Then, as she retrieved the broken piece, Maria noticed something glinting within it. A seam of brightness that she couldn’t quite make out. Her curiosity piqued, she fetched her toilette case and extracted a silver sharp used for cleaning nails. She sat down at the table to examine her discovery, halting only momentarily to overcome her natural respect for property that was not, after all, hers. Still, it was intriguing. Pulling the candle towards her, she carefully bored a hole near the edge of the chocolate, as she had seen done to check freshness and quality. The sharp hit something solid.
Like a hound to the chase, Maria dug further. Whatever was inside was a good deal harder than a stray bean or a cluster of cacao nibs. She continued to dig in the light, carefully placing the dark shavings onto a piece of paper like a surgeon dissecting a corpse. In a minute, she had prised a small rough stone, the size of a misshapen apricot, from the interior. Her heart racing, she picked it up and held the stone to the light. She was no expert, but she was sure it was an uncut gem, its milky, uneven surface streaked with cacao. Scrambling, she searched her jewellery case and brought out her hairpin capped with a jaunty blue feather, a scatter of pearls and a small, bright diamond. Then, holding the stone steady, she drew the diamond across it. It left a thin line, a mere graze. Maria put it down. It couldn’t be an uncut diamond then, but nor was it glass. The colour was very light – perhaps it was topaz.
Maria sank back in the dark leather chair, suddenly breathless. The captain had a secret and she had found it. The man was a riddle, but she hadn’t expected this. She steeled herself, drilling six more holes in quick succession into the chocolate bar. Natural uncut gemstones peppered the bar like shot. They varied in colour, but already she counted two emeralds and something that might be a diamond – smaller than the others but very dense and, if it was what she suspected, surely worth hundreds. The hairpin could not graze it. She drilled one last time and hit again. Carefully, she widened the hole and angled the candle lamp. The hidden matter glowed gold. The metronome halted.
The only rational explanation was that Henderson was smuggling these items or, at the very least, that they were stolen. Horrified, Maria’s hand rose involuntarily to cover her mouth. She lost track of time, but it could only have been a minute or two later when a knock on the cabin door startled her.
‘Wait,’ she called, bundling the block into its linen and covering it with a stack of papers. Then, with shaking fingers, she called out to enter and felt palpably relieved when it was only the cabin boy with a steaming jug. She hurried him away, turning the key in the door as he went. Then she directed herself to her toilette.
Thinking all the while, Maria washed her skin with a muslin cloth, though her gaze kept returning to the illicit gems hidden on her writing desk as she slipped out of her grey day dress and into the sky-blue satin evening gown with her pale-gold gloves. She twisted her hair into an elegant coil held in place by the hairpin. A dab of orchid oil finished her preparations. Whatever was she going to do? There was still quarter of an hour before she must leave.
Perplexed, with her hands neatly folded in her lap, Maria sat at the desk regarding the bar. She ran through everything she knew of Henderson. Her mind kept racing ahead and she had to pull it back, like a runaway pony. Potentially this was a risky situation. There was no saying what a smuggler or a thief might do if she unmasked him, and yet the captain was certainly not a heartless monster, even if he might be breaking the law. For a start, he’d been genuinely upset by the death of his friend in Natal. The fellow they had met today, Thys, seemed thoroughly respectable and delighted to see Henderson. The crew followed Henderson’s orders to the letter and not because he was a bully. Everything pointed to a genuine, hard-earned respect and a sense of decency. Was he a gentleman pirate? No, not a gentleman, but maybe a pirate or a highwayman.
Maria was a member of London’s elite, but she took people as she found them. It often horrified the English community that she spent her time with local farmers and horse traders, eccentrics and mystics, but she valued expertise over convention and had long believed if you were going to make discoveries in the world you must first quit your Englishness and open your eyes. But still, hidden gemstones were beyond the pale. A bolt out of the tropical blue sky. This was smuggling. She stowed one of the stones in her purse, as proof, should she need it.
When the knock came, Maria’s hands fluttered like tiny birds. She quelled them and then rose to let him in, studying the captain carefully as he bowed and crossed the threshold. His face was rugged but not unkind. Still, she could not bring herself to level such a terrible accusation. Smugglers were brutal felons as low as bandits, their bodies strung up at ports across the burgeoning Empire. Might he harm her if she challenged him? She was aboard his ship and in his care.
Henderson had dressed for dinner. He smiled, waiting for her, his eyes pale-aquamarine pools. ‘The cabin feels lighter filled with your things. It smells better too,’ he said with a smile.
Bravely, she held out her arm. ‘Dinner,’ she announced carefully. ‘I should like to see the plantation.’
The evening’s entertainment would afford her time, at least, to try to read him.
9
San Fernando
At the gangplank, there was a jaunting carriage with two chestnut horses and a rough-looking coachman in shirtsleeves who, from his patchy appearance, must have shaved with a blunt razor. Henderson helped Maria into her seat and pos-
itioned himself opposite. The carriage was barely upholstered, the seats not only hard but, in places, jagged too.
Maria did not meet the captain’s eyes as they rode in silence through colourful evening scenes on the island’s busy streets. Small boys were selling slick slices of red and orange melon on the corners. At first the cobblestones were deafening, but at least the roar of the wheels covered the lack of conversation, each bump magnified by the threadbare upholstery as Maria studied Henderson surreptitiously, searching for signs of criminality. All week, as she had wondered about the captain, this possibility had never occurred to her. A smuggler. She looked back over the passage from Natal and scared herself, wondering what else might have been going on aboard the Bittersweet, right under her nose.
The earthen track was a relief when it came. The lights from the houses and taverns gave way to darkness and a thin moon rolled into view, scarcely illuminating the byways. The movement provided a light breeze that cut through the muggy air as they reached the higher ground. The carriage’s single lamp seemed insignificant in the face of such huge darkness. It cast a pale glow that scarcely reached the corners of the carriage. Henderson’s cheekbones were a sheer drop.
Surely he wouldn’t harm me, she thought.
He was such a tangle of contradictions it was hard to tell. At first she had judged him a man for the ladies – the way he had immediately fallen in step with her when she arrived in Natal, accosting her on the dockside and soliciting her attention. But aboard, he kept to himself, a mixture of reserve and open-minded ideas. He has been quite admirable, she thought. But then there were the stones. Was he all seeming and no being, like an illusionist’s shade, dodging between different versions of himself?
Off the main road, the carriage climbed a rocky path, jarring from side to side. Henderson and Maria held on to thin leather straps fixed inside the door and apologetically jerked too close and then too far away.
‘You will bruise,’ he said. ‘We must return to port in a better vehicle.’
The musky scent of pipe smoke wafted towards her as she brushed against his jacket. Her heart lurched. She almost said something, but the words were too difficult to form. Are you a criminal, sir? A smuggler? How could she even ask? The sound of tree frogs pulsed. She could hear them outside, now the cobbles had been replaced by softer earth. The noise needled her as she realised she had to know, else how could she return to the ship?
And then, before she could blurt it out, the ground levelled and the carriage drew up at a white wooden ve
randa that lunged out of the blackness. The world that had been hurtling past came to a sharp stop. Lamps were set at intervals along the planking, and two servants, or perhaps house slaves, emerged to greet them with Thys Bagdorf shortly behind, tonight in another pale-linen suit and immaculate white cravat. He wore an apricot flower in his buttonhole – a blooming cactus.
‘Welcome,’ Thys boomed, his blond locks flashing in the lamplight.
Henderson bounded down, clapping his friend on the back.
Thys bowed and presented Maria with a pale lily. ‘For your hair.’
As Maria curtsied, there was a swish of satin. Then, to the sound of heels on wood, their host led them through the reception hall into an elegant drawing room garlanded with ginger lillies against a backdrop of pale-blue wallpaper. Such light after the darkness was splendour, the candles spreading their glow like liquid gold. Nature was tamed here. Inside, a pretty blonde woman sat on a wooden sofa sipping a gargantuan glass of pale liquid. It looked like a small bucket in her pretty hands.
‘Mrs Graham, Captain Henderson, may I present my sister, Miss Ramona Bagdorf.’
Miss Bagdorf rose and curtsied. A butler appeared with a tray. Maria found it difficult to focus on the beautiful room and the unexpected company. She felt out of her depth, as if she were swimming in the candlelight, with her feet off the ground.
Thys was bluff. ‘Captain Ebberhardt could not join us, but he kindly wrote instructions. He makes the Atlantic crossing frequently – most recently to and from Amsterdam. Meantime, we must toast your voyage and safe return.’ He raised his glass.
The liquid glimmered. Maria’s eyes were drawn to Henderson’s as she tried to second-guess him.
‘I’m excited to see London,’ the captain admitted, his tone almost boyish.
Thys was adept at managing society. ‘Poor Mrs Graham. You are only permitted one day in beautiful Trinidad, it seems.’
‘I must return to England,’ Maria admitted. That was the truth of the matter. She cast around, passing the baton of conversation. ‘Miss Bagdorf, how have you taken to the island? Have you been here long?’
Ramona nodded. ‘I arrived last year,’ she said in perfect English. ‘At first there were terrible storms, but now the weather has settled. Thys bought me a horse.’
Thys shifted on his feet. ‘My sister, Mrs Graham, is most unconventional. The other day I caught sight of her and, I confess, she was not sitting side-saddle but was mounted astride like a gentleman. She has been riding this way for some time, I understand.’
Ramona had the grace to look sheepish.
‘My goodness. Where do you ride in this fashion, Miss Bagdorf?’ Maria knew there were some rules she could break and others that were simply impossible. In all her travels, she had never ridden in such a manner. Society’s judgement could not be avoided should such a shocking story seep out. Miss Bagdorf was clearly an Amazon. Next the girl would be wearing pantaloons.
Ramona maintained her composure. ‘Most ladies might find it unsuitable, madam, but I was making my way across the highlands when I realised that riding to the side inhibits me.’
‘Bravo!’ Henderson saluted. ‘Why not? Such stuffy trad-
itions should be challenged.’
Miss Bagdorf blushed so that even her lips seemed flushed. She was a girl ripe for the picking. ‘Trinidad is a jewel,’ she said simply. ‘I’m collecting recipes – we shall try some tonight. Soon Thys is sending me to London, where our Aunt Birgette is indisposed. I am to be her companion. Captain Henderson, I understand you have an eye for cacao?’
Henderson blustered a rebuttal, but Thys cut in.
‘The best, James, don’t deny it. I keep only the cream of my crop for you. There is no point in trying to sell you anything else.’
Maria watched as Henderson brushed away the compliment.
Dinner was a feast piled high with prawns, roasted plantain and spiced chicken, and then soft cheese and honey with bread so fresh it was difficult to stop eating. It was clear Miss Bagdorf preferred life away from the reserved behaviour of genteel Copenhagen. Her mother’s brunsviger was abandoned for the food of slaves and the vigour of riding freely across the irrepressible landscape of the tropics.
‘I like to eat with my hands,’ the girl confessed. ‘This food was made for that.’
Thys laughed. ‘Our clothes, however, were not,’ he quipped.
Maria laid down her cutlery and picked up a roasted chicken leg. Henderson regarded her carefully and followed suit.
‘It tastes different, don’t you think?’ Ramona chattered.
‘Next you will call the slaves to sing at the table,’ Thys scolded.
A sliver of chicken skin fell from Maria’s fingers onto her gown. She brushed it away.
‘See,’ Thys said.
Maria moved her arm and snagged her knife on the button of her glove. In a flash, Henderson leaned over and caught the blade in mid-air. It twirled between his fingers and he presented it back to her, the ivory handle foremost. Ramona clapped.
‘Thank you,’ said Maria, and told herself there was no reason the captain shouldn’t be handy with a blade. I have worked myself to high doh. Even his smile seemed ominous. Smuggler. Criminal. Thief.
After dinner, the company played bridge. The captain was adept at finessing his hand and his prospects of winning were impossible to read from his expression. Maria was not surprised. Perhaps he never shows himself, she thought. Perhaps below the surface there is only a void. But that made no sense. There must be something. No man was good or bad all through.
‘You mentioned you might return to London, Miss Bagdorf?’ Maria enquired.
Thys cut in. ‘We are waiting for word.’
‘Perhaps I could travel with you, Captain?’ Ramona’s eyes slid across Henderson’s wide shoulders. She clearly did not share Maria’s reservations about her handsome dinner guest.
‘We leave tomorrow morning. If you wish a cabin aboard the Bittersweet, you must pack immediately,’ Henderson teased.
And Miss Bagdorf, seemingly unperturbed by this, played two trumps.
Long after midnight, they sipped pink demitasses of coffee poured from a tall silver pot until at last the candles guttered and the plate of thin biscuits was finished. A moth fluttered across the room. It sank to the floor and still Maria had not concluded. It seemed too normal here. As the last flame disappeared, the party was left in darkness.
‘Is the tax high on candlewax? I shall bring you contraband, Thys,’ Henderson joked.
Was that an admission?
Thys laughed. ‘Don’t replace the lights,’ he instructed the footman. ‘Fetch lamps and the carriage. I have something to show you.’ A dark figure, he jumped to his feet. Miss Bagdorf scooped up her wrap and, checking Henderson was following, reached for Maria’s arm as the group headed into the tropical night.
‘I have no idea of the time,’ Maria noted. ‘You don’t keep a clock on the mantel.’
Ramona laughed. ‘It’s after sunset and before dawn,’ she squealed, flinging herself onto the plump leather seat of her brother’s open carriage. ‘We have no need of more accurate timing than that. Sit next to me, Mrs Graham.’ She held out a hand, kid gloves to her elbow.
Thys drove the horses – two bays. They headed away from the house and down a narrow road, no more than a track, through the dark foliage. The air was scented with tropical flowers and hops that bespoke an estate brewery. When the carriage stopped, Maria could hear running water, the hoots of night owls and the steady rhythm of the grass, creaking with insects. Half mesmerised, she wanted to stay and listen, but Thys hurried them on. Henderson handed her down. Slowly, in the dark, the little party followed Thys’s lantern down the hill, a ramble in the pitch. Cacao pods jutted into the dim light, flashes of vivid leaves cutting towards them. He stopped at a small stream, his lamp glimmering over the black water.
‘The river is sweet, isn’t it?’ Ramona turned, her hair so glossy it could be wet.
Behind them they couldn’t see much – a tendril or two and the stream skipping over the edge and dropping into utter blackness. Thys doused his lamp.
‘It’s a waterfall,’ Ramona announced.
‘Come.’ Her brother motioned as he clambered over the rocks. ‘Follow me.’
Maria waved off Henderson’s arm and fell into step, her eyes adjusting.
Over the drop, a luminous pond lay below them like a pale magic lantern. It was as if the moon had plummeted into the water and smashed open. Engulfed in darkness, with only a scatter of stars above, the place felt like a bright secret – something ancient and precious. Maria had never seen anything like it – a secret lake of light. The surface was opal. It put Maria in mind of a necklace she had seen once in Hatton Garden. She had been twenty-three and Lady Dundas had dangled the bauble between her fingers.
‘Stay in London and I’ll buy it for you,’ she said.
Maria had been breathless – the way it held the light was hypnotic. But she was set on Bombay.
‘Whatever would a girl like you do with jewellery?’ her aunt taunted when Maria had turned down her admittedly generous offer. ‘A dowdy bluestocking. Really.’
The lake was bigger than any opal and brighter too.
‘What is it?’ she asked, wide-eyed.
On Starlit Seas Page 10
