Friday, 1st January 1676

I awoke from dawn's light in the cabin – more likely from Charles' snoring – and I turned to examine him. Flat on his back, as I suspected. When I tried to ease him to his side, he woke and mumbled, and I giggled and said, "You slept soundly."

He rolled and pulled me into an embrace. "Again? Sorry. I hope not too loud. And not all the way from one year to the next."

"I think not, else I would have awakened earlier." As I tilted my head up to receive his kiss, I asked, "What is this year to the next?"

"A new year. Welcome to 1677."

"1677?" I giggled. "Your reckoning is fuddled from the brandy. The twenty-fifth of March is nearly three months away."

"Ah, but the papist countries mark the new year on the first day of January."

"As my tutors had taught me. But we are not in – oh! Oh, yes! This is Hispaniola."

He chuckled and rolled to pull me on top of him. "Shall we celebrate the Spanish new year?"

"After I visit the privy."

When I returned, he was standing beside an open garderobe, and he said, "Close your eyes and turn your back to me."

"Have you devised a new game?"

"You shall see. Now, eyes closed and turn. Allow me to position you."

When I did, he placed his hands on my hips and gently moved me, and I shuffled my feet to follow. Then I felt something cold around my neck, and as I reached a hand up, he said, "Wait until I have clasped it."

A short while later, he said, "There. Now, open your eyes."

"Oh, my, God!" I stared at the necklace in the mirror, tears spilling down my cheeks. "So beautiful."

"Indeed, you are, and wearing that, even more so. And your eyes enhance the emeralds."

I trembled as I spun about and wrapped my arms around him. "So beautiful."

"You are."

"From where did it come?"

"From a jeweller's shop in Queen Street. Part of another shipment from Cartagena that did not reach Spain."

As I turned to the mirror to examine it more closely, Charles moved to stand behind me, his hands cupping my breasts and Cyclops pressing up my back. I trembled again, this time in anticipation as one of his hands moved slowly down my belly toward Miss Cunny.

The mirror reflected his manipulations, their sight thrilling me and enhancing the sensations. After revelling in them for a while, I said, "I find great excitement in watching."

"As do I. Shall we here, rather than on the bed?"

A long and very enjoyable while later, as I squatted above the bidet, I asked, "Might we find mirrors to mount on the bulkhead beside the bed?"

"My thoughts, exactly." He pointed up. "And on the deckhead above it."

"Ooh! That would be fun."

When I finished and dried, I opened one of my drawers, and reaching down into a corner beneath my sashes and scarves, I pulled out a bundle wrapped in a white silk one. Then as I set it on the shelf, I said, "I had thought to await the Twelfth Night to give you this." I untied the scarf and let it fall. "But since we are celebrating the new year, now seems more appropriate."

"Oh, my. So similar to the one Captain Bryson had." He pulled me into an embrace. "Thank you."

"Who is Captain Bryson?"

"The man who took me in when Mother died."

"The barge captain?"

Charles nodded as he released the hug and raised a hand to his eyes to wipe. Then after snivelling, he said a quiet, "Yes."

"I sense sadness."

"Nay, not sad. Fond memories of a great man."

"You have not told me about him, and I would like to know."

Charles picked up the clock to examine it, nodding all the while. "So much to tell, I know not where to begin."

"How you met him might be the place." I pointed to the garderobe. "But we should first dress for breakfast. Olivia will soon arrive with it."

A while later, as we sat at the table, I said, "So, tell me how you met Captain Bryson."

Charles chuckled. "Funny to look back at it, but we met when I spilt out from his jib as he tried to hoist it."

"What were you doing there?"

"This was his later question, but at that instant, he had no time to ask it. Bessy was being swept toward the bridge piers, so he handed me a line to haul down as he hastened aft to tend the tiller."

"You have completely lost me here. Who is Bessy?"

"The name of his barge. A sixty-five-footer, named after Good Queen Bess. He had hoisted the main, let go his moorings, and as the breeze pulled her out into the river current, he went forward to raise the jib."

I looked up from slicing a piece of ham. "Sounds as if he was sailing her alone."

"He was, and I thought by helping him, he might allow me to sleep again in the lowered sail, so I tried my best to please him."

"Why was he alone?"

"I later learnt that his former hand had taken a position aboard an East-Indiaman, and he had yet to find a replacement."

"So, you became the replacement."

"I did. He liked how fast I learnt, and he offered me bed and board."

I nodded, thinking about the situation while I chewed my bite, and when swallowed, I asked, "Why had you been sleeping in his sail?"

"I returned one day from begging to find another family living in my home and my belongings cast into the lane. Mother and I had lived in a small garret above the stables, and when the plague took her, I struggled to pay the fortnightly rent, always falling behind." He shrugged. "During my begging, I had often watched the barges and ships, admiring how smoothly most handled the sails, so I sought one along the wharves, thinking of using a lowered sail for my shelter and bed."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve. Halfway to thirteen."

"And rather than the sail for your bed, he provided a real one aboard."

"No, not aboard. In a wondrously luxurious house on the riverbank, midway between London Bridge and the Tower." Charles blew a deep breath. "But for only one night – and not even a full night."

"Oh! What happened?"

"London afire. We were awakened in the middle of the night by a neighbour, and we spent the next twelve hours in Bessie, evacuating families and what possessions they could save."

"The great fire of 1666 that my tutors had talked so much about."

"Aye. Then we packed all his possessions to be ready ourselves. In the evening, the fire began spreading toward us along the wharf, so we loaded all into Bessy, and with only the light from the conflagration, we sailed downriver to find a place to moor among the crowds taking refuge there."

He pointed to a painting on the bulkhead. "That is from my memory of how it was. My home for a night is near the centre of it."

"You painted that?"

"I did."

"Surely, not during the fire."

Charles chuckled. "No, years later. But watching it for days, its images are firmly imprinted in my mind."

I rose. "I have never looked closely at it, the theme being so horrid. Come, show me what is where."

We stood in front of it, and he pointed. "This is Captain's riverside home. Then here, up the slope past Billingsgate, his other ten London houses stood along Thames Street."

"Other ten?"

"Aye, and many more in Deptford, just downriver."

"A man of great wealth."

"And with a far greater wealth of wisdom and experience. He was my mentor for five years."

"But for brief spells, only. You were at sea most of the time."

"As was he. After the fire, he grew increasingly irritated with the delays. Then months later, when the rebuilding regulations were finally issued, they rendered impossible his plans. He purchased Zeelandia, wanting to again experience freedom and adventure."

"When was that?"

"March 1666. The ship had been among those captured from the Dutch during the war, and the Admiralty offered them for sale. After repairs to her masts, rigging and other damage from the capture, we moved aboard on Lady Day eve, and we celebrated New Year's Day as I began learning to be his cabin boy."