Page 60 of Until My Last Breath

“Aye, aye, Captain. Set studding sails!” Mr Chase repeated to the crew. Immediately, the extra sails were released, capturing the strong wind and adding some valuable knots to their speed.

Darcy and Richard approached the captain, who turned to them with a bemused expression on his face. “It is curious, gentlemen. The sea was as calm as my bath, and now this,” he said, indicating to the sails. “If I was a religious man, I would say God is blowing at us right now. Whether this is the case, I know not, but I will not waste a good blessing.”

~ ♥ ~

“Land, ho!”

Elizabeth was startled from her stupor by the shout. After partiallyrecovering her senses, she stumbled to the porthole and saw a tiny island on the horizon.

Her long and painful confinement, the up and down of the small ship and lack of fresh air during their sea journey, had caused a terrible headache and nausea, and she had vomited several times.

Barely able to stay on her feet, Elizabeth went to the table and poured some water in the bowl to wash her face. The reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall was not the most welcome one. She looked terrible; she felt terrible. Not having the means to brush her hair or have a proper bath for three days, and having passed God knows how many hours in company with that rotten hay mattress and the smelly chamber pot, twice filled with her urine and many others with her vomit, her smell could kill a pig.

Despite her pitiful situation, she laughed. At least her appearance would surely keep any man away.

The door opened, and Mr Fisher came in. “I brought you some tea. We’ll dock in about one hour. Be prepared to leave—”

“How long have we been sailing?” Elizabeth interrupted before Mr Fisher could leave again.

He stared at her. “About fifteen hours. The winds, although strong, were not in our favour.” And with those words he left.

Fifteen hours! No wonder she was feeling so bad.

Recovering from her shock, she remembered his order. As if she had anything to prepare. She did not believe she could keep anything in her stomach, but she drank the tea.

One hour later, the sound of men shouting told her of their proximity to the port. She went to the porthole, but it was facing the sea. More men were talking, some more shouting, strange noises, bumps, and then silence. They had moored.

She looked around searching for something, anything that she could use to escape, but it was too late. Wickham was at her door with a stern expression on his face.

“Come.”

She did not obey. He roughly reached for her hand, putting it in the crook of his arm. From inside his coat, he poked her with his dagger. “Shhh. Not a single word. There is no one here to help you,” he said, pulling her through the small cabin door.

As they stepped off the boat, Mr Fisher gave her one last look, but did not say anything. When she looked back, his eyes were still on her, but she knew he would not help. Soon he was out of sight as they walked along the extension of the small port.

Saint Anne’s port was not big or busy. Apart from a few small vessels and fishing boats, there were just a couple of large ships.

Mr Fisher’s son ran towards them from the opposite direction. “Mr Wickham, Captain Macedo is waiting for you in his cabin. It is the last big ship over there.”

Wickham said nothing but nodded. He glanced at Elizabeth, who noticed the small beads of sweat on his upper lip.

“Is this the meeting you have been fearing—”

The sharp point of the dagger reminded her of his initial order. Wickham looked at her and shook his head, pulling her along again.

As they approached the ship, a short, tanned man came to greet them.

Digory.

“Ah! Mr Wickham, nice to see you again.El Capitan te aguarda. Please, your weapons.” He inspected Wickham’s clothes and confiscated his pistol and dagger. Before Elizabeth could think about escaping, the tanned little man grabbed her arm. “Señorita, por aqui,” he said, pointing to the plank which connected the pier to the ship.

Once on board, she noticed some other dirty gazes staring at her hungrily. She swallowed hard as they were admitted into the captain’s cabin. The small man released her arm and closed the door behind him.

Despite the large windows, the room was dark, and smelled of tobacco and something acrid. The few pieces of furniture were scattered around the room: a bed in the far corner, many chairs and two tables. By the smaller one, crowded with paper and strange objects, two men stood; another man, scarred and bearded, sat behind it, writing.

Noticing their presence, he put down his quill and stood, walking in their direction. By his haughty demeanour Elizabeth could only guess he was Captain Macedo.

His tanned skin was wrinkled with white marks around the eyes, and many white hairs tinted his dark, untamed curls at his temples. Now close enough to notice the smell of rum and cigars in his breath, Elizabeth raised her gaze and his black and penetrating eyes told her of a merciless man used to having his every whim attended to, as did the menacing yellowish smile now forming at his mouth. He was not a tall man, just a bit taller than her, but his tight jacket and breeches denounced his strength.

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