“Those seem to be more than mere coincidences,” Charlie said, his full attention now on Brooke. “But what does this have anything to with our treasure?”
“Well, the parchment was found in an envelope with his seal on it, correct?” Brooke asked. At Charlie’s nod, Brooke removed the parchment from the pages of the sonnets, and set the book containing de Vere’s biography on the coffee table. She shifted back in her place, before turning over the parchment so the numbers were faced up. “And the quote on the parchment comes from Shakespeare’s Forty-Eighth Sonnet.”
Brooke paused, her eyes scanning the two rows of numbers very carefully. She knew that what she was proposing was nearly sacrilegious, and if she was not presented with a detailed biography of Edward de Vere and Shakespeare’s works at the same time, she would never have believed that anyone but Shakespeare wrote his work. And yet, here she was, trying to prove to Charlie that Shakespeare did not write his plays but someone else did.
“I believe the first numbers pertain to Shakespeare’s sonnets,” she began, her voice quivering slightly. “Shakespeare wrote one hundred and fifty-four sonnets, and the numbers go up to one hundred and fifty four.” Charlie nodded, his eyes scanning the parchment. “I believe the numbers that appear next to some of the main numbers refer to the lines of the sonnet.
“For example,” she continued, “take Sonnet Seven, where he is describing a man with ‘strong youth in his middle age.’” Again she paused, hesitating, but managed to work up the courage to continue. “I believe he is speaking of Henry Wriothesley, the Third Earl of Southampton. In fact, I believe he is speaking of Southampton in the first seventeen sonnets.”
“How does the Earl of Southampton have anything to do with de Vere?” Charlie asked. He was sincerely curious now, not skeptical.
“De Vere wanted Southampton to marry his daughter,” Brooke explained. “These seventeen sonnets are dedicated to him in hopes that he will marry her.” She read Charlie’s inquisitive glance as need for further proof, so she opened the book of sonnets and flipped to number Ten. “In this one, de Vere writes that ‘Make thee another self, for love of me’ which can refer to de Vere’s birth into high nobility, compared to Southampton. I mean, the way he writes these first seventeen sonnets indicates that he is of the same birth as Southampton is.
“Also,” she continued quickly, flipping back to the first page with the dedication on it, “Mr. W.H. probably refers to Henry Wriothesley with the initials reversed in order to conceal Southampton’s identity. This switch was most likely made by the publisher.
“The Dark Mistress, I believe, might be Anne Vavasor, the woman who bore him his child out of wedlock,” Brooke went on, flipping through the pages until she stopped at Sonnet Thirteen. “In this one, he writes, ‘Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, Which husbandry in honour might uphold,’ which could be referring to his illegitimate child, and how she had him out of wedlock.”
“I thought the first seventeen sonnets were dedicated to Southampton,” Charlie said, quirking a brow.
“They are still autobiographical,” Brooke said with a shrug, and flipped through more pages. “Here, Sonnet Nine-and-Fifty, he writes, ‘bear amiss The second burden of a former child!’
“I am not quite sure who the Rival Poet may be, however,” Brooke said with a hint of disappointment. “There are a few good candidates.
“However, continuing on, he even hints at his true identity.” Again, she flipped through the pages, reading a portion, and then flipping to the next page. “Sonnet Nine-and-Twenty refers to the shame de Vere felt having been so successful, and was now declining. ‘When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heav’n with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope.’ He has a sense of shame, Charlie, and it seems to me that maybe the public knew of the author’s shame, or at least, that is what the author seems to believe, and de Vere was part of quite a few scandals in his day.
“He also writes of his lameness,” Brooke continued. “Here, in Sonnet Seven-and-Thirty, he writes ‘I, made lame by fortune’s dearest spite’ and it continues in lines nine and ten, ‘So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give...’ and in Sonnet Nine-and-Eighty, ‘Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, Against thy reasons, making no defense.’” Brooke glanced up at Charlie. “Edward de Vere was injured in a duel due to his inappropriate courting of Anna Vavasour, which caused a rift with her uncle, Sir Thomas Knyvet. I would like to point out that warring families battling due to love is a theme not only in Pyrimus and Thisbe, but also in Romeo and Juliet.”
Before Charlie could comment, Brooke quickly continued. “Sonnet Six-and-Seventy says, ‘That every word doth almost tell my name’ and Sonnet One-and-Eighty reads, ‘Though I, once gone, to all the world must die…’ obviously referring to why he never actually documented the fact that he was, indeed, behind Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets. Sonnet One Hundred and Fifteen says, ‘Those lines that I before have writ do lie.’ I realize that when you first read these lines, they do not directly explain de Vere’s grand secret, yet I believe they have a double, truer meaning. Shakespeare was, after all, known for his double innuendos and his irony.
“But, most importantly, Sonnets One Hundred and Five-and-Thirty, One Hundred and Six-and-Thirty, and One Hundred and Three-and-Forty all have the word ‘will’ capitalized for two reasons; the obvious one being that will is being personified, but also, he uses it as a play on his name. In fact, Sonnet One Hundred and Six-and-Thirty even says ‘Make but my name thy love, and love that still, And then thou lov’st me,-for my name is Will.’ Maybe this is a reference to why he chose the first name William to pair with his last name Shakespeare, for his crest.
“There is so much evidence pointing to de Vere, Charlie!” Brooke exclaimed with exasperation. “The three dedicatees of his work were engaged to his three daughters! Southampton had Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece dedicated to him, the First Folio’s of his plays were dedicated to Montgomery who married Susan de Vere, as well as Pembroke, who was engaged to his daughter Bridget. And finally, his uncle, Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, invented the form of the English sonnet, which later became known as the Shakespearean sonnet.” She paused, catching her breath, and looking at Charlie expectantly. “So… what do you think?”
Charlie was silent for a moment, trying to process everything Brooke had told him. It was a bit of a revelation to find out that Shakespeare was not really Shakespeare, and the work he enjoyed to read was not written by the man believed it to be written by. He was not disappointed, per se, but he was let down in a way.
He glanced at Brooke for a moment, and his lips curled into a smile.
“Why, my dear, I think that you are the most brilliant woman I have ever met,” he told her sincerely. “No one could have proved that Shakespeare was a sham save for you. What a revelation!” Brooke beamed at him, and Charlie smiled back, his gold teeth reflecting the sun’s seeping rays. “Now, tell me then, what does this have to do with our treasure?”
Brooke rolled her eyes at Charlie’s enthusiasm for the gold, but smiled nonetheless. She took the parchment in her hands, and pointed at the number fifty-two.
“Sonnet Two-and-Fifty says,” she said, flipping through the pages of the book until she reached the desired page, “’So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.’” She skipped a few lines, and then resumed reading. “’…Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you as my chest…” She looked back down at the parchment. “Obviously this is referring to our treasure hunt, but you see the markings next to the numbers? Though they are faded, I believe them to read ‘An Assu’ which makes no sense whatsoever. But, whatever the phrase means is where the treasure is.”
; “So, now we solve the phrase?” Charlie asked Brooke.
The young woman nodded.
“Now we solve the phrase,” she confirmed.
--
Another two weeks went by, and soon it was late April. Flowers were blooming, birds were singing, and something was definitely in the Caribbean air. One late afternoon, Charlie and Brooke were lounging in the backyard of his relatives’ cottage. Brooke was on her stomach, her fingers grazing the petals of a freshly bloomed flower. Charlie was sitting, his ankles crossed, leaning on his palms, his chin tilted up and his eyes closed, feeling the cool breeze that surrounded them.
“Have you ever been in love, Charlie?” Brooke asked quietly, arching her neck back so she got a good view of him.
Charlie opened one eye, looking at the young woman in front of him. Her long, wavy hair cascaded around her, catching the light from the sun. Her skin was developing a smooth tan and her freckles were darkening. She was looking at him imploringly, pushing her body up so that she leaned on her forearms. The tunic she was wearing was slightly big on her, causing the right sleeve to fall slightly, exposing her bare shoulder. If he craned his neck very slightly, he would be able to see her outline of her breasts, but he refrained from doing so, and forced his chocolate eyes into her sea green ones.
“Love?” he asked her, blinking his eyes. He sighed and glanced up at the sky. His lips were pursed, causing his chin to break out into an array of tiny dimples. Finally, he looked back at Brooke, and licked his lips before replying. “I have felt compassion for a woman. I have felt desire for a woman. I have respected a woman. But I have never truly loved a woman.”
“How do you know?” she asked softly, tilting her head very slightly to the side. She was enraptured by him; her focus was set on his words.
“I think to be truly in love you have to feel all those things for one person,” Charlie explained. “But most importantly, there has to be trust between a man and a woman, and in my life, I have never trusted a woman.” He paused, and then smiled slightly. “Save for you, of course.” Brooke smiled, her cheeks getting red, and glanced down. Her fingers subconsciously began to play with the grass. “What about you, darling? Have you ever been in love?”
Brooke smiled, and then bit her lips, looking away and shaking her head.
“I thought I was once, when I was seventeen,” she murmured, the smile still on her lips. “He came from England. His uncle was one of king’s advisors, so he came from a wealthy family. The Governor was entertaining his company when he was staying at Port Royal, and I happened to visit Fiona when he was there. I was instantly attracted to him, and allowed him to court me.” She smiled and watched herself pick the blades of grass and then drop them down, moving onto other blades of grass. “My father was obviously thrilled, waiting for him to formally propose, and I must say, I was expecting the same thing.” Her brow furrowed suddenly, and her gaze became intent. “About a month later, he got called back to England on urgent business. I later found out that the business was that his wife had just given birth to their first child.”
She finally looked up at Charlie, whose position had changed; he was sitting up, his arms wrapped around his knees. He was looking at her with an odd expression on his face but remained silent. Brooke’s stomach was knotting, and she felt compelled to speak.
“I did not realize until then that marriage was… frightening,” she murmured, looking back at the grass.
“How is it frightening?” Charlie asked, watching her look at the grass.
“Maybe I was naïve, but I believed that marriage was between two people who love each other dearly,” she said, her brow rising, but her gaze remaining firmly on the earth beneath her. “But apparently, it is the norm for a man to take a mistress when he is married. In fact, people say he deserves one! I cannot fathom that! I cannot understand that if a man loves a woman, he would take a mistress.”
“Love is not as simple as it seems,” Charlie told her softly. “However, I agree, that if a man truly loves a woman, and she truly loves him in return, there is no need for a third party.”
At that moment, Nora walked out into the backyard and over to the lounging pair. She opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it quickly. Her hands were wringing the apron she was wearing, and her brown eyes looked distraught.
“Brooke, dear, may I speak with you in private?” she asked.
Brooke glanced at Charlie curiously, but he shook his head, indicating that he knew not why Nora would need to speak with just Brooke.
“Oh, you may say whatever you wish to me in front of Charlie,” Brooke said politely, but firmly, turning to look back at the older woman.
Nora sighed, almost as if she expected Brooke to say that.
“All right,” she said. “Well, I was at the market today, when I overheard a conversation you should probably hear. Apparently Governor Radcliffe’s daughter, Fiona, is engaged to marry Joel, the mapmaker you mentioned. Well, one of the women taking part in this conversation is aunt to a maid in the governor’s mansion, and has overheard many conversations that have taken place there. The couple to wed is to have an engagement party in a few days’ time. When the governor asks his daughter what she wants for this special occasion she will say nothing but to have her best mate present at the party and the wedding.”
Brooke’s mouth dropped, and she pushed herself up to a sitting position.
“Oh,” she said finally, completely shocked at what Nora had just told her. “Well, thank you for telling me, Nora.”
Nora nodded, and dropped her apron so it fell against her body with new wrinkles dimpled in the cloth. She turned and headed back into the home, and Brooke stood up and stretched. When she made way to follow Nora into the house, Charlie called, “Where are you going?”
Brooke turned slowly, and found Charlie standing, his hands on his hips and his head cocked to the side.
“Obviously I am going to get ready to head back to Port Royal,” Brooke said with edginess to her voice.
Charlie shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “You are going to stay right here.”
Brooke’s eyes flamed emerald green and her brow furrowed darkly.
“My two best friends are getting married,” she said slowly. “Why would I miss their wedding?”
“You have not yet healed,” Charlie told her. “You still need your rest.”
“We have been here nearly three months, Charlie!” the young woman exclaimed indignantly. “I believe I am fully rested, thank you very much!”
“I don’t think you seem to grasp the danger that Port Royal holds for you,” Charlie said, his tone becoming defensive. His chocolate colored eyes darkened, and they narrowed at the woman. “You are an acquaintance of a pirate, which is punishable by death. Hell, they may even claim you are a pirate for the duration of your stay with me.”
“I do not care how dangerous Port Royal is,” Brooke retorted stubbornly. “I am going whether you like it or not.”
“No, you are not,” Charlie articulated lowly.
“Really?” Brooke asked in disbelief, quirking a brow in a challenging manner. “You are not my father, my brother nor my husband; what makes you think I will not leave?”
“Because I order it,” Charlie stated simply. Inside, he knew that what he was pulling was absolutely disgraceful, but if it would keep her in New Providence where she was safe and in his watch, then he would pull any card he had to. “I may not be your father, your brother, or your husband, but I am your captain, and you are obligated to follow my orders.”
Brooke felt like she had just been slapped in the face. She could not believe that Charlie had stumbled so low that he would use his formal title against her. She thought they were friends before such formalities but obviously she was wrong. Her mouth dropped open, and she felt her eyes tear up, not because she could not go, but because Charlie had ordered her not to go. She looked at Charlie with disbelief, before closing her mouth and nodding.
“Fine,” sh
e said softly. “Whatever you say, Captain.”
With that, she turned and walked back into the house. Charlie could order her around all he wanted; there was no way she was missing the wedding. She would be there somehow.
Chapter XVII
Early the next morning, while everyone was still asleep, Brooke began to get dressed in the nicest clothing she could possibly find. While her options were slim at best, she finally decided on an emerald green silk tunic that Charlie let her have a while ago, and black breeches, as she was accustomed to wearing. She tied her hair up to keep it from falling in her face. Once she had finished getting ready, she walked down the stairs as quietly as she could, and, after making sure that she was in the clear, she silently slipped out into the night.
Despite Charlie’s order, she was still intent on returning to Port Royal. With the help of Nora, she decided to leave that morning, well before dawn. Nora had offered Brooke one of the small boats she and her husband had that was well-stocked and durable. Upon hearing of Brooke’s lack of expertise in sailing, the two women enlisted Kenneth to go with her as a guide. He was sworn to absolute secrecy, and after a moment of debating, agreed. His thoughts on the matter were that while he may suffer a very livid tirade from Charlie, at least Kenneth would know about Brooke’s safety, and be able to inform Charlie of anything he might want to know. If he chose not to accompany Brooke and something had happened to her, Charlie would never forgive him, and he would never be able to forgive himself. Over the couple of months of knowing Brooke, he began to view her as the granddaughter he never had, and he’d be damned if he let her go sail the sea without proper supervision.
Brooke met Kenneth at the main dock, where the boat was. In twenty minutes, the two were off, setting sail from New Providence towards Port Royal, and to the wedding of Joel Donahue and Fiona Radcliffe.
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