He pulled open the door and shoved me inside. “Now stay there until I give you leave to go on deck!”
His words were accompanied by a tremendous boom. I fell as the ship lurched over and the gundeck and cabin filled with acrid, stinking smoke. He slammed the door. I crawled to the cot and pulled myself onto it, tears streaming down my face yet again.
Klara sat in the far corner, as far away from the door and rest of the ship as possible, clutching her knees, terrified.
“Pirates,” I told her. “They’re pirates.”
She nodded, put her head on her knees, and hugged herself.
Chapter 5
Things quietened maybe half an hour after I’d found out the truth about my hosts, but that half hour had been the most terrifying of my life.
We’d sat and listened to gunshots and screams; fallen when our ship bumped into the other; coughed when the cabin flooded with gunsmoke; and stayed together silent and unmoving when the other hull cut out most of our light. We could do nothing but pray for it to be over.
Now that it was, I didn’t know what to say or do. I went to the privy ledge outside, but didn’t use it as I’d be in full view of the other ship now sailing along to one side and just behind us.
A knock at the door startled me, and I came back into the cabin as Klara opened it. Three men stood there. Two held plates of meat and beakers of rum punch—our dinner—and Klara took the plates from them. The third I hadn’t met before. He was clean-shaven and dressed differently to the others—oh, he had on shirt and breeches, as did the rest of the crew, but he also wore leather boots, a frockcoat and sported a neat curled periwig. He looked almost respectable, although the way his eyes flicked over my bodice was anything but.
“Good evening, Mistress Berryngton.” He bowed. “I’m Henry Sharpe.”
“Good evening,” I replied. “Where’s the other one, Cheval?”
He looked a little taken aback, but recovered without any loss of manners. “He’s taken the helm of our prize, sailing alongside.” My jaw clenched at the casual way he talked about the other ship. “Mijnheer van Ecken is also aboard and has charged me with your care. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
I nodded, his manners shaming me into remembering my own. “Thank you, Mr. Sharpe,” I managed. “Um, there is one thing.” I paused, embarrassed, but had to ask. “Is it possible to have a chamber pot? I cannot use the privy ledge with that ship so close.”
He smiled but didn’t laugh. “Of course, I will see to it for you. Forgive me, I should have thought about that.”
I smiled, still embarrassed, and the pirates took their leave. I crossed to the table where Klara had arranged the food, and sighed. Every meal so far had been the same: meat, meat and more meat; although this time we had a treat—an onion. Raw and whole, but still, something other than meat. I supposed the sailors ate like this every day. I picked mine up and bit into it, enjoying the sharp taste flooding my mouth.
“What meat is it this time?” I asked Klara.
She took a bite and smiled. “Goat,” she replied.
“Goat?” I asked. I hadn’t eaten goat before. “What’s it like?”
“Try it,” she urged. “It’s delicious, watch out for the bones though, their cook is no butcher.” She pulled a sliver of bone from her mouth to demonstrate.
I sat and picked up my knife, stabbing a slice of meat. Dark-yellow fat was already congealing on the plate and my stomach turned, but I was hungry. I put the meat in my mouth and chewed. Klara was right, it was full of flavor, and I stabbed another piece.
I sat back, replete, my plate empty, and watched Klara clear the table. She’d definitely grown a little friendlier after the events of the day, but not much.
I took a sip of rum punch and someone knocked on the door again: Henry Sharpe holding a bucket, which Klara took without a word, then handed him the plates. He passed them to another man behind him then cleared his throat. “Ah, my apologies once more, Mistress Berryngton, but the Captain, ah, would like to see Klara immediately.”
I heard Klara’s gasp and my shoulders stiffened.
“My own apologies, Mr. Sharpe, but I require Klara’s services myself this evening. I regret I am unable to comply with Captain Hornigold’s request.” My voice sounded firm enough, but inside I felt liquid.
He gave a small smile and nodded. “Very well.” He left.
I let my breath out in a sigh—I hadn’t realized I’d been holding it—then slumped against the wall and looked at Klara, who was staring back at me.
“Can you pass me that bucket, please?” I’d been holding it in all day, and really needed to relieve myself, especially after that.
“Th . . . thank you,” Klara stuttered as she passed it to me.
“If I’d known last night—” I couldn’t continue, but she understood, nodded, and turned her back as I used the bucket. When I’d finished, she took it and threw the contents over the rail of the privy ledge.
Another knock at the door; this one heavy and insistent. Klara and I looked at each other, then I shook my head and opened the door myself. The captain stood there, his face red with anger, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his black bushy eyebrows. He looked at me, then over my shoulder at Klara, then back to me. I noticed Sharpe standing behind him.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked, his voice loud.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked, pretending confusion.
“I have requested Klara’s company this evening.”
“I beg your pardon,” I said again, “but I require Klara’s services myself this evening.”
“Why?”
I stepped back, for some reason I hadn’t expected to be challenged. I thought quickly and held onto the door; my legs felt weak and I wasn’t completely sure they could hold me up on their own. “I need her to prepare my bath.”
“Bath?” This is a working ship, not a traveling inn,” the captain said, his voice full of scorn.
“I am aware of that, Captain, but I’m on my way to meet my future husband and I’d like to bathe.” I knew I had to stay calm, but it was an effort.
“I could cut down one of the hogsheads for her,” Sharpe said from behind Hornigold. “That may work as a bathtub.” Hornigold turned and glared at him, and I was interested to see him take a breath to calm himself. Sharpe was unaffected by his anger.
“You sort it then,” Hornigold snapped. “And get one of the deckhands to fetch warm water from the galley.” He turned back to me, calm now. “It’s all organized, my crew will arrange your bath, Klara is not needed.”
“I’m not having any of your filthy crew in my cabin!” I retorted. “They can leave the buckets of water outside the door, and Klara will take it from there. I’ll also need her to help with my dressing. I cannot possibly spare her at all tonight.” I looked him in the eye and refused to blink or let my gaze drift up to those eyebrows. I noticed Sharpe wink at me from behind him and felt myself blush, but I didn’t back down.
“Klara is my slave, and is here to attend to me,” I continued. “I am sure my fiancé will be very interested to hear all the details of my journey.”
Hornigold clenched his fists and made a noise like a growl, then spun round and strode away. Sharpe smiled at me and followed. I closed the door in relief, then sighed. I was shaking and felt faint, but was cheered by the flicker of a smile from Klara. Why couldn’t I have stood up to Father like that? Why did Mam not resist Father like that?
My return smile dissolved into giggles that I couldn’t stop, and Klara soon joined in. I’d been terrified defying the captain—a pirate—like that and had expected a blow. Who’d have guessed a villain would stay his fist where Father would not? Eventually, my relieved hysteria subsided, and I sat on the cot to wait for the bathtub and water. I had to focus on the future and not the past if I was to survive this.
“This worked tonight, but we need to find more reasons why I can’t spare you,” I said.
Klara looked up, then smiled and crossed to the cot. She knelt down and reached underneath it, then pulled out a chest I hadn’t realized was there. I moved out of her way as she opened the lid and looked inside at lace, ribbons and a parcel of white silk.
She lifted out the silk, and said, “We have to make your wedding gown. It could be a lengthy task.”
I stared at the material, feeling numb as it finally sank in that I was to marry into this life, and Mam would not be there to guide me.
Chapter 6
Mr. van Ecken summoned me, and I left Klara packing my chest and joined him and Captain Hornigold on the deck at the back of the ship above the cabin. I looked shoreward. There it was—Sayba. We’d entered a small bay, bathed in sunshine, around which a town huddled.
“Eckerstad,” Mr. van Ecken said with pride. Klara had been tight-lipped about my fiancé, Erik, but she had told me about the town. Eckerstad had been founded by the man beside me—Jan van Ecken—and he was also Governor. It was the only town on the island, and Jan and Erik lived in the largest estate—my new family was the most important in Sayba.
Captain Hornigold shouted, “Let go anchor!” and a man on the foredeck swung a large mallet. The anchor, which had been suspended on a wooden frame to the side of the bow, dropped with a tremendous splash. The ship slowed and swung round until the anchor warp jerked tight and we were held in place.
“Ready the longboat!”
It was time to go and van Ecken led me to the side of the ship and that carrying seat suspended from the spars above. I didn’t protest this time but sat in silence, drenched with sweat in the heat, as I was lowered to the small boat already loaded with our chests. Van Ecken then Klara followed and we were rowed ashore.
A short, heavy, red-faced man with a basic open carriage was waiting for us. My fiancé?
“Rensink,” van Ecken gruffly greeted. “Where’s my son?”
Not Erik then. I sighed in relief.
“He sends his apologies for not meeting you in person, there was an important matter that needed his attention.”
“Hmpf!” Mr. van Ecken did not seem pleased. “May I present Mistress Berryngton? This is Rensink, Brisingamen’s overseer,” he introduced. “Erik should be here his wife to greet,” he continued.
I stayed silent—I’d already learned it was the best tactic where Jan van Ecken was concerned.
We climbed aboard the carriage; van Ecken sitting up front with Rensink, who took the reins of the single horse. Klara and I sat behind and the chests were lifted up into the bed of the cart. We left with no farewells to the sailors who’d brought us here.
*
We were soon surrounded by jungle and I gazed about me at every shade of green imaginable and every description of bloom: red spikes, soft yellows, blues, pinks and more. The air was flooded with scent and filled with noise, and the heat made me feel faint—it could not have been more different from Massachusetts Bay.
After half an hour the trees thinned out and we drove through sugarcane fields. I noticed something to one side, and peered closer, then faced Klara to ask about it. Her head was turned and she refused to look or answer. I turned back, fascinated, until the shape of it started to make sense. A cage—just large enough to hold a man—and suspended from one of the larger trees. We drew level and I gasped when I saw the base was littered with bones.
“The slaves may have the strength of beasts, but they also have the minds of beasts.” Van Ecken had turned in his seat to address me. “They need sometimes reminding who their masters are.”
I stared at him in shock, unable to find any words, and he turned to face forward again.
“Here we are—Brisingamen,” he said a few moments later and with obvious pride. I craned my neck to see past him and Rensink to catch my first glimpse of my new home.
It was very large: two stories painted gold, with a steep roof and a short, squat tower at either end. A broad veranda ran the length of the front and overlooked a large lawn. It made Father’s cottage in Massachusetts Bay look like a shack. I smiled, although I couldn’t quite shake the image of that cage from my mind.
Chapter 7
I followed Mr. van Ecken through the largest of the seven arches framing the veranda into a large entrance hall in the center of the house. Dominated by a grand staircase straight ahead and with the walls painted white so as not to clash with the black-and-white tiled floor, it was an ostentatious display of the van Eckens’ wealth. I could see only two doors, one to the left, the other to my right, and I jumped when two men dressed in indigo livery with gold braiding appeared out of the shadows behind the staircase.
“Hans, Hendrik, get the chests from the carriage,” van Ecken ordered. They both nodded once and gave us a wide berth as they walked outside. I smiled as they passed me, but neither met my eyes.
I glanced at Klara, but she also kept her eyes to the floor.
“In here,” van Ecken said, marching to the left-hand door and opening it. I walked through into a large, airy drawing room. Decorated in gold-flock wallpaper, it had three large settees and a number of small carved tables.
A large oil painting of a formidable-looking woman dressed in black dominated the walls, and she looked across the room toward the veranda and outside. I crossed to the veranda doors and looked out at the large expanse of garden in front of the house, and wondered what there would be to do here.
Raised voices disturbed my thoughts, but I couldn’t understand what was being said. I watched two men leave the house; they looked quite similar in that they both had broad shoulders and bowed legs; just like the sailors on the ship. They also wore the same clothes—linen shirts and short, baggy breeches, but these two had added all sorts of finery to the basic outfit. Good quality leather boots on their feet, colorful sashes around their waists, and the brightest, most heavily decorated frockcoats I’d ever seen. One was in cochineal red with lace at the cuffs and collar, braiding around every hem and seam, embroidery in between, plus large brass buttons.
The other wore bright yellow over an emerald green sash with similar fripperies. They had clashing silk scarves over their heads, and large-brimmed hats on top. I’d never set eyes on such gaudy gentlemen in my life, and I giggled to myself, imagining the reactions if they walked into the puritan Massachusetts Bay Colony dressed like that.
Hans and Hendrik appeared leading a couple of horses for them, but I turned as the door to the room opened and didn’t see them leave.
Mr. van Ecken entered ahead of a younger man. Erik? They didn’t acknowledge me at first, but continued arguing in a language I didn’t understand. I looked from one to the other as they quarreled, wondering what they were saying and feeling very uncomfortable.
The younger man—presumably my husband-to-be—looked presentable enough. About my height, he wore a tightly curled periwig—the yellow of which clashed with his dark, exaggerated mustaches. He’d dressed with care, his clothes of obvious quality. Although the gold buckles on his shoes are overdoing it a bit. I looked back at his face—his lips were thin and eyes cold. There was very little expression on that face, and I shuddered a little. He didn’t look like a man who smiled very often.
“This is her,” the elder van Ecken finally said in English. “Gabriella Berryngton.”
I stepped forward. “Pleased to meet you.”
He looked me up and down, then said something else to his father that I couldn’t understand. It did not sound complimentary. He stepped toward me, bowed stiffly and took my hand to kiss.
“Welcome,” he said, coldly. “I’m Erik van Ecken. The wedding is planned for next month so you have time to prepare. There’ll be five extra for dinner—tell Belinda and organize the menu. I have work to do.” He left the room.
I looked at the father. “Belinda?” I asked.
“You haven’t met Belinda yet?” He sounded angry. “What is that bloody girl thinking?” He marched to the door and shouted for Klara. I flinched. When did he think Klara had had chance to intro
duce me to anyone? Why hadn’t he made any introductions himself? He hadn’t even introduced his son—I’d been forced to guess that was who he was.
I realized then what Erik had said. The wedding’s arranged for next month. Did they make the arrangements before finding a bride?
My thoughts were interrupted by Klara’s entrance. I noticed she gave Jan a wide berth.
“About time, girl! Your mistress hasn’t been introduced to Belinda yet—see to it! She has a dinner party to plan, apparently our nautical friends are joining us.” He marched out and Klara and I looked at each other in amazement.
“He doesn’t seem to like these ‘nautical friends’,” I remarked.
“With good reason,” muttered Klara. “I’ll fetch Belinda,” she continued before I could ask what she meant.
Chapter 8
I lay my head against the edge of the bathtub and sighed. Klara looked up from her unpacking and giggled. “You’ve had a bath nearly every day that I’ve known you. I’m surprised you don’t wash away!”
“I know.” I laughed with her. “I hated them at home, barely had one a month, but it was the only way I could think of to keep you out of Hornigold’s cabin—there’s only so much sewing I can do in a day. They must have thought me mad!” Klara stopped smiling and put her head down. “And it’s so hot here, I’m going to need one every day just to cool down,” I carried on, trying to rescue the mood.
Klara looked up at me again. “Thank you,” she said. “He’d have carried on taking me every night if you hadn’t stopped him.”
“I’m sorry about that first night, I didn’t understand—” I tailed off again, not knowing what to say. Klara stayed silent. I hoped I hadn’t spoilt the tentative friendship growing between us.
She shut the lid of my chest, which had been placed at the foot of the ornate four-poster bed. There hadn’t been much to do; I’d found a full wardrobe of gowns through a door off my room—all of them of much better quality than even my best. Mine would stay in the chest.
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