touch me!" she cried. "I despise you!"
They stared at one another for a long moment until Adrien deliberately lowered his head and kissed her. She fought her impulse to respond, keeping herself stiff and unyielding. He raised his head to look at her.
"I memorized lines from a poem by John Donne that fit you," she told him in a low, intense voice.
"If you were good, your good doth soon decay;
And you are rare, that takes the good away."
She raised her chin defiantly.
He elevated an eyebrow and stepped back. "Is there no end to your talents?"
"Please leave." Her voice shook Adrien bowed. "As you wish, Miss Wellsley." He turned on his heel and left the cabin.
Romell didn't see Adrien again until the ship was at anchor off Amsterdam and they were ready to disembark. He behaved very formally as he assisted her into the boat, then onto the dock, where she waited while he asked questions of passing Hollanders. The men he spoke to listened, then shook their heads. Finally, Adrien shrugged and approached a dock worker who was hefting a cask onto his shoulder. Romell heard the name "Jacob."
Adrien walked back to her side. "No one I've met so far knows your cousins, or if they live in Amsterdam. This man, though, remembers Jacob, who used to work on the docks here before he went to London. Jacob has relatives on Bree Straat—Broad Street. Perhaps they'll take you in."
"Take me in?"
"I must not compromise you further by seeking shelter for you in a common hostelry," Adrien said stiffly. "It may take days to locate your cousins."
"So, I am to ask charity from complete strangers?"
He frowned. "What would you have me do?"
Romell bit her lip. What, indeed? Where was she to go?
"Do whatever you must," she told him.
He escorted her to a carriage and, after consulting with the driver, got in beside her. The driver turned away from the harbor along a cobbled street that ran between tall brick houses, turned into another street that ran along a canal bordered by tall elms.
Romell twisted her fingers together in her lap as she made a pretense of looking out the window. Finally, the driver called out: "Bree Straat." As the driver halted the horses, Adrien leaned forward to stare at the houses. "It seems Jacob has prosperous relations," he said.
Romell didn't recognize the language Adrien used, speaking to the stout woman who seemed to be mistress of the house. Although Romell didn't know Dutch, she could recognize many Dutch words since they sounded almost the same in English. Whatever Adrien and the woman spoke, it was not Dutch.
The woman glanced curiously at her as she listened to Adrien, but the look was friendly. She clasped her hands together and shook her head pityingly. Suddenly she came forward and took Romell into her arms, patting her on the back. To Romell's surprise and distress, she found herself in tears, clinging to the stout woman and sobbing helplessly.
"I shall leave you here then," Adrien said to her. "Mevrouw Bonus will care for you until I locate your relatives. She speaks only Portuguese and Yiddish, so I fear you'll not be able to understand her, but I'll be back as soon as possible."
By the time Romell had wiped away her tears, she found Adrien gone. Her hostess pressed her into a chair and rang for a servant. Soon food and drinks were set before Romell.
" Mevrouw, " she began, hoping she had the word right, hoping it meant, as she thought it must, Madame.
Her hostess laughed, pointing to herself. "Francesca," she said.
Romell smiled and nodded. She pointed to herself. "Romell," she said. By the time Adrien returned the next day, Romell had become the pet of the household. Two other women, sisters of Francesca—or so Romell believed—had found her suitable clothes, altering the brocade gown to fit, ordering servants to dress her hair, to bring her food. She was able to greet Adrien clean of body and somewhat composed of mind.
"I've found Miss Halva and Miss Greta Roosevelt,” he told her.
They stared at one another for a long moment until Adrien deliberately lowered his head and kissed her. She fought her impulse to respond, keeping herself stiff and unyielding. He raised his head to look at her.
"I memorized lines from a poem by John Donne that fit you," she told him in a low, intense voice.
"If you were good, your good doth soon decay;
And you are rare, that takes the good away."
She raised her chin defiantly.
He elevated an eyebrow and stepped back. "Is there no end to your talents?"
"Please leave." Her voice shook Adrien bowed. "As you wish, Miss Wellsley." He turned on his heel and left the cabin.
Romell didn't see Adrien again until the ship was at anchor off Amsterdam and they were ready to disembark. He behaved very formally as he assisted her into the boat, then onto the dock, where she waited while he asked questions of passing Hollanders. The men he spoke to listened, then shook their heads. Finally, Adrien shrugged and approached a dock worker who was hefting a cask onto his shoulder. Romell heard the name "Jacob."
Adrien walked back to her side. "No one I've met so far knows your cousins, or if they live in Amsterdam. This man, though, remembers Jacob, who used to work on the docks here before he went to London. Jacob has relatives on Bree Straat—Broad Street. Perhaps they'll take you in."
"Take me in?"
"I must not compromise you further by seeking shelter for you in a common hostelry," Adrien said stiffly. "It may take days to locate your cousins."
"So, I am to ask charity from complete strangers?"
He frowned. "What would you have me do?"
Romell bit her lip. What, indeed? Where was she to go?
"Do whatever you must," she told him.
He escorted her to a carriage and, after consulting with the driver, got in beside her. The driver turned away from the harbor along a cobbled street that ran between tall brick houses, turned into another street that ran along a canal bordered by tall elms.
Romell twisted her fingers together in her lap as she made a pretense of looking out the window. Finally, the driver called out: "Bree Straat." As the driver halted the horses, Adrien leaned forward to stare at the houses. "It seems Jacob has prosperous relations," he said.
Romell didn't recognize the language Adrien used, speaking to the stout woman who seemed to be mistress of the house. Although Romell didn't know Dutch, she could recognize many Dutch words since they sounded almost the same in English. Whatever Adrien and the woman spoke, it was not Dutch.
The woman glanced curiously at her as she listened to Adrien, but the look was friendly. She clasped her hands together and shook her head pityingly. Suddenly she came forward and took Romell into her arms, patting her on the back. To Romell's surprise and distress, she found herself in tears, clinging to the stout woman and sobbing helplessly.
"I shall leave you here then," Adrien said to her. "Mevrouw Bonus will care for you until I locate your relatives. She speaks only Portuguese and Yiddish, so I fear you'll not be able to understand her, but I'll be back as soon as possible."
By the time Romell had wiped away her tears, she found Adrien gone. Her hostess pressed her into a chair and rang for a servant. Soon food and drinks were set before Romell.
" Mevrouw, " she began, hoping she had the word right, hoping it meant, as she thought it must, Madame.
Her hostess laughed, pointing to herself. "Francesca," she said.
Romell smiled and nodded. She pointed to herself. "Romell," she said. By the time Adrien returned the next day, Romell had become the pet of the household. Two other women, sisters of Francesca—or so Romell believed—had found her suitable clothes, altering the brocade gown to fit, ordering servants to dress her hair, to bring her food. She was able to greet Adrien clean of body and somewhat composed of mind.
"I've found Miss Halva and Miss Greta Roosevelt,” he told her.
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