A Distant Harbour

by Jessica Blair

Genres: General Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

A story of seafaring men and the women who love them, by the author of "The Red Shawl". Captain David Fernley has made and lost a fortune in the whaling trade, fishing the frozen Arctic wastes from the Yorkshire port of Whitby. Then his erring wife and best friend die in an accident at sea.

Release date: December 30, 2010

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 446

Sample

Ruth Fernley tossed and twisted in her sleep. The nightmare darkened her mind just as it had done every night for the past
three months.

Towering waves crashed down, pounding and bruising her body. They dragged her to the depths of the ocean and then thrust her
upwards, surrendering her to the heaving sea. Struggle as she might, fight as she could with what strength she had left, her
plight was hopeless. Her cry for help was lost in the howling wind and the splintering of timber on the rocks which claimed
the London Packet a few miles south of Whitby. The sea swirled around her, hungry for a final victim. Water filled her mouth.
She gasped for air. She reached out, seeking some support against the clutching sea.

Her cry split the still night in the turret bedroom of Rigg House, lonely on the precipitous cliffs south of Whitby.

She sprang up in bed, gulping air deep into her lungs. She was soaked in sweat, as if drenched by the sea. Her eyes, wide with the nightmare horror of near drowning, stared unseeingly at the wall opposite her four-poster bed.

She shuddered violently as her surroundings became a reality. The sea had not won. She was here, safe in Rigg House.

Tension drained from her. She sighed, folded the bedclothes back and slid slowly out of bed. She picked up a robe from the
back of a chair and slipped it round her. She ran her long fingers through her copper-tinted hair and, with a slight shake,
sent it cascading to her shoulders.

As she had done every night for the past three months, she walked slowly to the window and gazed out across the cliffs and
beyond to the sea. Tonight earth and water were bathed in a sheen of pale light which filtered through the glass to highlight
her delicate skin and proud, high cheekboned features. The world was silent and only the minute undulations of an almost calm
sea broke the stillness.


If only it had been that way when the London Packet had sailed out of Whitby. She would have been safe in London now, with
Matthew, the man she had come to need when her marriage to David Fernley was slowly destroyed by ambition, jealousy and hatred.
Instead Matthew was dead, drowned in that nightmare storm of which, unknown to the rest of the world but for two people, she
was the sole survivor.

Waves crashed across the stricken ship eager to break Ruth’s grip on the rail. The wind, howling in its fury, sought to fling her into the boiling cauldron that swirled around the doomed vessel.


When the London Packet struck the rocks it had been everyone for themselves, but Matthew had stayed beside her, helping her
reach the rail.


‘Hold on, love!’ She caught his warning before it was whisked away on the wind. She glanced round, overawed by nature’s viciousness.
A gigantic wave towered over them, seeming to hang in mid-air while gathering more strength. She cowered in wide-eyed terror.
Then it was falling, falling, crashing down with unrelenting force.


Matthew flung himself towards her in an attempt to give her more security but in that moment, when his grip had slackened,
the wave struck.


Ruth felt the brute force of it. She was flung to her knees but somehow, in desperation, managed to hang on to the rail. Gasping
for breath, she struggled for survival, looking to Matthew for help. Instead she saw him lifted and tossed, like some piece
of flotsam, over the side.


‘Matthew!’ her scream pierced the wind.

There was no answer, no cry for help. One moment he was there, alive beside her, the next he was gone.

She sank to the sea-swilled deck, overwhelmed by desolation, oblivious to the howling wind and raging sea, but still her outstretched
arms clung to the rail, an automatic grasp at life.


The crack of breaking wood pierced her bemused mind and she felt herself falling. Fear gripped as the sea closed over her
head. She was numb to the surging water, helpless in its power. It thrust her upwards. She broke the surface and found herself
still clinging to a piece of timber that had once been the rail. Some distant, inbred instinct told her to hang on, that there was a chance. A wave carried her
away from the rocks. Some of its power seemed to have gone from it. Was it her imagination or was the storm subsiding?


She shook the water from her face and looked around, desperate for help. There was no one. The ship had gone, only a few floating
timbers remained.


She propelled herself to a large piece of wood and transferred her grip. The sea still ran strongly but it had lost some of
that cruel force. It closed around her, washed over her and she felt its power tug at her, dragging her under. She came up,
gasping and coughing water. How many times it threatened to deny her life she never knew but forever in her mind was the instinct
to hold on to the floating spar.


Her brain and body were numbed by the callous beating of the sea until hope began to drift away.

Water broke over her head. Her grip slackened. She fought to hold on, fought against the pull which threatened to take her
from her saviour. Something tightened under her arms. She felt herself drawn upwards. The water no longer swirled around her
body; instead she felt something hard against her back. It hurt and that sensation drove some comprehension back to her mind.
Hands were grasping her, hauling and dragging, fighting the sea for her life.


The boat dipped then rode high on a wave. Whoever held her used that motion to help him make the final pull. She was dragged
over the gunwale and tumbled into the bottom of the boat. There, face down, she retched and retched, spewing water until she lay spent with the exertion but filled with joy and relief.


Though still tossed by the waves, Ruth sensed that the boat was under control and that the fury had gone out of the storm.
She turned over slowly, curious to see who had braved the raging sea to rescue her. She looked up at the figure at the tiller,
skilfully manoeuvring the boat so that it was not swamped.


Francis Chambers!

The shock of seeing the man whom she had engaged as chief clerk to her husband David’s whaling firm drove the last remnants
of confusion from her mind. She lay there amazed, staring up at him, drawing assurance from his strength and the bold way
in which he challenged the storm. His legs were braced against the bottom of the boat; his strong hands held the tiller, commanding
it to do his will. The muscles under the saturated shirt which clung to his body were iron hard. Water streamed from his hair.
He brushed it impatiently away and set his face to the wind.


Ruth read determination to survive in the set of his whole body and in the defiance in his eyes.

He glanced down at her. A reassuring smile touched his lips as he yelled above the howling wind, ‘You’re safe, Mrs Fernley.
The worst is over.’


Ruth nodded acknowledgement and struggled into a more comfortable position. She moved closer to him as if she needed his closeness
to give her strength.


Braced against the tossing boat, she struggled to speak. ‘I didn’t know you could handle a boat. And to risk your life … why?’

He looked down at her and as their eyes locked Ruth sensed a tingle suffuse her body for even here on storm-wrenched waters
she saw adoration and desire in his dark eyes.


‘You, Ruth.’ His voice was charged with emotion. ‘I was on the quay when word came that the London Packet had foundered. I
lost no time. You were on board. It was you I had to save.’ His lips tightened. ‘I was determined the sea should not have
you. Thank God I found you!’


‘Thank God you cared,’ she breathed. Her mind was a whirl. She had never thought of Francis as any more than an employee.
Oh, she had been aware of him as a man, confident, strong and athletic-looking, but it had never gone beyond that.


Now she realised that she must have meant much more to him or he would never have taken to a wild sea in the hope of saving
her. Had he nursed a secret desire, a thwarted passion for her? Maybe she could use it to her advantage, and besides he was
far from unattractive … This was the first time he had used her Christian name and she liked the way he said it.


And she did owe him her life.

The boat dipped into the waves, sending spray over them, but Ruth did not care. She was safe. The wind was easing and with
it came a lessening of the sea’s ferocity.


When the storm had passed and the sea settled, Ruth had had time to think. What was left to her? Where could her life go?
Her marriage was in ruins. She had finally broken the bond with David when she had stepped on board the London Packet with
Matthew. Now he was gone. Yet here was Francis who had risked his life for her, who on his own admission had come only for her. Her mind began to seize on the opportunity.


‘Were you the only one to come?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘No, but the others were driven back. The rescue boat nearly made it but was struck by a freak wave and
turned turtle. Reckon all hands would be lost.’


‘Then I could be the only survivor?’

‘Most likely. Unless anyone managed to get ashore, which I doubt.’ Francis surveyed the clearing sky. ‘I think we can head
for Whitby.’


‘No, Francis, not Whitby.’ Her voice was soft and pleading. ‘Take me to Rigg House.’

‘Rigg House?’ he queried, puzzled.

‘Take me there and then I’ll tell you why.’

Francis altered course and manoeuvred the boat to a safe anchorage at the foot of the cliffs below Rigg House, which stood
in isolation three miles along the coast from Whitby.


He secured the boat and showed Ruth every attention and care as he helped her scramble to the top of the cliffs. They hurried
quickly across the rough grassland to the high wall surrounding the bleak-looking home. In a few moments Francis was tugging
at the bellchain.


They heard bolts being drawn back. The door inched open just far enough for the occupant to peer out.

‘Mrs Judson, Emily, it’s me.’ Ruth’s tone was low and supplicating.

In that same instant Emily recognised her and threw the door wide open.

‘Oh, Mrs Fernley, what’s happened?’ she cried at the sight of the two shivering and sodden figures standing before her. ‘Come in, come in.’ She stepped aside, and as Ruth and
Francis entered the house, closed the door behind them.


‘I was on the London Packet – it went down. Francis saved me. We need your help.’ For the moment Ruth made the explanation
brief for she was beginning to tremble with cold. A further explanation could come later.


‘Thank God he was there.’ Emily nodded her approval of Francis. ‘Now come, the pair of you.’ She led the way quickly up the
stairs. She opened the second door along the landing and turned to Francis. ‘You’ll find towels in the top drawer of the chest
and some clothes of the late master’s in the wardrobe.’


‘Thank you, Mrs Judson.’ He made a slight bow and went into the bedroom.

‘I put the clothes you left behind when the master was killed in the turret bedroom. I knew it was your favourite. I hoped
you’d come back one day, but not like this.’


‘Thank you, Emily.’ Ruth hugged her, glad that she still held a special place in Emily’s affections, a place she had won the
first time she had come to Rigg House with Jonathan.


‘I’ll get you some warm drinks and something to eat. Come down as soon as you’re ready.’ She turned on her heel and hurried
down the stairs.


Ruth smiled to herself as she walked to the turret bedroom. She wondered how Emily would view her if she knew the truth; if
she knew that Jonathan had been Ruth’s half-brother, but that she had allowed them to be lovers before revealing her true identity to him and then, when out riding, deliberately forced him off the cliff to his death. And
after all her efforts her plot misfired when Jonathan’s will, the one she had forced him to make in her son’s favour, was
invalid.


She changed quickly and hurried downstairs. She wanted a word with Emily before Francis appeared.

‘Ah, you look better. More like my Ruth,’ beamed the housekeeper when Ruth entered the kitchen.

It was a large room with a huge open fireplace along one wall. A kettle, puffing steam, hung from a reckon and some bread
cakes were warming in front of the fire. Bacon sizzled in a pan and two eggs, ready for cracking, rested on the table, set
for two.


‘I feel better.’ Ruth smiled. ‘And that smells good.’

‘I’ve set for you to eat in here. I thought it would be warmer for you.’ Emily sounded apologetic for not arranging a more
elegant setting.


‘It will,’ Ruth reassured her. ‘Now, tell me, I knew you were still here but what is to happen to the house?’

‘It’s mine.’ Emily gave a delighted smile – a rare sight for it broke down the armour of reserve in which Emily cloaked herself.
It was a trait which was off-putting to strangers, especially as her tall, gaunt figure seemed to give the impression she
was looking down on the person confronting her.


‘Yours?’ Ruth showed surprise.

‘Yes, ma’am. You remember the master left all his possessions and lands to some cousins? Well, they didn’t want Rigg House,
being content with the estates round Cropton and everything else he left. So because of my loyalty to him, they made me a gift of Rigg House, either to spend the rest of my days here or sell as I saw fit.’


Excitement gripped Ruth. This couldn’t be better. The door opened and Francis came in.

‘Good gracious,’ gasped Emily. ‘I thought you and my late master were roughly the same build but I didn’t expect such a perfect
fit.’


Ruth eyed him critically. Francis was tall, well-built, and had a figure which carried these clothes well. He was lean, muscular,
hard of jaw, and his bearing spoke of pride – but pride held carefully on a rein. His eyebrows were smooth and beneath them
brown eyes sparkled with a zest for life, softening the harshness which could creep into his features at odd moments.


He was her saviour, someone who had risked his very life for her. He was no longer a mere employee but a man who, she realised,
was conscious of his own attraction and knew how to manipulate it for his own ends. She sensed they were two of a kind. He
would have to be watched but she knew she would enjoy the challenge. And she had one advantage: she knew she had what he desired
and could exploit it for her own ends. She would enjoy playing him as a fisherman plays a fish and would land him to do her
will.


Warmed by their food and drink, fussed over by Mrs Judson, the horrors of the sea receded and were banished from Ruth’s mind
as she busily laid plans for the future.


‘Sit down, Emily. I have something I want to say to you both.’ Ruth indicated a chair at the table. As the housekeeper sat
down Ruth glanced from one to the other. ‘I want your help. I have much I want to do, and to achieve it, it is essential no one should know that I’m alive. Everyone must think that I’m dead, lost in the shipwreck. I need you
to keep my secret and I need your loyalty. You will not go unrewarded.’


Emily and Francis, surprised by the request, exchanged glances.

‘Ma’am, you know you can count on me for anything,’ murmured Emily Judson who had always idolised her.

‘Thank you,’ replied Ruth with a smile of gratitude. ‘Francis?’

For a brief moment he hesitated then said, ‘Of course, but what’s this all about?’

‘You will have to know more, of course, but that later. Emily need know no more for what she doesn’t know won’t harm her.’
Ruth looked at her, seeking her agreement on that point. Seeing her nod, Ruth went on, ‘Emily, I have one more thing to ask
you. I need somewhere to live, somewhere where I will not be seen.’


‘Ma’am, Rigg House is yours for as long as you want to use it. It will be a pleasure for me to have you living here, someone
to look after.’


‘Thank you.’ Ruth sank back in her chair with satisfaction. Things could not have gone more satisfactorily. Now there was
only one more thing to achieve this night if she was to hold Francis in her power and she anticipated no trouble with that.


‘Come with me and I’ll show you the rest of the house, Francis,’ she said, rising from her chair.

‘Will you want anything else, ma’am?’ asked Emily.

‘Nothing, thank you.’

Ruth led the way from the kitchen and took Francis through the house. He made the usual comments of admiration for the way in which the house had been furnished and tastefully
decorated, but paid more attention to Ruth herself who subtly led him on.


‘This is my favourite,’ she said, opening the door of the turret bedroom. Francis stepped inside and she closed the door.
The room was big and semi-circular, projecting over the north-east corner of the house. One wall was draped with tapestries
of hunting and sea scenes. A large four-poster bed, its head against the wall, occupied a central position with a small table
to either side. An escritoire and a dressing table, each with their own chair, were placed against the wall and a long curved
window seat was cushioned and trimmed with matching material.


‘You can see the sea from here.’ Ruth crossed to the window.

Francis came to stand beside her. Far beyond the bottom of the cliff, gentle now after its fury, the sea stretched to the
horizon.


Ruth shuddered as memories of those nightmare moments tumbled back on her. Francis put his arm around her and turned her to
him. She looked up into his penetrating gaze. ‘There’s no need to be frightened any more. You’re safe. I’ll always be here
when you need me.’ His words were soft, caressing, reassuring.


‘Francis,’ her voice was husky, ‘I’ll never be out of your debt for saving my life, but what made you risk yours?’

‘I told you in the boat – you.’ His grip tightened round her waist and he pulled her closer. She did not resist. ‘I’ve always
loved you, ever since you interviewed me for the job, but I could not make it known to you. You had …’


She raised her finger to his lips and stopped his words. ‘I have no one now,’ she whispered, her eyes beckoning.

He met that look for a brief moment then his lips found hers with a demanding passion which was returned, kiss for kiss.

‘Oh, Ruth, Ruth! How I’ve longed to do that,’ he gasped.

‘There can be more,’ she whispered.

She felt the tension in his body, sensed the excitement coursing through his veins, matching her own heightened desires. She
felt his fingers on the buttons at the back of her dress and started to undo his shirt. Then she brushed him aside, shed her
clothes quickly and was waiting for him on the bed, arms outstretched by the time he had finished undressing.


With passion spent they lay silent in each other’s arms until Francis turned on to his stomach so he could look into her eyes.
He kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘Now, Ruth, what else have you to tell me? What is it that Mrs Judson need not know? Why
do you want people to think you dead? But first … Jonathan Hardy who lived here. Were you and he lovers?’


‘I’ll not fence with you, Francis. I’ll not hold back. Yes, Jonathan and I were lovers until his untimely death in a fall
from the cliffs.’ There was no need to tell him who had caused that fall.


‘And Matthew? You were going with him to London?’

‘Yes. I needed him in a different way, different even to my husband. He was there when my marriage was breaking up, more than a friend, and I think we’d have stayed together in London.
But that was not to be. Now I see I was weak in running away. Why should I, and leave those damned Thorsebys to get away with
everything?’


Francis noted the hatred that had come into Ruth’s voice. ‘But I thought the Fernleys and the Thorsebys were the best of friends?’

Her lips tightened. ‘You thought wrong, then. Oh, David was always besotted with them – in fact I wouldn’t be surprised if
he’d been under Jenny’s skirts but I can’t prove it.


‘But what happened? We were expanding, taking on a second whaleship as you know. I’d gone into debt with it, expecting a good
return when David came back from the Arctic. Instead the whaling season was bad and The Lonely Wind was badly damaged, needing costly repairs. And how was she holed? Through David saving that damned Adam Thorseby and his
ship! Thorseby got off scot-free and now Fernley’s faces ruin. That was the last straw. I decided to leave with Matthew.’


‘And now?’ prompted Francis as she paused for breath.

She gazed deep into his eyes. ‘Revenge,’ she hissed. ‘Revenge on the Thorsebys. And that’s why I want to be believed dead
and why I need you. You can be my eyes and ears, letting me know what is happening in Whitby while I work out how to get my
own back on David and his precious friends. Tomorrow you return by boat in your own clothes. Say you were blown ashore up
the coast. And then I depend on you for news.’


‘You’ll not keep me away.’ Francis kissed her, long and hard. Her arms twined around his neck and it was a long time before she let him go.


Two days later Francis let himself into the garden of Rigg House through the small door in the wall. He was bursting with
news.


‘Where is she, Mrs Judson?’ he asked when she let him in.

‘In her room.’

Emily watched him take the stairs two at a time. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. There was something in the wind,
but it was no concern of hers, she supposed.


Francis burst into the turret room where Ruth was sitting on the window seat. She saw the excitement in his face as he crossed
to her.


‘News!’ he cried as he sat down beside her. ‘First, Adam Thorseby was lost with the rescue boat.’

‘What?’

‘Second, and this is something you can build on,’ he went on quickly, ignoring her shocked expression, ‘I now work for Fernley
and Thorseby.’


‘Don’t talk in riddles,’ she snapped irritably.

‘The Thorsebys wanted to finance David to save his ships. He would only agree if they took a share in his firm. Then it was
decided that they should amalgamate, pool ships and crews, so the new firm of Fernley and Thorseby has been created.’


Ruth was astounded. The husband she had come to despise for his weakness and credulity had been saved. Those damned Thorsebys
again! They had been thorns in her side ever since she had come to Whitby.


‘Damn, damn, damn!’ she hissed through tight lips.

‘But isn’t this all the better? Won’t your revenge be all the sweeter? Now you can lay plans to ruin the Thorsebys, really
ruin them, because I’ll be right at the heart of everything,’ pressed Francis.


Even as he was speaking Ruth’s mind had been racing ahead. ‘You’re right!’ Her eyes were wide with excitement as she grasped
his hands. ‘This is better than ever. We can ruin them and enrich ourselves.’


‘By the way, the new ship is going to be called the Ruth.’


‘The Ruth? How touching. I didn’t know David cared,’ she remarked sarcastically.


Over the succeeding weeks they laid their plans carefully as Francis reported daily on the progress of the repairs and kitting
out for the first voyage of The Lonely Wind, the Ruth and the Mary Jane, sailing under the colours of the new firm, Fernley and Thorseby.


‘Fernley and Thorseby.’ Standing by the window in the moonlight, remembering the events of the past weeks, Ruth spat the words
with venom. Her firm, the firm she and David had created, was now linked with the Thorsebys. No doubt prim and proper Jenny
was helping to run the firm she, Ruth, had created. But Jenny had suffered a loss too, lost her Adam, taken in the storm while
searching for survivors from the London Packet. Ruth felt no sorrow for her. Hadn’t she spelt trouble ever since David came
to Whitby and met her thirteen years ago? He had denied feeling any affection for her but Ruth had known otherwise; the embers
between them had never died. Well, with Adam dead and Ruth too so far as anyone but Emily and Francis knew, they’d think themselves free to marry. David a bigamist!
What a shock he would get when she finally chose to let the truth be known. Ruth gave a little chuckle of satisfaction at
the thought. All in good time for there was more to her plans than that …

Nightmare over and her resolution strengthened, Ruth went back to bed.

‘Ship ahoy!’ The cry from the lookout on the main top gallant rang clear on the piercing Arctic air.

David Fernley started. He had placed the sharpest eyes in Whitby in that position to get the earliest sighting possible.

‘How many?’ he yelled.

‘Two,’ came the reply.

Tension drained from David. The Lonely Wind and the Mary Jane were safe.


‘Whither away?’ he called.

‘Larboard bow.’

He crossed the deck, swung on to the bulwark, grasped the ratlines and climbed the rigging to get an early view of the two
whaleships. As soon as they were in sight he shouted instructions to the helmsman and within the hour the Ruth was sailing slowly past the other two ships, with welcoming yells being exchanged between the crews.


Before the Ruth was level with the Mary Jane, David saw Ruben peering intently over the rail, eager for the news David was carrying.


‘It’s a girl!’ he yelled, a broad grin breaking out across his weather-worn features. ‘Both all right.’

Ruben punched the air with delight.

David laughed at his brother-in-law’s joy. He was pleased that his own delayed sailing, awaiting the completion of the Ruth, had enabled him to bring such good news to Ruben.


David turned his attention to manoeuvring the Ruth to a safe anchorage against the pack-ice in line with the other two whaleships belonging to the firm of Fernley and Thorseby.
A rope ladder was thrown over the side and by the time David was on to the ice, Ruben Thorseby was waiting to give him an
enthusiastic greeting.


He and David slapped each other on the back. ‘What’s Katie like?’ he asked eagerly, savouring the name he and Jessica had
picked before he sailed.


‘Beautiful,’ grinned David. ‘Much like her mother.’

‘Then she will be.’ Ruben pictured his wife’s dark eyes, deep mysterious pools sparkling with life, heightened by her pale
oval face and cloud of dark hair, tumbling to her shoulders. At this moment, with this news, the desire to hug her and tell
her how much he loved her, even though the child was not his, was almost overpowering.


‘James Humphries?’ Did he try to contact her?’ Anxiety dimmed Ruben’s enthusiasm.

‘No,’ replied David firmly. ‘He married Catherine Howard, or rather her fortune. Spends a lot of time in London. Thee need
have no worries about him. He’ll never risk losing Catherine’s money by acknowledging Katie as his.’


Relief showed in Ruben’s eyes. ‘I’d fight him every bit of the way if he tried! Katie belongs to Jessica and me.’

David gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder and turned to greet the man hurrying across the ice towards them. Jim Talbot
had served him faithfully as mate on The Lonely Wind, and David had promoted him to captain when he had taken command of the new ship, the Ruth.


‘How did she sail?’ asked David, inclining his head in the direction of The Lonely Wind.


‘As good as ever. Wouldn’t know she’d been damaged,’ replied Jim.

‘Good. And the whaling?’

‘Both half full. And you?’

‘Nearly the same,’ said David. ‘But I broke off to keep this rendezvous.’

‘We should have full ships by the end of the season.’ Ruben glanced at Jim for confirmation.

‘Aye,’ he agreed. ‘Reckon we want to be further west.’

David nodded. ‘We’ll give the crews a break for twenty-four hours and then head west.’

‘I see you named the new ship Ruth?’ commented Ruben, a note of curiosity touching his voice.


‘Aye,’ replied David slowly. ‘Ruth once meant the world to me. We loved each other, then I came to Whitby …’ His voice faltered.
‘We were ambitious, maybe too much, so maybe it