The Pirate's Daughter

by Helen Dickson

  Ignoring his anger, Cassandra risked a little smile, hoping that with a little gentle coercing she would succeed in placating him. After all, it had always worked in the past.

  ‘I am not unattended, John. As you see,’ she said sweetly, indicating her young companion who was hovering fearfully in the doorway, afraid to enter further inside the room lest he vent his anger on her also, ‘I have Rosa as my companion.’

  John’s eyes merely flicked to Rosa’s stiff figure before it returned to savage his cousin. He continued to glare at her, the taut set of his face warning her of the control he was holding over his temper. He kept his voice steady when he next spoke, but its tone, like his expression, was like steel. ‘Then tell me, what has brought you to Barbados?’ Suddenly his eyes filled with alarm as a thought occurred to him, and he took a step closer. ‘Is it Meredith?’ he asked, thinking something terrible might have befallen his beloved sister. ‘Has something happened to my sister?’

  Cassandra was quick to reassure him. ‘No—no, of course not. Do not worry yourself. When I left London Meredith was away visiting your grandmother. The last I saw of her she was quite well. My—reason for coming here was because—well—I had a desire to see something of the Caribbean for myself. That is all.’

  ‘Do you mean to tell me you have travelled all this way on a whim?’ John demanded, astounded.

  ‘No, not a whim. Oh, I know my arrival must come as something of a surprise to you—’

  ‘Surprise is putting it mildly,’ he ground out.

  ‘I know—but I promise not to make a nuisance of myself. In fact, I promise you will hardly be aware of my presence.’

  ‘That I very much doubt.’ Placing a fist to his temple, John turned away, slowly becoming resigned to the fact that he had no alternative but to let her remain for the present. Turning his back on her, he strode to the window. Of medium height and reasonably attractive—although his features were too thin to be described as handsome, his dark brown hair lightly sprinkled with grey—he stood for a moment in silent contemplation before turning to face her once more.

  Her deep blue eyes bright with expectancy and warmth, she presented a perfect, delightful vision of womanhood in the centre of the room, but beneath the slim, rounded beauty she was as spirited as a young colt. She possessed a certain wilfulness—a disquietingly headstrong quality, which called for firm handling. John was a strong-minded, experienced man of the world, but he hadn’t known how to hold his young cousin in check, and with cynicism he wondered if there was a man who could. No man would better her or bridle her free spirit.

  ‘You are not the kind of woman it is easy to ignore. I long ago ceased to be amazed by anything you do, Cassandra—and you always did have the ability to adapt to your surroundings. However, it appears that the fact that you have incurred my deep displeasure weighs little with you. Is it your wish to embarrass me by coming here?’

  Cassandra composed her features gravely and shook her head dutifully. ‘No, John. That was not my intention. I was miserable and lonely. Meredith wasn’t there and wouldn’t be back for weeks. I—I came because I wanted to get away from England for a while. I—I had to, you see,’ she murmured hesitantly, quietly.

  Cassandra did not know that her expression had changed, that reverie had brought a sadness to her face which John quickly interpreted. His eyes turned cold. ‘Could your leaving, by any chance, possibly have anything to do with Nathaniel Wylde?’ He was unable to hide his scorn. His dislike of the man, the outlaw who had sired Cassandra, ran deep.

  Cassandra looked at him steadily, engulfed by a deep despondency, for thoughts of her father and the cruel manner of his death awoke turbulent emotions inside her. ‘Nat is dead, John.’

  Totally unprepared for this pronouncement, John stared at her in astonishment. ‘Dead?’

  ‘Yes. He was captured and hanged at Execution Dock on the day I left London.’

  Quickly and without emotion she related the events of her father’s last weeks, of which John was totally unaware. He listened to her in silence, a mixture of feelings passing over his face. Only when she had fallen silent did he speak.

  ‘Then I cannot say that I am surprised. He got what he deserved.’ When he saw the pain his words caused Cassandra, he placed his arm tenderly about her shoulders and drew her down beside him on to one of the divans.

  ‘I apologise if that offends you, Cassandra, but I never made any secret of what my feelings were regarding Nathaniel Wylde. When my own father died, followed so quickly by my mother, and he reappeared in your life, I was unable to refuse to allow him to see you. But I did so most unwillingly. I know that after living under the strict rule of my mother’s household, being with your father was like breaking out of prison.

  ‘But you let your love for him cloud your mind to the true nature of his character. After being denied access to you while you were an infant—and to appease his selfish desire to have you with him—he filled your head with things no properly raised young girl should listen to. He was a villain whose world was inhabited exclusively pirates—ruthless criminals, Cassandra, who deserved to hang for the crimes they perpetrated on others.’

  His voice was quiet and sombre. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed and her lips compressed. She was hurt but not offended by John’s attack on Nat because, after all, he was only repeating what he had said many times in the past.

  ‘Yes, I know it is over, John, and for what it’s worth I have accepted it. But I was deeply affected and revolted by the manner of his death.’ Not wishing to incur his wrath further, she omitted to tell him that she had been present when Drum had sliced through the ropes securing the Dolphin to her moorings and had Nat’s body cut down from the gallows, but she was unable to keep from him the manner of her journey to Barbados. His anger reignited and his face suffused with angry colour.

  ‘By God, you came to the islands on a pirate ship? Arch-villain he might be, but I gave O’Leary more sense than to take you with him. He will pay for this. If I ever get my hands on him… And Captain Tillotson? Was he aware who O’Leary was—that he was a murdering scoundrel who should have hanged with his master?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Cassandra answered, her eyes going to Rosa perched stiffly on a chair across the room. The young woman’s cheeks flamed and her eyes had narrowed and gleamed with anger on hearing John’s scathing attack on her father. Thank goodness she didn’t say anything. She must have a word with Rosa when they were alone. Perhaps it would be best if John didn’t know she was Drum’s daughter. ‘Please, John, let the matter rest. Does it matter?’

  ‘Of course it matters. While men such as O’Leary are at liberty to roam the seas at will, no ship, cargo or man are safe. All colonists who rely on the merchantmen to carry their produce live in fear that they will be attacked. It’s hardly surprising that they regard such men as common murderers and robbers and hold them in the deepest contempt. It is imperative that while you remain on the island no one must discover your identity and your involvement with O’Leary. How else can you stay here without becoming the subject of a scandal? I won’t have it, Cassandra. Do you hear?’

  ‘I’m sorry, John. I don’t want you to suffer on my account.’ Usually Cassandra knew better than to argue with him when he used that tone, but now she looked at him mutinously. ‘I’m not going home, John. I want to stay here with you. You will let me?’

  ‘You leave me with no choice. You and your companion can stay for the present—here in this house,’ he conceded, rising quickly. ‘I am often away for days at a time, in Bridgetown or meeting with plantation owners—on Company business, you understand.’

  He looked towards the young mulatto woman who had emerged from the bedroom. Swathed in a heavy lime-green silk dress with a contrasting border worked in gold, she stood quietly watching them at the far side of the room, and Cassandra noticed how her cousin’s gaze softened when they rested on her.

  ‘Elmina will remain to take care of you. She—she is my servant—prep
ares my food—my clothes, you know, that sort of thing,’ he explained, coughing nervously and averting his gaze, becoming awkward and embarrassed suddenly, and seeming unable to look at Cassandra, who had risen from the divan and was watching him closely. ‘As you see the bungalow is small—though comfortable. You will find Elmina helpful. She will minister to all your needs and her English is very good, so that will not be a problem.’

  ‘There is no need for you to put yourself about on our account. Lady Courtly has kindly offered to let Rosa and me stay at the house. She is having rooms made ready as we speak.’

  John’s relief was evident. ‘I see. That’s very gracious of Julia—and, yes, I suppose that would be for the best.’

  Cassandra allowed her gaze to dwell on the mulatto woman. She had fine dark eyes and an abundance of lustrous short black hair. Her coffee-coloured skin was without a blemish, and her full ripe lips and slightly flattened nose showed her Negroid ancestry. She had a slumberous, languid grace, and possessed the requisite warm softness and the firm-fleshed litheness of youth, which was capable of awaking all too easily the carnality of the opposite sex. Having already guessed at the relationship that existed between her cousin and Elmina, Cassandra was surprised but unaffected by it. She smiled inwardly, for she could well see why John was so taken with her, and why he favoured the privacy of the bungalow to the house.

  She knew interracial liaisons were not uncommon on the islands, giving rise to a mulatto population and creating a new class of coloureds. However, it would be indelicate for her to discuss the situation with her cousin for, after all, if he chose to keep a native woman in his house as his mistress then it was entirely his own affair. She felt no resentment towards the woman, but it raised a complication she had not bargained for.

  ‘But make no mistake, Cassandra,’ John went on, ‘you cannot remain on the island indefinitely. You will return to England as soon as I can secure you a place on the first available ship.’

  Swamped with disappointment, for she had hoped to remain on Barbados for as long as her cousin, Cassandra stared at him, her face crestfallen. ‘But why can I not remain here until it’s time for you to return?’

  ‘No,’ he answered firmly. ‘I want you away from Barbados before the rainy season. Often the devastation wrought by the high winds and rain defies exaggeration. For the island’s planters they can spell disaster.’

  ‘But that is too soon,’ she objected, her thoughts turning to the handsome Captain Marston, for she had hoped to still be on Barbados when he returned from Jamaica. ‘Do—please let me stay longer, John,’ she begged sweetly. ‘I shall be no trouble to you—I promise.’

  John sighed, shaking his head in defeat. ‘As to that, Cassandra, I doubt it very much. We’ll see how things turn out—but I will stress that your behaviour will determine the length of your stay. Is that understood?’

  ‘Oh—yes, very well,’ she replied, appeased by his concession.

  ‘Good. As for myself,’ he said, his gaze dwelling softly on Elmina’s appealingly beautiful face, ‘I do not intend returning to England until much later.’

  There were parties and stylish gatherings of local gentry given by Sir Charles and Lady Julia Courtly while Cassandra was a guest in their house. John lost no time in pointing out that it was necessary for her to replace her pitiful, pathetic belongings before he could introduce her to his friends. He would not have her appearing like a drab and was determined that she would look her best. It made him proud to know she was admired—and maybe attract the eye of one of the island’s rich planters.

  Julia whisked her off to Bridgetown, where they purchased materials of every shade and light fabrics to be made into gowns by Julia’s sempstress and her chattering helpers. Cassandra stood for hours on end as they fitted and pinned and snipped and stitched, until each gown moulded her slender form to perfection.

  Barbados was a strange and exciting place to be—glamorous too, in its own way, and Cassandra enjoyed it with the reckless pleasure of a pardoned convict. The island was inhabited by merchants and many wealthy planters, who had made good and clearly tried to live like kings, setting their eyes on building palaces in the tropics, filling them with fine furniture and silver and lavish banquets served to their guests.

  The people the Courtlys and John introduced her to on the whole belonged to the island’s aristocracy. They all had money and the women wore fashionable gowns and showed no signs of the hard work done by others in their fine houses. The men she met were eager to be introduced to her, paying her the most extravagant compliments as though they hadn’t seen a pretty woman before.

  These men all had the same hard, alert look Sir Charles Courtly wore, like men who have much on their minds. Charles Courtly was a man of average height, with sandy-coloured hair and a rakish moustache, and his figure was as slender as a man’s half his age. He was a member of the parish vestry—one of sixteen of the elected property owners of St George empowered to collect parish taxes and rents.

  He had an intimidating air of command, derived from years of managing his plantation and administering to island affairs. The charm he exerted was effortless, but Cassandra began to realise, as the days passed and she got to know him better, that he ruled his plantation as much from general fear of the retribution he could wield upon his slaves as from respect.

  As the days drifted by in an untroubled haze, Cassandra dare not let her thoughts dwell too deeply on her father since they awoke turbulent emotions within her, and yet she felt that fate was not unjust, for she would be content to remain on Barbados for now, to bask in its warmth, its enchantment—and to gather fresh enthusiasm and strength to face what it had in store for her when she returned to England.

  As the weeks went by and September came to Barbados, when the parching drought of summer was frequently followed by the heavy rains and wind, John often allowed her to accompany him to Bridgetown, and on his evenings at home he brought guests to dine at the bungalow—men attached to the Wyndham and other mercantile companies attending to business in the Caribbean islands.

  Tonight he informed her there was to be only one guest. She watched the visitor enter and remove his wide-brimmed hat with its dancing white plume and hand it to Elmina. Those languid movements were all at once familiar. When he raised his head, she encountered an amused dark stare. Her initial surprise was quickly followed by a wild beating of her heart. A soft flush sprang to her cheeks as her eyes softened with recognition. Then they blazed with a fierce light.

  John’s guest moved closer, his tall, broad-shouldered figure seeming to fill the room. As on the beach all those weeks before, his nearness was disturbing, and on meeting the dark irresistible gaze of Captain Marston, Cassandra felt that maybe she would not have to wait until she returned to England to find out what fate had in store for her after all.

  Rarely had the lovely Mistress Everson been out of Stuart’s mind since he had plucked her from the capsizing boat. Throughout the weeks he had spent on Jamaica she had never left his thoughts, and he had been sorely tempted to cut his visit short and return to Barbados. Thinking of her forced him to recognise and reflect on all the things he had missed in his life and the things that would be lacking in it for all time if he didn’t give up the sea, which strengthened his decision to do just that.

  On returning to Barbados and meeting her cousin Sir John Everson in Bridgetown, he had lost no time in enquiring after his charming cousin and was absolutely delighted to find she was still on the island—and he had truly thought his luck was in when Sir John asked if he would accommodate that same young lady and her companion on his vessel when it returned to England.

  Sir John’s invitation to dine with them at his house and return to his ship the following morning was too tempting an offer for him to resist. Had it been anyone else he would have declined the invitation, for after a busy day overseeing the loading of more of the cargo, he could think of nothing better than going straight to bed. But his fierce desire to meet the delightf
ul Mistress Everson again—curious to see if she really was as lovely as he remembered—was too attractive an invitation to turn down.

  She stood against the light, unconscious of the spectacle she offered, magnificent and ravishing in her shimmering saffron gown, her hair, a mixture of silver and gold, hanging loose down the length of her spine and gleaming like polished silk. Her face was serene and radiant—the face of an angel. She was even lovelier than he remembered, an enchanting temptress, her beauty full blown. And he wanted her.

  He sensed that it would require time and courtship to lure her into his arms. However, time was something he did not have, and having given up trying to understand the reasons for the step he was about to take, he had made up his mind not to leave Barbados without making her his wife.

  Facing weeks ahead on board ship, of seeing her day after day and not being able to touch her, would be a living, frustrating torment. So fragile would be the hold on his self-control that it would be impossible to restrain the urge to drag her into his arms and make love to her. His intentions were nobler than that. With a woman like her by his side, in his bed, he would experience something better, more profound, more lasting, than the mindless pleasures he had experienced in all his affairs with others.

  And so, as he deliberately set himself out to charm this adorable creature, not for one moment did he think Sir John would refuse his offer, nor did he have the slightest doubt of his ability to lure Mistress Everson. He wanted her and he wanted her immediately, and he would be damned if he’d wait until they were in England to court her. Besides, he had never actively had to pay court to a woman in his life—they were usually all too eager for his attentions.

  Chapter Four

  Cassandra met the pair of black eyes levelled on her, unprepared for the effect on her senses. Captain Marston did not move, and there was a repressed sexuality almost tangible in his stillness. Already the impact of his charm was burrowing through her reserve.