Mermaid of Penperro

by Cach, Lisa

  “Her sentence was commuted to transportation to Botany Bay for a term of seven years.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, your stepmother still lives.”

  “But—” he started, his mind trying to wrap around this news. “So does that mean she gets the money?”

  “No.”

  Bugg II released a breath and relaxed. “You had me frightened for a moment.”

  “Perhaps you should still be frightened.” Again Quarles had that self-satisfied smirk upon his face. “You do recall that I said your father died shortly after you set off for Exeter?”

  “Yes,” Bugg II said, the worm of anxiety growing into a veritable snake now, its jaws opening wide to swallow his heart.

  “And you do remember what I said about his will, that all but ten pounds a year was to go to Konstanze?”

  “Yes, but if she died first I was supposed to get it all. If she doesn’t get it, then who does? Not you, I warrant! I’ll see you in the courts if that’s what you’re trying to pull!” Bugg II exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

  “No, not I. There is one other player in this pretty drama.”

  “What? Who?”

  “The Crown.”

  Bugg II’s eyes went wide. “You don’t mean—”

  “Your father died. His estate went to Konstanze. Konstanze was then convicted of a felony, and at that moment all her wealth was forfeit to the Crown. I am only here today to complete the inventory of the house. The contents will be auctioned off this Saturday.”

  “Bloody hell…” Bugg II whispered, his world going black around him, the snake swallowing his heart and then squirming down to sup on liver and intestines for good measure. “It can’t be.”

  “It was so clever of you to have her arrested, don’t you think?”

  Bugg II moaned.

  “Take heart, old boy,” Quarles said, slapping him on his back. “You’ve still got the ten pounds a year.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The prison hulk Dunkirk

  Slivers of orange sunset peeped through the dark blue-gray clouds, the only hint of color in the chiaroscuro scene outside the barred port. Konstanze knew it had been a cannon that had once sat where she did now, peering out into the falling night. The Dunkirk had once been a warship.

  She’d been locked inside its hull for ten days now. Two of the women with whom she had boarded had since died of typhus, and of the thirty or so surviving inmates at least two-thirds were infected. She didn’t know if she was worsening or if it was only the lack of proper food and clean air that had her so weak it was all she could do to sit up.

  Where was Tom? When would he come?

  The trick of losing herself in fantasy had helped keep her sane in Launceston Jail and here in the hulk. She knew that if she’d had to live in the full awareness that the others endured she would have gone raving mad weeks ago.

  Sometimes she came to her senses enough to watch the other women, and see how some of them almost seemed to thrive in the hulk. They made whispered arrangements with the guards, and disappeared for a few hours, only to reappear looking cleaner and rather smug. They jockeyed for position in the pathetic hierarchy of prisoners, taking for themselves the best places to sleep—if any place could be called better than another—and serving themselves first from the bucket of soup or gruel that was given at noon. They never took a turn at cleaning out the waste buckets.

  Konstanze stayed as far away from them all as she could. After a time the others seemed to accept her as part of the furniture, so to speak, and left her alone. She retreated inward, and in her private world she lived in both the past and the future, but never the present. Every moment with Tom was lived again in her mind, up until they finished their midnight supper and began to leave the kitchen of his house. From there her mind skipped forward, past meeting Bugg II on the street, past the jail and the trial. In her future imaginings Tom came striding into this cell and swept her up into his arms, carrying her out of the death and disease and into a life of sunshine and green hills.

  It was an image to which she clung fiercely, elaborating it in her mind, adding details like the smell of the fresh air and the sounds of birds, making the fantasy more specific and realistic. The scene grew so true in her mind that every time footsteps heralded an arrival outside the door she perked up, expecting it to be Tom come to take her away.

  Sometimes, when the door opened and it was only a marine who stood there, she wondered if her attempt to save her sanity had itself pushed her over the edge. When she had such a thought she would gaze about her at the bare room, with the straw that was never changed and the crusted filth, and she would decide it was better to be crazy and safe within her own mind than crazy and completely aware in this cell.

  Tom would come. He had to come. She had staked her soul upon it.

  It was full dark now, and the other women had settled down to sleep. Konstanze realized it must have been hours that she had been sitting near the open port, lost in her own imaginings. Heavy, booted footsteps approached down the passageway, then stopped outside the door. A key turned in the lock, and Konstanze stared toward the sound, and the faint yellow lantern light that came through the small barred window of the door.

  The door swung open to reveal a marine, not Tom, holding high his lantern and stepping just inside the cell. She looked away.

  “Constance Bugg!” the marine barked. “Which of you is Constance?”

  For a moment she didn’t think he meant her, but then his words sank into her brain and she understood. “I am,” she said, her voice weak, but the cell was quiet enough that he could still hear her.

  The marine raised his lantern higher, peering toward her. “Who said that?”

  “I did,” Konstanze said, raising one hand slightly. “I am Konstanze Bugg.”

  The marine looked her over and gave a grunt of disgust. “Get off your arse, Constance. There’s someone here who’s paid a lot to see you.”

  Hope fluttered up inside her chest, lending her the strength to push herself up to her feet. With chains dragging she slowly made her way to the door.

  “Hurry up now!”

  She gave him no answer, all her concentration on staying upright. When she finally made it to the marine he grabbed her arm and pulled her from the cell.

  “God knows he’s going to be sorry when he sees what he’s paid for,” the marine said. “Come on, we can at least clean you up a bit.”

  The marine hauled her down the passageway to the foot of a ladder. “Hold still,” he directed, and as she held on to the side of the ladder he took out a ring of keys and unlocked the irons from her ankles and waist. “Now clean yourself up,” he said, pointing her to a bucket of water and a rag.

  She took the two steps over to it, her feet feeling strangely light without the irons, as if they might float away on their own. Her arms were still heavy, though, and when she put her hands in the bucket of cool water she wanted to leave them there.

  “Move it!” the marine ordered.

  She obeyed, bending down to wash her face, and realized as the water touched her lips that it was fresh, not salt. The pleasure of that coupled with the thought that Tom was waiting for her above gave her another burst of energy, and she scrubbed at her hands and face.

  “Good enough,” the marine said, and pulled her away, prodding her then to go up the ladder, to where another marine was looking down, waiting. Both of them had to help her up, but at last she was out in the night air. It smelled considerably better above decks than below, although the stench was still enough to knock down a horse.

  She was led toward the stern of the ship, where there was a clear portion of deck walled off from sight of the rest of the boat by the makeshift cabins and sheds around it. A figure waited for her there, and she hurried her step, leaving the marines behind.

  “Tom…” she whispered, coming toward him, and then he stepped out of the shadows and grabbed her by the shoulders, and she saw that it was not Tom at al
l. It was Foweather.

  He stared at her in something akin to horror, his hands holding her in place as much as they held her away from him, and then his expression collapsed into one of incredible sadness. “What have they done to you?” he asked.

  She was too stunned to reply, still trying to accept that Tom had not come for her after all.

  “Your hair, your lovely hair,” Foweather said, looking at what she knew were greasy and snarled locks. “Your face. You have wasted away to nothing. He was right: this would be the death of you.”

  “Who was right?” Konstanze asked hoarsely.

  He met her eyes. “You truly are the mermaid, aren’t you?”

  She didn’t know how to answer that, didn’t know what stories might have been poured into his ears, so she said nothing.

  “Tom explained it to me. I knew what I had seen was real! I knew it!”

  “What did he tell you?” Konstanze asked.

  “The truth. I should have seen it for myself. Isn’t the world full of stories of mermaids who live amongst us for years, looking as human as anyone else? I know you were trying to go back to your life in the sea, but were torn by your love of humanity, by your love of men.”

  She was?

  “Tom told me that you would die if left aboard the hulk, or transported to Australia. It is too long a time for a mermaid to be out of the water, and I see for myself the truth of that. You are dying.”

  “Yes, I am,” she said. She could agree to that much. “Can you take me from here? Will they let you?”

  “I cannot take you, but I can free you,” he said, and swept her up in his arms.

  Her eyes went wide, her hands clinging to his coat as dizziness hit her. “What are you doing?”

  ‘Tell me one thing,” he said, then paused, looking away for a moment. “Did you ever love me?” he asked, looking back at her.

  There was such pleading in his eyes, she knew what she had to say. She cupped his soft cheek in one hand. “You are a gentle, noble man. Of course I loved you,” she said, and leaning upward she gave him a soft, chaste kiss.

  “Then God go with you,” he said, and in two strides was at the rail, and with a great heave he tossed her overboard. “Swim!” she heard him call as she fell, “Swim away!”

  He still thinks I’m a mermaid, Konstanze thought in stunned amazement, and then she hit the water, her back slapping hard against the surface before it swallowed her.

  Instinct took over and she struggled for the surface, her weak limbs fighting the water. As she broke up into the air a hand grabbed her out of the dark, and she shrieked and tried to bat it away.

  “Shh! It’s I, Tom!”

  She stilled, then tried to latch on to him, in her joy forgetting that they were in the water at the very side of her prison.

  “Konstanze, stop!” Tom ordered, as voices were raised up on deck. “Hang on to this,” he said, shoving a buoyant piece of wood into her arms.

  “You got her?” a male voice asked from a couple feet away.

  “Yes. Do you have your lines?”

  “Ready,” another voice responded.

  Shouts were coming from up on deck now, and arguing.

  “I can’t swim far,” Konstanze said to Tom. “You’re going to have to help me.”

  “Just hang on to the wood, darling.”

  She obeyed, her legs tired already from treading water.

  “Go!” Tom ordered.

  The piece of wood was almost torn from her arms, and she clung tighter, pulling herself up so the top of her body was resting on it. She felt where three lines were tied on to the leading edge of it. She was being towed through the water at a weirdly fast pace.

  More shouts from behind, and then shots were being fired, plunking into the water several feet away.

  “Don’t shoot her!” she heard Foweather yelling. “Can’t you see, she’s a mermaid!”

  The angry argument on deck turned to shouts of surprise as the moon came out from behind the clouds, silvering the water. Konstanze saw that three men— Tom one of them—were swimming at the ends of the lines tied to her board, around which a frothy wake was forming as she plowed through the water.

  “She’s being borne away by seals,” Foweather cried. “They have come for her!”

  The clouds once again covered the moon, throwing the water into darkness. In a strange silence they moved through the water, no splashing but the soft sound of the wake around the board. The shouts aboard the hulk slowly faded away, the last voice she heard that of Foweather, calling into the night, “Remember me, my mermaid. Remember me…”

  Long minutes passed, and then they came up to a small fishing lugger. Men on board reached down and plucked them all from the water, and when Konstanze saw Tom and the others clearly she understood the reason for their unusual speed: they were all three wearing fins like those Hilde had made for her. She started to laugh.

  “Hush,” Tom said, gathering her up into his arms, both of them dripping wet. Someone tossed a blanket over them, and Tom pulled her out of the way as the men raised a dark sail. “Hush now. You’re safe.”

  Her laughter turned to tears as she lay against his chest. “I knew you would come,” she said. And then she lost consciousness.

  She awoke in a narrow bunk, the white cabin filled with diffuse sunlight from a porthole and from the heavy glass prisms set in the deck overhead. The room swayed with the rhythmic motion of a ship under sail. She felt weak but cool, her body clothed only in a nightgown that still held the scents of a recent washing. There was something on her forehead, and she lifted her hand to touch a damp cloth.

  “You’re finally awake,” Hilde said in German, taking away the cloth and rinsing it in a basin.

  Konstanze turned her head, seeing the familiar, beloved face of her maid. “Hilde.”

  Hilde wrung out the cloth and put it back on her forehead. “Your fever is almost gone. You will be a lucky one and live, I think.”

  “Where are we?”

  “A ship. Mr. Trewella calls it a privateer. After he got you onto that little fishing boat, you were brought here and transferred.”

  “Where is Tom?”

  “Pacing, I think. We tell him to sleep, but he does not. I sent him away a few minutes ago, telling him to go eat. He was annoying me.”

  Konstanze smiled.

  The door opened, and Hilde gave a fierce frown, but Konstanze’s smile only grew wider. “Tom!”

  Seeing her awake he came quickly to her side, taking her hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “Clean.”

  “I gave you a good bath,” Hilde said.

  “Would you excuse us for a bit?” Tom asked Hilde. “You need to get something to eat, yourself.”

  Hilde narrowed her eyes at him, then straightened the sheet covering Konstanze before leaving the cabin.

  Konstanze felt as if she could lie where she was, staring at Tom, for the rest of her life. “You are well? Your wound has healed completely?” she asked, wanting him to come lie beside her, to hold her.

  “Nearly as good as new,” he said, patting his side. “I was lucky.”

  “I wouldn’t have survived, if you had not,” Konstanze said.

  The comment seemed to pain him. “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true. You were all that kept me alive. I knew that you would come for me.”

  “I could never have left you there.”

  “How did you get Foweather to help? What did you tell him? He said some strange things to me.”

  Tom grimaced. “May God forgive me for being such a liar. I wouldn’t have even asked for his help except I knew that those marines would never have let me aboard. But a Preventive man—they would trust him. I only hope he was not punished for throwing you overboard.

  “But to answer your question: I told Foweather that you were a mermaid who had been living as a human for several years, but that your husband had discovered your secret, so you fled. Mermaids, selkies, fairies, they all do tha
t in the stories. I said that you were indeed the daughter of Penperro’s first mermaid, and that you wanted to find a new husband before you returned to the sea, and that you had been having a hard time deciding. I told him I had fallen in love with you and managed to turn your affections from him, and then I begged for his forgiveness and his help. I let him know that he would be the true hero of the story if he could do as I asked and free you, despite the hurt he had suffered.”

  “And he believed you?”

  “I think he preferred to believe me. It hurt less to be betrayed by a lovesick friend than to have been made the butt of a colossal joke. He’s a hero now, in his own mind and in the minds and hearts of the people of Penperro. They have a new ending to their mermaid tale.”

  They were both silent then, being in each other’s presence enough for the moment. Tom stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “There is something I should have said to you long ago,” Tom finally said. “And something I should have asked you.”

  “Yes?”

  He looked down at the hand he still held, and she felt him gently rubbing her knuckles. Then he met her eyes. “I love you, Konstanze. With all my heart. It took nearly losing you for me to see what should have been obvious. Everything in which I once took joy turned to dust when you were taken away. Nothing was worthwhile. Nothing had any meaning, not even work. There was nothing to which to look forward.”

  A smile curved her lips. For all that she had told herself she could live content without hearing those words from Tom, they were sweet balm to her soul, giving her a sense of warm security that even this ship or his arms could not.

  “Konstanze, will you marry me?”

  “Yes, Tom. I will.”

  He embraced her then, pulling her up into his arms and holding her gently, as if afraid of her fragility. She pressed her face into his neck, feeling his kisses at the side of her face. Then a thought hit her, and she pulled back.

  “But Tom—I’m a fugitive now.”

  “A fugitive in England, perhaps, but not in America.”

  “America?”

  “Tomorrow we will meet up with the Swallow, a ship bound for America. It will take us to Boston.”