27. Sicily in Sight

CHAPTER 27

SICILY IN SIGHT

E ight days later

After a stop in Valencia to rendezvous with the Bellingham , drop off cargo, and allow the ship’s cook to restock his stores, Captain St. John piloted The Fairweather until they were nearly to Sicily. If he followed his usual route, the ship would go directly to the Port of Civitavecchia northwest of Rome. “What’s it to be?” St. John asked of Donald, who had joined him at the wheel when the sun was barely above the eastern horizon. “Straight to Sicily or straight west to Rome?” Although there was still a band of clouds left from the rain that had fallen the night before, as well as a strong tailwind, the sky promised a fine day.

“Can you afford this detour?” Donald asked, his voice barely audible over the sound of the wind. “If we do go to Catania? How late will you be making the port at Civitavecchia?”

St. John chuckled. “With this wind? I’m likely to arrive earlier than scheduled, even with the detour,” he replied, although he made the comment in jest. “We’re fortunate there are not other passengers aboard or you might be arguing with them.”

“I was reminded Lady Montblanc must mourn the marchese,” Donald murmured.

St. John took a deep breath and let it out. “Does she still feel affection for you?”

Donald’s eyes widened. “Yes, of course. Her letters?—”

“Then we’re going to Catania,” the captain stated.

“By way of the Strait of Messina?” Donald asked, thinking it might be the fastest route.

“No. Too dangerous. We’ll go along the southern side so your brothers and Lady Bellingham can get a view of some of the Greek temples and the Isle of Ortegia from the water. Then we’ll head north to Catania.”

“ I’ve never seen that view,” Donald said before he dipped his head. “I appreciate it, Captain. I do hope you won’t be in trouble with Mr. Nattersley, though.”

“No reason for him to know,” St. John said. “I’ll still be docking in Rome to drop off some cargo and pick up passengers and more cargo.” With the slightest turn of the wheel, the ship shifted and seemed to slice through the water even faster than it had been traveling.

His gaze on the ship’s bow, Donald said, “I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t seem surprised to see me when we boarded a fortnight ago.”

The captain shrugged. “Truth be told, I half-expected I was going to see you far sooner than this.”

Donald winced. “Believe me, I wanted to return. I wanted to go back to Catania the moment you mentioned the possibility I might be a father.”

Making another adjustment on the wheel, St. John finally faced the young man. “Will you take them back? To England?” he asked.

Glancing toward the companionway, as if to confirm they wouldn’t be overheard, Donald shook his head. “Her ladyship’s husband...” He winced at saying the lie out loud. “He was a marchese. He had lands and properties, and now they belong to… well, to my son,” he replied. “Lady Montblanc has been living in a castle on Mount Aetna. I cannot begin to offer her and the marchese anything close to that in England,” he explained. “I think it best I remain here with them.”

St. John chuckled. “Does Lady Bellingham know that?”

Donald displayed a grimace. “She knows my thoughts on the matter, but I wanted to wait until after I discussed the matter with Nikky.”

“Nikky?” St. John repeated, one of his brows rising in surprise.

“Lady Montblanc,” Donald said, his face reddening.

“If you stay, what will you do for your living?” the captain asked, his attention going to something on the horizon ahead. “I cannot imagine you happy living a life of leisure as the consort of a widowed marchesa.” From the tone of his voice, it sounded as if he was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of concern, too.

Donald’s gaze followed St. John’s as the captain lifted a spyglass to his eye. Land appeared and dropped from sight with the ship’s movement through the rough water. “I intend to continue my writing,” he said, squinting in an effort to see whatever it was that had the captain’s attention. “What is it?”

St. John gave him the spyglass. “We’ve made better time than I thought,” he murmured, giving the wheel another quarter turn. “We just passed Marettimo,” he said, referring to a small island west of Sicily. “And Favignana is directly ahead.” He turned the wheel even more, sending them on a more southerly route.

Donald held the tube to his eye and scanned the growing land mass. “Is that Trapani?” he asked in awe, referring to one of the western-most towns on Sicily. A windmill, its vanes spinning with the strong wind, appeared in and out of focus. Inside the building, their movement turned a screw mechanism necessary for harvesting salt from the Mediterranean.

“Marsala, actually. Have you been?” St. John asked in surprise.

“No… but I read about it. I’ve seen drawings of the windmills,” Donald replied, his gaze still directed through the spyglass. With the slight change in the ship’s direction, more of the island’s land mass came into view to the south, cliffs gradually rising from the sea to begin the one-hundred-and-seventy-mile southern coastline of Sicily.

“At the rate we’re going, we’ll see Agrigento late this afternoon,” St. John said. “Some of the temples at sunset. Should be quite impressive.”

“Is it true they look like they’re made of gold?” Donald asked, still holding the spyglass to his eye.

“Last I saw them in the late afternoon, they did,” St. John said. “Trick of the light, I suppose.”

Tom and Randy appeared from below, the two arguing over something the older brother held in one hand. Donald gave the spyglass back to the captain and regarded them with a curious expression. “What’s wrong?”

Randy held out a small book. “Tom says this is the travel guide we should be using once we reach…” His gaze had gone to the cliffs. “Whoa. Where are we?”

“Sicily,” Donald said, taking the book from Randy. “Where did you get this?” he asked, examining the title page of the guide, Boswell On the Grand Tour . From the date included under the author’s name, he realized it was about eighty years old, and he chuckled softly.

“At a shop in Valencia. Are you familiar with it?” Randy asked.

“I read it before I went on my Grand Tour,” Donald admitted. “Some of it proved very helpful at the time, but now it’s quite out of date. There have been a number of discoveries since then.”

“That was written long before the temples on Sicily were re-erected by the Duke of Serradifalco,” St. John added, indicating the green clothed-covered book. “You’ll find the drawings no longer match what you’ll see should you visit the Valley of the Temples.”

“Serradifalco? The name is familiar, but who was he?” Randy asked, his gaze on the horizon.

“An archaeologist. Domenico Antonio Lo Faso Piestrasanta,” St. John said in a sing-song voice, a grin lighting his face. “I rather enjoy saying his name.”

“We learned about him at Oxford,” Tom said, his eyes rounding. “Are we going to see his restored temples?”

“Later today, apparently,” Donald replied, paging through the brittle pages of the guidebook until he reached the section covering the “Kingdom of the Two Sicilies”. He found a page with a drawing and held it open so his cousins could see it. “This is one of the best preserved temples, but the duke restored the pediments, so it’s even more complete,” he said, referring to the Temple of Concordia.

David joined them, although his attention was on the approaching cliffs. “I thought the water felt rougher,” he commented.

St. John grinned. “You take after your father when it comes to the water. Have you thought of a career in the navy when you’re finished with your Grand Tour?” He handed the spyglass to the heir.

“Other than an occasional dip in the River Isis, I’ve barely been around water,” David said, attempting to keep the spyglass steady as he aimed it toward the growing shoreline. “So I don’t think I’ll be following in Father’s footsteps.”

“Grandfather wasn’t in the navy,” Donald commented, hoping his brother wasn’t thinking to take to the seas upon his return to British shores.

“But great-grandfather was,” Tom said. “So… your son will be a navy man,” he said as he clapped David on the back of his shoulder.

The others chuckled as David’s eyes widened. “I haven’t even met my future wife, and you already have my son a Portsmouth man.” He shook his head before suddenly grinning. “He could become an admiral like his great-great-grandfather.”

His brother and cousins rolled their eyes before Donald punched St. John in the shoulder. “Now look what you’ve done.”

The captain chuckled softly, glad when the young men made their way to the companionway. He turned the wheel over to his first mate and made his way into his cabin, determined to study the map of Sicily’s shore.

He wanted to be sure to provide the very best viewing experience for his passengers.