Dark Prelude (3 page)

As she approached the shipping office, her
mind raged a tempest of doubts and questions. Could she do it?
Could she brave an ocean voyage, a new land? Would she find the
better life she sought? Or a worse one? She stopped in the street
in front of the weathered building to read the sign lettered on a
plank above the door:
Schlange Shipping & Trade
Company
.

Through the window she could see a rather
round man wearing a brown waistcoat. Wickes, she hoped. His head
was bent over his desk, not the one Mr. Weber had used, but a
smaller desk across the room. Silvia entered, shutting the street
door quietly behind her, her heart pounding rapidly against her
chest. With her hand to the knob of the office door, she paused and
closed her eyes, whispering a little prayer that she was right to
do this thing. Then with a surge of courage, she stepped
inside.

The man did not see her at first; he worked
so intently at his ledger. “I wish to see Mr. Weber,” she muttered
hastily. Silvia had worn her best dress, a grey wool, piped in
black and cut in a plain but flattering style. Her hair was
arranged and pinned high on her head to make her look her years.
Anxiously, she awaited a reply.

The clerk lifted his face, plump and
owl-like, a tuft of spiky whiskers rounding out his chin, and when
he spoke his head seemed to bob on a fat neck. His eyes lingered
appraisingly on her face and a pleasant smile formed on his full
lips.

“Mr. Weber is not in the office, miss. He
had business elsewhere this morning. Had to see a ship off.”

The color drained from her face and the hope
from her heart. “But he told me the ship sailed in two weeks,” she
insisted anxiously. Her alarm seemed to startle the man and he
lowered his pen from a black ledger. She couldn’t have
misunderstood. And there was the letter. Silvia barely heard the
man speaking as she rummaged in her purse for the letter.

“Yes, the
Eastwind
sails the
twentieth. But Mr. Weber saw off the
Anne Marie
this
morning. Mr. Wilhelm himself was on board. He is not well and
wished to leave this cold climate as soon as possible. If you had
some business with Mr. Weber, perhaps I can be of help.” He smiled
again, his round eyes wide with curiosity and an obvious
appreciation for a pretty distressed woman.

She opened her purse and withdrew the sealed
paper. “My name is Silvia Bradstreet. Mr. Weber instructed me to
give this letter to a Mr. Wickes.”

He stood at once. Suddenly his eyes
registered surprise and his face a quick nervousness. “Why Miss
Bradstreet! Why didn’t you say so straight away? I’m Wickes. At
your service, miss.” He took the paper in the short stubby fingers
of a pudgy hand. “Mr. Weber left specific instructions if you were
to come.” Wickes broke the seal and read the message from his
employer to confirm she was who she said. When he was done he
stroked his whiskers fussily.

Somehow she contrived to keep her composure.
How thankful she was. Indeed she had given Mr. Weber no real
indication she would return. Yet it seemed he had expected it.

“I wish to contract as a bond servant. Mr.
Weber said you would attend to the matter.” Saying the words gave
her a sense of freedom, a strange feeling for one agreeing to a
term of indenture. If she could keep her plans secret from Uncle
Hollister for two weeks, she thought derisively, she would be on
her way to a new life.

Wickes expelled a fluttering breath and
scurried from behind his desk. “I’ll send for the carriage, Miss
Bradstreet and drive you to Mr. Schlange’s solicitor. Those were
Mr. Weber’s instructions.” He hurried through the office door,
leaving Silvia to wonder at her good fortune. She had never heard
of a bond servant being treated so well. Perhaps Mr. Schlange had a
weakness for the unfortunate. Perhaps her luck had changed. And she
would be glad of it.

***

Silvia had not ridden in a fine carriage
since she was a child. She settled against the leather cushion and
closed her eyes momentarily.

“Are you quite comfortable, Miss
Bradstreet?” Wickes sat across from her, his plump cheeks jiggling
with the motion of the coach. “We’ll reach Mr. Leeds office
shortly. Mr. Weber made the arrangements hoping you would return.
The documents will be ready.”

Puzzled, Silvia opened her eyes. “But how
could he? I only met Mr. Weber yesterday. Not a full day ago. How
could he have known to have the documents ready? Or for that
matter, how could he have known I would come at all?” Silvia
stiffened. Had she been hasty? She had heard of young women
disappearing from the London streets never to be seen again. What
did she know of Mr. Schlange? Or of Weber, or Mr. Wickes?

Her face must have revealed her doubts for
Wickes immediately patted the air with his hands and began to
reassure her. “Now, now, Miss Bradstreet. I didn’t mean to alarm
you. Mr. Schlange made the arrangements for another young lady, but
she sent word she had changed her mind. Got a proposal of marriage
from her young man.” Wickes stroked his whiskers nervously until he
saw the alarm leave her eyes. “‘Tis just a matter of the signature.
The agreement will be the same. And of course, if the terms don’t
suit…’Tis your choice to sign or not.”

Silvia nodded her consent and settled back
to the cushion. She was entirely too nervous to think clearly. The
excitement churned in her stomach, a tingling mix of dread and
delighted anticipation. She must calm herself before the carriage
reached the solicitor’s office.

Wickes breathed a sigh of relief as well. It
would have been his duty to find Miss Bradstreet and persuade her
by other means had she not come in. She had saved him the trouble
and risk of displeasing his employer had he been unsuccessful.

Mr. Leeds was in a building only a few
streets away, but in a far more fashionable district than Silvia
was accustomed to. An engraved brass nameplate marked his door and
the elegance of the furnishings inside astonished her. The walls
were paneled in rubbed mahogany and in front of his desk, a plush
Turkish rug stretched across the polished hardwood floor.

Wickes introduced her and Mr. Leeds quickly
came around his desk to take her hand. With a flourish, Leeds
directed her to a sitting area in one corner of the room where high
backed chairs done in crimson velvet were grouped around a teak
table. Sparkling decanters and glasses covered the surface of the
table. Sunlight filtered through the window and broke into the
colors of the rainbow as it shone through the bottles to spread a
fan of light on the wall.

“Will you have a glass of sherry, Miss
Bradstreet, while I read the agreement to you?” Leeds was a tall
slender man, graying and with a long nose that had a hump in the
middle. His chin was clean shaven and pointed.

“A glass of sherry would be delightful, Mr.
Leeds,” she said lifting her eyes to meet his. “And I can read the
document myself as I both read and write,” she responded warmly,
taking a seat in one of the tall chairs. Behind her Leeds stiffened
and licked his thin lips nervously while he shot a cautious look at
Wickes’ gaping face.

“Of course, Miss Bradstreet. Forgive my
presumption,” he admonished smoothly. “Mr. Schlange is fortunate to
indenture such a refined and educated young woman.”

He treated Silvia like a lady, pouring her a
second glass of sherry, politely asking about her family and
childhood and expressing his sympathy that she had been orphaned.
He brought her the documents and inquired if the light was
sufficient for her to read. Silvia smiled politely. She liked Mr.
Leeds and was favorably impressed though it did disturb her a bit
that his eyes darted all about when he talked.

While she read Leeds returned to the desk
and busily looked through his papers. Wickes restlessly paced the
length of the carpet, his lips pulled into a cynical smile.

“This is far better than I expected,” she
commented pleasantly when she had read the document. The agreement
was largely in her favor. A term of five years rather than seven.
She would have a day off each week, to be decided mutually. But
grandest of all, the wages were far above her expectation and Mr.
Schlange would give her fifty acres from his estate at the end of
her term.

Wickes and Leeds exchanged a knowing glance.
“Then you will sign the agreement, Miss Bradstreet?” Leeds asked, a
faint smile twisting his mouth.

“Yes, of course. I am anxious to do so,” she
exclaimed gratefully. She had been right about Mr. Schlange. He was
a fine, generous man. Leeds led her to his desk and dipped a pen in
the inkwell. “I’ll just enter the dates, March, seventeen hundred
and fifty-one ‘til March seventeen hundred and fifty-six. The time
will pass quickly, Miss Bradstreet, and you will find Mr. Schlange
a just man.” He handed her the pen. “If you will be so kind as to
sign several copies, Miss Bradstreet. Mr. Schlange always insists
on multiple copies of all documents. An exacting man in business,
Mr. Schlange.” Leeds shoved a stack of documents toward her,
quickly removing each as she affixed her signature.

Silvia could scarcely focus on the lines,
the potency of the sherry had gone to her head when she stood. Nor
could she detect the malevolent gleam in Leeds eyes as she swirled
her name in glistening black ink forming letters that seemed to
wiggle lifelike on the paper.

When the last copy was signed, he took the
quill and instructed Wickes to pour Silvia another glass of sherry.
She sipped delicately the warming liquid that made her feel a
joyful giddiness. Blinking her eyes, she smiled weakly as Mr.
Leeds’ features seemed to fade from her vision.

Leeds watched approvingly, then added his
signature and had Wickes sign as witness. With a sigh of
satisfaction, he blotted the documents and tore one sheet in half.
That portion he slipped into a binder and presented to Silvia.

“Your copy of the agreement, Miss
Bradstreet. Mr. Schlange will have the other half and the copies
save one which remains here.” Leeds smiled openly as he folded the
other papers and placed them in a leather pouch.

“Thank you Mr. Leeds. You have made this a
pleasant occasion,” she said in a wobbly voice that sounded to her
own ears as if it came from far away.

Leeds nodded. “Wickes will drive you to your
house and answer all the questions you are likely to have about
your departure. Good day, Miss Bradstreet.”

“Good day, Mr. Leeds,” she responded
softly.

In the carriage Silvia listened diligently
as Wickes told her Mr. Schlange had built a castle on his island
estate off the coast of the Georgia colony. He told her proudly
that Wilhelm Schlange was sole owner of a shipping company and had
a large tract of property in one of the German states as well.

“Generous to a fault, he is.” Wickes said
beaming a gratuitous smile. “Looks after those who work for him and
are loyal.

Silvia returned his smile. The giddiness was
subsiding, though now her stomach felt weak. “I dare say he is and
I’ll do a fair job for him,” she said quietly, gently massaging her
forehead.

It was done. Her torment at the hands of
Uncle Hollister’s tyranny was soon to end. She would surely labor
no harder for Wilhelm Schlange than she did for her uncle. In
truth, she was little more than a bondservant to her uncle. Every
day in his house took more and more from her heart and brought less
and less promise to her future. Now she had a chance, a way to
build a life, a way to have a future that was not all bleakness and
hopelessness. Her uncle’s harsh treatment would soon be but a
memory. She would be free.

Though it was just a hint, the smile formed
on Silvia’s lips was the first in many months. It lasted but a
moment before the dark reality returned. There was fortnight of his
domination to endure. She steeled herself with the thought that it
was but a moment, hardly any time at all. She would have to be
cautious as a mouse on prowl, she could not give a clue of her
plans. A shudder, which had nothing to do with the cold, shook her.
What dread trouble would it bring if Uncle Hollister grew
suspicious?

Wickes informed her the ship sailed at noon
on the twentieth and the captain would have her name on the roster.
Wickes insisted she take two crowns to purchase whatever items she
would need for the journey. Mr. Schlange would not have his people
traveling in discomfort.

Silvia tucked the crowns deep into her
pocket and tried to tuck the lingering thoughts of Uncle Hollister
to the back of her mind. Her exhaustion had caught up with her. She
could have closed her eyes and fallen asleep listening to the
steady whir of the carriage wheels. Instead she concentrated on
staying awake and instructed Wickes to take her back to the
shipping office.

She would walk from there. She must bide her
time with care. Should Uncle Hollister discover her plans, he would
surely vent his rage.

The remains of a broken chair lay atop the
wood box, one of several made into kindling by the worst fray ever
to occur at the Red Feather Inn. Yet in early morning, the
instigators of the ruckus sat at the same table sharing bread and
cheese and drinking tankards of ale.

They sat quietly, bathed in rubescent light
from a crackling fire that splayed gawky dancing shadows across the
stone walls and rough timbers of the hall. Around the room the din
of conversation echoed with a tattling buzz as other early risers
enjoyed strong cups of tea and welcomed a change in the
weather.

“Uncle is up to old tricks, I’ll wager.”
Roman scrubbed the bottom of his tankard on the scarred table.
“This summons back the island is proof of that.” He paused and
drank deeply. “I don’t like turning my vessel over to Carver for a
season, though he is a fine enough captain.” He glanced at his
companion who sat quietly and appeared deep in thought. “What do
you make of it Morgan?”