tom, did you know the Yacht Club are beginning to look for speed as well as comfort? There have been races."

"Yes, by a few harebrained types. But Mr. White says it'll change everything when fashionable folk expect thrills, excitement, competition, not just the annual parade -"

"Racing is frowned upon by respectable people." Tom flicked a finger at the Chronicle, which lay on the card table. "You only have to read the local papers. Dangerous, indecorous...."

"To hell with the bloody press!" Mace yelled; and then froze, hearing what he had said. Glancing at Louisa, he was amazed to see the warmth in her eyes.

"My husband is teasing you," she said. "He told me last week that racing was bound to become popular, for people of all classes prefer sport to pageantry."

"And when it does catch on," said Tom, "the most successful designers and builders will be those with experience - those who've been constructing fast, weatherly ships for the Revenue Service and the smuggling venturers for years. Mr. White fits the bill."

"I didn't even realise you knew him," and Mace.

"Only as a nodding acquaintance. But I spoke to George Ward. He introduced me to Lord Yarborough, the Club's Commodore, whose own yacht was built at White's.....et voila. No trouble, honestly. Just a case of joining the right links in the right chain."

Mace was stunned: Tom spoke as if it was an everyday occurrence to help a man achieve his dearest ambition - but Tom, of course, was not aware of all the circumstances. Sacheverell Tandy had not left his children a penny; settling the Mudeford debt had bled him almost dry. In the months just before his death - following the abrupt termination of Mace's apprenticeship - the remainder had been spent on moving to the West End, and cultivating rich friends. Only Obadiah had chosen to remain in Deptford. So many years had elapsed since the flight from Hatchley that the risk of discovery was slight; especially since the Mudeford gang believed they had fled the country. Mace had joke that his father was hoping to marry them off to dukes and duchesses, and it now seemed that perhaps Sacheverell Tandy had known that his heart was failing, and had tried in some fashion to provide for his offspring. At any rate, when he died, the young Tandys could not have paid off his most recent debts and moved south without the willingly offered loan from the Earl of Wickham.

Mace was not too proud to use his own contacts to secure a position. Good jobs were scarce, and a nagging distrust of Wickham's motives made him eager to reply the loan quickly. His usually happy-go-lucky attitude towards money - irresponsible, his sister called it - had take a sharp turnabout, when he saw how the married and notoriously amoral Lord Wickham smirked at Jess. Mace was doubly overjoyed to have been hired by Mr. White, for it left him behold to Tom Elderfield instead of to the Earl.

"I just - I don't know how to thank you," he said.

"I do. Are you going to wave that bottle around all evening, or can we sample the contests before it explodes?"

Some three hours later, when even the self-disciplined Louisa had been prevailed upon to down a few glasses, it became obvious that Mace was incapable of returning to Keyhaven that night. At Tom's insistence he stumbled and finally crawled up the stairs, allowing himself to be ushered into a spare room, where he collapsed fully clothed on the bed and lay in a happy stupor, uttering little purring snores.

"Like the cat that stole the cream," Tom murmured, sliding an arm around Louisa as they stood looking down at their guest.

"You're very fond of him, aren't you?" she said.

Tom shook his head, not in denial but in helpless acknowledgement. "Mace has been designing boats since he was ten years old. Being a shipwright is probably the only thing in his life that he has ever planned for. I'm glad I knew the right people to help him." Tom squeezed his wife's waist. "He's a bit lacking in drawing-room manners, I'm afraid."

"Goodness, if that were all! He has done worse things."

"Who says so? Give them a punch on the nose from me, next time."

"Oh, I don't take much notice, Mr. Tandy - Mace - really cares.....about life, people, ships. Everything. Or that is how it seems to me. One must forgive a man for being totally irresponsible, when he is so innocent and sincere about it."

And that, Tom thought, was the most generous summing-up of Mace's character that the young man was ever likely to receive.

Turning to Louisa, he kissed her mouth very lightly and briefly. "Are you tired," he asked, "or shall we go to bed?"

He felt her body tense, but she looked up into his eyes and smiled. "That would be nice," she said.

It would have meant so much to him if she had asked for his loving, even once in two years of marriage; or if she had once consented without seeming to say, "I would do anything to please you." But he had long ago resigned himself to the face that, for Louisa, sex was the antithesis to romantic love and would therefore always be repugnant to her; just as he had learned to live with the knowledge that, whenever he took her, he must feel guilty for taking unfair advantage of the vow of obedience she had made at the altar.

This burden, however, was having its effect. That night Tom found himself impotent, as on one or two recent occasions. Louisa was kind and consoling, telling him that she did not mind at all, that truly it did not matter.

For Tom, what really hurt was knowing that she meant every word.

Tom had assumed that Jessica and the twins would move to Cowes with Mace, but a week later he saw Jess in Lymington High Street, walking with the Earl of Wickham. The Earl also paid court to her at various social functions attended by the Elderfields. Hearing the gossip that travelled along the tubmen's grapevine, relating to Lord Wickham's lifestyle when not in Lymington, Tom felt a growing certainty that Jess could not know the kind of man he was.

One afternoon, breaking his firm resolve to meet her only in the most public places, Tom rode to Keyhaven. He had told Louisa - merely for her peace of mind - that he was visiting West Mills to talk business with Eddie Verity.

No enquiries were needed to locate the house rented by Jessica. Beside a lane leading from the harbour, in a cottage garden hemmed by rosebeds and apply trees, two children of four or five years were playing 'tag'. He sat for a moment watching them; and the twins, becoming aware of the horseman's scrutiny, stopped their game and ran to the low garden wall, leaning on their folded arms and lifting their feet off the ground.

"Have you come to see Mama?" the girl asked.

The question was bewildering; until Tom recalled Jess saying that she was virtually their foster-mother.

"If you meant your Aunt Jess," he said, dismounting to lead Conqueror through the gateway, "then, yes, I have."

"Sometimes she's Auntie Jess, and sometimes Mama." The girl skipped in front of the horse and held the gate open, closing it behind him. "It's a game we play."

The boy patted Conqueror's leg, which was all he could reach. "I want to ride your horse," he said.

"No. He's too big, for one thing, and he's got a temper."

"Has he? We have, too. We're twins. I'm Luke."

The boy spoke with confidence, throwing out each phrase like a challenge. There was none of the shyness which so often afflicted small children; but these were Tandys, after all.

The girl, having clambered unnoticed on to the gatepost, suddenly patted Tom's hair, making him jump. He spun on his heel with mock outrage, and she giggled in delight.

"It's sort of yellow," she said. "You're Mr. Elderfield the smuggler, and we know all about you. Uncle Macey tells us stories, and he drew a picture of you once. It was in pencil, but he said pretend the hair was sort of yellow, so we did. I'm Honor. I'm twins with Luke, of course. Hello."

"I'm very glad to meet you both." Tom lifted Honor Tandy and set her on the ground. "Will you run and tell Auntie Jess that I'm here."

"We'll both go," said Luke. "That's best."

"And it's not rude of us," Honor gravely pointed out, "because Uncle Macey says we work best as a team."

Tom watched their departing figures. Nice-looking children, straight-limbed and sturdy, with eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, and only the mop of black curls marking them as Tandys. They probably kept Jess on her toes; for they were not the kind, those two, to sit with folded hands in a drawing room, listening in silence to adult conversation.

Jessica came towards him across the lawn, with the twins scampering and dodging around her, having resumed their game of 'tag'.

"Go and change your clothes," she told them. "Luke, remember you're older than Honor, and make sure her bootlaces are tied. Old James is down at the harbour. He's said he'll take you both fishing."

Luke gave a shout of joy, and his sister asked eagerly "May I wear breeches?"

"If you must. Go on, don't keep him waiting."

Having thus dismissed her charges, Jessica stood with hands on hips, head slightly tilted, looking Tom up and down as he knotted Conqueror's reins around the gatepost.

"Is this a social call!" she asked.

Tom realised that no amount of diplomacy would help him. Jess expected honesty; but she was not going to like it. He paced restlessly in front of her, hands thrust in his pockets.

"I came to put you on your guard," he said, "against Lord Wickham."

Her head rear back; the dark eyes kindled, blazed. "He's old enough to be my father, is that it?"

"Of course not."

"Should I enter a nunnery, since you won't want me?"

Tom fought down his anger, hardly believing that she could so misjudge him. "Look, I know it sounds like jealousy - "

"That's exactly what it sounds like. As a matter of face, if it's any of your damned business, I might indeed agree to become his mistress. I could do a great deal worse."

The thought of her in Wickham's bed acted like a spark to a powder keg; now Tom was jealous in truth. He stopped pacing and rounded on her, gripping her shoulders. "Damn it, will you listen! Do you know that Wickham and his cronies give parties that don't include their wives?"

"Take your hands off me!"

"They've adopted the motto the Hell-Fire Club used. 'Fais ce que voudras'. Or in plain English - Do what you bloody well like!"

"How dare you." She struggled to loosen his grip, and stumbled back when he left her go. "Lord Wickham is a fine man. You don't know the first thing about him."

"I know he enjoys revels with a Roman flavour. The more the merrier -"

"What?"

"D'you like crowds, Jess?"

"You vicious -"

"Guests welcomed over the age of ten?"

"Lying bastard!"

"And if the girls don't suit a man's fancy, maybe the boys will."

Jessica slapped his face so hard that he staggered.

Recovering his balance, he stood still, regarding her with narrowed eyes, while her boiling fury died to a simmer. She put a hand to her cheek as if the blow had stung her, too.

"Apologise," she said.

"I'm sorry, then - but only for shouting at you. Wickham is well known for being absolutely ruthless with folk that cross him, and as for the rest - well, I don't believe it's all idle gossip. Please, Jess, don't assume he's innocent until proven guilty."

Jessica bit her lip, but did not defend Wickham. "It's my life, Tom. You have no right to decide whose bed I may share."

And she had no right, Tom thought, to imply that he himself was at fault, for having refused to desert his wife in favour of the girl who had jilted him practically at the altar.

He had not the heart to say it aloud. Jessica's life since the summer of 1816 had been far more empty than his; and she was the one, now, who was left with nothing to show for all the grief.

"All right," he said quietly, "you win. But if you're ever in any sort of trouble ....well, whenever Marshlight sails up the Solent, you can guarantee I'll be home for a day or two. I'll always help, you know. You only have to ask."

"I'll remember," she said.

Tom hoped that she would; but he road away dissatisfied. The visit had not relieved his anxiety in the slightest.

Part 2, The Venturer's Agent, Chapter 10

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