The Sea Between by Carol Thomas Page A

growing number of women are petitioning for changes.’
    Richard looked at her quizzically. ‘What’s your own opinion? Do you think women should be allowed to vote alongside men?’
    She gave a noncommittal shrug as she veered to the left to avoid a boggy patch of ground. ‘It wouldn’t concern me if I never cast a vote; I’m quite content to leave voting to men. But I agree with AuntIsobel about the laws relating to divorce and property: they’re very unfair and need to be changed.’ She looked at him, expecting him to disagree, but to her surprise he nodded.
    ‘Yes, they do appear to be unfair. I’d never considered them until your aunt made such an impassioned speech about them—they’re the sort of thing you only consider when you have a need to. But after your aunt had pointed out all the injustices, I could see that she had a point.’
    ‘If you tell Isobel that, she’ll have you writing letters to Sir George Grey supporting the case for change,’ Charlotte said.
    ‘She petitions Sir George Grey?’
    ‘Regularly. Him and a score of others.’
    Richard looked at her in amazement. ‘Does she receive any replies?’
    ‘Sometimes. Mostly just acknowledgments from clerks. But occasionally she receives a letter from someone influential.’
    ‘Does Grey reply to her letters?’
    She laughed. ‘I think the Governor has better things to do than to reply to my aunt’s epistles.’
    They rode on up the valley, still discussing her aunt, until they reached the big stock pond, where they stopped to let the horses drink. Obviously wanting to stretch his legs, Richard walked around the perimeter of the pond, casting his eye over the steep hills that rose up on all sides in deep folds. They were dappled with the shifting shadows of the clouds being chased across the sky by the southerly breeze. Charlotte stayed with the horses, watching him. Even walking around a pond in the middle of nowhere, Richard had an air of command about him. It was as visible as the clothes he wore. He was wearing just a regular jacket today, not his brass-buttoned captain’s jacket, but even in his ordinary jacket one could see at a glance that Richard was a man who was used to exercising authority.
    ‘Nothing but hills, everywhere you look,’ he said, smiling, as he rejoined her.
    ‘A change from nothing but sea,’ Charlotte returned. ‘Don’t you get tired of looking at the waves, day in day out?’
    ‘Tired of the sea?’ He looked at her in surprise, as astonished as if she’d suggested that he might tire of eating or breathing. ‘I’d soon tire of these hills, but I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the sea. The sea is alive. It has power, has moods, presents challenges.’
    She cast her eye across the hills, watching the grass moving gracefully in the wind, the tall flax leaves twisting and flapping, catching the sun as they swayed about, the tussock grass with its shredded pale gold tips. The hills too were alive, changing with the seasons, having moods and presenting challenges. They weren’t always benign like they were today. But obviously Richard couldn’t see that. She turned away, reached for the reins, and mounted her mare again.
    As they continued along the throat of the valley, Richard began to tell her bits and pieces about his life, describing his childhood and the farm in Sussex where he’d grown up, his school years, and finally his early years at sea.
    ‘I wanted to join the crew of a whaling vessel, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. I was hoping that my grandfather might take my side, but he was against it too. He said whaling ships were filthy tubs and that it was a dangerous profession, so I joined the crew of the Mary Jane, a cargo ship, under Captain Firth. He taught me all I know about sailing. They were good years aboard the Mary Jane. ’
    ‘And now you’re captain of your own vessel,’ Charlotte remarked with a smile.
    ‘Yes, I am,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s what I always aspired