The Lost Duchess (16 page)

The boy was still calling, ‘No!’

Suddenly she heard him.

‘Master Kit said you shouldn’t drink here,’ the boy cried out, putting himself between her and the pool.

‘I won’t,’ she said, standing up and feeling dizzy. Then she looked across to the other colonists by the water, several of whom were coughing and rubbing their faces.

‘Don’t drink any more!’ she called out to them, and pointed at the
pool where she’d seen what was submerged. ‘I think there’s something dead down there.’

She turned and walked away, making for the turquoise blue of the sea by a route that did not involve wading through mangroves, doing her best to warn everyone she saw that the water in the pool was not potable. But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears, and perhaps the curiosity of those she met only heightened their determination to judge for themselves; most of them carried on towards the plateau. Where was Governor White? He should have been taking charge. She trusted that the Planters she had left by the pool would alert those who arrived to the danger. That water should at least be boiled before it was drunk, and even boiling would not induce her to swallow it. As soon as Kit returned she would get him to set up a guard. She wished he was back. How much longer would he be? Her temples throbbed painfully and her thirst was greater than ever. She even considered going back to the ship and begging for some stale barrelled water, but if she did there was a chance she might encounter Ferdinando on her own. She wouldn’t risk that. Trudging on, head down, she made for a low ridge of bare rock that seemed to offer the easiest descent to the beach. At the summit were coral boulders, and, where a gap lay between them, she noticed a blackening as if made by fire. She walked closer and stared. At her feet were spiny blade-leaved plants and beyond them, near the rock, were fragments of smooth clay. She picked one up. It was unmistakably a piece from a pot, shaped and crudely patterned. She searched around and found more: the evidence of people, but who and from how long ago? She looked round, half expecting to see the strangers and noticed Rob hovering close. She showed him what she had found.

He nodded gravely. ‘Someone else was here.’

‘Yes. Perhaps they’re still here now.’

With one of the potsherds in her hand, she stumbled down from the ridge, her feet sliding in loose sand and snagged by prickly scrub. She had never before really appreciated how important paths were to traversing land. Whoever had been here before had not left trails of any kind. Did that mean they had been gone for a long time? She thought of the word ‘Canibales’ as she had once seen it written on a map in the library at Greenwich Palace. Had there been cannibals on the island? She was glad they would not be staying for long, though she began to meet more colonists as she drew closer to the shore and most of them were abuzz with excitement. They fooled around like children chasing after any new wonder that caught their fancy: giant grasshoppers, bobbing honey-breasted birds and scurrying lizards with long harlequin ringed tails. The flowers and fruits they found drew shrieks of amazement.

‘See the size of this!’ a man shouted out. ‘Big as a feckin’ dog prick!’ He held up an unappetising brown husk like a roasted giant bean pod.

Margery Harvie showed off another find: ‘Apples! Green apples.’

As the wife of one of the senior Assistants, she commanded respect enough for the Planters to listen to her. She was also heavily pregnant, and Emme wondered at her wisdom in biting into the fruit, even though she declared it to be ‘crisp and sweet as any pippin’.

The response from the colonists was beyond control. They rushed to the tree that Mistress Harvie pointed out, began tearing at its glossy branches and gorging on the white flesh of its fruits which
did indeed resemble cooking apples, not that Emme was tempted to try any. What if the fruits concealed evil like the pool? With a sigh of relief she noticed Governor White approaching, and ran up to him at once brandishing the potsherd for him to see.

‘I think there are people here, sir, and they have poisoned the pool we have found. The Planters should be cautioned …’

‘What’s this?’ he took the shard and turned it over in his hands. ‘Ah, interesting.’ He traced the lines and pits of the geometric design scratched over the surface. ‘See, the Caribs were not all brutish. There is even evidence of colouring …’

‘If you please, sir,’ she interrupted him, hearing cries of distress and sounds of choking from those gathered around the tree. She turned and gestured to it, seeing Mistress Harvie bent over, spitting out pith and retching.

‘My mouth!’ the lady cried, gasping. ‘It’s burning. Give me water.’

‘Over here!’ someone shouted, and beckoned for her to go the way Emme had come.

‘No!’ Emme rushed to stop her. ‘You can’t drink that water.’

‘Get away.’ Mistress Harvie barged her aside. ‘I must have water. Mush …’

Her speech was becoming slurred. Emme looked on aghast at the size of her lips. Her face was swelling like dough in an oven.

‘Zounds!’ a man moaned. ‘My tongue.’ His mouth opened wide and his tongue lolled out, thick as a small cucumber and bright mulberry red. He pelted past her.

‘Stop!’ Governor White held up his hands, but everyone who had sampled the fruit ran round him towards the plateau. He turned to Emme and spoke curtly, tossing the shard at her feet before turning to follow. ‘You should have stopped them.’

‘I …?’ Her jaw dropped. How could he shift the blame to her? How
could
she have stopped them? No one would listen when she tried to warn them about the pool. What would happen to them now if they drank there? A horrific vision swamped her mind, of colonists driven wild by the burning in their mouths drinking recklessly from the pool and dying in agony. She must prevent it. She turned to Rob.

‘Stay here and tell anyone who comes not to eat that fruit.’

Then she hurried towards the pool, cursing the island with every panic-driven step. It was more hell than paradise; she wished they had never set foot in the place. Would Virginia be like this? She ploughed on, not looking back until she heard crashing vegetation and the rip of someone running hard behind her: Kit. There was his voice.

‘Emme! Mistress Emme …’

He came racing towards her, back bent under the weight of the full waterskins on his shoulders.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, but they’re not.’ She pointed ahead and blurted out what she’d seen. ‘Give them water.’

He rushed on with his band of mariners following, all carrying water. There would be enough to help those who’d eaten the fruit. She began to slow. Kit would make sure they only drank what was clean. She took deep breaths. All would be well; she had to believe it. She sensed someone else was coming up behind her and turned round.

Master Ferdinando strode towards her with a look of bemusement on his face.

‘I gather some of the Planters have been foolish.’

She scowled at him, disgusted by his apparent lack of concern. ‘No one told them the fruit could be harmful.’

Ferdinando shrugged and raised his voice so that Governor White and everyone else gathered by the pool could hear as he approached.

‘I cannot be expected to know the qualities of every plant in the Americas. You should have been more prudent.’

Kit paid him no attention but continued to minister to the suffering colonists, helping them flush out their mouths and drink from the heavy waterskins, though their tongues were so swollen that many could barely swallow or speak.

Emme rushed to assist, and Governor White also did his best to give support, kneeling to prop up Mistress Harvie who had slumped down on the grass, holding her head while Kit steadied the spout of the waterskin at her lips.

Ferdinando looked on, arms folded. ‘I am surprised Governor White did not advise you to test first before consuming anything unfamiliar.’

White glowered at him. ‘You assured us of safety here.’

The response was a sardonic smile. ‘You have not been attacked.’

Kit eyed Ferdinando soberly. ‘We need fresh water and there’s none to be found here that can be easily collected. This water came from a peak several miles away. It won’t be enough for everyone and it’ll be difficult to collect more. I know of river mouths on other islands that would serve us much better. I’m sure you do too, Master Ferdinando.’

‘Of course, but they are guarded by the Spanish.’ Ferdinando stared back at Kit and narrowed his eyes. ‘Or have you forgotten, Master Bo’sun?’

‘I have not forgotten.’ Kit moved to another of the afflicted
colonists, a lanky, red-faced youth with ginger hair. ‘Drink, Tom,’ Kit said gently, pouring water over the lad’s swollen lips.

Ferdinando raised his chin, speaking to Kit as if he deserved admonition.

‘You’re not with Drake now, able to strike fear in the hearts of any Spaniards you meet. We’ve got to hide. If the Spaniards find this gaggle,’ he swept his hand to encompass the colonists, ‘they’ll send every one of them to the bottom of the sea, or clap them in irons to face the Inquisition.’ He looked around at everyone listening and seemed to relish their expressions of shock.

Kit moved to the next colonist in need of succour and worked calmly to offer help. When he was ready he spoke to Ferdinando.

‘There are savages on this island. We saw about a dozen close to dwelling places in the hills to the west.’ He gestured towards green peaks. ‘I think we shouldn’t stay here any longer.’

‘Savages!’ White seized on the word, jabbing his finger accusingly at Ferdinando. ‘You told us this island was uninhabited.’

Ferdinando raised his eyebrows and turned his back. ‘I thought it was.’ He stalked away. ‘Savages come and go. They generally don’t inform me first.’

Emme looked from Governor White, who was plainly seething, to Master Kit, who appeared unperturbed, though the sorry sight of the suffering colonists was enough to melt her heart. A few of them had tried to ease their discomfort by rinsing their mouths and faces with water from the pool. They had eyes so inflamed that they could hardly see, and faces so bloated that they resembled pink puffballs. She knelt down to do her best to help, taking a half empty skin from another mariner and dribbling water on raw skin.

Kit crouched down beside her. ‘You should drink as well. You must be thirsty.’

She shook her head. She had almost forgotten her thirst. ‘Let me see to these people first.’

She moved on amongst the Planters in need of relief; then, to her horror, she saw Mistress Dare in their midst. The lady must have followed the others up from the beach. She didn’t seem as badly affected as Mistress Harvie and those who had sampled the fruit, but her lips and cheeks were plainly swollen, and she was dabbing at them and moaning like a cat about to be sick.

Emme went to her mistress next, offering her the water despite the way that she glared as she gulped to ease her pain. Then a tirade from her began between mouthfuls, one made almost incoherent by the distension of her tongue.

‘Where were you, wench? You should have been by my shide when I needed you, not off on a fanchy of your own.’

Emme stopped pouring in amazement. Who was Mistress Dare to call her a wench? And how could the lady blame her when she had been doing her best to warn everyone about the pool, and had left the woman dozing in the company of her own father?

Governor White turned to face Emme as well, along with a growing number of those she had tended. The Governor wagged his finger at her.

‘You left my daughter in her parlous condition to fend for herself in this alien place? You should be ashamed of yourself.’

Emme gasped with indignation, and shoved the water-skin against her mistress’s ample bosom so forcefully that it spurted and soaked the lady’s bodice and shift.

‘Take it yourself if you do not wish for my help.’

She stood abruptly, intent on walking away just as Kit sprang gallantly to the lady’s aid, stripping off his shirt to wipe down her clothes, and giving Emme a steely look of reproach.

‘Have some consideration,’ he murmured under his breath as she passed him, leaving her stunned with a glimpse of the athletic beauty of his naked chest.

Tears welled in her eyes. Her tongue was parched with unslaked thirst. Her pride smarted from unjust accusations, and she hated everyone at that moment but most of all she hated herself.

She strode on until she was out of view, kicked at a stone and stubbed her toe.

*

They would not stay on Santa Cruz for much longer, Emme felt sure. Captain Stafford had already been despatched to another island, but Master Ferdinando had seen fit to order that the
Lion
remain at anchor while it was cleaned and repaired. So now she had a third night of frustration to look forward to, running errands for Mistress Dare while trying to minimise the discomfort of living under a tent on a beach in sweltering heat, when not being drenched by torrential rain. The work might have been tolerable if she’d received some gratitude for her pains, but no, her mistress was determined to exact retribution for what she’d described as ‘behaviour ill-becoming a maid’, by which she meant the soaking she’d taken after the incident with the waterskin, and the affront to her dignity compounded by Emme speaking her mind. The woman was a fool to have drunk where the water was not known to be potable, especially in her gravid state, but Emme was not going to be forgiven for having reacted contrarily. She was being punished, she knew, and she was being put in her place, and if she was to preserve her
guise as a maidservant then she could not complain. She would have to air her mistress’s pallet, and relinquish her own dry blankets in return for her mistress’s that were wet, and bring her mistress cooled boiled water and griddled tortoise steaks, and shake sand from her mistress’s clothes, and tighten the guy ropes of the flimsy tent whenever the wind got up at night, and fan her mistress with palm leaves in the suffocating heat of the day. When she saw Kit Doonan walking towards her, she threw down the apron she’d been wringing out, not caring that it missed the wash bucket and landed in wet sand. What did he want? Kit had been critical when her composure had failed, and his muttered admonition to ‘have some consideration’ still rankled. Did
he
have any consideration for
her
?