Dark Prelude (6 page)

Issuing a harsh shout that rang his
authority, Langham hailed a deck hand to carry her bag below.
Silvia quivered at the loudness of his voice. Turning, she saw no
one, but heard the approach of the man from a distant part of the
ship. Fitfully her eyes searched the fog, grown heavy again with a
shift of the wind, but she could not determine the direction of the
sound.

The attack on the dock had left her skittish
and frightened and her heart beat wildly in her chest. She edged
closer to the captain but just as she took the first step a thick
hand reached out of the mist to close tightly over her wrist. A
scream froze in her throat. The grizzled stump of two missing
fingers bit into her flesh, but the other two fingers and a gnarled
thumb tugged strongly, halting her movement.

The man’s face was shielded from her view,
but from the place where it should have been she heard a scabrous
grunt.

“You musn’t mind Eli,” Langham’s craggy
voice rumbled from behind her. “Poor bloke’s dumb. Got his tongue
cut out in the West Indies. An able seaman though. Worth two men
any day and never a complaint from the dolt.” He laughed hoarsely.
“He’ll take your bag, Miss Bradstreet.”

Silvia breathed heavily. Unknowingly her
fingers clenched so tightly about the wooden handles that the
knuckles were whitened and aching. Having suffered much to retain
her meager possessions, she could not easily part with them. As Eli
moved closer, his bulk and scraggly hair reminded her of a large
black bear she had seen once in a circus. Yet there was a gentle
nature in his rough features and his face held no threat. With a
sense of relief she relinquished her burden.

Eli’s brawny figure disappeared as he
brusquely walked off, effortlessly swinging her satchel and leaving
her once again alone with the captain. Apprehension nagged like a
little speck of doubt set in her mind and even Langham’s
trustworthy appearance failed to completely rid her of it. The
entire morning had been a frightening ordeal and she longed to
reach the sanctuary of the cabin.

Like a plague of darkness, the fog was all
around them now, until the air at her face felt congealed with the
density of it. Her throat tightened. She could scarcely see the
captain’s back as he threaded his way along the crowded deck.
Following, she gasped and trembled when the hem of her skirt
brushed against objects hidden by the oppressive thickness of the
cloying haze.

With wide eyes, she imagined icy fingers
clutching at her from the gloomy mist. Suffering a disquieting
shiver, Silvia hastened to Langham’s side until they reached the
passageway that led below.

“It’s small, but a sight more comfortable
and private than the hold, Miss Bradstreet,” he announced heartily
and with a nod of his head indicated the berth which nearly filled
the dim cabin. As Silvia stood inside, weary and disheveled,
scarcely able to keep to her feet, he pointed out a cupboard where
her bag had been placed.

A sympathetic smile gave her a tiny bit of
strength and she responded weakly as he lit a small oil lamp and
anchored it in a rack set to the wall.

“Thank you, Captain. I’m sure the voyage
will be a pleasant one,” she said hopefully. His words and the
soothing flicker of the lamplight had begun to settle her nerves
and now she sunk limply into a chair, drained of energy.

Langham took a long but polite look at her.
“If you’ll pardon my saying so, Miss Bradstreet, you look a bit
worse for the wear. Perhaps you’d like to wash and rest a while.
We’ll not sail until this blasted fog lifts.”

Somehow when he said her name there seemed a
bit of a sneer in his voice. Though before she could be put off by
it, he turned, smiling fervently, to open a cupboard and show her a
bowl and a pitcher of water.

“I’ll send a tray from the galley, then
sleep if you like. Someone will wake you for the evening meal.”

Silvia accepted his suggestion and thanked
him further. She was too tired to think clearly or to care about
anything but resting. Her misfortune had left her sore and
exhausted and even sitting in the hard wooden chair proved
painful.

She stared blankly at the uneven planks of
the door for a few minutes after he left. How she yearned to climb
into the bunk and sleep. With a grimace of pain, she leaned over to
unlace her boots thinking that she must be certain to express her
gratitude to Mr. Schlange. Wickes had told her of the arrangements
for bondservants, makeshift compartments in the hold separated by
blankets strung on ropes. He had said only one other woman would be
aboard and she with her husband, a smith Mr. Schlange had bought
out of prison.

That being the case, Mr. Schlange must have
decided she should not travel alone with the dozen or so men he had
indentured. Though she had not expected preferential treatment, she
wholeheartedly appreciated it and determined she would see that Mr.
Schlange did not regret his kindness to her. Slipping free of the
boots, she twisted slightly in the chair and placed them beside the
bed.

Before she stirred again there was a light
knock at the door.

“Miss,” a youthful voice rang out, and for a
moment Silvia stiffened in alarm. “Your tray, miss.”

“Come in,” she said feebly, smoothing her
hair and covering her stockinged feet with the folds of her
skirt.

A boy of no more than fourteen shuffled into
the room bearing a covered tray. He deposited it clumsily on the
tiny table beside her and backed away looking baffled that a lady’s
face should be smeared with so much dirt. At the door he paused and
smiled awkwardly.

“I’m Wesley, miss. The cabin boy.” His lanky
limbs seemed too long for his slender body and gave him the reedy
look of a crane about to take flight. A ragged thatch of brown hair
topped his head and a flock of light freckles spotted his cheeks
and nose.

“Pleased to meet you, Wesley. Silvia
Bradstreet.” She extended a hand and he eagerly stepped forward to
grasp it.

His was the friendliest face she had seen
today and his sunny smile lit her heart. His cheeks reddened as he
wiped his hand on a trouser leg before accepting her hand. A pair
of bright eyes beamed his pleasure and Silvia thought how young he
was to be out on his own.

“Yes’m I know. Cap’n Langham told me. Said
I’m to see to what you need,” he responded happily. “You just let
me know, miss.”

“Thank you, Wesley,” Silvia said and exhaled
a gentle sigh of contentment. How comforting to know she had a
friend on board. Finally she was among people who treated her with
kindness and respect. She returned Wesley’s smile and felt a
consoling glow of happiness course through her.

“Anything you need, you call. I’ll be here
in a snap,” he said in a voice not yet fully deepened. With a jerk,
he spun around to leave and smacked right into the door.

“Sorry, miss,” he squeaked, embarrassment
staining his thin face as he stumbled out.

Silvia enjoyed the first laugh she had known
in ages. Her unease nearly completely gone, she uncovered the tray
and realized the extent of her hanger. Rising by degrees to her
feet, each movement causing her to wince, she eased to the
washstand and poured water in the small tin bowl. When her hands
were washed and her smudged face cleaned and her hair smoothed out
as best she could manage, she returned to the chair to enjoy a bit
of bread and cheese and the small flask of wine Wesley had
brought.

Having eaten, Silvia poured the wine into a
cup and sipped the sweet red liquid as she removed her clothes. The
effect of the wine soon made her drowsily lightheaded. She stumbled
lethargically toward the bed. At last she was alone and safe. And
she was so very tired. Unsteadily she reached for the clothing she
had dropped on the covers.

Silvia held out the dress and examined the
skirt. It was soiled and wrinkled and needed attention. She sighed
and hung the garment on a peg with her cloak. The cleaning would
have to wait until she rested. Her body and brain were numb with
fatigue and she wanted nothing more than to lie beneath the
welcoming blankets on the bunk.

***

“I tell you sirs, it was Mr. Schlange’s
order to berth another passenger in one of the cabins,” Langham’s
voice dipped in agitation as the Toller brothers loomed angrily in
front of him. They were gathered in the captain’s own quarters.

“And I tell you Langham, he sent word for us
to sail on the
Eastwind
, and he meant us to have the
cabins.” Roman spoke with menacing intensity. His chest swelled
threateningly and he pounded a fist into the palm of his other
hand.

“Well Roman,” Morgan raised a sardonic brow
and glanced at his brother. “We can share the other cabin. One of
us can sleep while the other stands.”

Roman shot him a look of contempt. “I can
scarcely bear to hear you talk, let alone snore. I’ll string a
hammock on the deck before I’ll bunk with you,” he jeered.

“Mr. Toller,” Langham said in a carefully
controlled voice. The last time the Toller’s sailed with him he had
been certain one of them would throw the other overboard before
they reached the colonies. His eyes shone with unmasked irony. “Mr.
Schlange anticipated the problem. He assured me that though the
additional passenger might be a surprise, the two of you would find
a satisfactory solution to any problems that ensued,” Langham
finished resolutely and rose to leave. “If you gentlemen require
me, I’ll be on the quarter deck.” He nodded perfunctorily before
departing.

When Langham had shut the door behind him,
Roman exploded, his ire only fueled by Morgan’s jocular expression.
“Bloody hell, Morgan! Wilhelm told us there were only bondservants
on this ship.” He paced a short path across the floor. “I’ve never
known him to quarter a bondservant in a cabin. These games of
uncle’s are getting tiresome. He treats us as if we were…”

Roman stopped his pacing as he momentarily
remembered how he had treated the wench on the docks. A spark of
regret showed in his eyes. A waif, a doxy, he didn’t know which. He
hadn’t been able to make out her features through all the grime but
her eyes had burned brightly and looked at him with a hopeful gaze
that had stirred a strange awakening within him. He had been about
to take her reverently in his arms and comfort her when he had
caught his wits and turned his unwarranted wrath on her
instead.

“Well, I’m to the deck,” said Morgan, giving
Roman a sound thump on the shoulder as he pushed past. “If I’m to
spend this voyage enduring your close company, I’d best take the
air when I can.”

Roman ignored the gibe but followed Morgan
aloft. The air was sharp and cold. Through the growing breaks in
the fog he could see that the sea was calming. Ahead the sun rose
high and would soon mark an endless expanse of blue. Roman took a
turn about the deck to clear his head, giving a nod here and there
to the crewmen who were checking lines and securing crates and
barrels.

The night at the Red Feather had not brought
him a complete hour of sleep, nor for that matter had the entire
week before. Since his ship had docked for repairs after months at
sea, and he had met Morgan in London, theirs had been a life of
constant revelry. He sighed wearily. Not in a fit of madness would
he admit to Morqan that he longed for a night of rest. No matter if
bone tired, if a challenge arose he must best his brother in
drinking the most ale or bedding the prettiest wench.

He found Morgan leaning against a starboard
rail, looking out to sea. “I have it, Morgan” Roman gave his
brother’s shoulder a stronger than needed shake.

“If you mean the worst temper in this port,
that I know,” Morgan retorted, turning about and scowling at Roman
as he set right his tricorn which had been knocked askew by Roman’s
impudence.

Roman smiled. “I mean a solution to our
problem of the cabins.”

“How’s that?”

Roman pulled a handful of coins from his
pocket and let them clink about in his palm before he gave his
brother a more than playful shove back the way they had come a
short while before. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it from the
first.”

“Thinking is never what you do first,”
Morgan said more jovially.

Roman ignored the barb. “We’ll pay the bloke
off,” he said. “Offer him enough coin that he will gladly string a
hammock in the hold.”

Morgan smiled. “And I will be shed of you
and your foul moods.” He put a sharp elbow to Roman’s ribs.
“Sometimes, brother, you do have a good thought.”

***

The gentle roll of the ship counteracted the
exhaustion that had gripped Silvia as she curled beneath the light
blanket in the narrow bunk. Her eyelids were shut fast before she
had taken more than a single breath.

Within moments she slept so heavily that she
was wholly lost in the musing deepness of dreams of that took her
to green lands with warm breezes and genteel people who treated one
another with kindness and concern. She allowed herself to drift
into the pleasantness and peace and bright hopefulness of the place
until somewhere around the edges of her dream a darkness slithered
inside. With it, a noise too rude for that perfect place intruded
on the quiet of her mind. She pushed both disturbances away and,
with a sigh, returned to her paradise. She was safe there—Was she
not?

Thank you for reading
Dark Prelude
.

Silvia’s story continues in the novel
Dark
Splendor
…

Andrea Parnell is the award-winning author of
ten novels, short fiction and articles, with more than one million
copies of her books in print. Her works include Gothic, Western,
and other historical and contemporary romances. Several of her
books have been set in her home state of Georgia. Andrea has
received both the Maggie and Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice
awards for her writing, and is a member of Novelists, Inc. (NINC)
and past president of the Georgia Authors Network. She is fond of
cats, travel, overgrown gardens, and old houses with lots of
crooks, crannies, and interesting shadows. Please visit her website
at
AndreaParnell.com
.