The Condemned (Echoes from the Past Book 6)

by Shapiro, Irina

  Several hours later, Mary lay down next to Beth, making sure she didn’t put any pressure on the throbbing bruise on her left cheek. Uncle Swithin had hit her hard when she tripped in her fatigue and spilled a cup of ale, and she was sure she’d still be paying for her clumsiness tomorrow. Mary wanted nothing more than to lose herself in sleep, but the conversation she’d overheard earlier echoed in her mind. At first, she’d had no idea what the two men were talking about, but then recalled a sermon preached at church a few weeks ago. The sermon itself had been unremarkable, but Reverend Gorman had made a surprising announcement at the end. It seemed the Virginia Company of London was seeking young, unmarried women of good character to venture to the New World as wives for the colonists. Those who were willing wouldn’t have to pay for their passage or worry about finding themselves unwanted upon arriving in Virginia. There were hundreds of men and only a handful of women.

  Any woman, no matter how homely or coarse in her manner, would be in demand as long as she was willing to work hard and procreate regularly to help populate the colony. Reverend Gorman had made it sound as if it were a patriotic duty to rescue those men from their loneliness, but Mary knew better. Everything in life revolved around profit, and the Virginia Company wouldn’t be paying for a sea voyage for dozens of women if there were no gain in it for them.

  Mary jerked away from Beth as an elbow struck her in the chest. What she wouldn’t give for her own bed, no matter how hard and narrow. It was a luxury she could never hope to have, unless she was still there after the girls married and left her alone with Uncle Swithin.

  Mary stared at the whitewashed ceiling and considered the question of profit. She didn’t care a jot about the Virginia Company, but there was gain for the women, if they survived the voyage and were paired up with decent, Godfearing men. The bachelors of Virginia were men of property, according to the reverend. They farmed their own land and had the potential to expand their holdings if they were valuable to the company. There is land aplenty in the New World, and danger as well, Mary mused. She’d heard tales of savages who went around half-naked and were no better than the wild beasts they hunted with their spears and arrows.

  She’d heard of an Englishman who married a native and brought her to England to meet the king. Mary mouthed the woman’s name in the dark. Pocahontas. How honored she must have felt to see civilization with her own eyes and meet His Majesty. What tales had she brought back to her people, who likely couldn’t even begin to imagine the bustling cities and busy ports of England?

  As she grew drowsy, Mary wondered what it was like in Virginia. Was going out to the New World a golden opportunity or a death sentence? The scariest thing of all, probably deadlier than the savages, was the sickness that had carried off so many since the land was first colonized. The Virginia Company needed women to anchor the men and bear the next generation of colonists, who’d be accustomed to the unfamiliar climate and conditions, but first the newly wedded couples had to survive.

  Mary woke before dawn. Her cheek was swollen, and her head hurt from the blow she’d received last night. It was time to get up and begin her endless day, another day in which the best thing she could hope for was not to be abused. She pulled on her soiled skirt and bodice over her threadbare shift, stuck her feet into well-worn shoes, and twisted her braid into a coil before securing it with a comb. Her lovely comb was the only thing she had of any value. The thing itself was worthless, but Mary treasured it as if it were made of solid gold. Her parents had bought her that comb at a fair when she was ten, and she’d worn it every day since, using it to hold her heavy hair in place.

  Mary pulled on her linen cap and reached for her cloak. It had been her mother’s and the wool was worn so thin you could see through it in some places, but it was the only garment she had aside from the clothes she was wearing. The cloak wasn’t nearly warm enough, but it was a barrier between her and the bitter wind that blew off the sea, tugging at her skirts and gripping her bare legs with its icy fingers.

  Mary fingered the rough wool of the cloak. Would she never own anything new? Uncle Swithin had allowed her to take one of Agnes’s dresses, since her own had been too short and coming apart at the seams, but the rest of Agnes’s things had been passed to her daughters, who wore simple garments cut from the fabric of her gowns. Agnes had owned a few trinkets as well, but Mary hadn’t been interested in those—not that they were on offer. Trinkets wouldn’t keep her warm, and on days when she shivered as she went to fetch the water or buy some fish from the incoming boats, she wished for nothing more than a shawl or a pair of woolen hose.

  Mary wrapped the cloak into a tight bundle and stuffed it beneath her skirt. She couldn’t allow Uncle Swithin to see it or he’d know she meant to go out without permission. She grabbed the water bucket and headed out the door, but left the bucket by the well and hurried toward the dock where the Lady Grace was gently bobbing at her wharf. The ship was a beehive of activity as the crew prepared for departure. Mary wasn’t sure when the tide would go out, but Captain Robeson had said they’d be leaving today.

  A burly sailor blocked Mary’s path. “What ye want here, girl?”

  “I wish to see Captain Robeson or Master Harrington.”

  “And what’d ye want with them?”

  “I want to go to Virginia,” she replied, raising her chin defiantly.

  “What, yer husband popped ye one and now ye want to run away?” The sailor was studying her purpling bruise.

  “I’m not married. Now, let me through.”

  “All right,” the sailor grumbled. “But ye’d best not be lying.”

  “What’s the problem, Master Rudd?” Master Harrington asked as he strode toward them. “Who’s this woman?”

  “Says she wants to go to Virginia, sir,” the sailor replied and backed away before he could get into trouble for allowing Mary aboard.

  “Is that true?” Master Harrington asked as he studied her. In the light of day, he looked less intimidating than he had in the shadowy dooryard behind the tavern, but he wasn’t a handsome man. His face was craggy from years spent outdoors and his tall frame bordered on gaunt, his limbs long and thin. He reminded Mary of a grasshopper, and the image nearly made her smile.

  “Yes, sir. I overheard you at The Anchor last night. You said you had room for three more women.”

  Master Harrington’s eyes narrowed as he tried to place her. “You served us at the tavern?”

  “I did, sir.”

  He looked at her more closely, as though assessing her as a possible bride. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty, sir.”

  “And you’re not married?”

  “No, sir. My uncle wouldn’t permit me to wed, on account of needing me to work at the tavern.”

  “Your uncle is the owner of The Anchor?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A brute if I ever saw one. He give you that shiner?” Master Harrington asked sympathetically.

  “Yes, sir. I spilled a cup of ale.”

  “What’s your name, then?” he asked, his tone friendlier now. There was something in his bearing that suggested he was an honorable man, but then again, she probably wouldn’t know an honorable man if she fell over one. She’d never met anyone who was worthy of the description.

  “Mary. Mary Wilby.”

  “All right, Mistress Wilby. Follow me.”

  Master Harrington directed her toward narrow steps that descended below decks. It took a moment for Mary’s vision to adjust to the dim passage after the bright light of the spring morning. but then her surroundings came into view. Directly opposite the steps was a good-sized cabin. Through the open door she saw a bed hung with red velvet curtains, a desk littered with maps and objects she didn’t recognize, a hard-back chair, and a sturdy chest on which several books were stacked. A row of casement windows lined the back wall, but little light filtered through the thick glass. The cabin had to belong to the captain, Mary decided, since it was so luxurious. There were two
other doors, one on each side of the cabin, but they were firmly closed.

  Behind the stairs, a narrow opening served as a doorway. Master Harrington stopped, blocking Mary’s view of what lay beyond.

  “Mistress Wilby, you will address all your concerns to me, should you have any. You are not to speak directly to the captain or engage with any members of the crew. Sailors are a rough lot, as I’m sure you know from working at The Anchor. They know they’ll get flogged if they so much as lay a finger on any of you, but they’ll still try. They are also superstitious, and they don’t hold with women aboard a ship. They’ll blame you for anything that goes wrong and demand the captain throw you overboard should any trouble befall us on our voyage.”

  Master Harrington sighed warily and continued. “You are not to go down into the hold. Ever.”

  “What’s down there?” Mary asked.

  “The sailors are quartered in one part of the hold, and the other areas are used for storing cargo and housing the animals we bring to Virginia.”

  “Why would you bring animals?”

  The question seemed to take Master Harrington by surprise, but he seemed amused by her curiosity. “The settlers rely on ships from England to bring them basic goods and domestic animals since neither can be purchased locally.”

  Mary gaped at the quartermaster, amazed that things as basic as cows or cooking pots weren’t to be easily obtained if one had the coin to buy them. Try as she might, she couldn’t imagine a place that was so different from England. She felt a twinge of doubt, but the thought of returning to the tavern quickly quelled her apprehension and she nodded as if the answer made perfect sense.

  The quartermaster bowed his head to avoid hitting it before entering the low doorway and waited for her to follow him inside. Beyond the doorway was an open space with a wooden grille set in the ceiling, the only source of light and air. The space was small and bare, with not so much as a bench to sit on. Two slop buckets stood in a corner.

  Mary looked at the women who occupied the room, hoping they’d be friendly. The women sat on the floor, their backs against the walls, their bundles of personal belongings next to them. Mary would expect anyone who was about to embark on such a momentous journey to be chattering like magpies, but the women sat in silence, their eyes filled with apprehension and doubt as they took in the newcomer.

  “You will sleep here,” Master Harrington said to Mary, then turned to address the rest of the women. “We will be casting off within the hour. This area will be your home for the duration of the voyage. The buckets are for your personal needs and you are responsible for emptying them. You can take turns. You may come up on deck in pairs for half an hour each day. One pair at a time. You are not to get in the way of the sailors, nor are you to speak to them or engage with them in any way. If instructed to go down below, you are to obey without question. Be warned, if you break the captain’s rules, you will be punished.”

  “How long is the voyage, sir?” one of the women asked.

  “If the weather cooperates, about two months,” Master Harrington replied. “At this time of year there could still be gales, but we’re not likely to hit the doldrums. There’s wind enough to carry us all the way to Virginia without slowing down.”

  “What about meals, sir?” another woman asked.

  “You will get a biscuit and a cup of ale to break your fast and a second meal after the sailors have had their dinner at noon. I hope some of you thought to bring along some provisions.” A few women nodded, but most looked shocked, as though they hadn’t considered the need to bring food.

  Master Harrington looked around, taking a moment to study each woman’s face. “Have a pleasant voyage, ladies,” he said, giving them a mocking bow before departing.

  Mary walked toward the first available stretch of wall space and sat down. She didn’t have a bundle of belongings or any food, just her cloak. She leaned against the wall and looked around, curious about her traveling companions. There were nine women besides herself and they ranged in age from late teens to late twenties, in her estimation, and came in all shapes and sizes. Two of the women, who looked to be about eighteen, were clearly sisters. Fair, blue-eyed, and buxom, they sat close together and held hands, their fingers clasped tightly. The rest of the women appeared to be unrelated.

  The great ship heaved, and a metallic clanging filled the small space as the anchor was lifted in preparation for departure. Shouted commands and the sound of numerous feet hitting the deck came from overhead.

  “We’ve moving,” one woman whispered. She looked around, her eyes filling with panic. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to go home.” She looked like she was about to jump to her feet and run up on deck, but her neighbor laid a restraining hand on her wrist.

  “’Tis too late now, Jane. We’re on our way. There’s no changing yer mind now.”

  The woman named Jane slumped back against the wall as tears freely ran down her cheeks. Everyone looked frightened and subdued. Mary bowed her head and stared at her clasped hands, not wishing to witness the raw feelings of the other women. One woman began to pray quietly, and several others joined in.

  “Perhaps it’s for the best we’re cooped up down here,” one woman said after the prayer. “I can’t bear to watch England disappear, not knowing if I’ll ever see it again.”

  Another woman scoffed. “Of course, ye won’t see England again. What’d ye think, ye’ll go on out to Virginia, take a good long look at yer intended, decide he ain’t up to yer standards, and come back? The Virginia Company won’t pay for yer return passage. This is a one-way journey, luv. Ye’ve made yer bed. We all have. Whatever awaits us at the end of this voyage is our destiny.” The speaker was one of the older women. She had sharp features and didn’t look like she was much used to smiling.

  “What if the men are brutes, and the colony is no better than a few shacks on a distant shore surrounded by flesh-eating savages?” Jane whispered.

  “They’re not cannibals,” one of the other women replied. “They’re as likely to take your scalp as eat ye.”

  “Take your scalp?” one of the blond sisters asked, looking horrified.

  “Oh aye, that’s what they do, ain’t it? They take the scalps of their enemies as trophies,” the sharp-featured woman said.

  “Wherever have you heard such nonsense, Gwen?” a heavyset, dark-eyed woman demanded. It seemed the women had already introduced themselves to each other while waiting.

  “Why, from one of the sailors who let me aboard. I had me a little chat with him, being the first one to arrive. He said the savages are fierce and merciless. They walk about nearly naked and paint their skins black to frighten the settlers. They smear poison on the tips of their arrows, and if they don’t finish off their prey with an arrow to the heart, they split their skull with a stone ax.”

  The women all gasped in horror and moved closer to each other for comfort.

  “Oh, stop grousing,” the woman next to Mary said scornfully. Wisps of carrot-red hair had escaped her linen cap, and her large brown eyes stared out of a pale, freckled face. “If the good Lord sees fit to let us reach Virginia alive, things can only get better for all of us. None of us would be here if we had something worth staying for. We’ll have husbands who are strong and fit. The company don’t waste good coin on sad, old weaklings. We’ll have our own homes, and land, and maybe even servants.”

  “Servants? Well, listen to ye, Mistress High and Mighty. If there are servants to be had, it’ll likely be us right here,” Gwen scoffed.

  “There are ships going out to Virginia, carrying indentures. Some have been sentenced by the magistrate to do seven years’ penance, and others sell themselves ’cause they can’t find no other way to go on. What do you think these poor wretches do once they get there?” the redhead asked. The women shook their heads, trying to understand this new concept. “They work the land if they are men, and they skivvy if they’re women.”

  “So, why do they need us if they have w
omen to do for them, Nell?” one of the sisters asked.

  “They need us to help populate the colony. We’ll be the mothers to the first generation of Englishmen born in Virginia. We’ll be a part of history,” Nell replied proudly. Some of the women tittered with mirth.

  “You’ve really got a wild imagination, don’t you, Nelly? I can just see us, all set up in fine houses, with servants, surrounded by acres of property and dozens of children. Will they be giving out noble titles, do you think?” the dark-eyed woman taunted the redhead. “I’d like to marry me a lordling. Always thought I had what it takes to be a fine lady.” She arched her back, lifted her head, and stuck her nose in the air, making the other women laugh. “Lady Betsy. How does that sound?”

  “Ye might have to call yerself Lady Elizabeth, on account of yer new title,” one of the women replied with a chuckle. “Lady Betsy sounds like someone’s favorite cow.”

  “I’ll gladly be my lord’s favorite cow if he milks me regularly and strokes my teats,” Betsy replied. The women roared with laughter, the tension of a few minutes ago dispelled by Betsy’s good humor. “We’ll be all right, girls,” she said, still grinning. “We’ve just got to believe it.”

  “Who decides who marries who?” Mary asked, finding her voice for the first time. “I’m Mary Wilby,” she added shyly, remembering her manners.

  “Oh, they have a list,” Betsy replied. “I asked Master Harrington when I first came aboard. The Virginia Company paid Captain Robeson to take out a dozen women. They gave him a list of twelve men. They enter the women’s names in no particular order. ’Tis all the luck of the draw. Mary, you’ve got the last one on the list, being the last to join this merry matrimonial expedition,” Betsy mused. “Don’t make him better or worse,” she hurried to add when she saw Mary blanch. “Just last.”

  “But there are only ten of us,” Jane interjected.

  “Then two poor sods are out of luck,” Gwen replied. “They’ll have to wait for the next shipment to get their bride.”