London - Edward Rutherfurd [539]
Having completed his inspection, he locked the jewels up in the safe and turned to his sister again. “It’s curious, isn’t it?” he remarked. “If Nancy Dogget were English, she probably wouldn’t be an heiress at all.” Though Gorham Dogget had a son as well as a daughter, he had always made it clear they would share his fortune equally; but among the old families of England such an arrangement remained almost unknown. Great estates went to the eldest son; married daughters often got nothing, unmarried daughters were usually supported during their lifetime by family trusts or expected to live at home. Lady Muriel herself had only what her half-brother chose to give her. “So,” the earl came back to his theme, “I’ll have to keep her warm until the new year, and then – it’ll depend on Barnikel.”
The reason the earl was not hurrying his courtship of Nancy lay some ten thousand miles away on the high seas: and her name was the Charlotte Rose.
The tea run of the sailing ships from China was over. It was the opening of the Suez Canal twenty years ago, and the consequent short cut to the Far East through the Mediterranean, that had finished it. The steamships with their huge cargoes, plodding along regardless of wind, could beat the sailing vessels on that route now. But the glorious days of the clippers were not yet past, for they now carried wool from Australia. The finest fleece, loaded at Sydney in Australia’s spring – which was autumn in the northern hemisphere – was raced back to London for the January wool sales. Blown by the roaring forties the sailing clippers drove eastwards across the dangerous Antarctic waters of the southern Pacific, rounded South America’s Cape Horn, and picked up the trade winds to fly up the Atlantic. On this run no steamship could catch them. A year before he died, the last earl had invested in a quarter share of a new clipper, even swifter than the Charlotte, which Barnikel had christened the Charlotte Rose. And on this the old sea captain, who should have retired years ago, was making brilliant runs each year: his average time from Australia in the last three years had been eighty days. In addition to the commercial profits of the voyage, there was the betting. Each of the finest clippers had its particular characteristics, each captain his own strengths and weaknesses. People could study the form. Huge wagers were made. And few larger or more daring than the wager placed some months ago by the financially embarrassed Earl of St James.
It was perfectly logical. The odds he had got were excellent: seven-to-one. The amount he had bet was one year’s income. If he lost, it would not make a great difference: unless he married, he’d be forced to sell up anyway. If he won, on the other hand, he’d have another five years of living in style before facing a crisis again – and who knew what might turn up during that time? In six weeks from now, if the Charlotte Rose got back from Australia first, Lord St James would have no further need to marry Nancy Dogget. His intention therefore – since he had no wish to hurt her – was to keep her interested without committing himself too far, so that he could either advance quickly or retire with grace when the time came.
“The Charlotte Rose has had a refit. There’s only one vessel afloat that could beat her, and if he spreads all his canvas, Barnikel’s sure he can outrun her too,” he assured his sister. “So there it is, old girl.” He grinned. “We’ve just got to beat the Cutty Sark!”
There had been times lately when Mary Anne had wondered whether she and her daughter Violet could remain in the same house. Neither her three sons, nor Violet’s