“This is the breaker line, ma’am,” the sailor said after a few minutes. The roll of the little boat was getting frantic. “I daren’t take you further. You’ll have to wade ashore from here.”
“No. It’s too deep and my son—”
Before Callie could stop him the sailor had hauled Nicky over the side and placed him in the sea.
“He can’t swim!” Callie screamed. Without waiting for a response she scrambled into the water after Nicky, hauling herself along the boat’s side until she reached him. The water was chest deep and freezing.
“Hold on tight to me, Nicky! Put your legs around my waist and your arms—yes, that’s right.”
Nicky clung to her, wrapping his arms and legs around her body like a small monkey. He was shivering.
“I-It’s cold, Mama.”
“Here’s your stuff, ma’am.” The sailor passed her the bandbox. As if she cared about the bandbox when her son was in the sea. But Nicky had made it his own personal responsibility during the journey and now he was reaching for it. Besides, it contained important papers and dry clothes for Nicky.
“Loop the strap around your wrist, Nicky,” she told him. “It will float and the oilskin cover will keep it dry inside.”
The dinghy washed closer. Maybe the sailor had more of a conscience than his captain—he was in real danger of capsizing but he seemed intent to see they had their luggage. He waited until he saw Nicky had hold of their bandbox.
“Your bag, ma’am.” The sailor handed the portmanteau to her. Callie staggered as a wave broke over her. She clutched it in one hand, holding Nicky against her with the other.
“Godspeed, ma’am.” The little dinghy moved swiftly away into the night.
“But where are we?” she shouted after him.
His voice floated back. “Go up the cliff path, then turn west to Lulworth.”
“I don’t even know which direction west is!” she yelled. But her words were lost on the wind. And in the darkness, she could no longer see the dinghy, let alone the ship they’d left France in.
“West is where the sun sets, Mama,” Nicky told her.
Callie almost laughed. The sun had set a long time ago. But the waves were pushing them to shore. She shifted her grip on Nicky and waded toward the beach. The wind was getting stronger by the minute. It sliced through her saturated clothing. If she was freezing, Nicky would be even colder.
But he was alive, and that was more important than anything. And they were in England. And despite the fact that she was sodden and frozen and had no idea where she was, her spirits lifted a little. She’d succeeded.
Finally they reached the shallows and she put Nicky down. They stumbled, shivering, out of the water. The beach was studded with rocks and broken shells and was difficult to walk across in the dark. Callie’s slippers had come off in the sea and she stubbed her toes painfully several times. She didn’t care. The beach…Dry land…England.
“Come on, darling.” Relief was making her feel dizzy. “Let’s get you into some dry clothes and then we’ll find that path. With any luck we’ll be at Tibby’s for breakfast.”
“Will there be sausages, Mama?” he asked hopefully, through chattering teeth. “English sausages?”
Callie gave a choke of laughter. “Perhaps,” she told him. “Now hurry!”
At the base of the cliff she opened the bandbox. Everything in it was dry, thanks to the oilskin cover. She took out a change of clothes for Nicky, a cashmere shawl, and her spare pair of slippers.
She swiftly stripped Nicky naked, dried him with her shawl and dressed him in clean, dry clothes. He’d been prone to all manner of ailments throughout his childhood and she didn’t want him to catch a chill. She wrung out her skirts as best she could, dried her feet, and slipped on the shoes.
She glanced up at the cliff. She’d never get up the steep path with her skirts dragging and clinging around her legs. For two pins she’d remove her skirt and petticoat and climb in her drawers, only her petticoat, with its secret pockets, was currently her most valuable possession.
She knotted the skirt and her petticoat high on her legs, as she’d seen fisherwomen do. The icy wind bit into her wet skin. “Now, for the climb,” she said and picked up the portmanteau.
Nicky stared up at the cliffs. “Do we really have to climb all the way up there?” No wonder he sounded daunted by the prospect. She could just make out the top by a faint lightening of the darkness—a change of texture, rather than shade.
“Yes, but the man said there was a path, remember?” Callie tried to keep fury out of her voice. The cliffs were enormous and very steep—dumping them there was more than outrageous, it was criminal, given Nicky’s leg!
They scrambled upward, Nicky in front, so Callie could help him if he stumbled. The weight of the heavy portmanteau soon had her palms burning. Gusts of wind whipped at them.
“Stay away from the edge!” she called to Nicky every few minutes. The path was frighteningly narrow in places: in the darkness it was terrifying.
