The last of the ropes were untied, the anchor weighed and the sails slowly unfurled. Gulls swooped and cawed overhead, their cries competing with those of the sailors clambering up ropes, scurrying across the deck and up and down the stairs between the decks. To stand on the high poop deck of the Odyssey, the two-masted ship of which Matthew was now proud sole owner, brought with it a new appreciation of the water and the crowded banks that dissolved into the distance. The wind brought with it the pungent smells of tar, pitch, brine and the pervasive bouquet of human habitation—Deptford was a large port and carried the sins and graces of all such places. From their position on board, Rosamund could see the long line of houses and businesses, the dry dock where Navy ships were repaired, as well as the numerous berths, many of them empty due to the outbreak of more hostilities. Behind her lay the Isle of Dogs; before them the hill that loomed over Greenwich and, at its foot, Greenwich Palace.
They had feared they wouldn’t be granted leave to travel because of Dutch aggression and the King’s desire to press every man and every ship into service. However, Sam had managed to use his connections in the Navy Office and at court to get them the necessary documents, his job made easier when the gentlemen responsible found out they were for the lovely Lady Rosamund, who’d presided over their favorite chocolate house. Nothing was too much trouble.
Rosamund could just make out Sam, Elizabeth, Solomon, Thomas, Grace and Mr. Bender standing on the dock, waving their hands and their hats, and shouting out final messages of farewell that carried across the water despite all the wherries, barges and fishing boats using this part of the river.
They’d made a jolly group as they traveled down to Deptford by barge the day before to meet the ship, which had been refitted over the last few weeks, and proved a demanding party at the lodge where they stayed overnight, almost draining the cellar dry and eating a season’s worth of coneys, eels and mutton, or so the landlady protested. But there’d also been the underlying sadness of imminent farewells.
Rising early to meet the tide, they’d been subdued, especially Sam, whose cheeks were a little green and his eyes bloodshot. Already on board was another group of folk who’d paid a minimum fare for their passage. What they lacked in coin, they made up for in gratitude and willingness to work, both on the journey and once they made landfall.
When Rosamund and Matthew learned that Bianca’s Quakers were being hounded by the authorities, who intended to arrest and transport them, they worked tirelessly to squirrel them out of the city and find safe houses where they could wait until such time as the ship was ready to sail.
After the port authorities had done their final sweep of the ship to ensure the cargo was as stated on the documents and excise had been paid on goods leaving the shores, the passenger manifest scrutinized and matched with those already there, only then were the Quakers smuggled on board under cover of darkness. The Great Fire (as it was now called, though in Rosamund’s mind there would always be two of those) had meant there were also a number of merchants and their families ready to quit the capital for good and seek their fortune elsewhere. Learning a ship was leaving for the colonies in March, they’d sought out Matthew and begged passage. All those applying were questioned closely, and in the end two families, four couples and three merchants came with them.
The passengers were told to be on board two days before sailing, and had stowed their goods and found their bunks, hammocks and, for the wealthier ones, cabins. When they discovered they were sharing the ship with thirty Quaker families as well, Rosamund and Matthew noted their quiet approval for what they were risking to ensure the Quakers’ freedom. It was a pity their tolerance didn’t extend to Bianca as well. As they stood on the deck, Rosamund could sense appraising eyes upon her friend, looks Bianca was all too familiar with and was able to ignore, even if she could not. She would never understand how one could be judged so superficially by the color of their skin. Perhaps it was her own experiences that made her peculiarly sensitive to it, but she preferred to think not. She liked to imagine a world where things like that no longer mattered. She prayed the New World might be that place, even though Matthew had reminded her it was no Utopia, merely another version of what they were leaving behind but without many of the social constraints. In other words, a place where opportunities weren’t so contingent on birth. For the men, at least. For the women, there was still a long way to go.
It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.
The fine mizzle they’d awoken to had long been pushed aside by a cold wind, and a curtain of cerulean was drawn across the heavens as the sun beamed down its warmth, touching their heads and blessing their voyage. The bends in the river obscured most of the city, but the pall of smoke hanging over London from newly erected chimneys and furnaces pinpointed its position as clearly as if God Himself had extended a long, dirty finger. Rosamund wondered if she would miss it very much and decided she wouldn’t. It was the people who cried out their farewells on the dock who would carry a little piece of her heart with them for the rest of their lives. For the rest of hers. She wished she didn’t have to leave them but, just as she saw her future across the seas, theirs was very much here.
Standing taller than Sam now, Solomon and Thomas stood side by side—Solomon, a grave young man with glorious gray eyes and such dedication and talent, had been given a position in the King’s kitchen. Thomas, too, had earned his place. Both of them were to work with chocolate and Sam, who’d helped secure their new roles and promised to watch over them, believed that in time they would rise to become the King’s special chocolate makers. If not for this current regime, he’d whispered, then maybe for the monarchs who followed. Rosamund prayed it was true. It was what Filip hoped for them. It’s what she wished as well.
Dear Filip. Standing beside her, shedding tears without shame or care, he cried out to his son. Unable to secure a position at court due to his Papist ways and a souring of relations with the Spanish court, he’d no choice but to leave lest he be arrested as a spy. Desiring his son avail himself of such a grand opportunity at the court, he insisted Solomon and Thomas remain. There were objections in some quarters at first, but after Matthew had a word with Sir Henry Bennet and raised Rosamund’s name, they magically disappeared. The son would not be punished for the perceived sins of the father.
Rosamund placed an arm around Filip and brought her lips to his ear. “He’ll be fine, you know. They both will be.”
“I know,” Filip wept through his smile. “I know.” She kissed him on the cheek and waved back to those on the shore.
She knew he wasn’t thinking only of his son and the young apprentice who was now a master, but of Jacopo as well. Her thoughts turned in the same direction, and her heart swelled. Jacopo, Mr. Henderson, Robin, Harry, Owen, Cara and all the others who’d meant so much to her and were now with God. It must be hard for Bianca, leaving the place where Jacopo rested eternally. She found her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze; her own was held tightly in return. Whether it was the wind or her thoughts, Bianca’s eyes were suspiciously dewy.
Before she could whisper something to reassure her, Grace raced to the very edge of the dock, cupped her mouth and shouted across the water. “Thank you for the chocolate and stuff!”
Filip shook his head. “The señorita will be a molinillo’s worth of trouble.”
He was not wrong.
A month earlier, Grace had moved in with Mrs. Tosier, Thomas’s aunt, who determined to teach the girl both manners and her letters, much to the young one’s objection. All Grace wanted was to be with Thomas and, if she had to satisfy herself with seeing him on his half days off for the time being, it would suffice. But that girl would carve her own path in life—and Thomas’s, thought Rosamund with a smile. Obsessed with chocolate, Grace was also fixated on Thomas. Rosamund had given her a silver chocolate pot, a molinillo and a lovely porcelain bowl along with some chocolate cakes. Wide-eyed and uncertain how to thank her, having never been given such a glorious gift, Grace threw her arms around Rosamund and wept a storm. As her cries subsided Rosamund had peeled her away and kissed her tearstained face.
“I . . . I’m . . . I’m going to be just like you . . . I am . . . Lady Rosamund. A chocolate maker. Just you wait and see . . .”
Rosamund did not doubt it.
She’d also tried to gift Solomon and Thomas the chocolate-making equipment, but they’d declined.
“The King’s kitchen is well appointed,” said Thomas. “We’ve no need.”
“You and Papa will need it more than us, señora,” said Solomon shyly. “You must take it with you, and thus a part of us, over the seas—take our chocolate to the settlers there.”
This time, it was Rosamund’s turn to cry. She did, however, insist they take a silver chocolate pot and molinillo each.
Unbeknownst to them yet, Rosamund had arranged with Mr. Bender to settle a tidy sum upon all three, enough to secure them a comfortable future—as royal chocolatiers, business owners, or whatever else they might choose to be. A generous dowry ensured Grace could select her own husband and not be subject to what she’d endured, treated as a chattel for men to own, control or dispose of at will. Whatever their hearts desired, they would one day be able to realize, though she suspected, when it came to Thomas, it would be whatever Grace desired. Bless her.
As the wind filled the sails, the distance between them grew and her stomach lurched. She could just see Grace’s quirky hat and the little bunch of mauve and ivory flowers she persistently shoved down the front of her dress. Rosamund wore a matching bunch against her décolletage. Touching it lightly, she knew these tiny white and purple flowers would always make her think of Grace, just as chocolate would always make her think of Jacopo and the young men who’d trained beside her, who along with Filip had helped her through so many setbacks to rise and become a success. She hoped that the wave that had lifted her would keep them all buoyant for a long, long time.
Among those she was leaving behind, it was Sam who stood out. He’d come to join Grace and was standing with her, his hand shielding his eyes. Dear Sam. What an odd and wonderful relation he’d turned out to be. Irrepressible, oft times inappropriate but with a bundle of goodwill, he’d proved the staunchest of friends. All he required was to be listened to and admired. It hadn’t been a difficult exchange. For all his faults and peccadilloes, he was what he was, her cousin, her little naval clerk who, the moment he set eyes upon her, ensured their faint familial connection was made real. She’d miss him.
As the sails snapped she waved madly. The ship was carried forward, around a bend and toward the open sea and their new home. She glanced up at Matthew. He stood behind her, one hand upon her waist, and smiled down at her. Aye, wherever they went, wherever they settled, she’d found home. It wasn’t a place—it was a person. It was Matthew.
Was it justice or irony that those who sought to use her to destroy Matthew were also responsible for this? For them finding each other? Maybe, in the end, God was laughing. The Blithmans were now, in death, recompensing for their mighty, terrible transgressions—each and every one of them.
From the day Mr. Bender revealed her change of fortune, Rosamund decided it was justice of the heavenly kind and didn’t question it further. Satisfied Aubrey’s proof—if it had ever existed—that her marriage to Sir Everard was invalid had burned along with him, she accepted God’s and the Blithmans’ gift gracefully. She would use it to make life better for all those she loved. She’d done what she could for those remaining in London; she would do the same for Matthew, Bianca, Filip, Ashe and Mr. Nick in their new home. She was aware of Bianca soothing Ashe, who looked so nervous being on a ship but would not consider remaining behind. She bestowed a warm smile and silently thanked God for both of them.
Of all the extraordinary things that had happened, and of all the people who’d come into her orbit, it was Wat Smithyman who proved to be strangest. Understanding he’d unwittingly aided and abetted the Blithmans in the most heinous of crimes, now the man could not do enough for her. Like Rosamund, he wanted to shed the skin of his old life, grow a new one—not only in the New World but at the side of the woman and man he’d once mistakenly thought a social-climbing trull and a murderer and despised. Appointed Matthew’s assistant along with Mr. Nick, he’d proved his worth over and over in the weeks leading up to their departure. Before Christmastide, he’d gone ahead to Boston to find a house and premises in which they could start their new venture, and he’d sent word he’d found the most perfect of sites and was even now, as they sailed, preparing them for their arrival. Could Rosamund trust him? Not yet, but knowing Mr. Nick was over there with him did much to soothe her concerns. She would give Wat time. As Mr. Bender said, she now had the luxury of buying as much of it as she wished.
With the exception of one thing . . .
There was one count of time that no one could delay. It was a period God decided and no man or woman could tear asunder. Resting a hand on her stomach, she felt a rush of heat fill her body. Though the child within didn’t show yet, she would be born in a new world, a world where she had both a mother and a father and a ready-made unconventional family to cherish her, give her strength, love, protection and tell her oh-so-many marvelous stories. She would one day know pain—one could not live and grow without it—but not abuse. She would never be abandoned, except to the sunshiny blessedness of wonderment. In her world, curiosity would be her breakfast, imagination her dinner and the dreamy silkiness of chocolate and words her supper.
As she looped her arm through Matthew’s, Rosamund saw the captain approaching. With him was a man in plain garb, a book tucked under his arm.
“Are you ready?” she asked Matthew, the stiff breeze trying desperately to lift off her hat and unravel her hair.
Matthew’s smile broadened. “I’ve been ready since the moment I knew who you really were. My heart.” He bent and captured her lips with his own, withdrawing slowly. She would never grow tired of those eyes, those twilight eyes with their touches of violet. Dazzling, they were filled with a pulsing light and what she knew was love and a healthy respect—all reserved just for her. She felt the familiar bubbling starting deep inside her chest. Dear God, ever since she’d admitted her love for Matthew, that reservoir she’d kept locked away inside her for so many years was refilled day after day. Being with him brought nothing but joy. Forget the wealth, the opportunities the Blithmans had bestowed upon her; the greatest gift they had given her was this man.
God bless the Blithmans, she thought, and with it, the last of the shadows that had haunted her for so many years fled.
Never before had she so many reasons to smile, to laugh with the springtime abandon of her childhood. What would her grandmother say? Master Dunstan? She decided they’d be happy for her—though her grandmother would remind her to maintain her dignity. Oh, fuck dignity, she thought, it’s my wedding day. My day, and she wanted to laugh even more. Even better, she knew this wasn’t the most glorious of days, it was simply one of many that had already been and were yet to come.
To think, Paul Ballister, his thuggish, brutal twins and her uncaring mother had tried to make her see the world through their blighted eyes, as a dark, dismal place where trust was broken, hearts were cruel and bodies and lies were currency. Being married to Sir Everard, learning the extent of his deceits, his family’s sins and their legacy, had almost confirmed it.
Matthew had taught her to see the good in the world again. What was just and true. So had Bianca, by teaching her to read. Oh, she knew there was darkness and horror—dear God, not only had she survived so much of it, but all she had to do was think of Bianca and she was given a staunch and clear reminder of humanity’s capacity for cruelty—and foolishness. Nevertheless, wherever possible, she would try to choose mercy and allow others to see, by her example, the wonder it created.
This was what she’d establish with her new chocolate house. A place where people could come to forget and remember. To forget their troubles and to remember what makes them laugh: companionship, good food, music, poetry, stories, news, gossip; being reminded that for all you might think your life is woeful, there are those who fared far worse.
Matthew had also, through his words, taught her to search for reasons and find answers—and to seek the good even through the evil. Wade through wrong to find right and stand by it. He did that as a correspondent; he did it as Matthew Lovelace, too, making sense of the world, acknowledging that honesty and corruption coexisted, and in the end it’s all down to individual choices. The important thing was to make the right ones.
Matthew was her choice, and she was his. Love had risen from the ashes because, when she was given the chance, she chose well. She almost hadn’t, and that thought terrified her.
“My lady, sir, I believe you know Mr. Hershey,” said Captain Browning, pulling off his hat and introducing a tall man who kept his on. One of the Quakers Bianca knew, Mr. Hershey often acted as spokesperson for the other Friends, and had been instrumental in helping Matthew and Rosamund rescue many beyond Bianca’s group.
“Hope you don’t mind,” said the captain, “but he tells me there are others who wish to bear witness to the ceremony. I said it would be fine, especially now we’re away from Deptford. After all, it’s not every day we have a marriage on board.”
Not only had the other passengers come forward to watch, but as many sailors as possible ceased their tasks. Best of all, coming up from the belowdecks were the rest of the Quakers, blinking in the light and inhaling the fresh river air. They looked toward where Rosamund, Matthew, Filip and Bianca stood, Ashe clutching another bunch of flowers that Grace had thrust into her hands, smiles breaking out on their faces.
Thus it was, as they sailed along the Thames and the sun reached its peak before sliding toward the horizon, that the captain of the Odyssey, watched by his crew, a Spanish chocolate maker, a former slave, rescued Quakers and paying passengers, performed his first marriage.
Rosamund Blithman became Rosamund Lovelace.
Busy exchanging vows with Matthew, she never noticed as they sailed past Gravesend. Her heart and mind were fixed on the man holding her hands and gazing into her eyes with such devotion, a world of sacred promises radiating from his face—and on controlling the laughter that threatened to overcome her and interrupt the ceremony. It was the laughter that comes when hearts’ desires are realized, when the future is sunrises, rainbows, fresh falls of soundless snow and shared burdens.
Unable to hold it back any longer, as they sealed their promises to each other with a long and not-so-chaste kiss, and a cheer rose from all those who’d witnessed the union, Rosamund let it ring out. Uninhibited, otherworldly, it was a clarion. For a moment, silence fell upon the ship before, as one, everybody—even the usually reticent Quakers—threw back their heads and laughed as well. Powerless to resist Rosamund’s joy, the passengers threw their arms around one another, women and girls were swung in wide arcs, their skirts flying up. Children stamped; men cried out in glee. From somewhere came the music of pipes, and dancing commenced. Ashe was swept into the fray before Bianca and then Filip were taken too.
Eyes sparkled, mouths were filled with mirth, hearts and souls soared. The captain guffawed the loudest at the laughing siren on the poop and the bell-like sound she emitted, which announced a God-blessed union like no other.
It was the same laughter a newborn child gave the day she came into the world, not knowing the misery and misfortune that would take her down a sometimes-dark path toward damnation, but understanding in the deep instinctive way that only those who have recently left the abode of angels do, that one day, God willing, all would be set aright.
A devil and an angel would see the beauty in each other and joy would be reborn, tenfold, a hundredfold; joy with all its bittersweet promise.
And love. One could not forget love.
Or a bowl of sweet, dark chocolate.