Defiant Impostor (3 page)

Camille looked relieved, and offered a timid smile.

Susanna smiled back, convinced she was, indeed, in the
company of angels.

Chapter 1

Aboard the brig Charming Nancy

Summer 1743

"I don't want t' 'ear another word from ye about
dyin', Camille, not another bloody word! I know yer feelin' poorly, but y've
already come through the worst o' the fever. I'd swear on me father's black
'eart that y'll be enjoyin' some fresh air and sunshine on the deck by week's
end. Now give yer Susanna Guthrie a smile, or I'll joost take m'self straight
back t' Bristol!"

"And how will you do that?" Camille Cary
asked, forcing a smile as she swallowed painfully. She inclined her head upon
the sweat-damp pillow and watched Susanna soak a linen cloth in a basin of cool
water. "Swim?"

"Aye, either that or I'll catch a ride on a
dolphin, I will! Or a spoutin' whale. Joost watch me!"

Susanna was rewarded with a soft laugh, the first she'd
heard from Camille in several days, but it quickly became a hacking cough. She
set the basin upon the gently swaying planked floor and moved to the head of
the narrow bed, where she lifted and supported her young mistress's quaking
shoulders and back until the spasm passed. Then she helped Camille to lie down,
tucking the blanket around her too-thin frame.

"Better?" Susanna asked, feeling guilty that
she had inadvertently brought on another coughing spell. She had only wanted to
lighten the mood in this stuffy, dank-smelling cabin. Anything to get Camille's
mind off her illness!

Camille nodded weakly, a ghost of a smile upon her
pale, cracked lips. "Dearest Susanna. You've always known how to make me
laugh. I can never keep a straight face when you talk like you did when we
first found you in London. I would have thought after all these years, and Aunt
Melicent's constant insistence that you speak proper English, that you'd have
forgotten how."

Susanna shrugged lightly as she wrung out the cloth and
pulled her chair nearer the bed. "I guess some things you just never
forget."

Camille's feverish eyes met Susanna's as the damp cloth
covered her forehead. "Speaking of forgetting, you never said how Captain
Keyes is feeling today. Is he better?"

Susanna concentrated upon wringing out another cloth.
"Oh, yes, doing quite well," she lied, sparing Camille again from the
true horror that gripped the
Charming
Nancy
.

Five weeks out of Bristol a terrible pestilence had
struck the huge vessel, and within a fortnight it had become a floating death
ship. There weren't enough provisions to turn back to England, and even if that
had been possible, they were already closer to the colonies. Flushed with the
fever and barely able to stand, Captain Samuel Keyes had ordered his men to
sail with all haste to Yorktown, Virginia.

Now the grizzled captain was dead, buried at sea just
that morning along with three more crew members and a half dozen passengers,
two children among them. Susanna had watched silently on the top deck as the
shrouded mummylike figures had plummeted into the choppy gray sea with scarcely
a prayer to guide them into the hereafter, the ship's parson having died late
last week.

She couldn't blame what remained of the frightened crew
for not performing some semblance of a burial service. They simply wished to
rid the ship as quickly as possible of any diseased corpses.

So she had mumbled a prayer, for the dead who were
finally free of their earthly suffering; for her dear Camille, that she would
grow well again and healthy; and for herself, that she might be spared the
killing fever. Then she had returned to their cabin with the day's ration of
thin barley soup and stale bread, wishing Camille hadn't been so generous in
sharing with the ship's cook the extra food supplies Lady Redmayne had insisted
they bring with them for the long voyage.

That was just like Camille. Generous and caring to a
fault, yet so shy she had hardly left the cabin until she heard that a little
boy down the passageway had taken sick.

Offering what medicines she possessed and all of her
gentle comfort, Camille had sat up with the distraught parents through the
night, only returning to the cabin at dawn with the sad news that the child had
died. The next day, she had been struck with the fever, and she hadn't risen
from her bed since. That had been almost ten days ago. Susanna didn't have the
heart to tell her that the boy's parents had also sickened and died during that
time, an ominous misfortune upon which she didn't wish to dwell. Oh, why, why
wasn't Camille getting any better?

"Susanna."

She lifted her head at the sound of the beloved voice
that had grown so feeble, only a whisper of its former melodic strength, and
she immediately felt her cheeks begin to burn. Camille was staring at her so
intently she could swear her closest friend could see right into her soul.

"Captain Keyes is dead, isn't he?"

Susanna knew any further attempt to lie would be
futile. She nodded, wondering what she had done to give herself away.

Sighing, Camille glanced at the wall. "It's just
as well."

Susanna was shocked. "It's not like you to say
such things, Camille Cary. The captain was a longtime friend of your family. He
knew both your parents and your grandfather. Why, he braved late-winter seas to
bring you the news about your father."

"I know, I know, and I can only hope that heaven
will forgive me for saying it," Camille murmured. She clutched Susanna's
arm with a hand so pale that the thin blue veins stood out in sharp relief
against her white skin. "We must talk, Susanna. I've been thinking about
something since last night. Something important. I couldn't sleep because of
it. But you mustn't tease me as you did a few moments ago when I tried to tell
you. This is serious."

"All right, no more teasing," Susanna agreed,
sensing she had failed to divert Camille's attention from her suffering.
"Now, what's so important that it's robbing you of precious sleep?"

Camille's gaze grew almost pleading. "I know you won't
want to hear this, Susanna, but you must listen to me. If something happens to
me, if—if I die, I want you to go to Virginia in my place as Camille Cary and
accept my inheritance. I want you to accept Briarwood, my father's tobacco
plantation, as your own."

Susanna stared at her incredulously, so stunned she
didn't know what to say. Finally, gathering together her frayed emotions, she
said with quiet vehemence, "Nothing's going to happen to you. I won't let
it! In a few days you'll be feeling better, then everything will go on just as
before. When we reach Virginia, you'll find a husband, just as your father
wanted you to, and you'll settle down happily at Briarwood and raise lots of
children, just as you always wanted to—"

"Perhaps," Camille interrupted softly,
squeezing Susanna's arm. Tears welled in her eyes and tumbled down hollow,
wasted cheeks. "But if I don't get better, promise me that you will do as
I ask. You've been like a true sister to me, Susanna Guthrie, and a truer
friend. My only friend. I want to know that you're well provided for. You've
already been dealt more than your share of unhappiness. I don't want to worry
that you might find yourself in as terrible a situation as you knew in London.
You deserve so much more."

Deeply touched, Susanna opened her mouth to protest,
but she was silenced by a weak flutter of her mistress's hand.

"No, listen to me, Susanna. There's another reason
and, I admit, it's a selfish one. If you refuse, Aunt Melicent will inherit
Briarwood, and she has sworn never to set foot in the colonies. She'll sell the
plantation without ever having seen it, and then everything my father and
grandfather worked so hard to build out of the wilderness will be lost. I can't
allow that to happen! Briarwood meant so much to them. It means so much to me.
Cary sweat and blood are in that soil, my family's hopes and dreams."

Camille drew a ragged breath. "Aunt Melicent never
had a good thing to say about Virginia. No, not even once. You heard her
protests when I received Papa's letter just after Christmas, saying it was time
I wed and summoning me home by autumn. Then Captain Keyes brought word in April
about Papa's death, and I decided to accept his kind offer of escort and leave
England even sooner than she had expected . . ."

Camille grew silent, grieving for a father she had
rarely seen but whom she had loved dearly.

Aye, Susanna thought, Lady Redmayne had never minced
words about Virginia, calling it a cursed and barbarous place peopled by savage
Indians, traitors to the Crown, and the dregs of England's society. Yet Susanna
had never understood the baroness's intense dislike for a place she had never
visited until Camille had told her the full story.

Lady Redmayne had never forgiven her adventurous
brother, Camille's grandfather, for selling their family estate in England so
he might start a new life in America. Then when Camille's mother, Constance,
and two older brothers had died of a strange malady known only to the colonies,
the baroness's low opinion of Virginia had been forever sealed.

Susanna shook her head, becoming angry with herself.
None of this mattered. Camille was going to get better, and that was that!

"Even if something did happen to you, which it
won't," Susanna objected with characteristic stubbornness, clasping
Camille's chilled hands tightly, as if she could will some of her own strength
and warmth into them, "such a farfetched plan would never work."

"It will," Camille insisted. "I wouldn't
have suggested it to you if I had any doubts. We're almost the same age and we
look so much alike, Susanna—you know that, though you're by far the prettier
one."

"Camille . . ."

"Shhh, you know it's true. And the last time
anyone saw me in Virginia, I was only three years old. Papa's last visit"
—her voice caught and she composed herself before continuing— "his last
visit to England was two years ago. If he has described me to anyone since
then, he could have been describing you as well."

"My temperament falls quite short of your sweet
and gentle nature," Susanna said with wry self-deprecation. "In that
respect, we're no more alike than night and day. Someone would surely guess
that I was an impostor."

Camille gave a very small laugh, which sounded more
like a congested rattle. "You'd manage, Susanna, I'm sure of it. I always
wanted to be more like you, so clever and headstrong, and now, in a sense, I'll
have my chance. How I always admired the way you filled that great, somber
house with your laughter and drove Aunt Melicent to distraction with your
antics. Remember the time you invited all the village children to Sunday
supper, and the time you collected that jar of spiders and emptied them out on
Mistress Plumb's desk after she scolded me during a lesson—"

"Or when I convinced you to climb out onto the
roof with me so we could see the stars better, giving Lady Redmayne the scare
of her life," Susanna broke in, recalling the stern dressing-down they had
both received, once safely back inside Camille's bedchamber. "Aye, I'm
sure there were many times she wished she had left me in London's slums."

"That's not true, Susanna, and you know it. She
was very fond of you. She always hoped that some of your joie de vivre would
chase away my shyness, and perhaps it did, a little. You faced such adversity
as a child, yet your spirit remained undaunted. I couldn't help but be
encouraged and inspired." Camille's expression grew pensive. "Even
so, I don't think Aunt Melicent ever accepted the fact that I'd never be the
belle of the Cotswolds. After she spent so much time teaching me to be a lady,
I truly disappointed her when I proved to be such a timid homebody. I got to be
quite good at avoiding all those dreadful balls and card parties, didn't
I?"

"Yes," Susanna agreed, still hoping to
convince Camille of the absurdity of her plan, "but Lady Redmayne didn't
always take no for an answer. You had a few social acquaintances in Fairford.
In Gloucestershire, for that matter. What makes you think none of them will
ever travel to the colonies?"

"And trade their comfortable country lives for a
dangerous sea voyage and the unknown wilds of America? If any of my
acquaintances possessed a daring streak, I'm sure Aunt Melicent would quickly
persuade them from their folly with her talk of red savages, mysterious dread
diseases, and the terrors of ocean travel. No, the only person who could have
hindered my plan was dear Captain Keyes . . . and he's dead—"

Strangling on the last word, Camille looked truly
frightened. She clutched Susanna's hands as if she would never let them go and
added in a tremulous voice, "I almost wish Aunt Melicent had convinced me
to stay in England. I—I'm not very brave, Susanna."

Swallowing the sudden hard lump in her throat, Susanna
had to fight back helpless tears.

Don't let your fear show, Susanna Jane, she chided
herself. Camille needed her comfort and courage, not doubt and weakness. She
would have to be brave enough for the both of them!

"Everything is going to be fine," Susanna
said with conviction, truly believing it. "You'll see. I promise."

Easing her hands from Camille's weakening grasp,
Susanna busied herself with changing the cloth on her mistress's forehead,
which felt much warmer than it had that morning. Camille looked so weary, the
dark smudges beneath her eyes more sharply drawn. It was clear their lengthy
discussion had taxed her strength.

"Camille, you must rest. We've talked enough for
now."

"I will, but only after you swear, Susanna. Swear
that you'll go to Virginia in my place if anything happens to me. Please. It
would mean so much to me to know . . ."