The Bride of Blackbeard (3 page)

“
Constanza, you know you are his
favorite.”

“
I am a substitute for the son he so
desperately wants. And the only reason he has taught me everything
he knows is for occasions like this, not out of concern for how I
will make my way in this world.”

A woman’s screams wafted up through the
floorboards, echoing in the huge old manor.

The door opened again and tiny Katrina
entered rubbing her eyes, “Momma, I’m scared.” Her petite arms
encircled her mother’s legs.

Her mother turned and looked at her eldest
daughter, desperation on her face, and whispered, “Please...”

Constanza hung her head and squeezed her
eyes tightly shut... “For you, Mama. Only for you.”

She made her way down the back steps—the
servants’ stairwell, if they had still possessed any—opening the
door to her father’s operating room. The stale smell of old spirits
smacked her in the face and she wondered how the woman on the table
hadn’t already been anesthetized.

“
What is it, Father?”

“
What took you so long, child? She is ten
centimeters dilated and the baby is not progressing down the birth
canal. What will be your course of action?”

Constanza moved to the foot of the bed and
peered between the pair of open legs. She could see the crown of
the baby’s head. The mother was lying still, however, as Stanzy
watched a huge contraction hit her belly. The woman made no sound
or movement.

“
Father, did you give her laudanum? How
will she be any use to us now to extract this child? And each time
you have done it in the past, the babies are groggy and never feed
well the first few days.”

“
She was screaming and I could not
concentrate,” he slurred.

“
I am sure the Scotch had absolutely
nothing to do with it,” she hissed under her breath.

“
Pigeon, let us not squabble, there is
work to be done.”

Constanza walked to the side of the bed and
held up the woman’s legs to attempt to widen the birth canal. Dr.
Smythe stumbled to the foot of the bed and blinked, attempting to
focus on the baby’s head. He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand down
his whiskered chin.

Gently setting down the woman’s legs,
Constanza reached behind her, snatched up a glass of water and
threw the cold liquid straight into her father’s bleary face.

He shook his head back and forth, lucidity
returning to his features.

Another contraction hit and hardened the
belly, but the woman didn’t stir.

“
How much did you give her? What if her
labor stops? The baby will die.”

“
No, they are coming hard and steady
every minute. Look, here is another one!”

The rounded belly rose with another rippling
contraction. Grabbing the other leg, Stanzy angled her arm,
applying downward pressure to assist the child's descent along the
birth canal.

“
That is it, my darling. It is coming
now.” As if on cue, the sound of Dr. Smythe collapsing to the floor
echoed through the now quiet house.

Constanza raced to the end of the bed, and
in concert with the next contraction placed her fingers in beside
the head. The child slid into her arms in a rush of fluid.
Swaddling the child with the birthing blanket, she gently rocked
him. A soft, cat-like mewling issued from the child.

Her eyes fell to the new mother, lying on
the table, sleeping the blissful dreams of laudanum, then to her
drunken father at her feet. She watched as if outside herself as
tears dropped from the end of her nose, dotting the baby's
blanket.

~ * ~

Finally opening her eyes, she felt displaced
in time. She blinked and rubbed them in an attempt to get her
bearings
.
She dug inside the pocket of her shift.
Where
is it?
Relief flooded her body when her hand grasped the cold
steel of the knife she’d hidden.

William, Katrina?

With both hands she searched in the dark for
her siblings, sighing when she felt their warm, soft skin. Both
snored softly despite the despicable surroundings. They had started
the voyage with fifty men, women and children and now thirty
remained. By her calculations, they’d been tossed to and fro at sea
for one hundred days, with approximately twenty more to go.

Will’s Sheep dog snuggled peacefully at his
side. She thought it highly unusual that they’d been permitted
passage for the dog. More than likely, she reasoned, it was because
the seamen would probably kill and devour him if grave
circumstances arose.

I do not want to dream again. I am not sure
which is worse, being home in the past or here on this rubbish
vessel.

Quietly standing, she stole away from the
sleeping trio, and headed again for fresh air. During the day, she
was able to make peace with her woeful upbringing, but at night the
wars battled on inside her damaged mind.

As she made her way up the ladder, a pair of
legs dangled into the hole—pretty, shapely legs—which was most
likely the reason why this person was being permitted to take this
perch by the most dishonorable seamen—so that they might enjoy the
view.

Of course, she knew the girl—like she knew
everyone below deck now. Her name was Amelia and she was traveling
to the Carolinas with her parents in hope of making a new
start.

“Allo, Amelia. Couldn’t sleep either?”

“No. I come up here most every night to get
a bit of the breeze, and the boys, they never tell me to go...”

“No, I do not expect they do.” Constanza
leaned over and whispered, “A young lady as beautiful as you ought
to be careful around sailors starved of female attention.”

Amelia blushed, tossing a long curl over her
shoulder. “You really think I am beautiful?”

Clearly, the meaning of the entire
conversation, what Constanza was trying to convey, was lost to this
girl. Amelia was about Katrina’s age and they’d become fast
friends. Both were fifteen, beautiful and obsessed with men and
finding husbands.

Due to an unusual upbringing, Constanza had
very little use for men. Since the age of twelve, her father had
trained her to become a surgeon’s assistant. As such, she’d
witnessed more births, deaths, illnesses and plague than any female
she’d ever known. Her mother had been interested in herbology—what
some folks referred to as a natural healer. When Constanza’s father
found standard medicinal therapies ineffective, he would often
consult with his wife as to what herbs had what properties to
assist his problem patients.

Their entire small yard in Bristol had
housed a tremendous herb garden, which Stanzy had been expected to
learn, and had. She’d shouldered the burdens of the family instead
of her mother, who’d spent her entire life trying to keep her
family together despite her husband’s drinking. Although her mother
was decidedly weak, Stanzy had once asked her, near the end of her
life, why she’d stayed. Her mother’s chilling answer was one that
rang in her ears to this very day.

“Where would we have gone, child?”

Constanza’s only meaningful relationship
with a man of substance had been her mother’s brother, Delvin
Ellwood Channing. Uncle Delvin had given her advice since the time
she was old enough to walk.

He’d arranged this journey for all of them.
She could still see her dear uncle’s hands shake as he perused the
list of debts her father had hidden from her. He’d presided over
the sale of their manor to keep her from debtor’s prison, and her
siblings from the workhouse.

Another flip of Amelia’s blonde curls
brought Constanza out of her reverie. The girl was peering around
at the few seamen who were awake and smiling fetchingly at
them.

Constanza shivered at the sexual tension on
the deck. “Amelia, do you remember the women who were taken up on
deck, and did not return?”

“Yes, my parents’ said they fell ill and
died.” Her full lips pouted.

“No, dear, the crewmen forced themselves on
them, in the husbandly way. Then I believe they were killed. They
had no family to speak for them.”

“No!” Her doe eyes grew huge and clearly
afraid now.

“Yes, so let us not sit here and draw
attention to ourselves more than necessary.”

“Yes, yes. All right.”

Constanza snickered despite herself as
Amelia slumped her shoulders in a feeble attempt to hide her plump
breasts.

“So, what is tempting a woman of your age to
the colonies, Miss Constanza Smythe?”

“A woman of my age, which is twenty and
eight, by the by, is taking the post of governess to two children
on a plantation in North Carolina. My uncle arranged it for us,
allowing Will and Kitty to come along with me, which is certainly
not the custom. My uncle was able to find a family who would take
us; I guess they’d had some difficulties with past
governesses.”

“Oh, you will make a fine governess. My
father always says spinsters make the best...” She stopped,
evidently realizing in her self-centered adolescent way perhaps
spinster wasn’t the most favorable or courteous term.

Constanza smiled. ”Have you heard any tales
about Currituck County?”

“No, ma’am. I do not read the written word.
My father says it is indecent for young women. What have you
heard?” She leaned close, hopeful that the gossip from Currituck
was as juicy as that of Bristol.

“The word Currituck comes from the native
word for Wild Goose. And of course Dare County is named after
Virginia Dare, the first child born in the New World.”

She watched Amelia’s eyes glaze over much
like Katrina’s would when given a history lesson. Amelia was much
more interested in vivid detailed descriptions of the latest frocks
from France, or who had married whom last Sunday.

“Have you ever heard of Nags Head?”

Amelia nodded.

“My uncle is a retired merchant sailor. He
recently told me the people of Nags Head are tiring of all of the
rum-running through their ports, so they have devised a scheme to
acquire some of the profits. When pirates come into their port,
they have taken to tying a lantern to an old mare’s neck and
walking her back and forth across the tall sand dunes that litter
the coastline. The pirate ships see the light, think it a dock and
when they arrive, they run aground! The townsfolk make the
pirates
walk the plank and plunder their cargo.”

“And that would be why we are heading for
Hatteras Inlet, not Nags Head,” a deep baritone voice rumbled from
directly behind her.

Oh my word. He is so massive those
h
ands
could snap me like a piece of kindling.

Amelia looked about to swoon at the sight of
him. With his dark black locks combed into submission and a freshly
shaved face, Teache was a ghost of his wild looks. Indeed, compared
to his former appearance, the man could almost pass as
handsome.

The young girl began to slip down the
ladder, losing her balance twice in the first three steps.

“I believe she is seasick. I will go assist
her, Captain.” Stanzy descended the ladder as quickly as possible.
Anything to get out of eyeshot of that piercing black gaze.

Sleep was an unwilling bedfellow.
Nightmares, perpetually plagued by the demons of her past life,
reared their ugly heads each and every night like a macabre show of
paintings, each more hideous than the previous one.

~ * ~

“
Where could it be?”

Constanza felt her face flush as she checked
the loose floorboard for the third time, hoping she’d somehow
missed the stash of money. She only resorted to dipping in the
savings when their household exceeded its monthly expenditures.

Lying flat on her stomach, her hand swiped
inside the hole to make sure it hadn’t been pushed farther in, but
not a coin jingled its reply.

She knew immediately where the money had
gone—unfortunately she knew nothing about retrieving it from a
person’s veins.

Without pause she stormed into her father’s
office, where certificates and awards galore decorated the walls of
the erstwhile great man.

The once great man with his face on the desk
in a pool of drool.

“
Father! Wake up!”

His bleary eyes cracked a slit, but quickly
fell shut. They seemed to have a mind of their own. Attempting to
rouse him again, Constanza furiously shook his shoulders, which
only resulted in his sitting up, whilst his neck lolled grotesquely
about. A marionette let loose of his strings, courtesy of
liquor.

With no hesitation, she poked him—hard. “You
must wake up! We have a grave problem. The apothecary expects
payment today, and our money is gone. Do you have money hidden
anywhere else?”

He didn’t respond.

Her open palm slapped his cheek, leaving an
instant welt. Doctor Smythe roused, the anger of the devil burning
in his eyes. Constanza felt a rush of air pass her cheek as his
first swipe missed. Without time to step back, the second connected
with her jawbone. Her father slumped back to his unconscious
position as quickly as he’d awakened.

The force of the blow propelled her,
cartwheeling her backward. Clutching her cheek, she thought, not
for the first time,
that she wanted to run. That she had to
leave. She couldn’t bear this suffering any longer. His beatings
and spending all of his days living in the past, while she was
expected to continue to live on in the present—alone—wasn’t right.
She wanted to run away as far as she could and never look
back.

As sure as the beating of her heart, she
knew she couldn’t. Knew she wouldn’t.

Trudging up the stairs, muffled sounds
issued from behind the nursery door.

Will's crying filled the hallway when she
opened the door. Quickly wrapping his tiny body in the fullest
blanket she could find, she set out to save them—yet again. She
swallowed a threatening sob as she headed outside, balancing Will
on her hip.