by Bev Stout
SECRETS OF THE REALM
A Novel
by
Bev Stout
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 Bev Stout
All rights reserved.
Bev's E-mail: [email protected]
Bev's author page on Facebook at
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Bev-Stout/358523410934351
Cover design by W. R. Stout based on the painting
Ship at Sea, Sunset by Edward Moran (1829-1901)
To my husband, Dick. He's my rock, my biggest fan.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Special thanks to Kody for your endless enthusiasm. Kelsey and Emily, two of my earlier readers. Deanna for her gentle push. Vicky and Kathi for being there during the whole process. Thank you Bill, Sydney, Carter, Chrissy, Paul, Sean and Morgan. Mom and Dad. Mike and Margaret, there at the beginning. Mark, for his inspiration to get Secrets in print. Love to all my friends and family, now and always.
CHAPTER ONE
Annie ran her fingers through what was left of her black hair. "You sheared me like a sheep, you did."
"Keep your bloody voice down." Erik motioned toward the thatch-roof cottage. "Don't want to wake her."
Fifteen-year-old Annie shivered at the mere thought of waking Aunt Mary. Annie doubted she could survive another whipping.
For eight years, Aunt Mary blamed Annie for any troubles that happened to their family. She was nothing more than a nuisance, another mouth to feed. But this was worse, far worse. Uncle William was dead, and Aunt Mary blamed Annie for it.
Holding the lantern close to Annie's face, Erik studied the hair he had cut just below her ears. His eyes then shifted to his younger brother's clothing now hanging loosely on Annie's slim frame. "Not much we can do 'bout that," he said with a shrug.
While her cousin brushed the tufts of hair from her shoulders, Annie pulled up on the breeches. "You really think I can pass myself off as a boy?" she asked.
"Never thought you looked much like a girl."
"I beg your pardon," Annie said as she slammed her fist into Erik's stomach.
He grabbed her wrist before she could land another blow. "And you certainly are no lady," he whispered. "But that's good, 'cause on the streets of London, you need to fit in with them other beggars looking for work."
"I can do this," Annie said, trying her best to sound convincing.
"You have no choice."
"Come with me, Erik," Annie said.
He shook his head. "This is the only life I have ever known, taking care of the Spencer's grounds with my…my father."
In the lantern's glow, Annie saw tears welling in Erik's eyes. She took his hand. "He's dead, Erik. There is nothing for you here."
"I know you will never understand, but I can't leave my family, especially now with Father gone. They need me."
Unfortunately, Annie did understand. Aunt Mary was still his mother, and James and Thomas, his brothers. Nothing would change that.
"Promise me you will be careful," she said. "If Aunt Mary learns you helped me, her whip will find your back as well; and please keep Abigail from finding out for as long as you can. I can't risk the Spencer's searching for me."
"If Abigail comes around looking for you, what should I tell her?"
"Tell her I am grieving. That won't be a lie." Annie thought a moment. "When she learns I'm gone, do you think she will cry or just start throwing things?"
"Abigail has quite a temper. I'll be sure to duck," Erik said while he tenderly draped the coat over Annie's shoulders. "I put some biscuits in the pockets for you."
"I will never forget you, Erik" Annie said before hurrying down the moonlit road.
CHAPTER TWO
Two days of begging on the streets of London netted Annie one moldy crust of bread and a swat from a shopkeeper's broom. She didn't fare much better during her nights in a garbage-strewn alley. Bolting upright every time rats invaded her space, she got little sleep.
But it was the drunkards and thieves stumbling through the alley that concerned Annie the most. Hoping she wouldn't be discovered, Annie tried to make herself one with the wall she huddled up against while she listened to their profanity-laced voices.
When light broke through the morning fog, Annie hugged her knees close to her chest. Her stomach began to rumble.
Annie stood up and shoved her hands deep into her pockets finding only remnants of the biscuits Erik had given her. She turned the pockets inside out. Crumbs rained down on the rats scurrying at her feet. "At least you won't go hungry today," she said.
To obliterate the soft lines of her face, she scooped up handfuls of dirt and rubbed it into her forehead and cheeks. Satisfied she could carry off the masquerade, Annie hiked the breeches above her waist and strode out of the alley. She zigzagged her way across the narrow cobblestone street, dodging horse-drawn carts and scavenging dogs.
She had heard word on the street that Captain Hawke needed a new cabin boy. Making her way to the wharf, she wandered past a group of foul smelling and equally foul talking lads who would be vying for the same job as she. Looking at the boys, Annie believed her small size would be more of an asset than a liability.
But Annie's fascination wasn't on the boys or the sailors hauling supplies, it was on the ship moored at the dock. While she gazed up at the Realm, Annie felt someone yank her coat sleeve. "Let go," she said.
The youth yanked even harder. "Make me," he taunted her.
Annie attempted to knee him in the crotch, but he shifted his nimble body out of range. "Did you hear me? Let go my sleeve," she again yelled.
The smaller bully was joined by a larger one who grabbed Annie's other sleeve. They jerked her back and forth in a lopsided game of tug-of-war. When her slender arms bent sharply behind her back, the coat slid off. The boys then tossed their ill-gotten prize into the air.
"Give me back my coat!" she shouted. The coat was more than buttons and wool to Annie. It was Erik's last kindness to her, a final hug.
Distracted by the new game of keep-away, she didn't see yet another boy racing behind her. He rammed the heels of his hands into Annie's shoulder blades knocking her to the ground. "You jump like a bloody girl," he said.
"Girl?" Annie muttered under her breath, "I'll show him girl."
Springing to her feet, she ignored the throbbing pain in her back. She whirled around, giving the boy an uppercut to his square jaw before kicking him in the shin. He tumbled to his knees groaning while Annie dashed behind a broad-shouldered teenager who showed little interest in the tomfoolery of his shorter competitors.
Peering out from behind her brawny fortress, Annie yelled at the injured boy as he nursed his sore jaw and aching shin. "You scurvy little vermin, I have come too far to let the likes of you stop me!"
* * *
On the larboard deck of the Realm, Captain Jonathan Hawke surveyed the boys on the wharf. Their antics did not amuse him.
A sailor since the age of thirteen, the captain began his life at sea as a bosun mate in charge of rigging and sails. Ten years later, he was England's most celebrated merchant ship captain.
He had never been a cabin boy and found them to be more of a bother than anything else, but Mr. Montgomery insisted he employ one. To keep his fastidious first mate and best friend happy, Captain Hawke would again hire one.
While the captain observed the boys on the wharf, one ruffian grabbed his attention, the one who had delivered an impressive kick to his assailant's shin.
Mr. Montgomery pointed to the same street urchin the captain
was looking at. "What do you think of that one?"
"He's a spirited one. I will give him that. But unless he can gain a few inches in height and girth before we set sail, he shan't be my cabin boy," Captain Hawke said with a chuckle.
* * *
Glancing over each shoulder, Annie prepared for another attack; but the unruly boys had become as still as the stone lions that guarded Lord Spencer's manor home. Annie followed their gaze to the two men marching down the gangway.
"That's 'im—Cap'n 'awke!" one boy shouted in a heavy cockney accent.
Oh my, he is a fine looking bloke, Annie thought. The uncommonly tall gentleman she gawked at wore a well-fitted waistcoat and tan linen breeches. He sported a neatly trimmed mustache, and a ribbon tied back his sandy blond hair.
Annie soon realized it was not the well-dressed man who mesmerized the boys. Their interest was on the other, the one who stood slightly shorter than his shipmate. She smiled to herself. Captain Hawke certainly didn't look like any gentleman she had ever seen before.
Unlike his impeccably groomed first mate, Captain Hawke's tangled black hair fell below a scarf peeking out from beneath a weathered tricorn hat. While a single button fastened his shirt at his trim waist, stained trousers disappeared into black boots that came up to his knees.
Annie mused how seventeen-year-old Abigail would have described the captain as wickedly handsome. Days earlier, she and Abigail had sat on the edge of Abigail's four-poster bed while Annie listened to her friend's favorite subject—men. She wondered what Abigail would think if she knew Annie might be spending her days and nights in the company of men, only men. Scandalous, she thought.
Annie twisted a button on her shirt while she watched several boys doff their caps in respect and eager anticipation. Chosen or not, she knew Captain Hawke's decision would set the course for each of their lives.
With a jaunty bounce to his step, the first mate walked down the gangway. Reaching the wharf, Mr. Montgomery stopped to inspect casks and barrels destined for the American colonies while Captain Hawke consulted with several sailors about the goods secured in the cargo hold.
As the captain and his first mate drew closer, the boys gave them a wide berth. "Form a straight line. Stand at attention," Mr. Montgomery ordered. He motioned to Annie to follow suit. He then took one step back, legs slightly apart and arms behind his back.
While Annie and the others jockeyed for position, she could not help but notice how much bigger the boys were than she was. Ha, she thought, they do not stand a chance of being hired as a cabin boy.
The captain strutted back and forth. He paused in front of the lad wearing Annie's coat. The boy's arms jutted out from its sleeves while split-opened seams accommodated his hefty size. Captain Hawke called to Annie, "Want your coat back, boy?"
Annie looked at the captain out the corner of her eye. While gnawing on her lower lip, she shook her head. "No."
"Suit yourself," he said as he proceeded to look over each boy from head to toe.
One boy rolled up his sleeve, flexing his arm to show off his scrawny muscle. Another displayed hands callused from manual work. When Captain Hawke stopped in front of Annie, she exhibited nothing.
He raised his eyebrow at her. "What is your name, boy, and how old are you?" As intimidating as he looked, Captain Hawke was surprisingly soft spoken.
Annie had expected the captain to inquire about her age. He had asked everyone that question. But he asked the name of only one other youth, the broad-shouldered lad Annie had earlier hidden behind, Lawrence.
She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"What's the matter, boy, you gotta piss?"
"No, sir." Annie stopped fidgeting and stood straight. Yes, she decided, her great great grandfather's name would become her name. She remembered the stories told about how he had sailed with the ill-fated Spanish Armada. In 1588, the fishing village of Staithes, on the rugged North Yorkshire coast of England, became his salvation. In 1726, it became Annie's birthplace.
"My name…"
Captain Hawke stopped her in mid-sentence. "Look at me when you speak."
She gazed up into the dark eyes peering down on her. "My name is Andrés de la Cruz, sir, and I am fourteen years old." She hated lying about her age, but Erik had reminded her often how she didn't look fifteen.
"Fourteen, you say." The captain stepped back and stroked his stubby beard. "You barely look thirteen. The truth now, how old are you?"
"If it pleases you, sir, I am thirteen."
The boys on either side of Annie snickered.
"It neither pleases nor displeases me." He pointed toward the boys. "Have you noticed that these fine chaps are bigger than you are? So, why should I hire one as puny as you and not one of them?"
"I cannot help what I lack in size, sir, but I can assure you that I am a hard worker. You will not be disappointed."
"Good answer." His eyes narrowed as he leaned down and whispered, "You are not fooling me. I am no stranger to deception."
Annie sucked in her breath.
Captain Hawke stared into her ice blue eyes. "You're no Spaniard. You're a well-educated Englishman."
Air and relief rushed from Annie's lungs.
He ran his knuckle roughly across her cheekbone where the remains of a black eye lingered. "How many fights you been in, boy?"
Annie flinched at his touch. "Not a one, sir. A shopkeeper, the old sot, backhanded me across my face." She reached up and lightly touched below her eye. "London is not kind to her beggars."
The captain laughed before he resumed going down the line of eleven boys. He returned, hesitating in front of Annie.
Confident, she pulled her shoulders back, and prepared for the announcement, but Captain Hawke walked away and approached the tall lad, Lawrence.
"Congratulations," he said.
Annie heard little enthusiasm in Captain Hawke's voice. When she saw the captain about to shake Lawrence's hand, her disappointment boiled over. "Why him and not me?" Annie shrieked. "Look at him. He's too big to be a cabin boy."
Not waiting for the explanation she knew would never come, Annie rushed behind Lawrence. With her head bent low, she ran full force butting him in the curve of his back. The lad's knees buckled. The captain jumped back just in time.
With Lawrence lying face down at the captain's feet, Annie pounced on his back and struck him with her fists. Dazed, Lawrence didn't react until Captain Hawke pried Annie off him.
His nose bloodied and his lip torn, Lawrence leapt to his feet. While Annie struggled in the captain's vice-like grip, the youth threw a punch to the left side of her face. The blow jerked her head sideways. Blood warmed the captain's palm, not from the blood dripping from Annie's mouth, but from the blood seeping through the back of her shirt.
Drawing a square-handled knife from its sheath, Lawrence lunged at Annie. His eyes raged. "I'll gut you like a fish!" he shouted.
The captain propelled Annie out of the way and pulled out his ivory-handled knife. "You don't want to do that, lad," Captain Hawke said, his voice calm, as he danced out of the way of the youth slashing at him through empty air.
"Me money's on the captain," said the boy wearing Annie's coat.
Another youth hollered above the growing crowd, "A shilling says Lawrence draws first blood!"
Annie sprang to her feet. Dazzled by the captain's footwork, she joined in the debate. "Lawrence is outmatched. He won't hit his mark. Besides, the captain has no intention of harming him."
"Are you daft? If the captain gets a chance, he will have Lawrence's gizzards for supper, he will."
Annie couldn't read minds, but she did have a keen sense of observation. She noted the subtle movements of the captain and his first mate—the rise of a chin, a quick glance of an eye, a gesture of the hand. Annie understood it all. Captain Hawke wanted Mr. Montgomery to intervene, but his first mate carried no weapon. More importantly, he did not wish to dirty his clothes.
The captain g
ave him no choice. "Take him!"
In a blur of motion, Mr. Montgomery tackled Lawrence, wrestling him to the ground. He slammed the youth's face into the wharf not once, but twice. Grasping Lawrence's wrist, Mr. Montgomery pounded his hand onto the wharf's uneven planks.
"Give it up, boy!" The first mate demanded.
When Lawrence's fingers opened, Mr. Montgomery seized the knife and hurled it off the wharf. It arced in the air before plunging through the water leaving not a ripple.
Lawrence's crumpled body lay in the captain's shadow.
"On your feet!" Captain Hawke ordered.
Lawrence rose amid jeers and laughter from the boys and sailors who witnessed the raucous affair. Twisting Lawrence's arm behind his back, Mr. Montgomery quickly hustled him off the wharf.
Lawrence's humiliation was far worse than his injuries. As bloody spittle ran down his chin, he shouted back at Annie, "I swear to you, Andrés de la Cruz, you will regret this day! When you least expect it, I will slit your throat." He paused. "That is a promise."
The boys moved out of the way as the captain marched toward Annie.
"Are you satisfied?"
"Beggin' your pardon, sir?"
While Annie wiped blood from the corner of her mouth with her sleeve, she stumbled backward, her legs splayed out in front of her.
Looming over Annie, Captain Hawke clenched his fists. "Since you started this nonsense, are you satisfied?"
Annie wished she could coil a strand of hair around her finger, but she had to be content with pulling on the hem of her shirt. "Uh, yes, sir. No one got killed."
Captain Hawke scanned the boys replaying the aborted knife attack. They cheered as one boy spun in a circle before landing flat on his back. With an imaginary dagger clutched to his heart, the boy's body twitched once more.
"They wanted blood—anyone's," Captain Hawke muttered.
Annie scrambled to her feet. "Between you and me, Captain, they are an immature lot. As for that Lawrence fellow, it's those quiet ones you gotta look out for. One moment they are not saying a word and the next, they are a raving lunatic."
