Black Sheep's Daughter (11 page)

 "Charming!"

 Lady Parr raised her quizzing glass. "Astonishing!  I'd not have thought Miss Danville could look half so well. I wore my hair thus in my youth. It was the quite the fashion then, and Sir Archibald admired it exceedingly. Of course, my hair was golden." She studied Teresa's raven locks, sighed, and rose to lead the way to the wardroom.

* * * *

 Andrew rose and bowed as Lady Parr swept into the wardroom. Even when, as now, dressed in puce rather than white, she bore a startling resemblance to a ship in full sail. His betrothed followed, as usual a figure of quiet elegance in pale blue. Behind her came Teresa. He frankly stared.

 Her skin was darkened in contrast to the white muslin. The ruffles and bows that flattered Muriel's slender shape emphasized the wrong portions of her fuller figure and even though the way she wore her hair made her appear taller, she looked plump. Somehow, in that simple gown that would not be out of place in any drawing room in London, she managed to look more foreign than ever.

 She glanced at him anxiously. He could not tell her that her own old clothes suited her far better. "You look every inch a lady," he said, with the utmost sincerity.

 It was not precisely what she had hoped for, but at least he no longer thought her dressed like a hoyden. She told herself she was satisfied.

 "You're complete to a shade!" exclaimed Marco, who had learned any amount of useful slang from Andrew.

 Captain Fitch had clearly never noticed anything amiss with Miss Danville's appearance and was at a loss to understand the present interest therein. He had matters of more moment to discuss. To Lady Parr's obvious irritation, since she would have preferred to ignore the subject, he proceeded to congratulate himself upon the successful pursuit and capture of the
Snipe
. He had talked to the slaver captain, Harrison, a very unpleasant sort of fellow who flew into a passion when he learned that his slaves had been rescued. He would certainly be transported for his part in the infamous trade; indeed, he might even be hanged for murder since a number of the unfortunate Africans had drowned.

 "He would not tell me who financed the voyage," the captain continued. "Certainly it was not his own ship, or he'd never have scuttled her. There are gentlemen in England still who put up the funds for scoundrels like Harrison, and it is generally impossible to prove their complicity."

 "I suppose it is still a profitable trade then," observed Andrew.

 "Aye, and will be until the Americans and the French agree to cooperate," growled the captain. "The British Navy cannot stop American ships, and the French never punish their citizens when we catch them."

 Lady Parr managed to turn the conversation to the infamous behaviour of the French and the Americans in general, both of them given to revolutions that quite cut up everyone's peace. Teresa and Andrew between them managed to silence Marco when he attempted to inform her that Costa Rica, and indeed all of Central America, was on the verge of its own revolution. Teresa did not care to give her ladyship any more ammunition against her. She already had plenty.

 Teresa's lessons in deportment began on the morrow. Lady Parr commandeered the wardroom between the hours of nine and one, pointing out to the unfortunate officers that they might very well go to their cabins or on deck.

 Here Teresa paraded up and down in front of her ladyship's eagle eye until her carefree stride was reduced to a dainty step. Soon she could walk arm in arm with Muriel without pulling her along. She learned to curtsy gracefully, and to adjust the depth of her curtsy to the rank, called out by Lady Parr, of the person to whom she was supposedly being presented. She had some difficulty in distinguishing between the deference due to the King or Queen and that due the Prince Regent.

 "Not that you will meet the King, of course, for he is quite mad by now. Duke!"  Her ladyship frowned in thought as Teresa produced a creditable ducal curtsy. "I daresay you will not go so low to the Duke of Stafford as he is your uncle, at least once he has acknowledged you. Viscount!  No, no, girl, that is deep enough for an earl, or even a marquis."

 Muriel helped her practise conversing in a soft voice upon unexceptionable topics such as the weather. Lady Parr had nothing but praise for her low, musical voice. Her laugh, however, was sadly deprecated and proved impossible to remedy. The only alternative Teresa managed to produce was a horrid titter, which she herself refused to consider acceptable.

 "We cannot expect perfection," sighed Lady Parr. "You will have to confine yourself to smiling, Miss Danville. Sir Archibald did not approve of  females laughing, so that will do very well. Your teeth are good, I am glad to see."

 Another failure was the art of fluttering fan and eyelashes: Teresa simply could not take it seriously enough to concentrate. In fact, the effort invariably called forth that unfortunate laugh.

 The lessons were interrupted twice a day when Teresa made her rounds of the ex-slaves, attending to their ills. Andrew was openly admiring of both her compassion and her medical skills. On the second day Muriel asked permission to help, and though she was ill at ease, continued to join her thereafter. Teresa had to respect the effort she was making to overcome her timidity. In spite of her jealousy, suppressed with difficulty, and Lady Parr's constant comparisons to her detriment, she found herself growing fond of Andrew's future wife.

 She also felt a growing attachment to Annie. The girl was always cheerful and ready to help. When the
Destiny
anchored off Grand Turk and the boats started ferrying the Africans ashore, Teresa made up her mind to ask Annie to stay with her as her abigail.

 Annie accepted joyfully. Despite Lady Parr's distaste at sharing the cabin with a savage, when it was overfull already, a pallet was made up for her on the floor. Kinsey took the girl under her wing at once, and Muriel donated a couple of her mourning dresses to make her some decent clothes. Clad demurely in grey, Annie was miraculously transformed from savage to maidservant, and under Kinsey's kindly tutelage she began to learn an abigail's skills.

 Marco was also taking lessons. His intellectual curiosity unbounded, he had persuaded Captain Fitch to teach him the science of navigation. At all hours of the day and night, he could be seen wielding sextant, astrolabe and chronometer, consulting the Nautical Almanac, or bending over Admiralty charts with dividers in hand.

 Teresa's course of instruction continued meanwhile with the rules of behaviour in Polite Society. "A young lady never dances more than twice with any gentleman at the same ball, and must not waltz until given permission by one of the patronesses of Almack's."

 "I am not likely to break that rule, ma'am," laughed Teresa, "for I have no notion how to waltz."

 Nor, it seemed, did she know how to dance the cotillion, or the quadrille, or any English country dances. Andrew and Muriel were enlisted, and Marco reluctantly joined in the lessons to make up the numbers. With the wardroom table cleared to one side there was just space enough to learn the steps as long as they moved with great care. Since their only music was Lady Parr's tuneless hum, it would in any case have been impossible to infuse any spirit into the exercise.

 To supplement the list of possible subjects of polite conversation, there was a list of unmentionables. This included religion, politics, prize fighting and most parts of the body. Certain works of literature, such as poetry and the latest novels, were acceptable in moderation.

 "Do you read, Miss Danville?" enquired her ladyship.

 "Why yes, ma'am. I have read most of my father's library."

 "Do not on any account mention it!  Nothing is so fatal to a young lady's chances as being known as a bluestocking. Sir Archibald never permitted Muriel to enter his library. Do you sketch?  Play the piano?  The harp, perhaps?"

 "Only the ocarina, ma'am."

 Marco was persuaded to play a duet with her. Muriel thought it charming but Lady Parr was not impressed.

 "Impossible," she declared.

 Teresa began to feel thoroughly inadequate. "It is a lowering reflection," she confided to Marco later, "that my one talent, shooting straight, is not on the list of ladylike accomplishments."

* * * *

 However, by the time the Scillies were sighted, Lady Parr pronounced herself satisfied. "You are vastly improved, I vow, Miss Danville," she said. "I daresay it is not too much to hope you will not disgrace yourself in your uncle's house. I should be excessively mortified if the duchess were to lay any fault in your conduct at my door."

 "Indeed I must thank you for all your efforts in my behalf," Teresa assured her. "I shall endeavour to behave with the utmost decorum."  She curtsied the precise curtsy proper to the widow of a baronet.

 Her resolve was very soon put to the test, when the
Destiny
sailed into Spithead. "A lady preserves her composure under all conditions," she remembered. "Only yokels gape."  She wanted to gape at the spectacle of hundreds of vessels lying at anchor or sailing to and fro in the narrow waterway between Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight. With great effort she managed to preserve her countenance, though she did say to Andrew, "I never dreamed there were so many ships in the whole world!"

 It was dusk when they went ashore in the naval dockyards. Captain Fitch bid them farewell with so obvious an air of relief that, as had become her habit, Teresa sought Andrew's eyes to confirm her amusement.

 With a sudden pang, she realised that, even if she saw him in London, they could never again be on such intimate terms. He would soon be married to Muriel and she, she decided, would collect dozens of beaux, among whom she was bound to find someone else who shared her sense of humour.

 While they waited for Rowson to bring carriages to take them into Portsmouth, the slavers were marched off the frigate in chains. As they passed their captain, Harrison, looked round and saw Teresa.

 "You wait, Miss Marplot Danville," he snarled, his lips twisted in a vicious grin. "I'll get you for this!"

Chapter 8

 A hired carriage pulled into the well-lit courtyard of the Star and Garter. From it descended a tall, fair young gentleman. The landlord, who had just stepped out to take the air on this mild September evening, bustled forward. Yes, he had several excellent rooms available. A private parlour?  Of course. Two post chaises and three riding horses to start for London in the morning?  Certainly, certainly. He rubbed his hands together and bowed to the imposing lady who now followed the gentleman from the carriage.

 A youth and two young ladies emerged next. As mine host ushered the party towards the door, he heard another carriage drive up and glanced backwards.

 "That will be our servants," the gentleman informed him.

 From the second carriage stepped a respectable-looking manservant--with a parrot on his shoulder!  He handed down a perfectly normal lady's maid, and then a Black female, dressed just as if she too was a perfectly normal lady's maid.

 "Y-your servants, sir?" stammered the innkeeper, goggling.

 The gentleman's lips twitched, but before he could answer the elder of the two young ladies, the dark one, spoke up. "Yes, and please see that the parrot comes in to the parlour. It is by far too cold to leave him in the stables."  She threw an indignant look at the gentleman, as if the stables was his suggestion. He shrugged resignedly.

 "Hello, hello," said the parrot. "Hello, dinner."

 As the heads of several ostlers, an idling tapster, and a passing sailor all turned towards the bird, the landlord swallowed his instinctive protest. "Hungry is 'e?" he asked. "What's 'e like to eat?"

 The young lady grinned at the gentleman. "When he says 'dinner' it doesn't necessarily mean he's thinking of food," she said, walking into the inn beside the landlord as she explained. "I expect he is hungry though."

 "Messy eaters, parrots," said the landlord judiciously. "I seen 'em afore. Might be better if your man feeds 'im in the taproom, afore 'e takes 'im up."

 "That will do very well," agreed the young lady with a sunny smile.

 As expected, the news that there was a talking parrot in the taproom of the Star and Garter spread like wildfire. The crowd that gathered to hear Gayo swear at them in English and Spanish drank more ale in an hour than the regulars drank in a week. What was more, lots of them stayed on when Rowson took him upstairs, and in the morning a new crowd waited in hopes of his reappearance. Many of the latter were lucky enough also to catch a glimpse of the African abigail.

 "I feel as if I'm in charge of a travelling circus!"  Andrew muttered to Rowson as he mounted his hired hack.

 Teresa, who had been impressed by the amenities of the coaching inn, was silenced by the bustling streets of Portsmouth when she saw them in daylight. She understood at last why Andrew had referred to Cartago as a mere village. The coach, in itself a wonder to one used to ox-carts, rolled smoothly along on the paved surface, past row after row of neat brick buildings. There were people everywhere, on horseback, in carriages, walking or running, dressed in finery or rags, talking, shouting, singing, enjoying the rare sunny day.

 Since Lady Parr did not admonish Teresa for gaping, she guessed that she had succeeded in schooling her expression to hide her awe.

 They reached the end of the town and continued along the open highway. Nothing could have been more different from the jungle trail to Limón. The road was wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other; in fact their chaise frequently overtook slow wagons, and was overtaken by a mail coach and a curricle or two.

 Teresa was fascinated by the countryside. The rolling hills were patchworked with ocher fields, already harvested, and pasture of a brilliant green hue quite unlike that of the tropical forests. Autumn was already tinting the woodlands with russet and gold. In the hedgerows, crimson haws and scarlet hips vied with silky white tangles of old man's beard. Hump-backed stone bridges crossed gentle, gurgling streams that sparkled in the sun, so very different from the rushing mountain torrents and slow, smooth lowland rivers of Costa Rica.