"Then next time I shan't catch him so easily," Cavendish said.
"If at all, Captain," said de Ersola, and Cavendish smiled.
De Ersola glanced at Catherine. "You say nothing, señora."
"I like to listen," she said. "I truly do. What lives you lead!"
De Ersola said, "And you, too. Tomorrow, you shall be wakened before dawn, and you shall be moved to that beach. I'm going to take you back aboard now, Catherine."
"Now?" she said.
"Now," he said. "You are white and tired. You need sleep. For that matter, so do I." The night before, confined to quarters, he had paced the small cabin while Flores had slept uneasily.
"We've enjoyed your hospitality, Captain," de Ersola said.
"We have, señor," Catherine said. She held out her hand and Cavendish took it; she felt his lips against her skin. She moved with de Ersola toward the ladder.
In the boat, they waited for the others to join them. Cavendish's figure stood on deck as he said good night to the other men and women. Then the boat pulled away from the Desire.
De Ersola escorted Catherine to her cabin. In front of the door he said, low, "Do not forget now, Catherine, I've warned you."
"Si," she said. "Gracias."
He took her hand; his eyes were tender, and there was a regretful cognizance in them. He had started to ask her an outright question, but he did not, for he knew the answer. Instead he said, "Sleep well, Catherine."
"Tomas," she whispered.
He smiled. He turned away slowly, and she closed the cabin door. Tina, her Filipino woman, slept on her mat; so did her daughter,
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on her side of the big bed. Catherine tiptoed over to the lamp that Tina had left burning. There was enough fuel left.
Catherine took her dress off carefully. She got out her needles and thread and a pair of silver scissors. From a box, she took all her white shifts, and began to pull out the hems. Once that was done, she opened her money case, and into the hems of the white underwear she started to sew the precious gold. In the lace apron of a satin dress went her pearls; in the starched collar of a ruff went a ruby ring and three pairs of diamond earrings. But it was the gold that was most important.
She worked swiftly, her needle flashing in the light. Her head was bent over her work; this was all the wherewithal she had, and she must hide it from the English. Tomorrow, de Ersola had warned her, they would search her boxes for gold and jewels; they would find nothing but these few trinkets, and ten pieces of gold. She had told them she was poor. They would believe that this was all she had. They must, else she would be set down penniless, and she would never get to Spain. Did she need to leave ten pieces of gold for the English? But less would arouse curiosity. She had only one hundred pieces; it hurt badly to leave ten of them to be found.
The lamp was going out and she was almost finished. She looked up once again to make sure neither her daughter nor Tina had awakened and seen her. They must not know. Both were asleep.
She took the last stitch, snapped the thread in her fingers, and picked up the case of jewelry again. There was nothing left in it now but the locket that she had worn tonight, and a few almost worthless trinkets. Quickly she emptied her ten pieces of gold into the bottom of the box, and locked it. She must dispose of the other box that had held the money. She turned out the flickering lamp.
On deck all was dark and silent. She dropped the empty box overboard. It splashed into the water and she took to her heels, flying back across the deck, gaining her own cabin, now dark and close.
She had done it, and she pulled a quilt over herself as she stretched in the bed. It was the last night she would have this luxury. She reached out a hand to touch little Catherine tenderly: the child stirred sleepily. "Good night," she whispered. "Good night."
Chapter VIII
Catherine was awakened the next morning at five o'clock. There was a knocking on the door; it was still dark, and there was no fuel left in the lamp. She wakened Tina and Catherine, and they had just finished dressing when the door burst open and two English seamen walked into the cabin. It was now barely gray with daylight. They stared at her openly, not speaking.
Catherine took her daughter's hand in hers. "What do you want?" she asked in English.
One pointed. "Your boxes. Captain's orders."
"Oh," said Catherine. "Take them, then."
"You'll come up on deck, madam," the other said. "The Captain's in a hurry, and your boats are ready."
Catherine motioned to Tina to follow, and hurried up on deck after the two men who carried her boxes. They set them down on deck in front of Master Pretty.
"Good morning, madam," he said stiffly. This morning he was not the shy man to whom she had spoken at dinner, but an impersonal enemy first officer. He was opening the first box.
"That contains my child's clothes, and my petticoats, and such," Catherine said evenly.
"I see it does," said Pretty, closing the lid and waving his hand. The box was packed up and Catherine watched it disappear over the side.
"And that contains my own clothes, sir," Catherine said, trying to be calm. "Are you looking for gold?"
Pretty nodded. He pushed aside dress after dress. He was satisfied. That box also Catherine watched, as they picked it up and took it away. The next box contained the jewel case. It was buried down beneath Catherine's linens. Pretty found it and hauled it out, snapping open the lid. This box he handed without a word to Tyler, who was on the other side of him.
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"There is nothing else in there except my linen, some material and, in this box," she pointed, "a few bits of silver from the East."
Pretty, undiverted and thorough, opened it and looked through it "You may keep all silver," he said.
"And that contains my painting," Catherine said, "my oils, brushes and pigments."
Pretty saw that it did. Small Catherine was watching him with interest. "You may leave now, madam," he said.
Catherine said, "Thank you, sir." She had not released her child's hand, and she started across to the narrow ladder and the boat waiting beneath it.
Pretty turned to the next woman who waited alongside her belongings. Catherine had a last look at him, bending over another box, and pride went through her, for on that deck the Spanish women waited impassively, while around them were English seamen watching. More women had come up on deck; their eyes went from the English to the lonely strip of sandy beach and the line of gray-white tents. Catherine went down the ladder slowly; she heard Pretty's voice coming sharply, and she said to the seaman who was staring at her ankles, "Will you lift my little girl down, please?"
When Catherine sat at her side, she put her arm around her and held her close. Tina came down gingerly, and they waited. The boat bumped the Santa Anna.
Arabella came next, with her mother and servants. Then a family—mother, father and two daughters. No one spoke. Once, the father, a merchant, whispered a word to his wife. The boat pulled evenly to shore.
The beach onto which Catherine stepped was white and smooth and hard now, at ebb tide. About a hundred yards away the river tumbled into the bay, and the sun was coming over the low mountains to the east; the sky was turning blue, and the waters of the bay had lost their grayness and were the singular color of the sea, an opaque and almost cobalt blue. The air smelled fresh and sweet.
The line of tents was back from the beach, under the pine trees, in clearings which had been made by felling the smaller trees for tent poles; there were about thirty tents stretching between the river and the spot where the boat had landed Catherine. Just beside her feet was a big fire pit; she skirted it and started down the beach after the two seamen who were carrying her boxes.