Thank you for the reviews – it's great to see new names along with my old regulars! For those who don't know me – you will be here for the duration. I'm not the sort of author who leaves a story halfway through – and my stories tend to be on the long side! I've already typed 183 pages!
Any text that is within 'inverted commas and italics,' is thought and not spoken word.
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Chapter Two
"Debemos estar allí por anochecer."
"Si. Esperemos que la tempestad no nos golpee otra vez."
Strange voices pierced the fog that pervaded Celia's mind and she tried to wake up - even just open her eyes, but her eyes and mind refused to obey her commands and so she stayed in the muddled stupor, trying to work out why the voices were strange.
…
The sea thundered around her and Celia tried running away but everywhere she turned a wall of water faced her. She saw Beth standing on the deck and went to move towards her, screaming in horror as a huge wave took her friend up and carried her into the furious seas.
"Beth!" Celia gasped, waking from her nightmare, bathed in sweat. "Oh, sweet Mary," she panted, hugging a blanket to her, shivering as the memories came flooding back. "Oh, Beth," she sobbed, mourning the loss of her friend. Celia jumped as the door to the cabin she was in, opened, and a figure stood in the doorway. She squinted in the gloom, trying to make out who it was, but the only light came from behind the man and she could not even make out his features.
"W-who are you…?" she stammered, suddenly afraid for her safety. "Where am I?"
The man jabbered something unintelligible before turning and shutting the door behind himself, leaving her alone in the dark cabin once more.
Celia climbed from the cot she had been lying on and got to her knees, taking her rosary up in her hands as she pressed them together in prayer, looking around in fear as a soft knock sounded on the door and it opened once more. She scrambled to her feet, backing away as a large man came in, holding a lantern in one hand and a tray in the other.
"Aquí está algún alimento." He held the tray out towards her. "We will not hurt you," he said slowly in heavily accented English.
"Where am I?" she asked, taking the tray with shaking hands.
"Usted está tabla Lirain. Vamos a Tortuga."
"Please speak in English," Celia pleaded.
"No comprende," he shrugged. "No English…"
Celia sighed and plopped down on the bunk, careful not to upset the contents of the tray. "Thank you," she smiled, indicating the food and beaker.
The swarthy looking man returned the smile and nodded, hanging the lantern on a hook by the door before heading back out of the cabin.
Celia she tucked into the thick fish stew, drinking copious amounts of whatever was in the beaker to wash it down. She suspected it was alcohol of some description, but was too hungry and thirsty to care one way or the other. 'I'm sure The Lord will not mind this once…'
She stood once she had finished, and carried the tray to the door, wondering if it would be wise to leave the cabin or not. Celia stood in indecision for a few minutes before setting the tray on the cabin deck and going back to the cot and sitting back down, looking around the tiny cabin she was holed up in and wondering once more where she was and what her rescuers were going to do with her.
'Maybe there will be a priest wherever I am going and he can guide me as to what to do,' she pondered. 'Assuming these men will release me unharmed. What if they are pirates?' Celia got up again and paced to and fro nervously in her bare feet, her shoes obviously having been lost when she was swept into the ocean. She ran her hands through her short, knotted hair in agitation. 'No, they would not be treating me this well if they were – I hope…' Celia lay back down on the cot, her minding whirring over the many possibilities as to what could happen to her, until tiredness finally took hold and she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
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"Hemos llegado. Hemos llegado…"
Celia woke with a start, staring with wide eyes at the man who had brought her the food the previous evening, as he shook her awake. "What?" she asked, rubbing her tired, itchy eyes. "I do not undertand you."
"Hemos llegado a Tortuga!" he urged, indicating for her to stand. "Le llevaré a pueblo." He led her from the cabin once she had risen from the cot, and up a flight of steps to the main deck of the large boat.
Celia blinked in the strong sunlight, catching herself as she almost fell over a basket laden with exotic fruits, one of many covering the deck of the Lirain. Her rescuers had obviously come to sell their wares at wherever they had brought her. She followed the man to the boat's side and peered over at a small rowing boat, bobbing up and down in the waves.
"You want me to climb down?" she enquired, pointing to herself and then the boat.
"Si, si," the man nodded vigorously, climbing down and holding the boat steady for her.
"Oh dear," Celia sighed, wondering how on earth she was going to do it and preserve her dignity at the same time. She hitched her tattered, matted dress up around her knees and climbed awkwardly over the side, one hand grabbing the rope, the other clinging to her skirts for dear life. She half fell, half slid down the rope, ending in a heap in the boat, which pitched violently in the water, only saved from capsizing by the burly man shifting his weight to steady the boat.
"Ow!" Celia complained, wincing at the rope burn stinging her hand. She settled on a bench quickly as the man took up the oars and started stroking them through the water, and blew on her raw hand to try and ease the burning. Celia turned to look at her destination, gulping as a large, shabby town loomed large. 'This doesn't look very salubrious,' she thought to herself, biting her lip and trying to quell the unease churning in her stomach.
"Tortuga," the man smiled, indicating at the town. "Tortuga," he repeated, trying to make her understand.
"Tortuga," Celia nodded. "Priest?" she enquired, lifting her rosary beads from within her dress to show him what she wanted.
"Priest?" the man laughed, throwing his head back. "No priest in Tortuga," he chuckled in heavy English.
"Oh," she whispered fearfully and gulping hard. 'No priest? What am I going to do?' Celia jumped as the boat knocked against the quayside and looked back at the man, tears springing to her eyes. "Please help me," she pleaded, hoping her understood enough English to know what she was saying, but he merely looked at her then nodded towards a stevedor who was reaching down to help her from the boat, then finding herself being hoisted from the rowing boat and set on the bustling wharf before she had chance to realise what was happening. Celia turned to protest, say something to her rescuer, but he was already rowing back to his vessel, and the stevedor had busied himself unloading crates of fish from another boat.
Celia turned in a daze towards a hill, which lead to the centre of the town, and started walking up it slowly, her mind too numbed to think about where she was going or what she was doing. She was broken from her reverie by a gruff voice behind her and coarse hands grabbing her arm and spinning her around.
"I said, how abouts it, darlin'?"
Celia flinched as a mean, scarred face pushed into hers, glassy eyes leering at her. "Oh! Leave me alone!" she hissed, trying to pull free of his grasp. "I am not that sort…"
The man roared with laughter and pushed her against a wall, pressing himself against her. "Of course yer are," he snarled, licking her cheek. "They all are in Tortuga, sweetheart."
"Well I'm not one of them," she shuddered with revulsion. Now let me go!" Celia gasped as his mouth closed over hers, his tongue probing deep within it, and she fought down the urge to be sick. Without thinking, she bit down hard and pushed him away with all of her strength and ran back down towards the docks for all she was worth.
"Come 'ere, ya fuckin' whore!" he roared, racing after her.
"Help!" Celia shrieked as he closed the gap between them. "Somebody help me, please!"
"There's no-one here that'll help ya," he taunted as he lunged for her once again, cursing as Celia somehow managed to dodge out of his grasp. "I'll teach yer t'bite me, ya slapper."
Celia gasped as she ran around a corner and headlong into a group of women, all with painted white faces and scarlet lips. "Help?" she pleaded, before running again as she heard him follow her.
"Aw gawd, looks like Frankie's got another willin' girl," one of the women cackled. "Go on, girl," she called. "Wear 'im out first then he might not knock yer about so much!"
'Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus, help me,' Celia prayed as she ran, sending up thanks as she spotted a large boat, covered with sailcloth, beached on shingle just ahead of her. She looked around, relieved not to see her persuer behind her, and dived into the boat, hastily covering herself and crouching as still as she could, hardly daring to even breathe as his footsteps got closer and closer, until they started fading as he passed the boat and continued on his way, shouting and cursing as he went.
Celia stayed where she was for what felt like hours, trying hard to ignore the throbbing pain in her hand and cold fear coursing through her body, before finally plucking up enough courage to peer out from beneath the sailcloth, almost sobbing with relief when she saw that there was nobody about. She climbed from her hiding place and brushed her dirty, torn dress down out of habit and looked around, wondering where would be the safest place for her to go. "Not the town, that's for certain," she muttered aloud, recoiling as a group of men appeared from one of the dockside taverns. Celia darted into an alleyway that was dark and dank even though it was the middle of the day, shrinking into the shadows as they passed and decided that perhaps it might be the safest place for her – just until she stilled her pounding heart somewhat.
'No priest,' she thought sorrowfully. 'Whatever am I going to do?' Celia froze as she heard voices turn into the alley and flattened herself against the wall as much as she could, holding her breath and closing her eyes, only relaxing slightly as she realised they were women's voices.
"'Ere, it's that girl Frankie Tyler was chasin'. Yer lose him, did ya, dearie?"
"Y-yes," Celia stammered, opening her eyes and looking at the two women, one blonde, the other a redhead. "But you don't understand… I-I'm not…" she paused, struggling for the right words. "I'm not one of you," she whispered before bursting into tears.
"Gawd, what's up wi'yer, then?" the blonde enquired, glancing at her companion.
"'Ere, it's all right," the other woman consoled, putting her arm around Celia's shoulders. "Did 'e give yer a fright?"
"I'm not supposed to be here," Celia sobbed as she leaned against the whore's shoulder.
"None of are," the blonde giggled.
"Give over, Giselle. Can't yer see she's upset? Come on, dearie – yer look like yer could do with a drink." The red haired woman started off down the alley, still with her arm around Celia's shoulder.
"I-I don't drink," she stuttered, chewing on her lip with fear.
"Yer definitely ain't one of us then," Giselle teased.
"If yer don't button it, I'll bleedin' clock yer, Giselle, an' don't think I won't."
"Ooh, pardon me," her friend sniped, pulling a face at her. "What's yer name anyway?" she asked Celia.
"Celia Hammond," came the shaky reply. "I was supposed to become a missionary on the Virgin Isles, but our ship got caught in a storm and sank," she told them, her voice catching on the last word. "I lost my friend and all of my belongings."
"Bloody 'ell! Yer've had a rum do an' no mistake. Aggie Brown," the red haired whore smiled, offering her hand, which Celia shook.
"T-thank you, Aggie."
"Ah, don't thank me. Us girls have got ter look out fer each other, even if yer ain't one of us," she teased gently.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you…"
"Gawd, it'd take more than th'likes of yer ter offend us, eh, Giselle?"
"Hmm," the blonde shrugged non-committally.
"Here we are," Aggie annouced as she stopped by what Celia would have sworn was an empty, run-down house. "It ain't Penhallick's mansion, but it does us."
"I'm sure it does," Celia replied timidly as she followed Aggie and Giselle into the house, hoping desperately that her distaste did not show on her face as she took in the stale and rotting food on the table and clothes strewn all over the floor and on the two beds that were pushed against opposite walls.
"I bet yer place never looked untidy," Giselle sniped having caught the look in the young woman's eyes.
"My room had to be tidy or Mother Superior would have been angry."
"Mother Superior?" Aggie echoed. "Yer a nun?"
"Was - a novice," Celia smiled sadly. "I left the veil to become a missionary over here."
"Why did yer leave?" the redhead asked kindly.
"I didn't think I was cut out for the life of a nun," Celia explained. "I thought I would do more good over here, but now it looks as though I won't have a chance to."
"Why not?" Giselle asked, interested in spite herself.
"We… that is my friend Beth and I, were supposed to go to the Virgin Isles. But as I told you, I have lost everything. I have no clothes, no money – nothing," she replied, choking on her words.
"Aw - yer go an' rustle us up some food, Giselle, an' I'll sort through me old clothes. I must have somethin' that'd fit ya."
"I couldn't possibly…" Celia began.
"Call it a loan if yer like, just until yer sort yourself out."
"And how am I supposed to do that? I'm not going to… well, you know."
"There's many men in this Godforsaken place who'd pay good money fer yer virtue," Giselle informed her as she coaxed the small fire into life in order to cook on it.
"My virtue is not for sale!" Celia declared. "No matter how desperate I may become."
"There's always bar work or Mister Penhallick's mansion," Aggie informed her newfound friend as she rummaged through a chest at the foot of her bed, adding more clothes to the pile already on the floor. "From what I hear, Edith Chappell has got up th'duff an' his lordship is none too pleased about it, so 'e might be lookin' fer a reliable girl ter work fer him."
"His lordship?" Celia enquired.
"King of Tortuga 'e reckons 'e is," Giselle chuckled. "I remember when he were nought but a cabin boy."
"Gawd, yer showin' yer age there, Giselle!" Aggie laughed.
"But I haven't come all this way to work," Celia protested.
"Yer said it yerself," Giselle put in. "Ya've got no money an' no clothes – yer don't have much choice but ter work. I ain't keepin' ya."
"I don't expect you to," Celia replied angrily.
"I tell yer what, Jargo will probably pay me a vist tonight," Aggie pondered. "I'll ask him if there's anythin' goin' up at th'mansion, eh?"
"Thank you," Celia smiled. "You are very kind to a complete stranger."
"Yer'd probably do th'same fer me," Aggie shrugged. "This should do ya!" she declared, holding up a dark blue, sleeveless cotton dress. "Try it on."
"All right." Celia struggled out of her tatty grey dress and reached for the one Aggie was holding, pulling it over her head and tying the laces at the front of the garment.
"It's a bit low, isn't it?" she worried, peering down at the low neckline, grateful for the lace at the top of her undershift, which saved her from being positively indecent.
"All I got that'll fit ya," Aggie shrugged.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful," Celia apologised. "Thank you – I'll take good care of it."
"Yeah, yer would," Giselle muttered beneath her breath as she stirred the stew in the cauldron suspended over the fire.
"Oi! Shut yer mouth, yer cow!" Aggie warned. "Yer only jealous 'cos she's younger an' prettier than yer!"
Giselle ignored her friend's comments and concentrated on the broth, bashing the scant few lumps of meat with the wooden spoon in her irritation.
"I don't want to cause trouble," Celia said quietly. "I don't mean to impose."
"We're always arguin' over somethin' or other," Aggie assured her. "An' fer th'last time, yer not imposin'. Now sit yerself down an' tell us all about Celia Hammond…"
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Oops! Forgot Jack again! ;)
Translations is order that they appear in the chapter:
Debemos estar allí por anochecer - We should be there by nightfall
Si. Esperemos que la tempestad no nos golpee otra vez - yes. let us hope the storm does not hit us again.
Aquí está algún alimento - here is some food
Usted está tabla Lirain - you are on board Lirain
Vamos a Tortuga - we are going to Tortuga
Hemos llegado – we have arrived
Le llevaré a pueblo - I will take you to town
Do not blame me if the translations are wrong – I rely on a translation site!
