| |
Abigail only half-listened to Tzipporah MacJohn negotiate with the Frenchman. His dark hair was slicked back, and he had a very precise moustache and goatee beard, which made him look like a French villain from the newssheet cartoons. Tzipporah acted in a very familiar way with him, laughing as he touched her hands. A heavy lump sat in Abigail’s stomach. Surely she wasn’t envious of the man? No, she was likely jealous of the freedom Tzipporah had in her life. She sailed her own boat, charted her own course, made her own decisions, and negotiated with foreigners. It was as far from Abigail’s life as she could possibly imagine.
“Non.” Tzipporah’s sudden outburst changed the feel of the room. Abigail stilled. She knew this moment; when a man was told no and then lashed out in anger. But the man only laughed as if Tzipporah had told a fantastic joke. They argued for a few minutes and with every outburst, Abigail stiffened. Long ago, she’d learned never to cringe when being yelled at. It only made it worse.
“Come. We are going.”
“Non, non. Tzipporah.” The man’s familiarity made Abigail gasp, but Tzipporah only laughed again. More words were exchanged at speed—far beyond Abigail’s school girl French—and then Tzipporah leaned forward and kissed the man on the cheek before she grabbed Abigail’s hand and marched out of the room.
“I should know better than to argue with Esteban. He could convince a drunk into sobriety.”
“You like him?”
Tzipporah laughed. “Esteban is good for many things. He’s great in bed and he’s always good for a bargain, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say I like him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Men. They always think they know what is best.”
Abigail was completely lost. “But isn’t that true?”
“Oh, darling, you have a lot to learn about the world. No. Men only want us to think they know what is best. That’s how they control the world.”
“Oh?” Abigail pondered this, going back over the conversation, but she couldn’t make it align with the world she knew. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Now, we need to find someone who has goods going to Italy.”
“Italy?”
“Bloody Tobias. Didn’t he tell you?”
Abigail didn’t regret leaving Lord Coxspeckle—how could she regret wanting to be safe—but she missed her life. She understood her life and the parameters and bounds of it. What did Italy have to do with Tobias?
“I’m guessing from your expression that he didn’t. Your brother, the esteemed Lord Pencarrow—”
“Why do you sound disrespectful when you say that?”
“Titles are made up to keep power with a few. They are mostly rubbish.” Tzip held up one finger—one long elegant finger—and Abigail had the oddest urge to kiss it? It must be purely because she was so out of her depth here. She’d never wanted to kiss anyone before; no, that wasn’t precisely true although wanting to kiss another girl when she was at finishing school didn’t really count. That had only been about wanting companionship.
“What didn’t Tobias tell me?”
“He knows someone who is in Italy who you can live with.”
“He’s banishing me there to live with a stranger?” Abigail asked. Her heart pounded. At least with Lord Coxspeckle she knew what to expect and how to behave.
“No. He thinks he knows what is best for this situation you are in, and if you go to Italy you’ll be safe.”
Abigail sighed. “I don’t want to go to Italy and stay with someone I’ve never met. How does that help? I don’t speak Italian. Until today, I’ve never left England.”
Tzip patted her on the shoulder. “I get it. You’ve just been through a massive change in your life, and this is too much too soon.”
“Yes.”
“It would suit me much more if we went back to England. I can take a load of goods to Swain Cove and perhaps... Well, never mind that. It’ll be better for me, but Tobias tasked me with keeping you safe, so that is my current priority.”
“I do mind.”
“Excuse me?”
“If heading back to England is better for you, then we should do that. Let me talk to Tobias.” Abigail needed more information. She wasn’t going to head half-way across the world in a stranger’s boat simply because someone—a man—told her too. Wasn’t that what Tzipporah had said? Men made decisions without considering anyone else and she was tired of doing as she was told, apparently for her own good. What good had men ever actually done for her? She needed to start making her own decisions.
“Great. If you stay on the boat, your husband won’t find you. I’ll get my business sorted and we can sail back here once we are loaded up again.”
“Is that your life? You sail between home and France? Why?”
Tzipporah raised one eyebrow. “Yes. I move goods for people.”
“I have read about this. I assume you pay the correct duty on the goods you import?”
“I pay as much as anyone else.”
Abigail almost smiled. “I see.” This type of conversation was something she understood. She knew that many of her peers talked about finding well-priced quality tea, silks, and other goods, and they must buy them from smugglers. Lord Coxspeckle never talked to her about household accounts. She had her pin money and he told her how to spend it. Some of her peers managed the entire household budget, and she enjoyed the rare occasions when she was able to listen to them talk about it. She’d learned how to run the household accounts at Pencarrow and she’d assumed it would be the same when she married. It had been a disappointment to have no input, and she’d slowly learned to stop caring about it, because the few times she mentioned it Lord Coxspeckle had told her not to worry her pretty head about it.
“Tzipporah?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think Lord Coxspeckle stopped my friends from calling?” Abigail suddenly realised it wasn’t just the household that Lord Coxspeckle controlled. Over the years of her marriage, her group of visitors had slowly diminished until she only saw her peers at society events.
“I couldn’t say, but if I wanted to control someone, I’d control their friends too.”
“How dare he? I was so excited to be married. I was going to be a better wife than my own mother, and now look. I’m a runaway, just like her.” Abigail gasped. Had her mother also been hurt by her father? It seemed likely. “Oh dear.” Her chest hurt, rather like Lord Coxspeckle had punched her in it. She pressed her hand against it.
“Abigail. It’s going to be fine.”
She hiccupped. “How do you know?”
“I don’t know, actually, but it seemed like the right thing to say.” Tzipporah’s pragmatic answer washed over her, and she laughed. Abigail actually laughed. The hurt in her chest turned to warmth. It took her a moment to get the slightly hysterical giggles under control.
“I don’t know either.”
“What do you know?”
“Nothing. I have no practical skills. I don’t want to go to Italy and be at the mercy of someone else. I need to learn the basics of life.”
Tzipporah nodded. “Come with me. Let’s get you some proper clothes, then we will negotiate a cargo with Esteban and return to England. You must have skills that we can use as a base? Can you cook or sew?”
“No. I can embroider and play piano and look beautiful. None of that is particularly useful.”
“If you can embroider, then you can sew. Good. I have some sails that need mending. And we will save a lot of money if you can sew your own clothes.” Tzipporah grabbed her hand and tugged it as she strode along the road, back towards the little row of buildings they’d just left.
***
Abigail sat in the cabin onboard The Lady Gin, surrounded by fabrics. Tzipporah showed her how to make a basic set of clothes; a dress, some stays with rolled canvas instead of whalebone, and drawers. They’d sold the evening gown off her back in exchange for a few pre-made gowns. The cloth was heavier, stiffer, but much more practical and Abigail felt different wearing it. Much less like a doll dressed up for someone else, and a lot more like she could make her own choices. The concept was odd, fantastical, like the fairy stories her governesses used to tell her.
Tzipporah had tried to get her to wear trousers and a man’s style shirt, similar to those Tzipporah wore, but it was a step far too far. Tzipporah had also helped her purchase some salves for her bruises and a hairbrush. When Abigail had brushed her hair out, Tzipporah had pulled a disturbingly huge knife from somewhere in her clothes and asked if she could cut it off. Abigail had nodded cautiously—unsure about whether she wanted it cut and a bit stunned by the proximity to the knife—and then suddenly her hair was only shoulder length. It was so light with all the length and weight gone, and now she wore it in a childlike simple plait as she began to sew.
“When you are done with that, I have some sails that need mending.”
“I will do them first, if you want.” Abigail wanted to be useful. If she could help Tzipporah, maybe she could begin to repay her for her kindness.
“I was joking.”
“I’m not. You’ve taken a big risk in helping me. I want to give something back and the only thing I know how to do is sew.”
Tzipporah smirked. “Mending sails is a little harder than embroidering cushions.”
“I can learn.” Abigail desperately wanted to prove her worth. “Please.”
“Well, if you are so determined, I’m not going to stop you. And don’t stress about the risk. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You’ve technically stolen me from my husband. Under law, he owns me.”
Tzipporah threw her head back and roared with laughter. “I think you are confusing me with someone who cares about the law.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m a smuggler, Abigail. Some people would call me a pirate. I actively break English law every day by avoiding import duty on the goods I transport.”
“Oh.” An odd twist occurred in her stomach, a strange sensation that she couldn’t understand.
“And if there is a law that says people are property, well that law is utter horse shit and I’ll happily break that one every bloody day.”
Abigail didn’t know that people like Tzipporah could exist. She was so fierce and magical, and Abigail wanted to kiss her. She gulped. “Thank you.”
Tzipporah’s cheeks flushed and she glanced away for a moment.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” Tzipporah shook her head. “I need to go and supervise the cargo.” She bolted out of the cabin, leaving Abigail alone. Should she follow? No, she didn’t want to be a nuisance and she had a task to do here. She threaded her needle and began to sew the fabric into something resembling clothing. With every stitch, Abigail tried not to think about Tzipporah’s smooth skin and full lips, and her gruff kindness. Abigail had endured many things during her marriage—things she didn’t want to dwell on—but she still had her curiosity. Lord Coxspeckle had tried his hardest to crush her, and he’d failed. She’d built a protective layer around herself instead of shrinking to fit his impossible standards. Abigail wanted to take her new-found freedom and explore all the things she’d ignored over the years. She’d hidden away her own thoughts and desires and instead, she’d tried so hard to be what other people wanted her to be. First her father who wanted her to be a better Lady than her own mother, and then Lord Coxspeckle who wanted a pretty wife in public and a body to abuse in private. A tear splashed on the fabric, and she brushed it away impatiently. Damn it. She didn’t want to cry over him. She cleared her throat.
She wasn’t. She was crying for herself, for the woman she might have been without the expectations of cruel men. The realisation that she’d folded and contorted herself into the boxes they created for her hurt. Knowing that she hadn’t known she had other options didn’t take away the crushing disappointment in herself, and in them. They were supposed to look after her, not use her for their whims. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the cabin wall.