“Is he sick?” The mistress’s spidery hand flew to the lace at her throat. “Doctor, I do not think—”
“He is not contagious; he can’t hurt you,” the doctor interrupted, smiling at them. “He is sick—” He tapped the side of his head. “—in here.”
“Goejehelp!” The mistress looked even more distressed at this news, and Aidan lowered her head to hide her smile. The poor woman probably thought the doctor had brought in a raving lunatic to murder them in their beds and burn down the house.
“He is quite harmless.” The doctor gave them an engaging smile. “And he will sleep with his feet tethered to the bed, so you need not fear him wandering in the night. And now I give you a goede nacht.”
He turned toward the staircase, pulling Aidan firmly behind him. She followed meekly, but could not resist looking back at the frightened couple. She gave the man a wide smile, then stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes.
“Sakerloot! May the angels preserve us!” the woman cried, clutching the crucifix that hung around her crepey neck.
The sight of the cross deflated Aidan’s defiant mood. As her eyes filled with tears, she lowered her head and followed the doctor up the narrow twisting staircase. The memory of another cross filled her mind—a golden cross. Even now she could see the face of the girl who had worn it … and who had died alone and unloved.
Aidan leaned against the wall in the hallway as the doctor brought a candle from the hall sconce to light the one in their room. By the flickering light she could see that the chamber had been sparsely furnished with two beds, a trunk, and a single rug upon the wooden floor. The doctor returned the candle to the sconce, then closed the door behind him. With a careful smile and an uplifted brow, he gestured toward the bed in the corner of the room.
“You might as well take that one,” he said. “If they hadn’t rented the room to me and my ‘patient,’ they’d have let that bed go to anyone else who wandered in off the street. Take it and be comfortable.” Aidan moved toward the corner, still uncertain of his intentions, but she relaxed slightly when the doctor sat on the edge of the other bed and pulled off one boot. Aidan crinkled her nose at the smell of sweaty stockings.
“Let us understand one another,” he said, struggling with his other boot as she silently made her way toward the vacant bed. “I know you are a woman; I’ve known for some time. And I don’t plan on tethering you to the bed, unless you plan on inciting another riot tonight.”
“I didn’t start the trouble at the tavern; the crooked dealer did,” she answered, primly lowering herself to the edge of the blanket. She fumbled at her belt and pulled out the short rod dagger that she carried hidden at her back, then flashed the blade toward him. “I sleep with this under my pillow, sir.” She glared at him over the tip of the weapon. “If you should touch me in the night, do not be surprised to find this blade between your ribs.”
He threw up his hands in mock horror. “I would not think of touching you, milady.” A trace of laughter lined his voice. “Upon my word of honor, you shall sleep undisturbed.”
Satisfied, she placed the dagger under her pillow, then sniffed the air appreciatively. The room smelled of straw from the mattresses, the faintly acrid scent of sweat, and something else—probably the chamber pot in the corner. As unpleasant as those odors were, they were far less pungent than those of the straw-strewn floors of Bram’s tavern.
The doctor raised an eyebrow in her direction. “I’m sure this is a far cry from what you’re accustomed to,” he said, unbuttoning his doublet, “but it will have to do. I can’t afford to take a room in a gentleman’s house.”
“A gentleman’s house?” Aidan snapped her mouth shut, stunned by his mistaken assumption. Did he think her a lady? Then she bit her lip, considering. He knew she was a woman, and he knew she traveled under Heer Van Dyck’s protection and patronage. ’Twas only logical that he should think her of genteel birth.
Fine then. Let him think her grand and accomplished. When they returned to Batavia, perhaps he’d help her find a foothold in society. Then Irish Annie the guttersnipe would vanish forever, while Aidan the artist rose to glorious heights.
“When did you realize that I am not a boy?”
“The first day we sailed.” He stood and shrugged out of his doublet and tossed it across the curved trunk. When he had loosened the cuffs of his shirt sleeves, he halted, looking at her. “You ran into me, remember? And though I couldn’t believe that any lady would want to go to sea, eventually I came to the conclusion that no boy, no matter how sheltered, could possibly be that … soft. Though I don’t fully understand why Heer Van Dyck has taken this dangerous step and brought you aboard—”
“He believes me a great artist.” She dropped her shoes to the floor, lifted the linen covering on the bed, and climbed beneath the covers. She would remove nothing else, certainly a lady would not. Perhaps she shouldn’t even have taken off her shoes. A genuine, modest lady probably would have kept her shoes on as long as a strange man remained in the room.
“Are you?” The doctor went to his bed and reclined on it,folding his hands behind his head. “Or have you some other reason for assuming this disguise?”
Aidan lifted her eyes to the ceiling and considered the question. “I am an artist,” she answered finally, watching in fascination as a cockroach scurried across the white-painted ceiling. Mauritian cockroaches grew every bit as large as those in Batavia. “But I’m not yet the artist Heer Van Dyck wants me to be. He sees things in me, some great promise, that I don’t. Ofttimes he says things I can’t believe.” She lifted one shoulder and shrugged. “But he is a dear man, and he has taught me a great deal about painting. I may not be great, but I can paint a decent picture, and I am learning. Before I met Heer Van Dyck, I couldn’t even afford—” She caught herself and stopped suddenly. The doctor would not understand her poverty. “I couldn’t afford to take the time to learn.”
“I asked Heer Van Dyck about you.” The doctor propped himself up on one elbow and turned slightly to look at her. “He was very careful not to lie. He said you were his ward.”
“I suppose I am.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Dead.”
How many times had she fostered that deception? When Aidan was younger, Lili herself had encouraged her to play the part of an orphan while begging. She didn’t feel that she was being disloyal or dishonest. In a way, Lili O’Connor was dead, and Lady Lili the procuress lived in her place. The woman who had taught her to be truthful and honest and good expired as soon as the ship anchored at Batavia. The better part of Lili’s nature had disappeared, along with Aidan’s respect for her.
“I’m very sorry.”
Surprised by the compassion in his voice, she looked over at him and saw that he was studying her with unnerving intentness. His smile had vanished, and his eyes seemed shadowed with a dark loss of his own.
“Have you parents?” she asked, overcome with curiosity.
“My father is dead; my mother lives in England,” he answered. His gaze settled on his boots, which lay strewn across the floor as if a child had just stepped out of them. “Along with my two brothers and two sisters. There is not enough land to provide an inheritance for all three sons, so one of my brothers will inherit the house and lands while my other brother and I make our way in the world.” His voice softened with nostalgia. “My sisters, of course, will marry boys from the village. I had hoped to establish a medical practice in Batavia, so one of my brothers could eventually join me here.”
“Are they doctors, like you?” Aidan asked.
Sterling shook his head. “No. Mayfield was apprenticed to a cooper, and Newland has a way with horses like no man I’ve ever seen. He’s a bit slow with people, but seems to speak a horse’s language. I’ve seen him break a yearling with nary a spur or whip.”
A flush of embarrassment spread over his face as his gaze returned to hers. “Of course, I suppose your people have little to do with coopers
and horses—or even doctors.” He stared down and idly traced the pattern of the quilt with his fingertip. “In a bit of romantic fancy I had supposed that perhaps Heer Van Dyck took you to sea in order to escape a particularly amorous suitor. I know now, you see, that I saw you that day in the garden. He was teaching you to defend yourself, and if someone was intent upon forcing his intentions upon you, I could understand why you might want to flee Batavia in disguise.”
Aidan closed her eyes against a sudden flood of tears. In spite of her resolve to move forward, her mind returned to the vision of Orabel, pale and bruised, alone in the alley with this doctor. “I can defend myself well enough,” she answered, “but others cannot.”
His forehead creased in a puzzled frown, then the light of understanding dawned in his eyes. “I had nearly forgotten you were also the boy in that alley,” he murmured, looking down at his hand. “How shocked you must have been to come upon me with that dead girl. She was so lovely, so well-dressed. I assume, of course, that she was your maid.”
She wasn’t my maid—she was my best friend, Aidan wanted to shout. This man’s assumptions were idiotic, but he probably found his fantasies easier to believe than the truth. In any case, if she intended to bury the past and move onward, some relationships should be left behind. Orabel was gone, and Aidan could do nothing about it.
Let him think she stumbled upon him in that alley while looking for her maid. Let him believe Orabel was a lady-in-waiting, and Aidan a lady-in-hiding. He believed a pack of lies, but she’d given up on the truth long ago.
“If you’re going to talk all night, please lower your voice,” she said, her mood suddenly chilly. She pulled the linen sheet to her chin, hoping he would take the hint. “I, for one, intend to get some sleep.”
His hand moved toward the candle, but he paused before blowing it out. “Do you promise you will not sneak out and get into more trouble? I cannot keep track of you in my sleep.”
“Do you promise not to reveal my secret?”
His dark eyes flashed a warning, gentle but firm. “As long as your secret keeps you safe, I will keep your secret.”
“Then we are agreed.” She rolled onto her side, turning her back to him. “Now will you please be quiet so we can sleep?”
The light disappeared in response, and Aidan heard the rustle of blankets and linens as he settled himself in the darkness. But she lay awake for a long time, fascinated by the sound of his deep, regular breathing.
The next morning the doctor insisted that they find Heer Van Dyck straightaway. Aidan suspected he was anxious to prove to her guardian that he had not violated the gentleman’s confidence. As the city shone in the tangerine tints of the rising sun, they searched the finer inns along the water’s edge and finally located Heer Van Dyck in a thatched-roof chapel near the docks.
Aidan recognized the signs of creative rapture as she and Sterling approached. The old gentleman sat on a wooden bench at the back of the makeshift tabernacle, but his wide eyes were fixed upon the ocean, where the sun had painted everything in its path in a wash of shimmering crimson.
“Look at that!” he whispered as they approached. “Feel that, Aidan! Can you see the majesty of the Creator? Can you sense his whimsical mood this morning? He has placed that single streak upon the horizon to delight my soul, to bring his majesties to mind.”
“God is definitely playing the jester this morning.” Aidan’s voice was as dry as the sandy chapel floor. “As he was last night. Heer Van Dyck, our secret is known to our ship’s surgeon.”
Van Dyck straightened and glanced over his shoulder, then lifted a brow toward the doctor. “Ja? Well then.” He gave Aidan a satisfied glance. “I have a feeling God approves. The doctor should know the truth. You might need the surgeon at some point, and he will be able to treat you privately. You should not be treated like one of the rabble.” Van Dyck returned his gaze to the sun-streaked waters. “Ja. God is good. He is wise.”
Aidan rolled her eyes, slightly disappointed that Heer Van Dyck wasn’t horrified—or at least a little surprised. He took the news as calmly as a man who’d just been to church—which, she realized, he had.
“Well—” Sterling’s gazed arched slowly back and forth between Aidan and her teacher. “Now that I have safely delivered you to your guardian, I should report back to the ship. There are several things I must get from the apothecary while we are at Mauritius, and Captain Tasman wants to speak to me this afternoon.”
“Dank u wel, Dr. Thorne,” Van Dyck answered, his eyes intent upon the sky. His hands twitched against the fabric of his trousers, and Aidan knew the old man literally itched to return to his paints and parchments. “Come, Aidan, and sit here. Look at the ocean, at the sky, and tell me how you would paint this.”
The doctor hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching Aidan’s face, but she merely nodded her thanks and slipped onto the bench beside her mentor, turning her back to the doctor. She watched the surging sea and appreciated the beauty of the water. But her mind’s eye focused on the man who was now walking away, taking her most valuable secret with him.
Could she trust Sterling Thorne? Long experience had taught her that she could not trust any man. Heer Van Dyck, however, seemed to think the doctor an exception. Still, she would keep her eyes open and her mind on her work, not risking either her future or her heart to the handsome surgeon.
Shaking her head slightly, she narrowed her eyes and followed her teacher’s gaze, committing the beach, the waves, and the shimmering horizon to memory.
Two days passed before Sterling found an opportunity to speak privately with Heer Van Dyck. In the course of those forty-eight hours he had supposed a number of reasons why an elderly aristocrat might wish to take his young female protégée on a dangerous sea voyage, and none of his explanations seemed to fit very well. But as the ship’s doctor and a member of the officers’ committee, he felt he was entitled to an explanation—and a reason he should not report this serious infraction to Captain Tasman.
He found the old gentleman standing at the bow of the ship, his eyes fastened to the horizon. The wispy strands of his hair lifted and fell with each breath of the sea breeze. He held a board pressed against his belly as a table of sorts, and with his free hand he sketched the bustling harbor of the Mauritius port.
“Heer Van Dyck,” Sterling began, bowing slightly, “I am grateful to find you alone. I believe there is a matter we should discuss.”
“Of course.” The map-maker gave Sterling a brief smile before returning his gaze to the sea. His pencil moved easily over the parchment as if his hand had a mind of its own. “I wondered when you would approach me. I am only surprised that it took you so long.”
A seaman passed behind them at that moment, his whistle cutting through the muffled sounds of the water, and the two men waited silently while the sailor passed. Sterling leaned his arms upon the railing, idly listening as Visscher spouted commands from the forecastle: “Lay aloft, jump to it, trice up, lay out! Sheet home the mainsail, boys, hoist with a will, now hoist away!”
The deck thundered as seamen sprang to obey, and Sterling squinted up at the dark clouds on the southern horizon. It was beginning to rain in soft spatters that caught in his hair and eyelashes, blurring the sky and sea into one gray mass.
“I have a good reason for my subterfuge, Dr. Thorne,” Van Dyck said, with marked conviction. “The young woman is virtuous, I can assure you. She is not aboard for my pleasure or any other man’s.”
“I had surmised that already.” Sterling settled his hat more firmly atop his head as the raindrops continued to fall. If the old man could stand here in the wet, so could he. “But I cannot see why you would bring a woman of gentle breeding into such a perilous situation. These men are rough and coarse, and the dangers we face are myriad.”
“Even a velvet glove may conceal a fist of iron,” Van Dyck answered with a wry smile. “I can assure you, Doctor, that the young lady is quite capable of fending for herself.”
Van Dyck inclined his head. “In every sense of the word.”
“Is she a relative? Your niece, perhaps? Forgive my curiosity, sir, but if I am to keep this secret from Captain Tasman and the other officers, I feel I must understand the reason for it. Unless the young lady was in greater danger in Batavia than here on the open sea, I cannot possibly fathom why you should subject her to this expedition—”
“She was in danger,” Van Dyck interrupted. His distinguished face became brooding as he stopped sketching and stared into the sea. “She was in great danger of neglecting her gift, which is quite considerable. If I had left her behind, she would have done nothing with it. And the world would have sorrowed, Dr. Thorne, the world would grieve and not know why. She is quite extraordinary, far above the common realm.”
Sterling paused, respecting the storm of emotion that crossed the artist’s face. “Is she so different from a hundred other young ladies who take art and music lessons?”
“Yes,” he said, turning to look at Sterling with an expression of pained tolerance. “How can I explain it?” He looked about the deck for a moment, then pointed to a bucket that collected rainwater on the deck.
“Do you see that bucket of water?” he asked, holding his sketch board close to his chest as he folded his arms. “If you lowered your hand into the bucket and then pulled it out, would anyone ever be able to tell? No. You and I are ordinary, Dr. Thorne; we are conventional mortals. But if young Aidan put her hand into the bucket and then pulled it out—figuratively speaking, of course, she would leave something behind. Her life would leave a trace in the water. Mark my words—that young woman’s life will color the world.”
The Golden Cross Page 24
