Read Online Night in Eden by Candice Proctor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Candice Proctor
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was rutted and piled with garbage. There were even tree stumps in the middle of the street, Bryony noticed—three feet high. The traffic just went around them.
Then they turned off the Row into a narrow side street that sloped downhill toward the waterfront. The buildings here were crude, more like huts really. Built of wood and mud and thatch, they clung precariously to the side of a hill so steep the lane eventually degenerated into a series of steps, cut right into the rock. Goats and pigs ranged freely among the scattered garbage and scraggly gardens. Bryony saw one goat eating a petticoat off a line of tattered washing. There was a sudden, loud curse, and a slatternly woman with a short pipe hanging out of her mouth stood up and threw an empty rum bottle at it. The goat jumped and bucked away, bleating. The woman sat down again, but her stare followed Bryony on down the hill.
There was a time when the people Bryony saw here would have made her nervous. But after a year spent in the company of thieves, whores, and murderers, she barely noticed them. Rather, it was the birds that fascinated her. Almost every shack had a cage beside its door, with one or more large, vivid-colored birds that screeched at them as they passed. One, a particularly large, snowy-white bird with a yellow crest, opened its curved beak and cawed, "Five hundred lashes! Five hundred lashes! Lay them on! Lay them on!" The cry followed them all the way down the hill.
Eventually they turned onto a lane that curved along the waterfront until it reached a muddy little rivulet, spanned by a stone bridge. Readjusting the weight of the sleeping baby, Bryony leaned against the bridge's stone wall to rest for a minute and look up at the hill in front of them.
Here there were only a few, neat brick houses. They stood in an official-looking row near a white, two-story Georgian mansion set in splendid isolation in the midst of extensive, well-tended gardens stretching all the way down to the water's edge.
"What's that?" she asked Gideon, nodding toward the big white house.
Gideon followed the direction of her gaze. "That's Government House," he said, an odd expression on his freckled face. "Where the acting governor, Foveaux, lives."
Bryony had heard of Lieutenant Colonel Foveaux. They said that when he was commandant of Norfolk Island, he used to have the new women prisoners stripped naked and paraded around in a circle while he auctioned them off, for rum.
"Over there—" Gideon pointed to a row of massive warehouses built of carefully dressed stone that stood at the base of the slope. "That's the Government store, where we're headed."
Inside the store's thick stone walls, it was cool. The exotic scents of sandalwood and cinnamon and spices from India and the Islands overlaid the more familiar odors of new hemp, coffee beans, turpentine, and rum. Everything from tea to saucepans to sails could be had here, although there wasn't much in the way of baby clothes. Bryony ended up with bolts of material, spools of thread, and a selection of ribbons and trims. She was going to have to make almost everything that Simon needed.
She did manage to find a wool cloak and plain gray dress for herself. The dress was hopelessly old-fashioned, with a fitted bodice and an almost natural waistline. But it had been so long since she'd worn anything new— even if it was shoddily made and ugly—that she couldn't help but be pleased with it. She also found a couple of caps, and obediently tucked her hair up under one of them.
While Gideon arranged to have their purchases delivered to the Three Jolly Fishermen, Bryony went to stare out the open doorway. A new ship had come in during the night: a merchantman, lying low in the water. Balancing Simon on her hip, Bryony ventured out onto the flag way to see it better.
A white cloud of seagulls rose, screeching, from the nearby shingle and filled the air with their heartbreakingly familiar cry. The sun sparkled brightly on
Then they turned off the Row into a narrow side street that sloped downhill toward the waterfront. The buildings here were crude, more like huts really. Built of wood and mud and thatch, they clung precariously to the side of a hill so steep the lane eventually degenerated into a series of steps, cut right into the rock. Goats and pigs ranged freely among the scattered garbage and scraggly gardens. Bryony saw one goat eating a petticoat off a line of tattered washing. There was a sudden, loud curse, and a slatternly woman with a short pipe hanging out of her mouth stood up and threw an empty rum bottle at it. The goat jumped and bucked away, bleating. The woman sat down again, but her stare followed Bryony on down the hill.
There was a time when the people Bryony saw here would have made her nervous. But after a year spent in the company of thieves, whores, and murderers, she barely noticed them. Rather, it was the birds that fascinated her. Almost every shack had a cage beside its door, with one or more large, vivid-colored birds that screeched at them as they passed. One, a particularly large, snowy-white bird with a yellow crest, opened its curved beak and cawed, "Five hundred lashes! Five hundred lashes! Lay them on! Lay them on!" The cry followed them all the way down the hill.
Eventually they turned onto a lane that curved along the waterfront until it reached a muddy little rivulet, spanned by a stone bridge. Readjusting the weight of the sleeping baby, Bryony leaned against the bridge's stone wall to rest for a minute and look up at the hill in front of them.
Here there were only a few, neat brick houses. They stood in an official-looking row near a white, two-story Georgian mansion set in splendid isolation in the midst of extensive, well-tended gardens stretching all the way down to the water's edge.
"What's that?" she asked Gideon, nodding toward the big white house.
Gideon followed the direction of her gaze. "That's Government House," he said, an odd expression on his freckled face. "Where the acting governor, Foveaux, lives."
Bryony had heard of Lieutenant Colonel Foveaux. They said that when he was commandant of Norfolk Island, he used to have the new women prisoners stripped naked and paraded around in a circle while he auctioned them off, for rum.
"Over there—" Gideon pointed to a row of massive warehouses built of carefully dressed stone that stood at the base of the slope. "That's the Government store, where we're headed."
Inside the store's thick stone walls, it was cool. The exotic scents of sandalwood and cinnamon and spices from India and the Islands overlaid the more familiar odors of new hemp, coffee beans, turpentine, and rum. Everything from tea to saucepans to sails could be had here, although there wasn't much in the way of baby clothes. Bryony ended up with bolts of material, spools of thread, and a selection of ribbons and trims. She was going to have to make almost everything that Simon needed.
She did manage to find a wool cloak and plain gray dress for herself. The dress was hopelessly old-fashioned, with a fitted bodice and an almost natural waistline. But it had been so long since she'd worn anything new— even if it was shoddily made and ugly—that she couldn't help but be pleased with it. She also found a couple of caps, and obediently tucked her hair up under one of them.
While Gideon arranged to have their purchases delivered to the Three Jolly Fishermen, Bryony went to stare out the open doorway. A new ship had come in during the night: a merchantman, lying low in the water. Balancing Simon on her hip, Bryony ventured out onto the flag way to see it better.
A white cloud of seagulls rose, screeching, from the nearby shingle and filled the air with their heartbreakingly familiar cry. The sun sparkled brightly on
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