She said, ‘You said to get everyone out.’
She had pushed through the heavy water until she stood facing him. She could feel his desperate hopelessness, despite the wry half smile that he managed through his shallow breathing.
‘You don’t have a key,’ he said.
‘I don’t need a key,’ said Violet.
And she reached into the water and took hold of the chains.
Lion, the Stewards had said. And no one ever realised they were siblings, but Tom was not the only one with strength in his veins. She heaved.
The wood splintered, the iron screamed and came free, and for a moment the boy just stared at her, and they were looking at each other with a kind of wonder, and a recognition as though across a chasm. In the next moment, as she took his weight on her shoulder, the boy – Will, she recalled – collapsed against her, sliding into unconsciousness in her arms.
He was lighter than Tom, and easier to carry, so thin that he seemed underfed, a fragile casing to hold enough strength to try to save a ship. His face was hollowed, cheekbones too sharp, new bruises blossoming under the pale skin. A flash of fierce protectiveness made her determined that she would get him out to safety, no matter how difficult it might be to fight their way to shore.
‘Here!’ called a voice from the stairs. There was another shuddering jolt from the ship, which was listing sideways, so that the whole hold was on a diagonal. ‘This way!’
She made her way towards the voice, pulling gratefully through the water.
Then her stomach swooped and sank as she saw who had called out to her.
His collar was torn and bloodstained, and he was soaking wet, even the tendrils of his hair dripping, so that the bright insignia of his Steward’s star was barely visible. But he was alive and breathing. He had stayed here – or no, she realised, as she looked at his face. He had returned here to fulfil a promise. Just as she had.
‘Take my hand,’ said Justice.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘MISS KENT.’ THE man spoke to Katherine directly, though her guardian aunt and uncle were not yet in earshot, still stepping out of the carriage with her younger sister. ‘I’m afraid that Lord Crenshaw has been delayed. There has been an incident on the docks.’
‘An incident?’ said Katherine. ‘What happened?’
She stood in her best new dress of white sprig muslin as the luggage was being brought down from the carriage. Her aunt’s maid Annabel had spent hours testing different hairstyles on Katherine, before deciding on one that arranged gold ringlets on either side of her face, with a delicate pink ribbon to bring out the fresh blush of her cheeks and the wide blue of her eyes.
‘One of my lord’s ships went down in the Thames.’
‘Went down!’ said Katherine.
Aunt Helen said the words in a shocked voice. ‘Is he all right?’
‘My lord is unhurt. It was a cargo ship. He wasn’t aboard. He sends his regrets that he can’t be here to show you the house.’
The house. Their new house, provided by her fiancé, Simon Creen – Lord Crenshaw. The oldest son of the Earl of Sinclair, Simon was the heir to a title and a fortune. His father owned half of London, it was said. Annabel had later whispered, The expensive half.
‘Not at all. We understand completely,’ said Aunt Helen. ‘Please, show us in.’
Are you sure? Aunt Helen had said to Katherine, taking both her hands and sitting on the small sofa with her, on the day Lord Crenshaw had proposed to her.
At sixteen, Katherine had not yet been out in society, but her aunt and uncle had arranged some small visits of the most respectable company, in the hope of improving her prospects. Though she was the daughter of a gentleman, Katherine and her sister were both orphans without a fortune, and Katherine had known for a long time that her family’s future depended on her ability to make a good match. But that her chances as a young girl in reduced circumstances were slim.
A remarkable beauty, were the words Mrs Elliott had said, peering at her through her bifocals. It’s a shame she has no fortune or connections.
Katherine remembered Lord Crenshaw’s first visit as a whirlwind of preparations, pinching her cheeks to give them colour, her aunt assuring her that it was proper to have no jewellery, and Annabel peeking out from beside the window curtain at the arrival of the carriage.
‘It’s very grand,’ Annabel had said. ‘Shiny black wood, with a driver and two footmen dressed in such fine clothes. There’s three black hounds on the carriage door – what a noble family crest – and gilding on the sides.’ Annabel drew in a breath. ‘Now he’s stepping out. Oh, Miss Kent, he has such a handsome look!’