The Pirate's Daughter

by Helen Dickson

  ‘I understand. I know how you must feel, Mother, and believe me when I say that I would not have inflicted this on you at any price. I know it won’t change the way you feel towards Wylde, but I can tell you that he was not the one responsible for the sinking of Stephen’s ship. It was one of his cohorts—a vicious individual by the name of Jacob Yeats. He fired on the Evening Star after removing her cargo. Wylde had left the scene, believing Yeats would do likewise.’

  ‘Who told you this?’

  ‘Wylde’s friend—Drum O’Leary.’

  ‘The man who attacked you?’

  Stuart nodded.

  ‘And you believe this man?’

  ‘Oddly enough, yes—yes, I do, but my opinion of Nathaniel Wylde remains unchanged. I blame myself entirely for my actions, but it is done now. I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. It won’t be long before my marriage to Cassandra becomes common knowledge. You don’t know how wretched I feel. I would not have hurt you for the world, Mother—you know that.’

  ‘Yes, I do. I cannot deny that I am shocked by what you have told me, but clearly it was not of your making. Although how you could have married any woman on so short an acquaintance—and knowing virtually nothing about her background—baffles and astounds me. It is unbelievable that you of all people could have been driven to do such a thing. You are not usually so impulsive, Stuart. Quite the opposite, in fact.’

  ‘With Cassandra it was different. Never have I taken such trouble to secure a woman. From the very beginning we were attracted to each other.’ He paused and walked towards the fire, where he stood, gazing down into the flames. The tense silence that stretched between them was shattered when he said softly, almost to himself, ‘I adored her. Marriage seemed a natural conclusion.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you are right.’ Lady Marston crossed the room and stood beside him. ‘You say she took no active part in what her father did?’

  Stuart turned and looked at her. ‘No. She was as much a victim of his profession as those unfortunate enough to cross his path. Because of her strict and oppressive upbringing within her uncle’s household, thirteen years old when her father made his first appearance in her life, naturally, she was entranced by him. What could be more exciting to a young and impressionable girl than to listen to tales of strange and exotic empires, of people as exciting and colourful and completely uninhibited as those he knew?’

  ‘And her cousin, Sir John Everson. You say he is a proprietor of the Wyndham Company?’

  ‘Yes. Cassandra was visiting him in Barbados when we met.’

  ‘Wasn’t she afraid of travelling all that way?’

  A warm glow entered Stuart’s dark eyes and he smiled slightly when his young wife danced into his mind’s eye. ‘No. She saw it as just another exciting adventure. Cassandra is not like other women, Mother.’

  Her lips curved slightly in a wry smile. ‘I’m beginning to realise that. Tell me about her.’

  ‘When I saw her for the first time, she was unlike anyone I had ever known. She is incredibly beautiful and quite remarkable. She was still so very innocent and vulnerable—exciting to be with, warm and lovely, witty and quite wonderful. The attraction was mutual. I couldn’t believe it could be like that between two people.’

  ‘And now? Do you regret marrying her?’

  He shook his head and looked down at the flames once more. His raw, agonised voice was so low that Lady Marston had to move closer to hear it. ‘I cannot answer that. For some strange reason I cannot find it in my heart to feel any different towards her. I have tried—God knows how hard I’ve tried, but I cannot.’ He looked at his mother, his face twisted into a mask of anguish, eyes bleak and fierce. ‘When she left me to go with O’Leary I was the most wretched of men. I tried not to think about her, for I realised that was the only way I could keep a grip on my sanity.’

  Stupefied, Lady Marston gazed into his tortured eyes and nodded, understanding, thinking he must love her deeply if just speaking of her could instil so much passion into his voice and bring so much hunger and pain to his dark eyes. ‘She must be someone very special to mean so much to you. It’s perfectly obvious to me that you love her desperately.’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted quietly, wretchedly. ‘I think I must. She stole my heart the instant I set eyes on her. But my love and the fact that she is Nathaniel Wylde’s daughter do not sit easily side by side. Whenever we are together there is this frightful thing between us that I cannot ignore. It lurks in my mind like some concealed enemy. But—dear God, I miss her. She haunts every hour of my life. Sometimes I wish I’d never met her—never set eyes on her—and then I contradict myself.’

  ‘If you truly love her, Stuart, love her enough, then you will have to accept her for who she is. Only when you cease to struggle against it will you know true happiness together.’

  ‘And how can either of us know that when she is under sentence of death? Without any legal representation, she will be found guilty and will hang. I cannot bear to think of her in that place and I shall endeavour to do all in my power to save her from death—whatever sacrifice I have to make. She is trying so hard to be strong, to be brave, to face her trial with fortitude. Her courage is remarkable, but deep inside she is terrified.’

  Stuart shook his head dejectedly and looked at his mother. ‘It is hardly an appropriate marriage, is it, Mother? Not the marriage you had in mind for me. I realise how disappointed you must be—that this is very difficult for you—but not for one moment did I mean to hurt you. You must understand that.’

  She smiled slowly and her lips trembled. ‘Give me time, Stuart. As well you know, I have always been less concerned by conventions than most. It is your happiness that is my chief concern. But one thing I do know—that I have learned from bitter experience—is that no one should be held responsible for the actions of their parents. However…’ she sighed, her eyes clouding over ‘…I have to say that I would find it easier to accept Cassandra had her father been someone other than Nathaniel Wylde.’

  Some women faced with a situation of the kind Stuart had just presented to Lady Marston would have reacted violently, refusing to meet a woman whose father might have been responsible for the death of a beloved son, but she was not like most women. Her upbringing had been harsh and she’d had to deal with many things during the years of Civil War—and one thing she had learned in the most cruel way was that children should not have to account for the sins of their parents.

  It was over thirty years ago, when Civil War had torn England apart, that her own father had raised a troop of horse to fight against the King. He had been a hard and brutal man throughout his life, utterly despised within the community in which he lived, but, being a dutiful daughter, she had never questioned this.

  She had adored him and would have done anything to gain his attention and his love, which had made her blind to the true nature of his character. But she had quickly come to learn of the brutal acts he committed under the cloak of war. Because of him, she had lost the man she loved and was to have married, the man whose family fought for King Charles and whom her father had had arrested and imprisoned—a family who had never forgiven him.

  It had left a well of hurt and bitterness inside her—made worse by the hatred her father had incited within the community in which they lived, which had become directed against herself and other members of her family. It was not eased until Stuart’s father, Lord Marston, had come along and she had fallen in love again.

  Alone, she thought a great deal about Cassandra Everson. No matter what she felt about her, she demanded attention and could not be ignored. Whatever the case, she was now her daughter-in-law. It would be unjust to presume she was equally at fault as her father. Moreover, Lady Marston had absolute confidence and trust in her son. He was no fool and it was unlikely he would be drawn to any woman unless she was worthy of his attention. Uninfluenced by emotions or personal prejudices, perhaps she should see for herself what kind of woman this wife of his was
.

  Cassandra became accustomed to spending her days consorting with murderers, rogues and thieves of all kinds, at the mercy of brutal and greedy turnkeys and malefactors alike. The days were long and passed in agonising slowness. She was deeply apprehensive. Tension was mounting and the clouds of suspicion hanging over her became heavier and more desperate by the day. Her trial loomed ever closer and her concern for her unborn child weighed heavy on her mind.

  She longed to unburden herself of the responsibility, wanting so very much to tell Stuart of her condition, to have him advise her of what to do, but she knew she must keep it to herself for the present. All her hopes were based on insufficient evidence being produced at her trial, so that whatever charges were against her would be dropped.

  If the worst should happen and she was found guilty and sentenced to hang, only then would she disclose her condition, hoping that in doing so her sentence would be postponed until after the birth of her child—which was usually the case for condemned women—after which time her sentence might be transmuted to one of transportation to Virginia or Maryland.

  Beyond the prison walls the sun disappeared behind a thick blanket of cloud in the west, the darkening patches of light penetrating the small, high windows, prompting more candles to be lit, when Cassandra’s visitor arrived. At first she thought it must be either the prison chaplain, who often visited her to preach and persuade her to repent of her sins and see the error of her ways, or Meredith, who might have managed to overcome her aversion to Newgate, but when the person came into view she saw it was neither.

  She saw a woman, quite tall and impressive, dressed from head to foot in black with a thin black veil covering her face. But Cassandra felt the piercing eyes behind that veil scrutinising her and she was sure they did not miss a detail.

  Clutching her shawl tightly about her, Cassandra watched the woman come closer. She attracted scant attention from the other prisoners as visitors of every class and distinction were regularly to be seen visiting relatives and friends in Newgate. Cassandra was glad she had worn one of the two dresses Meredith had provided, which, despite its plainness, was reasonably clean, although she realised she must still look a sorry sight with her lank hair, which she had managed to secure in a knot at the back of her neck, and her unwashed face.

  Stopping in front of her, the woman raised her veil to reveal her face. Cassandra’s heart lurched violently on recognition, for nothing could have prepared her for this meeting. Introductions were hardly necessary. Her visitor was too much like Stuart to be anyone other than his mother. He must have told her of their marriage after all. The two women’s eyes locked and Cassandra fought to keep the tension of this unexpected visit inside her.

  There was a pain in Lady Marston’s heart when she stood face to face with the daughter of the man who had played a part in Stephen’s death—Stuart’s wife. The beauty he had spoken of, revealed by the dim light, made the pain worse. For a brief instant she wanted to lash out at the lovely face, but she stiffened, reminding herself that she was not going to judge her because of who she was.

  There was an air of authority and vigour about Lady Marston’s face that inspired trust, but, suspecting what was passing through her mind, Cassandra held her head high, unyielding and proud, looking nothing like a supplicant whose brief rebellion when her father had been hanged had placed her in this unfortunate situation.

  Lady Marston was secretly intrigued by Cassandra. She felt a stirring of admiration and a good deal of curiosity as she held her steady gaze, which surprised her, for initially this woman’s relationship with her son had not suggested friendly feelings. A dawning light entered her eyes as she recognised something intractable and self-contained that secretly impressed her. After a long moment she spoke.

  ‘I had to come—to see for myself if my son’s wife is as he described. Despite your background, Stuart speaks highly of you. It would seem your father has brought you little but trouble and sadness.’

  ‘As he has to you,’ Cassandra answered stiffly.

  ‘Yes. Sadly, that is the case.’

  ‘Forgive me if I seem surprised, Lady Marston, but you are the last person I expected to visit me here. As you can see, it cannot be described as a hospitable establishment,’ she said, indicating her surroundings with disdain, knowing Lady Marston must find the stench appalling and the din deafening—with most of the commotion coming from a corner where a violent dispute had erupted over a game of cards.

  ‘I agree. But it is no different from what I expected,’ Lady Marston replied after taking no more that a cursory glance around her, her eyes holding an alertness and imperturbability. In fact, she seemed oblivious to it, which made Cassandra suspect that Lady Marston might fare better than herself in this place, that she would be well able to defend herself against the bullying and robbery that prevailed.

  ‘I realise you must be greatly shocked, Lady Marston, by what has happened—but I assure you it was not intentionally done. Please understand that when Stuart and I married we were ignorant of the tragedy that affected both our lives.’

  ‘Yes, he told me. He also told me it was probably not your father who sank the vessel carrying my son, but one of his cohorts. Whether it is true or false is neither here nor there. After all, he did attack the ship, so he had a hand in what happened. I cannot exonerate him from blame.’

  ‘No, I would not expect you to do that.’

  ‘I know how my son feels about you, Cassandra—but what of you? What were your feelings when you discovered that he was the one responsible for bringing your father to justice and ultimate execution?’ she asked, the steady gaze of her dark eyes compelling honesty.

  ‘Naturally, I was horrified. Indeed, after that, I truly believe I began to hate my father. But he was not always a pirate,’ she said quietly, even now finding it difficult not to offer some words in defence of the man she had adored for so long. ‘He was raised in the church and fought hard for the King during the Civil War. It was only when he became a fugitive and was captured by pirates himself that he forgot God and fell into a state of sin. I never meant to cause Stuart unhappiness, Lady Marston, but now I feel that he looks on me as his most bitter enemy.’

  Her words extracted a cynical smile from Lady Marston. ‘Give him time. He will revise his opinion. His hatred of Nathaniel Wylde is not as great as his love for you.’

  Her candid remark sent colour flooding to Cassandra’s face. ‘He—he said that? He told you that he loves me?’

  ‘He didn’t have to. It’s perfectly obvious.’

  Cassandra lowered her gaze. ‘Then he will resent it bitterly. I have caused him so much pain that he must rue the day he ever set eyes on me. I have little hope of a reprieve, Lady Marston, and in order to protect the good name of your family I have asked Stuart to keep his association with me secret.’

  ‘It’s too late for that. Since the entire crew of his ship knows of the marriage between the two of you, it won’t be long before those in high places are informed of it. Stuart knows that. He has many friends at the Admiralty. Ever since he learned of your arrest he has been seeking ways of getting you acquitted—and if the fact that you are his wife will help you, then he will not seek to conceal it.’

  Tears sprang to Cassandra’s eyes and her heart began to beat more quickly. ‘He—he would do that for me?’

  ‘Stuart loves you very much—more that you realise, perhaps.’

  ‘And more than I deserve,’ Cassandra said softly.

  Lady Marston’s dark, assessing eyes rested on the young woman a long time before she answered, nodding slightly, ‘Maybe. I don’t know you well enough to contradict you. But what I do know is that he would sell his soul to save you from having to suffer the same fate as your father. However, having been on the receiving end of his villainy, depriving me of my eldest son, he deserved his fate.’

  Hearing the sadness and bitterness in the tone of Lady Marston’s voice Cassandra lowered her eyes, unable to look on the hurt in
her eyes. ‘How you must despise me, Lady Marston—and—I cannot say that I blame you.’

  ‘I am the Dowager Lady Marston, Cassandra. You are Lady Marston now. It may surprise you to know that I do not despise you. I have not the right to judge you—for if I were to do that I would be apportioning blame, and I—more than most—accept that you cannot be blamed for what your father did. He was the sinner and he has been rightly punished. You loved him, didn’t you? Your father.’

  ‘Yes. But it would seem that I loved a man who did not exist.’

  Lady Marston nodded her head slowly, understanding more than Cassandra realised what lay behind that statement. ‘By his own actions he destroyed himself, and when he decided to make himself known to you—for whatever selfish reason and regardless of the damage he was doing to you and to your future—oh, yes,’ she said, when Cassandra looked at her sharply, ‘Stuart has told me everything about you that he knows. Your father, and your father alone, is responsible for this sorry situation you find yourself in.’

  Cassandra was touched by and also curious about her attitude, knowing instinctively that she was undeniably sincere in what she said. ‘Forgive me, Lady Marston, but I am quite bewildered.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. You see…not only am I astounded that you should come to visit me in this dreadful place, but I would have expected anger from you—hostility, even—certainly not understanding.’

  Lady Marston’s eyes narrowed and her voice became low when she next spoke, as memories she had tried hard not to recall came back to plague her. ‘Be assured that I was angry and bitterly disappointed in Stuart’s choice of wife. What mother, having suffered as I have, would not be? But the truth is that only a woman who has undergone a similar experience as yourself could understand what you are going through now.’

  ‘A-and you have?’ Cassandra ventured to ask.

  She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she answered stiffly.

  Suspecting that she had touched on a raw nerve, forcing her to recall something she would prefer to forget, Cassandra was immediately contrite. ‘Please forgive me. I—I did not mean to pry or to upset you.’