Chapter 7
Annabelle sat on her berth the next morning, her eyes itching from crying.
She’d heard Hawke return from the night watch an hour earlier, and she’d waited until the sound of his breathing was deep and regular.
Once certain he was fully asleep, she rose, placing her feet carefully on the deck as she crept to her trunk.
When she opened it, the lid creaked. Annabelle froze, listening.
The other side of the room remained quiet.
She opened the trunk the rest of the way and hastily dressed.
Fortunately, she did not have to bother with a chemise, petticoat, or stays.
Mr. Partridge, the purser, had provided her with a pair of breeches along with her favorite satin scarves, one of which she wrapped around her waist as a belt, as well as a cotton shirt too small for any of the crew.
She combed her hair and tied the other scarf around her head.
She adjusted it as well as she could without a mirror, making certain the top of her folded ear was covered.
She thought of the small shaving glass Court kept in his cupboard, but in retrieving it, she might wake up him.
And Hawke was the last person she wished to see.
She tucked the spyglass through the scarf at her waist and picked up her boots. She crept on stockinged feet, slipping past the curtain, and made her way along the bulwark wall to the cabin door.
She glanced at Hawke’s berth, flushing when she saw he slept without a shirt, and hurried out, mortified that he might open his eyes and see her staring.
When she was safely outside the cabin with the door closed, she pulled on her boots and went down to the main deck.
Li Chen waved to her from the crow’s nest high atop the mainmast. He peered down at her through his spyglass.
She took the spyglass from her sash, peering back at him.
She was pleased he hadn’t tired of this morning custom.
Li Chen had the keenest eyesight of any on the crew.
Court once told her the man could spot a cavity in a shark’s tooth twenty leagues away.
Annabelle bid good morning to Mr. Stanley at the helm and waved to the men on morning watch.
Every summer morning for years, her days had begun with a similar routine.
It was all familiar, but even though they acted the same, she felt an undercurrent of worry.
And she knew the crew felt it too. This was not simply a pleasure cruise.
She sighed. Typically, Court would have come down from the helm and joined her for breakfast. She felt his absence most keenly at mealtimes and during the hours right after sunset when he’d tell stories as they watched the stars.
Wanting to avoid her memories for as long as possible, she crossed the foredeck and stepped up to the rail at the bow.
It was her favorite spot on the ship. Standing here, Annabelle could see the carved figurehead of Calypso in detail.
She was beautiful, her long braids intertwined with shells, sea life trailing behind her and spreading over the bow.
Calypso’s eyes were painted a stunning green, which Annabelle considered appropriate for the daughter of a sea nymph, and they stared fiercely ahead, challenging anyone, whether they be man or beast, who would do harm to the ship or its sailors.
She was a warrior, and the sight made Annabelle proud.
Here, with Calypso at her side, she’d always felt strong.
But today, she felt less so. So much was different, and there was more change to come.
Annabelle looked out over the endless blue of the sea.
She breathed in deeply. The morning air carried a chill, but it felt and smelled wonderful.
She loved this life, these experiences, and knew she was fortunate.
None of the other young ladies she knew had ever been to sea.
They probably never would. The thought of leaving all this behind, of marrying and spending the rest of her life trapped inside a dull stone house, to never feel this freedom again, to never wonder what was beyond the horizon, threatened to break her heart.
Her mood was gloomy as she descended the stairs, but she could not resist a smile at the sound of the cook, Beattie, singing a Highland song, the tune ringing through the lower deck.
Annabelle joined in on the last verse as she stepped into the galley.
“There ye are, lass.” Beattie grinned, but his smile seemed duller than usual. He stood strangely, leaning against the preparation counter and resting all his weight on one foot.
She was immediately concerned. “What’s wrong, Beattie? Is it your leg?”
He shifted, wincing. “This ol’ hip’s givin’ me a bit o’ difficulty.”
Annabelle took his arm. “Come on, then. You sit, and I’ll stir the porridge.” It was a testament to the intensity of his pain that the cook didn’t argue.
She eased him down onto a barrel, sliding over a crate as a footrest.
“Ye remember how to make porridge, then, do ye?” he asked.
“Of course.” She took hold of the spoon. The porridge was simple enough. She only had to keep stirring to prevent it from burning. “How long has your hip troubled you?”
“A good while, now.” He stretched out a leg and leaned back with a groan. “I fear this may be my final voyage, lass.”
“It may be mine as well,” she said, watching the swirls the spoon made in the thick porridge. “I think by next summer I will be married.”
“Met someone special, have ye?” Beattie sighed. “A glorious thing ’tis, bein’ young and in love.”
“No, there is no one.” She shook her head, still staring at the porridge.
“Mother has some suitable gentlemen in mind. But I don’t think love will play a part in the union.
” She lifted her gaze, trying to smile. “As a member of the nobility, my marriage will be based on titles, inheritance, family honor. That sort of thing.”
Beattie frowned, then asked quietly, “Is it what you want, lass?”
The softness in his voice brought tears to her already sore eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “I want to please my mother, but marrying will mean leaving behind the sea, leaving behind my shipmates, and I can’t bear—” Her voice caught.
Beattie rose and took the spoon from her hand, putting an arm around her shoulders.
“Oh dear.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He rubbed her shoulder. “Not to worry, lass.”
The sound of footsteps made them both turn toward the galley’s doorway.
Hawke was there. His eyes met hers, but Annabelle turned away quickly, not wanting him to see her tears.
“Good morning to ye, Captain,” Beattie said. “Believe ye’ll be wantin’ breakfast.”
As Beattie served porridge into a wooden bowl, Annabelle stayed behind him, keeping her face turned away. She wondered how long Hawke had been on the lower deck. What had he overheard? She didn’t like the notion that he may have learned something so personal about her.
Once he’d gone, Annabelle sniffed and reclaimed the serving spoon, insisting Beattie return to sitting.
She stirred silently, pondering. It would be easy enough to remain with her crew, to never return to London and avoid the suitors and the marriage that awaited her there.
But how could she leave her mother and her life in London?
While Society was, at times, oppressive, Annabelle loved wearing beautiful clothes and attending parties and balls.
She enjoyed taking tea with other ladies, walking in flowering gardens and grand houses filled with art and music and literature.
She didn’t understand how she could love two lives that were so very different.
It was as if she existed as two separate people, but only one could continue forward.
How could she forever bear to be only half of a person?
“Yer at a crossroads, lass,” Beattie said. “Ye’ll come to many such in yer life. Where the decision you make sends ye on a new path.”
The tears threatened again, and she blinked them back. “But how can I know which path to take when each requires losing something of myself?”
He shook his head, smiling. “Belle, lass, ye’ve always known what ye wanted, ever since ye were a wee one. ’Tisn’t like ye to be indecisive.”
Annabelle moved the heavy pot off the stove and covered it with a lid. She sat on a barrel next to Beattie and heaved a dramatic sigh that made both of them chuckle, lightening the somber mood.
“Suppose the key is to make a choice, and then find contentment in the choice ye’ve made.
No path is without hardships or regrets,” he said, patting her arm.
“But ye don’t have to make a decision today, lass.
Things will always change. And perhaps ye’ll discover yer true path has yet to present itself. ”
His words loosened the knot of worry that was clenched tight in her belly. He was right, nothing needed to be decided today. “You’re very wise, Beattie.”
He sat up straight, puffing out his chest and giving a self-important nod that made her laugh. “Rather impressive for an old cook on a pi—on a merchant ship.” He scratched his brow, and looked down at his lap, eyes wide, apparently fearing she’d heard his blunder.
Annabelle leaned toward him, speaking quietly. “Beattie, I know. I know the truth, though everyone has tried to keep it from me.”
“Do you now?” He watched her with an expression that was both cautious and amused. “And what is it ye know, lass?”
She glanced around, making certain she’d not be overheard, and leaned close to the cook’s ear.
“I know this is a pirate ship.” It was such a relief to say the words aloud after keeping it to herself all these years.
“I know my shipmates are pirates and Court is a pirate captain.” She sat back.
“And I know you all do not want me to know it.”
“How long have you known?” he asked quietly.
“Five years ago, I peeked inside a chest and found a collection of jewelry, gold bars, and wigs,” she said.
“Calypso’s Quest is bursting with weapons, there are secret compartments everywhere, and when I’ve asked what types of cargo the ship carries, I have received a different answer from every person. ”
Beattie smiled, shaking his head.
“But I was truly certain when I found a black flag depicting a skull and crossbones tucked behind the books in Court’s chart room.”
The cook slapped his leg. “Yer too clever for yer own good, lass.”
Annabelle put a finger to her lips, glancing behind her again.
“But you mustn’t tell anyone that I know.
They all wish for me to believe this is a cheerful merchant vessel that sails on a happy pleasure voyage each summer.
” She smiled affectionately as she thought of the crew grumbling as they put away their boarding axes and lowered the Jolly Roger.
“I know why Court—why all of you—kept it secret. You worried I would think poorly of the crew or even that I might fear you.” She put her hand over her heart.
“But I never will. You are my shipmates, my dearest friends. It must require such effort to maintain the charade, and it is done for the sole purpose of giving a young girl a lifetime of splendid summers at sea. If the crew wishes to keep the secret from me, I shall never let on that I know.”
Beattie gave her an appraising look. “Yer pretty wise yerself, lass.”