- Prologue -

In a crisp, white hospital bed, a pale, fair-haired woman lay motionless, the damp sheets entangling her cold body stained with a horrifying scarlet.

An eminent, regal old man stood by her blood-scented bedside. His worn, crinkled hand softly traced the young woman's lithe, shapely cheekbone, his head of disheveled, pallid locks bowed.

"Such a shame." a rich, velvety voice broke the discomforted silence and the man glanced at the willowy, dark-haired lady beside him.

"She didn't deserve it." the woman added, laying a consoling hand on her elder companion's shoulder. "None of it."

"No." he spoke wearily, his luminous, lime orbs betraying a hint of melancholy. "She didn't."

"What of the child?" the woman nodded to the sleeping baby bundled in her grey, threadbare blankets.

"The child. The child is to know nothing of her Mother - you will raise her as your own, Tabitha. And you will keep her away from the dangers the knowledge of her legacy holds for her."

Tabitha sighed, her pity for this poor little girl shining like a beacon in her beautiful, bronzed face. "Poor thing."

The old man shook his head, wordlessly.

"What will become of her?" Tabitha swallowed, clutching her fringed, embroidered shawls to her shivering self as a bitter chill took cruel possession of her body.

"She will have a loving and happy childhood. She will go to school. And she will grow up an educated and respectable young woman." his voice remained placid, even careless but Tabitha's sharp eyes perceived the unmistakeable tremble in his hands. "I have no doubt in your abilities as a mother, Tabitha."

"I'm - I'm not sure." she whispered, feeling like a frightened toddler being thrust into the colourful but frightening world of nursery. "I don't know much."

"What's there to know?"

"I'm not - that good with little ones." Tabitha gazed, nervously at her brightly painted, red fingernails. "She's lovely and all but - "

"You're scared." he finished her sentence for her.

She nodded.

A weak smile flickered across the old man's craggy, furrowed face. "All we've got left of Lucy Nightingale." he murmured.

Tabitha laughed, a hollow, tense laugh. "I can't really believe any of this has happened."

"There is nothing we can do to quash it." he replied, knowing inwardly that he spoke a solid, if unbearably painful truth.

She hesitated, uncertain. "What of - her father?"

The man's face stiffened, noticeably. "Her father. Her father is not to be spoken of. He is not to be mentioned."

"Don't you think her father ought to - to know he's got a daughter?"

"No." he said, shortly.

Tabitha pursed her lips but fell into silence. He was a reserved, cagey person, never sharing very much with anybody - and Tabitha knew when she was pushing him too far.

He stepped forth and gently grazed the baby's rosy, pink cheek. "You will take her to a hut on the outskirts of Tortuga, and there you will raise her."

"Tortuga?" Tabitha uttered the word as if it were a bitter, sour taste in her mouth.

"It is where she will be safe."

"In Tortuga!"

"In Tortuga." the old man glanced at her, his unblinking eyes penetrating the barriers of her very soul.

"But Tortuga, of all places!" Tabitha shot him a pleading, anxious look. "What sort of future can she possibly have if she's grown up in Tortuga?"

"I have faith in you." was his response.

"But -"

"Have I ever given you reason not to trust me, Tabitha?"

She sighed. "No. No, you haven't."

"I have respect for you, for the sacrifice you have offered to make on her behalf." he said to her, thoughtfully. "Good luck, Tabitha."

She made a feeble attempt at a smile.

"Good luck, Cassandra Nightingale."

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