Dark Shadows (21 page)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Mercy slipped the nightgown over her head, pushed her arms into the wrist-length frilly sleeves, and pulled the soft garment down to her ankles. She looked at the wall clock. She had two hours before she would have to dress for dinner. She would spoil herself with a brief nap. She lay on top of the bunk, rested her head on the soft pillow, and watched the last of the day’s grey light peek through the porthole. She sighed, happy and contented after another wonderful day with her new friend, Belle.

After two weeks at sea, Mercy had found her sea legs and was surprisingly healthy, even during the strongest of winds and roughest of squalls. Belle had given her an entire wardrobe of gowns, coats, shawls, and hats, but Mercy had found herself more at home in breeches, shirt, and a long woollen coat. She remembered Belle’s words: “There’s no need to traipse around this ship in cumbersome gowns.” Belle had laughed when Mercy brought
corset
into the conversation. “I declare, Mercy, I can’t remember the last time I had to wear one of those detestable undergarments on a ship. My gowns are much simpler. They allow me to breathe freely.”

Before leaving Liverpool, Belle had been forced to purchase new gowns, nightgowns, and undergarments that would be comfortable right up until the bump on her belly grew to the size of a giant pumpkin.

Mercy smiled fondly. That’s what Hendry called Belle nowadays: his pumpkin.

Mercy had grown up with a sewing needle and thread in her fingers, and she had managed to widen Belle’s breeches, albeit with other materials. Belle, in return, had given Mercy more garments than she’d ever owned in her entire life.

As days and nights passed, Mercy found herself more and more at ease with the affluent family and their crew. This comfortable integration was due in part to Belle’s efforts, as she’d made it clear from the first moment they met that Mercy was on board as her companion, not as a servant. Luckily, the women had discovered common ground in character.

Mercy thought about the last two weeks. Belle was the best of companions. She was kind and light-hearted, and her stories about growing up in Virginia and on her parents’ sprawling plantation entertained both of them for hours.

Belle also spoke about Stone Plantation and its beauty. She was adamant that it was probably
the
best and most prosperous plantation in Virginia. Mercy had wanted to know more about her new home but was told that she should just wait to be overwhelmed when she saw it with her own eyes.

During her first few days aboard, Mercy had listened but had spoken only when urged to do so. Belle seemed to sense her need for silence and never questioned or forced her to talk about her life. This thoughtfulness was what had drawn Mercy closer to Belle. As days and nights passed, reservations, fear, and self-loathing faded with the island Mercy had left behind.

She smiled again, snuggling now under the sheets and blankets. She was supposed to be the companion. It was her job to make sure Belle was not alone, bored, or tired of being confined. But Belle had turned the tables and had taken it upon herself to entertain Mercy, thus giving her time to quietly come to terms with her recent past. Belle began almost immediately to invite her into a world she’d always dreamed about. She showed her maps and explained routes from country to country. She spoke about her home, saying that Virginia had once been an English settlement in the year 1607, at a place called Jamestown. Mercy couldn’t imagine how ships sailed all the way across this ocean almost 260 years ago. Mercy also found out that red-skinned people lived there. They were called Indians. Black slaves, called Negros,
did
exist after all, and they were very important to the white people who lived in Virginia.

Belle described Morocco’s and Tunisia’s great souks and the Atlas mountain range, the Portuguese coastline and the Strait of Gibraltar, and Spain’s eastern coast. Mercy hadn’t even heard of some of the countries, and she was in awe at the sheer size of the world.

She had difficulty imagining Belle’s upbringing, but Belle was generous with the facts and was not afraid to vent her own thoughts and feelings about her family. She had four older brothers and all were married. She loved them but disliked her eldest brother, whom she described as being a cruel and callous man, treating those he deemed beneath him like downtrodden mules.

Mercy wanted to ask her who these people beneath him were, but she decided that if Belle had wanted to tell her, Belle would have.

Belle’s parents were alive and well, as far as Belle knew. They adored her and she them, but she was sure that they would never fully forgive her for making a decision that was both selfish and incomprehensible in their eyes. “I thought my parents were going to have convulsions when I told them of my plans. They threatened to lock me up in chains and have my marriage annulled. It was unheard of. Everyone frowned upon my decision, even my brothers, who always knew I was not quite the Southern lady I should have been. They sure didn’t mind when I climbed trees with them and threw apples from the highest branches when we were children. Oh, no
;
that was all great fun, until I became a woman. Then it was, ‘Talk like a lady, don’t show your ankles, don’t walk too fast, and don’t run. Men don’t take kindly to women who talk too much and know too much.’ Why, you would have thought I’d turned into a completely different creature the moment I grew breasts!”

Mercy pictured Belle in her mind. She was of small build and had fair hair. Her skin had darkened with wind, rain, and sunny days at sea. She had a naturally friendly face, which was more interesting than beautiful, but Mercy thought she had beauty in spades. It was in her smile, her animated expressions, and her eyes, which lit up and shone like beacons when she spoke about Hendry.

She recalled Belle’s words, so profound and filled with emotion. “I’m the luckiest woman alive. When I was at home, my days were filled with picnics, balls, and parties, but none of those grand occasions meant anything to me if Hendry was not present. Now, should he not be with me, my life’s blood would stop pumping, a summer’s day would chill me, and I would be as the dead, without reason or means to breathe. I love him so much, Mercy. I hope you’re as lucky as I am one day, for there’s no greater joy than loving and being loved. Hendry is a wonderful man. He’s the reason I spend my life on a ship and why I’ll always be by his side, wherever he goes. There’s no money and no amount of comforts to equal a full heart.”

Belle was the epitome of what Mercy had always imagined an older sister to be: caring, affectionate, and protective.

Mercy thought about Julia often, but instead of picturing the closeness they had shared, all she remembered now was the coldness and disgust. Yes, disgust had been reflected in Julia’s eyes. Julia had saved her life, and Mercy would always be grateful to her for that, but Julia had also taught her that friendship could be fickle.

Mercy’s peaceful thoughts of Belle and her new life to come had been interrupted by memories she would rather forget. She rose from the bed and poured herself a glass of water, drinking every drop without pause.

She sat on top of the bunk this time with her legs crossed, elbows atop them and fists holding up her chin. Belle was not Julia. Belle was honest, and Mercy was drawn to that honesty. She remembered the moment she too had lowered her guard and had let the details of her life spring forth like gushing water. They had been sitting in Belle’s cabin, talking about England. Belle told her that she was not too fond of Liverpool but yearned to visit London, and then she had asked Mercy to describe the capital.

Belle now knew every tiny detail about her life, and Mercy wasn’t sorry, not one little bit. She had stumbled at first when describing the day of her birth, as told to her by Grandpa Carver. But because of Belle’s understanding, she no longer felt the shame that had followed her throughout her life. Mercy realised now that she could think about her parents without feeling she had to banish them into some dark corner of her mind.

Belle was the only person she’d ever met who had urged her to think kindly and fondly of Thomas Carver. There was no shame, Belle told her, in loving someone so much that you wanted to die with that person. She had added that she could not envisage living without Hendry and that she understood Mercy’s father’s anguish. Belle added that in her opinion, while the act of suicide was a selfish and cowardly act, the shameful act would be to marry a man or woman one didn’t love.

Mercy had then decided to tell her everything, from her secretly arranged marriage to Big Joe to the awful day at St Paul’s, when her life changed forever. Belle’s tears were comforting, as was her rage and, at times, disbelief. Mercy omitted the murder and fire from her story, for she believed that even Belle, the most understanding of people, would not want a murderess as a friend.

A tap on the door jolted Mercy from her thoughts, and she climbed off the bunk. Dinner was not for another hour or so. She prayed that nothing was wrong with Belle or the baby. She cracked the door open, hiding her body behind it, and showed just one eye to the person on the other side of it.

A crewman stood there and bowed slightly. “Good evening, miss. This note is from Mr Stone. He asked me to wait for your reply.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Mercy told him.

She closed the door and leaned her back against it. Her heart was thumping at the mention of Jacob’s name. She had tried all day every day not to think about Jacob, yet he was always in her thoughts. She wanted to be near him, to gaze into his perfect face, to feel the strange vibrations that connected her to him somehow when he was near, and to hear his wonderful soft Southern drawl.

She understood Belle’s need for Hendry, for she felt the same way about Jacob. He had been distant since she’d been on board. She knew by his frequent absences from the dinner table that he had absolutely no interest in her. He was, as far as she could tell, going out of his way to avoid her.

She stared at the envelope and wanted to tear it open, yet she hesitated. She had no idea why Jacob would be writing to her. Being captivated by him was not a satisfying or pleasant feeling. She felt like a prisoner yearning for a guard to bring food to sustain her, though when he did, it was never enough. She was left wanting more. She found these new and intense feelings unnerving, for they were exactly the feelings Belle had described when talking about Hendry.

When Jacob was present, Mercy’s world lit up. Time flew so fast that she barely had time to live and enjoy the moment. There had been nights when he’d declined to have dinner with his family. She’d sat at the table, wishing for the conversation to cease, the meal to be over, and a quick exit in order to sleep and awaken the next morning with hopes of seeing Jacob on deck. She didn’t know if she loved him, but she did recognise that her insatiable need to be near him had led her on an unhealthy path that left her both mystified and frustrated.

She pulled herself up straight and mumbled angrily. She had once again let her mind wander and had left the poor man waiting outside. She pulled the note out of the envelope and took a deep breath.

My dear Miss Mercy,

Dinner has been cancelled. Belle and Hendry have decided to eat alone and retire early. I wonder if you would do me the honour of dining with me in my cabin. Dinner will be served at seven o’clock. I would very much like to talk to you.

I am at your service,

Jacob

Mercy’s hand shook as she once again cracked open the door. The crewman was standing patiently, and he bowed again at the appearance of her one eye.

“Please tell Mr Jacob I will be there on time,” she told him.

“Yes, miss. I’ll go tell him, and then I’ll come back and get you. A body can get lost here if it don’t know where it’s going,” he drawled in the now-familiar Southern accent.

Mercy thanked him, and he left. He was right. She didn’t know where Jacob’s cabin was. She had only been inside three cabins and had seen many more doors and stairwells to lower decks. It could be anywhere.

She took some deep breaths and ran to the small hand mirror. She picked it up and looked at her flushed face and dishevelled hair. There was no time to pin her hair up or paint her face, but there was time to pick out a gown and at least brush her hair into some order. She was going to eat with Jacob and might even be alone with him. She didn’t know what he wanted to talk about. Whatever his reasons, he had left her belly in a twisted knot and her whole body shaking like a blob of jelly.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jacob shuffled the plates and wine glasses around the small table for the umpteenth time, uncommonly nervous and unsure of what tonight’s outcome would be. Either Mercy would make him a very happy man or she would spurn his advances, in which case she would also destroy his dreams. He had thought about this moment the entire day. Would she accept his invitation? Would he have the courage to tell her that he loved her? The last thing he wanted to do was scare her or put her in a situation where she felt trapped. He was well aware that the last time she’d been alone with a man in a room was the night she’d been taken upstairs in the du Pont mansion. She never spoke about it. He had questioned Belle as to Mercy’s well-being, but Belle knew nothing – or if she did, she was not talking to him about it.