The Valkyrie Series: The First Fleet - (Books 1-3) Look Sharpe!, Ill Wind & Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure

by Karen Perkins

  I looked around the room. The bed itself was draped with fine muslin curtains and smothered in velvets and brocades. The walls were also richly decorated in a deep red and hung with tapestries—even the floor was adorned with rugs—and the furniture was solid and elaborately carved. My chest looked completely out of place.

  “Would you cover that with something please, Klara?”

  She smiled and threw a length of burgundy brocade over it. I thanked her and thought back over the events of the day.

  “Belinda seems very nice,” I said, and Klara smiled and nodded.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without her,” she said. “She arrived a couple of years ago from England with her husband, John.” I leaned back with my eyes closed to listen to her story. “They’d signed up for five years servitude, but John died within weeks—of the jungle fever.”

  “Oh no!” I sat up, shocked at the misfortune of the large, friendly woman I’d met earlier—the only person so far who’d welcomed me on sight.

  “Yes, it was the same fever that took Mevrouw van Ecken—that’s her in that picture over the fireplace in the drawing room. Horrible woman she was.”

  I nodded, remembering the painting, and I realized there was a fireplace in this room too. Why do we need fireplaces on an island this hot?

  “Anyway, Mijnheer Jan told her she’d have to work John’s passage off as well as her own—I don’t think she’ll ever get away from this place.”

  “The poor woman,” I exclaimed. “But she’s so cheerful.”

  “Yes, she keeps saying she has nowhere else to go, and at least she’s needed here.”

  I didn’t know what to say so changed the subject. “What about these ‘nautical friends’ that are coming tonight—do you think Hornigold will be one of them?”

  “Sure to be. And his quartermaster, Cheval, do you remember him? There’ll be Captain Tarr and his quartermaster as well, Blake. And probably Sharpe, too, though he’s not too bad.”

  I stared at her in horror. On my first night in my new home, I had to dine not only with my overbearing future father-in-law and my downright rude fiancé, but near half-a-dozen pirates—one of whom at least already hated me. “How am I going to do this?” I whispered. “I can’t think of anything worse.”

  “Oh, there’ll be worse all right, believe me, there’ll be worse.” She spoke quietly and I looked up at her, not sure I’d heard her properly.

  “We’ll make sure you’re dressed perfectly, so Mijnheer Erik can’t find fault—I know what he likes and what he doesn’t. Stay as quiet as you can at the table—don’t give them reason to notice you—that would be my advice.”

  I nodded, unable to find words, then stood so Klara could dress me.

  “Ow! What are you doing?” She’d put the stays around my middle and was pulling the strings extremely tight behind my back. The belt with the supporting wooden bars was cutting into my flesh.

  “That’s how he likes it, as tight as possible. It’s just for the evening, you’ll hardly see him during the day.”

  I bit my tongue and trusted her to prepare me for the ordeal ahead.

  Chapter 9

  I made my way downstairs and entered the drawing room through an elaborately carved door. The room was empty.

  I sat down, but was too nervous about the evening ahead and uncomfortable in my new gown with the tight stays. I stood again, and wandered over to the picture of Erik’s mother. She was dressed in black with a high white lace collar and stared out at the room in disapproval. Had that been her usual expression? It must have been if she was painted that way. Her brow was furrowed, her nose hooked and her lips almost non-existent, but that could just have been the effects of her bad humor. I peered closer at the frame: Adelheid—a beautiful name for an ugly woman.

  I turned quickly as the door opened to men’s voices. Jan, Erik and the two gaudies from earlier came in first. My heart sank as I recognized Captain Hornigold behind them, Cheval was also here—and Mr. Sharpe. Was I really to dine alone with these seven men? It would have been unheard of in Massachusetts Bay. I straightened my shoulders and held my head high—I would not show these men my unease.

  “Good evening,” I said.

  “Goedenavond,” Jan van Ecken replied, which I assumed was good evening in Dutch. Erik only grunted.

  “Captain Hornigold, Cheval and Sharpe you already know.” Jan waved an arm in their direction. Hornigold and Cheval smirked, but Mr. Sharpe offered me a small bow.

  “And may I Captain Tarr and Quartermaster Blake present?” The Gaudies approached me. Tarr was the one in red, Blake wore the yellow. They both bowed, kissed my hand, and murmured greetings. I concentrated my entire will on not cringing away from them.

  I looked at Erik; he hadn’t yet greeted me properly. He’d donned a dark green frockcoat for the evening and carried a silver-tipped cane. He looked very distinguished and I offered him a small smile. Jan barked something at him in Dutch and he walked over to me and took my hand.

  “You look lovely,” he said.

  I dropped my eyes and blushed. Angry at the reddening in my cheeks, which I knew made my freckles even more obvious, I whispered my thanks. We were saved from any more awkwardness by the entrance of the two liveried men from earlier carrying trays of drinks. Wine for myself and the van Eckens; what smelled like rum for the sailors.

  We sat with our drinks, Erik next to me on one of the sofas, and struggled to find conversation until the dining room doors were opened—our cue to walk through to the table.

  Erik showed me to a chair next to his at one end of the table, his father sat at the far end, and the sailors arranged themselves in the remaining seats. I was relieved to find Mr. Sharpe sitting at my left, although was not looking forward to a meal sitting opposite Captain Hornigold.

  Jan said grace and Klara, Hans and Hendrik brought in the food. Soup to start, then the stewed goat I’d agreed with Belinda earlier. I looked up at Klara as she placed a plate in front of Erik and froze. His hand was on her thigh, and she had not reacted.

  I gasped in shock and was aware of Hornigold smirking across from me. Klara wouldn’t look at me and Erik didn’t seem to have realized anything was amiss until Jan spoke sharply in Dutch, and he snatched his hand away.

  I stared at my plate, mortified, with no idea of what to do or say, but knowing from years of living with Father not to make a scene, especially in front of company.

  “So, are you enjoying being on dry land again?” Sharpe asked, his voice light and breaking the tension. I turned to him gratefully, and told him how beautiful the island and house was. I carried on talking—most of it nonsensical and my voice shrill, but he feigned interest. Soon, the rest of the party struck up conversations and the incident was over. I smiled my gratitude at Sharpe and started to eat, desperate for the evening to be over.

  *

  The meal passed in a blur. Erik hardly spoke to me, and the pirates were loud, coarse and thought nothing of swearing at the table. Only Sharpe paid me any attention, and I was aware of drinking more glasses of wine than was prudent.

  I concentrated on using the knife and fork, and wondered if we would be using them every night. At home, the forks were only used when we had company, the rest of the time we used our fingers. I was amused to see Hornigold and Cheval struggle with the dainty instruments, and giggled to myself as I saw their food dropping from the tines so often that they were reduced to watching the others to see how the forks were properly used.

  *

  I excused myself as soon as I was able, leaving the men in the drawing room and escaping to my room. I pulled the cloth covering my old chest away. I didn’t fit in here, but I wouldn’t hide, nor would I hide my belongings.

  Klara entered a few minutes later and I glared at her, the wine emboldening me.

  “You said something earlier, that you know what Erik likes.”

  She said nothing, just looked at me, her face expressionless.

  “Exactly what is you
r relationship with my fiancé?” I asked as mildly as I could.

  “Relationship?” She laughed. “The only relationship is that of master and slave. I was born into slavery, and given to Erik on his sixteenth birthday. I was twelve, and he could do with me what he wished. If I didn’t please him, I was beaten.” She looked at the floor, tears in her eyes. I felt ashamed.

  “He still does whatever he wants with me,” she continued. “I dare not refuse him. His beatings have got worse since he started using that cane, and his father hates me—he would welcome any opportunity to lock me inside that cage we passed on the way here and leave me to starve or thirst to death.” She looked at me again, tears running down her cheeks.

  I remembered Hornigold on the boat, and how meekly Klara had gone to him that first night when she’d been summoned, and felt sick. Is that all she knows of men? Is that all there is to know? Do I really have to marry a man such as that?

  I stood and passed her a lace kerchief to dry her eyes. I wanted to hug her, but something held me back. She dried her eyes and pocketed the kerchief.

  “Would you like those stays loosening now, Miss Gabriella?”

  “My goodness, yes! I could hardly eat, they’re so tight!” I was relieved to move off the subject. I needed time to think about it all, my head was awhirl.

  Klara’s fingers started the laborious task of untying the various layers of my gown and I put my hand to my head.

  “Are you well, Miss Gabriella?”

  “Dizzy,” I gasped. In fact I felt as if I was going to faint.

  “It’s because of the stays—lean forward and put your head between your knees, I’ll fetch you some water.”

  I did as I was told, and did start to feel better. I straightened when Klara returned with a glass of water and sipped gratefully.

  “Better?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  My head had stopped spinning and I started to relax. I wanted to ask her why Jan hated her, and why he hadn’t sold her in that case, but couldn’t find a tactful way of phrasing my questions. They’d have to wait for another day.

  I sighed in relief as the stays were finally removed and I massaged the tender skin of my stomach, which felt bruised. Klara took a pot of something from the dresser.

  “Belinda makes this—it’s wonderfully soothing for damaged flesh.

  I scooped out a handful and rubbed it into my belly, and Klara did the same for my back. I stared at the wall in silence.

  Chapter 10

  I was woken by Klara. I blinked at her for a few seconds and looked around the room; the events of yesterday, and especially the revelations of last night rushing back to me. I sat up in bed and she put a breakfast tray on my lap. I managed to mumble a thank you—a poor response considering she’d had to carry it from the cookhouse and up two flights of stairs to my room in the small turret on the right-hand side of the house. I suddenly realized somebody would have had to carry all that water the same distance for my bath the night before. I wouldn’t be able to soak so often.

  I sipped the lemongrass tea. A bit cold, but it tasted well—very refreshing and perfect for breakfast. The tray was laden with strange fruits, toast and preserves. I spread a thin slice of toast with the preserve, in the hope it may still be warm. It wasn’t, but the jam was delicious.

  “Oh, what’s this?” I exclaimed.

  Klara smiled. “Mammee apple. It grows wild on the island, and Belinda makes the preserve.”

  “It’s delicious!”

  I cheered up a little. I may be marrying into a family of brutes who consorted with pirates, but I was away from Father and the food was exquisite. At home, it had been bland and boring—usually porridge or stewed rabbit.

  In the Caribbees I’d already found goat and mammee apple, what else was waiting for me to discover? I looked at the fruit as I ate, enjoying the tang of the preserve, but wanting to finish it so I could try the next new flavor.

  Klara busied herself about the room, pouring water into the basin, then taking and laying out another set of clothing for me to wear.

  “Where does Erik sleep?” I asked her, suddenly thinking about my married life. Will I have to leave this room or will he join me here?

  “In the room below,” she answered. “And Mijnheer Jan has a room on the same floor but at the other end of the house. There are two guest rooms between them, and another in the far tower.”

  It was the most talkative she’d been so far, and I realized she was relieved at my friendly tone after last night’s disclosures.

  “And where do you sleep?”

  In one of the huts beyond the trees, unless I’m . . . I’m . . . required at the house.” She dropped her eyes and I pressed my lips together in disapproval. Then I realized I wasn’t being fair; Klara had no choice, she wasn’t to blame for the arrangements.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll be spared those duties once Erik is married,” I said. She glanced at me quickly and turned so I couldn’t read her expression.

  “Would you like the blue or the green gown this morning?”

  “The blue, I think,” I said, watching her pile stays, petticoats and mantua onto the bed, and wondering what she wasn’t saying. I sighed and rose to dress.

  “Don’t pull the stays so tight, Klara! I’m still sore from wearing them like that last night!”

  “But Mijnheer Erik, he likes stays to be tight, Miss Gabriella. He always says he should be able to put both hands around a woman’s waist and his fingers meet.”

  “I don’t care what Mijnheer Erik—” I sneered the name “—says about ladies’ waists. He is not my husband yet, and he does not decide how I dress. Loosen it, Klara, it’s too tight!”

  She said nothing, but obediently loosened the ties.

  *

  Downstairs, there was no one about. I wandered into the drawing room, but there was nothing to do in there. I decided to explore my new home and crossed the hall to the other carved door—a nautical scene to complement the others.

  I gasped at the large room full of books I’d stumbled upon. I loved to read, but at home we’d only had bibles and prayer books; this library was a dream come true. I wandered about the shelves, looking at spines, and was dismayed to find only Dutch titles. Of course, why would the van Eckens have an English library?

  Disappointed, I crossed to the other door in the room and opened it.

  “What the Devil do you think you’re doing? Get out of this room! At once!”

  “Oh!” I gasped at my welcome from my future husband. Jan was also there, but didn’t speak. “I’m sorry,” I stuttered, backed out, and shut the door. I ran out of the library and out of that house, across the lawns and down the road. I’d never felt so humiliated and unwanted, not even at my father’s house.

  *

  I tried to keep my eyes averted from the hanging cage, but found it impossible. Despite my intention to give it as wide a berth as I could as I passed, my feet took me closer. I glanced inside and gasped. Two human skulls lay in a litter of picked-clean bones. I shuddered, had a living man been locked inside with the bones of a dead?

  I ran past a field of sugarcane, turning left up a smaller road that I hadn’t spotted when I arrived, wondering what could be up there, yet dreading the answer.

  The road opened up into a large space, surrounded by thatched buildings. None of them had walls, and none seemed to be in use at the moment. I turned in a circle and looked around me, then squinted. There was movement in the distance. I studied it for a moment and realized it was men working the field.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I whirled round and saw a scruffy man with a young boy—still a child, yet laden down with hoes and picks. I recognized Rensink—the man who had driven the cart on my arrival. He carried only a whip.

  I squared my shoulders. “I’m looking around my estate. What’s it to you?”

  He looked me up and down, then smiled. I felt very uncomfortable. “Ah yes, the little English miss.” I scow
led. He approached me, hand outstretched, took mine and shook it. “I didn’t expect you to be running around the mill.”

  I nodded, unwilling to explain myself. “What are all these buildings?”

  He looked around and pointed each out. “Toolshed, mill, boiling house, cooling house, curing house. All that’s needed to turn that cane into sugar. You’d best not come here once we start the harvest—too dangerous. Now if you’ll excuse me, we have a lot of cane to weed and more jungle to clear, and those clumsy oafs keep blunting the hoes and snapping the picks.” He stared at me until I turned and walked away. I looked back when I heard a cry and a clatter of metal. The boy had dropped his load; I’d turned just in time to see the man hit him.

  “Stop! Do not hit that boy!”

  Rensink laughed at me and hit the boy again, then turned his back and they walked away.

  I stared after them in frustration, then walked back to the house, but didn’t feel like going in yet. I crossed the lawns to a small path I could see leading into the trees. I would find out where that went.

  *

  I soon came out of the trees and halted at the sight before me. I stood on a cliff top and looked out on leagues of sparkling turquoise water. It was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. I looked behind me at the trees—why on earth had they screened this view from the house?

  Cheered, I started to walk along the cliff top and squealed in delight when I spotted a small beach below me. There was a path too; steep and not often walked, but it was a path, and I scrambled down it.

  On the sand, I removed my stockings and shoes, and reveled in the feel of warm sand between my toes. It was so fine. I walked closer to the water’s edge, lifted my skirts and paddled—the water was warm. I squealed again when a larger wave splashed me, and made my way back to the warm sand to let the sun dry my feet and gown. Life would be far from perfect here, but there were definite compensations.