The Golden Cross (18 page)

After lunch she returned to her easel, breathing deeply of the
humid, hot air in the garden. She was just about to make a bold stroke with her paintbrush when Gusta’s hoarse shout shattered the garden’s quiet. “The children are coming to dinner,” the housekeeper called to the scullery maid, her voice booming through the open windows like a clap of thunder. “Make haste!”

Aidan felt her stomach lurch with the first stroke of the brush. The children were invited for dinner? Surely Heer Van Dyck did not plan to use the occasion for some sort of announcement! She was quite confident that Schuyler’s children would not approve of their father taking a barmaid to wife.

She had scarcely formed the thought when her master himself appeared, a strange and livid hue overspreading his face. “Joffer O’Connor,” he said, nervously fussing with a kerchief at his neck, “I am glad you are here. I have decided to withdraw my offer of marriage. Apparently we were both discomfited by the idea, and I fear the suggestion was made in haste.” A faint glint of humor lit his eyes when he finally met her gaze. “I trust you will believe that the withdrawal is strictly due to my own weakness?” he asked, smiling gently.

“Completely, sir,” she murmured, wiping her paint-splashed fingertips upon her apron. “It was a generous gesture, but one which would not bring you honor. I am sure you would not want someone like me for a wife.”

“Hrumph.” Abruptly he folded his hands behind him and cleared his throat. “You are too harsh in your own judgment, Miss O’Connor. But we shall not speak of this again. There is, however, one thing I must know—are you still willing to consider the voyage? If I can find a way to get you aboard the
Heemskerk
, will you agree to go?”

Aidan turned and studied the smeared painting on her easel. All morning her inner eye had dwelt upon possibilities of the voyage; her brush had transposed the blue, green, and aqua hues of the sea’s heaving surface to the canvas. Her uncertainty was represented there, as well as her fear and her dark memories. But the
sapphire sky was lit by a single beam of radiant sunlight, the hope that would call her out of the past and into a new life.

Heer Van Dyck came up behind her and studied the painting with a keenly appraising eye.

“Well.” Thick emotion clotted his voice. “You have caught it very well, my dear. The deep, unknowable mystery of the sea.”

“Would that we could know it,” she murmured, dipping her brush into one of the jars of water on her easel. “Yes, Heer Van Dyck. If you can find a way, I want to go. I want to work with you.” A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I might even pray for the opportunity to work with you.”

“Very well.” He turned aside, but not before she caught the glimmer of wetness upon his lashes. Which had affected him, her work or her answer?

“Please join us at dinner,” he said simply, moving toward the doorway. “I must tell the children of my plans.”

Schuyler took his place at the head of the table and noted with approval that Aidan had never looked more lovely. While he doubted that Gusta’s lessons had done anything to smooth the girl’s sprightly and unconventional temperament, at least a veneer of grace covered over her rough edges. She wore a new gown the dressmaker had just provided, a cream-colored concoction of brocade woven with red roses and trimmed at the bodice and cuffs with lace. For the first time in their acquaintance she had taken the time to arrange her boisterous curls into tiny ringlets to frame the sides of her face, and her glowing hair served to emphasize the creamy expanse of her throat and neck.

Even the children noticed the transformation. When Aidan entered the dining room, Rozamond gazed at the girl with outright horror, doubtless born of jealousy, and Dempsey regarded her with a sort of fascination. Henrick, whom Schuyler watched with particular attention, seemed struck speechless by the girl’s metamorphosis into a presentable young lady.

The evening began with little fanfare. After pronouncing a blessing upon their gathering and the meal, Schuyler waited until his silent children served themselves and began to eat. “I have asked you here today,” he said in English, for Aidan’s benefit, “to discuss something that concerns us all.”

“Speak whatever is on your heart, Father,” Dempsey said. As always, the word
Father
sounded unnatural and forced on his tongue. “You know we are always pleased to visit you.”

“I intend to speak freely,” Schuyler went on, ignoring his son-in-law. “I have no time to play games. You should know that Captain Tasman plans to sail within a few days—before the end of August, if the winds are favorable.”

“Father, that’s wonderful!” Henrick dropped his knife and grinned. “That is sooner than you expected, is it not?”

“How lovely, Papa.” Rozamond couldn’t help sneaking a victorious glance toward Aidan. “I suppose you will want to close up the house while you are gone. Henrick and the servants can come to stay with us, of course, unless you’d rather Dempsey and I moved in here to keep an eye on things.”

“Henrick is a grown man; he can manage the house.” Schuyler sliced into the plump chicken breast on his plate. “I am not worried about what I leave behind. I am more concerned about what I must take with me. I have a difficult situation to solve and am counting on you to help me resolve it.”

“Anything, Father Van Dyck.” Dempsey cupped his glass in his hand and gave Schuyler a broad smile. “Name your service, and we shall be pleased to perform it.”

“Very well.” Schuyler lowered his utensils and folded his hands above his plate. Intensely aware of Aidan’s presence at the end of the table, he swiveled his gaze toward each child in turn. “My problem is this: I wish to take Joffer O’Connor with me on the voyage, but Tasman will not allow an unattached woman on the ship. All women must be family members.”

He paused, but the faces before him—including Aidan’s—
were frozen in expectant silence. When Rozamond recovered enough to lift a brow, he turned and stared at his son with earnest concentration. “It is my hope, Henrick, that you might consider taking Aidan to be your wife. She is a wonderful girl, strong, spirited, utterly charming. And talented! She would make a great name for you and honor this family.”

“Father!” A rich rose color suffused Henrick’s face from chin to hairline.

“Heer Van Dyck!” Aidan gasped. There was a flash, like light caught in water, when her gaze met his. “This is not the plan I hoped for.”

“Why not?” Surprised by the tumult, he glanced around the table. Rozamond was openly glaring at Henrick, while Henrick’s gaze was fastened to his plate, his face a study in humiliation. Schuyler glanced at his son curiously—he had never seen quite so many shades of red upon one man’s countenance. This scene would make an interesting painting, if one could only capture the right hues of burgundy, cerise, crimson, garnet, and vermilion.

“Father Van Dyck!” Dempsey protested, his own face an interesting example of repressed contempt. “Surely your son has a right to choose a bride from his own rank and station.”

“He has the right to agree or refuse, of course, Dempsey.” Schuyler picked up his knife and spoon again. “But I seem to recall partaking in the arrangement of your own marriage. It is a father’s right to make suggestions. If, however, marriage is not agreeable to either Aidan or Henrick, there is always the option of adoption.” He took a bite of chicken and paused to chew it, smiling benignly at Rozamond’s horrified expression. “I will adopt the girl,” he said, swallowing. “She will be my daughter, and thus she will remain under my protection. Tasman plans to leave his daughter at home, but there is no reason I should not bring mine on the voyage—”

“You would adopt this
harlot?
” Rozamond shrieked.

Dempsey gasped in delighted horror, then an unnatural
silence descended over the dinner table. The empty air between them vibrated, the silence filled with anger, shock, and dismay.

Rozamond was the first to recover. The veins in her slender throat stood out like ropes as she stared at Schuyler from across the table. “Father, are you insane? Have you lost all sense? This girl is—”

“I know what I am,” Aidan snapped. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she stood, pushing back her chair. She pressed her hands to the dining room table, her eyes blazing as she looked from Rozamond to Dempsey to Henrick. When she spoke she made no effort to hide the rough Irish brogue of her heritage: “I am Aidan O’Connor, daughter of England and Ireland, and proud of it. I’d not marry any one of you, not if the state of my eternal soul depended upon it!”

Her glittering green eyes found Schuyler’s and held them. “Thank you, sir, but this is the most foolish idea you’ve had yet. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I have lost my appetite.”

In a flurry of silk she whirled away from the table and left the room, leaving Schuyler and his three stunned children to stare at each other. Jagged and painful thoughts pressed against Schuyler’s forehead, and he rubbed his temples with his hands, sensing the beginning of a monstrous headache.

“Mama will be turning in her grave,” Rozamond finally hissed, turning the full fury of her eyes upon Schuyler. “Her lovely things! How could you even think to share them with a woman like that? She’s a tavern tramp, one of those hussies—”

“I don’t think so.” Schuyler rested his aching head against his hand. “At worst, I believe she was a barmaid, and probably not above picking a pocket or two if the need arose.”

“The need?” Rozamond frowned with cold fury. “Why would anyone ever feel the need to steal?”

“I believe it’s called hunger.” Schuyler’s head began to throb in earnest. “Often akin to starvation, it affects people at the wharf more often than you might think.”

“Father, you can’t be serious!” Henrick straightened in his chair. “I can’t believe you would suggest that I marry her! Have you no higher regard for me? She is not qualified to be my wife.”

“I have the highest regard for you, Henrick,” Schuyler answered, blinking slowly at his son. “And I think Aidan may be
overqualified
to be your wife. You have no need of property, since you and Rozamond will inherit all I possess. You will want a wife of charm and of beauty, and Aidan possesses those traits in full abundance. Why shouldn’t you also seek a woman with skill and the rare gift of artistry?”

“Father, I don’t understand artists.”

“No,” Schuyler answered softly, smoothing his brow with both hands. “You do not.”

Silence filled the room, giving emphasis to his words. His children had never understood him, and yet he had loved them anyway. The time had come for them to put aside their petty concerns and learn to respect the gift that had brought honor to the family.

“Father, you can’t do this.” An escaping curl tumbled over Rozamond’s forehead as she shook her head. “You are tired from your preparations, and you are not thinking clearly. Have you consulted with Captain Tasman? Perhaps you need to seek advice from the minister. I know he would tell you that it is folly to take a viper into your home, to hold a snake to your bosom.”

“I have spoken to a counselor,” Schuyler sighed. He might as well tell them everything, they’d find out in due time if anything happened to him on the voyage.

“A counselor?” Henrick sent a wide smile winging toward his sister. “Well, then, surely you were advised to disavow this ridiculous notion of yours.”

“I spoke to my lawyer this morning,” Schuyler went on, “and he has made provision for Aidan in my last will and testament. If something happens to me on the journey, she will inherit one hundred twenty thousand florins—enough that she will not have to worry about living expenses while she pursues her art.”

“Why—that’s nearly twenty thousand English pounds!” Dempsey Jasper slapped his hand on the table. “Surely, sir, you could have put that money to better use!”

Schuyler ignored Dempsey and glanced up at his son. “Henrick will inherit my art pieces, my estate, and my house.” He turned his gaze toward his dumbfounded daughter. “And you, dear Rozamond, have already received your dowry and your husband. My endowment to Aidan will have little effect upon you.”

“Little effect?” Her voice, hoarse with shock, held a note halfway between pleading and disbelief. “Father, by your gift, you are elevating that—that
tramp
—to a social level equal to my own!” Her dark brows slanted downward in a frown. “How am I supposed to attend balls and parties knowing she might be there?” She flung up her hands in disgust and sent him a fiery glare. “People will talk, Father! They will know her money came from you, of course. They will speculate that you had some sort of immoral relationship with her.”

“Rozamond!” Henrick’s face went pale.

“Well, they will!” She turned on her brother with the fury of a determined tigress. “You don’t listen to the women talk, Henrick. You have no idea how cruel they can be. And though I am Mejoffer Dempsey Jasper, I will still be associated with this harlot, this hussy—”

“That is quite enough, Rozamond.” Schuyler lowered his glass to the table, suddenly irritated with the conversation. True to form, his children were thinking more of themselves than of him, and they had not caught even a glimpse of the purpose underlying his intentions.