Daughter of Destiny

by Erica Brown

  Blanche froze in amazement. Nelson! Good God, she looked just like Nelson, except she was wearing a dress. Her jaw was stronger, the way she moved filled with intent.

  Horatia swept towards her, frowning. ‘Do you want something?’

  Blanche had learned enough since arriving to know that as a servant in England she should appear humble. She gave a polite little nod, just as one lady might give another in greeting, but there was nothing servile about it. Damn it, she would not be servile! She couldn’t do it.

  ‘My name’s Blanche Bianca and I’m from Barbados,’ she blurted. ‘Perhaps Nelson’s told you about me.’

  Blanche noticed the tightening of Horatia Strong’s jaw, the way her nostrils dilated as if she were reining in her emotions. Her voice was as cold as her eyes. ‘I know who you are and where you are from. I asked you what you were doing here. You belong upstairs in the nursery.’

  ‘I was hoping to see Nelson,’ she said truthfully. ‘We met in Barbados.’ It was brazen, but Blanche didn’t care.

  ‘Ah!’ The disdainful look stayed fixed on her face.

  ‘I want to let him know I’m here.’

  There was no subservience in the way Blanche spoke or held her head, her grey eyes defiant.

  ‘See him?’ Horatia asked incredulously. ‘My brother is in London, not that it’s anything to do with you!’ Blue brocade swished like a passing bird as Horatia circled her.

  As if I’m a damn horse.

  ‘How dare you!’ Horatia’s face was close to her own. Blanche turned her head to face her. It was as if they were rivals for the same man, though how could that be? Horatia was Nelson’s sister.

  ‘I dare,’ Blanche said in a low voice. ‘I dare!’

  Horatia’s pale complexion began turning red. ‘Get back to the nursery where you belong.’

  Blanche held her ground and shook her head. ‘I do not belong in the nursery. I was not told that I was destined for the nursery. If I had known I would never have left Barbados.’

  This was too much for Horatia Strong.

  The slap from the lace-covered hand caught Blanche across the mouth. She tasted blood on her lips and felt it trickle down her chin.

  She did not look away, or cry or do any of the things an upset inferior would do. She was her mother’s daughter. She smiled triumphantly. ‘You, madam, are supposed to be a lady.’

  As Horatia raised her hand again, the doors to the library opened. Both women looked towards Emmanuel Strong. Blanche blinked. If Horatia was a feminine, though stronger version of Nelson, then Emmanuel was an older version of his son, the same height, but more corpulent, ruddy faced and powerfully intimidating.

  Blanche slid her eyes sidelong to Horatia. More like his daughter.

  His stomach pressed against his waistcoat like sausage filling tightly packed in its skin. A gold watch chain gleamed against the dark pattern and a white cravat and winged collar framed his face.

  Lady Verity came to her husband’s side, a dark grey pelisse sitting heavily over her dress. It was trimmed with velvet and must have been hot as well as heavy.

  Horatia didn’t give her father time to ask what was going on. ‘This impertinent little trollop should be sent back to Barbados immediately. I don’t want her in this house. I want her out.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Lady Verity.

  Horatia glared at her in surprise. They hated each other and had, it seemed, both made vows never to agree with any suggestion the other made.

  Blanche tried to look beyond them, to catch a glimpse of Nelson. She saw no one. She was aware that Emmanuel Strong did not once look in her direction, as if rich men like him had more important things to consider than uppity servants.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said in a loud voice, ‘to the dining room, please.’ He offered his wife and daughter his arms and they left, leaving Blanche feeling alien and inconsequential, but unbowed.

  Duncan followed them and glared at her as he passed. ‘Know your place, woman.’ The word was laced with contempt.

  Fire in her belly and in her eyes, Blanche swiped at the trickling blood with the back of her hand.

  Suddenly the whole idea of coming here seemed like a bad joke. Otis Strong had misled her. But she refused to admit that she had allowed herself to believe the unbelievable, that the Strong family would accept her as a long-lost daughter.

  Bristol was cold. Barbados was still a warm place in her mind, and if Nelson didn’t want her, then she would go home. Some of her jewellery – enough to sell and pay her passage – was in the sea chest. Someone, somewhere in this city would buy it, although she didn’t know who and she couldn’t remember her way around the city. She remembered the dock, the mix of dark doorways, the frowning upper storeys of timber-framed inns, and the mix of sailors speaking in a range of dialects and languages. The city terrified her. She needed someone who knew the city well. Tom.

  Back in her room, she got her mother’s shell-covered jewellery box out from her sea chest. Just as she’d retrieved it, she heard footsteps outside the door – hesitant footsteps – as though someone was trying to be very quiet and failing miserably.

  ‘What happened?’ Edith murmured on opening the door. Then, seeing the blood at the corner of Blanche’s mouth, ‘Who did that?’

  ‘I want to go home,’ Blanche blurted. Her eyes stung with tears, but damn it, she wouldn’t break down and cry. She would not!

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Edith.

  It seemed odd to Blanche that Edith didn’t try to dissuade her. After all, hadn’t they become good friends? But Edith’s attitude became clearer after Blanche asked where Tom went on his frequent errands.

  ‘Why?’ Edith snapped and eyed Blanche with a mix of suspicion and downright jealousy.

  Blanche explained about raising money for the trip home by selling her mother’s jewels. They weren’t exactly diamonds – at least, she didn’t think they were – but she was convinced they did have some value.

  ‘Oh well, if that’s all… ’ said Edith, brightening. ‘Some people reckon he’s got a sweetheart in the village and that’s the errand he refers to, but I know different.’

  Edith beamed at the thought of knowing a secret no one else was party to.

  ‘He goes to the churchyard. Did you hear about the sweep’s boy who got stuck up the chimney?’

  Blanche nodded. ‘Where would Marstone Court be without gossip?’ she said lamely.

  ‘Well, I think it upset Captain Strong. It was ’im that found the little lad, you see – all tanned he was, like a piece of cured leather or a side of salted bacon. So he goes to St Mary’s churchyard and says a little prayer. In fact, I saw him head that way not so long ago. Then he goes off to Bristol.’

  Blanche felt her trust in Tom was confirmed and decided to ask him for his help right away. She couldn’t wait a minute longer.

  Edith reminded her that it was dark out. ‘Take my cloak,’ she offered. ‘It’s warmer than yours.’

  Although the wool smelled musty, Blanche thanked Edith and pulled the hood over her head, clutching the jewellery box beneath her arm.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ she added as she ran out of the door.

  Moonlight blinked between the branches of dormant trees. April was still a month off and only a few brave leaves had so far sprouted.

  She ran as fast as she could, cutting through the grass and beneath the trees. After letting herself out of the small pedestrian gate that formed part of the main gate of Marstone Court, she set off for the village that Edith reckoned was about two miles distant.

  * * *

  Tom had said his usual prayer over Jasper’s body. Usually he walked to the churchyard, but tonight had gone by horse, meaning to continue into Bristol. He had an early start the following morning assisting Conrad fire up the new centrifugal system that would separate the sugar from the impurities far faster than ever before. Conrad had suggested he stay the night there and Tom had agreed. No matter his uncle’s ambitions, he liked the big German, a man no
t afraid to get physically involved with the machines and methods of refining.

  He turned his horse’s head towards Bristol, lightening the sadness of Jasper’s death by thinking of Blanche and the way she had run through the long grass.

  Thinking of the rhythm of her bounding grace, he heard sounds that seemed to echo his thoughts.

  ‘Tom!’

  Reining in his horse, he turned in the saddle.

  ‘Blanche?’

  A dream! It must be a dream. He blinked, narrowed his eyes and blinked again, felt the night air on his skin, heard the call of an owl from a barn across the fields. He could smell, hear and see, which meant Blanche was real. There she was, racing towards him, her hood falling from her head, both her hair and her cloak billowing out behind her. For a moment, Tom could barely breathe. Touched by moonlight, it was the loveliest sight he’d ever seen in his life.

  ‘I needed to see you,’ she said, looking up at him, her breath silver on the frosty air, her mouth slightly open.

  The first thought that entered his head was that he wanted to close that slightly open mouth with a kiss. His horse spun round as he dismounted and he caught her in his arms to prevent her being knocked to the ground.

  ‘I need to go into Bristol,’ she exclaimed, her breath warm against her cheek.

  It hadn’t been her original plan to go into the city. She’d been going to ask him to sell her mother’s jewellery, but she’d had second thoughts. It was silly, but she wanted to be with them until the very minute they were sold. They’d been part of her life for so long. It seemed only right.

  She explained about wanting to raise money to go back to Barbados and that she couldn’t possibly let the box and its contents out of her sight. ‘There’s nothing for me here,’ she said finally.

  A pang of anguish gripped Tom’s heart. He had no intention of offering her the money to go home. He wanted her here. Hopefully, her mother’s jewels were of no value and she’d have to stay. But he could not refuse to help her.

  ‘Perhaps in a few days’ time…?’ he began.

  ‘No!’ Blanche shook her head decidedly. ‘I want to leave as soon as possible.’

  He frowned and pulled her cloak more closely beneath her chin as he thought things through. ‘You’re a determined woman, Blanche Bianca. Are you sure that’s what you want?’

  ‘I want to sell them and get away as quickly as possible.’

  Tom thought of people he knew in the more unsavoury parts of the city, who would indeed pay instant cash and no questions asked, and balked at the idea of taking her there. She’d turn heads and invite comment and he’d have to protect her. He could tell by her expression that she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  ‘Come on,’ he said and helped her up on to the horse. Although Blanche was no heavyweight, the horse would be pretty much all in by the time they got to the city. He’d already arranged to stay overnight with Conrad. Hopefully one more bed would be available and someone could take Blanche back to Marstone Court in the morning before anyone would notice she’d gone.

  After folding her cloak around herself, she wrapped her arms around him. ‘You feel cold,’ she said shivering.

  ‘You feel warm,’ he said softly, and was almost convinced that she squeezed him more tightly in response.

  For a while the only sound was the even tempo of the horse’s hooves on the frozen road. The night sparkled with frost.

  ‘Look at those stars,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘Like diamonds,’ he said.

  ‘You can wish upon a star. I’m going to make a wish.’

  ‘What will you wish for?’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ she said laughing. ‘If I do, it won’t come true. Make your own wish.’

  ‘All right.’

  The front of her body was warm against his and she’d wrapped her cloak over her arms, which were entwined around him. Tonight, he thought, looking up at the stars, there was only one thing he wanted.

  ‘What was your wish?’ she asked suddenly, and made him fear that she could hear his thoughts.

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘I couldn’t possibly tell you. You might slap my face.’

  She laughed too, even though she half expected he was telling the truth and it might possibly refer to her.

  They fell to silence. Tom wondered if she’d guessed what he’d wished for. He wondered if his next question might be misinterpreted as a consequence.

  ‘When’s your day off?’ he asked over his shoulder.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she answered.

  ‘Just as well. You won’t be going back to Marstone Court until the morning. Is that all right with you?’

  ‘I don’t care if I never go back there again, though I have to collect my belongings,’ she added. ‘Where are we going?’

  Tom had racked his brains for a suitable person who would deal with Blanche’s jewellery quickly and with cash.

  ‘A place I know, somewhere you can buy and sell anything.’

  * * *

  The Druids Arms had small windows, which let in little light during the day and let out just as little at night. Tallow candles smouldered in metal holders fixed to the walls and half a tree trunk smouldered like a burning beast beneath an eight-foot bessemer.

  In one corner of the broad inglenook a bread oven door hung from one hinge. At the other end a brace of mackerel dripped moisture on to the ashes as they slowly smoked and turned brown. Their smell permeated the thick clouds of black shag smoked in handmade pipes, and the sweat of men home from the sea and not keen on fresh water for either drinking or washing.

  Inside the tavern, it was light enough for Tom to see the slight nick at the side of her mouth. He asked her about it. Blanche chose to lie.

  ‘I was sewing a button on to one of George’s dresses and was stupid enough to break the thread with my teeth. I should have used scissors.’ She didn’t meet his eyes.

  He seemed to believe her, and looked across the room, nodding towards the person he was obviously seeking.

  ‘Aggie Pike,’ he said over his shoulder.

  Blanche followed him, searching for a woman among the brute-faced men.

  Aggie Pike was not at all what Blanche had expected. Neither was the method of greeting between Aggie and Tom.

  ‘Tom!’ shouted Aggie. She rolled up her sleeve and plonked her elbow on the table.

  Blanche could hardly believe her eyes. Even in Barbados she’d seen nothing quite like this. Tom was arm-wrestling with a woman. As he did so, he explained to her that Aggie was a barge owner who hauled goods along the Avon and up the Severn to the Forest of Dean and Gloucester. She had arms like legs of ham.

  ‘Strong as an ox,’ Tom muttered as he strained to keep his arm upright.

  Blanche sat on a three-legged stool, trying not to notice the looks she was getting from the pipe-smoking men, the lank-haired youths, and the odd doxy thinking she had competition.

  Elbows on table, and hands tightly clenched, Aggie and Tom faced each other across the table. Tom gritted his teeth. Aggie chatted as she chewed a clay pipe that jiggled at the side of her mouth.

  She finished telling him about her last voyage and how she’d dumped her latest husband off at Sharpness. Tom wondered whether it was the truth that she’d ever had a husband in the first place. She was far from pretty. In fact, the rear end of her barge looked better than she did.

  ‘Are you sucking that thing, or have you really got enough teeth left to hold on to it?’ he asked.

  She took the pipe from her mouth. ‘Look,’ she said and opened her mouth wide. ‘Six here,’ she said, pointing to teeth the colour of rotten meat. Her breath smelled rotten too. ‘And seven here,’ she added, pulling down her bottom lip so he could see them more clearly.

  Blanche winced. She’d seen better teeth on a dead barracuda.

  Tom’s idea had been to break her concentration while she showed him her gummy mouth, but the rotten teeth, thick with tar, protruding like nails from blood red gum
s, only distracted him. Her grip and the strength in her muscles were as good as ever.

  ‘Fancy a kiss then,’ she sniggered, leaning forward so that he got the full visual impact of her gummy mouth and fetid breath.

  Tough though he was, Tom couldn’t cope with that. His arm slammed to the table and laughter exploded around him at the sight of his disgusted expression.

  Aggie laughed uproariously with them. ‘I’m too much of a woman for you, Tom Strong,’ she shouted. She glanced at Blanche and winked. ‘Mind you, if you don’t want the captain, I can find a berth for him on me boat fast as you like.’

  There was more laughter. Aggie lapped it all up, smiling round at everyone like a prima donna at the end of a performance.

  Blanche didn’t correct Aggie that there was nothing between her and Tom, and then wondered why.

  ‘Now, let’s get down to business,’ Aggie said once all the attention had died down.

  She leaned more closely across the table. Tom got closer too, holding his hands over his mouth.

  ‘Now, what you got for me then, Tom?’ Aggie asked in a low voice.

  Tom nodded at Blanche. ‘My friend has some jewellery to sell. She needs money quickly so she can get a fast boat home.’

  ‘Home?’ asked Aggie with raised eyebrows. ‘And where might that be?’

  ‘Barbados,’ said Blanche.

  Aggie’s smile bestowed a sweetness to her face that hadn’t been there before. Her voice became dreamy.

  ‘I remember a man I met there once, long ago, mind you.’

  Tom explained that Aggie had disguised herself as a boy and stowed away to sea when she was younger.

  Aggie went on, ‘He looked a bit like you, though darker mind, quite a bit darker. Now,’ she said abruptly once the vision had cleared from her mind, ‘let’s see what you got to sell, and I’ll tell you whether I’m interested.’

  Blanche fetched out the small box, wondering why the lid felt so wet, then realizing it was because her hands were sweaty and she’d been gripping it tightly. She opened it and turned it to face Aggie, who looked, blinked, then smiled. ‘There’s a few things here, enough to get you a passage home.’