Captive Secrets Page 10

  From her position in the high bed, propped up by frilly pillows, Fury stared through the open windows into the soft dark night. The heavens and the stars looked different here, on land. Everything felt and looked different here. This was her home, and she was happy to be back at last, but it didn’t feel right somehow.

  Her girlhood room was offering no comfort this night, exhausted as she was. A thousand thoughts, doubts, questions, assailed her—questing demons that tormented her and destroyed her peace of mind. At last, realizing that sleep was out of the question, Fury swung her legs over the side of the bed, threw on her wrapper, and padded to the door. Maybe if she slept in her mother’s bed . . .

  Inside her parents’ room, she gazed around her in admiration. Everything was exactly the way she remembered it. The beautiful, high-ceilinged compartment; the full-length windows that opened onto a terrace abloom with potted flowers of every shape and color; the furniture, dark and heavy, with colorful draperies and pillows in perfect complement. How often she’d run to this room crying over something or other! It had been a sanctuary in so many ways.

  It was out these very windows, Fury recalled, caressing the polished teak frame, that her mother had escaped—sliding down the trellis into the bushes below to slip off to sea in her identity as the infamous Sea Siren. And when she’d returned it was Juli who’d helped her undress, Juli who had secretly washed the Sea Siren’s costume and polished the slippery black boots. Juli, her father said, was the only person in the house, aside from Frau Holz, in Sirena’s confidence.

  This room was full of ghosts, memories of another time, yet Fury didn’t feel as though she was trespassing. How wonderful and exciting it must have been for her mother to wield such power, to have big, strong, able-bodied men bow to her as their superior.

  Fury stood in front of the full-length mirror at the far comer of the room and struck a pose, one her mother had taught her that had given her a slight edge during her fencing lessons. “En garde!” she called, hiking up her skirts to show an alluring length of leg. Laughing, she brandished a make-believe rapier in the direction of the open windows. Suddenly, Luis Domingo appeared in her make-believe drama.

  “You’re mine!” he declared, approaching her, his eyes mocking and murderous at the same time. “To the victor go the spoils, Siren!”

  “Never! I’m promised to God!” Fury cried as she backed up one step at a time, her hands grasping a cut-glass perfume decanter from her mother’s dressing table. “One more step, you detestable swine, and I’ll cut you to the quick!”

  The Luis Domingo of her fantasy roared with mocking laughter. “Forgive me, señorita, I see now that you are not the Siren I seek. My apologies for thinking you were that lustful, vengeful, beautiful woman. Go to your convent—that is where you belong!”

  “You lie! You know you can’t best the Sea Siren! You aren’t man enough! Only one man can tame the Siren—and it isn’t you, you insufferable toad!”

  Domingo laughed, a deep, sensuous sound that set Fury’s nerves to tingling. “I’m man enough. The problem is you, señorita. You aren’t woman enough, and you’ll never know if I’m lying or telling the truth because you belong to God . . . and God doesn’t permit such things.” His eyes raked her body with a boldness that both shocked and titillated her.

  “A pity, señorita.”

  In a fit of pique Fury threw the decanter, which shattered against the wall behind her phantom tormenter. “Now you’ll carry my scent forever. You’ll never forget me! Never! Roam the seas in search of me until you die, and you’ll never know if I’m real or not!” Domingo’s laughter rang in her ears, so real that she almost swooned.

  “Miss Fury, are you all right?” Juli called from the doorway.

  Fury spun about, her cheeks crimson. “I’m fine, Juli. I—I was talking to myself. I always do that when I’m—”

  “Upset.” Juli smiled. “Your mother used to do the same thing, but her words were . . . more colorful. You’ve grown to look just like her except for your blue eyes. Will you be staying in this room, Miss Fury?”

  “Why do you call me Miss Fury and my mother juffrouw?” Fury asked lightly, hoping to draw the housekeeper’s attention from the embarrassing pantomime she’d just witnessed.

  “Your mother disliked the Dutch language; she said it was harsh and guttural-sounding. When you were little she instructed me to call you Miss Fury or señorita. The word señorita does not come easy to my lips, but if you would prefer it . . .”

  Fury smiled. “Miss Fury will do nicely. I won’t be here long enough for your tongue to get tangled up in words.” She sank down onto her mother’s bed with a sigh. “I feel so strange, Juli. Not like myself at all. At first I thought it was the anticipation of my return. But here, in this room, it’s even worse.” She lowered her voice, and Juli had to strain to hear the words. “One second I feel like a stranger, and the next moment I feel like I’m . . . my mother.”

  “That’s only natural, Miss Fury. You are among your mother’s things. When I come here to clean this room, I, too, feel her . . . spirit. Sometimes my memory takes me back, and my eyes fill with tears. When they spoke of the Sea Siren in town and the havoc she wreaked, I think every woman secretly cheered her. I know I did. Our lives have been dull and boring these past years.”

  “It must have been exciting,” Fury said, eyes sparkling at the thought of such adventure.

  Juli nodded. “Doubly exciting because your father lived under this roof. Do you have any idea how we plotted and schemed and then worried and watched until she returned safely? I would give anything to have those days back again.”

  Burning with curiosity, Fury beckoned Juli to her side. “I’ve heard so many stories about my father. He says he knew all along, but my mother denies this. Do you think he did?”

  “In the beginning, never,” Juli declared firmly, sitting beside her young charge. “Later he may have suspected, but he wasn’t sure. You see, we all heard him storm about the house and curse the Siren every time she sank one of his ships. All he did was dream of ways to vanquish her. She made a fool of every man in Java; she brought the Dutch East India Company to its knees, and when she found what she was seeking, she . . . retired.”

  Fury sighed. “She’s truly a legend. It’s so hard for me to think of my mother as a bloodthirsty pirate. She’s so gentle and caring. When I was ill she used to sing to me or sit by my bed for hours and tell me stories. And I know she loves my father more than life itself. I’ve never understood . . . what I mean is, there has been so much tragedy in her life. She suffered unbearable agonies aboard the Rana on her trips to Java from Spain. Her sister . . . her uncle, and then Miguel, her first child, and then my four brothers lost at sea . . . and still she’s managed to survive and be happy with my father.” Fury’s voice trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t believe I have that inner core of strength.”

  “After death there is nothing,” Juli said, smoothing back a lock of Fury’s hair with tender fingers. “Life is sunshine, warm breezes, and the hope that a new day will make things better. Isn’t hope better than the blackness of nothing? I myself cannot imagine life without the sounds of the birds in the morning, the stars at night, and the beauty of the flowers that are all about us. One must make the best of one’s life. Your mother had choices, and she chose to live each day to the fullest. You are most fortunate to have her.”

  Fury smiled. “You really love her, don’t you?”

  “As much as you, and I was only her servant. She taught me to read and write. Once a year I receive a letter from her and a box of wonderful presents. When she appointed me housekeeper to this grand estate, I wept.” Juli patted her hand and stood up. “Come with me, Miss Fury, there’s something I want to show you.”

  “What?” Fury asked, curious.

  “Shhh,” Juli said with a finger to her lips. “The walls have ears.”

  In the housekeeper’s room off the monstrous kitchen, Fury watched as Juli opened a huge
brass-bound trunk at the foot of her bed. Inside was an overwhelming array of fine laces and silks and small wooden boxes, obviously all gifts from Sirena.

  “Your mother has been most generous over the years,” Juli said softly, rummaging through the trunk. “She said I should consider these things as part of my dowry. What she didn’t tell me was where I was to find the man to give them to.... Ah, here it is!”

  Eyes wide, Fury watched as the older woman untied the string from a roll of goatskin. “I wrapped all of it in this oiled skin to protect it,” she explained, working carefully to separate the skin from the treasure it concealed. When she had succeeded, she held out her arms to Fury, who accepted the bundle reverently.

  How shiny the black boots were, she marveled. She could see her reflection in them. The shirt was blindingly white, tattered in places but neatly mended, as was the abbreviated skirt, which had been stitched together in the middle the way a man’s drawers were. The red-and-black bandanna was folded neatly.

  “They still smell of the sea,” Juli whispered. “They smell of . . . her.”

  Fury nodded, unable to speak, her eyes on the cutlass. “How many men did . . . do you suppose . . . ?”

  “Only those who deserved her hand, Miss Fury, no others.”

  “My mother once made a costume and tried it on, but it didn’t make me feel like this. These things are . . . so real.”

  “I didn’t know what to do with them,” Juli told her. “When she gave them to me she said they belonged here because it all started here and there was no place for them where she was going. She said the Sea Siren was dead. Perhaps I should have destroyed them, but I could not bring myself to do it, and I was glad I hadn’t when I heard of your brothers. I thought for certain your mother would return and search the seas for them. I waited and waited, and she didn’t come, so I put them away, but I never forgot they were here.”

  Fury itched to try on the neatly folded clothes, but it was to the cutlass that her eyes kept returning. At last she reached for it and picked it up. “Dear God, this is heavy!” she gasped.

  “Be careful, Miss Fury, it’s razor-sharp,” Juli cautioned. “I stone it down from time to time.”

  “A rapier is very different from this,” Fury said as she did her best to brandish the wicked-looking blade. “My father had one of these, but he’s very strong. This is a man’s weapon. Where did she get the strength to use this?”

  Juli smiled. “Your mother told me once that everyone has a hidden source of strength that rises to the fore when needed. She wasn’t dealing with swooning women, she was fighting to survive the only way she knew how. She drew on that strength. That’s why she’s alive today. You have that same strength, Miss Fury, inherited from both your mother and father.”

  Fury groaned as she rent the air with the cutlass. “I feel like my shoulder is being pulled from its socket,” she said wryly.

  Juli began to laugh, but the sound died in her throat as two black shapes flew into the room with a wild rush of feathers. Crossing her arms over her ample breasts, she backed against the wall.

  “Merciful God, what . . . !”

  Fury giggled. “They won’t hurt you, Juli. Believe it or not, they followed me all the way from Spain. This is Gaspar and this is Pilar. I raised them from fledglings, and now they’re my friends.” She rolled up the sleeves of her wrapper to show Juli the scar on her arm. “When Gaspar was still a nestling, he was attacked by a full-grown kite. I saved him, but was badly scored in the process. It’s turned out rather like my mother’s scar, don’t you think?”

  Juli nodded, her eyes full of fear. “It’s an omen. A bad omen,” she said.

  Fury laughed. “No, no, it’s simply a bad wound that healed. There’s nothing about it that can be construed as an omen.”

  The hawks were on the floor now, their talons gripping the carpet as they minced their way to the goatskin packet. Pilar’s wing tips rustled as she flicked out at the shiny black boots, her eyes glittering at her reflection. Gaspar, more intent on the cutlass, moved closer. He circled Pilar and the packet twice before he was satisfied that nothing was amiss. Then, with a wild flutter of his wings, he swooped up and out of the French doors, Pilar following in the wake of the breeze he created.

  Juli’s hand flew to her throat. “What . . . ?”

  “They’re curious,” Fury said lightly, trying not to show her own unease. “Perhaps they picked up my mother’s scent.”

  “They—they look like devils straight out of hell!” Juli cried, crossing herself. “You aren’t going to leave them here when you go to . . . Not here!”

  Fury sighed and crossed to the window, peering out. “I tamed them, Juli. I truthfully don’t know what they’ll do when I leave. They’ve never had to forage for food, and they’ll die if they aren’t fed.”

  “Please, Miss Fury, don’t ask me to feed them,” Juli pleaded. “Ask anything else of me, but not that!”

  “Once they get to know you, they won’t hurt you,” Fury said reassuringly. “All you have to do is put their meat in a pail and leave it for them. Let’s do it together while I’m here. Later, if you’re still afraid, have one of the djongos do it.” She turned away from the window. “Come, let’s put these things back.”

  From their perch on the low stone walls outside Juli’s room, Gaspar and Pilar watched as Fury helped the housekeeper replace the costume and cutlass within the protective goatskin. Gaspar’s eyes glittered as the lid of the trunk was raised and then slammed shut. Pilar’s eyes were on the brass handles at each end of the heavy trunk.

  Fury slept fitfully in her mother’s high, wide bed, her dreams invaded by demons with talons, disguised as mortals. When she struggled awake, darkness was still caressing the dawn, loath to unleash the soft lavender that would herald a new day.

  Minutes later she entered the kitchen, washed and dressed in a gay cherry-red day gown, and found Juli at the table sipping coffee. “I gather you, too, didn’t sleep well,” Fury said bluntly.

  When she’d seated herself, Juli rose and stood next to the chopping block, her cup of coffee in her hands. It would never do for her to forget her place. Her tongue, however, was something else.

  “Why are you up so early?” Fury asked. “You needn’t worry about making breakfast for me. All I really want is coffee.”

  “I’m baking for Father Sebastian,” Juli explained. “He has a ferocious appetite in the morning, and then I make up a basket for him to take back to his parish. Your mother always had us do that.”

  Fury smiled. “It would seem that little has changed here; why is that, do you suppose?”

  “People change, not places,” Juli said, shrugging. “If this house changed, you would be unhappy. You have wonderful memories of it. Your parents knew you would return from time to time, and really, what is there to change? The herbs on the windowsill grow and are cut and grow again. The floor and walls will last hundreds of years. My chopping block has a few more cuts and nicks, but otherwise it, too, will last a lifetime.”

  “I guess what I remember most is the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon and the little frosted cakes,” Fury murmured. “Once I asked my mother if a person could get drunk on the smell of spices and flowers, and she said yes. Do you know, Juli,” she said suddenly, “that a man can make a woman’s blood sing?”

  Juli’s round, dark eyes widened. “Now, where did you hear such a thing?” she gasped.

  “From my mother. She said my father has always made her blood sing, and that’s how you know you’re in love.” Fury propped her chin in both hands and gazed dreamily at the housekeeper. “I wonder how that feels.”

  “I don’t think either one of us has to worry about that,” Juli said grumpily as she punched down a mound of dough on the floured board. “You’re going to the convent next week, and I’m here in this house with no men about.”

  Fury laughed. “Speaking of men, I think I’d like to take a walk in the gardens before Father Sebastian arrives,” she said. She kicked
off her slippers and hiked up her skirts. “Would it be too much trouble to serve him outside?”

  “Of course not, and you will be served, too,” Juli said bossily. “Once you leave here you will be fasting and eating rotted fish and God knows what else. You will eat breakfast with Father Sebastian.”

  Fury grinned. “Now I understand why you and my mother got along so well; she can be just as bossy. Well, I humored her, and I will humor you, too. Pink ham and golden eggs on a fluffy cloud.” She laughed as she raced out to the garden.

  Out of Juli’s sight and hearing, however, the laughter died in her throat. There must be something wrong with her, she thought. She’d never felt this way before—uneasy, on the verge of tears all the time, achy and . . . lonely. The bad dreams were with her all the time now; no wonder she had shadows under her eyes. And her appetite was completely gone. In fact, she didn’t care if she never ate again. What was wrong with her?

  “Dear God,” she cried suddenly, “I didn’t say my morning prayers!” In the whole of her life she’d never forgotten the important ritual. “Now, that’s an omen,” she said sourly.

  But she didn’t rush to clasp her hands in prayer. Didn’t raise her eyes heavenward to beg forgiveness. Instead, she walked around the gardens to the long drive in front of the house to wait for Father Sebastian.

  An hour later, when the priest clattered up the driveway in his wagon, Fury was the picture of misery and dejection. The elderly cleric noted the shadows under her eyes and sighed. He’d intended simply to hand over the letter he’d brought and leave, without having to witness its effect on this beautiful girl. But seeing her here, looking so wistful, so alone, he changed his mind.