Only Time Will Tell (The Clifton Chronicles 1)

Harry found himself fascinated by how smoothly the whole operation was carried out. The Devonian eased away from the quayside and, with the help of the two tug boats, nosed her way slowly out of the docks, along the River Avon and under the suspension bridge.

'Do you know who built that bridge, Mr Clifton?' the captain asked, taking his pipe out of his mouth.

'Isambard Kingdom Brunel, sir,' said Harry.

'And why did he never live to see it opened?'

'Because the local council ran out of money, and he died before the bridge was completed.'

The captain scowled. 'Next you'll be telling me it's named after you,' he said, putting his pipe back in his mouth. He didn't speak again until the tug boats had reached Barry Island, when they gave two more long blasts, released their lines and headed back to port.

The Devonian may have been an old lady, but it soon became clear to Harry that Captain Havens and his crew knew exactly how to handle her.

'Take over, Mr Bradshaw,' said the captain, as another pair of eyes appeared on the bridge, their owner carrying two mugs of hot tea. 'There will be three officers on the bridge during this crossing, Lu, so be sure that Mr Clifton also gets a mug of tea.' The Chinaman nodded and disappeared below deck.

Once the harbour lights had disappeared over the horizon, the waves became larger and larger, causing the ship to roll from side to side. Havens and Bradshaw stood, feet apart, appearing to be glued to the deck, while Harry found himself regularly having to cling on to something to make sure he didn't fall over. When the Chinaman reappeared with a third mug of tea, Harry chose not to mention to the captain that it was cold, and that his mother usually added a lump of sugar.

Just as Harry was beginning to feel a little more confident, almost enjoying the experience, the captain said, 'Not much more you can do tonight, Mr Clifton. Why don't you go below and try to catch some shut-eye. Be back on the bridge by seven twenty to take over the breakfast watch.' Harry was about to protest, when a smile appeared on Mr Bradshaw's face for the first time.

'Goodnight, sir,' said Harry before making his way down the steps and on to the deck. He wobbled slowly towards the narrow stairwell, feeling with every step he took that he was being watched by even more eyes. One voice said, loud enough for him to hear, 'He must be a passenger.'

'No, he's an officer,' said a second voice.

'What's the difference?' Several men laughed.

Once he was back in his cabin, he undressed and climbed on to the thin wooden bunk. He tried to find a comfortable position without falling out or rolling into the wall as the ship swayed from side to side as well as lurching up and down. He didn't even have a wash basin to be sick in, or a porthole to be sick out of.

As he lay awake, his thoughts turned to Emma. He wondered if she was still in Scotland or had returned to the Manor House, or perhaps she'd already taken up residence at Oxford. Would Giles be wondering where he was, or had Sir Walter told him he'd gone to sea and would be joining the Resolution the moment he landed back in Bristol? And would his mother be wondering where he could be? Perhaps he should have broken her golden rule and interrupted her at work. Finally, he thought about Old Jack, and suddenly felt guilty when he realized he wouldn't be back in time for his funeral.

What Harry couldn't know was that his own funeral would take place before Old Jack's.

52

HARRY WAS WOKEN BY the sound of four bells. He leapt up, hitting his head on the ceiling, threw on his clothes, squeezed into the corridor, shot up the stairwell, ran across the deck and bounded up the steps on to the bridge.

'Sorry I'm late, sir, I must have overslept.'

'You don't have to call me sir when we're on our own,' said Bradshaw, 'the name's Tom. And as a matter of fact, you're over an hour early. The skipper obviously forgot to tell you it's seven bells for the breakfast watch, and four for the six o'clock watch. But as you're here, why don't you take over the wheel while I take a leak.' The shock for Harry was to realize that Bradshaw wasn't joking. 'Just be sure the arrow on the compass is always pointing sou'-sou'-west, then you can't go far wrong,' he added, his American accent sounding more pronounced.

Harry took the wheel with both hands and stared intently at the little black arrow as he tried to keep the ship ploughing through the waves in a straight line. When he looked back at the wake, he saw that the neat straight line Bradshaw had achieved with such apparent ease had been replaced by the sort of curves more associated with Mae West. Although Bradshaw was only away for a few minutes, Harry had rarely been more pleased to see anyone when he returned.

Bradshaw took over and the uninterrupted straight line quickly reappeared, although he only had one hand on the wheel.

'Remember, you're handling a lady,' said Bradshaw. 'You don't cling on to her, but gently caress her. If you can manage that, she'll stay on the straight and narrow. Now try again, while I plot our seven bells position on the daily chart.'

When one bell rang twenty-five minutes later and the captain appeared on the bridge to relieve Bradshaw, Harry's line in the ocean may not have been entirely straight, but at least it no longer appeared as if the ship was being steered by a drunken sailor.

At breakfast, Harry was introduced to a man who could only have been first engineer.

Jim Patterson's ghostly complexion made him look as if he'd spent most of his life below decks, and his paunch suggested he spent the rest of the time eating. Unlike Bradshaw, he never stopped talking, and it quickly became clear to Harry that he and the skipper were old friends.

The Chinaman appeared, carrying three plates that could have been cleaner. Harry avoided the greasy bacon and fried tomatoes in favour of a piece of burnt toast and an apple.

'Why don't you spend the rest of the morning finding your way around the ship, Mr Clifton,' suggested the captain after the plates had been cleared away. 'You could even join Mr Patterson in the engine room and see how many minutes you survive down there.' Patterson burst out laughing, grabbed the last two pieces of toast and said, 'If you think these are burnt, wait until you've spent a few minutes with me.'

Like a cat that has been left alone in a new house, Harry began stalking around the outside of the deck as he tried to become familiar with his new kingdom.

He knew the ship was 475 feet long with a 56-foot beam and its top speed was fifteen knots, but he'd had no idea there would be so many nooks and crannies that undoubtedly served some purpose which, given time, he would learn. Harry also noticed there wasn't any part of the deck the captain couldn't keep a watchful eye on from the bridge, so there was no chance of escape for an idle seaman.

Harry took the stairwell down to the middle deck. The aft section consisted of the officers' quarters, amidships was the galley, and forward was a large open area of slung hammocks. How anyone could possibly sleep in one of those was beyond him. Then he noticed half a dozen sailors, who must have come off the dog watch, swaying gently from side to side with the rhythm of the ship and sleeping contentedly.

A narrow steel stairwell led down to the lower deck, where the wooden crates that held the 144 Raleigh bicycles, a thousand cotton dresses and two tons of potatoes were all safely secured, and wouldn't be opened until after the ship docked in Cuba.