Seaworthy
by Christopher Ivey
part 1
I stood on the embankment outside Seaworthy Manor when the wind was throwing up white-crested waves on the North Sea. I could almost hear the moan of a ship’s rigging, as in the stories of my grandfather, Commodore Anton Marlowe. The stories, at least, hadn’t made me nauseous.
“Nothing to be afraid of, my lord,” said Edwards, his dolphin-gray hair whipping about.
“I know that,” I snapped, before my lungs seized up. My heart pounded like the tide against the embankment. I stumbled backward onto the lawn and bent double.
“Perhaps we—”
I cut Edwards off with a look.
“Right. I’ll bring the carriage around.”
I swallowed some bile and blinked back tears. I heard my grandfather’s voice in the gale that caused the cape of my coat to fly up over my head: “A Marlowe’s place is on the water.”
Yes, Grandfather, I thought, I will overcome my aversion and restore the tradition my father splintered. Conventional methods having failed, I would now turn to a perhaps more dubious means to find my sea legs.
Edwards kept the turtle-green Clarence polished and its pair of Clydesdales well-groomed despite his other duties. One might even look upon the carriage and think nothing amiss with the Marlowe finances. Yet, most of the lands we passed between Seaworthy and the village of Stonerow had been sold to satisfy my father’s creditors.
The village had also declined. I’d read Stonerow once rivaled the capital in size, but now most of it lay on the seafloor. And while the North Sea took over a century to erode the city’s breadth, economics had made its impact on the population relatively overnight. Few witnessed our passage, whereas I remembered bustling roads only a couple decades earlier.
In my youth, I would venture into the village with my older sister Catherine and Miss Somers. With our governess’s auburn ringlets and pale, freckled skin, is it any wonder I thought it was her that people stared at? Of course, I suspect Miss Somers had also tried to protect me from understanding the abnormality of my appearance. I could not recall her without a pang of the loss I’d felt at her sudden departure.
Better to focus on the present. I picked up the morning edition of The Times beside me on the seat. Amidst adverts for asthma cigarettes, corsets, and baking powder, was the notice I had first seen in yesterday’s edition of The Times: “SURE REMEDY — Instantaneous cure for numerous maladies.” It listed seasickness among the ailments it claimed to alleviate, and so I ventured into a district of London I’d thought I would only ever visit through Dickens’ stories.
* * *
Smog obscured the morning sun, and the upper stories of the buildings along Rampart Street jutted out, further darkening our passage. Candles burned behind shop windows despite the early hour.
The deeper our carriage plunged into the gloom, the more difficult I found it to breathe. We waded into a gritty, malodorous soup. Dust and dirt carried with it the stink of the maroonish mire that clogged the gutters. My thin handkerchief did little to protect me from the miasma that seeped into the carriage, and I feared that it might overcome Edwards and the horses before we reached our destination.
It seemed one could become inured to the conditions, however. What else could explain the crowds? Many lingered about as if nothing were amiss. A grinder waited for dull blades; piemen and fishwives hawked their wares; drunkards spilled out of several pubs despite the early hour; and children — so many children! — swarmed about, not a single eye of supervision upon them.
The stench intensified as Edwards opened the door. A coughing fit overcame me as soon as my feet touched the cobbles, and a moment passed before I realized Edwards had brought the carriage to a stop on Rampart. The advert listed a Flintlock Close address.
He nodded toward a narrow, crooked passage, not much more than an alleyway. “I’m afraid you’ll have to walk from here, my lord. I would accompany you, of course, but perhaps I should remain with the carriage?”
Edwards could do little if ruffians set upon our vehicle, but to leave it unattended would be to all but give it away. The curiosity of the rabble had certainly been piqued. A hundred eyes or more must have been upon us, and a herd of youth soon swarmed the carriage. I covered my face with my handkerchief, mostly due to the smell, but I could do without the gawking as well.
I attempted to keep my distance, but the riffraff were ubiquitous. I clutched my coin purse as I pushed through the crowd and set off at a brisk pace down the cramped distributary. To my dismay, several of the urchins followed.
“Help you find something, sir?” said a boy in an oversized cap that covered the tops of his ears.
I shook my head and pressed on. Somehow the chaos of Rampart did not flow into Flintlock Close, and I noted with concern that I could be accosted without witness once the serpentine course took me out of Edwards’s view.
“There isn’t much down this way,” the boy added.
That seemed true. No storefronts lined the street, let alone the establishment mentioned in the advert. Nonetheless, I was certain the grimy whelps simply wished to lure me into a trap.
“Really, sir. One can easily get lost.”
A Marlowe would not be badgered by children. I spun on my heel and was pleased to see that they halted as well.
“Off with the lot of you! Go find some other target,” I said through my handkerchief.
“Wait, sir—”
As I turned, I ran into a rotund stomach. I caught a glimpse of a pimple-spotted nose and chapped lips spread in a wide grin before something small and hard hit me in the side of the head.
* * *
I woke up to an awful headache on a sofa. A single lamp on a writing table provided dim light.
“Odd looking, ain’t he?”
The boy with the large hat stood next to a middle-aged woman kneeling beside the sofa. She had an unhealthy pallor punctuated by accumulations of dirt and soot. Filth covered her rags as well, muting an assemblage of multiple colors closer to a dull gray. Only the cloth of her chin-strap bandage looked somewhat clean, but from beneath it came an odd glow as if she held fireflies in her mouth.
“Hush, Henry. Wet this for me.” The woman handed the boy a towel.
“How long was I out?” I asked.
“Not long, I don’t think,” the woman replied.
I tried to sit up and felt faint.
“Not so fast, sir. You took quite a blow by the sounds of it.” She pressed the wet towel to my forehead.
I patted my pockets and found them empty. The children had distracted me, and I had walked right into an ambush.
“For all I know, you’re working together,” I said.
The woman handed the towel back to the boy. “Not all the children around here are thieves, sir. In fact, Henry and the others dragged you in here. What’s a gentleman like you doing in the Chapel anyway?”
She favored the right side of her mouth as she spoke and had a bit of a rasp. On closer examination, the bandage was damp where it met her cheek.
“You’re not well,” I said.
She stood and brushed off her skirt where her knees had met the floor as if the entire garment weren’t soiled. “Once you’re steady, you can be on your way, then.”
I rose more slowly on the second attempt and managed to stand. Pain bit at my skull, and it took everything I had not to collapse back down onto the sofa, but I refused to lie about in some hovel. I asked the woman if she could direct me to the shop that sold the Sure Remedy.
“Come right to the source, did you? Most people just use the post.”
I did not want to wait for the Royal Mail, but she did not need to know that. I stared at her and awaited an answer.
“Sir, I must tell you. That so-called remedy is just water with a splash of brandy and some useless spices.”
That couldn’t be true. There was an advert in The Times, of all places. Did she have some kind of grievance with the proprietors? Or perhaps she wished to punish me for lack of gratitude and see me leave the city empty-handed.
“I’ll judge that for myself, thank you, if you’ll just direct me.”
The boy — Henry, I think she said — leaned against the wall next to a cabinet so dented it looked like it had been shot upon by rifles. “I can show him the way, Miss Somers.”
“Did he say Somers?” I asked. While a common surname, I’d known only one Somers. If the woman’s dull, rust-colored hair were washed and curled... But, no, it couldn’t be.
She sat down on the sofa, ignored my question, and gestured toward the door. “Go on then, see for yourself, if you like.”
Might the grime on her cheeks hide freckles? I could not depart until I knew for certain.
“Margaret Somers?”
Her sigh had a hint of stridor. “Yes. Hello, Cassius.”
I staggered back to the sofa before I collapsed. Perhaps if I hadn’t been weakened by the attack, I might have borne up better. My headache intensified, and I heard her dismiss the boy as if she spoke at a distance.
Miss Somers, here? My former governess lived in this dingy, cramped space? The floor was dirt. Between my legs, straw poked out of a split seam in the sofa. The Miss Somers I’d known would never have absconded with my mother’s jewels, but this woman beside me...
“I’d always doubted my father, but to see where you’ve ended up, I—”
Miss Somers jumped up. She grabbed hold of my wrist with both hands and tugged. In my battered, bewildered state, I did not resist and had to steady myself with the writing table once upright.
“Off with you, then! I’ve never taken an unearned quid in my life. I’ll not sit here and—”
Miss Somers gasped and clutched her chest. She swayed a bit, and then slumped forward. I knocked over the table as I dropped to my knees but managed to catch her head before it smacked against the floor.
* * *
Lightning illuminated the North Sea as it encroached upon the embankment bit by bit. Ever patient, the waters hoped to escape notice until they overwhelmed Seaworthy and the rest of Stonerow. Raindrops obscured the window, but I had seen what I needed to see, and made a mental note to request sandbags be placed.
Mrs. Clarke entered the dining room. “There you are, my lord. She’s asking for you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Clarke. I trust you were able to get Miss Somers situated?”
“I managed. She made a bit of a fuss about wanting to return to the city — God knows why — but didn’t put up much of a fight. Forgive me, my lord, but I gave her one of my own nightgowns rather than see her in one of my lady’s. And she wouldn’t let me touch that bandage.”
I’d suggested Mrs. Clarke give Miss Somers one of my late mother’s garments for lack of a better idea. “That’s fine. Thank you, Mrs. Clarke. We couldn’t put her in one of the beds in what she was wearing.”
“No, my lord.”
I thanked Mrs. Clarke again and went upstairs to one of the few guest rooms that still contained a bed. Miss Somers lay propped up on pillows. Her skin looked chalky in the lantern’s light, but a bath and change of clothes had done much to improve her appearance. While one could not scrub away her wrinkles nor the loose skin under her eyes, a hint of the young woman that had taught me the alphabet had appeared.
“Cassius, you must let me return to London,” she said as I entered.
I brought a chair closer to the bed. “I may have rushed to judgment concerning your separation from Seaworthy. A bit of shock due to our unexpected reunion, you understand. Given what came to light later, it’s clear that my father used you as a scapegoat.”
“I didn’t ask to be brought here.” Miss Somers spoke with minimal movement of her jaw, which made her voice flat.
“No. Well, given your collapse, I thought it best that you be cared for. The doctor should arrive first thing.”
“You could have just taken me to someone in the city.”
I gripped my knees and leaned forward. “But surely you would benefit from some fresh air and sunlight. Granted, there was little of the latter today, but one hopes for better tomorrow.”
“Henry and some of the others rely on me, Cassius. Please, I mustn’t be gone long. Perhaps the doctor could come tonight? It isn’t still Doctor Gowers, is it?”
“Gowers still lives in Stonerow,” I replied. “But I’ve sent for a proper physician. Young fellow out of Fobbing. Oxford-educated.”
Miss Somers’s expression softened. “Well, perhaps that’s for the best, then. I’ll admit it was nice to have a bath. I’m still in shock that Mrs. Clarke attended to me herself.”
“Yes, well, there’s no use in hiding it. Edwards and Mrs. Clarke are all that remains of Seaworthy’s staff. Were it not for their adherence to Seaworthy, I might have to drive my own carriage and cook my own meals.”
“I’m sorry, Cassius. It must have been difficult, what with all the attention.”
One does not squander a fortune without notice. My father’s bankruptcy no doubt fueled many a parlor discussion. The Marlowe name now evoked exorbitance and failure.
“I manage,” I said through a tense jaw.
“Are you otherwise alone here?”
I nodded. “Catherine is now Lady Bramley Temple-Horn and lives near Leeds.”
“Doesn’t it get lonely? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t...”
Miss Somers closed her eyes. A moment passed and I thought she might have fallen asleep when she spoke in a faint voice. “Why did you want the remedy?”
“Ah, well, just the matter of a bit of queasiness when at sea.”
“Seasickness, Cassius? Really?”
“Yes, if I can overcome this unfortunate debility, I can serve as my grandfather did and many a Marlowe before him.”
“Cassius... how can I say this... It might be more than that, don’t you think? Do you remember? No, I suppose not. You couldn’t have been more than three years old. Lord Marlowe insisted we all join him on his new cutter. By the time we set out, he was already inebri—” She winced and raised a hand to her cheek.
I remembered flailing about in cold darkness. Vertigo overcame me, and I gripped the arms of the chair.
“I’m sorry, Cassius. It hurts to speak.”
When I did not respond, Miss Somers rolled her head toward me and opened her eyes. “Cassius?”
I tried to hide the effort it took to stand. “Of course. Please rest.”
I limped out of the room and leaned against the wall. As I tried to slow my breath, pain rippled down my back and flashes of inky black pulsed in my mind. I somehow made it to my bedroom, where I wobbled right past the nightclothes Edwards had laid out and collapsed on top of the blankets.
* * *
The next morning proved indistinguishable from night. Wind and rain continued to batter Seaworthy, and I guessed it might be a new day only by the sounds of movement elsewhere in the house.
Despite exhaustion, my sleep had been restless. The memories had come back to me in ebbs and flows. First came the gentle sway of the cutter’s deck, and then my father, careening about as if a squall were thrashing the boat. I think I’d been watching a fish swim by when he bumped into me. And then I had known only frigid darkness until Miss Somers, having dove in after me, lifted me back over the gunwale.
My governess had saved my life.
I rose with the intention to go right to her room after I dressed, but Edwards, as he handed me my razor, informed me that she had taken a turn for the worse. Mrs. Clarke had brought her a small breakfast and found her unresponsive. What’s more, the Fobbing physician sent word that he would be delayed, perhaps significantly, by an emergency.
Copyright © 2025 by Christopher Ivey
