Chapter 2
The graceful sails flap in the wind. Every now and then they billow tightly, and then the masts groan as the stern of the ship is lifted slightly out of the water by the bow slicing deep through the waves. The Martin Deens sails slowly around the point and into Saldanha Bay. It turns south and sails along the coast of the peninsula. On both sides, the land can be clearly seen where the rays of the setting sun still make the white sand glisten. Like on a long inland lake, the surface of the water is calm and peaceful.
On the middle deck, a group of men and women stand by the railings. They are all dressed according to the latest European fashion, and the men’s clothes are almost more colorful than the magnificent tabards of the women. One or two of the ladies’ wigs are a good two feet high, but apparently the others decided to go for lighter headgear during the few days at sea, not even wearing wigs, and she is simpler than most. Yet it seems as if there is something regal in her demeanor.
Where she stands on the side of the ship, the sun’s rays catch the rippling blonde hair that hangs over her shoulders. Her forehead is smooth and intelligent. Her nose is almost slightly pointed, but it too is Grecian in shape. Her chin is strong, and it is only her full lips that betray a warm humanity in her personality. With her hands on the railing, she looks over the strip of water towards the inland.
Standing next to her is a young man wearing a jet-black wig. His three-quarter-length jacket hangs from his waist so that one gets the impression that it falls over broad shoulders. Yet a closer inspection would reveal a few thick pads over the shoulders. His calves look strong, but here too the possibility of unnatural enhancement cannot be ruled out. His face is attractive, but his chin is weak, and overall his posture is girlish.
“Why would the Marquis decide to sail into this sheltered bay?” Dudley Nielsen asks the blonde lady next to him.
“My uncle does not really discuss his plans with me, Dudley,” Lydia Langdon replies.
“I understand that we are not far from Cape Town,” Nielsen continues as if he has barely heard her. “Just about fifty or sixty miles. If everything goes well, we should be sleeping in Cape Town tomorrow night.” He shudders as if startled by something. “They say the lions still roar in the streets at night.”
Lydia Langdon’s eyebrows lift slightly. She looks askance at Nielsen and then gazes ahead of her again.
“You exaggerate everything, Dudley,” she says almost reproachfully, for apparently the young man is the kind who is not easily annoyed and who is especially popular and trusted by women.
“I hope they have taken special precautions for the safety of the Marquis of Langdon and his party,” he continues.
“Why would they go out of their way for us?” she asks as if it does not concern her much.
“For heaven’s sake, Lydia,” he exclaims, “your uncle is not only the richest man in Europe but the governor is expecting him, not to mention his illustrious party.”
Lydia Langdon laughs amusedly.
“You are silly, Dudley.”
“I realize, of course, that you are in fact the most valuable of us all,” Nielson continues softly. “You are your uncle’s sole heir, are you not?”
She looks at him sharply.
“That is enough of your nonsense, Dudley,” she says sternly. “I...”
“I know you have a fortune of your own!” he exclaims. “I did not mean what I said.”
“Sometimes there are things you do not need to say, Dudley.”
“It sounds like my company is not appreciated,” he says mock-sulkily. “So I will leave you to it. There are other young ladies who eagerly await my arrival,” he finishes hastily. “Here
