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CATHERINE COULD HARDLY believe her ears. Suddenly it dawned on her that if John Rolfe agreed to his wife’s plan, she would have to leave for the New World with only the clothes on her back. With gossip rife amongst the servants, were she to tell the Montcrief footmen she would not be returning home, the entire household would know her whereabouts in minutes. When Lord Montcrief came home that night, he would instantly be told she was not there and also where she’d been taken. He would send someone to fetch her, or worse, come for her himself and drag her back.
She had no time to think further for, in seconds, Pocahontas returned with her husband. Catherine stood up as John Rolfe, a tall man with wavy brown hair, approached. The smile on his face was indulgent as he regarded his pretty little wife, talking animatedly beside him as she walked quickly in order to keep up with his long strides.
“M’wife tells me you are a teacher and that you wish to come to the New World.”
“Yes, sir, I do!”
Pocahontas resumed her seat by the fire and pulled the warm blanket about her shoulders. Rolfe was momentarily distracted as he turned a concerned gaze on his wife. “I fear you may have taken a chill, my dear. Perhaps you should let your women get you to bed. It will be time to board the ship soon. The ocean voyage will not be kind.”
Catherine gazed with concern at the lovely Indian girl, but with her brown skin, it was difficult to tell whether or not her cheeks were flushed.
In a flurry of activity several dark-skinned women rushed in, and soon Pocahontas had bidden both her husband and Catherine good night. To Catherine she said, “I see you on ship tomorrow, my sister.” Then she was bundled off to bed.
Rolfe turned again to Catherine. “My wife and I considered leaving our boy behind to be educated in England, but he is such a mite, she cannot bear to part with him, nor can I. A proper English tutor is the perfect answer. Other children in the colonies need learning, so your talents may prove of value to many. Are you prepared to leave at once?”
Catherine’s mind whirled. “Do I have time to return home and collect a few things?” she asked breathlessly.
“We leave at first light. I plan to work through the night, seeing that everything is loaded . . . our belongings and the supplies we are taking back to the colonists. You may take one of the carriages at our disposal, and when you are ready, board ship tonight. Our cabins are secured on the George, but there are three ships in the fleet. It may be you will be given a berth on one of the other barks.” He moved to a small desk and bent to scribble a few words on a scrap of paper. “See that one of the ship’s officers gets this.”
Catherine could scarcely fathom her good fortune. Pulling her cloak tighter about her shoulders, she turned toward the door.
“Another item of import.” From an inside pocket of his doublet, Rolfe withdrew what appeared to be a list. “I need your name for the ship’s log.” He dipped the quill into the inkwell and gazed up expectantly.
Catherine hesitated. The ship’s log, containing the names of all the passengers on board ship, often appeared in the London news pages. “Catherine . . . Fielding.” In a flash of inspiration, she blurted out her maternal grandmother’s surname instead of her own. Were Lord Montcrief to scan the ship’s log in the news pages, the name Fielding would not give him pause.
She heard Rolfe’s pen scratching as he wrote.
“I have my passage voucher, sir.” She fumbled through the folds of her cloak.
“Not necessary. You are now one of our party.” Straightening, he glanced at her apparel. “I suggest you bring along warmer clothing, Miss Fielding. Heavy woolens, a snug bed rug, and . . .” his eyes flicked toward her feet, shod only in lightweight kid slippers “. . . a pair of sturdy boots. There are no shops in Jamestown to purchase things you will need.”
“Indeed, sir. I am indebted to both you and your wife.”
“We are indebted to you, Miss Fielding. May God grant us a safe voyage.”
Once outside, Catherine bid her waiting footmen to go on ahead without her, telling them her friends would see her home. Moments later, she and two of the Rolfes’ female servants climbed into a small closed carriage and headed for The Strand. Barely able to contain her excitement, Catherine forced her mind to think ahead to what she would need in order to survive harsh winters in the New World.
Nearing the Montcrief town home, Catherine instructed the driver to halt the coach a bit away from the front entrance. Her thoughts raced ahead as she hurried along the footpath. She rang the bell so at least the footman who flung open the door could attest to the fact that she had, indeed, returned home that evening. Then she rushed up the steep stairs to her own chamber, intent on making quick work of what lay ahead. The most pressing problem was how to procure a pair of stout boots, something she had never owned in her life.
Fortunately, she had already packed her valise this morning, so that saved precious time. She stuffed in a heavy gray duroy coat, her hairbrush, her Bible, and her well-thumbed Anglican Prayer Book. She decided if she wore both of her lightweight fustian gowns beneath her cloak that would leave room for the heavy old bed rug folded up on the bottom shelf of the cupboard. With it inside, the satchel would just barely close. After finally getting the bag fastened, it was far too heavy to lift. And she still didn’t have a pair of sturdy boots.
Her mind whirled. To leave the house and ask one of the Indian women who had accompanied her in the Rolfe carriage to come inside and help with the heavy bag would only rouse suspicion. Chewing fretfully on her lower lip, she sat down on the bed. When a fresh idea struck, she leapt to her feet and raced again to the cupboard.
Moments later, she slipped into the corridor carrying a pair of her prettiest slippers and the new silk stockings Lucinda had given her as a wedding gift. Glancing furtively about, she knocked lightly on the door adjacent to hers. Soon a sleepy-eyed girl about Catherine’s age opened the door. Heftier in size, she spent her days lifting and toting heavy buckets of water and coal up and down the stairs.
“Nancy,” Catherine whispered, “I need your help.”
“What be the trouble, miss?” The servant girl yawned widely.
“I need a pair of stout boots.” She held up the dainty slippers. “I’d be much obliged if you’d take these in exchange for the new boots you received last quarter day.”
Coming more fully awake now, Nancy tilted her tousled head to one side. “Now what you be needing boots for, miss? Ye be going somewheres?”
Catherine flinched, but said nothing.
The servant girl didn’t press for an answer, just snatched the slippers and stockings from Catherine’s hands and disappeared into her darkened chamber. Catherine couldn’t see a thing, but she heard muffled sounds and, in what seemed like an eternity, Nancy finally reappeared, fully clothed now and wearing her own new boots. In her hands were an identical pair.
“Here.” She handed the boots to Catherine. “I put your slippers under Mary’s side o’ the bed. Her feet be more your size.” She turned to scoop something else into her arms and stepped from the room. “I knows ye be a-goin’ to the New World, miss, an’ I be a-goin’ with ye.” She thrust her chin up. “I know’s ye been unhappy here. I’s heard ye a-cryin’ into yer pillow. I’s as unhappy here as you are. Now seems a good time for me to be a-leavin’ too.”
Catherine’s eyes widened. “But, Nancy . . . ” She gazed from the maidservant’s determined face to the parcel she carried, but didn’t argue, just turned and led the way to her own chamber. In moments the pair reemerged, Catherine carrying Nancy’s smaller bundle, Nancy, not even breathing hard, toting Catherine’s heavy bag. Both girls wore sturdy brown leather boots laced clean to the ankles.
As they tiptoed down the steep back stairs, Nancy paused when they reached the ground floor. “Wait here, miss.” She set her heavy burden down and disappeared again.
Catherine’s eyes rolled skyward. They’d come this far without awakening or disturbing anyone in the household. What was Nancy up to now? In seconds the girl reappeared carrying yet another small parcel.
“Thought of sumthin’ important we be a-needin’, miss.” She grinned mischievously as she tucked the package under one arm, then hefted Catherine’s heavy bag off the floor.
The two girls noiselessly slipped from the rear of the house, and in no time, both were settled inside the dusty black carriage awaiting them a few yards down the cobbled street.
The vehicle sped through the night towards the busy quay at the mouth of the Thames. The dockside teemed with activity as sailors and journeymen scrambled to fill longboats with goods and supplies which were then loaded onto one of the three hulls rising like phantoms from the murky black water.
Once the four women, Catherine, a wide-eyed Nancy, and the two Rolfe servants who’d accompanied them, had been rowed to one of the ships and helped aboard, Catherine presented the note John Rolfe had given her to the first ship’s officer she saw. All four women were ushered below the main deck into a cramped space on the starboard side of the ship. The cabin was far smaller than Catherine expected, and it contained no furniture. The oil lamp swinging from the midshipman’s hand illuminated the tunnel-like room, lined on either side with a double row of what looked to be wooden troughs. The Indian women seemed to know the troughs were beds and claimed two by dropping their bundles of belongings onto them.
Catherine and Nancy exchanged puzzled looks, then selected a pair of side-by-side troughs and placed their possessions squarely in the middle. Elsewhere in the room, the Indian women unrolled their thick bed rugs, then, rolling themselves back up inside, promptly fell asleep. Catherine and Nancy fumbled in the darkness even as others of the Rolfes’ female servants filtered into the cramped compartment, wordlessly selected their sleeping quarters and settled in for the night.
“I not be a’tall sleepy,” Nancy whispered to Catherine.
“Nor am I,” Catherine replied, still trying to peer through the darkness to inspect their surroundings.
“I think I shall have a walk-about,” Nancy announced importantly, which made both girls giggle.
“I’ll stay here and guard our things,” Catherine whispered back. “Be careful and don’t get lost,” she cautioned just as Nancy tripped over an empty trough on her way to the door.
It was only when Nancy disappeared that Catherine realized she’d brought along another person without express permission to do so, and that Nancy’s name had not been added to the ship’s log, or her passage paid. But, she assumed there would be plenty of time to straighten the matter out in the morning, and she would gladly forfeit her voucher to settle Nancy’s account.
Early the next morning, a loud rap at the cabin door awakened both girls. Suddenly it flew wide open, and a midshipman stepped inside. In a flat, unemotional tone, the man delivered a terse message.
“Mistress John Rolfe, the Princess Pocahontas, is dead.”