Excited chatter and anticipation reverberated through the crowd as the ship rounded a jut of land and we beheld the vast, busy harbour of Port Stanley. Under engine power alone, we glided past the many anchored vessels in the outer harbour and made for our mooring buoy closer to shore. I trained my opera glasses on the long dock running along the shoreline ahead of us. It was alive with all manner of commerce and trade, as crews from the many oceangoing vessels purchased goods from the locals. With arms waving wildly, they bartered for baskets of fruits, nuts, fresh and dried meats, water, and what looked to be luxuries, like alcohol and tobacco. I could only guess at how they made their purchases, likely an odd mixture of languages and gestures.
As Hari and I stood in line to go ashore, I searched the crowd for Sarah and the other emigrant women, and saw Lady Persephone and Sir Richard preparing to board the tender, but the women were nowhere in sight.
“You and your sister are going to town unescorted?” Mrs. Burk asked, appearing at our sides.
“Yes,” I replied curtly. “And where are the emigrant women?”
“Oh, my husband won’t allow them to go. So many corrupting influences on shore. But perhaps you and the former Mrs. Baldwin are not troubled by these things.” She watched our faces for signs of distress, and when we showed none, she huffed and shuffled away.
In truth, I cared little for her pointed comments about us, but my heart was pained for Sarah and the women. They had suffered more than most, confined to windowless rooms on the lower deck and with only a small outside area to catch a few breaths of air, and I knew they were looking forward to getting off the ship, just like the rest of us, and I said so to Hari.
“Why don’t you ask them if you can purchase anything on their behalf?” she suggested. “From everything you’ve told me, they deserve a bit of kindness.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” I said, delighted that she had thought of it herself. I told her I would be right back and ran to the steerage deck.
Sarah was trying to take the news as stoically as possible, but she couldn’t stop a few tears from escaping. Alice was quick to point out that the Burks themselves were happily going ashore. She declared the women should stand up for their rights and not be pushed around by the likes of “a two-faced blowhard preacher and his fat, stupid wife.”
I commiserated with them, then offered to make purchases on their behalf and quickly put together a list of their needs and headed back to the debarkation point. Just as I reached the first-class queue, I bumped into John, who was carrying a large black bag with one hand and a well-worn leather satchel with the other. The sudden closeness made my lips tingle at the memory of our kiss.
He didn’t seem to be suffering from any such memories. His eyes were alive with a new excitement. “Charlotte, I’ve received permission to visit the prison and vaccinate the inmates,” he said. “Finally, I get to put my medical supplies to good use.”
“That’s wonderful, John. Good luck with it.”
He smiled, and a small part of me wished I could accompany him and finally test my vaccination skills on more than just a piece of cloth, but I had promised the emigrant women, and besides, Hari was with me and I excused myself to find her now.
Once ashore, I could see the place was alive with people in all manner of dress and clothing style, representing the four corners of this vast world. A group of men who appeared to be of Eastern European descent wore billowy shirts trimmed with embroidered sashes, brightly coloured knee breeches, and high black boots. Kilted Scots and elegant English gentlemen mixed easily with swaggering voyageurs with their jaunty neck scarves and wide sashes tied around their middles. There were naval uniforms of every fashion and colour representing most of the seafaring nations of the world.
And there were women everywhere. Spanish ladies in vivid red and gold gowns, their hair shrouded by black lace, sat together off to one side of the open-air market, sheltered from the sun by their parasols while maids brought them samples of the merchants’ wares. On the opposite side of the market were the women of East India. The sun danced off their gold headdresses and jewellery every time they moved.
Harriet and I sought out the Royal Mail office and I mailed my latest letter to Wiggles. Harriet asked if there was anything for her, to which the clerk shook his head. But there was a letter from Wiggles waiting for me. Feeling bad for Harriet, I tried to suppress my excitement and quickly tucked it away in my pocket, and we dutifully went about buying what the emigrant women had requested. My shopping basket quickly filled with all sorts of everyday things that had become unimaginable indulgences during the voyage. Sweet-smelling bars of lavender soap, beeswax hand cream, hair wash made with goat’s milk. And then there were the teas and sweets.
Hari seemed content to trundle along after me, occasionally making a purchase for herself, but her heart wasn’t in it, and when I suggested we stop at a quiet little spot for tea, she readily agreed.
Over tea I opened Wiggles’s letter and began to read it out loud, thinking it might lift Harriet’s spirits, but I stopped short when I saw Charles’s name.
“What is it?” Harriet asked, studying me over her teacup. “Something about Charles?”
“Yes,” I replied. “We don’t have to do this now.” I began folding away the letter, which was when I noticed there was a separate sheet of paper. It was the monthly bulletin from our church. Wiggles had circled a small announcement at the bottom of
