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LONDON, MARCH 1617
The bright morning sun squinting through panes of wavy leaded glass scattered patches of bright light on the uneven floor of the small garret room. Furnished only with a narrow bed, a cupboard, chair and low washstand, the cramped space squeezed beneath the tiled roof of the otherwise elegant London town home was not brightened even by the sun.
Light falling across her face awoke Catherine. With a low groan she turned toward the wall, at once aware of the same sense of dread and foreboding that had twisted her insides the entire past month. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she pulled herself upright and cast an anxious gaze about the tiny chamber she’d called home the past six years. The austere furnishings and low ceiling had always made her feel like a prisoner . . . and unless she could figure out a way to escape today, she would virtually become one, her future lost to her forever.
As usual this time of morning, the third floor of the sumptuous London town home was silent as a tomb. The maidservants who occupied rooms on either side of Catherine arose far earlier than she in order to hurry below stairs and get about their duties.
Catherine had been a girl of ten and two years when, upon the death of her mother, she’d been sent up to London to live with the aristocratic Lord and Lady Montcrief, to whom she was told she had some connection, though no one had bothered to explain to the grief-stricken little girl what that connection might be. During the ensuing years, Catherine had tried to please her guardians. Still she knew they thought her foolish because she wanted the selfsame thing today that she wanted six years ago . . . to reunite with her father and brother and spend the rest of her life in the arms of her beloved.
Finding a way to escape the Montcrief household should be easier for a grown-up young lady of eighteen years. But thus far no opportunity had presented itself, and now, today, time had all but run out. If she did not find a way to escape today, all would be lost. She’d never see her father, or brother, or him again.
One month ago, two events transpired that not only disrupted Catherine’s life but set the entire Montcrief household on its ear. The first was that Catherine had at last received the long-awaited letter from her father, forwarded to her here in London. Fortunately Lady Montcrief had been away from home that morning and, because a maidservant had delivered the missive straight to Catherine’s door, not even Lucinda knew about the letter. Anything Catherine confided to Lucinda soon found its way to Lady Montcrief’s ears; therefore Catherine had wisely decided to keep the contents of her letter to herself.
When she was alone in her room, however, she could hardly keep from laughing aloud, so jubilant was she to finally know that her father, brother, and Noah were actually alive. Six long years ago, the three men had sailed across the sea to a vast, unknown wilderness the English called the New World.
“As soon as we’re settled,” her father had said, “we’ll send for you and yer mother.”
Poor Papa, Catherine thought now. Neither he nor Adam knew that Mama, who’d suffered from a weak constitution, had passed away only a few short months after they departed. Catherine fervently hoped now that she would be able to deliver the sad news to her father and brother in person. In his letter Papa had enclosed a voucher good for passage to the New World. He said he’d send another one as soon as he could. All one had to do was present the voucher to the ship’s captain.
Trouble was, how was Catherine to escape unnoticed from the Montcrief household and find her way to London’s busy dockside the very day a ship was set to sail for the New World? Especially now that the second occurrence had suddenly rendered Catherine Parke the most important member of the Montcrief household.
Dragging herself from the narrow cot, Catherine dejectedly put on one of her two fustian frocks, the one she’d worked so hard to pretty up with a frilly edge of embroidered lace.
Though the hour was late when she entered the elegant dining chamber below stairs, she noted that Lady Montcrief and Lucinda had also just come down to break their fast.
“Good morning, Catherine,” said Lady Montcrief. Not unkindly. Not warmly. Matter-of-factly, as she had done every morning since Catherine had come to live with the family. The fashionably attired matron then turned her full attention to her sixteen-year-old daughter Lucinda.
As Catherine nibbled on a buttered scone and swallowed a few bites of the coddled eggs placed before her by a liveried footman, she vaguely heard her companions discussing Lucinda’s bright future. Not at all hungry, Catherine, who was rarely included in the conversation when Lady Montcrief was present, soon murmured her excuses and rose to leave the table.
Lady Montcrief glanced up. “You’d best pack your bag this morning, Catherine. By this time tomorrow you’ll be a married woman. I expect Mr. Windmere will be eager to whisk you off to . . . somewhere.” She paused, perhaps expecting Catherine to exhibit some show of enthusiasm over her impending nuptials.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lady Montcrief’s lips pursed. “Ungrateful gel,” she muttered. “We shall be making calls this afternoon. See you do not keep us waiting.”
“No, ma’am.”
Back in her bedchamber, Catherine obediently dragged her mother’s well-worn valise from beneath the sagging cot.
A month ago, Catherine had accidentally learned that not all was as it seemed in the Montcrief household. Apparently, as did many members of England’s upper class, Lord and Lady Montcrief lived far beyond their means. Lord Montcrief was now in the embarrassing position of being head over ears in debt. The same day Catherine’s father’s letter arrived, a wealthy London merchant named Mr. Windmere, to whom Lord Montcrief owed thousands of pounds, had rapped at their door intent on collecting the enormous debt owed him.
On his way inside, Mr. Windmere happened to catch a glimpse of Catherine and Lucinda strolling in the garden. Drawn by the lovely face and figure of one of the young ladies, whom he assumed to be Montcrief’s eldest daughter, he’d pointed out the girl to his lordship.
Vastly relieved that the man had not fixed on Lucinda, since to marry one’s daughter off to a lowly tradesman, no matter the size of his purse, was not the done thing, Montcrief had seized the moment when Windmere declared all of Montcrief’s debts would be cancelled; the amount owed Windmere as well as that owed every other tradesman in town, and a generous portion besides . . . in exchange for the hand in marriage of the auburn-haired beauty. The “generous portion besides” Montcrief decided would serve nicely as a handsome dowry for Lucinda, something on his own he couldn’t hope to provide. His lordship wasted no time in orchestrating a match between his daughter and a wealthy earl, a widower without issue.
Quite by accident, Catherine had overheard her guardians discussing the convoluted arrangement.
“All my debts shall be canceled the very second the wedding vows are exchanged!”
“And the additional funds Windmere has promised?” asked Lady Montcrief. “When will he pay . . .?”
“The selfsame day. I will immediately turn the funds over to Pembroke’s man of business. When our Lucinda provides the earl with an heir we shall be set for life! Pembroke understands Lucinda to be a lass of tender years, and has agreed to delay the wedding a bit.”
“We shan’t want them to wait too very long,” cautioned Lady Montcrief.
“Our daughter’s wedding will take place just as soon as Catherine’s is safely executed.”
An execution is exactly what it felt like to Catherine. Even if she hadn’t received a letter from her papa, she would not agree to marry Mr. Windmere, a man of greater years than her father and whose rotund belly reminded her of the puffed-up toads her brother and Noah used to catch from the pond on the land her father farmed.
It didn’t matter to her that Windmere had deep pockets. Her heart belonged to another; a handsome young man with twinkling blue eyes and golden curls. She had loved Noah Colton as long as she could remember and he loved her.
Now, as Lady Montcrief had instructed, Catherine listlessly set about folding up her few garments and stuffing them into the tattered valise. The heartfelt words Noah had scribbled on the bottom of her father’s letter, telling her how much he missed her and longed for her to join them in a far-off place he called Jamestown, Virginia, replayed over and over in her mind.
Would she ever see Jamestown? Would she ever see Noah?
Terrified that her much-longed-for future was fast slipping away from her, Catherine felt a rush of tears fill her eyes. How, how, how was she to travel to the New World when she could not even figure out how to escape from the Montcrief household? Neither she nor Lucinda were allowed to go freely about London. Always a maidservant or footman must be along. True, she’d be out of the house this very afternoon, but she could hardly fling herself from the carriage and outrun the horses on foot.
She had no money. Reaching to the bottom shelf of the wobbly old cupboard, she retrieved the small pasteboard box she’d hidden amongst the folds of an old bed rug. In the box she kept a few precious mementos; a miniature of her mother when she was a girl, her mother’s sewing scissors, her grandmother’s pestle and mortar, and a few faded paper notes, the value of which Catherine hadn’t a clue. The few pieces of her mother’s fine jewelry, which had been in her possession when she arrived here, had somehow vanished; sold, she believed, by Lord Montcrief. Fearing she’d be turned out without a farthing, Catherine had never said a word about her loss, since perhaps the money his lordship gained from the sale of her mother’s jewels had helped defray the cost of keeping her.
But that was neither here nor there. Now. Today her father and Noah were awaiting her in the New World. And she simply had to find a way to reach them! Tomorrow would be too late. By then, she’d be wed to Mr. Windmere. For the rest of her days.
Though Lord and Lady Montcrief had succeeded in bending Catherine to their will in many areas, this was the one time she was determined not to acquiesce to their wishes. Because they’d insisted she take lessons alongside Lucinda, Catherine now knew how to read Latin and French, was familiar with Greek mythology, knew how to cipher sums, and how to paint a pretty picture and sew a fine stitch. She was truly grateful for all that her guardians had done for her. But to their latest plan, she could not agree. She simply had to find a way to escape. She had to!
* * * *
“LADY TARKINGTON HAS invited us to a reception this afternoon, girls, but we shall not stay overlong,” Lady Montcrief declared as she and the young ladies climbed into the Montcrief carriage after a tedious visit at the mantua-maker where fittings had been taken for Lucinda’s trousseau, the cost to be borne by the girl’s unsuspecting bridegroom.
Seated across from them in the carriage, Catherine tried for the thousandth time that day to swallow past the lump of fear in her throat. Thus far today, she’d seen no viable means of escape.
“The reception is to honor that Indian woman,” Lady Montcrief said. “Your father insisted I pay my respects. For the life of me, I cannot understand his interest in this New Virginia Company.”
Virginia? Catherine’s ears perked up.
“Papa says he stands to make a good deal of money investing in the New Virginia Company,” Lucinda replied.
“Your father is atwitter to be able to invest in anything these days. At any rate, I am told the woman and her husband will leave for the New World on the morrow. Good riddance to them, I say.”
Catherine could hardly believe her ears. A ship was leaving for the New World on the morrow?
“I thought you met the Indian woman at Lady Sandys’s reception a twelvemonth ago,” Lucinda said.
“Indeed. And I have seen her at countless balls and dinner parties since. She is rather attractive . . . in a foreign sort of way. The king was quite taken with her. Though on my life I cannot think why John Rolfe would marry a savage!”
“Perhaps there are not many women to choose from in the New World,” Lucinda offered.
Seated across from them, Catherine was hanging onto every single word her companions exchanged. In recent years, she had avidly read every notice printed in the weekly news pages about the New World. How the colonists were to ship back silk, sugar, grain and exotic woods to repay their debt to the investors, who, in turn, sold the goods for a profit here in England. How the prominent colonist John Rolfe had married an Indian woman, and not just any Indian woman, she was the favorite daughter of the Emperor of the New World, the powerful chieftain Powhatan, who had thousands of warriors at his command. Catherine had been alarmed to read that before the Rolfes’ marriage, the colonists had known virtually no peace or harmony with the Indians since the first settlers arrived back in 1607. Consequently, this marriage between an Englishman and an Indian woman was seen on this side of the Atlantic as a triumph. Except to King James, who feared the Indian princess might be planning to elevate herself to a position of power in direct opposition to him.
When Catherine had read nearly a year ago that, at the king’s invitation, John Rolfe and his new wife had arrived in England and were to be presented at court, she had ached then to meet them. Mrs. Rolfe, she read, had embraced her husband’s Christian religion, had been given the Christian name Rebecca, and even spoke English. Perhaps, Catherine thought now, the Indian woman was acquainted with her father? Or Noah? The excitement within her grew.
“I shall be obliged to present both you girls to the savage,” Lady Montcrief was saying, “though I confess I cannot recall her name. Something . . . foreign-sounding, a word no civilized person could pronounce and would not make sense to us anyhow.”
“Pocahontas.” Catherine was surprised to hear the sound of her own voice, it being the first word she’d uttered all afternoon.
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t signify. Lady Tarkington will no doubt tell us her name and there’ll be an end to it.”
“Is her name Pocahontas?” Lucinda asked, a twinkle of mischief in her blue eyes as she grinned at Catherine.
“Why . . . yes, dear, that’s it precisely! How clever of you!” Lady Montcrief patted her daughter’s gloved hands, folded primly in her lap.
Lucinda shrugged an apology at Catherine, who said nothing. She was accustomed to being ignored by Lady Montcrief.
“You will not be expected to actually converse with her, sweetheart. I doubt she understands a word of English.”
Again, Catherine was unable to hold her tongue. “I read where the princess has delivered several speeches in Town and even addressed Parliament.”
“Well, I doubt a one of them could understand a word she said either!” Both Lady Montcrief and Lucinda laughed at that. “At any rate . . . ” Lady Montcrief turned a bored gaze from the carriage window “. . . we shall only stay the requisite quarter hour.”
When the carriage rumbled to a halt, a footman flung open the door and let the steps down for the ladies to alight.
Catherine’s spirits soared as the three of them were shown into Lady Tarkington’s lovely drawing room. Catherine’s alert green eyes traveled the length of the chamber to where the women were seated in a cluster at the far end. She strained to see past their elegantly coiffed heads for a glimpse of the celebrated Indian woman.
The Tarkington butler announced them and Lady Tarkington cried, “Do come in, my dears! We had about despaired of you!”
The three late arrivals headed toward their hostess who interrupted the flow of conversation to present them to her honored guest.
Catherine wasn’t certain if etiquette demanded they bow to the Indian princess, as one most certainly would when presented to continental royalty. But instead of following Lady Montcrief’s lead, who merely nodded her head, Catherine dropped into a respectful curtsy.
Hearing the tinkle of a laugh, she raised her head, and her eyes locked with those of the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. But this “woman” was little more than a girl! Her skin was a rich creamy brown. Her eyes were black as pitch, as was her long, shiny hair that hung like a curtain of silk about her shoulders. Her cheekbones were high, her nose small and straight. She was dressed in a buff-colored doeskin garment richly ornamented with colored beads sewn into a pattern of swirling lines. The fringed sleeves of the garment seemed to float when she moved her arms. On her feet were soft, suede boots also decorated with sparkling stones. Catherine had never seen such lovely clothing. She thought the princess looked breathtakingly beautiful.
“I am so happy to meet you,” Catherine said, surprising herself by being the first of her party to speak up. “I hope you have had a wonderful stay in England.” Catherine felt rather than saw her guardian’s outraged look aimed straight at her back.
“Thank you, Miss Catherine,” the princess replied in well-modulated English. “I happy to know you.” She extended a small brown hand toward Catherine.
Who wrapped both her gloved hands about the princess’s smaller one. “I do hope you will come to visit us again.”
“I like to very much,” the princess said with another tinkling laugh. She glanced expectantly toward Lady Montcrief but, hearing no welcoming words from her, did not extend her hand in greeting to either the older woman or her daughter. Instead, she patted a place beside her on the small settee where she was seated alone. “Come,” she said, looking directly at Catherine, “sit beside me. I think you want to hear about New World, yes?”
“Oh, yes, indeed, I do!” Catherine slid onto the green velvet settee next to the beautiful princess. In her excitement, she took no notice where her companions were seated, nor did she care.
For the next quarter hour, Catherine sat mesmerized as the lovely dark-skinned Indian girl captivated her audience, excluding one, with tales of her life across the sea. Her black eyes danced as she described lush forests, beautiful flowers, and streams filled with all manner of fish. She spoke of plentiful game, deer and turkey, a fowl few Englishmen had tasted but which the princess declared was delicious when roasted.
She told of the four largest English colonies: Jamestown, Henricus, Charles City, and Kiccowtan, the only one that had retained its original Indian name. She said all were reached by waterways stretching inland from the Chesapeake Bay.
She said the settlers and Indians had lived side by side peacefully for many moons, trading goods such as grain and tools with one another. Jamestown had a lovely new church, and every settler now farmed his own land, as opposed to the communal farming method of earlier years.
In what seemed like no time, Catherine felt a sharp tug at her sleeve and glanced up into the stern countenance of her guardian. “We will take our leave now. Do forgive us, Lady Tarkington. We have several pressing engagements this afternoon.”
The farewells were said, and in moments, the three women were once again seated inside the Montcrief carriage, skimming over the cobblestones toward home near the fashionable end of The Strand, since they did not, in fact, have any other engagements that afternoon, pressing or otherwise.
A disapproving scowl pinned Catherine. “Well, you certainly made a spectacle of yourself, young lady! Imagine, taking a seat next to her royal highness! People will think you’ve had no upbringing at all! I will not be unhappy to see you gone from my household!”
“Mama!” cried Lucinda. When her mother merely tilted her chin up, Lucinda turned an apologetic gaze on Catherine. “I believe the princess quite liked you, Cat. She spoke directly to you again and again.”
“Unseemly,” muttered Lady Montcrief.
Catherine was far too thrilled over actually meeting the Princess Pocahontas to fret over what her guardian thought. Her only regret this afternoon was that the opportunity had never arisen for her to ask about her father or Noah. But that did not signify. A very bold plan was already taking shape in her mind.
That evening, Lord and Lady Montcrief set out for the opera and a dinner party afterward. Catherine knew they would not return home until the wee hours. As she and Lucinda lingered over their supper, Lucinda talked excitedly about her forthcoming marriage, but seemed to grow irritable when Catherine appeared lost in her own thoughts.
“Forgive me, Lucinda.” Catherine tamped down the anxiety building within her. “I am despondent over the fact that I am to marry a man I do not know, or . . . love.”
“Father says Mr. Windmere has a fine home with many servants.”
“But I know nothing of his character. Much of what the reverend spoke about yesterday served only to plant fear in my mind.”
In preparation for marriage many young ladies received special instruction from the Church before repeating their vows. Because both Catherine and Lucinda’s marriages were so very important, Lady Montcrief had taken the precaution of actually engaging the reverend to come to their home and address the girls privately. During his lengthy sermon, Lady Montcrief had remained seated in the room, nodding her head in apparent approval of all the minister said. Over dinner that night, she’d proudly declared to her husband that both girls were now duly prepared for marriage.
“I, too, have only just met Lord Pembroke,” Lucinda said to Catherine, “but I am quite looking forward to marrying him. I shall have everything I want!”
“But are you not afraid he will . . . beat you?” The minister had spoken at length about a man’s right to beat his wife and said that a woman must suffer in silence any such ill-treatment from her husband. Were she to marry Noah, Catherine knew she would never have to fear such a thing; he was so good-hearted, and their love for one another ran so deep, he would never raise a hand to her. Besides, as the son of a clergyman, Noah had no doubt heard many such Marriage Sermons delivered by his own father after marrying young couples in their parish; therefore Noah was also duly prepared for marriage and knew quite well how to treat a woman.
“I expect I shall rarely see him,” Lucinda said flippantly. “The earl is a man of wealth and power, with many large estates. Besides he is . . . old.”
“But what of love?” Catherine asked quietly. “Do you not think love important in a marriage?”
Lucinda grimaced. “Mama says love does not signify. Once I have done my duty and provided the earl with an heir, I shall be free to love any man I choose. It’s the way of the world.”
Not my world, Catherine thought. “I would sacrifice anything to be with the man I love.”
“That’s a very romantical notion, but Mama says it isn’t at all wise or prudent.” She studied her companion. “Do you not feel the least bit grateful that Mr. Windmere wishes to marry you?”
Catherine did not reply.
“Mama says that with no dowry or jointure you could not possibly hope to do better. You will not be nearly so rich as I, but you will be quite comfortable. It’s what Mama has always wanted for you.”
Catherine fidgeted with the corner of the linen napkin in her lap. Guilt pricked her when she realized her selfish actions would soon cause Lucinda heartache, but it could not be helped. Lord Montcrief’s deplorable financial state was not her doing; therefore to rescue him from it was not her responsibility. Lucinda was young and not unattractive. She would have many suitors and receive many offers of marriage.
“I wish you every happiness, Lucinda, truly I do. I never meant to appear ungrateful . . . or heartless.” Her appetite completely gone, she stood up. “Excuse me, please. I am not feeling at all well.” It was not a lie.
Catherine raced to her bedchamber and shut the door behind her. Standing with her back pressed against the door, her body quaked with fear. The time to put her plan into action was upon her. This afternoon she’d heard the Princess Pocahontas say she and her entourage were staying at The White Swan Inn. She had also told them the New Virginia Company had arranged for ninety young ladies to travel to the New World to become wives to the settlers. Catherine meant to join them.
She had never left the house on her own before but this was her only chance to escape and she was not about to pass it up. Snatching up her cloak, she flung it about her shoulders. It would be hours before Lord and Lady Montcrief returned home and they would not miss her until morning when she did not come down for breakfast. Scooping up her father’s letter, with the precious voucher tucked safely inside, she stuffed it into the pocket of her cloak, then pulled open her bedchamber door and cautiously stepped out. If she came upon Lucinda, she would simply say she needed some air. Which is exactly what she did.
“Where are you going at this hour, Cat?” Having finished her supper, Lucinda was now on her way to her own suite of rooms.
Catherine did not slow her pace. “I need to clear my head.”
“I shall miss you dreadfully when you are gone! You are like the sister I never had. Shall I come with you now? Mama will never know we have gone out. I’ll just get my . . .”
“No, thank you. I prefer to be alone. I’ve a great deal to think about.”
Lucinda smiled. “Don’t fret. Everything will turn out fine; you’ll see.”
Catherine managed a shaky smile and hurriedly descended the wide sweeping stairs to the ground floor. The lone footman dozing by the door stirred when she approached. Catherine thrust her chin up, affecting the imperious manner she’d observed when Lady Montcrief and Lucinda addressed the servants. “I need a chair and torch bearers, if you please.”
“Very good, miss.”
It being the first time Catherine had ever issued an order in the Montcrief household, she was somewhat surprised when the footman scurried to do her bidding. In minutes she was bouncing along in a covered sedan chair held aloft by four liveried footmen, each holding one end of the two long poles that ran beneath the chair. Two additional retainers ran ahead carrying lighted torches.
When they reached The White Swan Inn, Catherine alighted and instructed the footmen to wait until she returned.
The princess had said the Rolfes occupied the entire top floor of the Inn. Catherine’s heart raced as she scampered up the steps inside the noisy tavern. Reaching the top floor, she caught sight of several dark-skinned women in the corridor, obviously carrying out last-minute instructions as the Rolfes prepared to leave on the morrow.
“Excuse me.” Catherine hoped the Indian woman understood English. “I wish to speak with the Princess Pocahontas. Might you direct me to her, please?”
The native woman smiled, her white teeth a sharp contrast against her dark skin. “This way, miss.”
Once inside the comfortable chamber, the woman led the way to where the princess sat in a ladder-backed chair before a blazing fire, her eyes closed, a blanket wrapped about her shoulders. In her arms she held a sleeping child. Because the room felt especially close to Catherine, she removed her wrap and draped it over one arm.
When the princess looked up, her lovely face relaxed into a warm smile. “Hallo, Miss Catherine. I not surprise to see you.”
“Do forgive me for coming uninvited, but I had to come. I simply had to.”
“You welcome to call without special invitation.” The princess’s small brown hand indicated the empty chair opposite hers. “My husband oversee packing.” She shifted the sleeping child in her arms as Catherine sat down. “He say I am in way and for me to stay put.” She laughed, the merry tinkle bringing to Catherine’s mind an image of water rippling over pebbles in a clear stream. “Husband say I overtired and must rest.”
“I’m sure your trip has been very tiring. I admire you for coming to an unknown land amidst strangers. You are quite famous here.”
“Perhaps. But I . . . have few friends in big city.”
The princess’s forlorn tone tugged at Catherine’s heart. “I am your friend.” She smiled warmly at the gentle Indian girl.
The princess’s black eyes held hers for a long moment. “You and I be soul sisters. You feel kinship, too, yes?”
Catherine nodded tightly, the heartfelt words bringing a rush of moisture to her eyes.
“Your hair color of English fox,” the princess mused. “You much pretty girl.”
“Thank you. I think you are very beautiful. Is this your child?”
Pocahontas gazed lovingly upon the tousled head of the sleeping babe. “My son, Thomas. He soon be three summers.”
Just then, another Indian woman, also in native dress, appeared so silently beside them that her sudden presence startled Catherine. Pocahontas put her boy into the woman’s outstretched arms. “Sleep well, my little son. We go home tomorrow.” Her shining black eyes followed the woman until she disappeared from the chamber. “He be a good boy.”
“He is very handsome,” Catherine said.
“Someday he grow tall and strong like his father.”
“And kind and gentle like his mother.”
“You very kind, too, Miss Catherine. But I see you be troubled. What may I do to help, my sister?”
Catherine blinked back another rush of tears. “I do need your help. My father, my brother, and the man I am to marry have settled in Jamestown. I only just received a letter from my father.”
“Ah-h.” The Indian girl’s expression grew grave. “Your father and brother go to New World . . . willingly?”
Catherine nodded. It was common knowledge that many colonists were convicts sentenced to transportation. She swiped at the tears trickling down her cheeks.
“What is it, my sister?” Pocahontas leaned forward, a look of concern in her dark eyes.
“I must go with you tomorrow!” Catherine blurted out. “My guardians do not know I am here. They have arranged for me to marry a man I do not know. But I am betrothed to another. We have loved one another since we were children. This afternoon you spoke of the women who are to become wives to the settlers. I wish to join them. I have my passage voucher right here.” She fumbled through the folds of her cloak for the letter in her pocket.
“No, no.” Pocahontas reached to stop her. “You not understand. The ship with the women, it not leave for twelve moons, maybe more. They only just now get up list of ladies to come. You must wait.”
“But I cannot wait! I must go now!”
“Why such rush?” Pocahontas smiled serenely. “New World still there in twelve moons. You come then. If your father or brother . . . no longer there, I give you home with me until you and your man wed.”
“Thank you, but I cannot wait. I am to be married tomorrow! Once I am wed, I shall never be allowed to leave. Tonight is my only chance to escape!”
“Mmmm.” A faraway look replaced the understanding in the Indian girl’s eyes. “A long time ago, my father arrange a marriage for me. I was young girl then, only thirteen. My father strike bargain with chieftain of warring tribe. I forced to marry man I not love.”
Catherine tried to listen patiently to her new friend’s tale. “You were married before Mr. Rolfe?”
“Yes. I carry first husband’s child, too. But they both die, then I run away. I loved . . . another.”
When Pocahontas lowered her head and Catherine saw her black eyes squeeze shut, she knew the beautiful princess was sharing a secret hidden deep in her heart. A moment later, she looked back up and smiled. “But that be long time ago. Now, I have wonderful husband and beautiful little son. Perhaps when you marry this man you not know, you have child you love; then you forget your beloved and no longer wish to travel to New World.”
“I cannot marry this man!” Catherine cried. “I love Noah with all my heart! And he loves me!”
Pocahontas fell silent, her dark eyes sad. “Life in New World not easy for woman.” She reached for Catherine’s hands and with one brown fingertip traced a circle in Catherine’s palm. “Your hands very soft. Not accustomed to hard work.”
Catherine drew her hands away. “It is true I live in a world of affluence, but I am used to making do with very little.” She did not add that Lord and Lady Montcrief begrudged every cent they spent on her, that most of her gowns were castoffs of Lucinda’s, and that Catherine herself had altered the garments to fit.
“I see you be very unhappy.”
“I love Noah. I miss my father and my brother. They are all the family I have left.” Catherine’s spirits sank lower and lower. “My mother is gone. I thought the ship with the women was to leave tomorrow and that I could be on it.” When despair threatened to engulf her, she gathered up her cloak to leave.
Pocahontas touched her arm. “In New World woman must work from sunup to sunset. Grow food. Make clothes. And clean. White man’s houses dirty.” Suddenly, she laughed. “White man’s houses very dirty! White man’s ship dirty! England smell bad! Not clean, like forest.”
Despite her wrenching pain, Catherine managed a small smile. London did smell bad. Fine ladies carried scented handkerchiefs pressed to their noses when they went out. But when their shutters were flung open, the foul stench permeated their homes. There was no escaping it, just as for Catherine there seemed no escaping London.
“We clean entire inn before we move in here!” Pocahontas declared. “My people not live in filth! We bathe every day in stream.”
Catherine had read in the news pages about the Princess Pocahontas’s odd habit of bathing daily, which must have seemed very queer to the king, who never bathed or even changed his clothes until they were worn to rags. “I know how to clean,” she said hopefully, “and I could learn to grow food. I helped my mother tend her herb garden.”
Pocahontas paused. “You know how to heal with plants and flowers?”
Catherine nodded. “My mother and grandmother were both naturalists. They taught me how to crush the leaves and flowers and to prepare simples and cures.”
Pocahontas nodded slowly. “You know how to read and write, yes? You know numbers and many English words?”
“Yes,” Catherine nodded eagerly.
“Well . . . then . . . ” Pocahontas sat back. “You come to New World and teach my son Thomas.” She threw off her blanket, hopped to her feet and hurried away. “I go tell John Rolfe I hire proper English tutor for our boy.”