Survivors of Origin Read online

  *

  During the next ten days, the Quicklocks – all three of them – concentrated on meeting Baron Milford’s order. Mercifully, they’d had no more contact with Persius, and a small cart arrived to collect the arrows on the due day. Fred watched as the output from their last ten days of relentless toil disappeared from sight, and he wondered how long he would have to wait to be paid. The one positive he could draw from his pondering was that at least Persius wasn’t in control. Not yet anyway.

  Ma and Pa Fish arrived at their daughter’s house with the same “flea-bitten mule” and creaky, old cart with which they’d delivered Ezra exactly seventeen years ago. They were ageing and so they found the journey a touch arduous, but they were very fond of their grandson, and with an overnight stop (albeit a slightly chaotic affair), they managed the experience without too much fuss.

  Mary had told Ma about Ezra’s meeting with Persius Milford and how he referred to Ezra as a bastard. “The thing is, Ma, should we tell ’im, ’bout us not bein’ ’is real parents?” Mary went on to explain how Ezra sometimes lapsed into his own world, which was a place where no one could reach him.

  “Mary, my dear child, you an’ Fred Quicklock are as real to that boy as it’s possible to be. I’ve seen first ’and where ’e comes from. ’E’s gonna be different; it stands to reason. Without yours an’ Fred’s attentions, that beau’iful boy would not ’ave lived one night on God’s earth. You remember that, Mary Quicklock; you remember what you an’ Fred ’ave given ’im.”

  Mary turned to her mother and put her arms around her. “Ma, without you, ’e wouldna survived for more than a few moments, an’ fer that I thank you from the bottom of me ’eart.”

  The two women held each other, and Ma whispered in her daughter’s ear, “Mary, I reckon that boy’ll always find a way to survive, no matter what.”

  *

  Ezra’s compulsion to conquer the dive from the clifftop gnawed steadily within him, stirred up by the stinging words of Persius Milford, or so he thought. The confused youth believed that his angst would disappear once he had summoned the courage to defy the unease that threatened to prevent his mission. The plunge into the swirling waters that crashed relentlessly against the ancient rock face would surely alleviate the intense foreboding that rebounded inside his young head. His birthday would be as good a day as any. That day had passed, and his resolve had waned, but he could wait no longer.

  Ezra stood by his lagoon and stared up at the cliff face. He removed his boots and jerkin and then placed them on a ledge to prevent the incoming tide washing them away. In bare feet, he began the climb. Part way up, Ezra began to wonder if discarding his boots had been wise; however, he found that if he could withstand the discomfort, he could use his toes for extra grip. It was an arduous task, and with the summit tantalisingly near, he made himself as comfortable as possible and rested his burning muscles. The few minutes rest helped his tired body, but he found himself losing his concentration and doubting his ability to reach the top.

  Refusing the temptation to look down, he reached for the next handhold, which was a thin branch protruding from the rock. As Ezra pulled himself upwards, the branch – long since without any roots to bind itself to its harsh surroundings – became suddenly entirely superfluous to his cause. With his grip severed, Ezra’s body twisted around, and he found himself hanging by one hand, having lost his footing in the same moment. He floundered against the jagged rock, trying desperately to get a foot hold. The effort to support himself with one hand was immense, and he knew his next move would be vital. Willing himself to hang on, he began to assess his options. He looked down. Letting go was not an option he relished. If he let go, he would have to push himself away from the cliff face somehow to stand any chance of survival. Ezra’s instincts kicked in. He swung his free arm across his body and secured the edge of his foot on a narrow ledge. His fingers gripped the rock face, and he felt suddenly secure.

  He composed himself for a brief moment and then continued the ascent. A few minutes later, he pulled himself over the precipice and lay face down on the hard ground. His legs were grazed, and blood was seeping from a jagged cut on his forearm, but he was safe – for now.

  Ezra pulled himself to his feet and began to survey his surroundings. Where he stood was only accessible by an arduous climb – unless you happened to have wings. The gap between the rock and the grassy clifftop must have been a minimum of ten feet, and as he peered over the other side, he could see the water swirling and foaming as it was forced into a V-shaped ravine. There was one way up and two ways down. He knew he wouldn’t be climbing down. He walked to the spot where, for many months, he had imagined himself standing and gazed across the sea. The view reached the horizon, and it frightened and excited him in equal measure. He wondered what lay beyond the thin line that separated ocean from sky.

  Ezra composed himself, concentrating on the thin line, not the sixty-foot drop into the sea. He remembered the first time he had dived into the lagoon and what a mess he had made of it; he had hit the water too flat, and the stinging sensation so nearly dissuaded him from making another attempt.

  Perhaps I should jump, he thought. After all, it is the first time, so no one would know. I could dive next time. But only Ezra Pissquick would jump in having taken the effort to climb up here.

  With his mind set and his toes curled round the edge of the rock, he allowed his knees to bend, and with his arms outstretched, he hurled himself into the great open space before him. It took him a split second to align himself, and within a few adrenalin-filled moments, his body pierced the iron-grey sea. The sea gobbled him up, and instantaneously repaired the hole that had allowed Ezra into its mysterious depths.

  Beneath the waves, Ezra was exhilarated beyond his imagination. He swam to the surface and stared up at the pinnacle that had, without doing anything other than endure, coerced him into risking his life. He savoured the moment, laying on his back, his arms out wide and his hands swaying gently to aid buoyancy. It took Ezra a second or two to realise that the great rock was slowly diminishing; the sea was now in control of his destiny. He rolled on to his front and began to swim towards the shoreline. After five minutes of rigorous effort, Ezra realised that something was wrong. Instead of moving parallel with the coast he was being dragged in the opposite direction. He tried again to swim against it, but it proved impossible. He was expending his energy without reward. Helpless, Ezra rolled onto his back and stared in dismay as the great rock became smaller and smaller.

  Chapter Two

  Rebecca Buckingham swept down the main staircase, at the bottom of which her father stood, anticipating her arrival. It was her seventeenth birthday, and she looked stunning in her new dress, which was woven from the finest cotton. Her hair, the colour ineffable, (perhaps the mysterious shades of autumn leaves just before they flutter to the earth), tumbled to her shoulders in natural waves. Her eyes were the deepest green, their viridescence emitting a mesmeric glint from beneath her arched brows. Her complexion, subtly dappled with tiny freckles and free of any artificial enhancements, had a silken quality. Around her slender neck hung a beautiful necklace. Attached to the bodice of her dress with a long, diamond-studded pin lay a heart-shaped brooch embedded with sapphires, creating a stunning contrast to her eyes. Both pieces of jewellery had been favourite items of her mother. Edward Buckingham could only stare, totally entranced by the young woman who stood before him.

  It had taken many painful years for Edward to accept that he had lost his beautiful wife. She had been everything to him, and all the wealth and importance – of which he possessed plenty – could not replace the huge void that Rebecca’s death had left. Gradually, his daughter began to fill that void, and as he witnessed this young lady descend the staircase, his emotions finally swamped him. He fell to his knees and covered his face with his palms. Tears seeped through his fingers, coursing their way through the greying hairs on the back of h
is ageing hands. Those tears were the first to escape since he had knelt beside his wife’s grave and begged her forgiveness for his ill-considered actions, and as then, he felt powerless to check their progress.

  “Papa.” Rebecca knelt down in front of her father and took his hands away. “What is it, Papa? What’s wrong?”

  “Sorry, my darling. When I saw you… I saw your mother. You have that beauty of which you are blissfully unaware… and it makes… I can’t explain… but your mother had it, and you have it. It’s an extraordinary quality, one that makes you the daughter of a woman I loved more than I can tell you.” Composing himself, Edward got to his feet and wiped his face with a silk handkerchief. “Come along, young lady, we’ve a party to host.”

  *

  Rebecca had reached the age of seven before her father began to take notice of his daughter’s existence. All her needs had been met through carefully appointed assistants. Edward was discharging his role as a parent with the utmost diligence, using the method he applied to all things that required a solution: money. And in his experience, it seldom failed. His daughter, however, had other ideas. Rebecca began seeking out her father, asking questions, wanting to know things about her mother and refusing to be deflected with meaningless answers. Edward found himself enjoying her company, and Rebecca would listen attentively as he regaled her with stories of his seafaring exploits, demanding as much detail as her father’s memory would allow.

  A few days before Rebecca’s tenth birthday, Edward travelled to Old Milford, where he selected and purchased a dapple grey horse from Baron Milford’s personal stock. Rebecca’s sense of joy and elation when he presented the animal to her gave him a sense of complete satisfaction, the like of which he believed had been lost forever. Edward took immense pleasure in teaching his daughter to ride; as the years passed, and Rebecca grew stronger and more confident, together they would hack through the countryside, testing their ability to the full.

  *

  The guests began filtering into the main hall, where they were received graciously by Edward and Rebecca. It was a proud moment for a man who, through the companionship of his own daughter, had relearnt the fundamental things that inevitably made him happy. She had made him function again.

  Over fifty people had been invited, several of whom would be staying overnight. One family whom Rebecca particularly looked forward to seeing were the Dunsmoores: Henry; his wife, Emily; and, if he wasn’t away at sea, Rebecca’s favourite person, their son Isaac.

  The atmosphere in the house was convivial, with groups of people chatting freely, their senses relaxed under the influence of the fine punch being served by the conscientious staff. Edward and Henry had found a quiet corner, and as always when the two men met, the subject of their conversations was predominantly business.

  “So, Edward, Rebecca-Ann is afloat. I was aboard her yesterday with Isaac, and she looks a fine ship, Edward; a fine ship indeed.” Under most circumstances, Henry kept any hint of excitement he may have been feeling fully restrained, but the opportunity to trial a new ship with his son – a ship that Isaac had helped design – was edging his deportment to euphoric proportions.

  “My dear Henry, do I detect the merest hint of excitement?” Edward smiled at his oldest and most trusted friend.

  “Indeed, Edward. Not since the day my girders began to creak have I felt so passionate… about anything.” Henry rubbed his long, grey whiskers in a playful gesture.

  “I’m not altogether sure I believe that, old friend, because as far back as I can recall, all I could ever hear was the creak of your girders, and if you’ll forgive me for saying…” He gave Henry’s belly a playful tap. “This won’t be helping.”

  “Ah, indeed it won’t, but I do feel that, if through some strange happenstance it should disappear, I would become totally unbalanced – out of kilter if you will – and for a seafaring man, that would never do; it would never do indeed.” Henry, having finished rubbing his whiskers, rested his hands on his protruding stomach, as if he needed to add some extra gravitas to his hurriedly contrived thesis.

  Realising that Henry would always have a rational and compelling argument, Edward returned the conversation to business. “What of Felicity-Ann, Henry? Do you think her days are done?”

  “I believe she could serve our coastal operations well enough for the next few years. It would be gratifying to see her finish her long service closer to home.”

  Both men had a soft spot for the old schooner, and Edward was delighted with Henry’s opinion regarding the future of the trusty old vessel. “Excellent news, Henry; excellent news. If Rebecca-Ann serves half as well, she will be a resounding success, and if your son commands her as you have commanded my fleet, Henry, we will both be proud and happy men.” Edward raised his glass. “To Isaac and Rebecca-Ann, a fruitful and compelling combination.”

  Henry echoed the sentiment and was about to discuss loading and departure dates for the ship’s maiden voyage when a gruff voice interrupted.

  “Buckingham, my good man, how’s the old nag that I practically gave you coming along?” It was the unmistakeable tones of Baron Milford. “Henry, old chap, girders still creaking, I presume?” The baron’s questions were rhetorical, and he moved the conversation along quickly. “When do you anticipate this monstrous pile of timbers and pitch to be leaving Milford Port?”

  “Well, Rufus, if all goes to plan, Rebecca-Ann will set sail two weeks tomorrow, wind and tide permitting. And as for my girders, they are in fine fettle and creaking more than ever. As for the nag, I wouldn’t presume to answer, but if the rumours in the trade are to be believed, the beast will probably drop dead any day.” Henry could always be relied upon for a swift retort.

  “Touché, Henry old chap. Touché.” Under most circumstances, Rufus Milford was not a man to retire so early from badinage, but he had what he knew would be a contentious issue to discuss. “Gentlemen, I have a thorny issue to raise with you, but before I do, please be aware that I have not undertaken to ask this kindness of you without heed, and knowing your thoughts on such a matter, I trust you will give the request due consideration.”

  Instinctively, Edward and Henry realised this would not be a request but a command.

  Rufus continued, “As you know, I have a brother, Lionel, who lives at the arse-end of our isle – a godforsaken hole if the truth be known. Anyway, his daughter and son-in-law and their daughter are seeking passage to South America, and he has solicited me to arrange the aforementioned. I have assured him that, as I am indebted to him for one or two kindnesses, I would endeavour to secure the best possible transportation as is in my power to do so. The family are travelling already and are due to arrive in Milford within the week.” Rufus raised his hand to prevent any response from his audience. “Now is not the time to mither over such things, so why don’t we agree to meet in a few days to give yourselves some time to consider the request. The one consolation, if you will, is that Lionel has more money than sheep dung, and although he’s ordinarily a touch careful, on this occasion he’s willing to pay a premium to augment their comfort and safety.”

  Baroness Milford and Emily Dunsmoore arrived to interrupt the three men’s conversation, and soon all thoughts of ships and passengers and cargo and faraway countries receded as the party’s ambience engulfed the room.

  *

  Rebecca had been enjoying herself immensely. She couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so happy. Against her father’s advice, she had drunk a glass of punch, and on feeling the need for some air, she slipped unnoticed into the garden. Savouring the cool evening breeze, she wandered along the pathway beneath the pergola. The scent of the honeysuckle trailing over the wooden construction was intoxicating, and she took a moment to lean against the stone wall that separated the landscaped gardens from the stables. Rebecca tilted her head to one side. She could hear voices. With a degree of apprehension, she pushed open the gate set
in the archway of the high wall and walked towards the stables. Above the occasional whinnying of the horses, the voices became louder. Adjacent to the stables was a feed store, and amongst the hay, Rebecca could make out the shape of a man kneeling. As she approached, she saw the young girl pinned to the ground.

  “Stop wriggling, you little whore,” declared the man.

  Rebecca recognised the voice instantly. She moved silently into the store, grabbed a pitchfork and walked calmly up behind the distraught girl’s attacker. Steadying herself, she pressed the cold, iron prongs against the bare skin of his neck. “Get off her.”

  Persius Milford released his grip and eased himself off the girl tentatively. The dishevelled creature jumped to her feet and ran from the store into the darkness without a word. Rebecca kept the pressure constant and Persius held his hands away from his body in mock submission.

  “You are a disgrace to the Milford family, forcing yourself on young innocent girls. You should—”

  Before she could finish the sentence, Persius swung round, and in one fluid motion, he grabbed the pitchfork and wrenched it from her grasp. He threw it to one side and took a step towards the startled girl. “Disgrace, am I? I’m going to show you who’s a disgrace, and when I’m finished with you, you prim-arsed bitch, we’ll see who’s a disgrace.”

  Before Rebecca could respond, Persius shoved her hard against the wooden slats of the building and forced himself hard against her. She felt trapped.

  “Well, this is my lucky night; a slutty servant girl for starters and some posh bitch for the main course. Couldn’t have worked out better,” he crowed.

  Persius Milford’s foul breath drifted towards Rebecca’s face, and she threw her head sideways as he tried to force his mouth on hers. Persius grabbed her chin and wrenched her head upright. Her mind began to race. He was physically too strong for her.

  “That’s it; relax, girl. I’m well practised with the ladies. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”