As Long As She Lives (full published version!)

Chapter 33

Cait's caesarean scar wasn't the neatest work, what with the bonus hysterectomy she'd needed, but the scar itself wasn't the reason for the horror on their faces. Superstition had a hold of them. It wasn't the first time her scar had been looked upon with fear, but Sister Timothy, taking care of her in the school infirmary, had been afraid for her, not of her.

"Never let it be seen," she'd said. "Never speak of your dead babies. The superstitious parents will not want a barren woman teaching their children."

A barren woman could pass her curse to other women, make men impotent simply by touch, let alone through their blood. Very little frightened an African man more than the loss of his manhood – everything was bound to it, without it he was no person at all. Naked in front of these men who, moments before, had been ready to rape her, Cait felt a spark of power.

She raised her chin and spoke so that they would all hear. "My children were born dead. I can't have any more."

Henri and his men took several steps back, as though she were carrying the plague. Cait kept her face neutral, but hope surged in her chest.

"Children?" Penda asked. "More than one?"

His voice was trembling. Could there be something special about multiple births? It was worth a shot.

"Twins," she said, a picture of her girls flashed through her mind, followed by a memory of another baby left with the nuns at St Brigitte's. "Too deformed to live."

Horror passed across the face of every white-suited man and their black-suited boss. None of them were looking at her breasts now. Every eye was fixed on her scarred stomach. She was struck by the sense that Lauren and April were with her; she could almost feel them hovering overhead. Maybe they were. Maybe all her girls were with there, watching over her as she faced the man who had killed them. Her heart filled. Exhaustion lifted from her limbs.

Blood, saliva, or touch, Sister Timothy had said. She didn't know enough about their traditions to fake witchcraft, but she knew about fear. She lay her left hand over the slick droplets Henri's watch had drawn from her thigh. There wasn't a lot of blood but she smudged it around then raised her hand – slowly, so that every man would see it, before she turned it toward Henri. "Your Majesty's jewellery is sharp."

Henri examined his hands, then made a break across the room. Each of his men leaped away as he passed. He rounded the bar and reached for a gold-plated tap. Penda shrieked. "Not the sink! You'll contaminate the whole ship!"

Henri glared at Penda. A king wasn't spoken to like that. Cait watched the silent men wait for Penda to be punished, but no punishment came. Henri gritted his teeth and cast about for another solution. He stopped at the sight of the clear plastic ice bucket.

"Come," he said. It was clear that he was speaking to Penda but no-one moved. "Penda! Come here!"

The muscles in Penda's jaw bulged and he'd nodded three times before he actually moved. When he reached the bar, he stopped short of entering, leaving the bar bench between them.

"Don't be such a coward man! Get me a bottle of gin."

Penda nodded and took a deep breath. He ventured into the small space, keeping as far from Henri as possible, and retrieved a tall bottle from the cabinet behind Henri. At the bench he set the bottle down on the marble and leapt back.

Henri rolled his eyes. "Well open it!"

Penda snatched the bottle, opened it and set it back on the bench. Henri clenched his jaw and took a loud, deep breath through his nose. He held his hands over the ice bucket. "Pour it!"