Page 44 of The Extraordinary Florence Stoker

‘Where do you think they’re going?’ asked Ellen, shading her eyes and looking across the bay.

The men’s boat was heading west towards a large fort on the other side of the wide harbour. Henry was signalling dramatically to the boatman, urging him to continue rowing.

‘Even off stage,’ said Ellen, ‘he can’t help giving orders.’

‘At least it’s not to Bram.’

‘Not today, at any rate.’ Ellen flashed a smile. ‘Did you know Henry doesn’t direct productions? Not really. He pretty much leaves us actors to our own devices. He’s much more interested in the staging of a show, the overall effect.’

‘I always imagined him needing to be in complete control.’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, he is. He just manages from a distance.’

‘Not everyone,’ I said. ‘Some he manages very closely.’

We sat quietly a while, watching as the boat drew closer to the forbidding-looking fort. People on the beach noticed it too, and were standing and pointing.

‘It must be hard, though,’ I continued, trying to ignore the small craft, the attention it was attracting. Why were people so interested? ‘To both oversee a play and star in it. Is Henry ever tempted to step back? Cede the starring role to another actor? Say, someone like William Terriss?’

Ellen guffawed. ‘William? Never. Nor anyone else for that matter, even if it did ease his burden.’ She sighed. ‘The problem with Henry as an actor is that he doesn’t allow anyone else to shine. He quite literally steals all the attention – not only by choosing plays in which he can take the lead, but by insisting the limelight remains on him, casting the rest of us into literal shade.’

It wasn’t like Ellen to offer criticism of her lover, and I wisely remained silent.

‘I’ve tried speaking to him about it – Bram too —’

An almighty boom rang out. The ground shook, knocking me and Ellen backwards. We both shrieked as a huge column of water erupted like a gigantic fountain right next to Bram and Henry’s boat. It dropped with a roar, a liquid wall that momentarily obscured them.

‘Bram!’ I cried.

‘Henry!’ screamed Ellen.

We scrambled to our feet and ran to the water’s edge. What on God’s good earth had just happened? The boat was mercifully intact and the men, while drenched, sat clutching the sides of the wildly rocking vessel.

‘Bram! Henry!’ I yelled, waving my arms. Ellen jumped up and down, shouting, ‘Are you alright?’

Either they were deaf from the explosion, or we were too far away to be heard. People joined us, muttering in confusion and fear, pointing and gesticulating. There was another boom, muffled, deep. A woman shrieked. Ellen fell against me, then more water shot into the air.

This was followed by yet another explosion and waterspout, and then another. Along the beach, there were cries of fright, as people staggered into each other and the ground quaked. Children were sobbing. A couple of dogs began barking and yowling.

Amidst it all, the small vessel pitched violently. More water spewed, suddenly, ferociously. It was like a battle. Each time a boom sounded, Ellen and I almost lost our footing. Dead fish began to float to the surface.

‘There must be some kind of ordinance,’ I shouted above the noise. ‘In the bay.’

Ellen grabbed my arm. ‘Dear Lord. They’ll be blown to bits.’

The underwater detonations continued to ignite around the boat. Instead of heading to safety when they could, we watched in disbelief as Henry forced Bram to sit back down (he’d been trying to use the oars to head to shore), and casually reclined in the bow and lit a cigar, passing it to Bram. He then found another for himself. Seemingly unperturbed, the boatman gathered fish in a bucket, while Bram and Henry puffed away, bombs discharging around them.

A leathery local joined us just as another reverberation sounded.

‘Fools,’ he said in his gravelly voice, using the stem of his pipe to point at the boat. ‘They’ve drifted into an underwater minefield,’ he explained.

‘What?’ Ellen and I chorused.

‘Aye, they’ve coasted into the area used by the navy over yon fort for training. Didn’t they see the warning signs?’ His pipe indicated some signage by the jetty. ‘They’ll be lucky to make it to shore in one piece.’ He shook his head and wandered off.

Finally, the discharges ceased. The silence was deafening. Bit by bit, normal sounds resumed. The lazy murmuring of the waves, the sniffles of children, the chatter of those who’d gathered at the foreshore ambling back to their spots. The caw of gulls. Henry’s voice carried across the now calm water. Following his instructions, the boatman picked up the oars and headed for land.

Ellen and I ran to meet the boat.