The Golden Cross (24 page)

“A bit haughty, aren’t we, lady?” A hussy called. Then a moment later Aidan heard,
“Niet te Geloven
, that’s Irish Annie!”

Aidan lifted her skirts and pressed her lips together, threading her way through the crowd until she reached the threshold of the tavern doorway. She paused before the door, drew a deep breath, and forbade herself to tremble. Her mind whirled with confusing emotions; past and present and future tugged at her, sending her heart downward in a sickening lurch. This was home; these were her people. Why then did she feel like an alien?

She pushed the door open and blinked, waiting for her eyes to grow accustomed to the smoky interior. Music and voices and shouting blended together in a busy chorus, but the sounds faded and died away as Aidan stepped into the room.

“Holy heaven, what have we here?” She heard the deep rumble of Bram’s voice and turned toward it. He stood behind his bar, a pair of pewter mugs in one burly fist. “I’m sorry, Madame, but you should not be here without—”

“Bram.” She gave him a wavering smile. “It’s me, Aidan. Where is my mother?”

His broad face went absolutely blank with shock.

“Aidan?” Orabel stepped forward from a group around one of the gaming tables.
“Goejehelp
, it is you! Look at you! You look every inch a lady!”

“Shhh,” Aidan teased, stepping forward to draw her friend into a warm embrace. Orabel laughed and Aidan lifted her head to gaze at the dumbstruck gawkers. Lapsing back into her thickest brogue, she frowned and said, “Faith, are you all a pack of amadons and eejits? Get back to your gossipin’. ’Tis only me, Irish Annie. Have you never seen a girl cleaned up before?”

The room erupted in laughter, and within a moment life went on. “Look at you!” Orabel whispered, her eyes roving from the cap on Aidan’s head to the dainty slippers peeking from beneath her hem. “You’re quite the beautiful lady! Have you found that rich husband after all?”

“No, and I’m not likely to.” Aidan pulled Orabel toward the door. “Come, let us find a quiet place where we can talk. I’ve a secret to tell you.”

“A secret?” Orabel’s eyes lit with pleasure. “There’s nothing I’d like better to hear. Can it be that you’re getting married at last? Or have you sold a painting to some fine gentleman who will make your name great throughout Europe?”

“Nothing like that.” Aidan pulled Orabel down the street to the narrow door of the women’s quarters. She flung it open and smiled in relief to find the room empty. “The others are all out?” she asked, moving to the box where Lili kept a candle and a flint.

“Ja,”
Orabel answered as she followed Aidan into the room. “They are working, of course.”

Aidan fumbled with the flint for a moment, then lit the candle. As the pinpoint of light flickered and brightened the room, Aidan looked around her home with new eyes. Strange, how cluttered this place seemed compared to the spare, elegant furnishings of her chamber at Van Dyck’s house.

Aidan peered around to make sure Lili had not left any drunks behind to sleep off their ale, but she and Orabel were quite alone. She sighed in relief and sank to one of the sleeping mats on the floor. Her gown pooled around her, a molten mass of golden silk.

“Such a pretty thing you are,” Orabel whispered. Awe filled her voice, and she settled a respectful distance away. “Such a lovely gown! I should have known you’d make a fine lady, Aidan.”

“I haven’t become a lady at all,” Aidan hissed, rapidly growing impatient with the deferential attitude that had greeted her at every turn. She tugged at the lace cap and pulled it off, then yanked on the neat bun that held her hair. “And on the morrow I shall not even be a woman.” She looked at her friend. “Orabel, I need your help. I need you to keep a secret. And in return for your help I want to give you this gown.”

Orabel’s eyes flew open wide. “That gown?
Sakerloot
, Aidan, that would never do. How could I beg a stuiver wearing something
like
that?
No one would give me a penny if I was dressed like the richest lady in Batavia. I would starve in a dress like that.”

“In a dress like this,” Aidan answered, already fumbling at the ties that held the sleeves to her bodice, “you might find a husband. You’d look like a very genteel lady, Orabel, and who knows what sea captain might look at you and feel his heart stirred? This is not a begging dress, but perhaps it is a
courting
dress.” She caught Orabel’s eyes, which were filled with infinite distress and uncertainty. “I had all manner of gentlemen’s curious glances bestowed upon me as I wended my way to this place, Orabel. And so may you, for you are much prettier than I.” She gave her friend a knowing smile. “Besides, you always said you wanted a yellow dress.”

Orabel’s eyes softened as she reached out and tentatively touched the silk skirt. “Why would you want to give me something like this, Aidan? You’re the one that deserves a husband. Not me. No man will want me after—”

Aidan pulled her sleeve from the bodice with a firm yank. “I’ll not be needing this dress, nor any other where I’m going.” She tossed the sleeve into Orabel’s lap. “So you take it. I want you to have it.”

A tremor touched the younger girl’s lips. “Where are you going? What do you mean?”

“I’m going to sea,” Aidan answered, pulling the other sleeve free of its fastenings. “In breeches, a shirt, and cap. And no one must know where I’ve gone, or how, at least until the boat sails. Heer Van Dyck thinks we’ll be aboard for at least a week until the captain is ready to cast off.”

Orabel’s face emptied of expression. “You are going to sea? As a
man?
Have you lost your mind? The captain will flog you or clap you in stocks if he finds out! I’ve heard what they do to those who disobey orders, but I’ve never heard such a hare-brained scheme!”

“Heer Van Dyck will be my protector.” Aidan untied the laces that held her bodice to the full skirts of the gown. She stood and turned her back for Orabel’s help. “So help me now, and you’ll
have yourself a fine dress. Perhaps you could go into town and find a position as a lady’s maid.”

Orabel kept up a stream of steady protest as her fingers tugged on the fastenings at Aidan’s side. “Aidan, think of yourself! You have managed to keep yourself chaste and virtuous, but how do you intend to preserve your honor if you’re discovered on a ship filled with seamen?”

“I can take care of myself.” A smile flitted across Aidan’s face as she recalled Van Dyck’s rudimentary lessons in self-defense. “I imagine I will handle myself very well. Haven’t I had to dodge the lecherous embrace of every drunk around Bram’s gaming tables?”

“But why?” The skirt fell to the ground, billowing slightly as it settled. Orabel’s eyes widened further as she took in the sight of Aidan’s fine embroidered undershirt.

“So I can become a respectable lady on my own terms.” Aidan shrugged out of the bodice and shirt and tossed those garments into Orabel’s arms. Then she reached into her satchel for the plain sailor’s shirt she would wear night and day for the next several weeks. As Orabel covered her mouth and gaped in horrified amazement, Aidan thrust her arms through the long sleeves and pulled the rough shirt over her head. After untying her silk stockings and flinging them toward Orabel, she pulled the thick men’s stockings from her bag, slipped them on, and tied them above the knee with a garter. Finally came the pants, baggy trousers that came up and over the long shirt and tied at the waist with a length of rope Gusta had thoughtfully provided.

“That should do,” Aidan murmured when she was fully dressed. “I suppose I’m young enough no one will think it strange that I don’t have a beard or a deep voice.”

Her fingers groped at the bottom of the bag, and she pulled out a rod dagger, one essential piece of equipment every man carried. Gusta had been reluctant to pack one for Aidan, but Heer Van Dyck had insisted. Aidan grinned at the blade, then tucked it into her belt at the center of her back.

“Aidan!” Orabel’s fine, silky brows rose nearly to her forehead. “If you don’t explain, I’m going to sit on you and keep you here. I’m afraid you’ve lost your mind.”

“I’m going to participate in a project of Heer Van Dyck’s,” Aidan explained, tucking the excess length of the shirt into her breeches, then adjusting the rope knot. “He will make the map of our journey and the new worlds we explore, and I will draw pictures of the flora and fauna we discover. We will be published, and my name will be recognized. Heer Van Dyck says I may later complete a book of copperplate engravings, and my name will be renowned not only here, but at home in England. Then I shall return to Europe and find a nice gentleman to wed. I shall be respectable, don’t you see?”

She sank to the floor and looked into Orabel’s wide blue eyes. “I’ll no longer be a wharf rat, a pickpocket, a barmaid, or a drudge. Never again will a drunken sailor paw at me, nor will I have to smile and listen to them spout nonsense while beery breath blows in my face.”

“Is that all?” Orabel spoke in a slightly strangled voice, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Is that all you’re running from? I think perhaps you’re running from Lady Lili, the best-known procuress in Batavia, and your best friend, the harlot called Sweet Kate.”

A tear tangled in Orabel’s lashes and fell, smearing the heavy rouge on her cheek. Smitten by a sudden rush of guilt, Aidan reached out and put her hand on Orabel’s shoulder. “Don’t ever feel that way,” she whispered. “I love you, Orabel, just as I love Lili. But each of us is responsible for our own lives. I have to try to do something. Heer Van Dyck has offered me a way out of the wharf, and I have to take it.”

“And if you die trying?” Orabel clutched the silken bodice and sleeves as Aidan reached into the bag for the bottle of olive oil.

“It will be worth it,” she answered, uncorking the oil. “Now help me do this, will you? Gusta said I must comb the oil through
my hair, then braid it into one long braid. The oil will make the color less noticeable.”

Orabel set the gown aside and waited for Aidan to settle down in front of her. Aidan handed Orabel the bottle, then sat still as Orabel sprinkled the oil on Aidan’s tresses and finger-combed her hair.

“I think we may be able to hide the white streak in a braid,” she said, a note of deep regret in her voice, as though Aidan had already gone. “Anyone who had remarked upon it here would not see it and guess your secret.”

“No one will recognize me anyway. I’ll wear a cap and darken my face with dirt, if I have to,” Aidan answered, resting her wrists atop her bent knees. She had to admit, a woman had far more freedom of movement in breeches than in a bodice and skirt. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of Orabel’s fingers in her hair. Lili used to play with Aidan’s hair in just this way, when they lived in England. Before the summer of plague … and her father’s death.

The memory of her father’s gaunt face came back to her. “Here, me darlin’,” he had said only days before he died on the ship en route to Batavia. Choking back tears, she had watched as he removed his necklace, a solid gold Celtic cross, and pressed it into her palm.

“I had it engraved before we left London,” he whispered, his voice fainter than air. “I wanted it to be a wee birthday present for you.”

Aidan had tried to control her feelings, but her lip quivered and her eyes filled in spite of herself. Blinking back tears, she turned the cross over and read the inscription on the back:
“My love is yours forever, Aidan.”

“Da,” she had whispered through her tears. “Da, this is gold. You ought to keep it; we might need it later—”

“Some things are worth holding on to, darlin’,” he answered, patting her hand. His own eyes were bordered with tears. “Gold
might buy a loaf of bread, but on the morrow you’d be without bread or gold. You keep that, until you reach a place where you can’t go back. Like I can’t go back now.”

The memory sent a hot tear trickling down Aidan’s cheek. Orabel squeezed her shoulder. “Put on your cap, Aidan, and let’s see what you look like.”

Sniffing, Aidan wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She had reached that place of no return—she couldn’t go back, ever. She would have to cut all ties, move out into the great unknown. What had Heer Van Dyck once told her?
To live a fulfilled and creative life, you must lose your fear of being wrong. Just proceed. Believe. And place your faith in God
.

She wasn’t going to live in the shadow of yesterday for one more hour. She clamped her lips, imprisoning a sob, and pulled the chain with its golden cross over her head. “I want you to have this, Orabel.” She turned and pressed it into her friend’s hand.

Orabel’s smile vanished. “Oh, Aidan, I couldn’t! This is yours!”

“No, it’s yours now. I want you to have it. You have a new golden dress—a proper lady should have a necklace to match.”

“Aidan!” A dim flush raced across Orabel’s beautiful face as she stared at the chain and cross in her hand.

“Tomorrow is a new day for both of us, Orabel.” Aidan shifted her weight and turned to sit cross-legged on the floor facing her friend. Orabel seemed too stunned to move, so Aidan gently took the necklace and dropped it over Orabel’s gleaming blond hair. For a moment the two girls sat silently, then Aidan leaned forward until her forehead touched her friend’s.

“My da told me never to look back. And Heer Van Dyck told me that I should shoot for the moon, because even if I missed it, I would still land among the stars.”

“The stars?” Orabel spoke in a weak and tremulous whisper.

“Ja,”
Aidan answered. “By this time tomorrow night, we should both be on our way.”