The Fool Ch. 06

"I don't know," Carrie said miserably. "I seemed to be going to one place my whole life, and suddenly it seems I can't navigate around all the obstacles in my way." She explained as honestly as she could.

"I am going to Canada, you can come with me!" the girl smiled. "I want to see the snow and be cold. It's always so hot here, and, where I am from, snow looks so nice."

"Have you lived here long?" Carrie asked, wiping the perspiration from her face on her sleeve.

"I came to the hospital a long time ago, and I am almost good enough with English to move to Canada," she said proudly. "You are a new girl, and I know how awful it is, but they will look after you here, you are very safe. No one will come to take you back."

"Take me back?" Carrie asked.

"You would have been worth much more money than me. The man who lost you would be mad and try to get you back. Yes?" she asked. "I am just a plain girl, but they still try to stop me going with the ones who came to help us," she said as if that explained everything.

"I don't think I understand. I am not staying at the hospital. I am staying in the house with Sinclair Mansvelt. My name is Carrie," she smiled.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," the girl bobbed a courtesy and turned to run away, but Carrie caught her arm.

"Wait, you don't have to go. I am curious about the hospital and how you came to be there. Please, tell me, because I don't understand," Carrie encouraged. "What's your name?" she asked, leading the girl to sit under a shady tree.

"I am Gianna. Do you like it? I chose it myself," she smiled.

"It's very nice, Gianna. You can call me Carrie, not Mistress," she smiled. "Why were you in the hospital?"

Over the next hour, Carrie teased out the story that Gianna had grown up in a very small poor village and her parents had sold her to the local landlords in Thailand. She had been put to work as a dancer and entertainer in a bar in one of the tourist spots, but she didn't like it and tried to run away a few times until they drugged her to keep her docile. The patrons who frequented the club didn't like her, so drug affected, so she had been taken to a market to be sold.

The market had been raided, and she had been taken to the Mansfield house in Myanmar and then on a large ship to the hospice here where the security was tight and she felt safe. She'd become depressed while recovering from her drug addiction and what had happened to her in Thailand, which was why she had thought that Carrie, like her, was looking for the best spot to jump from the cliffs. She had recovered though, and had been learning English and how to be a nursing aide in the hospital before starting a new life in Canada.

"I will be Gianna Ling, and one of Mansfield's friends has a hospital for old people in Canada where I can work and live," she said happily. "I have to wait to get a passport first, but I will leave soon."

"I am so happy for you. Maybe I could visit you in Canada once you get settled?" Carrie asked.

"Oh yes, I will have my own apartment where I can have many friends come and visit me," she said excitedly.

"Do all the girls who come here get to go to Canada?" Carrie asked thoughtfully.

"Some girl's minds don't come back properly," Gianna had trouble finding the words to explain. "They don't leave here, or go to another very safe place with one of the friends. Sometimes they have been too frightened or hurt too bad," she said quietly, her voice trailing off.

"It's okay, I understand," Carrie said softly. "I am very happy for you, though. I know you're going to love Canada."

"They will be looking for me at the hospital. I have had a long lunch time," Gianna stood and smiled. "It was very nice to meet you, Carrie. You are a lucky one to be at the big house with Mr. Mansfield."

"I should go and find some lunch too, I'm very hungry now," Carrie said with an answering smile. "Thank you for coming to talk to me. You've helped me with the things I was thinking about when I was walking along the cliff. You will be the best nurse for the people in Canada."

*****

Carrie had returned to the house and found Amara, asking about something to eat. Having talked to Gianna, she understood Sinclair's comments about PTSD and didn't try to engage her on a friendly level. She acted like the lady of the manor and felt that Amara relaxed knowing she wouldn't be engaged in conversation.

A flash going past the doorway caught her eye, and she cocked her head, watching the opening as she ate the salad Amara had made for her. Minutes later Sunday and Sinclair walked quickly past the door moving toward the front of the house in a hurry. She was curious, but was still feeling out of sorts because of their arguments this morning. He may have twisted her words out of context, but he had admitted that he had planned to ask her, even if she hadn't joked about it.

Once again she heard her mother's voice chastising her for becoming emotionally invested in the doomed relationship, and she sighed loudly. How could she not be invested in the relationship? They'd spent so much time together in the last few months; they were practically joined at the hip. The look on his face when she regained consciousness after falling floated in her mind, along with his shaking relief. His concern and thankfulness when she'd finally told him why she wanted to leave Treasure Island and his parents. The hurt look and slump of his shoulders as he closed the cave door and walked away from her. The fact that she had hurt him pulled at her emotions all the more.

The rational side of Carrie that was the Fool repeated her mother's advice, and knew she would have to be the one to apologise and makes amends if she wanted to regain the momentum she had for the plan. The emotional Carrie, who was falling for the man who hid the amazing, compassionate and ultimately good side of himself from the rest of the world and was letting her get glimpses of it, told her to hold out and make him come to her.

When she finished eating she went in search of the library. She hoped it was as well, if not better stocked, than the libraries she had found at his other homes. The house was huge, she found as she wandered about getting lost. Although it looked big from the outside, it felt immense on the inside, and she got turned around enough to get lost in the labyrinth-like corridors.

"This is the staff wing," Amara said quietly, finding Carrie wandering sometime later. "Would you like me to show you to your room?"

"Yes, please," Carrie said gratefully. "Maybe directions to the library as well?"

"You were in the library earlier, Miss," Amara said. "Mansvelt uses it as his office when he is here."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise," Carrie said softly, feeling as though she had been rebuked. Amara was solicitous and polite, but Carrie felt animosity coming from the woman and couldn't work out why. She followed the woman silently through the house.

"This will be your room," Amara indicated a doorway. "I hope you will be comfortable."

"Thank you," Carrie said, realising that Sinclair had indeed organised a separate room for her. She became angry again thinking he had taken things too far, twisting her small joke this morning around again to suit his mood. Well, two could play that game, and she wouldn't be the first to break in this instance. She looked through the room, discovering her bags had been unpacked for her, and decided it would be the best time to go and inspect the library, as Sinclair had left earlier with Sunday and she hadn't heard him come back.

She made her way carefully down to the library, taking care to memorise the route so she didn't get lost again in the immense house. It was quite a simple route, she realised, as she walked back past the entrance and down the main corridor to the room she had first come to when arriving at the house.

The library was smaller than those in his other homes, but what was there was astounding. It seemed that the fillers of novels and general reference books had been culled from this library leaving only books holding relevant information to the history of the Mansvelt family in this region, as well as the men they had dealings with. She found a biography of Edward Mansvelt called 'Brethren of the Coast', and her own knowledge told her that the Hats had been formed from the remnants of the brethren and that Mansvelt had been an informal chieftain of the first brethren. She was curled in an overstuffed chair reading the book when a middle-aged woman appeared in the library.

"Well, you're a little underwhelming," the woman announced. "I'm Stella Davis," she stepped forward, holding out her hand in greeting. "And you're Carrington Wordsworth Ward, the woman who finally got under Sinclair Mansvelt's skin."

"I highly doubt that Sinclair's skin is thick, and, as far as I can tell, impenetrable," Carrie said, coming to her feet and taking the woman's hand. "Just like his ego," she added the small jibe, feeling the sting of being underwhelming to this woman.

"I don't normally come on these little missions, but I had heard you would be here, I decided to come and meet my husband here before heading home together. I must say you're nothing like I imagined," she said, as her eyes raked up and down Carrie, judging her from head to toe.

"I expect most of his past girlfriends could barely read, let alone be happy in a library," Carrie rolled her eyes, making the woman laugh lightly. "I'm not exactly the party girl type he is typically seen with in the media," she admitted.

"I'm surprised Carter spoke so highly of you then," the woman took a seat close to where Carrie had been sitting, waving her hand to encourage Carrie to sit again, as if this was her home and Carrie was the guest.

"Carter was lovely when I met her at a house party she was hosting," Carrie agreed, making the other woman raise an eyebrow.

"That's what she does, throw parties for the rich and famous," Stella laughed lightly, then narrowed her eyes. "You have no idea what it is you've walked into, do you? I told Chris you couldn't possibly know or understand, so I've decided to help you with the exhibition and explain some truths to you about the Brethren of the Coast." She said in a haughty lecturing tone. "I won't stand by and let you make a mockery out of everything these men have worked toward over the ages. What Miles has done is bad enough, but I swear I won't let you do that with the Mansvelt collection."

"The Rackham collection was handled with infinite care," Carrie said indignantly.

"It was an idealised and romanticised version of who Calico Jack and his crew were at the pinnacle of his fame, but it wasn't the truth, and I think it's time the world heard some of those truths." She said with a passion in her voice that made Carrie sit up and pay attention.

"I assure you I have done the research required to best curate the Mansvelt collections," Carrie said carefully.

"You know what they want you to know. History is full of braggarts and minstrels who play the popular tunes at the time. What we have is the words of scribes who owed their allegiance to one side or another. The victors decide what is published and what is destroyed, so future generations don't know the truth. Let's take your brother's recent brush with fame. If no one in the crowd had access to modern technology, do you think it would have gone so well for him? Do you think the witnesses would have all told the same story, or it would have been reported accurately? No, my dear, your research is lacking, dependant on whose version of history you chose to acknowledge."

"And you're making that assumption because I'm young, perhaps? Maybe you think that because I was an assistant curator of the Rackham exhibition that I would create a similar show. I assure you I am well versed in the history of the Mansvelt family, as I am in the Davis family, the Avery Family..." Carrie listed off the members of the Hats, becoming angry that she was being lectured to on something she was somewhat of an expert on.

"Are you as well versed in your history and the real reason they are no longer part of the association, not even a cousin coming forward to take his place at the table?" she challenged.

"There was no male heir in an unbroken bloodline," Carrie said easily, her mother had drilled her family's history into her from the earliest of ages.

"There were several cousins who could claim the distinction of an unbroken line back to Stede Bonnet himself. Each of them could have taken the chair if they had survived. History can be erased just as easily as it can be created, and you should consider that fact and question what you have been told of your history," Stella sneered at the look of disbelief on Carrie's face.

"Thank you for the advice," Carrie said frostily. "As you say, there will always be different versions of history that appeal more to one side or another. However, Sinclair put me in charge of this exhibition, and any assistance you may want to offer in that regard should go through him." Carrie said abruptly. "Please make yourself at home. You obviously know your way around this house far better than I could ever aspire to," Carrie's voice was sickly sweet as she spoke.

She picked up the book and left the room, noticing Amara in the corridor outside heading toward the kitchen. "Please be sure to make Mrs. Davis as comfortable as possible, and ask her what she'd like for dinner. I am tired after the long flight and am going back to my room to rest. Could you tell me what the WI-FI network password is here?"

*****

Sinclair was shocked by the age and condition of the women who had been brought to the hospital. The raid on the Columbian coastal town of Cartagena had been successful. The laws in Columbia against human tracking and forced labour had strengthened over time, but the tourist sex trade was such that each time one underground brothel was shut down another sprung up to replace it. He had long since given up the notion that the real ring leaders of this type of slavery would ever be caught and prosecuted. Instead, he worked with the authorities of international organisations, like Interpol, to ensure that as many as possible were shut down and the people trapped in this deadly business were given a second chance at life.

It had been almost a year since the small hospice here had any new patients, and he was pleased to see how enthusiastically those who had not moved on to new lives yet had helped the staff to process the newly freed young men and women. By the time he and Christopher Davis returned to the house, it was early evening. As if she had been waiting for him, Carrie appeared from the upper floor dressed formally for dinner.

"Good, you're here, I'm starving," Carrie said with a welcoming smile to Christopher. "You must be Chris. Sin mentioned you might be arriving. I'm so glad to meet you. I left Stella in the library while I went to freshen up. Shall we go find her?" Carrie turned and led the way to the office without giving either man time to speak.

Sinclair shrugged at Christopher and followed her toward his office. This was a new persona, a socialite Carrie. He was thrown for a moment, but the argument, if you could call it an argument, they had this morning must have had more of an effect on her than he had thought it would. She was certainly playing the role of Lady of the Manor, so perhaps she had changed her mind about the engagement.

"Did Amara ask you about Dinner?" Carrie inquired as she swept into the room where Stella sat sipping an iced tea and thumbing through a book.

"Yes, I organised it for you," Stella said in a condescending tone.

"Thank you, I just don't know how I would have managed if you weren't here to assist me," Carrie smiled and turned back to the two men. "Would you like a drink before dinner? I'm sure Stella would be able to organise that for you too," she asked pleasantly.

"Sure," Sinclair said with a chuckle. He was buoyed by the idea that she had changed her mind about the engagement. "I'll have a beer, what about you, Chris?"

"I'll have a beer too," he said, turning to narrow his eyes at his wife who was standing and walking toward the door in search of Amara, who, as always, was close by and ready to serve. "What did you do?" he asked his wife when she came back into the room.

"Asked Amara for two beers and said we would eat in twenty minutes," she frowned at his question.

"No. What did you do to Carrie? This isn't your home, so why are you ordering the dinner menu and drinks for us?" Christopher asked pointedly.

"She asked me to, you heard her," she smiled as if it was all very normal.

"I was tired from the long flight last night and early morning here. I needed to rest, and Stella seemed so at home, I asked Amara to check with her," Carrie came to the woman's rescue, despite her plan to act totally vapid tonight.

"You see? I haven't done anything to her," Stella walked back into the room and resumed her seat.

"Would you like a drink, Carrie? I'll catch up to Amara if you would like something," Christopher offered, turning away from his wife, who had the good grace to blush, if not apologise for the oversight.

""I just remembered I borrowed a book from the library earlier that I have forgotten to bring down with me. I will talk to Amara as I go to get it," Carrie said easily, brushing past Sinclair as she went to leave the room.

"Is everything okay?" Sinclair asked, reaching out to grab her hand as she passed him.

"Is there a reason why every little thing wouldn't be?" she asked in return and pulled her hand free of his grip.

Carrie played the perfect hostess throughout the dinner, entertaining the others at the table with funny stories that made her look like a typical party-loving young woman who might have met Sinclair at one of Carter Avery's house parties. The dinner was interrupted by Sunday, who announced there were men at the door to see Carrie.

"Well, I hate to cut this spectacular evening short, but I seemed to have double booked myself tonight. It was lovely to meet you Chris, and Stella," she gave the woman a hard look. "I'm sure we'll meet again sometime. Perhaps next time you come to London," she smiled widely and left the room following Sunday without saying a word to Sinclair. He immediately stood and followed her.

"My bags are packed and sitting just inside the door of the room Sinclair gave me, if you wouldn't mind getting them for me," she said softly to Sunday, preparing to argue with Sinclair again.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, it's so good to see you," she hugged one of the men tightly.

"Sinclair, this is Blake O'Leary, he's an old friend who owns a hotel in Charleston. He's going to fly me home to London. The other two gentlemen are body guards I asked him to bring with him. Despite you treating me like an idiot lately, I do understand that getting shot at is nothing to be taken lightly," she said gently.

"You're leaving? Tonight?" Sinclair recovered from his shock long enough to ask the obvious.

"You made it very clear this morning that I am wasting my time here. You've taken me to two places where I have felt like a virtual prisoner and pressured me into decisions I didn't want to make. So, this time, just let me go, Sinclair, before we both say and do things we will regret and ruin any chance we have for the plans we both made for the collection and your Heart," she leant up and brushed her lips over his as he stood dumbfounded.

"Oh," she said, as if just remembering something important, and lowered her voice slightly in tone so he knew she was serious. "You can tell that bitch in there that insulting your girlfriend as soon as she meets them is probably not a good a good way to start a friendship. I neither need nor want her help curating your collection, and if she wants to be lady of the manor here, she can have at it," Carrie said acidly and turned and walked out the door followed by the three men who had taken her luggage from Sunday.