It was a mercy she had managed to limp back to the Hoe.
I saw the faces of men, blackened by sun, gaunt from near starvation and many of them wounded.
There was little I could do.
I felt tender toward Jake as I saw the bleak horror in his face. He loved this ship and she had been ill-treated.
I knew then how he must have looked when he came back from his voyage to find that the Spaniards had taken me.
It was an old story. The ship had encountered a mightier one. There was no need to say that that ship had been a Spaniard.
She had sought to take her, but by mercy that had not happened. The Rampant Lion had suffered almost mortal wounds, but she had given a good account of herself. She had inflicted such deadly havoc on her enemy that the Spaniard had had to limp away, thus enabling the Lion to do likewise.
Captain Girling had been fatally wounded, but he had lived for four days after the attack. He had nobly directed his crew from the pallet which he had had brought on deck. He had known he was dying, but his great concern had been to bring the poor wounded Lion back to her master. Only when he knew that could be done did he die.
One of the sailors kept saying: “It were as though he keep his strength till then, Captain ’Lyon. It was though he clung to life till he knew she could make port.”
Jake was quieter than I had expected. I had imagined he would fly into recrimination; but he was seaman enough to understand exactly what had happened.
The Lion had not disgraced him or herself; she had stood up nobly against a more powerful adversary. She had given as good as she had taken. Perhaps better, he promised himself. He took satisfaction in picturing the sinking of the Spaniard. He was certain she had gone to the bottom of the sea.
He called curses on her and her crew. But his great concern was with the Lion. He stayed on her throughout the rest of the day and far into the night while he tried to satisfy himself that she could be made seaworthy again.
Then he came back.
“It shows what she can do, Cat,” Jake said to me. “I’d always known it. There’s not another of her class who wouldn’t have gone down, but here she is and in a matter of months she will be herself again. I’ll see to that.”
This was indeed a time of disaster. The day after the Lion had arrived home, my pains started. It was too early and my child was born dead.
What made the tragedy more hard to bear was that the child had been a little boy.
I was desperately ill. The fact that I had lost my longed-for child did nothing to help my recovery, and for two weeks it was believed I could not survive.
Jake came and sat by my bed. Poor Jake! I loved him then. His Rampant Lion all but a wreck, the son he had so desired was lost to him. And I, whom he loved in his fashion, was about to die.
I heard afterward that he was almost demented and threatened the doctors that if I died he would kill them, that he spent his time between my sickroom and his ship; it was not until the end of the second week when it became apparent that I had a good chance of recovery and that the Rampant Lion would sail again that he became his old self.
I was delirious often; I was not entirely sure where I was. Often during that period I believed I was in the Hacienda and that soon Don Felipe would come into the room. Once I thought I saw him standing by the bed, holding the candle high while he looked at me. At another I was holding my son in my arms and he was watching us.
One night I came out of my delirium and saw that it was Jake who stood by my bed. I saw his clenched fists and heard his muttered words.
“You are calling to him! Stop it. You gave him a son. Yet you cannot give me one.”
I was afraid suddenly, afraid for Roberto because I understood in that moment how violent Jake’s feelings could be. I knew the fact that I had borne Felipe a son would be like a canker in his mind, and that his fierce hatred of Felipe, of Spain and all things Spanish would be concentrated on my son.
I wanted to appeal to him. “Jake,” I said, “I am going to die…”
He knelt by the bed and took my hand; he kissed it fiercely, possessively. “You are going to live,” he said, and it was like a command. “You are going to live for me and the sons we shall have.”
I understood something of his feelings for me. He needed me in his life; he could not contemplate being without me. His lips were on my hand. “Be well,” he said. “Be strong. Love me, hate me, but stay with me.”
I felt secure then, but when I began to get better my anxieties about Roberto returned. What would have happened to him if I had died? I asked myself.
It was in this mood that I sent for Manuela.
Manuela had been unobtrusive since her arrival in England; if she was homesick for Spain she had never shown it; and she and Roberto had something in common because they were both of Spanish blood.
So while I lay weakly in my bed, I summoned her and bade her sit beside me and assure me that there was no one in earshot.
“Manuela,” I said, “tell me, are you happy in England?”
She answered: “It has become my home.”
“You have been good to Roberto. He trusts you more than he does the others.”
“We speak Spanish together. It is pleasant to speak as though one is at home.”
“I have thought a great deal about him while I have been lying here. He is young yet, Manuela, and not able to take care of himself.”
“The Captain hates him, Señora. It is because he is the son of Don Felipe and you are his mother.”
“I have come close to death, Manuela. I clung to life because I feared for Roberto.”
“Your passing would be in the hands of Almighty God, Señora,” she said reproachfully.
“I am still here, but weak. I want you to make me a promise. If I should die I wish you to leave here at once with Roberto. I wish you to take him to my mother. You will tell her that I asked that she should care for him. She must love him because he is my son.”
“And the Captain, Señora?”
“The Captain does not love Roberto, as you know.”
“He hates him because he is a Spaniard.”
“He is a little impatient with him,” I prevaricated. “Roberto is not like Carlos and Jacko. I know you once loved Carlos dearly. I remember when you came to the nursery at the Hacienda…”
My voice faltered and she said vehemently: “Carlos has become the Captain’s boy. He shouts. He boasts he will slit the throats of Spaniards. He is no longer of his mother’s faith.”
“He is his father’s boy now, Manuela.”
I saw angry tears in her eyes. I knew that she was fiercely true to her faith and that she practiced it regularly but in secrecy.
“And Roberto,” she said softly, “he is different. Roberto would stay true. He will never forget that his father was a gentleman of Spain.”
“You love the boy, don’t you, Manuela? Carlos can take care of himself now, but if anything should ever happen to me look to my little Roberto.”
“I will do anything to save him,” she said vehemently, and as she spoke I knew that she was sincere.
I awoke to find my mother sitting by my bed.
“Is it really you?” I asked.
“My dearest Cat. Jake sent for me. I came at once and I shall stay until you are well again. Your grandmother has sent you many remedies and you know her cures always work.”
I took her hand and would not release it. I wanted to be absolutely sure that I had not dreamed she was there.