Final Debt (Indebted #6)(48)

I might have a grandson, but I maintained myself. I looked better than most of the whores downtown.

“What did you hear, Grandmamma?”

I smiled. “The street criers said the man from Genoa—the explorer, Christophorus Columbus—has set out on his second journey. They say not since the Vikings has anyone been so brave to risk the dangerous seas and commit a voyage to new worlds.” My voice rose with eagerness. “His successful first journey has inspired many ship merchants to follow in his stead. Exploration is the new wealth, William. Those who risk will come back with untold treasure and knowledge.”

My heart raced as I recounted what I’d heard on the streets this morning. News from Europe travelled fast, spreading like a disease to infect those who listened. “He took three ships last time. Seventeen this time. Can you imagine, William? Seventeen brave boats to find out what’s yonder over the horizon. He left this morning.” I wished I could’ve seen the departure of such a fleet. To have travelled to Spain and waved a white handkerchief in good luck.

William smiled indulgently, his cheekbones slicing through his short beard. “Grandmamma, you need to give up these fantasies of leaving. We live here.” He stood, using the tea towel to pull out handmade bread from the crackling fireplace. “I know you don’t like it here. I know you and your family didn’t find happiness. But it’s all I know.”

William took after his father. And just like Bennett, he was a quiet soul. He preferred to be gentle and kind, rather than battle and wage war on what was rightfully his.

“We might live here, but I refuse to die here.” I crossed my arms. “I’m leaving this country one way or another, and you’re coming with me.”

He shook his head, smiling softly. He was used to my rambling of finding a better life, a better world. I would give anything to move. To seek what we were owed after such tragedy.

“It’s a nice idea. But this is our life.” He winced as he sat back down—his body already overused even at such a tender age. I didn’t want him labouring to an early grave when I had the gumption to find a way to deliver a splendid upper-class life.

Standing, I fumbled in my skirts for my one saving grace. I’d worked for decades to acquire such a sum. I never went anywhere without it and hid it within my petticoats.

Money.

Enough for two passages on the next boat leaving port.

Moving around the table, I handed him the meagre purse that offered so much. “We’re leaving this place, William. There won’t be any arguments. We’re going to make our fortune and only then will we ever come back.”



Eight weeks and counting.

Almost half of those passengers who’d boarded and paid for a hammock in the rat-infested bowels of the ship, Courtesan Queen, had died. My gums bled. My stomach wouldn’t hold food. And my eyes only saw blurs and shadows rather than vibrant pictures.

But England was far, far away from us.

The ship had no final destination. No advice on where they would deposit us. But I hadn’t cared. I believed in fate, and would rather die chasing my dreams than sitting at home never brave enough to try.

True to my word, I’d bought us passage on the next departing boat. The seafarers had seen Christophorus Columbus’ triumphs and raced to chase him. When I offered money and my body in exchange for a safe journey, the captain had agreed.

We’d left the very next day. No belongings. Nothing but hope in our hearts.

I’d either condemned us to die at sea, forever lost beneath the waves, or set us free for a better future.

I just wished seasickness hadn’t made my new life such a misery.

Groaning, I grabbed the pail again, retching as another swell rocked the creaking vessel.



Twelve weeks.

Even more of us had died. Storms had come and battered the crew and ship. But still we bobbed and travelled.

Sunshine broke through the clouds, granting nutrition in the form of its heated rays. William lost weight. He looked like a walking skeleton, but I was no better. My ribs had become so sharp, my skin bruised where they stretched my sides. I’d lost teeth due to rotting gums and my vision sputtered with useless blurs.

But hope still blazed.

We were owed happiness. I had no doubt we would be paid.



Fourteen weeks after leaving mother England, my hope was justified.

Land.

Sweet, life-giving land.

The next few days gave new energy to the ship and its remaining inhabitants. Celebration ran rife and excitement levels gave us the final push to reach salvation.

The first steps on terra firma lifted my heart like nothing else could. I’d made it. I’d left hell and found heaven. Here, my grandson would find a better life. I owed him that.

Only, I didn’t know how hard this new world would be.



For three long years, we lived in squalor and hardship. Our newfound existence turned out to be no better than England. Instead of buildings, we lived in huts. Instead of food, we had to hunt and kill. And instead of streets, there were dirt tracks and violence.

However, every day William thrived. He shed the shy baker from England and transformed into a warrior matching the courage of the black-skinned neighbours of our new home. They taught him how to track and trap. They taught him their language, and eventually, adopted us into their tribe.

Once accepted, we made the choice to return with them to their home. We had nothing holding us in the port town and agreed to make the pilgrimage to their village. It took weeks of travelling by foot. My old age slowly caught up with me and eating had become a chore with very few teeth from bad nutrition on the boat over. My body was failing, but I hadn’t achieved what I’d promised.