18Chapter 5: Lure of the Isle
Cynthia held her breath as heavy footsteps passed her door. Her small frame had been pressed against the door for several minutes. Her sharp ears had caught snippets of conversation through the thick doors, and she had a general gist of the situation. Her mind carefully dissected it, which left her with results that unsettled her.
Matthew was in enormous debt to his brother. Not only that, but he'd committed serious damage to his brother judging by his tone of voice.
It narrowed down to Michael, the rude, yet innocent gentleman on one side, and Matthew, the cruel swindler on the other. She grimaced, her thoughts turning wistful at Matthew's gentle actions after settling on level ground with her. Well that was destined to change one way or another.
Despite mulling over the circumstances, it remained hazy as to why her presence on the ship was preferred to Matthew's. Of course, she wasn't a swindler, but neither was she a seasoned sailor. And didn't she have a right to leave if she wished it? Honestly, these men were too cocky.
A faint sound interrupted her thoughts. She pressed her ear against the door once more. Had she imagined it?
Curious, Cynthia opened her door and slipped into the dark passage. Feeling her way across, her fingers found the rough line of wood framing the opposite door. Eagerly, she pressed her ear against it.
Silence.
Brows furrowed in concentration, she pressed closer, laying her palms against the door. By now, she was depending on the door for full balance. Of course, she never expected the door to open so abruptly. If the thought had even crossed her mind, she would have backed at least an inch away from the door, which certainly would have prevented her unabashed plummet into a strong chest and pair of slender, yet strong arms.
Although she found herself thoroughly comfortable in Michael's arms, Cynthia hastily pushed away. She had her dignity. It wasn't as difficult a task, because Michael had simultaneously shoved her away as though she were some sort of pestilence.
Lamplight shone dully from his room, illuminating his figure and sending a hellish glow across his shoulders. The small gold hoop at his ear glinted dangerously. Cynthia choked on sudden laughter. An earbob glinting dangerously. How pathetic was that? Maybe the fact that it was nearly dawn left her mind utterly deranged.
He appeared unaffected by her laughter. Cynthia decided to enlighten him. "Your earring," she gestured to it. "Has it ever crossed your mind that it looks dangerous in such unsteady light? Can you imagine a piece of jewelry to be dangerous? As ridiculous as it seems-"
"Miss Manning, the only ridiculous article present is you." His voice was cold, his expression, she guessed, stony.
Never had a person spoken with such calm cruelness to her. She preferred fiery rage and vehement shouting to controlled anger and scorn. Had she realized the consequences of conversing with him, she would never have spoken two words to the man. Blast, and it hurt like a bruise that would scar for life. And he'd called her an article. A mere object, for heaven's sake! The man possessed no heart.
In her shocked silence, she didn't comprehend walking up the narrow steps and onto the deck. Thankfully, it was empty. As the shock loosened its grip on her, she made her way to the handrail and leaned against it. Once again, she sifted through her thoughts and made her decision.
She would leave upon arriving at Judd. There was no need to bring the crew or feuding captains into the matter. After all, the only one she could depend on now was herself.
As they docked just after noon, Cynthia could feel the resistance of the waves and gentle hand of the wind and strength of skilled sailors defying it. Thankfully, the crew was too involved in their work to notice Cynthia slipping away into her little closet. Knowing that Ewell wouldn't mind the loss of a set of clothes too petite for him, she slipped into the dark tunic and breeches. She bundled up the nightgown and set it inside the closet. Perhaps another unlucky victim would be in dire need of it. She folded her sheets and set them beside the flimsy gown. Retrieving the broach she'd won from Angus, she stealthily slipped onto the deck. Knowing that the crewmembers were occupied with unloading the ship, she slipped into their quarters and set it down on the unsteady table upon which they'd played cards.
Finally, she headed for the closet where the chamber pot had been and rummaged through the various articles of scrap until finding what she needed. Using the thin strip of gray cloth, she twisted it around her head like a band, sweeping away the stray curls.
Now came the tricky part: Getting herself off the ship unnoticed. She looked over the deck, and her breath caught.
The colorful mesh of buildings and palms on the warm isle were pleasing to the eye, but the scent was possibly indescribable. Alluring spices-cinnamon, basil, coriander-along with the steamy aroma of baking goods, and the unique scent of the sea produced a heady fragrance. The lively chatter of people and crowds streaming along the streets gave a fresh, vibrant feel to the town. Even from her position on the Seamaster, Cynthia could see boutiques and shops lining hills. Trees of effervescent emerald peered from the rear of the town. Her gaze drifted down. The waves tenderly caressed the gleaming golden sand, leaving trails of foam and revealing locations of tiny shells and mollusks.
Cynthia nearly leapt for the harbor, eager to join the multitude of people, yearning to discover the miniature treasures hidden in the sand, craving the sight of lush palms and dazzling fruits in hidden coves. She ignored her bare feet completely and set off down the ladder. After jumping onto the dock, she swayed, clutching a post for balance. Her land legs had yet to return. Damn.
Steadying herself, she took a tentative step. After taken a few more and releasing the post, she slowly made her way to the inviting sand.
Before her foot could even lift to feel the lovely warmth, a voice stopped her. Matthew. She pivoted, seeing him approaching with a queer expression on his face.
"You're not to leave the Seamaster. Captain's orders," he said bitterly.
She frowned. "I believe I'm independent enough to care for myself. I flatly refuse to obey a man who views me as an object of perpetual ownership. Now leave me be."
Much to her surprise, he chuckled. "So you've fallen to the enchantments of Judd, have you? I would enjoy escorting you on the island."
"I wouldn't."
He appeared taken aback. "You wouldn't?"
"Certainly not by a blatant fraud."
Matthew's expression darkened. "Found my little secret, have you? Fortunately, I'm receiving my punishment presently. Maybe I haven't been able to redeem myself in the past, but I hardly regret the chances I've never taken." He emitted a harsh laugh completely devoid of humor. "I only regret one thing in my life. Even if my brother was able to forgive, never would I be able to forgive myself."
Cynthia felt the sudden urge to reach out and comfort him. To take him into her arms and coo and soothe until his aches ebbed away. She knew she couldn't, though. He was a fraud. A thief. Yet the punishment his brother was weighing on him was nothing compared to the beating received from his emotions and mentality.
"I'm sorry, Matthew," she said quietly.
"You and the rest of them," he snarled. "The devil with you lot. Remember, Cynthia Manning, in this world, you can only depend on yourself." With that, he stalked away.
Cynthia gazed after him. Those words reflected her thoughts all too clearly.
Her bare feet were dry and coated with a smooth dust from the luxurious sand when she approached a street that boasted the most satisfying baked goods on the island. Despite her ragged attire, bakers called prices to her and other passerby. When the rich scents finally alerted her empty stomach, she stopped and gazed about unsurely.
All around, appetizing treats glowed in the sunlight on large trays and tables. The woman in the booth closest to her was tugging her sleeve and boasting about her display of bread and peach pies.
"I'm sorry." She grimaced. It seemed as though she was repeating herself one too many times today. "I have no money."
The woman gawked at her in pure distaste. "Then go! Do your job and come buy my tasty pies later."
Cynthia frowned. "My job?"
The woman had the grace to blush slightly. "You know, what you girls on the streets do best. There are handsome sailors on the next road who would-"
"I am not a prostitute!" Jerking away, Cynthia dashed through the street, pausing at the curve to rest. Did she look anything like a bloody prostitute? Was that the only way to earn money in such areas?
No. Cynthia already knew the answer. Her childhood had shown the lifestyle that people lived in trading towns. Three types of people existed, four including the Lord or Lady and their family. First came the beggars, then the working class, and finally the wealthy. A girl was able to live richly if her roots contained hard workers and good names.
Cynthia had originally been a worker. Apparently, another class existed.
The prostitutes.
She shuddered. Never would she sink that low.
As she stood and turned the corner, Cynthia was oblivious to just what lay a few feet away.
Hi-ho. How is everyone? :D Long time no update. Sorry about that. :/ Got caught up in life, and plus, school's starting pretty soon. Ouch.
This chapter isn't as lengthy as the others, and is mostly description and a lot of thinking. I thought it deserved a tiny break before some of the action begins, and I also wanted to clear a few things up. If you're still confused, feel free to ask questions and criticize.
I've also started yet another story, The Devil and I. I'll probably have the next chapter for that rolled out within the next two days. It's more of a quirky, comical story. By the way, I'd also like to know who your favorite character is and why. It's a bit early, but I'm still curious. :P
Thank you: Kay, Anonymous, Sahara Hayden, Aims80, Dreaming-angel15, eh... (Haha. XP), Anony., Silver Phoenix11, and Meyna.
Cookies for all you reviewers. :D
-M.T. Duhaime