Moon Rising Read Online Free Page A

myself. I was so angry I delivered a punch to my captor’s midriff that made him grunt, probably with more surprise than pain. Even so, it jarred my wrist. We glared at each other in furious antipathy; then, with arms that were like iron bands, he simply lifted me out of the way and addressed himself to the problem at hand.
    Speechless with rage, I watched as this man in his fine tweeds crouched down on the muddy grass. While Jack Louvain changed plates he held everything steady with apparent ease. I wanted to beat them both over the head – preferably with the tripod in question – but my attention was distracted by cries from the beach. Folk were descending by the cliff path, wading into the foam, making every effort to re-launch the lifeboat. It was an impossible task – the boat had to be abandoned. But at least the men were safe, which was more than could be said for the crew of the brigantine.
    While a breeches-buoy was being rigged, we moved closer to the wreck for better pictures. It seemed to take forever, and the light was not good, but finally the apparatus was secured and Jack got busy as the first man was pulled ashore. He was just a boy really, more like a drowned rabbit after he’d been dunked a few times in those crashing seas.
    Of those that followed, some were so exhausted they had to be carried up the cliff path, and one looked so inert I thought he was dead. As they brought him past on a makeshift stretcher his hands and face looked waxen; there was even a skein of seaweed around his neck like some travesty of a rope. The sight struck me with horror. When I looked again at the brigantine, I saw my mind’s own ghost-ship, the
Merlin
of Whitby, wrecked off Tallinn with the loss of all hands. All, including my father and grandfather, drowned in the icy Baltic seas of early spring.
    I was just seven years old.
    It was like the rekindling of an old nightmare. Shivering convulsively, for a moment I could have been sick. I doubt Jack Louvain noticed, although his new assistant did, and, mistaking the cause, was suddenly bent on ushering me to the warmth and shelter of the Saloon. Although a mug of hot tea would have been welcome, I had no desire to be escorted out again by those who were ministering to the needs of shipwrecked mariners. In the scheme of things a local girl, muddied and bedraggled, was of no concern at all.
    That this man regarded me differently made me pause; in fact his chivalry was so unexpected it went straight to my heart, melting antipathy like ice in the sun. So I shook my head and said I was all right, thank you, which in truth I was. At the time I was so flattered, it never occurred to me that he might be stirred by my physical activity and that uncontrollable display of emotion.
    I had been ready to resent him, but he seemed a practical man, confident and energetic. I found I admired that almost as much as his fine grey eyes and flourishing red beard. As we started to pack up, I stole surreptitious glances and wondered who he was, what he was doing here so late in the year. The odds favoured a connection with the new coastal railway. Engineers of various persuasions frequented Whitby, and most of them were easygoing, adaptable men. Strangely, I thought him not grave enough for a lawyer or a banker, yet I discovered later that he was a barrister who managed the complicated financial affairs of a most extraordinary business. In fact when I found out all that he did, I was amazed; even more so to find that he was famous in his own world, on hobnobbing terms with the cream of London society.
    To begin with, of course, I had no idea of that. Otherwise, I would not have dared speak to him, much less flirt so outrageously.
    When he turned to me and said: ‘Fine fellows – such bravery warms the heart,’ I could not resist pointing out that the lads manning the lifeboat were fishermen by profession, each one a volunteer and fiercely proud of the fact. I could