I Flourish Again

"I FLOURISH AGAIN"

by Princess Frances, an autobiography

CHAPTER ONE

On the 18th of May, 1955, a Princess was born in the maternity wing of the Lusaka hospital, in Zambia (then Northern Rhodesia). As she eased her way into the world in central Africa, on the other side of the world, in the United States, Mary McLeod Bethune suffered a fatal heart attack and eased herself out.The radio in the waiting room was playing "Love And Marriage" sung by Old Blue Eyes, followed by The Platters and "Only You". She was the only girl born in six long, dry months of boy babies, and her mother tells her that she was feted and held and loved and pampered from first breath, by all the nurses. So naturally, she thought she was pretty special. (And then life tried to teach her that actually, no, she wasn't special at all - but more of that anon.....)

On that same day, at the exact minute she was struggling into the world, and taking her first breath, a cutter set sail from the Port of Dar Es Salaam, captained by a rogue and a gentleman, Captain Douglas Maxwell, a flyblow from the famous Maxwell family of Newark Castle. He had learned his trade at Ferguson's shipyard, building ships from the age of 11, climbing slowly from dock to deck to bridge, using his native intelligence, his illegitimacy, his terrible canniness, to step onto, and over, any and all obstacles in his way.

The captaincy of the cutter was given to him by a secret order of Lords and Gentlemen, known as The Order Of The Light Watch, and chaired at the time, by a fellow Glaswegian, Laird Ruthven, whose family held some dark secrets concerning Mary, Queen Of Scots. Captain Maxwell was chosen, not least because of his impressive qualifications, his impeccable record, and his unswerving loyalty to King and Country, but also because he was very young, very dashing, and wouldn't mind sailing the ancient ship. His youth was important. This ship would be sailing for a very, very long time. Fifty six years to be precise.

Captain Maxwell was twenty two years old. Tall, lanky, dark haired, with an auburn tinge to his beard and sideburns. Blue, blue eyes, like midnight saphires. And a temper. Quite a temper.

He set sail with the dawn tide (the Princess was born at dawn) and a stiff, salty wind lifted the sails, and gave them life. The old ship picked up her skirts, and under Maxwell's direction, lumbered out to sea, on the longest sea voyage ever known to mankind. His appointment in March to captain, coincided with President Eisenhower upholding the use of atomic weapons in case of war, and there he was, two months later, putting out to sea from an East African port, on a life-saving journey for a little Princess, whom he was never destined to meet, the smell of tar and oil and fish and all the noise and sights and cacophany one associates with a port assaulting his senses.

The flag fluttering from the mast had the Maxwell Coat of Arms (which he most certainly was not entitled to use, being born on the wrong side of the blankets - but it was typical of him that he would make such a gesture - literally flying in the face of convention) and it's motto, translated, read "I flourish again", which is a motto the child knew from the depths of her soul with her first wail, and one which became intrinsic to her very survival on the stormy seas that life had launched her upon.

His life, from that moment on, was inextricably entwined with hers. Her every disappointment, her every blow - he felt on her behalf. Her laughter and joy and delight pulsed over the oceans towards him, and filled the mainsail when he was becalmed. Her misery affected him palpably, with each cumbersome rise of the bulwarks, and each slipping down into the trough of each wave. Once, while restocking ship's supplies in Southampton in 1966, he almost saw her as she descended the gangplank of the RMS Pendennis Castle, but fate intervened, and saw to it that all he knew of her, besides what his heart told him, was the directives he received regularly from The Order Of The Light Watch, as well as regular despatches with updated photographs of the child, then the girl, then the woman.

While on medical leave for a heart bypass, in 1987, (leaving the cutter for some very necessary, long-overdue repairs) he visited Knole Park for a gentle perambulation through the grounds, and to feed the deer.He saw her walking across the lawns, laden down with baby bags and picnic foods, the younger son in her arms, the older boy walking at her side. Both children wore leading reins, and his heart went out to her - she looked so wobegone and exhausted. He heaved himself up from the bench and started across to her, only to see the taxi pull up and her lifting the children in, then getting in herself, while he was still fifty yards away from her.

He marvelled that from more than a hundred yards distant, he had recognised her, never having seen her face to face. He marvelled that he instantly knew her walk, the tilt of her head, the movement of her body. He wished he could hear her laugh and her voice, smell her smell. He was then fifty four years old and had been sailing that old cutter for thirty two years, in her service. All the times he had stepped into her life, always at the behest of the Gentlemen of The Order Of The Light Watch, he had followed instructions, not contacting her directly, never being seen himself, showing, above all else, by his dogged obedience, that he was to be trusted with this most very precious mission.

At the deer park, he had felt compelled, drawn towards her, deceiving himself that he could just pretend to be an ordinary citizen, visiting the park, just like she was, that she need never know who he was, what he existed for, why he was still sailing for her. Or even that he WAS sailing for her at all. What an old fool! He had known she would be there - it was, after all, his job to look after her, albeit usually from far away at sea, and he had dressed especially carefully in the hope that he would run into her, and could look at her in the flesh, at last.

He had underestimated his convalescence, and foolishly sat down to rest a moment, instead of following his carefully planned and precisely timed walk, which would have brought him to her side at least five minutes before the taxi arrived.

But she had seen him, often, in odd, fraught moments in her life. Always from the corner of her eye, a thought that someone was there, someone safe. She had become accustomed to, almost reliant on, the awareness that she was never truly alone, always aware of a "presence", which in a religious phase, brought on by being sent to a convent during Zambia's transition to Independence, she ascribed to "God". Later, through life's trials, she came to know God and His mercy, His undeserved loving kindness, and had to smile ruefully to herself at her former zany impression of who and what God was.

Although Maxwell himself, contrived to be the one closest to her in dark moments - if he had sufficient forewarning from The Order Of The Light Watch - he was often reduced to sending others to assist her and keep her safe. His primary task, was to sail that cutter, forever, or at least until it was time to come home.

The ship was equipped and updated frequently, with the world's most sophisticated, fastest computer sattelite telecommunications systems, and at the flick of a button, while rounding Cape Point, he could send to her side, from anywhere in the world, one of The Knaves from The Order Of The Light Watch. While chundering through the Panama Canal, he could make a phone call to South Africa, or England, or indeed even Mumbai, if that is where she was at the time and if she needed "keeping". Keeping was the term used between himself, The Knaves, and the gentlemen of The Order. A despatch would arrive while he was anchored off Tenerife, and the wording would always include "she needs 'keeping' " (meaning safe-keeping), and he, in turn, would send off a despatch, if there was time, or use the phone if there wasn't, and one of The Knaves would be tasked to do the "keeping".

If he was close enough, and the danger still hazily far enough away from her, he would dock at the nearest convenient harbour, and take off by train, or hired car - once even by helicopter - to go to her side and see to the safe "keeping". Besides his "keeping" operations, which were of paramount importance, his other main occupation was to sail that ship for her, for as long as he was asked to do so, until it was time to put to port one last time, and The Order could announce through their secret channels, that the Princess' ship had finally come in.

It was a lonely and a hard life for Maxwell. His early natural flambuoyant handsomeness was eroded over the years by wind and storm, by sun and salt, until he presented to the world a granite, chisselled rather stern appearance. There would be no doubt whatsoever now, of his lineage, as he was the spitting image of old Lord Maxwell, his great grandfather, and a certain ascetism and natural aloofness, gave him an air of command, respect, and royalty.

Women found him immensely attractive, but he rarely availed himself of their delights, and never aboard the cutter, preferring not to make the necessary effort at flirtation and small talk, at keeping one at bay once he had slept with her, and she had inevitably fallen in love with him, which they all did, even the odd whores he went to in Zanzibar, or Alexandria.

When he wanted to, he could be charming, amusing, and from a lifetime of reading on board, very cultivated and educated. He was very well-spoken, militarily correct in dress and manners, impeccably groomed, and if he cared to, he could have sat the examinations for several degrees, and passed cum laude, without ever having attended a lecture.

He was abstemious at table, both with vittles and wine, had no vices except a rather fierce temper which the sea eventually mellowed for him, and except for the yearning desire to know the Princess personally, to converse with her, to hear her speak, maybe even to hold her hand or give her a fatherly sort of hug, he was content with his lot, proud that he had been chosen, and he strove continually to discharge his duties with honour and aplomb.

The fact that he was in love with the Princess had never occurred to him. He knew he would die for her if necessary, but in that regard, he took no gambles, no risks, no unhedged bets, for he was aware that his replacement, groomed and waiting in the wings, ever at the ready should he fail or shuffle off this mortal coil, would not care for and do the "keeping" as well as he could, could not possibly know the Princess as he himself did, and could not therefore anticipate darkness and danger on her behalf. Besides which, he would have rolled in his watery grave if another man captained his vessel.