The turn of the tide
She woke, with a start as she often did, from the familiar bad dream. With her heart hammering in her breast, she lay for a few moments trying to reassure herself that it had been only a dream. His beloved face, his dear head… She knew, from bitter experience, that if she dwelt on the terrors of the dream, they would haunt her all day; and today he was coming home, and she wanted to be happy when he returned: she could, she would be happy, today of all days: his birthday. She deliberately pushed the terrible images out of her mind, and thought instead about what o'clock it might be.
There was a little light creeping in around the curtains; hoping that it was not very early, and she would not have much longer to wait, she turned to see the clock on the table beside the bed, but it was too far away in the gloom to see the hands, and she reached for the little timepiece. He had given it to her on her own birthday last year, an exquisite little crystal and silver-gilt clock with enamelled swallows on the face, and an inscription around the glass: it was too dark yet to read the engraving, but she knew it by heart anyway: "To my darling wife, to help her count away the minutes until we are together again, from her ever-loving: P." How like Percy, she thought, to try to cheer her so; but she doubted if, even now, he truly understood how interminable the times seemed to her, sometimes, when he was away in France, and in danger; the minutes dragged into hours, the hours into days and often into weeks. She no longer begged him not to go, finally understanding how absolutely binding on him was the solemn oath he had sworn within the League; all she could do was to pray – which she did, every day – that the Terror, hers and France's, would soon come to an end, and he would not have to keep leaving her, to risk his life again and again…
She must not think these thoughts! She must be happy!
She looked at the clock: almost a half after five.
Wide awake now, she doubted she would be able to sleep again this morning, and she sat up in bed. She would have liked something to eat; but it was too early yet to ring for anyone, for they would otherwise be abed for almost another hour. So instead she turned her thoughts to the gift she had chosen for his birthday: a harpsichord of walnut and rosewood, inlaid with tulip wood, with mother-of-pearl keys and silver-gilt candle-holders. She hoped he would be as delighted with the gift as she had been to learn that he could play; she recalled how, when he had first taken her to see his estates in the North, they had visited the owner of the park bordering his own, and to her surprise he had been asked to play during a musical evening there. It had turned out that he was a good and expressive player, and although she did not play any instruments herself, she loved music and had a pretty singing voice; perhaps, she daydreamed, they would be able to play and sing together now…
She looked at the clock again: the hands seemed to have crept on only a little way and it wanted ten minutes until six. It was well after dawn now and the room was beginning to show more clearly in the early light; she could see her travelling-clothes laid out for the journey to Dover later in the day. She had caused herself to be provided – to Percy's gentle amusement – with a copy of the tide tables, so that she could more accurately calculate when she might see him; and now she would always be in Dover, usually at the harbour, to meet him as soon as he returned.
She reached under the bolster for his note, holding close to herself the pleasure of anticipating his coming home to her very soon now, and she smoothed out the parchment on her knee to re-read ― for the hundredth time ― the few words written there in his clear, business-like hand: "Dear Heart, Expect me on Thursday evening's tide. May God speed me to your dear embrace. P."
She did not know how he almost always contrived to get these messages to his courier, but it happened only rarely that they did not reach her and she was unprepared for his return; and as for the notes themselves, she prized them, treating them almost as a man thirsting in the desert would guard a few drops of water; and each time she received one, she would put it next to her heart and keep it close until he was safely home – it would become a kind of talisman which ensured his return, and she would unfold it and pore over it and kiss it, before carefully refolding it and tucking it away. This one, now, she refolded and placed within her chemise, and would keep with her until she was in his arms later that day – God willing…
How went the time? She looked at the little clock again: a few minutes after six. The wind had risen during the night – she could hear it in the chimney – and she rose, put on her wrap and went out to the landing window which overlooked the courtyard between the house and the stables. From here she could see the weathervane; it showed a steady westerly: not ideal ― south-westerly was best for the yacht ― but useful, no hindrance to their crossing. She turned away from the window and saw Frank approaching from the end of the corridor.
"Good morning, Frank; would you send for some breakfast please?" she said.
"Good morning, Milady. At once, Milady."
Louise brought coffee, rolls and fruit, and later, hot water for her toilette, and it was not long before Marguerite was dressed and on the road south, to Dover, and to the cottage, where she and he would spend a few precious hours alone together before they came home to Richmond. Frank, of course, accompanied her, travelling on the box; and at one stop he knocked on the window to remark to her how much the wind seemed still to be rising. He knew she was depending upon seeing his master that evening and he wished to prepare her for the possibility that the Daydream would not arrive that day if the wind continued to strengthen; but she would not, could not countenance any delay, instead urging him to quicken the pace of the journey. Soon enough they were approaching the little port and she did as she always did if the weather were reasonably clement: she alighted from the coach at the harbour, from where Stephens the coachman would drive on and billet for the night at The Travellers' Rest.
As she walked out along the harbour wall, searching the waters ahead of her for any sign of the Daydream (although she knew it was probably too early yet), she had to admit that the wind was becoming very strong; the water beyond the harbour bar was swelling into large waves, and she knew that mid-Channel it would be rough sailing. She knew too, though, that Percy would strain every nerve to return that day as he had promised: it was rare that he allowed the weather to prevent his homecoming on the planned day. So she pulled the cloak and shawl closer around herself, and paced the wall to try to keep warm, looking out to sea every few moments in case she might miss the first glimpse of the yacht.
After a short while she saw Frank approaching from the lane where the cottage lay; and as he drew nearer she could see the concern in his face.
"Lady Blakeney, it is growing cold; will you not come to the house for some hot coffee, or brandy perhaps to keep out the chill? I fear the weather may delay Sir Percy's return; it seems very wild; indeed I overheard Robert talking to Mrs Phillips about a storm – they know the sea here, Milady, and they may be right; Sir Percy may not be able to make the crossing today."
She would not be moved: "He will come, Frank; you know he has said he will come today, and he will come."
Frank knew when he should keep his own counsel and so he focussed his energies on trying to persuade her to take some refreshment. Eventually she agreed to come back to the cottage for a short while, but she would not rest, and was soon walking down the lane again to the harbour.
There were a few knots of people gathered on the harbour wall: the Daydream was not the only vessel expected on the tide; but during the afternoon the wind had gradually changed to north-westerly and was now whipping up huge waves, and the local people all knew that if any boat was unable to reach the harbour bar before the tide turned, it would have to withstand the heavy seas out in the Channel until morning. The light would soon begin to fade – earlier than it should because of the stormy skies – and they lit beacons on either side of the approach to the harbour. Everyone was straining their eyes to catch the first sight of any ship trying to breast the waves; Marguerite stood some little way apart but she too stared out to sea, almost unblinking, with fear now beginning to steal her former confidence. She knew that Briggs was a vastly experienced sailor – indeed Percy himself was more than competent; but looking at the height of the waves now, and feeling the gale tugging not just at her clothes but at her body too, she began to realise that if the Daydream had set off from Calais as planned, the boat would now be far from safe haven there, and too far yet for help from Dover too...
A cry went up: "A boat! A boat!" and all peered out into the heaving sea; there was indeed a boat, a light-coloured vessel – too far away yet to gauge its size, but it was being tossed around like a toy on the huge waves, disappearing every now and then in the troughs between them – and the hearts of all would stop for a moment until it reappeared on the next crest. Somehow, gradually, gradually, it made progress towards them, though the one sail still aloft was now stretched taut in the gale, now slack as the vessel was thrown around; Marguerite began to be convinced that it was the Daydream, and staring fixedly at it she began to pray. She knew that out there on that raging sea her husband was at the mercy of the elements: the boat itself was at their mercy and may not withstand the strain ― oh God, please keep him safe! Please God, bring him to her! She heard someone, she was sure, mention "the Daydream"― Percy's yacht was well-known to the locals – and she looked round, hoping she might see a face she recognised, someone who knew the boat or maybe some of the crew, and who might be able to reassure her in some way.
A young man standing nearby approached and touched his hat; without speaking he held towards her a spyglass: she raised it to her eyes but the wind made it impossible to hold the instrument still enough to find the boat, and in any case the sea seemed so vast and so dark, and the waves so enormous that she was almost glad that she could not watch the little vessel pitching and rolling helplessly on the waters. When she lowered the glass the boat seemed a little closer to them, and she prayed again: let him not be lost, dear God, please bring them ashore!
People could scarcely tear their eyes away from the scene; it was as if they were willing the vessel on, nearer and nearer safety; one man called out, "An hour until the tide turns!" and another added more fuel to the braziers. Even within the harbour the waters were swelling and moored vessels rising and falling with each wave, but compared with the storm-tossed open sea without, it looked almost tranquil. Beyond, it seemed impossible that any craft could come unscathed out of the plunging fall into each trough – and yet somehow the boat made progress towards them. Suddenly Marguerite saw, beyond the smallest doubt, that it was the Daydream; she saw, even, a tall figure at the wheel – Percy! Oh dear God, keep him safe! Let him not be lost, so near to her, and yet so far; within sight of her, and she unable to help him in any way! She began to feel such terror that she could hardly breathe; her heart was pounding and seemed to rise in her throat; there was a roaring in her ears and her sight went dark; she put out her hands towards him ― and fainted clean away.
She slowly came round, she knew not how many minutes later; nor could she recall, for some moments, what was happening or where she was. Then she heard her own name: she realised the people gathered around her knew quite well who she was. She saw, close to hers, a familiar face: Frank. He held a flask to her lips and the brandy burned in her throat but revived her – and her terror. "Percy ―my husband – are they ashore ― is he safe yet?" she whispered.
"Not ashore yet, Milady", Frank replied quietly, "but, the Lord be praised, it looks as if they may soon reach the harbour bar, God knows how; in this sea it is to be wondered at that the boat has not been swamped. Sir Percy's luck must have been with him thus far – or a guardian angel. I hope and trust he will be with us before nightfall."
"Thank God" she whispered fervently. "Thank God... Will you help me to stand, please, Frank. I feel rather weak; if you will permit it, I shall lean on you until I am recovered, but I must see the boat!"
He helped her up, offering a strong arm, and the young man she had noted before now spoke: "Beg pardon, Milady, but you could sit for a moment, till you get your breath back, like; 'tis a bit rough an' ready but better 'n nothing"; and he stepped over to a pile of barrels waiting for loading nearby and rolled one close to her, standing it on end and even dusting it off with his neckerchief. She still felt too weak to talk but she smiled her gratitude: she was thankful for the seat. Her eyes now sought the boat again and – heaven be praised – she could see for herself that the yacht was indeed not far from the harbour bar, and safety.
She sat and watched its progress, willing it on, nearer and nearer; every now and then the gale would ease for a few moments and the yacht would seem to hesitate; then the sail would fill again, stretching almost to breaking point, and the boat would breast the next wave. It seemed everyone gathered on the harbour wall shared Marguerite's apprehension: her heart was in her mouth and there were occasional gasps and cries from those around her as they all watched the gallant vessel struggling on. Now dusk was falling it was becoming more difficult to see the yacht clearly but she could tell it really was approaching the harbour bar and, she prayed, would cross before the tide turned.
Eventually she saw that the boat was almost within the harbour and the next few minutes seemed to pass impossibly slowly whilst everyone waited to see it truly safe. At last a cry went up: "They've crossed! They've crossed the harbour bar! The good Lord be praised, they're saved!" and everyone, it seemed, shared Marguerite's joy and relief; someone even came up and shook her hand, saying "So glad, Milady, that Sir Percy's come in safe!" She did not know what to say but was almost overcome with a mixture of emotions – amongst them, pride that these people, though unknown to her, knew her husband and wished him well.
She could see the Daydream moving slowly within the harbour towards her usual berth, the waters heaving and swelling even here with the force of the storm. But now she knew all was well and he was safe, and soon would be with her, and her joy knew no bounds.
She could see him now, not pacing the deck as he usually would have done in impatience to be off, but holding steadily to the wheel at first; then he relinquished the helm to one of the men and came to the rail, searching, she knew, for her face amongst the crowd. They fell back around her and, in the circle made about her, he saw her small figure, seated, with her hands clasped at her breast. He did not know that there she held his note, feeling its sharp corners in the palm of her hand inside her glove, silently giving thanks that the talisman for his safe return had not let her down. He raised his hand in recognition and she returned the sign; but this would be a different homecoming from most, and she did not know how she could give vent to her feelings as she saw his beloved face.
At last they threw a rope for the tender and she saw him climb down into it, with one of his men, and cross the last few yards of water towards the steps; then with a bound he was on the steps, and up, and striding along the harbour wall, straight towards her. In the gathering gloom she saw how people made way for his imposing figure – but some extended their hands to shake his as he passed, or to clap him on the back and murmur some congratulations or greeting to him, and she suddenly realised that this was an aspect of her husband's life of which she had no knowledge: although he often appeared to be a fool, with his drawling voice and gorgeous clothes, these people – ordinary folk, mostly – admired and respected him for his courage, his determination and – what probably most impressed them – his skill in seamanship, and again her heart filled with pride in him.
He was close enough now that she could see his face, and that he wore the shy smile she loved so much. She wanted to run to him but – aware of the onlookers ― she hesitated, fighting back tears of relief; and he stopped too, a few feet from her.
"My Lady Blakeney", he said, and made a deep bow to her; "by Gad I confess there were moments when I feared I might not live to see your lovely face again."
"Oh Percy!" she cried, the tears coming now; "I thought so too!" and she flung herself into his arms.
Then, to her delight, and to the surprise – and some applause – of the onlookers, he did what she had hoped he would: he threw propriety to the winds, put his arms tight around her, and kissed her, passionately and long.
The end.