Kitabı oku: «The Pirate's Daughter», sayfa 3
Cassandra saw laughter lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. He was mocking her. Annoyance stirred and her eyes flashed. ‘I am not most women, Captain Marston.’
He raised an eyebrow with an amused admiration. He hadn’t missed the flare of temper in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t agree more. You are unaware of the potency of your charms that makes you different, Mistress Everson, and I meant no insult.’
Cassandra smothered a smile at the man’s outrageous audacity. ‘None taken.’
‘And you will allow me to call on you when I return?’
‘Yes, of course. I shall look forward to it,’ she murmured.
‘Thank you. Duty may take me away from you now, but not for long. I will not lose you. If you are not here when I return, then I will find you in London.’ His voice was low, urgent and persuasive, and he was studying her from beneath his strongly marked eyebrows, watching her face as he bowed his dark head politely, his expression appraising as she turned and began to move away and followed the young midshipman and her companion off the beach.
Stuart’s eyes continued to watch her. Her step was one of confidence, as if she sensed hidden dangers ahead but determined nevertheless to enjoy them. She moved gracefully, with an added fluency that drew the eye to the elegance of her straight back and the proud tilt of her head. In those first dazzling moments when he had scooped her out of the capsizing boat, neither had been prepared for the impact of their meeting, for the attraction had been mutual and instantaneous. The unexpectedness of it astounded Stuart, and Cassandra would have been surprised if she had known the depth of his feelings as she walked away from him. Suddenly, this, his final trip on the Sea Hawk, had begun to take on a certain appeal.
Young, original and fresh, Mistress Everson possessed an indescribable magnetism in abundance, with that unique quality of innocence and sexuality rarely come by. She was a woman, hardly more than a child, with a combination of youthful beauty and an untouched air of shy modesty, and yet she had about her a primitive earthiness that sat strangely at odds with her well-bred gentility. When she smiled a small dimple appeared in her cheek, and her rosy parted lips revealed perfect, small white teeth. Stuart was enchanted. He thought he had never seen anything quite so appealing or irresistibly captivating as Mistress Everson. Women like her were as scarce and as hard to come by as a rare jewel and must be treated as such, and he was determined that she would not escape him.
He knew practically nothing about her, but the violence and depth of his attraction, and his instinct, told him he had met the woman with whom he wished to spend the rest of his life. He had always avoided any sentimental attachment, yet here, against his will—for he had not thought to look for a wife until he returned to England—he found his head filled with thoughts of Mistress Everson, and he became determined that as soon as he returned from Jamaica he would embark on the most exhilarating and exciting chase of his life.
As he was about to turn away he stopped in his tracks and looked at her again, checked, suddenly, by a memory when he saw a thick strand of her silvery gold hair, having come loose from the pins securing it beneath her hat, become caught by the breeze. It toyed with it and raised it high, and it rippled and danced behind her as she walked like a ship’s pennon borne on the wind. His brow became creased in a puzzled frown when the memory stirred once more. He tried to think what it was and to remember of whom it was Mistress Everson reminded him. He got no further, for at that moment he was distracted when one of his crew drew his attention, and he was forced to turn his mind to other things.
Cassandra knew Captain Marston was watching her as she walked away through the vibrant, colourful profusion of people thronging the beach. She was tempted to turn her head and look back, but for some strange reason that was beyond her she kept her eyes focused ahead.
How could it be that after a few minutes away from him she was already craving his company once more? When he had looked into her eyes she had felt the intensity of his regard, and had known that he was passionately aware of her. Their meeting had left her tingling with pleasure, for she had never met a man so fascinating, stimulating and exciting. That he was a man of power and accustomed to obedience from others was clear.
She very much hoped they would meet again—or did she? She sighed, totally confused. What was wrong with her? Had she lost control of her reason? Was the island getting to her already? Was it the heat or some temporary madness? No one had ever made her feel this way. Could it possibly be that she was falling in love with a man she had met just once?
Chapter Three
T he Courtly plantation lay some four miles inland in the parish of St George, a broad lowland area separating the higher central uplands from the southern region. Since the settlement of Barbados by English colonists in 1627, the island had developed with astonishing rapidity, as forest clearance had proceeded apace, and the production of sugar, and its by-products, rum and molasses, had become the island’s principal economy. Barbados was politically stable, with the institution of slavery dominating every aspect of life on the island.
Protected from the sun’s hot rays by a parasol she had acquired in Trinidad, seated beside Rosa in the swaying carriage, Cassandra had a good view of the sun-drenched island. At the back of her was the jewel-bright sea, and before her stretched an undulating landscape of small settlements, modest hills and a patchwork of flat, tidy sugar fields, with the sight of expansive sugar plantations and poorly maintained settlers’ cabins dotting the verdant landscape.
Winding footpaths cut through brush and forest, thick with tropical foliage. The size and shapes of the trees, many of them towering fringed cabbage palms, were awesome. Leaving the road, they travelled down a wide track. Ahead of them were the outbuildings and the main house of a sprawling plantation. The three-storey stone and timber house, sturdy and handsome, which had been built on a rise above the cane fields to catch the cooling breezes and to look over the estate, was a stately English manor house in a tropical setting.
The plantation consisted of boiling houses and distilleries and other factory houses necessary for the manufacture of sugar, along with the squalid rows of palm-thatched slave huts, which were at the rear of the big house. They were partly hidden from sight by a barrier of trees and far enough away so any unpleasant odours did not offend the refined noses of the gentry who inhabited or visited Courtly Hall.
John had told her a little of Sir Charles Courtly, whose father, backed by merchant capital in England, had arrived on Barbados in the 1640s. Growing sugar had been his carriage to wealth and he had amassed a fortune, which, on his demise, had passed to his son. The family had become one of several that had come to dominate the island’s economy and politics. When he wasn’t in England—where he displayed an ostentatious lifestyle—Sir Charles Courtly hosted some of the most elaborate social gatherings on the island.
The carriage travelled up a long, narrow avenue lined with fringed palms. As they neared the house Cassandra’s reaction to the heat, the smell, the noise and the people she saw going about their work was almost physical. She breathed deeply with pleasure, for nothing had prepared her for this, but when the carriage stopped at the door of the house her heart throbbed. Knowing the painful interview with her cousin was close, a tension began to build inside her.
The door was opened by a servant, a man resplendent in pale blue silk, and when he saw Cassandra and Rosa, a wide, incredulous smile of welcome split his black face. The man, whose name was Henry, was so polite and his smile so infectious, that the two women were put at ease immediately.
When Cassandra introduced herself and Rosa and told him who it was she wished to see, he bade them enter. Cassandra paused to enquire of the young midshipman about paying the driver of the carriage, only to be told that the fee had been settled by the gentleman who had hired it. Cassandra’s heart warmed with gratitude for Captain Marston. If she should meet the handsome sea captain again—which she sincerely hoped would be the case—she would thank him for his kindness.
After unloading the carriage and placing the baggage in the drive, the midshipman climbed back on to the seat beside the driver and headed back to Bridgetown. At the same time as the visitors entered the house, a petite, elegant lady with a vivacious air, in middle age, breezed into the hall. The faint scent of roses surrounded her, floating from her lilac silk gown. It was the fragrance that always reminded Cassandra of Meredith, the scent of home, comfort and love. A host of memories stirred in her heart, and her conscience pricked her, sharp in its sting, for she sincerely hoped Meredith had forgiven her for disappearing like she had.
‘I am Julia Courtly,’ the lady murmured, introducing herself immediately and greeting Cassandra with unfeigned pleasure, a delighted smile dawning on her face, much of her youthful beauty still very much in evidence.
Cassandra felt a pair of brown eyes scrutinising her curiously. ‘I am Cassandra Everson, Lady Courtly, and this is Rosa, my companion. I must offer my deep apologies that we should impose ourselves on you uninvited, but I am here to see my cousin, Sir John Everson. I believe he is staying here at Courtly Hall.’
Lady Courtly looked most surprised. ‘He certainly is, my dear, but John never said you were coming.’
Cassandra had the grace to look contrite. ‘He—he doesn’t know. I thought I would surprise him.’
‘And he will be. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to welcome you to Courtly Hall,’ Lady Courtly said effusively. ‘We will not trouble ourselves as to why you have come to Barbados or how, but will see that your visit is an enjoyable one.’
‘John—is here?’ Cassandra enquired tentatively.
‘Yes, I do believe so, but not here in the house. He prefers to stay in a bungalow in the grounds.’ Her eyes went past Cassandra to Rosa, who looked as if she were about to wilt. ‘Mercy! You must think me atrociously lacking in manners. Please forgive me. You will be tired and in dire need of refreshment after your journey. Come into the drawing room.’ She ushered them inside, turning to Henry and instructing him to have refreshments sent in.
The interior of the room was cool and elegant, with exquisite silk hangings, pictures and gilt mirrors, carpets and furniture shipped over from England and France years before, a tribute to the family’s good taste.
‘You must be made comfortable at once,’ Lady Courtly said. ‘I shall see that rooms are prepared while you take some refreshment.’
Cassandra smiled her gratitude. She hadn’t expected to be greeted so warmly. ‘I thank you for your kind thought,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but Rosa and I really don’t wish to be any trouble. It was an exceedingly irresponsible action on my part to come here without a proper invitation. We will be perfectly content to stay with John.’
‘What! In that poky bungalow where there isn’t room for a body to turn round? Absolutely not. I’ll not hear of it. You are John’s cousin and there is no better place for you to stay than under this roof. Besides, with my son and his wife away in England at present, the house is much too quiet.’ Impulsively Lady Courtly put out her hand and laid it on Cassandra’s, her smile warm and entrancing. ‘I shall so enjoy having you stay and introducing you to our friends, and you can tell me all about what is happening in England.’
‘Thank you, Lady Courtly. I will speak to John.’
‘Of course you will, and I know he will agree that it is best you stay here. Oh, and my name is Julia, by the way. Lady Courtly sounds pompous and so formal, I always think. The three of you will dine here later—and then you can meet my husband.’
After partaking of much-needed refreshment, Cassandra and Rosa were directed to John’s bungalow some distance from the house by a shy young houseboy. The small building was almost hidden by the surrounding trees and sweet-scented flowering shrubs, and all manner of hanging and climbing creepers, with blossoms as dark as crimson or white as snow. The air was heavy with their perfume and the droning of bees.
Thanking the boy, who scuttled away, Cassandra stepped on to the verandah, welcoming the cool tranquillity of the shade it offered. Two bamboo rocking chairs stood side by side, and a hammock hung from a nearby tree. Gingerly she stepped through the open door, unprepared for the exotic strangeness of the bungalow, of its smell of lemons and musk. The polished wooden floor was strewn with gaily-coloured woven mats, and curtains fluttered in the gentlest of breezes at the open windows. Brocade upholstered divans scattered with corded and tasselled cushions stood against the walls.
Emerging from an adjoining room, hastily fastening his breeches, John’s appearance was dishevelled, his eyes languid. Cassandra laughed with delight on seeing her cousin, of whom she was extremely fond. Her delight was shortlived. The effect her arrival had on the man who was twelve years her senior was one of incredulity and absolute horror. Despite the heat and John’s natural high colour, his rapidly whitening wide-eyed face was enough to unsettle Cassandra’s composure.
Smiling apprehensively, she moved towards him, hoping for an embrace, but John did not laugh, and nor did the coffee-skinned, scantily clad young woman who had come to stand behind him, who was staring at Cassandra in wondrous awe.
John’s righteous display of anger fairly shook his body, for the mere fact that Cassandra had arrived unheralded on Barbados at all was bad enough, but that she should come upon him while he was savouring the welcoming and undemanding delights of his native mistress in the middle of the day was embarrassing to say the least.
‘Cassandra! Confound it!’ he exploded. ‘What in damnation are you doing here?’
‘Please, John, don’t be angry with me. Let me explain—’
‘Explain? Explain what?’ he shouted as the young woman behind him slipped back into the bedroom, her bare feet a whisper on the floorboards. ‘Nothing you have to say can justify your appearance. How dare you come all this way without my knowledge or approval? It simply will not do. Your astounding conduct is reckless and foolhardy to say the least. You always were too stubborn and headstrong for your own good, but I thought you’d more sense than to do something like this. What if I had returned to England—or been carried off by one of the infernal diseases that are forever rampant in the tropics?’
‘Then I would have no choice but to return to England myself. Oh, come now, John,’ she pleaded. ‘Tell me you are pleased to see me.’
John was unappeased by her apparent calm; in fact, it only increased his anger. He moved closer, glaring at her. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? Have you gone mad? How can you expect me to be pleased to see you when you arrive unheralded and unattended? What in God’s name possessed you?’
Ignoring his anger, Cassandra risked a little smile, hoping that with a little gentle coercing she would succeed in placating him. After all, it had always worked in the past.
‘I am not unattended, John. As you see,’ she said sweetly, indicating her young companion who was hovering fearfully in the doorway, afraid to enter further inside the room lest he vent his anger on her also, ‘I have Rosa as my companion.’
John’s eyes merely flicked to Rosa’s stiff figure before it returned to savage his cousin. He continued to glare at her, the taut set of his face warning her of the control he was holding over his temper. He kept his voice steady when he next spoke, but its tone, like his expression, was like steel. ‘Then tell me, what has brought you to Barbados?’ Suddenly his eyes filled with alarm as a thought occurred to him, and he took a step closer. ‘Is it Meredith?’ he asked, thinking something terrible might have befallen his beloved sister. ‘Has something happened to my sister?’
Cassandra was quick to reassure him. ‘No—no, of course not. Do not worry yourself. When I left London Meredith was away visiting your grandmother. The last I saw of her she was quite well. My—reason for coming here was because—well—I had a desire to see something of the Caribbean for myself. That is all.’
‘Do you mean to tell me you have travelled all this way on a whim?’ John demanded, astounded.
‘No, not a whim. Oh, I know my arrival must come as something of a surprise to you—’
‘Surprise is putting it mildly,’ he ground out.
‘I know—but I promise not to make a nuisance of myself. In fact, I promise you will hardly be aware of my presence.’
‘That I very much doubt.’ Placing a fist to his temple, John turned away, slowly becoming resigned to the fact that he had no alternative but to let her remain for the present. Turning his back on her, he strode to the window. Of medium height and reasonably attractive—although his features were too thin to be described as handsome, his dark brown hair lightly sprinkled with grey—he stood for a moment in silent contemplation before turning to face her once more.
Her deep blue eyes bright with expectancy and warmth, she presented a perfect, delightful vision of womanhood in the centre of the room, but beneath the slim, rounded beauty she was as spirited as a young colt. She possessed a certain wilfulness—a disquietingly headstrong quality, which called for firm handling. John was a strong-minded, experienced man of the world, but he hadn’t known how to hold his young cousin in check, and with cynicism he wondered if there was a man who could. No man would better her or bridle her free spirit.
‘You are not the kind of woman it is easy to ignore. I long ago ceased to be amazed by anything you do, Cassandra—and you always did have the ability to adapt to your surroundings. However, it appears that the fact that you have incurred my deep displeasure weighs little with you. Is it your wish to embarrass me by coming here?’
Cassandra composed her features gravely and shook her head dutifully. ‘No, John. That was not my intention. I was miserable and lonely. Meredith wasn’t there and wouldn’t be back for weeks. I—I came because I wanted to get away from England for a while. I—I had to, you see,’ she murmured hesitantly, quietly.
Cassandra did not know that her expression had changed, that reverie had brought a sadness to her face which John quickly interpreted. His eyes turned cold. ‘Could your leaving, by any chance, possibly have anything to do with Nathaniel Wylde?’ He was unable to hide his scorn. His dislike of the man, the outlaw who had sired Cassandra, ran deep.
Cassandra looked at him steadily, engulfed by a deep despondency, for thoughts of her father and the cruel manner of his death awoke turbulent emotions inside her. ‘Nat is dead, John.’
Totally unprepared for this pronouncement, John stared at her in astonishment. ‘Dead?’
‘Yes. He was captured and hanged at Execution Dock on the day I left London.’
Quickly and without emotion she related the events of her father’s last weeks, of which John was totally unaware. He listened to her in silence, a mixture of feelings passing over his face. Only when she had fallen silent did he speak.
‘Then I cannot say that I am surprised. He got what he deserved.’ When he saw the pain his words caused Cassandra, he placed his arm tenderly about her shoulders and drew her down beside him on to one of the divans.
‘I apologise if that offends you, Cassandra, but I never made any secret of what my feelings were regarding Nathaniel Wylde. When my own father died, followed so quickly by my mother, and he reappeared in your life, I was unable to refuse to allow him to see you. But I did so most unwillingly. I know that after living under the strict rule of my mother’s household, being with your father was like breaking out of prison.
‘But you let your love for him cloud your mind to the true nature of his character. After being denied access to you while you were an infant—and to appease his selfish desire to have you with him—he filled your head with things no properly raised young girl should listen to. He was a villain whose world was inhabited exclusively pirates—ruthless criminals, Cassandra, who deserved to hang for the crimes they perpetrated on others.’
His voice was quiet and sombre. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed and her lips compressed. She was hurt but not offended by John’s attack on Nat because, after all, he was only repeating what he had said many times in the past.
‘Yes, I know it is over, John, and for what it’s worth I have accepted it. But I was deeply affected and revolted by the manner of his death.’ Not wishing to incur his wrath further, she omitted to tell him that she had been present when Drum had sliced through the ropes securing the Dolphin to her moorings and had Nat’s body cut down from the gallows, but she was unable to keep from him the manner of her journey to Barbados. His anger reignited and his face suffused with angry colour.
‘By God, you came to the islands on a pirate ship? Arch-villain he might be, but I gave O’Leary more sense than to take you with him. He will pay for this. If I ever get my hands on him… And Captain Tillotson? Was he aware who O’Leary was—that he was a murdering scoundrel who should have hanged with his master?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Cassandra answered, her eyes going to Rosa perched stiffly on a chair across the room. The young woman’s cheeks flamed and her eyes had narrowed and gleamed with anger on hearing John’s scathing attack on her father. Thank goodness she didn’t say anything. She must have a word with Rosa when they were alone. Perhaps it would be best if John didn’t know she was Drum’s daughter. ‘Please, John, let the matter rest. Does it matter?’
‘Of course it matters. While men such as O’Leary are at liberty to roam the seas at will, no ship, cargo or man are safe. All colonists who rely on the merchantmen to carry their produce live in fear that they will be attacked. It’s hardly surprising that they regard such men as common murderers and robbers and hold them in the deepest contempt. It is imperative that while you remain on the island no one must discover your identity and your involvement with O’Leary. How else can you stay here without becoming the subject of a scandal? I won’t have it, Cassandra. Do you hear?’
‘I’m sorry, John. I don’t want you to suffer on my account.’ Usually Cassandra knew better than to argue with him when he used that tone, but now she looked at him mutinously. ‘I’m not going home, John. I want to stay here with you. You will let me?’
‘You leave me with no choice. You and your companion can stay for the present—here in this house,’ he conceded, rising quickly. ‘I am often away for days at a time, in Bridgetown or meeting with plantation owners—on Company business, you understand.’
He looked towards the young mulatto woman who had emerged from the bedroom. Swathed in a heavy lime-green silk dress with a contrasting border worked in gold, she stood quietly watching them at the far side of the room, and Cassandra noticed how her cousin’s gaze softened when they rested on her.
‘Elmina will remain to take care of you. She—she is my servant—prepares my food—my clothes, you know, that sort of thing,’ he explained, coughing nervously and averting his gaze, becoming awkward and embarrassed suddenly, and seeming unable to look at Cassandra, who had risen from the divan and was watching him closely. ‘As you see the bungalow is small—though comfortable. You will find Elmina helpful. She will minister to all your needs and her English is very good, so that will not be a problem.’
‘There is no need for you to put yourself about on our account. Lady Courtly has kindly offered to let Rosa and me stay at the house. She is having rooms made ready as we speak.’
John’s relief was evident. ‘I see. That’s very gracious of Julia—and, yes, I suppose that would be for the best.’
Cassandra allowed her gaze to dwell on the mulatto woman. She had fine dark eyes and an abundance of lustrous short black hair. Her coffee-coloured skin was without a blemish, and her full ripe lips and slightly flattened nose showed her Negroid ancestry. She had a slumberous, languid grace, and possessed the requisite warm softness and the firm-fleshed litheness of youth, which was capable of awaking all too easily the carnality of the opposite sex. Having already guessed at the relationship that existed between her cousin and Elmina, Cassandra was surprised but unaffected by it. She smiled inwardly, for she could well see why John was so taken with her, and why he favoured the privacy of the bungalow to the house.
She knew interracial liaisons were not uncommon on the islands, giving rise to a mulatto population and creating a new class of coloureds. However, it would be indelicate for her to discuss the situation with her cousin for, after all, if he chose to keep a native woman in his house as his mistress then it was entirely his own affair. She felt no resentment towards the woman, but it raised a complication she had not bargained for.
‘But make no mistake, Cassandra,’ John went on, ‘you cannot remain on the island indefinitely. You will return to England as soon as I can secure you a place on the first available ship.’
Swamped with disappointment, for she had hoped to remain on Barbados for as long as her cousin, Cassandra stared at him, her face crestfallen. ‘But why can I not remain here until it’s time for you to return?’
‘No,’ he answered firmly. ‘I want you away from Barbados before the rainy season. Often the devastation wrought by the high winds and rain defies exaggeration. For the island’s planters they can spell disaster.’
‘But that is too soon,’ she objected, her thoughts turning to the handsome Captain Marston, for she had hoped to still be on Barbados when he returned from Jamaica. ‘Do—please let me stay longer, John,’ she begged sweetly. ‘I shall be no trouble to you—I promise.’
John sighed, shaking his head in defeat. ‘As to that, Cassandra, I doubt it very much. We’ll see how things turn out—but I will stress that your behaviour will determine the length of your stay. Is that understood?’
‘Oh—yes, very well,’ she replied, appeased by his concession.
‘Good. As for myself,’ he said, his gaze dwelling softly on Elmina’s appealingly beautiful face, ‘I do not intend returning to England until much later.’
There were parties and stylish gatherings of local gentry given by Sir Charles and Lady Julia Courtly while Cassandra was a guest in their house. John lost no time in pointing out that it was necessary for her to replace her pitiful, pathetic belongings before he could introduce her to his friends. He would not have her appearing like a drab and was determined that she would look her best. It made him proud to know she was admired—and maybe attract the eye of one of the island’s rich planters.
Julia whisked her off to Bridgetown, where they purchased materials of every shade and light fabrics to be made into gowns by Julia’s sempstress and her chattering helpers. Cassandra stood for hours on end as they fitted and pinned and snipped and stitched, until each gown moulded her slender form to perfection.
Barbados was a strange and exciting place to be—glamorous too, in its own way, and Cassandra enjoyed it with the reckless pleasure of a pardoned convict. The island was inhabited by merchants and many wealthy planters, who had made good and clearly tried to live like kings, setting their eyes on building palaces in the tropics, filling them with fine furniture and silver and lavish banquets served to their guests.
The people the Courtlys and John introduced her to on the whole belonged to the island’s aristocracy. They all had money and the women wore fashionable gowns and showed no signs of the hard work done by others in their fine houses. The men she met were eager to be introduced to her, paying her the most extravagant compliments as though they hadn’t seen a pretty woman before.
These men all had the same hard, alert look Sir Charles Courtly wore, like men who have much on their minds. Charles Courtly was a man of average height, with sandy-coloured hair and a rakish moustache, and his figure was as slender as a man’s half his age. He was a member of the parish vestry—one of sixteen of the elected property owners of St George empowered to collect parish taxes and rents.
He had an intimidating air of command, derived from years of managing his plantation and administering to island affairs. The charm he exerted was effortless, but Cassandra began to realise, as the days passed and she got to know him better, that he ruled his plantation as much from general fear of the retribution he could wield upon his slaves as from respect.
As the days drifted by in an untroubled haze, Cassandra dare not let her thoughts dwell too deeply on her father since they awoke turbulent emotions within her, and yet she felt that fate was not unjust, for she would be content to remain on Barbados for now, to bask in its warmth, its enchantment—and to gather fresh enthusiasm and strength to face what it had in store for her when she returned to England.
As the weeks went by and September came to Barbados, when the parching drought of summer was frequently followed by the heavy rains and wind, John often allowed her to accompany him to Bridgetown, and on his evenings at home he brought guests to dine at the bungalow—men attached to the Wyndham and other mercantile companies attending to business in the Caribbean islands.
