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Wan Claup only went back home by nightfall. He stated he’d already had dinner and locked himself up in the library. Cecilia decided she and Marina would have dinner in the kitchen with Colette and Tomasa, like they did whenever Wan Claup was at sea. The girl hardly touched her food, and didn’t pay any attention to the women’s chattering, even more troubled than she was in the morning. She asked to be dismissed as soon as she could.
Cecilia followed her out of the kitchen. She saw the girl pause outside the closed door to the library, hesitate and hurry down the hall, her head low. As soon as the girl closed her room’s door, Cecilia went to the library herself. She knocked and didn’t wait for an answer to walk in.
Wan Claup lowered his book and faced her, no trace of a smile. Cecilia set her jaw and crossed the room to stand only two steps away from him.
“May I know what’s with you?” she asked, in the same tone she used to scold her child.
Wan Claup was surprised. “What do you mean?”
“Have you seen your niece since breakfast?” He shook his head. “That’s what I mean.”
“I’ll see her in the morning, right?”
“And I hope you stop acting as if she’d committed a mortal sin. Goodnight.”
“I met with Captain Feraud this afternoon,” Wan Claup said before she reached the door. “He’s making the last crossing of the season in two weeks. I’d advise you to start packing.”
Cecilia spun around. “Packing? What are you talking about?”
“Marina is leaving for France this very year. I’ve already booked a cabin for you two on Feraud’s ship.”
Wan Claup looked back down to resume his reading, but his sister’s shadow cast over his book and he was forced to face her again.
“Are you kicking me out of my own home?” she asked in a furious hiss.
“Of course I’m not. You can be back in the summer, as soon as the little pearl is settled.”
“Settled in a nunnery or with a husband?” Cecilia sneered down at him. “My daughter and I aren’t going anywhere, Wan. But you could go visit your friend the Mercier widow. Maybe she can help you clear that head of yours, so full of foolery.”
He sighed. “I’m doing this for her own good, Cécile. Trust me.”
She let out a bitter chuckle. “Whose good, brother? You no longer know who your niece is. Or who I am, for all that matters. It’s not your fault, I get it. But it’s up to you to get that a few weeks a year with us are not enough to understand the changes around you. You still call me by my maiden name! I quit being Cécile Wan Claup fifteen years ago, brother. I’m Cecilia Velazquez, and I will be till the day I die. And I’m telling you I’m not sending Marina to Europe, to condemn her to a life of unhappiness.” She turned her back to him and headed for the door. “My regards to Madame Mercier. Maybe you should stay with her until you set sail again.”
Cecilia left Wan Claup stomaching the insight and went to her room. As discreet as usual, Tomasa brought her an herbs tea. While the housekeeper helped her out of her dress, Cecilia heard her brother’s horse ride away again and let out a heartfelt sigh.
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Wan Claup came back late that night. He came from visiting not the Mercier widow but Laventry, and his friend’s mocking laughter still echoed in his ears. To his surprise, Laventry had taken Cecilia’s side and called him a stubborn blockhead.
“Of course the little pearl asked me to teach her fencing. More than once. She also wants to be my cabin boy. What were you expecting? She’s the Ghost’s child, brother! What else would she dream of? Trust Cecilia. She’s her mother and nobody knows better what our child needs.”
The stable boy waited for him, and took his horse as soon as he stopped outside the stables. Wan Claup thanked him in a whisper and tiptoed into the house, to keep from waking anybody up. Only to find there was light in the kitchen, the main hall and his sister’s and niece’s rooms. He almost stumbled onto Tomasa, who hurried out of the kitchen with a jug full of fresh water and clean clothes.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Marina, sir,” the black woman replied. “She’s burning in fever, just like that night. God spare us from another tragedy.”
That night. Tomasa meant the night the Ghost had faced Diego Castillano for the last time. Cecilia had told him that the little girl had woken up in the middle of the night, burning in fever, crying out loud for her father. Comparing stories, the siblings had concluded that it had happened about the same time Manuel Velazquez had fallen, deathly wounded, all the way across the Caribbean Sea.
He pressed on down the hall, dropping his felt hat and his cloak on the way, a bad feeling souring his mouth. Cecilia recognized his footsteps and came out of Marina’s room.
“Finally! I was about to send Claude for you!”
“What happened?”
Cecilia signaled Tomasa to take what she carried into the room and rested her hand on her brother’s chest, stopping him.
“Marina needs you, brother. It’s the first time her crying wakes me up ever since Manuel’s death. Go comfort her. But for all you hold dear, don’t mention France. I haven’t told her about it. Else, she would’ve run away, and instead of finding her crying in the middle of the night, we would’ve found her bed vacant in the morning.”
Her words seemed to push Wan Claup into the bedroom. He found his niece curling up in bed, crying and shaking, her face against the wet pillow. Tomasa filled the washbasin on the nightstand and wetted the clothes to refresh her.
“Marina!” Wan Claup cried, rushing to her side.
The girl looked up and stretched her arms out to him, sobbing. He held her tight against his chest and kissed her fevered forehead.
“Forgive me, Uncle! Please, forgive me!” Marina cried, soaking his vest in her tears. “Promise I’ll be good! I’ll do whatever you want! But please, forgive me!”
“Hush, my pearl, don’t cry,” Wan Claup whispered, moved. “There’s nothing to forgive, my child. Calm down. You are my little pearl and I love you, now and always.”
The girl quivered in his arms, unable to stop her heartbreaking tears. From the door, Cecilia signaled Tomasa to walk out and followed her, leaving them alone.
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