Prologue
The shifting lights depicted an all too familiar scene. Swaying, dancing, and enjoying the frivolities of another carefree night. The waters of a calm sea doubled the view from the window, only being troubled by my infrequent oar strokes rippling the velvet water. The night’s entertainment was a perfect distraction, all of the ladies, including my mother the duchess, were busy discussing the candidates for my husband, meanwhile the lords considering the fortunes that the lucky man would earn.
My skirts were bulging over the sides of the small splintered boat that I was attempting to manoeuvre; this kind of activity was not taught to young women attempting to obtain a husband, many would think it obscene.
I had no idea what I was going to do; I never have had the opportunity to decide the simplest thing about my life so far but now it’s different my whole life could change whenever I wanted it to. My being was no longer a chess piece to be moved without my saying, to conquer or fail, to win or to lose without any decision of my own. Some might say that I am a fool, that I should be grateful to be the only child of a dead duke. I am grateful for the delicious foods and elegant clothes in my jewel-encrusted world world of politics, riches and titles; but nothing else.
I turned my attention to my destination, a grubby thatched theatre next to The Silver Blade Tavern three miles down the coast. I was going to meet my old dressing maid, Susana Peterson, who used to enchant me with such glamorous and eccentric tales of the theatre and the hardship of having to create elaborate costumes for many characters like Puck and Titania.
I had never travelled by sea before, mamma and I often took long journeys in the carriages to various political events and parties. The trips were tiresome, and the parties predictable. However, I am well known in the towns and would surely be noticed if I travelled by foot; by sea was my only option.
The sea is an odd thing; always moving, never sleeping. I once heard Melissa, a lady of the courts, say that the wind and waves were caused by a beast that was exiled to a cave, and he sighed. I would sigh if I were exiled to a cave, but to think that a sigh could take such great effect; a sigh could be prosperous and bring fish but kill those who tried to claim it. A sigh could collapse cliffs or sail a boat home safely. I hoped my journey would be in the latter.
I firmly grasped the splintered wood of the oar with my soft white hands and raised them out of the bottomless water. They were not large, although I did not know if this was good or bad at the time. As I grew used to operating the oars I slipped further and further into the centre of the estuary, away from the safety of the cove I had left behind. I began to regret this as I was overcome by rushing water.
It had taken me by surprise; I had hit the current side on. The feeble boat leaned over, nearly pushing me out. I struggled to keep hold of my oars as I rose out of the water. My carefully chosen bundle of items began to fall from by my cramped feet. I had to choose; my boat, or my possessions, all the things that meant the most to me or my escape craft. I fell. Nothing can describe the sheer bitterness of that water; it stung at my every limb, not giving me a moment’s peace. My head was completely submerged and I could see nothing but darkness and coldness lashing at my eyes. I struggled for breath. I felt the currents pushing me to new places every second until I finally reached the surface. My head rose above the waters depth but was constantly being pulled down by my thick chestnut hair wanting to return to the freedom of the currents.
I was near some rocks but could not see any sign of my craft. I was relieved to find that my gamble had paid off as I reached down to unhook my bag’s cord that had become entangled in my dainty shoes, which matched my dress perfectly. I struggled to keep my entire head from being submerged again as the hungry waves lapped at my neck invitingly, managing to claim my chin with every rise. The weight of my sack and sopping clothes were pulling me down, wanting to lie on the ocean floor without a care.
My arms were already weak from the struggle of rowing; swimming that lengthy fifty feet seemed impossible. But nevertheless I began to pull and kick and with every ounce of my strength get to that rock. With my bag in my hand I swam, using it as I had my oar. Why had I been so foolish? Let God be my judge I will never make those same mistakes. But there was no turning back. Stranded in the icy depths of Salcombe estuary on a bitter March night, what else could I do but swim?
Chapter 1
The icy wind lapped at my bare legs as the sky rippled above me. Salty droplets began to litter my face while the wind curled my chestnut hair.
“A’right there love?” I sat myself up to see a tall man, his face lined with a golden rim. The sun peered over his head and created a little haze. I shaded my face with my hand, letting him pull me up with the other.
I brushed myself down, realising I was still sopping with seawater. My clothes clung tightly to my skin in bands and wrinkles as I tried to pull it up. The hazel-eyed man frowned curiously at me. Slowly I looked up to meet his gaze. His shining pupils caught the sun and tore through its beams.
“Umm, good morrow sir,” I mumbled, looking away from the man’s face.
“Ah, but what be so good about it?” He smiled at me and then turned away. I was curious as to who this stranger was. “I hope you don’t mind, but I left ye’ first couple layers of clothes out to dry. It must have been awful heavy out there in the wa’ers.”
I looked down at myself and noticed how bare I was; my legs completely naked and the blemishes across my body visible through the thin layer of clothes. I blushed, but tried hard to make sure he wouldn’t notice. I’m certain he did.
“So, where’re ye’ from then? You don’t look from around ‘ere, like one of ‘em sophisticated lady folk.” I frowned in return, my hand instinctively reaching forward but I jolted myself back.
“What do you mean by that exactly?”
“A woman such as yourself,” he murmured with a grin whilst eating a lump of bread that seemingly appeared from nowhere. I noted crumbs dribbling down and catching in his dark moss-like beard.
Suddenly the peculiar man turned away and began to veer towards the sails. Hurriedly, I walked over to the clothes in a casual manner, seeing them draped over the side of the boat. I reached to pick up one of my undergarments but found it was even damper than myself, having been dangled in the sea.
The craft was larger than my own; it had a strong wooden beam rising from the chest I had been lying on, a body shaped puddle left where I had once been. The beam although strong was not large and proudly brandished a pure white sail. It flickered and darted as this mysterious sailor toyed with it in the light of the morning sun.
Though his appearance seemed rough and hardy this person was kind and helpful without realising he wasn’t. I’d like to tell him very much that placing my garments over the edge of this ship wasn’t all too clever, but didn’t want to be seen as rude. The fact that he clearly did not know removing a woman’s clothes - especially one in my position of power compared to his own - was not acceptable indicated his sheer cheerfulness and general ignorance to the world around him. It was as if he were trying to be accommodating without noticing the things he did were wrong. I’m slightly disgusted to know that the gentleman portrays himself so to a woman and does not even care.
I began to dress myself, pulling up the wet clothes without much thought. I tried not to draw attention to what I was doing, so began to talk to the man and find out more. “I don’t believe you’ve mentioned your name as of yet. May I ask what it is, or are you keeping that a mystery too?”
The man looked up casually at me from what he was doing. I was surprised to notice that he was not looking down at me as I dressed, but at my face whilst I spoke. “My name is Robert Parker, but please do just call me Rob,” he paused for thought, “And I presume you are the lovely Lady Wharton?” He grinned up at me; his teeth white and pearly yet sharp like a dog’s.
I frowned at him as I pulled up my pale yellow overskirt and bodice, garnished with patches of a creamy white here and there. How did this stranger know who I was? Did he recognise me from somewhere? “You don’t suit the name Robert. You look more like an Oliver, or George to me...” I pondered over the name and tried to match it to his face, but it never seemed to fit.
“As I said, just call me Rob,” he replied in a whimsical tone. “And may I ask something of you in return?”
“If that is your wish,” I smiled back, leaving the last of my under-tops where it was. I decided it wouldn’t be worth making my presence known as a wealthy young lady.
“What is the daughter of the duchess doing so far away from home, with only her many underskirts to show for herself? Isn’t your mother busy sorting and categorising your future husbands for you?” he let out a small and amused sigh, “I wonder what she’d think to see her daughter engaging in such rigmarole with a beardy stranger who pulled her up onto his boat...” A sly grin spread across his face, “Which by the way, isn’t even mine.” I shot back, scowling at him furiously. I started to fiddle with my dripping hair, completely unaware that I was doing so. He laughed at me. “I’m only teasing, don’t be such a fustilugs.”
