Chapter One

“Ruusupensaan alla piilossa onnen hileet, hiljentyneet on talojen äänet.”

By the time I arrived in England my mother was married off after divorcing my father. The trip was rough, as with my mother, Mrs Aubrey, all sorts of communications and interactions were with me translating for her; acting as her personal assistant due to her unstable language skills. I had recently just turned fourteen, barely a day older than that, and I had already been given duties meant for an older gentleman with a far more superior education than me. The deck of the ship me and my mother were traveling on was wet and slippery, and I was pretty sure the lieutenant of the ship was shouting at us due to the dangerous gale as the ship was arriving to the English shores from Southern Sweden.

I glanced at my mother—who was busy peering over the ship's railings in the forecastle, one would think she was going to climb bowsprit—before turning my gaze back up to the foremast where the ship's lieutenant was peering down at us. At this rate I thought the wind would cause him to fall down to his doom on the wooden deck, and my stress grew at just looking at the naval officer. His face was pale—if ignoring his harsh tan on his face—, and in a grim expression which had a gruff undertone, from the countless years spent in the sea, it can do something for a man's physical appearance. He was sickly tall, looming over the wooden piece like he was a part of it, and his square-like anatomy happened to make the lieutenant even more threatening. It was not until late evening, when the ship was soon to arrive to the South South West of England’s shores did he approach me.

“Arrive at noon in Hampshire,” he said in a baritone voice, “a storm is coming ahead.”

“Maybe so, what of it?” I inquired, having to raise my volume from the wind.

“If you are one to get sea sick, better to head down below should queasiness take hold.” His indifference was nonexistent, as his moss eyes constantly shifted to the other woman. “Tell your mother to stay away, for I am not afraid of being forceful.” When Mrs Aubrey and I had arrived back to our quarters of the ship (now absolutely drenched), she had already emptied her stomachs continents, and walked with the strum of an infant whilst clinging to the walls. I had guided her to lay on the hammock. “Can you tell me more about Mr Aubrey?” I asked, scooting the nearby chair so I would be sitting next to her laying form. “Ahj,” replied Mrs Aubrey, covering his eyes from the candle light, “no, no.” Her voice was lowly with a trimble to it, yet with the mature high-pitchness including an Eastern accent.

I raised an eyebrow. “And why is that? I will be living with him, no?” I continued, wanting to pry out any possible information before settling in London. I kept echoing my questions back at her, all differently worded with different tones. Mrs Aubrey peered at me through her fingers, eyes slanting slightly in ways that made the wrinkles in her face more notable. “No,” she repeated firmly, more stress on the consonant.

I rolled my amber eyes. With her behavior from this week I was surprised how I had managed to keep my sanity; one of the things I despised was traveling with her. For I had traveled with her from all the way of the Western shores of Oulu to Stockholm, and have already gone through two journeys through the sea, have I just now learned the struggles of traveling with a mother. I was planning on commenting that her gown was still sodden from the sea water, but made no mention of it.

I had made my way back to the upper decks for some needed fresh air; the gale wasn’t as cruel as before, and I had actually managed to walk without a fear of stumbling on my feet or a loose rope. Appearing at the hull, close enough that I could reach over the stem, the same baritone voice called to me.

“How does she fare?” The lieutenant from before questioned me, his tall figure looming over me from behind, so that I could hear his voice from upwards.

“She will manage,” my answer wasn’t as simple as I liked it to be.

The lieutenant walked, now standing next to me as the ship sailed forwards. He was silent for a moment before he started speaking. “We might arrive earlier than expected. Even in the cruelest of circumstances, the wind can always be in some ways of advantage.” I tilted my head sideways to glance up at him, eyeing him for a moment. I replied back, “It must be difficult. To be an officer, that is.” The lieutenant chuckled, a small, imposing smile cracking from the stoic facade expected from such his rank. “I would say so—the sea is a cruel mistress. But I chose this life for me, I was raised and trained for this.”

“Aubrey now, I think.” I didn't have a proper last name, nor first name.

“First lieutenant Mowartt, at your service, ma’am.” He nodded at me, the barest flicker of an upturn on the corner of his lips. First Lieutenant Mowartt was a rather pleasant man as I had got to further know him. I had to admit, hearing him telling of his tales in the sea and of far away voyages managed to spark something within me; that insatiable curiosity and desire for something more for my life, that adventure and courageous work for the goodness of the people, it did something for me that in other ways would have been rather otiose wasn't it for his raw words and wisdom that came with experience. I both envied and admired Mowartt; he was everything I ever wanted to be with freedom and freewill.

“What was it like when you first started out?” I had asked.

“Well, miss,” pondered Mowartt for a moment, his posture still yet in more ease as he had further convinced, “starting as a midshipman it was rather hard and difficult at first. I admit, often or not I was seasick, and I did not take well to being so far away from nearby lands. Do you see that crows nest?”—he motioned upwards to our back, the barrelman with his navigational duties—“At first, when I was made to climb up the barrel, I was death afraid; of death itself, and the heights. It took me approximately ten minutes to have fully climbed upwards. The shrouds were rough, and each moment I was anticipating that snap which would lead me to my doom.”

He smiled, a small chuckle breaking out as he looked back ahead to the starboard. “But the sight of when I had finally managed to climb up . . . It was like seeing stars in the night sky for the first time. I clung to the mainmast, I was able to see my surroundings of the ship; the swing guns, mizzenmast, the poop deck, I felt more in control. But of course in the end I had fallen off.”

I grimaced audibly, a small shiver traveling up my spine that stopped at the nape of my neck. “Sir, you fell?”

Mowartt laughed, “Indeed, indeed. I wasn't particularly paying much attention to the wind back then and . . .”

His voice drifted off to me, as I was now more focused on the thoughts lingering at the back of my head, like a swarm of bees, and that lingering thought—or an idea—was the beehive. Life in the British Royal Navy seemed pleasant; but I was quick to realize that I only had the romanticized version in my fantasies. Realistically speaking, in this lifetime and upcoming ones, a female—nevertheless one with a foreign ancestry, as I assumed on had to be native English—could never have the hopes for the dreams of a nautical life or such fancy. It was unexpected for me to even have such thoughts, I was never one to see enjoyment in adventure filled with danger and duty; but it nagged on my mind like a tic.

“How does one join the Royal Navy?” I interrupted without a second thought—though I do not know the true reason why I even asked, knowing my chances with my position it is nearly impossible—, causing Mowartt to falter for a moment, before he composed himself.

“Well, you would have to meet the age and physical requirements first of all, or else you wouldn't have much of a stand there. You must go to the naval physician to see you fit. One would either volunteer, or be forcibly recruited,” he explained to me shortly, though he eyed me with a hint of suspicion.

“I . . .” I stammered, red cheeked in embarrassment, “curious, that is all. It’s always good to know.”

After the encounter with Lieutenant Mowartt, I was rather too embarrassed to continue talking with him, fearing he might have deduced what I had in mind. I did personal self reflection on what life I would have when I reached Hampshire shores, and ultimately in London. I was yet to know anything of the mystery ‘Mr Aubrey’, when and why my mother had wed the man, and to have to live with him despite no knowledge of him was displeasing to an extent. Was he a successful novelist? A man of scholarly integrity? Or maybe a general or a traveler of sorts. My own father was a carpenter, so I expected more value from my newest stepfather, as my mother went all through the trouble of getting a divorce.

When the ship had finally reached to Hampshire, Mrs Aubrey was more ecstatic than I ever would be, but all I felt was humiliation surrounded by a vast ocean of fair skinned blondes and brunettes. It was also then when I learned of the term ‘coloured’, and it took me embarrassingly long enough to realize it was also seen as a derogatory term. I asked my mother when we would be arriving at our newest estate—I was exhausted and agitated from the boat trip to England—and her reply was that a carriage w on ould come to get us in an hour or two. I had only been in England for a few hours, yet I already despised the very nation; the more commonly acceptable clothings looked so tacky and hasty for my taste and use (seeing as I was still adamant on wearing the folk clothing I did for a decade back at home, I stood out very much), that I had no need for them. I valued practicality. Mrs Aubrey had already changed into a new gown, more of an Western European taste, with a second-hand sense with how old the silk looked.

“I’m practically in need of refreshments,” I had complained to my mother, who was at the moment busy looking through the boutique windows to inside the shop; they were more vastly different from the ones back at capital, in a sense of style and materials, as it was more humid and warmer here. I was rather shocked at the difference in the climate, as all my life I was used to the more cool, crisp air, barely and humid there.

“We eat at home,” Mrs Aubrey nagged at me, still busy looking at the gowns and dresses.

As if my luck couldn't get any more bizarre, a familiar figure in the navy had walked across from the street, now headed towards me. “Ms Portis, for I should have expected you to be far away from the shore by now,” Mowartt spoke to me through the bustling streets—as men have come back from their journey at the sea, wives, friends, and families were back to greet the sailor men to England—as he motioned far away with his lean, muscular arm (which was rather obvious from the new coat he was wearing.)

“Well, no. I am actually not quite sure when I will leave Hampshire; I assume in a few hours, or more later at night,” I said, “pray, is that a new uniform? It looks smoother and with less tatterings to it.”

“10 shillings—a rather fair price I would say,” Mowartt grinned at me. I didn't know how much the currency was in riksdaler, so I assumed it to be of 20 riksdaler roughly, which was still rather expensive in my taste, but who could say much to a Lieutenant whose pay is more than my entire life savings?

From behind Mowartt, across the street, there was another boutique, surrounded by men clad in black hats and draped in the colors of dark blue. Instantly it was easy to tell it was a boutique for the Royal Navy. When I had arrived in London by a long carriage ride—which was exhausting and aching—I was ecstatic as I was finally able to stretch my body, loud cracks and pops emerging as I was finally able to move my stiff arms and shoulders. Somehow, my surroundings were far more of grand and extreme taste; for every glance at the streets and the buildings I felt like I was in a sort of daze. Quite frankly I was scared and intimidated by the vastly different architecture and culinary surrounding me.

“Oh, my lovely,” a rogue, basso–like voice called out, interrupting my weary mind's train of thought, “Oh, how lovelier you look, more than I could have remembered!” A rather plump shaped man appeared, his white wig dusty, and the curls in it looking hard to the touch. His magenta coloured coat was notably of silk, but looked more tacky than it was supposed to be luxurious with it straining by his gullet. From just a first glance alone, I could easily tell he was bountiful with wealth and with food. Maybe having a new stepfather wasn't so bad.

The second the man’s eyes landed on me after a wild show with my mother, he visibly lightened up. “My, your mother described you so vividly; wild with life, and obvious charms. Ma belle épouse et sa belle fille.” He gave me a cheeky wink, which looked more like he was attempting to rapid–fire in my direction. “My name is Samuel B. Aubrey, at your service, my loveliest madam.” He gracefully took my smaller hand in his more larger one, and gave the back of it a sloppy kiss which left me shivering. “Though I won't be expecting you to be calling me father any time soon—do as you seem fit. That's alright.”

“Ehrm, greetings,” I stammered out, bowing out of politeness, “thank you for letting me and my mother live in your estate.” Mr Aubrey smiled in response, his hands still clasping mine in a rather fond way. “This is all rather much for me—I have been unable to have children through all my life. And to have one under my guide is, well, rather emotional for me,” he explained, his tone soothing and gentle. My face softened instinctively, not straining anymore at my forced expression. Maybe I was too quick to judge so badly at first glance; for all I knew, he might be a great guardian. He seemed to be genuine in his intentions, and for the first time ever, I felt genuine happiness for my mother. She deserved to be happy.

The another carriage trip to the Aubrey estate was far more enjoyable, as I had someone to actually converse with, who seemed interested in getting to further know me. I wasn't sure how my mother felt about the whole thing, as she was busy resting upon Mr Aubrey’s side to pay much attention.

“She never told me of how you two met. I must admit, my curiosity is getting the best of me,” I grinned. Mr Aubrey shook his head with a mirthy chortle formed in his stomach if not his gullet. “We met back in Stockholm—as I always say, she took my attention, snatched it like a thief. Elle est la beauté éblouissante, mais vous êtes la lumière qu'elle irradie.” His grin grew wider at my confused expression. “Though, there is a reason she is so adamant on keeping her mouth shut, as she ought to.” I further learned during the carriage ride more about Mr Aubrey; he was an art and a French language teacher, often tutoring those of higher class, which explained for his well endorsed payments and riches. He had a twin brother who was a captain in the Royal Nacy, though he didn't say much about him except for having a nephew in the Navy, which immediately piqued my attention even more. “The boy's name is John—or that is what I call him at least—the last time I saw him, he was heading to Port Mahon, though I suspect he didn't get a proper commission. Poor son, I suspect he still had his grunge on Jonathan.” “Jonathan?” I piqued, “Is he your brother?”

“Unfortunately enough he is, though I only feel the most generous amount of shame to even be associated with my brother,” Mr Aubrey explained to me, his face dimmed. “I understand why John wouldn't want anything to do with him—Christ, I was even hesitant to invite him to my wedding! Un vieux salaud.”

I suspected there was more than he was leading me on with what happened between the two, but I was wise enough to know not to question the man further on such endeavors. With the way his plump face reddened at the topic of his brother reminded me of “Do you live alone? With other relatives perhaps?” I inquired. “John occasionally stayed by the estate—though he rarely is ever in England now! Posh posh,” he waved his hand dismissively at me as the carriage stopped, and from the window to the outside I could see a manor of wheathen colors. It was of traditional European architecture style, lacking mostly in neighbors.

My first dinner with Mr Aubrey was eventful, with pork chops and expensive wine whilst surrounded by countless servants. It seemed rather much after years of simple meals with less taste and less materialistic visuals surrounding us, I was rather hesitant on eating. The walls were covered in windows with lavish drapes, and the room glowed with the lit candles surrounding the food and the walls. I was busy watching in disturbance as Mrs Aubrey devoured her meal with gusto after starving herself from any sustenance. “Mother, stop,” I mumbled in embarrassment, cheeks feeling hot as Mr Aubrey watched her in amazement. He turned his gaze to me, and I instinctively looked down at my hallway empty plate.

“Well, I see both of you are enjoying your meals—I had planned this dinner for a week,” Mr Aubrey said fondly from the head of the table. The silence was interrupted by Mrs Aubrey’s loud chewing, and I felt myself burn in humiliation. At that moment I desperately sought out for my old life, the mundane routines which I had thoroughly planned and enjoyed. But knowing that I wouldn't be leaving England any time soon, I was left to ponder to myself if things could truly get better. I did not belong here.