France. Henry. Palmer vowed to make it his business to advise the King of Edward’s sickening treatment of Theodosia. He, Palmer, might have lost her forever to the church. To stomach that was bad enough. But allow another man to use her for his own ends? Never.
CHAPTER 29
Stood on the rear deck of the heavily laden Stella Maris, Theodosia watched the port of Southampton recede into the distance. Its noise and business had faded to a sprinkle of lights against the darkness of the mainland. Above, the crescent moon sat in a sky frosted with a million stars.
A couple of yards away, the captain, Jacob Donne, stood at the tiller, absorbed in steering his craft. The other three crew members had gone below as soon as the ship had caught the tide and was under way.
“You should go below, Sister,” said Donne. “It’s powerful cold up here after a while.”
“I should like to stay for a little while longer if I may.” She gestured to the dark water. “I never realized the sea was this big.” She felt foolish as she said it, but Donne nodded in acknowledgment.
“Not seen it before?” he said.
“No, and I never will again.”
“Then make the most of it. Mind, what you see here might look big, but it’s still the harbor. Once we get out onto the open water, ’tis like there’s no end to it.”
Her mother emerged from the ladder that led below and climbed out with care.
“Oh, my goodness.” Amélie tottered to join Theodosia and clutched for the rounded wooden rail. “It’s so unsteady.”
“It’s fine, Mama. There is scarcely a movement.”
“Then you must get your sea legs from your father,” said Amélie. “Believe me, there’s plenty moving.”
Theodosia drew in a deep, slow breath through her nostrils. The fresh, salty sea air, so different out here compared with the rank smells of the port, came as sheer delight. It was clean, pure. Like she would be.
“We have a meal waiting below,” said Amélie. “Brother Edward sent me up to fetch you.”
Theodosia tore her gaze from the ebony ocean and the mirrored moon with reluctance. Were she given a choice, she would stay up here all night. But it wasn’t only the appeal of the sea keeping her from her meal. When she went below, she would have to face Benedict, be in his company, yet remain utterly aloof. It seemed an impossible task. When she’d rejected him in the hostel, his dark eyes had blazed with anger. But she’d also seen hurt, pain, bewilderment. If she could have, she would have taken him in her arms, consoled him, comforted him. She could not. She’d chosen her path, made her promises to God. Benedict would have to heal alone, and, Lord help her, so would she.
Her mother staggered and gasped as she crossed the deck. Close behind, the sway of the ship beneath Theodosia’s feet felt completely natural. Her body seemed to know how to handle the pitch and roll as if by instinct. Maybe this did come from her father.
She waited as her mother climbed below, then swung around to follow. Her father. The King. She’d see him in a couple of days. Her heart tripped faster. She wasn’t sure which made her more nervous, Henry’s being her sovereign or being the father she’d never known.
The smell of boiled fish wafted from a small room to her left. Her mother entered first, and she followed.
Benedict and Edward were already seated in heavy silence, elbows propped on the table. An oil lamp suspended from a ceiling hook swung gently above them and sent shadows to and fro across their faces.
“At last. Civil company.” Benedict raised a full goblet to them. “Good evening to you, Sisters.”
“Good evening,” said Amélie with a final lurch for her seat.
Theodosia frowned to herself as she took her place. Both men were drinking, a large stone wine bottle at each of their elbows. But Benedict must have consumed a great deal. His face shone with sweat, and he had a foolish, set look on his face. He glanced at her briefly, then looked away, his expression unaltered.
Edward too had a goblet of wine but seemed well in control of himself.
A large covered pottery dish sat on the table, along with four small bread trenchers. Edward reached forward and removed the lid, releasing a cloud of fishy steam that he savored with a long sniff. “Now let us say our grace, because the Lord needs to be thanked for such a wonderful feast.”
Once thanks had been made, he served each person in turn.
Theodosia accepted hers with a bowed head, keen to avoid Benedict’s gaze. The plain boiled fillet of mullet sat grayish and plain on the trencher, clear liquid leaking from it. She set to eating the unappetizing repast. While she was hungry, she was also in a state of utter discomfort. She longed to be able to shed her overtight wimple and belt and rid herself of the plaguing wool dress.