The Birthright (9 page)
Emily bent over the chest and retrieved the note that had dropped from the dress when Nicole unfolded it. She read it aloud. “ ‘My dear Nicole, in hopes that you shall deign to join me in England, I have taken the liberty of ordering up a few items to help with your journey. You will find a viscountess-to-be is expected to dress the part, even on board a ship. I do hope they are of a proper fit. Yours ever, Charles.’”
“I cannot wear this,” Nicole murmured.
Emily’s gaze shifted from the dress to the young woman and back. “Whyever not?”
“Because until last summer, all my clothes were homespun! Until I was thirteen, my only shoes were deerskin moccasins sewn together by my father.”
“But you just said you did not meet your father till this very year.”
“I mean my French father.” Nicole dropped her arms, bunching the dress together at her waist. “Whatever am I to do?”
For some reason, Nicole’s distress brought a cheerful light to Emily’s face. “A veritable tonic,” she repeated.
Emily Madden insisted they not take in the air on the quarterdeck as was customary, while the great room was being fitted for the evening meal. Instead, she retired with Nicole in the captain’s bedchamber, in what was now to be their sleeping quarters. There she helped Nicole unpack and stow her meager belongings and inspect the rest of Charles’s gifts. Everything they unpacked brought soft cries of delight from Emily, who said she wanted to “keep the prize a secret” for the moment. Emily’s excitement was enough to ease even Nicole’s pall of worry.
The chest contained two more dresses: a cotton-and-silk frock of delicate coral and a heavier, more wintry affair of midnight blue. There was also a shawl of wool, so soft Emily continued to stroke it long after they had put it aside. Below the shawl sat three pairs of kidskin shoes, one for each of the dresses. Though the shoes were a tight fit, the leather was soft enough that, with the tiny gold buckles fastened at the widest position, Nicole felt she could manage. And manage would be all she could do, for she felt as though perched on a tower with a hard wooden base. The shoes had a “fashionable tilt,” as Emily explained, with underpinnings of proper calf and cork. All Nicole knew was that they were positively the strangest things she had ever worn.
But that was before Emily ordered her into the dress. Emily had already dressed and then helped Nicole pin her hair into something she said befitted a young lady attending the master’s table. There was only a tiny hand mirror in the cabin, yet what little Nicole could see of herself and her new hair left her decidedly uncomfortable, particularly after Emily discovered the paper-wrapped bundle of satin ribbons—two for each dress. Emily tied the ribbons into her hair with the bows dangling down over one shoulder.
Finally, there was nothing more to unpack, nor any excuse to prevent her from fitting into the dress that lay on the bed as if taunting her. The noises from the other room pressed her, as did Emily’s frequent glances at the pocket watch now lying beside the dress. So Nicole admitted defeat and raised her hands, thereby allowing Emily to slip the dress up and over her head.
Emily helped her do up the buttons at the back, took as far a step away as the cramped cabin allowed, then whispered, “Turn around.”
She did so. Emily’s not saying anything caused Nicole to demand in a hushed voice, “Well, is it awful?”
“Awful? My dear…”
Then a knock came at the door, and a gruff voice said, “The captain is descending, ma’am.”
“We are ready.” To Nicole, she said, “Slip on your shoes. No, not those. The light blue ones there by the bed.”
They were the same type as the darker blue that she had already tried on, but when she pushed her feet into this pair, her right foot made contact with something bundled into the shoe’s toe. Nicole removed her foot, lifted the shoe, and pulled out yet another paper-wrapped package. “Not more ribbons.”
As she opened the paper both ladies gasped in unison. In Nicole’s hand lay a slender gold necklace from which hung a pendant and large square-cut green stone surrounded by tiny diamonds.
Again Emily unfolded the note and read it. “ ‘This belonged to my mother. I am certain she would be delighted to see you enjoy it.’”
“This is not for me,” Nicole protested.
Emily lifted the necklace from Nicole’s trembling fingers. “Turn around,” she said.
“I cannot possibly—”
But she was silenced by a second knock on the door, sharper this time. “Hurry, dear,” Emily said. “We mustn’t keep the ship’s company waiting.”
Before Nicole knew it, Emily had strung the necklace, and her hands were plucking at Nicole’s shoulders, straightening a strand of hair, pulling at a sleeve. Then she quickly opened the door and started pushing her forward.
Nicole had no choice but to enter a great room now filled with officers in glittery uniforms and lit by more than a dozen candles. In the flickering light she caught sight of a stranger, looking at her from across the room where a silver platter was mounted on the wall. The plate was polished to such a brilliant finish that it reflected better than any common mirror. The stranger was bedecked in the finery of fables, a dress of softest blue, with cascading hair and eyes green as the glimmering pendant hanging around her neck.
It was only when her hand reached up to touch the gem that Nicole realized she was looking at herself.
In a voice full of pride and excitement, Emily Madden announced, “Gentlemen, may I present to you the Lady Harrow, viscountess of Sutton.”
Nicole climbed two of the stairs leading to the quarterdeck. She spread out what had once been her best shawl and then settled herself on top of the hogshead lashed to the stair’s railing. The great oak barrel was two-thirds her height and broad as a table. Its top made a perfect stool from which to look out over the sea, read, and reflect.
Two weeks into the voyage, the days had fallen into a carefully structured routine. Mornings she spent taking lessons with the midshipmen. These four lads were aged anywhere from fourteen to her own nineteen and were generally drawn from the families of officers and their close friends. Most vessels carried two to six middies, who had learned navigation and sailing lore while serving as cabin boys. The sailors called them “dogsbodies,” for there was no duty too low for a middy. And Mrs. Madden had taken it upon herself to teach them what she referred to as “proper parlor etiquette.” Nicole was only too happy to attend, though the rules seemed absurd and the lessons endless: Sit up straight and at the edge of the chair, feet and ankles and knees always touching, chin just so, never allowing oneself to rest against the back of the chair. And there were the table manners and the proper use of cutlery.
“Your pardon, Miss Harrow. A word, if you please.”
Nicole turned with a start and found the captain poised on the third stair, his head a little higher than her own. She began to rise from her perch. “Most certainly, sir.”
“No, no, stay where you are. This won’t take long.” But the captain seemed unable to find his course. Then his eye caught the volume in her lap. “Ah, reading, I see. French or English?”
She held it out. “English, sir.”
“Ah. The Bible. Most noteworthy of you, Miss Harrow.”
“I cling to it, sir,” she said quietly.
“And why is that, pray tell?”
“It is the only time when I am certain God is with me still, and that I have not strayed too far from His will for me.”
For some reason, her words seemed to relax the captain a bit. He leaned against the stair’s top pillar and cocked his hat slightly back on his forehead. His working uniform was salt stained and patched in several places. The gold on his shoulders looked faded, the seams frayed. Even so, the dark blue added to his austere presence.
“A woman who can speak straight. Good. Very good. I shall try to match you with my own words. I have observed you closely these weeks, Miss Harrow, and have come to the conclusion you are cut from an uncommon fine cloth.”
“Why, sir—”
“No, no, pray let me finish. You are neither flighty nor a flirt. You do not use your station to offer querulous demands. Nor do you use your remarkable beauty to stir up my crew. I have spoken with my wife, whose judgment I hold in great esteem, and she feels the same way. So I have come to ask if I might offer you a few words of advice.”
“Most certainly, sir.”
“Very well, then.” He took a great breath and launched with, “You are clearly worried over what you shall face upon your arrival in England.”
“Terrified,” she admitted.
“I would therefore urge you to use this time on board to, shall we say, hone your tactics. Take the measure of your saber. Practice your thrust and parry.”
“I…I am sorry, Captain, but I don’t understand.”
“You rarely speak at dinner. You hold yourself like a little mouse trying to squeeze into the tiniest of holes. I have observed how you shrink whenever one of my gentlemen offers you a kind word. You have difficulty speaking even with the ship’s surgeon, who is the meekest man who ever walked a foredeck.”
Nicole hung her head. “I am so very afraid of making a mistake.”
“Don’t be. It’s utterly natural, but not necessary. Those not already smitten have nonetheless found you acceptable. They would be honored to be of service, if not beg for your…no, no. Let no more be said upon that.” When she did not respond, he went on, “My advice, Miss Harrow, is this: Do not hide yourself, nor show such shame here on board. My wife has shared with me a bit of your story. It is, if you will permit me to say, marvelous. Learn to deal with society through these people who already think well of you.”
The evening routine was now well established. The two ladies would retire to their sleeping chamber when the crew arrived to turn out the great room. Nicole had learned to slip into the fine dresses herself, submitting when necessary to Emily’s help with out-of-reach buttons. But tonight the weather had grown chill, with a strengthening wind straight out of the north. So Nicole selected the heavier dress of midnight blue, which she could do up unaided. The dress had a high collar and long sleeves and small froths of lace that tickled her chin and wrists. The buttons that ran up the front were the only adornment. Yet nothing else was required, because the buttons were matched pearls as big as her fingernail—thirty-six of them—spaced less than an inch apart and marching from below her waist all the way to her chin, with another six down each forearm.
As usual, Emily inspected her. She nodded her approval, then asked, “Shall we take a turn on deck?”
Always before, Nicole had declined, preferring to remain seated on her bed, dreading the moment ahead when she would walk through the doorway and be met by the assembly of ship’s officers. They were a grand lot at these dinners, for the captain had begun his career in the Royal Navy and held a strong liking for spit and polish. The officers stood stiff and proud in their best uniforms, bowing and murmuring their greetings. Nicole was typically famished by evening, yet found it hard to eat anything, because their eyes never seemed to leave her. She felt she was always being watched. Always. A ship’s closeness had never bothered her during the journey north from Louisiana with her uncle Guy and his family. Only now, when she was dressed like a doll on display and every motion she made seemed wrong, was she conscious of others’ eyes on her.
Tonight, however, Nicole gathered her courage and said, “Yes, all right.”
Emily’s eyes widened with surprise. “My husband spoke with you?”
“H-he did.”
“He is a good man, despite what you may think of his manner. The sea is a harsh place to ply a trade, and a master must hold the respect of his men. But he is a good man nonetheless, and you can trust his word.” She offered Nicole the lamb’s-wool mantle with a smile. “You are doing the right thing, my dear.”
Nicole followed her through the great room, where the two crewmen stopped their polishing of the silver platter long enough to bow to her, pulling their forelocks. The two women continued down the hallway and up the stairs and into the gentle light of the setting sun. The sea was tossed by the brisk, biting wind. The ship gave a mighty lurch just as Nicole reached the quarterdeck’s top step, and because of the tall-heeled shoes she wore, she risked tumbling back down the stairs.
Fortunately the captain was close by to offer her a hand. “Steady as she goes, Miss Harrow.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Think nothing of it, ma’am.” He bowed slightly, first to her, then to his wife. “A fine night, by the looks of things. We’ll be making record time—that is, if the weather holds.” The captain peered beyond the two women, and a frown suddenly creased his face. “Avast there! You there at the mizzen, tighten out that luff! Your business is out to sea, man, not what goes about the quarterdeck! Hold steady to the course, steersman, or I’ll have your hide!”
Nicole joined Emily by the windward rail and thrilled at the wind’s soft buffeting.
Young Andy Potter moved up alongside, doffed his hat, and said, “Evening, ma’am. The captain said I might dine with the officers tonight.” He pointed out across the wind-tossed ocean. “The watchman just spotted a whale off the stern. Keep a careful eye, if you will please, for you might just…yes, there she blows!”