‘Miss Clemence, there’s so much trouble and grief, you must wake up!’ Yes, something was wrong. Uncle had dismissed Eliza. Papa was dead. Nathan was—
‘Nathan?’ Hands took her shoulders as she sat up, pillows were heaped behind her. ‘Where am I?’ This wasn’t her bedchamber, this wasn’t the cabin.
‘The hospital, Miss Clemence. And there’s a guard outside and they do say you were one of the pirates’ women, and it’s only because you are a female that you aren’t in the gaol with the rest of them that got captured.’
‘I’m not,’ she managed, before Eliza held water to her lips. ‘What happened? Is the Sea Scorpion taken?’
>
‘Sunk, Miss Clemence, and most of that crew of scum with her, two days ago. I’m working for Mrs Hemingford now and she does charitable work in the women’s wards once a week and I saw you being carried in, yesterday.’ Eliza, her dark face anxious, shook her head. ‘I didn’t think it was wise to say I recognised you, not with Mr Naismith about. I don’t trust him, the way he made me go without letting me see you. I knew you’d speak to me first if you wanted to dismiss me.’ She helped Clemence drink again. ‘I said I’d like to come down and help some more, and Mrs Hemingford, she’s a good Christian woman, she said I could.’
Clemence struggled to absorb it all. Nathan was either dead or in prison. If he was free, he’d have looked for her. Now she would have to look for him. She tried to ignore the clammy feeling of fear in the pit of her stomach and looked down at her body. Her bindings and all her clothes had gone and she was clad in a coarse cotton nightgown.
‘Eliza, can you get me clothes? I must wash and dress and go to the Governor.’
‘How are you going to get out, Miss Clemence?’ Then the maid grinned and got to her feet. ‘I know, don’t you fret, I’ll not be long.’
Somehow Clemence managed to keep calm until Eliza returned half an hour later. ‘It’s not decent, her in those men’s clothes,’ Clemence heard her saying to someone outside. ‘You let us in and we’ll have her looking like a God-fearing woman, at least.’
The lanky white woman with her hair in a turban was carrying a bundle on her shoulder while Eliza lugged in a pail of water. ‘My friend Susan,’ she said with a jerk of her head to her silent companion. ‘Can you get up and washed, Miss Clemence?’ She began to rip the sheet into strips. ‘These’ll do nicely to tie up poor Susan.’
Comprehension of what Eliza intended swept over her, propelling her out of bed despite her headache and her shaky limbs. ‘Oh, thank you! I’ll do my best to repay you, just as soon as I can.’
‘That’s all right, miss.’ The other woman smiled. ‘Eliza here’s done me no end of favours these last few weeks, with my children being so sick. Don’t you worry about me none.’ She was shedding her clothing down to her shift as she spoke, and after a hasty wash Clemence dressed herself.
Skirts and stays and stockings felt very strange after days in trousers. She wrapped her head in the turban while Eliza tied up Susan on the bed, pushing a handkerchief carefully into her mouth as a gag. ‘You start thrashing around and kicking in ten minutes,’ she said. ‘Look odd if you don’t. Pretend we hit you on the head.’
With the bundle of clothes on her shoulder, Clemence walked past the dozing guard, down the long shady corridor and out into the sunshine. The ground beneath her feet seemed to shift uneasily. ‘I haven’t got my land legs back yet,’ she said, holding on to Eliza’s arm. ‘How are we going to get inland to the King’s House?’
‘No need.’ The maid guided her around a pothole. ‘He’s down for the trials, wants to preside over the hangings, so they say. Here we are.’
Gaining admission to the Governor’s town residence dressed as a washerwoman was not easy until the disturbance Clemence was creating brought out Mr Turpin, the Governor’s confidential secretary.
‘Miss Ravenhurst! We thought you were dead!’ He stood staring at her over his spectacles as though he had seen a ghost. ‘Come in, come in, the Governor will be most happy and relieved to see you.’
He ushered them into a reception room and went out, only to return a few minutes later. ‘Well, this is providential,’ he said mysteriously, opening a door and showing Clemence through. It closed sharply behind her, leaving Eliza on the other side. The Governor stood up from behind his desk, as did two gentlemen who had been sitting with him.
‘Clemence,’ said her uncle’s reproachful voice. ‘You poor misguided child, thank God you are safe.’
Chapter Twelve
‘No!’ The shock was like a blow. All that had happened, all the danger and for nothing. She was back in this man’s power. Clemence turned to the Governor, desperate to find the right words. ‘They are trying to take my inheritance, force me to marry—don’t let them—’
‘My dear Miss Ravenhurst, please.’ The Governor held up his hands. ‘No hysterics, I beseech you. Your poor uncle has been with me time and again since your disappearance and a more concerned relative you could not hope to see. I am sincerely sorry that you have chosen to distress him so.’
‘What?’
‘The shame of it, your Excellency,’ Uncle Joshua lamented. ‘You may well understand that we gave out that she was dead rather than admit that the poor, wanton creature had run off with a lover.’
‘I did not! I ran away from you.’ Clemence stabbed a finger at the Naismiths. ‘And I was captured by pirates—’
‘Dear Heaven! The abandoned female in boy’s clothing taken on the Sea Scorpion. Thank God your poor father was spared this news.’ The Governor regarded her with horrified fascination.
‘The shame!’ Uncle Joshua moaned. ‘I had no idea she had sunk so low. We will take her home. Even now, Lewis may do the noble thing for the sake of the family name and wed her.’
‘No!’ Clemence made a break for the door, but her cousin was before her, scooping her up in his arms. He was stronger than she would ever have guessed, or perhaps she was weaker. Kicking and fighting, Clemence found herself being carried through the house and out of the back door.
The yard was full of men, marines in their scarlet, some naval officers and, chained together in the middle, a huddle of familiar figures. Street, Gerritty the Irish sail-maker, half a dozen of the hands. Next to the cook, a bandage around his head, his shirt in bloodstained tatters, was Nathan.