“And so you must understand, dear Afton, I never dreamed any harm might come to you. Please, you must forgive me!”

“But no harm did come to me,” Afton assured her friend that morning over a late breakfast of toast and buttered eggs, all Mrs. Agate was willing to prepare for the girls after last night’s debacle.

“It was foolish of me to think I could host a party all on my own. I am twenty years too young to even think of such a thing and I know it! Oh!” Esther collapsed upon the table in a fit of heaving sobs. “I’m so humiliated!”

“Dear, you must not cry.” The younger girl came around to touch the elder’s trembling shoulders gingerly. “It was a lovely party, truly.”

“I tried. Oh, I did try! And all for you, you recall. I only wanted to make you feel welcome at Holland House…”

“Yes, I know,” Afton said, though what she did not say was that if Esther truly wanted to make her feel welcome, she would stop throwing her parties and buying her gowns and simply let her get used to her new surroundings organically, in peace and quiet. But she could hardly say such a thing to her new friend, for whom parties and gowns seemed an almost exclusive source of delight, and whose humiliating attempt at a soirée last evening, though hardly recalled by Afton herself, had left the hostess in this inconsolable state.

She hated to see Esther this way, and on her account, too, or at least, that’s how it seemed to Afton. In her mind, beautiful, vivacious Esther should always be happy and smiling, regardless of the circumstance.

Racking her brain for a way to lift her spirits, it was then Afton recalled how well Esther had enjoyed her story of Mr. Hawthorne yesterday. Of such made-up tales she had many to choose from, for Afton Green had always been a peculiar, lonely sort of girl, keen to dream up fanciful stories for the townsfolk in Littlewood, imagining lives far more exciting for them than doubtless they ever lived.

“You mustn’t look so sorry, Esther. Seeing you so tearful reminds me of poor Captain Fish.”

Esther sat up, her cheeks wet and her eyes red with tears. Afton quickly produced a handkerchief for her.

“Who?”

“Captain William Fish, of His Majesty’s navy. After his retirement he kept a fine house in Littlewood, with horses and a farm.”

Esther dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief and blinked at her artlessly. 

“He doesn’t sound like a sad person at all.”

“Oh, but he was sad. Outwardly, just to meet him or pass him in the street, one might overlook it. But if you looked into his eyes, such sorrow was etched there. Such heartbreak…

“Captain Fish had been a career naval man, and he spent his youth fighting the Spanish from the Strait of Gibraltar to the stormy waters off Cape St. Vincent. In one of his many conquests, he captured a beautiful Spanish countess, with flowing hair the color of the midnight sky, and eyes that sparkled like stars. Though she was the enemy, the very moment their eyes met, they fell deeply in love. For his sake, she renounced her citizenship—gave up everything—and the two were married on the main. Soon, the countess was with child, and it seemed nothing could darken the happy lovers’ days. But their stars had decreed otherwise...”

“Oh, no,” Esther murmured, utterly gripped by Afton’s tale. Beside her, having entered the room unnoticed, Mattie came to the table and slipped in very naturally by Esther’s side.

“What happened to them?” she queried, wide-eyed.

“The countess gave birth aboard the captain’s ship to a beautiful baby girl. But she was tragically weakened by the ordeal. Before the child was fully weaned, she passed away, leaving Captain Fish to raise their daughter all alone.”

“It’s so tragic,” crooned Esther.

“He will know nothing of raising a child.”

“Nothing, indeed. The captain ought to have given her into the care of a trusted relative, but he could not bring himself to relinquish the girl, the one remaining proof of his great love, now lost. And so, he raised the child himself, on the main.”

“No!” the girls gasped in unison.

“Such was the upbringing of Esmeralda Fish,” Afton said, nodding somberly with her eyes closed, pleased at last to be speaking the heroine’s name aloud. Her own father, much as he loved her, never could abide her ‘silly romantic fantasies,’ and so she’d kept them locked away in her heart for months and even years, dreaming of a moment just like this, where there’d be a captive audience to share them with.

“Beautiful, raven-haired Esmeralda Fish. All her life, she spent aboard sailing vessels, traveling from port to port. Though her father took pains to educate her properly, she grew up learning the ways of the sea and of sailing, hearing nothing all day but the coarse talk of sailors. So on one hand, while it was true she was a lady, the daughter of a Spanish countess, on the other hand, it was equally true that she was rough and dark, her face hardened by the weather and her hands calloused from climbing the shrouds from a young age.”

“Captain Fish ought not to have done it!” protested Mattie. “Now the girl will have no chance of making a good match!”

“Poor Captain Fish,” said Esther, still reveling in the tragedy.

“Esmeralda grew, and when she reached the age of sixteen, the captain finally realized the error of his ways. She was a young lady now, and needed the guidance of a lady to complete her education. He had resolved, you see, to wed Esmeralda to a good friend of his, Captain Horn, and see them both settled down in England within a year. So he made plans to leave Esmeralda in Plymouth with a governess, with the intention of preparing her for marriage. But what do you think? Esmeralda had no wish to marry Captain Horn, a man as old as her own father! Nor did she wish to marry any man, nor settle down at all, until she’d had her fill of adventure on the high seas. So, when she went ashore in Plymouth, she said farewell to her father, only to immediately run away from her governess! She cut her long raven hair short, and dressed herself in boys’ clothes, then hired herself out on the next ship to leave port. And where do you think it was headed?”

At every line, the girls gasped, till their eyes were wide as could be and their faces nearly blue.

“Madeira?” Afton suggested while the girls looked on, unable to even fathom the island, how far it was from England or what it meant for Esmeralda to sail there. “The Cape Verde Islands? No, even farther than that. Her ship...was headed for...the West Indies,” she said in a near whisper, and both girls gasped and clutched at their breasts while Afton looked on, pleased by her audience’s reaction. She had always enjoyed inventing stories for herself, but it was even more fun telling them to her friends. If the truth be told, her lisp did occasionally manifest in the midst of this long monologue, but the girls were so invested in the story, and Afton so eager to tell it that if anyone did notice, it was the farthest thing from their minds.

She went on, spinning the tale of the daring Esmeralda Fish and her adventures in the Caribbean, where she rescued a ship full of human cargo destined to be sold as slaves and set them free, only to be unanimously named their captain. Forced to become pirates, they had many adventures, raiding only the ships of villainous plantation owners in the fashion of Robin Hood, bringing justice to the West. But then who was sent to stop her pirating but her own father, Captain Fish!

The story went on for as long as Afton could tell it, with father and daughter playing a daring game of cat and mouse among the savage islands of the Caribbean, until eventually her voice gave out, and she became too hoarse to speak. Though her story was unfinished, by this time Esther had quite forgotten her melancholy and was back to her usual cheerful self, which was all that mattered to Afton.

“What a lovely day it is,” Esther declared. “It seems a shame we should be cooped up inside this dreary house.”

“A lovely day indeed,” Mattie agreed. “Just as I was leaving to come to Holland House, my younger siblings were in the garden engaged in a battle of snowballs. Mother could not get them to come inside to practice their arithmetic.”

“A happy thought!” cried Esther. “With no governess here and no one to prevent us, why oughtn’t we do the same?”

“What? You mean go outside and play in the snow? Like children?”

“Exactly that! Come, Mattie, come, Afton. We must dress in our winter things. We’re going to have a snowball battle!”

Afton was fast learning that once Esther had decided upon something, there were hardly any words of protest that could dim her enthusiasm, nor indeed, dissuade her from her scheme. She was determined to play in the snow, so into the snow the young ladies went, wearing their woolen pelisses and stockings. Esther and Mattie wore richly colored coats in ruby and emerald lined with fur, while Afton wore the plain gray coat she’d brought from Littlewood. The other girls wore leather gloves as they made snowballs and threw them at one another while Afton had none, though this did not stop her from enjoying herself with them.

Lifting their skirts, they bounded through the freshly fallen snow, chasing each other in circles, shrieking with delight and childish abandon. They threw snowballs and built a snowman and his wife, decorating them very smartly with effects stolen from Mr. Holland’s closet and Esther’s own bonnet.

The girls spent a good hour playing these happy games, at the end of which time Afton found her hands quite blue and numb with cold, and her throat, which had been sore from her storytelling, felt scratchy and swollen. By the time they returned inside, she had developed a little cough which made Esther look at her concernedly.

“My dear Afton, you are not well,” she said to the shivering girl.

“It-it’s nothing. Just c-caught a slight chill.”

“We must get you in by the fire. Kit, tell Mrs. Agate to bring hot chocolate.”

“Right away, Miss.”

In spite of all of Esther’s best efforts, Afton’s chill persisted into the evening. Her head and body ached, and no amount of her hostess’ good will could seem to rouse her.

“I think, Miss Holland,” advised Mr. Aubrey later that evening, “that she ought to be taken straight to bed. And I shall send personally for the doctor.”

“Oh, you mustn’t,” Afton protested from her seat, anxious that Mr. Holland’s own secretary should trouble himself on her account. “It is only a trifling cold. I’m sure I shall feel perfectly well by morning.”

Mr. Aubrey considered the girl’s state, weakened but not to a worrisome degree. And, admittedly, he considered the long day he’d had, tending to Mr. Holland’s affairs in the stables and then in Bramley Cross, and how well it would feel to sit down at last, and put his feet up.

“Please, Mr. Aubrey.” The young girl looked at him with apprehensive, pleading eyes. “Do not trouble yourself or the good doctor. Rest is all that is needed to get well, I assure you.”

Thus it was that against his better judgment, Mr. Aubrey relented and allowed Miss Green to go to bed on her own that evening. Of course he could not have known—none of them could have—the state he would find her in the next day…