Mistress of the Sea (12 page)

Ellyn had little choice since she was hemmed in by men with the look of scoundrels and rogues. The fish-man and three others had her father in their arms as if they were about to wield a battering ram. She retrieved the lantern and turned her back on them quickly. Hunched over, in an attempt to be less conspicuous, Ellyn led the procession with the aid of ear-burning abuse at every possible wrong turn. Curses directed her to her father’s cabin. Eventually, and with an audible sigh, her father was laid on his pallet.

Ellyn shrank back.

‘Is my angel still with me?’ her father gasped.

‘Angel?!’ one of his bearers muttered, to which another replied, ‘Ee’s ’ad a tap on ’is pate.’

A thick-browed seaman put a heavy hand on his breast.

‘Be at ease, sir.’

Her father slumped down. He could hardly argue.

‘Some rum’d ’elp ’im,’ someone suggested.

Ellyn began to slink away. If she could only slip out of the cabin, she might stand a good chance of making an escape. Then she heard a familiar growl.

‘Stay, lad!’

She pushed on, but was impeded by more men at the door. A hand grabbed her from behind.

‘Let me see thy face.’ The fish-man dragged her towards him.
She
recognised his smell. His grip was like a hook that dug into her collarbone. ‘Do I know thee?’

She became conscious, despite trying to keep her head down, that his gleaming eyes were peering very close. His questions were surly.

‘What be thy name?’

‘D . . . D . . .’ she stammered, on the point of pleading, ‘Don’t hurt me!’

‘My angel!’ her father croaked feebly.

The fish-man took hold of her ear and pinched with the ferocity of a shark taking a bite.

‘Thy name, angel.’

Ellyn squealed. Tears filled her eyes. Her ear was being torn apart, and the pain was so great she could hardly speak. But she had to.

‘D . . . Daniel, sir.’

Another voice snarled.

‘I aint ’eard o’ no Daniel aboard, hast thou, Gillon?’

‘No, Lucas,’ came the cold reply. ‘I ain’t neither.’

The fish-man twisted and then jerked her ear hard, sending Ellyn’s head into a dizzying turn that ended, in agony, with a vision of his thick, glistening lips curling as he spoke.

‘I believe we ’ave a stowaway. A little thievin’, fen-spawned, base-crawlin’ stowaway.’ The lips were licked and his words became meaner. ‘Oh, what we will not do to you, boy . . .’

Desperately, Ellyn tried to reach for his hand, but the pinching became worse.

‘For pity, sir . . .’

‘Oh, how we will wring you and skin you and string you out on
a
line—’ the fish-man seized both her ears and forced her head back until she caught a vile view of the roof of his mouth ‘—but only after we ’av dangled and drawn and made yer sing and dance.’

Gasps were wrung from her, though Ellyn bit her lips and screwed her eyes shut. She could not take any more. She cried out. But just as she thought her torment could get no worse, a gentler voice brought it to an unexpected end. A voice that she knew.

‘Easy there. Let me look at him.’

Ellyn was certain, even before she opened her eyes, that Will Doonan’s hands were cradling her head. He took off her cap and loosened her hair. Relief washed through her. She would throw herself on his mercy and Will would protect her. As she blinked away tears, sounds of astonishment rose around her.

‘Fie on me!’ someone exclaimed.

‘A woman!’ the fish-man gulped.

‘A lady!’ said the man called Gillon.

‘Mistress Ellyn!’ Will sounded incredulous, but his tone was soft, and she was aware of the gentle way in which he was smoothing out her hair. She supposed she would find some tenderness in his face, but she was wrong. As her vision cleared she saw disappointment in his look.

‘Dear lady!’ His voice was suddenly icy and his expression as hard. ‘Shame on you for a fool,’ he whispered.

Her spirits plummeted. His blue eyes wounded her more than the assault on her ears. In the set of his mouth, there was only stern reproach. Ellyn gazed back at him in despair and then rushed over to her father before tears could betray her.

‘Father!’ She threw herself against his bosom.

‘It is you!’ he mumbled from beneath her, managing eventually to prop himself up.

Ellyn buried her face in his chest, stifling the urge to sob in the folds of his shirt.

He wrapped his arms around her and she felt him kiss the top of her head. That gave her a glimmer of hope. Her father would stand by her. Then he tensed.

‘By Jove, what madness is in you?’ he sputtered. ‘What churlishness do you show me by this . . . this
mischief
?’ He held her away but, with his hands on her shoulders, he did not let her go. He shook her. ‘What have you done?’

Ellyn lowered her head. A stinging patter of muttered comments came from those looking on.

‘She will ’ave to go,’ gurgled the fish-man.

‘T’will bring ill fortune to ’ave a woman aboard,’ said someone else.

‘Child, how you provoke me!’ Her father vented his anger with more shaking, though she was shuddering anyway with each thunderclap of denigration. ‘Wilful, headstrong, wayward ingratiate,’ he boomed and rumbled. His eyes started. ‘How can any man control you?!’ he raged.

‘Father, please . . .’ Ellyn pleaded forlornly.

‘Perverse and ungovernable . . .’ The rant continued.

‘Father!’ She tried to interrupt him, but the only respite he gave her was when he drew breath. Then, in that momentary pause, a small commotion occurred, and the cause was soon obvious when Ellyn looked round. Two gentlemen, whom she had never met, emerged from the throng around her father’s bed. One had the same reddish hair and complexion of Master John Drake, though
he
was shorter and looked brighter, with eyes that appeared to take in much very fast. The other man, who stepped towards her, was as handsome as Narcissus and expensively dressed. As he took the liberty of staring closely at her face, she noticed the silver buttons down the front of his stuffed doublet.

‘Ah ha! What pretty boy is this?’ he asked, without any introduction, and next had the effrontery to place his finger under her chin. ‘A
very
pretty boy . . .’

Ellyn would have been more piqued if she was not so upset. The man looked over her and towards her father.

‘One you forgot, eh, sir? Ha, ha!’

Before she could think of a cutting response, the red-haired gentleman bustled forward, plainly amused.

‘How now, Master Cooksley? You appear to have brought more baggage than you thought!’ Narcissus laughed loudly at this – witlessly, thought Ellyn – and chuckles broke out elsewhere that left her blushing even deeper.

‘But I trust you are not hurt?’ the red-haired gentleman asked him.

‘No, no,’ her father answered in a downcast manner, his temper evidently deflated. He let Ellyn go. ‘’Tis nothing. My daughter, Mistress Ellyn . . .’ He waved his hand limply from her to the gentlemen. ‘Captain Francis Drake, and Master Richard Dennys.’

The Captain bowed low.

‘Honoured, sweet maiden.’

His companion bent slightly after making a ridiculous flourish.

Ellyn’s discomfort became more acute. Should she curtsy? Yet she was not wearing a dress. Surely she was not meant to bow? She glanced down at the breeches that were too baggy on her legs,
and
the shirt that was showing between ties that had come loose. In the midst of this dilemma she heard the fish-man pass comment.

‘A damned inconvenience. We shall ’ave to take ’er back to England.’

‘Two weeks lost and northers getting up,’ another man grumbled.

‘Tush, gentlemen,’ her father broke in, to Ellyn’s relief, though that soon faded. ‘My Ellyn has surprised me, but she will not put us out. We will continue and she shall not trouble you.’ He punched out a promise, looking crossly at Ellyn. ‘My word on’t. I shall keep her out of harm’s way.’

‘Good, sir,’ Captain Drake declared, with the manner of someone used to jumping at opportunities, ‘then we are decided.’ He turned and addressed everyone. ‘It is not for us to interfere with anything in Master Cooksley’s custody.’

Ellyn’s heart sank further. She was uncomfortable with Drake’s wit, and even more with what he implied.

‘But my advice to you, sir,’ the Captain added on catching her father’s eye, ‘is to keep what is most precious to you out of sight.’ To Ellyn’s chagrin he gave her a wink, and then added loudly, ‘T’would not do for it to become a temptation!’

Master Dennys chortled, and so did a few others, though the levity soon ended with the departure of the Captain. Everyone followed, except for Ellyn and her father, who were left sitting on the pallet, in stony silence, side-by-side.

Ellyn felt as if a pit had opened up under her feet. She was falling into an abyss and no one was prepared to help her. She had been berated and belittled and now she was shunned. Will had
left
without even giving her a glance. She stole a look at her father who glowered straight back. She had hoped for some sign he was just a little pleased to see her. Instead, he stood up, marched over to the door, locked it with a clatter and pointedly hung the key on a chain around his neck. She tried not to show her unhappiness, but the assault on her ears had been excruciating. She wiped her eyes.

‘Weep, but it will do you no good,’ her father shouted.

‘I am not weeping.’ Instantly she regretted having spoken at all.

‘Your punishment shall be imprisonment!’ he railed at her. ‘Take good stock of where you are.’

She kept her head down and drew a sharp breath.

‘Here . . . you . . . shall . . . stay!’ His voice rose and shook with rage.

She stared at her shoes and wished he would go so she could give way to the tears she was determined not to show him. She looked up to a small window. At least she could see the sky.

And she was bound for a new world.

9

Brave

‘O brave new world . . .’

—The Tempest
by William Shakespeare, Act 5, Scene 1

Panamá, the Americas

April 1571

IT WAS SCORCHING
hot. Ellyn’s nose and cheeks stung though she had only been ashore a few hours. She considered wearing Thom’s cap, but had no wish to spoil the effect of the dress she had spent weeks sewing. In any event, the feel of the sun on her face was welcome after being confined for so long in a tiny, dark cabin. She was acutely self-conscious – concerned about what others might think of her after her unjust incarceration. She was also thirsty and tired, while her vision swam as if she was still out at sea. There was nowhere for her to sit, other than on the washed up palm trunk from which her father could be heard complaining. The mariners milling about were giving far more attention to offloading provisions than to their passengers’ needs. Where would
she
sleep? The island appeared remote from any human habitation. She had been told they were near Panamá but she had no real idea where that was. Suddenly she longed for a house, somewhere with rooms and beds, proper chairs and a privy. She looked at the tangle of vegetation behind the white, sand beach. What might crawl out to confront her if she spent a night by the shore? Then a deep voice startled her.

‘I’d wear a hat, if I were you.’

She turned to find that Will was proffering his cap. The sight of him made her heart leap. For too long she had been shut away from good company, particularly his.

‘Thank you,’ she replied, ‘but I am enjoying the sun, and I have a hat if I wish to use one.’ Raising her chin, she wondered what he made of her looks in her new clothes. As it was, at that moment, she would have much appreciated a hat, but her appearance was more important. She wanted Will to see she was unbowed by her father’s treatment – more than that, she wanted him to find her attractive.

Will put back his cap.

‘As you wish.’ He smiled. ‘I hope you like this place. We shall be here for a while, out of sight of the Spaniards.’

She considered telling him that the place was too hot and full of insects, but decided against complaining. She had no wish for him to think she was not game for the challenge.

‘It is pleasant to be off the ship,’ she said, ‘but my father and I require proper shelter. What if it rains?’

‘You may get wet.’

She considered Will askance. Was he teasing her? She shot him a reproachful look.

‘My father must be kept dry.’

‘Our priority is to find fresh water and victuals. Once we have those, then a hut will be made for you.’

‘A hut?’ Her apprehension probably showed. What did he mean by that? ‘A hut’ did not sound like the kind of shelter she had hoped for.

‘If a storm gets up,’ Will carried on blithely, ‘you can always go back aboard the
Swan
.’

‘I am
not
going back in that cabin!’ How could he suggest such a thing when he must have guessed she was heartily sick of being cooped up on the ship?

Will inclined his head.

‘That will be your choice, dear mistress. Your father, at least, will be offered a bed aboard.’

‘But . . . Master Doonan!’ she called after him as he strode off, and she understood why he did not stop when she noticed Francis Drake not far away. Will’s behaviour still rankled. She brought her fingertips to the bridge of her nose and the contact was painful.

‘Ellyn!’ She heard her father’s fractious summons and wheeled round.

‘Yes, dear Father!’ she answered cheerfully, and hoped Will would hear her. Let him believe she was in high spirits and pleased with everything she found.

Will looked past Francis Drake to the curved oak braces that the carpenter was shaping. One lay like a whale’s rib on the white coral sand, the other was being planed beneath the scant shade of palms.

‘There will be more work needed when those riders are fixed: caulking the bolt heads and tarring within . . .’

He spoke of his concerns once the hull of the pinnace had been strengthened. Putting two heavy guns in front of a deck for twenty oarsmen made bracing the bows a wise precaution. The sections of the little
Kestrel
had fitted together nicely; her assembly had been quick, but her design was based on a galley’s, and not a fighting ship’s. The conversation turned to the practicalities of installing the two bronze half-culverins. The discussion absorbed him, but his eyes still turned towards the rough frond shelters that had become a tiny hamlet over the past few weeks. He had caught sight of Ellyn walking by, and she was not a person he could notice then instantly dismiss from his mind. He watched her strolling along the beach, wearing the pretty cream-coloured dress she had made herself from her father’s kersey cloth. Looking back at the
Kestrel
did little to restore his concentration.