The Golden Gondola

Chapter 1 ~ 1750-3

Paolina Mansfield was standing at the table, which was laid for a meal. She glanced up as he entered and hurried towards him.

“What did you find?” she asked.

She was dressed, but her long golden hair was unbound and fell down her back to her waist. She was very pale and her eyes seemed unnaturally big in her little oval face. It struck him before he answered her that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.

“There is no one alive,” he answered.

He walked past her towards the ladder leading to the upper room and she hurried after him.

“But are you sure?”

“All that was left of the ship is now at the bottom of the sea,” he answered.

He saw the hope die from her face and felt that he had been a brute.

“No one could have suffered,” he said. “Those who were below decks were drowned almost instantaneously when the water rushed in on them. Those who were on deck must have been swept overboard.”

She covered her face with her hands.

“It is too horrible to think about,” she whispered. “Those poor people!”

Sir Harvey paused yet another moment before climbing the staircase.

“You must be thankful you are alive,” he said. “For us there is always the future.”

She took her hands from her face and looked at him.

“Yes, but what sort of future?” she enquired.

His eyes took in again the golden hair, the wide beauty of her eyes and the fullness of her red lips.

“For someone as lovely as yourself,” he said, “could it be anything but fair?”

She made a little gesture of impatience as if the compliment annoyed her.

“You don’t understand,” she said coldly and walked away from him towards the open door.

He hesitated and then climbed up the stairway to the room above. He closed the door and would have locked it, but a rough latch was the only sort of fastening it had.

Throwing his wet clothes down on the floor, he pulled the velvet box from beneath the coat. For a moment he stared at it and there was a strange expression on his face.

Then he looked round for something to open it with. A knife lay beside the bread, which was still left on a table by his bed. He picked it up and skilfully forced the lock.

The box lid flew open and Sir Harvey made a little sound between his teeth.

Inside there were brooches, necklaces, earrings and rings, all set with diamonds, emeralds and some very dark, very magnificent sapphires. They lay there glittering in the seawater that had percolated into the box.

Sir Harvey stared at them for a long moment and then very slowly he drew from his pocket the three strands of pearls that he had taken from the dead woman’s neck. They were almost flawless and, as he held them in the warmth of his hands, they seemed to glow with almost a supernatural light.

Very gently he tipped the water from the jewel case, placed the pearls on top of the other glittering gems and shut the box lid.

Thrusting it beneath the mattress of his bed, he threw off his wet breeches, wrapped himself in a blanket and pulled open the door of his room.

“Signora! Signora!” he called.

He could see below him in the kitchen that Paolina Mansfield was looking up at him, but he ignored her.

“Signora!” he called again and now the fisherman’s wife came running from the outhouse where she had been plucking a chicken

“What is it, signor?” she enquired.

“I want my breeches dried again,” he said. “And these other things too. And hurry for I am wet and hungry and how can I eat if I cannot join you at the table?”

She chuckled at that.

“They shall be dried, signor. Never worry, they shall be dry in a few minutes.”

She hurried down the stairway with them. Sir Harvey closed the door after her, and then he flung himself on his bed and stretched his hands behind his head. He could feel the jewel case below the thin mattress. It was hard and uncomfortable and stuck into his back, but he did not mind.

He was smiling as he lay there, smiling at a future that suddenly seemed bright and very different from what it had been first thing that morning.

Downstairs Paolina helped the Italian woman to spread the wet clothes in front of the fire. They both exclaimed over the damage to the breeches Sir Harvey had been wearing when he boarded the ship. They were torn at the knees and the buckles had been wrenched away and looked as if they would really be of little use to him again.

The pair that had been salvaged from the ship were intact. Of white satin they were unblemished save that they were wet and the red satin coat was the same. It was of excellent material and the pearl buttons were undamaged as was the embroidery on the pockets and on the deep, turned-back cuffs.

“The Signor must be rich,” the fisherman’s wife said in awe. “His clothes are those of a Nobleman.”

“He is a Nobleman,” Paolina answered.

“And I have been addressing him as ‘Signor’, instead of Excellency,” the fisherman’s wife said. “But how was one to know? All men who are half-drowned look the same.”

“That is true,” Paolina said. “And women too, I suppose.”

“Except when they are as beautiful as you,” the Italian woman smiled. “When Gasparo carried you in, I thought you must be an angel come to visit poor sinners like ourselves.”

“Hush, hush!” Paolina exclaimed. “I am only a woman like you. I wish that I was an angel. Then I should have no worries and no troubles.”

“Wait until His Excellency has been fed and then you can discuss your problems with him. But take my advice and wait until after the meal. Men are never at their kindest when they are hungry.”

Paolina laughed.

“No, that is true,” she said.

“And now, Signorina, if you will watch the clothes, I will finish plucking the chicken or it will never be ready.”

“I will do that,” Paolina said. “And when they are dry I will take them up to him.”

The woman hurried away. Paolina turned and re-turned the steaming clothes in front of the fire. They were not long in drying. The fire was hot and the material being thin they were soon completely dry if a little shrunk.

She picked them up and put them over her arm and climbed with a little difficulty up the rickety stairway.

She knocked on the door. There was a moment’s pause before there was an answer and she wondered if Sir Harvey was asleep.

“What is it?” he called out.

“I have brought your clothes,” Paolina replied.

She heard him get off from the bed and she could hear him moving about before finally he came to the door and opened it.

He was wearing his shirt and waistcoat, but the blanket was draped round him so that he looked so incongruous that she wanted to laugh.

Nevertheless, it was with a serious face and downcast eyes that she presented him with his coat and breeches.

“Thank you,” he said. “I am afraid that I shall have no stockings, although at least I have managed to procure a pair of shoes.”

“I am luckier than you are,” Paolina answered. “My gown is torn, but at least it is intact.”

She tried to smooth it with her hands as she spoke and he saw that she wore a simple, inexpensive dress that might have been chosen with good taste by someone who could not afford to spend a great deal of money.

For the first time he wondered about her plight.

“What are you going to do?” he said. “Can I help you make arrangements to get away from here?”

She raised her eyes to his and he saw that they were troubled.

“I was going to ask you if you would advise me,” she said.

“But, of course,” he replied. “Wait a moment while I get dressed and then we will talk about it. Tell the woman I want something to eat quickly and also a bottle of the best wine that the village can procure. Whatever it is, I expect it will be undrinkable.”

“Can you afford to pay for it?”

The question surprised him and he answered,

“Of course! Do you imagine I should order it otherwise?”

“I am glad – I mean, it seems so hard on them that we should accept their hospitality and be able to give nothing in return.”

“You mean – you can give nothing in return?” Sir Harvey asked.

“I have not a single sequin,” Paolina said. “Oh, please! What is to become of me?”

He saw that she was near to tears and, walking across to her, laid his hand kindly on her shoulder.

“Go downstairs,” he suggested. “Do as I have told you and tell the woman too that I want the village barber to come here and shave me.”

He saw the trouble on her face and added more kindly,

“Don’t worry. We will think of something for you.”

She flashed him a smile and then she was gone.

Sir Harvey finished dressing and then, drawing the velvet box from beneath the mattress, he filled the big voluminous pockets of his satin coat with its contents.

When the box was empty, he turned it upside down to be quite sure and going to the window he flung it as hard and far as he could out into the maize field that lay just beyond the narrow garden of the house.

The box disappeared into a sea of green and then, with a little sigh of satisfaction, Sir Harvey, in waterlogged shoes, climbed slowly down the staircase to the kitchen below.

It was some time before he was able to talk to Paolina.

The barber had come hurrying at his command, wine was brought for him to taste and by the time he was shaved the chicken had been cooked and was ready to be eaten.

They sat down at the long table with Gasparo, his wife and his three sons, and, as if that was not enough, neighbours came peeping through the door and dropping in on the feeblest pretences merely to look at Gasparo’s guests and to marvel how they had been saved from the terrible tempest of the night before.

Finally, however, the meal was finished, the bottles were empty and Gasparo and his wife settled themselves for their siesta.

Even the dogs in the village seemed too drowsy to scratch. Everyone was asleep except Sir Harvey and Paolina.

They went outside and, leaving the village, walked a little along the cliffs until they were out of earshot of everyone except for the seagulls.

“Now we can talk,” Sir Harvey said, settling himself comfortably while Paolina sat down with a billowing out of her wide skirts, her little hands clasped in her lap, her face turned anxiously towards him.

From where he half sat her head was silhouetted against the sky. Her hair was so golden and her skin so white that he found himself staring in open-mouthed admiration.

He had seen too many women to find his breath taken away by a new beauty. It had to be someone really startling and he knew that unless he was still stupid from the buffeting of the night before, Paolina’s beauty would, in the right setting, be absolutely sensational.

“Now we can make plans,” he said realising after a moment that she was expecting him to take the initiative.

“We must not be long, for I have arranged with Gasparo, as soon as the siesta is over, to take me in his cart to the nearest town, where I can hire a carriage to carry me to Ferrara.”

“And what are you going to do there?” Paolina asked.

“Well, the first thing I am going to do is to buy myself a pair of stockings,” Sir Harvey smiled. “And after that a new suit. This one has shrunk until I can scarcely move my arms.”

She said nothing and after a moment he went on,

“If I can give you a lift as far as Ferrara, I shall, of course, be delighted. Where do your relatives live?”

“I have no relations.”

He looked at her in surprise and then quizzed her,

“You mean you have no relations in Italy?”

“I have no relations anywhere.”

“But that is absurd. You must have aunts or cousins or even friends.”

“I have nobody.”

She made the statement simply and without self-pity,

“I cannot believe that.”

“It is true. You see, my father has been ill for a long time. For reasons of his own he – he could not return to England.”

Sir Harvey made a mental note that Captain Mansfield’s past was a subject best avoided, but he said nothing except to remark,

“But you told me that your mother was an Italian.”

“Yes, but she died many years ago. She had been cut off by her family. My father ran away with her and they disowned her.”

“But all these years you must have made friends, you must have met people?”

“As I told you, my father has been ill. He had grown querulous and his friends drifted away. He had a few acquaintances but none I could turn to for help.”

“Well, let’s get this clear,” Sir Harvey said. “You mean that you have no money and nowhere to go?”

“That is it exactly.”

“But dammit all! You must have some plans.”

“I was hoping that you would suggest something.”

“Well, what can I suggest? What do you propose to do?”

“I don’t know. You see, when I was with my father we had – well, we had a little money, but it had nearly all gone. We just had enough to get to Venice and after that – ”

“Yes, after that?” Sir Harvey prompted. “What did you intend to live on?”

There was no answer, but Paolina turned her head away so that he could only see the lovely curve of one cheek and the sudden trembling of her tiny chin.

“What were your plans in Venice?” he insisted. “You must have had some idea of how you were going to manage?”

Still there was no answer and after a moment he said almost impatiently,

“You must be frank with me. How can I help you if I do not know the truth?”

“My father was – a – gambler.” The words were only a whisper. “He lived by gambling, that was why we could never stay long in any particular place. Sooner or later he could not pay his debts.”

Sir Harvey was silent. He knew only too well without words the precarious existence she must have lived, the recriminations, the rows and the insults she must have endured, as well as the terror of having to keep running away and to slip out unbeknownst before their debtors could catch up with them.

“An unfortunate story!” he said aloud. “You have my sympathy.”

“Thank you,” she answered with dignity.

“The difficulty is, of course, to suggest what you can do now. Have you any accomplishments?”

Paolina made a little gesture of helplessness.

“I can sew,” she said. “I had thought that perhaps I could do a little embroidery when we were in Venice. That was unless – my father was unusually – successful. He seldom was.”

“And if he was, it would not last long,” Sir Harvey said brutally. “How well one knows the story, and yet every gambler lives on hope and every gambler believes that things will change for him, if not today, tomorrow.”

“I know, I know,” Paolina said, and her head sank lower on her chest.

‘She is exquisite,’ Sir Harvey thought, watching her. ‘Every pose and every gesture is more beautiful than the last.’

“Would you like to go to England?” he asked.

Paolina raised her hands.

“How can I?” she asked. “And even if I went there, I know no one. I have not been in London since I was five or six years of age.”

“Then it appears that you must stay in Italy.”

Paolina clasped her hands together.

“I only wish I had died last night,” she sighed. “How much better me than some of those other poor creatures who had so much more to live for. Why, why did you save me?”

She looked at him with eyes brimming with tears.

“It was instinct more than design,” Sir Harvey said. “And now, having rescued you, I suppose I am responsible for you. There is a legend, isn’t there, that if a man rescues another from death, he must keep him for the rest of his life?”

His lip curled a little at the corners.

“Don’t,” Paolina begged. “Don’t joke about it, I do not think I can bear it.”

“But I am not joking,” Sir Harvey replied. “I cannot allow you to starve. But before you throw in your lot with me I had best be frank about myself.”

He paused a moment and waited.

Her big eyes met his. He could see in them a sudden flicker of hope and something else. Was it a question or merely a glint of curiosity?

“You see, my dear,” he said drily, “I am what is known as an adventurer!”