The Bones of Broken Songs: A Historical Mystery Romance (Mortalsong Trilogy Book 2)

by J. M. Stredwick

  The Bones of Broken Songs

  J.M. Stredwick

  Contents

  Gia

  Claire

  Benjamin

  Gia

  Alphonse

  Gia

  Claire

  Gia

  Alphonse

  Gia

  Claire

  Gia

  Benjamin

  Alphonse

  Gia

  Claire

  Benjamin

  Alphonse

  Gia

  Claire

  Benjamin

  Alphonse

  Gia

  About the Author

  Gia

  1708 Atlantic Ocean, Coast of the Americas

  The wind whips me. I draw my cream wool shawl close around my neck and shoulders, gripping its edges with numb fingers. My thin linen gown beats against my legs. The scotch color of the fabric flaps about like a tattered flag, a survivor of its own personal war. I cannot stop my mind from wandering to my affluent fiancé, waiting for me on his fertile plantation. Only a few weeks away. Does he know that the Roswell name carries no worth? Does he know that my father is the better player in this game? I bite my swollen bottom lip, wiping my face with fluttery hands.

  This morning, when the sky was half lit, I boarded this ship. I left my father’s house on his command, told him yes, that I would marry whomever he chose. I told mother I would be strong, that there was nothing in this world that could break me. I am who I am, just as they are. Pretenders, liars, a talented actress. I have had to be to live in their world of broken things and baseless goals. Those are the things I told them.

  “A Roswell of Sussex, that is who you are, that is what you are,” father told me once. “We have to carry on the family name.”

  It was not entirely a lie. My father was cast out of the family, his inheritance withdrawn for his rocky obsession with certain unsavory delights. By then mother had been committed, pregnant, and unable to leave. Father decided that he had no need for his family or their money, that he would make his own fortune in the New World. It was lucky for him that all the bankers and loan givers knew his family’s name. Thus, I am a plantation daughter. I have always lived on a tobacco farm that scarcely broke even every year. I know what it is to suffer and act as if everything is fine. That is what they did, and that is what I will do.

  “Miss Roswell?” it is the Captain, a man I take to be in his thirties. He is dark of hair with a sun-stained complexion, sensitive face, and proud smile. Troubadour- it is the impression I got of him as I first boarded when he nodded my way, hands submerged in his waistcoat pockets. His voice carries a strong French accent.

  I curtsy and rise.

  “Gianna, Sir. Though most call me Gia.”

  “It is nice to meet you Mademoiselle Roswell,” he clears his throat, “I bid you welcome to the Boswyn.”

  I shift so that I face him, this handsome Captain.

  “I thank you, Sir,” I offer, tensing slightly, giving him my best mature tone.

  “So, I assume you have found your quarters below deck? They are nothing extravagant, but they fit the job, so to speak.”

  “It’s lovely.”

  The small room my father paid for consists of a bunk and small wash table.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what is the purpose of your trip to Saint Domingue?”

  I stare at him, wondering if I should tell him that I am merely cargo; a trade for land. That my own plan, whatever I decide, will demolish whatever the intended purpose my father had in sending me off.

  “It’s not often that you see a young girl traveling alone,” he presses, his eyes bright with curiosity.

  “I have business in Port Au Prince,” I admit to him with a small smile, feigning as if I am innocent. I do not want to tell him that there is a man waiting for me there. I am still feeling out my options, the opportunities I might take instead. I shiver at the uncertainty of my direction.

  “Port au Prince?” he laughs and draws out a pipe. “What in the devil does a good girl like you have down there?”

  The sun is still white yellow, and its light illuminates his features. The wind tousles us about, something like I have never felt before. But maybe I’ve longed for the careless claws to rake across me forever, to see the unending blackish green rolls of ocean glittering ahead. It reminds me of lawlessness and limitlessness. Something I have never known. I breathe deeply and laugh alongside him.

  “A good girl?” I repeat. “Can you be nice and have business there? Perhaps you judge me wrong, Sir.”

  He packs his tobacco neatly and brings out a match, lights the tip, and breathes in. The effect is calming on him and me both. There is a crisp smirk bridging on his mouth.

  “Listen,” he sighs out white curling smoke that swallows me up. “Dine with me tonight. It won’t be just us, of course, but you’ll be amongst a few friends of mine. I’d never ask you there alone. I am not that…sort of man.”

  I feel my brows knit low and tilt my head, watching him as he stares off bravely into the horizon.

  “I feel that we have much to learn of one another,” he adds.

  I nod. I know that he looked me over when I arrived. All men do. I’m not the most magical of women but I have a certain presence, or so I have been told. I have dark hair that leans in waves and tumbles down my back. When people look at me they see an innocent girl with thick lips and crème skin; honey eyes that watch and wait. I have pruned myself, on account of my parentage and my own sport, so that I am prettier than I might have been if I did not care. I oil my skin, use rouge on my lips and cheeks, let unruly curls down to frame my face. Not like proper girls. I was not raised to look away from a man in conversation and neither was I one of those mournful girls with iron undergarments. I know the world and how it works. Even the parts we pretend don’t exist.

  “We will be in close quarters for almost a month,” I tease. “I suppose we should get to know one another.”

  He glances at me and his face is stone set. There is no more amusement for me there. He nods, thoughts in space as if something I said has troubled him deeply.

  “I will send one of my deckhands to you tonight.”

  He bows, and I curtsey. He goes to tend to his ship.

  I am left to ponder the fading image of a life I had once lived, a lady of Maryland. A fake rich girl pawned to a rich man. A girl with the world at her feet and the chance to seize it.

  I follow a boy that leads me to the upper deck. There are windows that herald the Captain’s apartments, and candlelight flickers as figures move beyond the glass. The boy gives me entrance and I drink in the picture before me. I feel the blackening skies cool wind jostling at my back, pulling me like cold fingers, and as I draw forward, I find warmth.

  They are seated at a small mahogany table, swaying from the ship and good wine. It is the Captain, a woman, and a beefy man. They sit as friends do, close and delighted by one another’s presence. The woman is beautiful; the kind of woman who will never even in old age lose her prettiness.

  “Welcome!” the Captain rises from his seat, his chair butting out behind him. “Come. We’ve a seat for you here.”

  “This is Mademoiselle Gianna Roswell. Our passenger,” he introduces me with a flourish of his hand.

  The blonde woman looks at me with wide, coolly struck eyes. She gives me a curl of a smile and nods her head.

  “It is a pleasure. You may call me Claire,” she tells me.

  Her voice is warme
r than her expression and she shares the same soft French accent that the Captain has. I think that they must be from the same place, they must share a life together at sea. Though, there is not much heat between them. I notice that he seats himself beside me and she pays him no mind. Usually women care if their husband of sorts sits next to a younger woman. Their eyes throw knives and jealousy gels them down. She is not a normal woman, not like any I have known.

  “All right,” I agree. “Claire. Captain Alphonse…and you are?”

  I direct the question to the heavyset man.

  “John Dales, Milady,” he bows his head. “I’ll be happy to assist you during your time here. You need only ask.”

  I smile. Is he kind or does he want something?

  “We are glad that you made it. I was worried I had scared you off,” Captain Alphonse says briskly. “My friends didn’t believe that we were to be ferrying a lone young woman. No less a colonial into French territory.”

  I do not know what to say. Is it that outlandish? Perhaps things are done differently in the colonies. Perhaps it is the way I was raised. I’ve never been afraid or meek like other girls of high breeding, and that could be because I was born to pretenders. I don’t really mind them seeing me in this way, not now. I’d rather them think me innocent than grab hints of my true nature. It is always good for people to underestimate what you are.

  “Yes, I am thankful I have you all here to keep me company,” I tell them, allowing my eyes to flit between them all.

  I can hear the waves outside the window slapping against the wood. I am not sure how far we’ve gone yet but there is no sight of land. Only dark water and the refracted illumination of the moon to show the Captain the way.

  They go about their meals and drink more dark wine. I am served a nice thick stew and I eat most of it, knowing that I will be hungry much of my time here. Father was not generous in his preparations for me, knowing that I would manage it as I always have. When our glittering plates and forks are taken away Captain Alphonse leans back in his chair, reveling in the silence.

  Then a bit of torchlight catches us all by surprise, flickering outside the glass panes.

  The Captain makes a noise of annoyed distress.

  “It’ll be a rowdy one tonight…” he blows out a breath and I catch him glancing my way to catch my response.

  I do not know what he means by this, but soon after he says this I hear the ripping of a violin and the thumping of a drum. I smile when I hear it. I have always adored music, the way it teases your senses and gives life to dull people. All the times I have enjoyed small gatherings or parties I have gotten myself into trouble with men. Young men, old men…I simply like the play of it all. Mother found me humorous, thinking that I would find myself someone worth the time, someone to take care of me. But that was not my motivation. Not in the least.

  Ah, but music and sex. It seems that it should always go together.

  “What do you mean?” I ask him.

  “The men,” Claire nudges her head off towards the sailors amassing outside on the upper deck. “They like to fight for sport when they drink and listen to their music.”

  I sigh. I did not come here to befriend these people. I came to do as my father wanted. To secure him his loans and money to pay them, to keep Mother in her home of feigned wealth. But, if one were to look harder at the surface, they would see that the structure is crumbling, one servant when there should be no less than ten, and scraps for food. I wonder if they can see this in me, if my poorness stains me like smoke stains walls. Why should I care? They’ll drop me off in Port Au Prince and I will do as I decide in the moment. Whether that will be to arrive at my betrothed’s doorstep or work as a tavern wench until I can make up my own coin, I will decide when the time comes.

  “I see,” I say.

  “I have to let them have this,” he says as if it is a disgrace but he must allow it to pass. “It can get a bit funny at sea…doing the same things day after day…sometimes your mind begins to unravel.”

  “Be it the heat or the lack of sleep,” John Dales pipes in. “We have to keep ourselves occupied somehow!”

  Claire smirks at him and traces her bottom lip with her thumb and forefinger.

  “I understand,” I nod, and rise from my seat. “I thank you for the food. I’ll take my leave.”

  “Giselle!” I hear Claire’s powerful voice and I glance over my shoulder to assess who she is speaking to. I’d not seen another woman about. Perhaps she forgot my name. Her eyes find mine, and they rest there. Content. I grant her one perplexed frown. Giselle. Something about the name echoes deep in my chest, a soft nuzzling against my heart. The wine, I think, perhaps it has kindled my insanity. The wine and the ocean.

  “Gianna,” the Captain reminds her gruffly.

  “Gia,” I remind him.

  Claire lays an embarrassed palm over her lips and then leans forth, expressive.

  “My apologies. Oh, stay will you?” she says. “I’ve no female company for a time. It’s been enjoyable.”

  Her words clutch me like a vice, so steady and so pungent that I feel spasms of joy from the simple words. I have no penchant for friends, but one like her…it may bring me closer to what I want.

  I can see the mirth rising in the men around her. Satisfaction pulls at her upper lip, and the Captain chuckles. His first mate wheezes. They resume their activities, smoking and drinking. I am sure it will be late into the night before they leave for their cold beds, and I long to be one of them, sitting and conversing the most controversial topics till the dawn comes. It is extraordinary.

  They lead me outside to stand amongst the gathering of men. I receive a few exploratory glances and I do my best not to give them too friendly of smiles. This I struggle with. They always think me flirting.

  The crowds are overflowing with laughter and, as Claire said, it’s a breeding ground for a wrestling match. I jump, distressed as the first punch between sailors is thrown. I watch with horror and a spasm of delight. Claire laughs hysterically, her soft mouth wide, exposing a lane of fine teeth. She pats Alphonse’s chest for him to look, and he makes a smart comment about the young ones being wild.

  “What do you think, eh?” John Dales says over the raucous din, “I s’pose you don’t see much of this where you came from?”

  “Not much,” I laugh, half caught between discomfort and ecstasy.

  The men yell and laugh, heated with wine, rum, and tobacco. I smell it on the night air as it’s passed between the closeness of their bodies.

  “It must be quite the shock to enter such a crowd?” Alphonse asks me.

  “A shock, yes!” I shout over the grappling brawl. “Will you think me terrible if I say that I am enjoying myself?”

  “Not at all,” Claire snickers.

  “I assure you that a fight or two is normal. I was expecting one to break out sooner or later,” the young Captain smiles. “Though I did not think you’d be round to witness the devils that dance in the dark.”

  During the night the younger sailors pillage John Dales stern regard and pull him into a brawl. I keep my wits about me, standing at the edge of the thrall, listening to the Captain and Claire converse so easily and freely that I feel a bit of envy coming on.

  “John, I hope you don’t presume to damage all the young ones, they’re the most fun!”

  Claire stands and sips pleasantly upon her wine, then reaches across Alphonse to grab his bottle of harsh liquor, a one that he had produced from his chambers and brought out for us.

  She takes a manly swig, then pours a slosh of it into my cup.

  “Don’t drown the poor girl!”

  I can see that he is secretly amused, and I watch as a gravitating smirk trembles on his lips. I wonder what he wants. I think that there must be something between them, but there is nothing I can grasp. Claire is as happy and carefree as…what does she remind me of? A bird? Not a bird, she is far stronger than that. A dragon; a mythical creature with prowess and freedom to b
e.

  I won’t disappoint her. I swallow acrid mouthfuls of the stuff, choking on it.

  “That’s awful!”

  “You never have had a taste of it?” Alphonse smiles boyishly.

  “Erm,” I think back to the parties, “No.”

  “Claire take care, she’s never had a taste of the brew,” he spews, and she pays him no heed.

  She has begun to dance to a new song as it spills out of the musician and his instrument. I can tell that the men love when she dances. I imagine this is a common thing, goading the pretty blonde woman to dance before them all. I think that she delights in it as well. Maybe as much as I would.

  “All the more reason to introduce her to it!” her grin is crammed with lazy triumph.

  As the moments pass, I feel the headiness of it, my limbs tingle and my mouth is numb. I feel weightless and carefree. This may be my last opportunity to enjoy my singleness, and I will not ignore it. My future is so uncertain.

  I watch as Claire dances with many of the sailors, and she waves me to accompany her. Inside I feel euphoric spasms burning me like hot pokers. I have always wanted to be free like the ocean, rocking as carefree as the waves; undulating and full of chaotic, unformed, universal, freedom. I walk towards the dancers. The men eye me with full attention, some mischievous, some gauging me to see how prude I am. I give them an encouraging smile.

  I see Claire’s satisfied smirk, and a young man with a rough disposition takes my hand, and we skyrocket into a terrible dance. The world spins again with my twirling, and I feel as intoxicated as I ever could be, by alcohol and freedom.

  Claire