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likesomekindofcheese · 4 years

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Songbird of Jamestown Chapter Five

Pairing: Samuel Castell x fem! Reader

Word Count: 6898

Summary: You are among the English maids in 1619-1620 who have agreed to board ship for the new world in Jamestown, with the intention to marry the men there. You have chosen to find a husband and life of your own and pay back the company, than be pre bought and bound to a random stranger. Life is difficult and you and your friends struggle, but there is a certain recorder who’s willing to help. He’s kind-hearted and handsome ...and has already been pledged to another.

A/N: this chapter is shorter than I intended (I have other WIPS and requests that need attending and after debate, the ending to this chapter felt better for the development of the next one), but here we are! A very dramatic chapter that was both fun and painful to write. I hope you like it and please comment or share if you do!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, angst, drama, Jocelyn being Jocelyn, scenes of vomiting, sickness.

Taglist: @bluesfortheredj (sempai) @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @theworksgaga @itscale @theoneandonlyeclecticepileptic @queenlover05 @rubystarflight @themficsilike @namelesslosers @itsametaphorgwil

“Come, all you very merry London Girls,

That are disposed to Travel,

Here is a Voyage now at hand,

Will save your feet from gravel.

If you have shooes, you need not fear

For wearing out the Leather,

For why you shall on shipboard go,

Like Loving Rogues Together,

Some are already gone before,

The rest must after follow

Then come away and do not stay,

Your guide shall be Apollo!”

- Lawrence Price, “The Maiden’s of London’s Brave Adventures”, 1623.

“Miss Y/L/N …”

You thought you heard his voice.

“Oh Y/N, please…wake up, be strong again….”

You wanted to just croak out his name. Your lips parted, and a sound came out. It wasn’t his name. It was only a sound.

“Miss Y/L/N? Can you hear me? Take this!”

You could barely see him but a sudden taste that hit your tongue, full of bitterness. Then a drop of water that was brought to you. But no blots of color formed. No more signs of him. Only darkness.

Sometimes something like a nightmare came across your vision. You thought you saw something, but then it faded before it could devour you. Sometimes there were dreams, sometimes not.

Then another voice came up. It could have been an hour. It could have been a day. It wasn’t his voice, but a voice. A soft, lilting voice.

“Oh, dear Lord, please heal this lady. You know she is a dear, kind woman. No one has ever treated me as nicely here, other than my master and mistress of course. But she is a good friend. Your book even says a friend sticks closer than a brother. So, I must beg you, if it is in your will, to heal her from this dreaded and sudden illness. I would be most saddened if she were to die. You have placed me in her life, and unless You have planned so, please don’t take her away from it. Give her health again and wake her up, Amen.”

The words were flooding outside you when you woke up. You were lying on your bed, Mercy was right next to you. Her pale face and little brown head looked blurry, but you saw her turn her head at once.

She gave a grin and placed a hand over her heart, leaning to you.

“Oh, providence is kind! Miss Y/L/N!” she cried, getting up and then pausing. She knew you were too weak to embrace. She pulled herself back.

Your vision flooded back and you saw you were at home. You felt sticky and sweaty. Your bed was beneath you and you saw you only had your shift on.

“M…Mercy…what…what’s happening?” you croaked.

Your throat felt dry from the lack of use.

“You were found just outside, fainted!” she recalled.

“Did you find me?” you ask.

“Oh, it was the Tavern Keeper’s wife, the red haired woman…she was out walking in the dark to your home to see you, she said, when she heard your cries and came a runnin’. Found you right on the dirt, right out! She dragged you in here, ran, and fetched the doctor quick as she could, stayed up all night with you, she did!” she said, almost excitedly. Her eyes wide as if telling a story.

“Verity…oh, it was Verity! Mercy…am I dying…If I’m dying there’s someone…I need to…I need to speak to…” you said.

You knew the one thing you didn’t want to say had to be said to him if your time was running out.

“You’re only sick. That’s what the doctor says. But you might…I hope you won’t…” she said. Her eyes looked down and she frowned.

You reached out a hand and touched her cheek.

“Oh, mistress Mercy, I heard your prayer…and I’m so lucky to have you,” you comforted.

“I’ve prayed every hour I could…my master was with the doctor when Verity was running, so he and my mistress even prayed with me for you in this room for an hour today. I think all of our prayers worked. It was my Master who even got you to your bed the other night, but he insisted on leaving outside when you got changed to your shift, ‘cause you know, you were asleep but it still wasn’t polite, he said!”

You felt your lip bite and a small laugh escape.

“Why, Miss Y/L/N, colors coming to your cheeks, even! You’re getting healthy, I know it!” she cheered.

“How long was I asleep?” you interrupt, a little embarrassed.

“About a day.”

Your head hurt and you were dizzy. You groaned from the pain and Mercy fetched a cool cloth from a bucket. You nodded as thanks.

“Mercy…what did the doctor say about me? What do I have?” you ask.

Your memory was coming back. And you had a dreaded feeling you knew exactly what happened to you.

But…it couldn’t be, could it?

“He says you’re only sick and that’s that. He did get you to swallow some medicine and he says you need more…which…oh dear! I forgot! Now you’re awake! I have to get him! Excuse me, m’am...”

She gave a curtsy and off she went like a squirrel to a tree. Your dizziness came in and out. You found your arms, while shaky, could pull yourself up. Your stomach felt like it had a stone in it. Even the sight of your food in the corner made it turn and you felt the threat of vomit rise in you.

A little later, a man entered with Mercy trailing behind him. He was of average height, with dark hair that curled yet was brushed back. His face had hints of scruff with a pale, square head and a sunny smile.

“Hello, miss. Doctor Priestly at your service,” he greeted.

He even bobbed his head as if you were a lady. If it weren’t for your weakness, you would have bobbed your head for a curtsy as well.

“See, doctor! My prayers have worked! I did have faith enough!” Mercy cheered excitedly.

She grabbed your hand to help you get up to sitting on your bed upright.

“It seems your faith and my medicine are a powerful team, Mercy. Go find your mistress and let her know at once that Miss Y/L/N is awake. She’ll want to know how her servant is, she’s been very fretful for two days for her.”

Mercy once again scooped her red skirt into her tiny hands and ran out the door. He pulled out a vial from his bag, poured some clear liquid onto a spoon, and fed it to you. It tasted disgusting as overcooked cabbage, but you made yourself swallow it. It was the same bitter aftertaste as the drink you were fed while slightly conscious.

“Here, two days of rest and this medicine and you will be fine,” he assured you.

What happened couldn’t be true, it was too insane to be true. You shouldn’t be in this predicament at all. Or were you? There was one way to find out.

“Doctor Priestly…what’s wrong with me, what am I sick with?”

“I’ve not told a soul about your condition… for Mercy’s sake.”

“Mercy?” you asked. “What’s she have to do with it?”

“I remember when she arrived here. She was an orphan boarded from England sent here to work and make a life for herself. Poor thing had more than one master beat her senseless when she was small. I couldn’t afford her, so Castell took pity on her and placed her under his wing for her protection. He’s almost like her father in an odd way, but he’s still her employer. But that is her life, no family and only drudgery. “

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and blinked a lot, coming back to the present.

“She has a tender heart and it takes very little to vex her. I saw how fond she was of you, so I wanted to rest aside her fears. If I told Castell, he might tell her just to give her an answer. But you and your mistress at least deserve to know the truth.”

He pulled a chair from the table next to you and spoke in a low voice.

“You had the symptoms of poisoning from the belladonna plant.”

“No…but…I…I just can’t…I was poisoned,” you said, finally accepting your dreaded suspicion.

“And I also noticed...I had kept some for medical and research reasons, and the vial was gone. So, whoever took it must have targeted you. They wanted to harm you. You had a water jug that was laced with it. Luckily, you only had a little bit. If you drank a larger dose or didn’t take this medicine in time, you would have been dead.”

“Someone stole your belladonna?” you ask.

Your eyebrows furrow and you look directly at him. Your hands fold neatly at your blanket.

“Oh, I hope you forgive me, Miss Y/L/N…I should have watched it more carefully.” He begged, he turned his head down.

“It’s…alright, Dr. Priestly. I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault it was stolen” you say.

You move your hands in front to tell him to calm down and he smiles in response. He’s not entirely unfortunate looking and you feel yourself smile back.

“Have some water, you’ve been without food or drink for over a day” he suggested, getting a tin cup.

You drank it up greedily. Sighing and wiping off your mouth, you look back at him, softened.

“I would prefer to keep this low. Only your mistress and you. News of poisoning would bring fear, someone innocent might go to jail if accused falsely,” he explained.

You at once felt your stomach turn. The bile was coming back up.

“A…a jug, anything, I’m going to…” you mumbled.

He handed you a clay pot and you felt the disgusting feeling of vomit rise out of you and the repulsive smell of it. You put a hand over your mouth defensively as he put away the pot.

“You are just weak, Miss Y/L/N. Just keeping drinking water and taking the medicine. You will be a little weak, but fine,” he assured.

Not long after there was a knock on the front door and Doctor Priestly sprung up and greeted with the largest smile you had seen on him yet.

You saw the pale blue cloak of Jocelyn walk before you and fold open the hood. Her golden curls were tied back with a ribbon just loosely. Your breathing got shallower and your nostrils flared remembering the day on the ship.

Sure, I can’t let my hair down, but you can. Not a lady anymore, eh? You just proved that, you thought angrily.

“Oh, Doctor Priestly, Oh, I am so glad. Poor girl! How is she?” she asked demurely.

“She’s weak, but after one day of rest and taking this medicine, she’ll be bright and bonny as ever. I have to tell you Jocelyn…” giving a glace at you, he led her just outside the door to speak with her explaining why you were sick.

Waiting for a while, you kept squeezing your own hands. You felt your heart beating in your ears. After a few minute, you saw Jocelyn open the door again, continuing the conversation.

“Doctor Priestly, may I nurse her, myself? I wish to make amends- it was my own jug and I lost watch of it!” she offered warmly.

There was a crinkle beneath the doctor’s eyes as she spoke and he leaned a little closer.

“What a tender heart you have, I’ll leave you with her. Bring me back if there is any sign of trouble. Here is the medicine, I’ll go on and make another, farewell!” he wished, handing her the bottle.

With a slight hop in his step, he left.

Jocelyn took a few minutes to be quiet. As she walked up you pulled yourself back, defensively. She held out the medicine poured out a spoonful, offering it to you.

You hesitated, staring. She could have done something with it too. But you accepted it and led the spoon with your hand to your mouth.

After a few spoonful’s, the concerned look on her face dropped looking down on you. She looked at the window, checking, and then returned. You tried to glare up with what strength you had.

“Jocelyn. Who poisoned me?” you ask flatly. You folded your arms.

“You know what you did,” she spat out.

“No, I don’t!”

“You should have drank all of it.”

“Jocelyn, why? I have done everything for you! I have cleaned your clothes and room, fixed your gowns, made your breakfasts and even emptied your damned chamber pot! I have asked for nothing but my pay. You forced me to agree to do it in front of Lady Yeardley. And this is how you repay me? You try to kill me?” you questioned angrily.

She was quiet.

“I’ll report you to the Governor. Right. Now.” you threaten. You swing your legs over and get on the floor.

You only took two steps on weak legs when she put a hand before you, and then caught you before you could fell. But as you were crumpled, she led you back to the bed. She bent down to look you in the eye.

“It would be worthless to speak to him. Look at you and look at me. I’ve dined with him countless times. He’s going to be the groomsman at my wedding. Who is he more likely to believe? A lying, thieving, whoring maid or a lady?”

She got back up but folded her hands in front of you. Her eyes were low, her round, pale face still, and her pink lips tight.

“Jocelyn…you still haven’t answered my question. Why did you do it?” you interrogated.

“Because you’re destroying me. And you’re destroying this colony.”

“You’re the one who almost killed me! What on earth did I do?”

“Since you’re a fool, let me tell you. You’re a whore,” she accused. Her face was still but her low voice was biting.

“Do you mean…with…with your fiancée?”

There is fire in her eyes.

“Anytime I was with him, I promise you, nothing happened. He never said or did anything to me. He’s a gentleman; he keeps his distance. He is doesn’t love me, he loves you. Jocelyn be reasonable! Mercy says you’re the great beauty of the colony. How could he show any interest in anyone else with you as his intended!?” you begged.

“Your flattery means nothing to me” she cursed bitterly.

From her cloak, she pulled out your copy of Ovid’s The Metamorphoses.

“If you have not seduced him, explain this!” she accused.

“He asked and I just let him borro-“

She slammed the book into your bed and turned to the very end, where there were a few extra blank pages. Or were. Words were scribbled all over them. You jumped and your legs stung from the force of the book’s weight.

A pink primrose exactly like the ones on your window was pressed into it.

“Read it” Jocelyn demanded.

You felt your dizziness return and your stomach hurt again. You pushed it away. You were shaking your head. This had to be a dream, this had to be a dream.

“And know this, before you claim it false,” she added.

From her stays, she got out a folded page of paper which listed the business of the Governors meeting last week.

Glancing at what was written in the book and the record, it was exactly the same.

You pulled the book close to you and almost felt your hands and arms shake as you tried to keep it up, pulling to your face. You wanted to be sure every word you saw was real.

It read:

“My darling, my little nightingale, Y/N Y/L/N,

With your consent, I must take a moment to confess to you the feelings I have been suppressing for some time. Please do not be afraid of me.

I love you. I adore you with every inch of my soul. I have never known any woman quite like you. I knew you were different from anyone else from that first day of your arrival, though I wasn’t sure how. Then I knew. You were someone I could talk to. The more I looked at you, the more I couldn’t help myself. You are one of the loveliest maidens I have ever seen. When I think of you in that flower field, how ardently I wanted to kiss you that moment, with the sun shining, the flowers around you, and your sweet smile. I’ve never felt such tenderness and wanting inside me before. I admire every bit of you, my dear friend. You are the kindest, sweetest soul I have ever met. And your courage exceeds that of many men I have known. I still remember the day you spoke with Mr. Sharrow on behalf of Miss Kett and I am still in awe such an action even happened.

I make every excuse just to walk by our colonies walls just to hear you, to see you walk by, just to glance at you. The way you shone when I taught you how to write words, shone with pure joy. Your laughter and singing! Your voice haunts me, haunts my dreams, and my day and I hear it at once with both ecstasy and torment, for I know such tender words, laughter, songs and that joy of your hand’s devotion is a gift, a gift that cannot be for me, but the happiest and most fortunate of gentlemen you choose to wed. How I envy him and hate him, whoever he may be here! I am so ashamed to admit it, but it is truth.

I have given Jocelyn a promise. A promise I must keep, as being the purpose of her journey. Yet each time I think of the day we will be joined, inside I mourn so deeply. This is the reason why I delayed the wedding. I made a pitiful, unmanly excuse about business because you were always in my thoughts. I will never have the privilege of your courtship and time. I must be bound until death to another, upon an agreement of payment I have made long ago. Though I must complete my duty in humility and obedience, know that I wish every morning I awake that it was your beautiful face I saw.

Jocelyn does not deserve to have her heart broken and her future destroyed. Can you have it in your heart to pity me? To pity her, most of all. It is Jocelyn I must marry, no matter what I may feel about you How could I be so cruel to such a good, honest woman who came here for this one sole purpose?

I do not know if you even tolerate me. If you despise the air I breathe, then I swear I will never bother you again. But now, I ask you pray for me, pray for us.

But know that though such affections I possess can never be acted on, that if you are ever in dire need of assistance, I will help you. Even if you cannot have my hand, you have the protection of anything I have and my actions. If you are ever in need, or your husband, most fortunate of men, or your children even, I will find a way to help you.

For I and my heart shall always be dedicated to you. I love you so tenderly and know that you will always be my dearest and saddest love.

Written by him, who is your humblest of servants

SC”

A shaky smile appeared on your face, though your stomach kept dropping throughout reading. A small laugh, stifled, came out of you, defiantly. Disorientation washed over you and it was as if your vision blurred for a moment.

“I must confess, I’m almost impressed. There’s a power between our legs, and at least you’ve learned to use it,” Jocelyn said.

Setting the book down, almost not daring to read it again, you stared into the open for a bit, but you heard Jocelyn continuing.

“You cast a spell over him. And it’s began ever since he kept speaking with you. So, tell me, they call you the Songbird of Jamestown, yes?”

Blinking, you looked back at her, voicing a shaky “wh-what?”

She walked over and grabbed your face, pinching at the mouth. Her face got into yours and you could feel the hot breath come out of her.

“Did those musical little lips suck his cock and is that why he does everything you insist?” she hissed.

“H-H-How d-dare you speak such…such lewd things!” you retorted, jerking away, nearly slapping her hand out.

You nursed the spot on your jaw tenderly. You turned away and saw the book. While Jocelyn was distracted you hid it under your blankets.

“Jocelyn, he’s going to marry you, whatever he may think of me. Don’t you see what it’s really saying? He’s letting me go. You’ve won.” You reasoned.

“You may think so. But now he hardly listens to me. He doesn’t do anything I ask him to. No matter what I try. And it’s began since your little romp in the flowers. If you are here, you are a threat to me and my marriage.” She said.

“What are you asking him to do?” you ask.

You noticed how high your shoulders had gotten to your ears and forced them down.

She paused, folding her hands in front of her.

“You don’t understand, Y/N. I’m going to lead him to greatness, for us. For the colony. Wouldn’t you like things to change? Wouldn’t things be better if Samuel was in charge? Not Farlow or Redwick or Massenger?” she interrogated.

“What’s wrong with Yeardley? And how do you plan on getting it, though? And I…I don’t think you understand, people die playing these games. Do you want to die? Do want Samuel to die?” you ask.

“Oh, Samuel.” She prodded. “Not Master Castell anymore? That’s a little more intimate, aren’t we? Do you love him?”

You froze.

“I know you’re a terrible liar. And I know what they do to liars here when they’re caught.” She added.

She kept her close distance but remained standing. Her eyes stared right into you, though your head dipped down low and you buried your face in your hands.

“Do. You. Love. him?”

Tears stained your eyes. That feeling, burning and bubbling in the depths of you was suddenly coming out. No matter how much you tried to deny it or ignore it for the greater good, for even your own safety, it was still singing, screaming in the back. Now it was getting louder, and louder.

“I…I think I do. I…I wish he…if only he was just a farmer, not the recorder, just so I could be with him!” you confessed.

Breathing in deep, you felt a weight had been freed from you. There was a silence, heavy with what she would say next.

“Then understand you are what is holding him back. That’s what love is. It holds us back. I’m going to bring him to greatness. I’m going to make him have things beyond even his own understanding. He could be a farmer. Or he could change everything and bring those men down and set things right here.” She explained, towering over you.

“By controlling him? Making him do things he doesn’t want to? Dangerous things?” you blurted.

“That’s how men work. And this place is ruled by them. We have to control them if we’re going to survive here as women.”

“But a harmless soul as his? Control Farlow, all you would like, Massanger, or Redwick, but…Samuel? He wants nothing of treachery, why make him treacherous?”

“That’s your weakness. You’re still clinging to love, thinking that’s what’s going to save you. I was like you once. I was proven wrong. Love doesn’t save you. It destroys you. And the sooner you let it go, the better you will be. I hope you’ve figured that out. You’re leaving here.” She scolded.

“To England? The company will send me back. They need to pay back the tobacco pounds on all of us.”

She then reached in her pocket and pulled out some letters.

“You know of the communities right outside here? I’ve written to the men of Charles City. Any women who isn’t immediately bound in marriage must go there. And there are at least three men over there are curious about you to be their wife.”

Not too far for the company but far enough you thought.

You barely glanced over it. It listed names, possessions, their house, and what they planted. One name, only one name. One name that would stand out. One name to stamp out Samuel’s. But none could. None of them had the name of the one you knew you wanted.

And who knew who these men actually were like? If you were lucky, they would be loving.

But at worst, you could be bound to another Henry Sharrow. You fought the urge to vomit again.

“Tomorrow, you will gather your things. Leave this town. Pick one. Marry him. And stay there.” Jocelyn demanded.

“I won’t. I won’t do it,” you voiced.

Jocelyn walked up and hissed at you softly.

“If you don’t, you are dead.”

“You couldn’t do that.”

“I almost succeeded. I have resources, don’t think I couldn’t.”

Your breath left you and you released a small cry of fear, your limbs nearly froze.

With all the bitterness and anger you had forced silent inside your soul for weeks, you looked Jocelyn in the eye and spat out “bitch.”

It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t dignified. It was not even mature. But it felt good.

“Never heard that one before,” she remarked sarcastically.

You turned around and, though still shaking, you got up on your feet. Jocelyn didn’t raise an eyebrow.

“Good day, Miss Y/L/N. And a blessing upon your marriage,” she finished with a smile.

You were determined not to be sent off without the last word. Now you had something. It wasn’t safe to say it, but if you were blessed to never see Jocelyn again, you might as well say it when you had the chance.

Tugging nervously on your shift you said “this isn’t the first time you’ve poisoned someone, Jocelyn.”

She froze and glared back at you, she took a few steps, threatening to charge at you like a predator.

“You little, sneaking slut!”

“And how is being a sneaking slut any better than being a liar and a murderer?” you snapped.

Jocelyn froze in her track, but continued her fiery glare into your eyes.

“Tell me, when a man makes a bet that he can take your virginity among his friends, takes it as they watch, and he wins, how much will you believe in love, then? How can you even trust men’s souls, then?” she croaked, now tears were barely going down her cheeks.

“It’s not men’s souls, Jocelyn. It’s what they’ve done. You’ve been hurt so you shut yourself off to keep yourself safe. And now that you have refused love, you’ve even refused the love that makes you care for others. All you can do is hurt others.”

You swallowed, got up from your bed, stood up quickly while you had the strength, and interrupted before Jocelyn could interject.

“You cannot love, you can’t love people or least of all yourself. That’s only because you have been betrayed. You’ve been hurt. But you could have used that pain to help others. Have you talked to Alice about what Henry did to her? Or Verity? You could have helped them. But you have let your pain make you harsh to underserving people. Good people. Samuel. Mercy, even, and she’s a child with nothing!”

You took two steps closer to her.

“But…you cannot help, truly, genuinely help. Only reward people you think you trust. That’s because all you know to do is hurt. For that, you will never know peace or contentment, and you have more than my disgust, you have my pity.”

She marches up to you and grabs you by the hair, growling into your ear “leave by tomorrow, or you’re dead.”

She then brushed any dirt or wrinkles off her dress, set her hat back up on her head, and walked out.

Alone, you collapsed on the bed. You were done with being brave. You were done with being strong. You wanted to be weak. You let yourself sob and sob.

You look barely at the letters of these suitors you have never even heard of, asking you for your soul, body, mind, possessions, and even possible children to be owned by them until death take one of you.

“The time’s gonna come fer yer freedom and maidenhead whether ya ready fer it or not!”

Then you look at Samuel’s letter in your book, you press it to your heart, and let your cries continue and continue, gingerly touching the petals of the pink primrose and even noticing the fresh bunch at your window.

So it…it wasn’t James at all! How could I be so stupid, I’m an idiot…

Could Jocelyn really kill you? How? The possibilities kept running through your head.

You had no idea how much money she brought with her but maybe she could hire someone to do it.

Or she probably already planted one of her possessions in your home. If someone noticed it, they could accuse you of stealing, go to Jocelyn, who’d give her testimony that you stole, give your truth and let it fall on deaf ears and then you would have to make the fatal walk outside the colony walls to the gallows.

She already fooled you into being poisoned. She could find a way to take and poison your food. Had she even poisoned the food you had when you weren’t looking.

And you didn’t know about how your physical strength could hold up. Jocelyn was slender and knew nothing of tasks requiring physical extremes. But that didn’t mean if she got possession of a gun or knife she wouldn’t be able to attack you.

Being at the wrong place at the wrong time could put you at risk. Perhaps she would drown you in the river if you went to do your laundry.

If she got that book and letter back, she could bring it to the court, make accusations of adultery, and get you hanged.

Finally, after a while, Christopher returned with Mercy trailing behind him.

“Mercy…how kind you are…and Christopher…”

“I asked my Master if I could make this broth for you, and he agreed. He has a kind heart, he does!” she chatted, handing you a cup.

You swallowed it gratefully, smiling at how for once your stomach did not reject it.

“He…yes, he does,” you answered. “Speaking of which…where…where is he?”

“There’s a large trial and many things he must record. He has a busy workday but sends his prayers to you. Now, take twice the dose, Miss. You will be a little weak today, but you should be fine. I insisted the church forgive your absences these next two days so you could recover. You’ll be strong by the day after tomorrow.” Doctor Priestly said.

He brought another batch of the medicine and handed it to you in a small vial with two spoons.

You swallowed the two spoonful’s and kept it down best you could.

“I saw Mistress Woodbyrg come in after a while. Even when she chided me, I thought it a blessing, the bit time I was there.” Mercy reported, folding her hands in front of her.

You only stared onto your blanket, right down.

Oh, dear Mercy, you don’t know the half of it and for your happiness I hope you never do!

“Oh, you are so lucky to already be working for her. There is never a lovelier lady! Although, she’s been quite troubled lately. Oh, she frowned so when I worked for her and it vexed me so much! But I’ve been praying every hour for her, when I could” Mercy chattered, she even folded her hands together and brought it up to her chin dreamily.

You were quiet for a moment. Mercy worshipped the ground Jocelyn walked on. She was someone perhaps the child wanted to be. But… should she have such a rosy view shattered? Jocelyn seemed to give her meaning and joy in her life. There was a fairy tale princess under her roof, no matter what that princess said or did.

“Mercy…tell Master Castell…thank you, for allowing you to make this broth and…Mercy, may I please have a bit of parchment, please? And something to write with? There’s…a quill and ink on the table.”

“How come, Miss?”

“I’ve…uhm…been practicing writing.”

“My, what a good skill! How lucky you are to be learning it, how clever you must be oh…”

There was a weight that you felt dragging you down, and the child took note.

“Why, what is it, Miss Y/L/N?”

“I…I just need to try to write. I can’t be idle even when sick…”

“Why, why yes indeed! As Psalms and Captain Smith do say, one must wake up and be industrious, it’s how we can praise the Lord himself. But…I am so glad you are well.

Doctor Priestly stood by in the corner, smiling at the sweet words said and observing quietly. Mercy handed you the quill and ink and then knelt by your bedside.

“I really am. I never had many friends. Mere few. And a lot of them died. And my master is gentle but…we can’t be friends. He gives me me earnings and that’s that. So…I’m just so thankful,” she said softly.

“I’m thankful to be your friend too, Mercy.”

She looked up at the smiling doctor, who gestured for her to come, and she left accompanied by him.

You stared at the parchment and backed it against your book. Your brain was brimming with words. Words that would have explained everything. Most of all, why. But your hand only knew how to write a few.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to get out of your bed and crawl through the muddy streets to wherever he was and collapse onto him.

But anger overtook you. It was his own letter that probably confirmed Jocelyn’s suspicions and put you in danger in the first place!

You wanted to even yell at him, to take that mud and throw it to smear his lovely face. To take that stick from that day by the river and beat him with it with all of your strength. All for the trouble this lovely letter put you through. If this was a plot and he was working with Jocelyn, then he had betrayed your trust and put you in great danger.

And if it wasn’t. Jocelyn proved it was his handwriting, after all. Or at least, it was not a forgery. He could have lied through this letter from Jocelyn’s or even someone else’s doing to get you out of your discouragement of him being too deeply involved in the intrigue.

But…you brain interrupted as you lifted the quill, hands shaking…what if it was?

If it wasn’t. If he meant every word of that letter, it meant…it meant that he really did see you. You. Humble little you. With ninety women that had just arrived, and he wanted! If nothing stood in his way, the gentlest, sweetest man in all of the colony, if not, even in all of England’s far kingdom or the world perhaps loved you.

But there was one thing in the way. And it was your life.

You wished desperately it was a letter with false intentions instead.

You dipped the quill into the ink as it sat gently on your bed and scribbled out seven words.

“Goodbye. I will miss you- Y/N Y/L/N.”

Not painless. But quick and to the point. It dried in a few minutes, the dark purple ink turning into the color of violets. The scrap was hidden in the book. You put it next to the pansy.

You barely slept that night and spent it packing or pacing.

Doctor Priestly arrived the next day with new medicine. But the doctor noticed the packed bag resting on the table.

“Are you alright, Y/N? You’ve lost so much of your color, even after the medicine” he asked.

“I’m…I’m just sad. I’m leaving. I haven’t been married yet and the company’s insisting I leave to fix that. I have a few marriages offers from Charles City. I have friends here, though. I will miss everyone,” you said.

You handed him the papers and letter from the men and the doctor nodded in understanding.

It wasn’t a lie, but some details perhaps he could not be trusted with yet.

“I’ve heard good things about you, Miss Y/L/N, our dear songbird. We will all miss you too,” he answered, giving you a last spoonful of medicine.

After he left, Mercy returned with one last cup of broth.

“I always insist a cup after will do good!” she chirruped.

“Mercy…I’m going to leave today.”

“Why?”

“To…to get married, please send this to your master.” You said, holding out the scrap.

“Shouldn’t I fetch ‘im, so you can tell him instead?”

“No! I mean…don’t trouble him when he has so much work. I just wanted to say goodbye to him, for…for helping me and Alice. He greeted me and was kind to me.” you explained quickly, though you felt yourself biting your lip.

Mercy nodded and left quietly, looking at the note with big, confused eyes. You saw a shininess that would bring on tears and she even put her hand over her mouth.

“Oh, Mercy!” you exclaimed, a sudden wave hitting you.

You ran up and hugged her.

“Oh…Miss…Miss!” she cried, letting herself sob too.

You bit back your tears and whispered to her.

“Listen to me, never let anyone treat you poorly. Don’t be like me. I’m a coward. Be brave. Fight back with all your strength and…please promise me you’ll do whatever it takes, be happy and safe…” you instructed.

Mercy blinked, in more confusion, and then hugged back.

“I…I will miss” she blubbered. She let go and gave you a sad smile and then left.

Your bags only had what was essential to travel and then some. Your books, your clothes, and your lace gloves, the only luxury the company promised you. And the only luxury it delivered. You even got bits of food, who knew how long the journey would last, the quicker you would leave, the better.

And even if Jocelyn had poisoned them when you weren’t looking, you decided it didn’t matter anyway.

You dressed plainly. Looking at your reflection in the window, you did look like you lost your color. Your cheeks had hollowed some. Your eyes had darkened underneath. It was as if you were now a ghost of whoever you were when you entered this house.

Walking outside, you took the last of the wilted primroses and put it into your apron pocket.

You walked past the people going about. Past the church, past the tavern, past James beating into a new piece of metal with a loud CLANG, and past the smelly dogs and hogs running through the street freely and housewives adorned in aprons all looking for corn in the market that could be bought today, past the muddy areas you had to hop over, past the nice red doors where men in ruffs and fine cloaks discussed power with soft voices, and towards that opening and the ocean of green before it.

As you neared the entrance, you could make out a cart just near where the graves were marked. It almost seemed as if it planted among the crop of little wooden crosses. It was led by it seemed a brown horse and another man, he was tan, short, stout, and had dark hair and a dark beard with grey streaks. He wore a straw hat and seemed to be chewing on something. He stared out into the open of the green field and the trees just beyond. But he was smiling, and his eyes were beaming like stars.

Though Jocelyn covered your leave, he did not seem the type to be a hired assassin. It was the cart. Breathing in deeply, you took a few steps to get on that cart that would take you to your new life to forget all of this.

“Miss Y/L/N…”

Your breath stopped and you paused. Continuing it, you decided you would not speak to him turned away. You turned your head and looked at him. The one voice you did not want to hear at this time. But you knew you had to. You couldn’t just leave him with just a scrap of paper, as much as you had denied it.

Blinking away any more tears that may have popped up, you turned around to face him. At least one final time before your new life awaited.

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