Kindle Edition
Cathy Mansell
Amazon
Category:
Historical Fiction
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
Type: Fiction
Pages: 323
Copyright: May 11, 2014
ISBN-13: 9781310901614
Price: $4.76 (eBook)
1900
Feisty gypsy girl, Tamara Redmond is just sixteen when she overhears her parents planning her wedding to the powerful and hated Jake Travis. In desperation, she leaves Galway, a place she loves and stows away on a ship with disastrous consequences.
GALWAY GIRL
1900
Feisty gypsy girl, Tamara Redmond is just sixteen when she overhears her parents planning her wedding to the powerful and hated Jake Travis. In desperation, she leaves Galway, a place she loves and stows away on a ship with disastrous consequences.
On her release from a cell in Liverpool, she takes refuge in a travelling circus and falls in love with Kit Trevlyn, a trapeze artist.
Accused of stealing, she is thrown out. She sleeps rough in Covent Garden, and her fear of Jake Travis finding her dominates her waking hours. When she is kidnaped and kept captive, her life spirals downwards. Then Tamara hears a truth, a truth that will change her life and her very existence forever
Excerpt
The girl lay in the sand dunes, her green cape camouflaged by the tall grasses. Her breath came in gasps. She was lucky to have come this far. The gypsy camp was only a couple of miles behind her. It wasn’t far enough, and if her escape failed, she wouldn’t live to see her seventeenth birthday.
She could hear the sea lapping the shore, taste the salt spray of the waves lashing the rocks below. Seagulls screeched overhead. Black horned rams roamed the hilltops. Turf smoke curled from chimneys in the stone cottages in the nearby village. Straining forward, she looked down at the deserted beach. She watched and waited.
The September sun faded and a bitter wind blew in across the bay. She drew her cape tighter around her shoulders when the vessel came into view. The sight of its white sails made her excited. She turned her head as the ship moored alongside the pier and anchored in the bay. She could hear the raucous laughter of the men. They climbed from the vessel and strode towards the beach, their boots crunching the shingle.
They passed by with jute sacks slung across their shoulders. Two bearded and bareheaded, the rest wore caps and rough sea-jackets. She knew they were on their way to the tavern in the village.
The moon was rising over Claddagh. A sight she would never tire of, a place she loved, but doubted she would ever see again. Listening to the tide receding, she waited until dark. Then, with one last look at the wild coastline and the misty shapes of the Aran Islands in the distance, she scrambled down the slopes, slipping and sliding in her haste. Her legs stung from nettles, and her bare feet numb and bleeding. She stepped across the uneven pebbles, her feet squelching the seaweed, her cape billowing and her red curls tumbling around her shoulders. Making sure no one saw her she lifted her long skirts and waded through the water. The sea was cold. It rushed over her bruised feet and ankles. Close up, the ship was not as big as she had thought, but it was the only one moored that night. Without a moment’s hesitation, using her hands and feet she clambered onto the pier, her feet slipping on the wet stone, she raced along the jetty, only pausing long enough to read the name, Maryanne on the side of the ship. She climbed down onto the deck of the cutter with no idea where it would take her, in nothing but the clothes she stood up in and a small bundle under her arm. In it she carried a change of clothes, a hairbrush and a Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels given to her by her grandmother when she first learned to read. The boat rocked and threw her sideways, her wet skirts clinging to her bare legs. She knew nothing of boats or the men who worked on them, but she could quieten a wild stallion. The ship creaked and groaned as she moved across the wooden deck leaving wet footprints. Desperate for somewhere to hide and inquisitive about what she might find, she noticed an open hatch. She glanced behind, and then descended the steps. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she saw a door with a polished brass plate with the name Captain Fitzroy. The atmosphere was stuffy; smelt of tobacco and the stale odour of men.
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