Captive Secrets Page 22

  “Mynheer Dykstra, it’s a coincidence that I’m here in Batavia at this time,” Fury continued, wary now. “I was to enter the convent, but matters were taken out of my hands when the sisters were sent away. There was nothing I could do. I’m waiting for my parents to return from the Americas later this year.”

  “When one practices to deceive, one must spin a web of lies and enlist cohorts to aid and abet the deception,” Dykstra said gently.

  Fury’s eyes were furious as she stood to show the evening was at an end. “May I ask to whom you have told this ridiculous tale?”

  Dykstra rose as well. “I’m afraid that’s my business, Furana. From now on this house will be watched. Once and for all we will discover the Sea Siren’s identity.”

  “How dare you!” Fury gasped. “Please leave this house—now! I will never forgive you, nor will my mother. My father’s wrath I leave to you!”

  The moment the door closed behind the Dutchman, Juli ran to Fury. “My God, how did he find out? What are we to do? If he has the house watched . . .”

  “I suppose it’s down the trellis for me under dark of night,” Fury said shakily.

  Juli giggled. “This is so exciting! Just like when your mother was roaming the seas. I never knew what each new day would bring. I knew it was going to be like before; I just knew it!”

  “It’s not as simple as Mynheer Dykstra makes it sound,” Fury said thoughtfully. “I think there’s more to all of this than he’s let on. He and my father have been friends for over thirty years. Why is he turning on us like this? It doesn’t make sense . . . unless he feels he’s going to be passed over for the governorship, and is trying somehow to build up his reputation at my expense. He never would have dared to say such things, much less even think them, if my father were here. Do you think my defense of the Sea Siren was too strong?”

  “Justly so.” Juli shrugged. “He can’t prove anything. Even if he suspects, he has no proof. For now you will simply do what your mother did when things became . . . difficult.”

  “What did she do?” Fury demanded.

  “Took to her bed and said she was on a religious retreat. Locked her door and went down the trellis and out to the cove.” Juli smiled, remembering. “The more dangerous it was, the better she seemed to like it. She positively bloomed when she was ’on a mission,’ as she called it.”

  Fury placed a hand on Juli’s arm, bringing her back to the present. “You said you had something to tell me?” she said gently.

  Juli frowned. “I had something to . . . Oh, yes! And very important it is, too. My second brother’s wife, Drucilla, cooks for a gem merchant’s family in town. It seems this merchant has a brother in town who is also a gem merchant. Drucilla told me she overheard the merchant talking to Mynheer Dykstra about a shipment of thirty pounds of diamonds that is due to arrive here any day now.”

  Juli paused for breath. “Now, let me see if I remember this,” she continued slowly. “It seems the diamonds belong to the Viceroy of Karwar, Dom Ignacio Carlos Xavier de Reness, third count of Surat. The merchant said the count obtained the diamonds in private trading and signed aboard as a paying passenger. It’s the Nightstar and due to make port, as I said. She carries a very valuable cargo of Chinese silks, porcelain, textiles, and all manner of exotic products. Drucilla said the plan was to sew the diamonds into the count’s clothing so that, in case of a pirate attack, only the cargo will be plundered. The count will be disguised as a seaman. It’s his intention to return to Spain, where he hopes to restore his family’s fortunes. But that’s not all, Miss Fury!” she cried as Fury opened her mouth to speak. “Drucilla says Mynheer Dykstra has asked Señor Domingo to pose as the count and carry the diamonds himself. What do you think of that!”

  Fury sank down onto one of the chairs, stunned. “Thirty pounds of diamonds! If they’re perfect gemstones, they’ll be worth a king’s ransom. That must mean the Dutch East India Company is accepting responsibility for safe transport. Obviously the count, whoever he is, is not capable of fending off deadly pirates if Señor Domingo is to assume his identity.”

  “Has this information helped at all, Miss Fury?” Juli asked anxiously.

  Fury massaged her temples to ward off the headache she felt coming on. “Matters like this have a way of becoming public knowledge. I don’t think I would wager my diamond garter that the bogus Sea Siren is ignorant of this news.” She rose and began to pace the study floor.

  “All those diamonds,” she muttered. “Perhaps I should think along the lines of an escort for the Nightstar. I’ll stay a respectable distance, and none need know I’m sailing a protective course. At the same time, I’ll be returning home to Spain, for I seriously doubt my parents will come here to Java. . . . Yes, yes, I think I’ve arrived at the perfect solution.” She turned to Juli. “What to you think?”

  Tears gathered in the housekeeper’s eyes. “You are your mother’s daughter through and through,” she said softly. “I truly believe she would have made the same decision. I understand your desire to return home. And I am proud and happy to be a part of all this.”

  There was no doubt in Fury’s mind that she could provide safe conduct for the faceless count and his diamond fortune, and Luis Domingo. No doubt at all.

  At midmorning the following day a white-uniformed djongo arrived at the casa. He shuffled his bare feet, his eyes cast downward while he waited for Juli to take the invitation he held out to her.

  Fury raised her eyebrows as she read, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Fetch me a pen,” she ordered one of the maids.

  “A soiree,” Juli said, peering over Fury’s shoulder. “The entire board of governors of the Dutch East India Company. What does it mean?”

  “I think they are ready to choose my father’s replacement, and since the logical choice is Mynheer Dykstra, they’ll want my views—or rather, my father’s views,” Fury replied, scribbling a note of acceptance and thanks to her hostess, Matilda von Klausner. “Which might or might not explain his actions last evening. I’ll have to think about that later. For now I’ll have to think about a gown.” She waved the djongo away and closed the door. “Juli, whatever shall I wear? I brought nothing suitable with me.”

  Hands on her ample hips, the housekeeper peered at Fury with speculative interest. “Are you handy with a needle, Miss Fury?”

  Fury shook her head. “Are you?”

  “I’m afraid not. And a week isn’t very much time.”

  “Is there any material in my mother’s trunks?”

  “Oh, yes. There are two bolts of China silk that are exquisite. Both are in perfect condition, but what good will it do us?”

  “What about your brothers’ wives?” Fury asked hopefully.

  Juli snorted. “They mend. Where would they learn how to sew for fine ladies? No, there is no one—not even in town. Every seamstress will be overworked.”

  “Then we must improvise,” Fury said briskly. “Show me the material. Perhaps something will come to us.”

  “Something?”

  “A solution,” Fury said tightly.

  “Hrumph.” Juli snorted.

  Minutes later Fury’s bedroom was draped with the costly bolts of material, one an emerald silk shot through with silver, the second a lovely plum embroidered with gold thread. “The emerald one, I think,” Fury said, frowning. “The plum is lovely, but I prefer the green. You were right, Juli, it’s magnificent! Now, if we just put our minds to it, I think we can come up with a solution. . . .”

  An hour later the two women were still staring at each other and the fabric. Suddenly Fury gathered the handsome bolt of emerald silk and draped it around her entire body. She swayed seductively for Juli’s benefit. “What do you think?”

  “That’s perfect, Miss Fury! A sari, the kind women of India wear. We won’t have to sew at all,” Juli said in relief, “providing we can cut a straight line with the scissors.” The brilliant silk was unwrapped and rewrapped around Fury’s slender form. �
�See, we’ll drape this here as a sleeve of sorts to cover your scarred arm. Your other arm and shoulder will be bare. You can wear the diamond garter on your bare arm, like this,” she said, circling Fury’s upper arm with her hand. “And diamonds in your ears will add just the right touch. What do you think?”

  Fury grinned. “I think I wouldn’t be able to get along without you. If we make a fringe at the edge, we won’t even have to sew a hem. It’s absolutely perfect.” Fury pirouetted slowly, glancing behind her to catch the effect of the billowing fabric. “I wonder if I will know anyone at the soiree beside Mynheer Dykstra and a few of the governors,” she mused.

  “I’m sure Señor Domingo will be there,” Juli said slyly.

  “That would be nice, I’m sure. He’s never seen me in anything as breathtaking as this. The dress I wore to my birthday ball was fashionable, but of schoolgirl quality. And at our dinner I wore one of Mother’s gowns. This will be something that will—”

  “Make his blood sing,” Juli giggled. “We’ll have to give you an elaborate hairdo and color your lips and cheeks as well.”

  “For a public appearance?” Fury gasped.

  “Of course. Your mother loved to shock the local inhabitants. And she succeeded time and again. Your father would turn white with jealousy when men dropped at her feet. Yet he knew in his heart she was his. It was a game they played. Your father would huff and puff, and your mother would flirt so outrageously, it was sinful. It was all so wonderful back then.” Juli sighed happily with her memories.

  Fury sank down on the bed. “I want to be like my mother, but I want to be myself, too,” she said slowly. “All the things I know about her and all the things you’ve been telling me confuse me sometimes. I don’t want to impersonate her, Juli. On shipboard it’s different, but not here. I have to be me, Fury.”

  “But you are!” Juli exclaimed. “You picked the fabric you most admired. Your coiffure will be of your own choice. The garter is yours; your mother never wore one. It will be Fury van der Rhys who attends the soiree, not your mother.”

  Fury hugged the older woman. “Thank you, Juli, you’re a wonderful friend. I truly appreciate your help.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Miss Fury.”

  Somehow Fury managed to while away the rest of the day walking in the garden and reading from an old book of poetry. She fed the hawks and had an early dinner, then retired to the privacy of her bedchamber.

  As she undressed, she realized that she’d lied to Juli earlier when she’d said she was tired. She wasn’t the least bit tired. In fact, she felt more alive—now, this minute—than she’d felt at any time since arriving in Batavia. She’d learned something, something she needed to think about seriously.

  The silky sheet pulled up to her chin, Fury braced herself in her nest of pillows, the heady flower-scented evening air wafting through the open balcony doors to tease her nostrils. Now, at last, she thought she knew the answers to the questions that had plagued her all her life.

  She loved her mother and as a child had tried to emulate her, taking pleasure in the compliments that compared her prettiness with her mother’s. “So like your mother in every way.” In every way . . . except one. In the beginning she’d savored the comparisons, especially when her father uttered them, but she always knew in her heart that there was only one Sirena. And at some point after the death of her brothers, she’d consciously tried to change her physical appearance—her hair, her nails, her mode of dress. But she couldn’t change her features. With each passing day, she grew more and more to resemble her mother. Her expertise with the rapier, her sailing skill, all as good as her mother’s. Her social graces she knew now had been sabotaged deliberately . . . by herself.

  Her decision to enter the convent had been a last attempt to reclaim her own identity—to herself, not Sirena van der Rhys’s daughter, not an exact replica of her mother, but Furana van der Rhys, postulant, novitiate, and finally nun. Fully, totally committed to God.

  All those prayers, all the rosaries, all the sore knees, weren’t for God, they were for her—selfish prayers that would allow her to be separate from her glamorous, glorious mother. And the more her parents had argued with her, the more determined she’d been.

  Fury sat up in bed as the hawks called gently to her from the balcony railing.

  “Yes,” she murmured as she crept from the bed. “You knew, didn’t you. I don’t know how, but you did; otherwise you wouldn’t have followed me. You’ve been wonderful—true and loyal friends to me.” She reached out to stroke them. “I don’t know if I am meant for the convent. Perhaps it was an excuse for me to find a life for myself, a life of my own. I love my mother, but I don’t want to be her. I want her to be proud of me for my own accomplishments. Clearing her name is something only I can do. And with your help I know I can succeed.”

  She laughed ruefully. “You see, I’m still uncertain how far my abilities will carry me. I’ve never had a price on my head, and I’ve never fought a life-or-death duel. I know I don’t want to die, at least not yet. I want to love and be loved. I want my blood to sing when I wake in the morning, and I want it to be singing when I fall asleep at night next to the man I love, but my commitment to God . . . I don’t suppose you understand a thing I’ve been saying, and that’s all right as long as you’re here. It’s taken me ages to learn about myself, and tonight was my time to begin.”

  Gaspar’s wing tip fluttered softly as it inched up to caress Fury’s cheek. Not to be outdone, Pilar stretched and spread her wing around Fury’s shoulder, her glittering eyes warning Gaspar that this was a woman’s moment. Fury laughed with delight when Gaspar inched his way down the balcony. “Thank you,” she crooned, then gently made swooshing motions with her hands for the birds to retire for the night.

  Sleep proved to be elusive, however. So many words, so many thoughts . . . The explanation was too simple, Fury thought in dismay. How could she wipe away her commitment to God and the church in just a few hours, and with mere words?

  Instantly contrite, she leaned over the side of the bed and fumbled for her rosary on the night table. “Holy Father, I haven’t forsaken You,” she prayed. “For so long I believed . . . still believe I am meant to serve You in whatever capacity I can. I will never again believe that You have forsaken me, this I swear. You are all about me. Show me what it is You want me to do. I can give up this life, I know I can. Forgive me, Merciful Father, for my sins. . . .”

  The week passed slowly for Fury. She was aware of the men watching the casa and herself but refused to be intimidated by them. Each day she saddled Starlight and rode out to the rise to gaze down upon the Rana. She did nothing out of the ordinary, however, and Juli always reported to her when she returned that the men had not left their posts. She felt she was setting up a valuable pattern from which to draw on in the coming days.

  On the morning of the soiree she sat gazing longingly at the bolt of China silk in her bedroom. She couldn’t wait to be wrapped in its silky softness; she wanted to feel a man’s arms—Luis Domingo’s arms—about her, crooning sweet words under a bright moon and winking stars. She wanted so to attend this soiree, wanted to see Luis Domingo again. She wanted . . . craved . . . needed . . .

  It was possible she was tormenting herself needlessly, for she didn’t know if the handsome Spaniard would even be there. But that possibility was too painful to contemplate. He simply had to be.

  Fury could feel tears of shame stinging her eyes at her lustful thoughts. But she couldn’t stop them. Over and over she wondered what it would be like to make love with Luis Domingo.

  “You aren’t considered a real woman until you bed a man, and it doesn’t matter if you’re married or not,” a school friend had whispered once. She had been the most knowledgeable about the man-woman union, as she called it, although neither Fury nor the other girls at the convent school had ever challenged her as to the source of her knowledge. “Men’s tongues are like weapons on a woman’s body,” the young lady had declared
authoritatively, adding that women had to be as aggressive as men in bed and make known their wants. “You must tell them what feels good, here and here,” she said, pointing to various parts of her anatomy. “Can you imagine letting a man undress you and looking at all of your naked body!” Fury could imagine, and that had been the problem.

  She was startled from her burning thoughts when Juli poked her head in the doorway. “Everything is ready, Miss Fury. My brother brought your garter from the ship early this morning. We should be leaving soon. You did say you wanted to stop by the parish house to see Father Sebastian. The sooner we start, the sooner you’ll be conversing with the padre,” she said cheerfully. “We can ask him if Señor Domingo will attend. Surely he’ll know.”

  “It’s of no importance,” Fury said, as if it made no difference to her whatsoever. She could feel Juli’s eyes on her but refused to meet her gaze.

  “Of course it’s important,” the housekeeper chided. “You will be the most beautiful, sought-after young lady at this soiree. All of Batavia will be talking about the stunning, exquisite Señorita van der Rhys. I want that Spaniard’s eyes to pop from his head when he sees you. You wouldn’t be a woman if you didn’t want the same thing.”

  Woman . . . Fury’s heart thumped in her chest. “You make it sound like a contest,” she grumbled.

  Juli nodded. “In a manner of speaking it is. All the women try to outshine one another. And there is always a winner. Men flock around you in droves, they shoot daggers with their eyes at their friends when they’re luckier than themselves, and you favor them with a dance. Even the married men have roving eyes. My advice is to flirt outrageously with one and all. With the ladies who will want to scratch your eyes out, be demure and polite, respectful of their ages and their corsets.” This last bit of advice sent Fury into peals of laughter. Juli grinned. “But if you plan on taking a breath of air, make sure it’s with Senor Domingo and no one else, or tongues will wag for weeks. You want only the most handsome, the most eligible man, and he is the catch of the season.”