The Golden Cross (36 page)

The deck thundered as seamen sprang to obey, and Sterling squinted up at the dark clouds on the southern horizon. It was beginning to rain in soft spatters that caught in his hair and eyelashes, blurring the sky and sea into one gray mass.

“I have a good reason for my subterfuge, Dr. Thorne,” Van Dyck said, with marked conviction. “The young woman is virtuous, I can assure you. She is not aboard for my pleasure or any other man’s.”

“I had surmised that already.” Sterling settled his hat more firmly atop his head as the raindrops continued to fall. If the old man could stand here in the wet, so could he. “But I cannot see why you would bring a woman of gentle breeding into such a perilous situation. These men are rough and coarse, and the dangers we face are myriad.”

“Even a velvet glove may conceal a fist of iron,” Van Dyck answered with a wry smile. “I can assure you, Doctor, that the young lady is quite capable of fending for herself.”

Sterling nodded. He’d seen as much in the tavern—and in the inn, when she flashed a dagger before his eyes and promised to use it. “She told me her parents are dead,” he said, watching the older man carefully. The cartographer’s face remained as impassive as stone. “I am assuming, then, that you are her guardian?”

Van Dyck inclined his head. “In every sense of the word.”

“Is she a relative? Your niece, perhaps? Forgive my curiosity, sir, but if I am to keep this secret from Captain Tasman and the other officers, I feel I must understand the reason for it. Unless the young lady was in greater danger in Batavia than here on the open sea, I cannot possibly fathom why you should subject her to this expedition—”

“She
was
in danger,” Van Dyck interrupted. His distinguished face became brooding as he stopped sketching and stared into the sea. “She was in great danger of neglecting her gift, which is quite considerable. If I had left her behind, she would have done nothing with it. And the world would have sorrowed, Dr. Thorne, the world would grieve and not know why. She is quite extraordinary, far above the common realm.”

Sterling paused, respecting the storm of emotion that crossed the artist’s face. “Is she so different from a hundred other young ladies who take art and music lessons?”

“Yes,” he said, turning to look at Sterling with an expression of pained tolerance. “How can I explain it?” He looked about the deck for a moment, then pointed to a bucket that collected rainwater on the deck.

“Do you see that bucket of water?” he asked, holding his sketch board close to his chest as he folded his arms. “If you lowered your hand into the bucket and then pulled it out, would anyone ever be able to tell? No. You and I are ordinary, Dr. Thorne; we are conventional mortals. But if young Aidan put her hand
into the bucket and then pulled it out—figuratively speaking, of course, she would leave something behind. Her life would leave a trace in the water. Mark my words—that young woman’s life will color the world.”

Sterling struggled to comprehend the man’s message. “Why is she so different?”

Van Dyck’s mouth twisted in bitter amusement. “I think it is because she suffers,” he said simply. “She bleeds into the water.”

The old man paused a moment, then cleared his throat and turned back to the railing. “She really is unlike any other young woman, but I don’t expect you to understand that. All right, then, perhaps you can appreciate this: My protégée is an heiress worth at least twenty thousand of your English pounds. I could not risk leaving her behind.” He lifted a bushy brow. “Does that answer satisfy your inordinate curiosity?”

Sterling blinked and retreated a half-step. Aidan, an heiress? By heaven, no heiress he knew would resort to such a drastic action! Then again, he reflected with a rueful smile, he did not know many heiresses. If fortune-hungry suitors were relentlessly pursuing Aidan in Batavia, perhaps this was not such an extreme plan. After all, her faithful maid had been murdered in the street and the girl had no parents or brothers to protect her.

“Do you not think,” he said, lowering his voice as he edged closer to the rail, “that Captain Tasman would understand your motivation in this case? Surely he would forgive your action and allow the girl to abandon her disguise.”

“Captain Tasman,” Van Dyck said, grinning, “knows his seamen better than you, Doctor. An unattached woman on this ship, particularly one as lovely as my ward, could no more return to Batavia with her virtue intact than a lawyer could feel compassion gratis.” His lips twisted into a cynical smile. “And if you know men like I do, Doctor, you’ll understand why the disguise is necessary. Keep her secret, I beg you. Her life and honor depend on it.”

Sterling nodded slowly. “All right, Heer Van Dyck,” he said, returning to the rail as the older man regarded him with a level gaze. “You have my word on it.”

Captain Tasman spent nearly a full month on Mauritius refitting his ships, restocking fresh water and supplies, and ordering his men to do a thorough scraping of the ships’ hulls. And as she did odd jobs for the seamen, Aidan learned a great deal about sailors’ superstitions. Part of the hull scraping, she learned, was necessary to rid the ship of barnacles, weeds, and remoras, small fish only seven or eight inches long. The stubborn sucker-fish attached themselves to any flat surface and could only be dislodged with great effort. Despite the fish’s small size, the seamen believed remoras capable of dramatically impeding a ship’s progress.

When she was not coiling rope or mending canvas below deck, Aidan spent her time sketching ashore. She discovered many strange and new sights in this part of the world, including the infamous dodo bird. ’Twas a pity, she thought as she sketched a hen atop a nest of eggs, that the animals were too slow-witted to escape those who sought to snare them.

One morning, on a quest for some new adventure, Aidan accompanied the doctor into town for another of his visits to the apothecary’s shop. Not finding anything unique upon the streets of Mauritius, she implored the doctor to walk with her along the beach in an uninhabited part of the island. He agreed, a bemused look on his face, as she led him out of town, past the ramshackle houses and thatched huts that reminded her too much of dreary Batavia.

Quick-moving shadows of clouds skimmed over the barren beach, while the distant mountains provided a scalloped border to the western horizon. Aidan felt a beauty in the desolate spot, a quiet solitude unknown along the crowded wharf. The great blue bowl of sky stretched above her, and slanted sunlight shimmered off the glowing foliage that grew beyond the beach, marked by a
line so dramatic she could almost believe God had set the boundaries of sea, sand, and forest with his finger.

She left the doctor on the shore and walked down to the water’s edge. Slipping out of her soft shoes and stockings, she stepped into the sand, feeling her weight sink as the beach shifted to accommodate her presence.

Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the sun, relishing its warm caress on her face. Her skin was probably as tanned as a native’s, and she’d undoubtedly have to take six months of milk baths to restore it to a ladylike shade of white. But she could not rise to nobility overnight. It would take time for her engravings to be published, discovered, and appreciated. And during that time she would continue to learn and work with Heer Van Dyck. One day—she exhaled happily at the prospect—Gusta would be forced to admit that Aidan had indeed made a lady of herself.

But until then, there was time for
living
. She opened one eye and squinted at the rolling, crashing waves. She had never visited the beach of Batavia, had never felt free to wander the island. But Heer Van Dyck would encourage her to swim if he were here; he’d tell her to
devour
the sea, to taste it and spit it out and sketch it.

“Feel like a swim?” She tilted her head mischievously toward the doctor. Shock flickered over his face like summer lightning, then he grinned at her.

“Surely you jest,” he called, resting his hands on his hips. “The water is much colder here than in Batavia.”

She did not listen, but tiptoed into the water, feeling its icy touch through the fabric of her breeches.

“You aren’t, ah … ” Sterling’s voice faltered. “Aidan, you can’t do this.”

“Why not?” she called over her shoulder. Her clothes would soon be sticky with salt and seawater, but later, back on the ship, she could rinse them out in a rain barrel. Right now she wanted the water to tingle her skin and her face; she wanted to feel the waves lift her from her feet. With her shirt sleeves flapping about
her arms, she ran further into the water, then squealed in glee and retreated from a crashing breaker.

“Come on, Aidan,” the doctor called, an imploring note in his voice. “You forget yourself!”

“Perhaps you ought to forget
yourself,”
she called back, gauging the next breaking wave. If she waited until it broke, she could run full bore in the surf and reach the place where the waves rocked in a gentle rhythm. Laughing in sheer delight, she ran in, splashing wildly, until the cold water rose up to her rib cage, pressing the breath from her lungs, enlivening every sinew and particle of her flesh.

“Aidan! Come out!” the doctor called, moving toward her. “You do know how to swim, don’t you?”

“It’s all right.” Aidan turned and lifted a wet arm to wave in reassurance. Her soaked shirt was like a second skin; she felt like one of the legendary kelpies her mother had described in nighttime stories. As a creature partly of the sea, partly of the land, she could live forever in the water.

“Aidan!” The doctor’s voice had a sharp edge now. “Come out! I am losing patience!”

“It’s all right, I can touch the sand,” Aidan yelled, standing erect to demonstrate. “It’s right—oh!” A wave caught her off guard, lifting her from the sandy bottom, breaking over her head and arms, then carrying her forward in its curling momentum. Aidan thrilled to the power of the surge, feeling herself borne up and away, but when she sought the surface, she panicked when she could not find it. She opened her eyes, felt the sting of the salty water, and reached out to grasp nothing but a watery expanse.

Blood pounded thickly in her ears as she fumbled to find her footing. How foolish she was, so intent upon devouring the sea that she had allowed it to devour her! She listened, straining to hear some sound that would set the world aright again, but she could hear nothing but the muffled sounds of the sea and her own frantic heartbeat.

Her lungs began to burn. If she opened her mouth to scream, water would rush in, and until she felt either the emptiness of air or the solidity of the bottom, she was helpless.

So this is how drowning feels
. Aidan stopped thrashing and closed her eyes, hoping that in surrender God might have mercy and take her quickly. She would have to open her mouth and breathe in water. It could not be avoided; her chest would cave in if she did not fill it with
something—

An iron vise gripped her arm, pulling her upward with surprising force. Aidan opened her mouth and gulped wonderful, sweet air as sheets of water streamed from her shirt and her hair. An arm braced her shoulders now, probably an angel’s. He’d come to escort her into the presence of the Heavenly Judge …

“You are a wondrous fool, girl.” Relief and ridicule mingled in the voice that addressed her, and Aidan opened her eyes to see Dr. Thorne, not Gabriel, standing before her. Like her, he was drenched, too, his doublet, breeches, and shirt stained dark by the seawater.

Despite the cold, Aidan felt heat stealing into her face. “Thank you,” she whispered, her teeth chattering as he held her upright. They were beyond the breakers, standing in chest-deep water. “I—I don’t understand what happened.”

“Undertow,” he answered, his brow still creased with worry. “It catches you and pulls you under. I didn’t think you’d know how to escape it.”

“I never knew such a thing existed,” she answered, suddenly grateful for the warmth of his hands on her shoulders. “I have never swum in the sea. I only knew I had to try it once.”

The smile he gave her was utterly without humor. “And now that you have tried it, will you come away? You should not have gone into the water. Do you obey every inclination that fills your imagination?”

“Not usually.” She stared up into his face. He had just risked his life to save her. And here they were, safely out of the treacherous
current, yet his hands still remained on her shoulders, warming her through the light fabric of her shirt.

Was the yearning that showed in his face as apparent on her own?

“Are you hurt?” His gaze slid from her eyes to her neck. “Sometimes a person can be scraped against the bottom—”

“This person,” she whispered, lightly placing her fingertips upon the soaked fabric of his doublet, “is fine.” A gentle rounded wave pushed forward and lifted them, as one, for a dizzying moment, and Sterling brought her close, holding her safe until the wave dropped them back to the sandy bottom.

His nearness made her senses spin. She’d been around men all her life—drunks, lechers, pickpockets that put Lili’s girls to shame, egregious con men and card sharks, but never a man like this. His strength wrapped around her like a warm blanket, and suddenly Aidan wished she
was
a kelpie, that she could pull him under the water to live with her forever in the sea.