“How bad is this?” Ben asked. He’d never seen a storm at sea and had little idea of what one might entail beyond a dimly remembered Bible engraving of Noah’s Ark, but Bethany’s fear for her lover was contagious, and he could hear the worry in Dora’s fear and anger.
“Bad, if the Dainty Jane ain’t back. They’ll have to ride the storm at sea. The tide’s almost at its height now, and Pellore harbour’s no size for this. Too rocky, too narrow. ’Less they can make it to safer harbour…” She tailed off. The wind whipped around the Green Man, and Ben winced at a crash that he suspected was a slipping slate hitting the flagstones of the path.
Jonah had been twitching and restless. “I’ll check the bedrooms,” he said. “See if there’s leaks.”
It was very obviously an excuse to be moving. Dora stared after him. “Bucca,” she repeated.
“Just Jonah.”
“Aye, well.” Thunder shook the building, an improbably deep note, and lightning illuminated the room for a second through the shutters. Dora looked at the blank wall, in the direction of the sea. Her jaw was set and grim.
“I’m sure Aaron will be all right,” Ben ventured.
“Oh, are you? And I dare say you know all about it, do you? Know all about storms at sea, and bringing in a boat through a channel that’s narrow at the best with the wind up?” She pushed herself to her feet, face reddening. “Must be a wonderful thing, that. Come from Lunnon and you know everything, more than us simple folk down here.”
“Dora, for pity’s sake, I didn’t mean—”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I know.” Dora was scarlet, her anger lashing out of her, seeking a target. “You and that Jonah turning up here wi’ no luggage, nowt but what you stand up in, and you think I couldn’t see you were running? Think I can’t see for myself what from, or what you two are? Do you think I’m a fool?”
It was, had always been inevitable, and denial would make bad worse. Ben took a deep breath. He was going to say, We’ll be gone tomorrow, prepared for, We’ll go now, if he had to—it was only rain, they’d live—but at that moment the door slammed open, banging off the wall. Dora gave a cry of fury, but Bethany was bursting in with eyes wide in her pallid face. “Ma! Listen!”
They all listened. At first Ben heard nothing but the wailing wind, but then he realised there was a metallic note to it, a discordant clanging. Dora’s head reared up.
“It’s church bells.” Bethany grabbed her mother’s wrist. “Ma—”
“I heard.”
“Please, Ma.” Bethany’s face was beseeching.
“What is it?” demanded Jonah, coming in behind Bethany.
“Boat in trouble. There’s naught we can do, Bethy, you know that.”
“But, Ma, if it’s the Dainty Jane…”
“Bethy, love—” Dora’s face was crumpling.
“I’m going.” Bethany clenched her fists. “It’s the Dainty Jane, I know it is. I’m going down to harbour and you shan’t stop me.” The girl sounded as determined as her mother ever did.
“No. Bethy!” Dora’s voice broke on the cry. She grabbed for Bethany’s arm but the girl sprinted out of the room, pushing past Jonah. He looked after her, back at Dora. “What is it?”
“The church bells. Ship in trouble.” Dora’s angry flush had subsided. She looked grey. “There’s no boat has a chance coming in in this storm. Francis Drake himself couldn’t do it, and surely not Harry Penrose. Oh, Lord, she was there when they pulled her father from the water. I don’t want her to watch her Aaron wrecked. Lord, Lord, what will I do?”
Jonah shrugged. “If you can’t stop her, I suppose, go with her. Can we be of any use? If they need hands down there, for anything…”
Dora hesitated, then nodded. She didn’t look at Ben. “We’ll all go. There might be something to do. I’ll check that Aggie’s asleep. Get oilskins from the hall, there. Bethy, wait for me!”
They staggered down the steep road to the harbour together, fighting the lashing wind at every step. The rain seemed to come from every direction at once, including up from the ground. Ben was soaked within minutes. Trees shrieked and groaned under the strain, and it was too dark to see the road. They passed the church, its arrhythmically clanging bells almost drowned out by the howling gale, and fought their way along to the end of the stone quay, where a group of villagers huddled, watching the sea.
A small boat, its main mast down and red sails in a crumpled heap, rocked violently with the heaving, thundering waves. It was trying to make the channel into the harbour, Ben could see that much, but with only the small front sail up, he had no idea if that would be possible. A glance at the grim faces around him suggested it wasn’t.
“Is it—” Bethany shouted, her words whipped away by the gale.