“Are you all right?” I asked Klara.
She nodded and stood. “I’m scared, Miss Gabriella—he really is going to kill me, he hates me so much.”
I didn’t know what to say. I thought she was right. I’d never seen anyone so angry or full of vitriol. We looked at each other a moment longer, then Klara moved to collect the shards of the glass scattered over the floor.
I looked up at the picture of Adelheid, and started to pity her. How long will it be before that sour expression lives permanently on my own face? I turned back to Klara.
“We’ll find a way to keep you and Jan safe, Klara. I promise. We’ll find a way.”
She looked at me and smiled; I think in pity. She didn’t look reassured.
Part 3
7th October 1683
Chapter 21
“Help, help, the molasses!”
We all looked up at the scrawny, filthy boy who had run into the dining room. It took me a moment to recognize him as Klara’s boy—he was covered in a thick sticky brown substance.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Jan thundered, slamming his open hand against the table top. “Get that out of here!”
Klara had run to her son as soon as he entered the room and placed herself between him and Jan van Ecken, who stood and glared at the boy.
“The molasses! Flood! The molasses!”
Jan strode over to the boy, pushed Klara out of the way and struck him. The younger Jan fell to the floor, sobbing in terror.
“Talk sense, boy, what’s happened to the molasses?”
“Tank broke! Molasses everywhere!”
Jan took in a sharp breath and kicked the boy. Klara and I screamed, but the six-year-old only managed a grunt.
Jan Senior looked at Klara cradling her son, and drew his leg back for another kick.
“Vader!” Erik warned, and stepped in front of his father, a restraining hand on his chest. Things had calmed down since their fight, but I held my breath, wondering what was going to happen now.
Jan glared at his son a moment, then nodded. I sighed in relief. Erik knelt down by little Jan and said, “Now, boy, tell us what happened.”
I looked at him in surprise at the tender note in his voice and glanced at Klara, but all her attention was on her son.
“What happened, Jan? Tell Mama what happened.”
The child sobbed and curled tighter in Klara’s arms, she bent her head to his murmur, then looked up. “One of the molasses’ tanks has burst. It’s flooded the road, just as the men were walking back. They need help!”
“But those tanks were full,” Erik said. “They were to be shipped next week.” He looked at his father. “We’ve lost a fortune!”
“Those men could be losing their lives,” I snapped at them. “Come on!”
They rushed out of the room, followed by Hans and Hendrik, who had heard the commotion from the cookhouse.
“Come on, Klara, maybe we can help, too.”
“Wilbert?”
Jan looked at her.
“Jan, is Wilbert safe?”
“I don’t know, Mama. They were all covered, I couldn’t see who was who.”
“Come on, Klara, we’ll go and see—go and help Wilbert.”
She nodded and got to her feet. She was in shock, and I grabbed her arm and pulled to get her moving faster.
“Are you well, Jan, can you walk?” I asked him. He winced as he got to his feet and coughed, but nodded. I smiled at him, impressed by his bravery, and hated the van Eckens a little more for the way they treated this child.
We left the room and followed Jan’s sticky footprints back out of the house and down the road to the sugar mill.
Chapter 22
Klara and I reached the junction and stopped in shock. A thick river of brown syrup blocked the way. Brisingamen was cut off—no carriage would get through that. Even the air seemed impassable—sickly sweet and cloying; it seemed to stick in my throat as I breathed.
We could hear shouts from up the mill road and looked at each other in dread. Klara was clinging onto Jan, holding him close, and was almost as filthy as he was. I looked at him and shuddered—if he’d been in the way of that river of treacle . . .
Klara moved to the bank and climbed up into the field of sugarcane stumps, dragging Jan after her, and I followed. We cut through to the mill road and stopped. The road was lower than the surrounding fields and had acted as a channel. It was now full of molasses. Molasses-covered men moved at the edges, trying to haul out those caught in the middle.
I jumped when Klara screamed a name: ‘Wilbert!”
One of the molasses-covered men turned and rushed over to us, grabbing Jan and holding him tight, then Klara. The three of them hung onto each other and sobbed. Klara was soon only recognizable by her hair.
I looked back at the molasses river, wondering what to do. I couldn’t see Erik and Jan anywhere—I doubted they were any of the treacle-covered rescuers I could see. I went closer to the edge. Sticky brown shapes heaved in the mess and showed life. Unmoving humps showed where life had been lost—there were many; too many.
Hans and Hendrik and half a dozen unrecognizable men were in a line, dragging a heaving shape out of the morass into the safety of the sugarcane, and I hurried over as the victim reached higher ground.
I tore a length of cloth from my petticoat and used it to wipe the dense syrup from the man’s nose and mouth. I realized the orifices were completely clogged and the man hadn’t been able to breathe for some time. I sat back on my heels in despair, then screamed as something struck my chest and I fell to the side, winded.
“What the hell are you doing? Don’t touch those filthy animals!” Erik raised his cane to strike again and I cowered in the field, waiting for the blow.
“Zoon, Son,” Jan cautioned, and Erik lowered his cane then turned and stalked up the hill back to the collection of buildings at the top of the lane.
Jan offered me a hand and helped me up, but said nothing. He escorted me to Erik’s side, standing with Rensink, and we looked down at the mess.
“Aren’t you going to help them? Somebody may still be alive,” I ventured, stunned at my treatment, but even more appalled at the sight before my eyes. As far as I could tell, Jan and Erik had done nothing to help the rescue effort. I coughed in the sweet air.
“What happened?” Erik demanded of Rensink.
“One of the hoops of the full tank snapped,” Rensink said. “The men were on their way home and molasses just . . . engulfed them. They didn’t have a chance. I was still up here, reprimanding the boy, or I would have drowned too.”
“Reprimanding the boy?” Jan asked. “Why, what did he do? Was this his fault?”
“No, no,” Rensink said. “I caught him chewing on some cane—gave him a hiding, but he saved my life.”
Jan looked disappointed. I realized Rensink was in shock. I breathed a sigh of relief. Little Jan’s sweet tooth had saved him from a horrific fate.
“Get those men organized, Rensink, the ones that are left. Anyone still in there is dead now. I want the molasses collected and re-boiled. We’ll have lost a fortune from this, but we’ll rescue what we can. It’ll make an inferior rum, but at least we’ll get more sugar, and it can’t be helped. And don’t use those tanks anymore—if I remember rightly, they came from Hornigold. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were riddled with shipworm!”
I stared at him in disbelief, horrified at their indifference to the deaths of so many men in their care.
Chapter 23
Everything stank of sweetness. Everything was sticky—the very air seemed to be composed of sugar. It had been three days since the accident, and most of the molasses had been shoveled up and put on to boil—the muck of the ground skimmed off as it rose to the surface. The road to Eckerstad was open—although lined with molasses. Six men had lost their lives.
Klara coughed as she brushed my hair; we were all coughing, but the men who’d been caught up in the flood were the worst
afflicted.
“How’s Jan?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “Not good. He’s still struggling to breathe, and the coughing’s so violent, I keep thinking it will shake his little body apart.”
“Remember what the doctor said—it’s just our lungs clearing the residue. We’ll all stop coughing soon.”
“Mmm,” she said. The doctor had only seen Jan, Erik and myself. I’d begged the van Eckens to allow the doctor to see everybody else, especially the children, but they’d refused to spend money on the health of slaves—there were plenty more available if need be. I was hoping the diagnosis he’d given us held true for the others, but I was concerned for little Jan.
“The men are being buried this morning,” Klara changed the subject. “At the cemetery on the other side of our village.”
I nodded. Jan and Erik hadn’t mentioned it to me and were unlikely to attend. Klara knew I’d want to pay my respects to the men who had died, despite my husband and father-in-law’s indifference.
*
After an awkward, silent breakfast, I slipped out of the house and took the northern path away from Eckerstad into the jungle. The sugarcane hadn’t reached this side of the estate yet—another thing Jan and Erik argued about: Jan wanted to keep the sugar plantation small and concentrate on shipping; Erik wanted to expand both.
I passed Rensink’s house—a modest two-story building—and continued to the slave village. A collection of huts housed the women and families—I knew Klara shared one of them with Wilbert and Jan—and there was also a long, low building where the single men slept.
The village was empty and I paused. I walked up to the men’s hut, opened the door and peered inside. The room was lined with wooden platforms and, as my eyes got used to the dim light, I saw a manacle and chain at the foot of each bed. There was no privacy, no comfort, no nothing. I imagined the life these men led—breaking their backs in the fields or sugar mill by day, sleeping like this by night. My fear and dislike of the van Eckens hardened and I realized I’d started to despise them.
I left the men’s hut and continued to the cemetery. It was already far too large for such a community, and my tears dripped throughout the service. Rensink led the mourning—another insult—and in Dutch.
Nobody understood what was being said for their lost colleagues, friends, husbands. English-speaking slaves fetched a higher price than Dutch, and by keeping their language private, the van Eckens could talk freely without anybody knowing their business. This funeral meant nothing, and nobody participated bar standing as expected with bowed heads.
“We’ll give them a proper send-off later,” Klara told me, “in our own way.” I nodded. “It would be better if you stayed away, though.” I nodded again. I understood that as a van Ecken I wouldn’t be welcome.
Chapter 24
I got ready for dinner quickly so that Klara could go to the funeral proper, then went downstairs. Captain Hornigold was sitting with the van Eckens in the drawing room, and I stopped in surprise on seeing him. His company was the last thing I needed, especially as he was on his own and hadn’t brought Mr. Sharpe.
I said little at the table, still shocked after the accident. Hornigold was surprised at the extent of our coughing, and I could see he was uncomfortable until Erik explained and he realized the house hadn’t been struck down by fever.
The fact that we were all afflicted, however, didn’t stop my father-in-law berating Hans and Hendrik for their own difficulty in breathing. I smiled at them, aware they were missing the funeral for their fallen friends. Hendrik tried to return my smile, but broke down in a coughing fit worse than anything I’d heard so far.
“For God’s sake, shut up!” Jan shouted. Hendrik did his best, but clamping his mouth shut against the coughs made them worse, and I jumped to my feet as he collapsed. I pulled his hand away from his mouth and was horrified to see a black treacly substance covering his palm.
“Right, that’s it, I’ve enough of this had!” Jan exclaimed. “Cough, cough, cough! And now look, that rug ruined is!” There was a small spot of coughed-up molasses on it.
“Hornigold, your arrival proves propitious to be. The sugar is waiting to be transported to Cornelius’s rum distillery in Sint Eustatius, you can load up Freyja, and us as well take. We need to get away from this foul air—the sea air will do us all good and our lungs clear. By the time we return, the slaves will either recovered or died have.”
I looked at him in renewed shock at his callousness.
“We can’t leave now, Vader, it’s our busiest time. We need to oversee the rest of the sugar manufacture and the clearing of more jungle for the next field. We can’t leave.”
“Rensink can that handle, I want us to spend a month or two away from here. This stench and the constant hacking is driving me mad. It will good business be to Onkle Cornelius personally see. It’s been too long since we’ve him a visit paid, I’m sure he thinks he can advantage take. If we deliver the sugar personally, we can a harder bargain drive.”
“But Captain Aalbers and Adelheid will be putting in soon to take the sugar,” Erik protested.
“That’s his bad luck. He can Adelheid refit for slaves and to Africa head. It will more profits bring, anyway. Gabriella, get that slave of yours to pack, we’re in the morning leaving.”
“I want Klara and her son to join us,” I said. I knew better than to use little Jan’s name.
“No,” Jan said. “They stay here.”
“You told me she was mine to do with as I wished, when I first boarded Freyja,” I said, my whole body tense with fear at standing up to him, but I knew it could be little Jan’s only chance. “I can’t manage without her now, not with the way Erik likes me to dress.”
I glanced at my husband, gambling that he’d take my side. He had shown small moments of tenderness toward the boy, and still enjoyed Klara’s company at times. Plus his relationship with his father was fraught at best. I held my breath.
“I think it’s a good idea. My wife needs her slave, and the boy will be useful as well. Klara can’t look after the three of us by herself. If you insist on us making this trip, Klara and the boy will join us.”
Jan glared at his son, and I let out my held breath– very quietly.
Nothing was said for some time as father and son stared at each other.
“Very well,” said Jan, eventually. “Your whore and her bastard son with us come.”
I stared after him in shock as he strode out of the room. Erik continued eating and ignored us. I couldn’t bear to look at him and watched Hans bundle Hendrik out of the room.
Chapter 25
“Welcome aboard,” Sharpe said to me, taking my hand and kissing it. I smiled at him in greeting. He stood a little apart from Hornigold and Cheval, who were greeting my husband and his father. Klara and Jan boarded behind us, and Sharpe nodded to them in greeting. The other men ignored them.
Sharpe led us below, and I made for the cabin I’d used on my first passage.
“No, Magdalena and I have that one. Hornigold has vacated the captain’s cabin for the use of you and your husband.” He indicated some structures on the deck that hadn’t been there last time. “We’ve erected temporary cabins for him and Mr. van Ecken Senior, although we’ll have to take them down again if we get into a fight.” He laughed and opened the door to the captain’s cabin.
I smiled at him and entered, followed by Klara and Jan, then looked around. I smiled again. It was bigger than the other, and I was relieved. I’d been dreading sharing such a small space with Erik. Whilst the coming days would still not be pleasant, at least there was a little more space to help me endure the journey.
*
The meal had been awkward and mainly silent; even our coughs had reduced. I hadn’t been able to chat with Sharpe or speak to Magdalena, and had no desire to talk to anyone else at the table. Erik was still angry about leaving Brisingamen, and Hornigold and Cheval appeared to be sulking—they must have had other plans th
an sailing to Sint Eustatius with the van Eckens and a hold full of sugar. The only one in any good humor was Jan, but even he had tired of the atmosphere and lapsed into silence by the time Klara put the main course before us—roasted goat.
The men left us to go on deck and Klara served both myself and Magdalena with wine, then took a tray of brandy and glasses to the men. Magdalena and I were alone.
I looked at her, suddenly nervous. She was a few years older than I, maybe twenty two or twenty three. Her hair curled down her back—way past her shoulders. Her skin was pale and freckle- and blemish-free, and I put my hand to my own freckled face in shame. Her green eyes glittered in the lantern-light over a long straight nose and full mouth. I had no idea how to ask her if she’d been kidnapped or needed help; I couldn’t imagine this woman needing anything I could offer. Then she smiled, and her whole demeanor changed. I smiled back and sipped my wine.
“How are you enjoying married life?” she asked in English.
I grimaced. “It’s not what I’d hoped,” I answered truthfully.
She smiled, though looked sad. “No, I expect it rarely is,” she said. We sat in silence for a while.
*
“I should be married now too,” she said, breaking the silence. She stood, walked to the windows and stared out into the night. “To my childhood friend.”
I looked at her in expectation, but she did not explain. “What happened?” I asked at last.
Her shoulders tightened, but she didn’t turn back to me; she seemed to be talking to the empty sea. “I loved him, I really did; it’s just that . . . he was all I knew.”
“What do you mean?”
The Valkyrie Series: The First Fleet - (Books 1-3) Look Sharpe!, Ill Wind & Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure Page 18
