Isabella and Ingrid in the Dog House
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Isabella Awakening Ch. 03 free porn video
For new readers, this is the story so far: Isabella Silverto, a thirty something woman from 18th century Naples, is facing her second arranged marriage. After witnessing incest in her family and being deflowered and opened to passion by an older friend of her father’s when she was young, Isabella developed a sensuous, lascivious nature that she had had to suppress during her first marriage to an effete minor noble. She is now resentful of her father’s insistence on her marrying into the family of his Spanish trading partners.
*
Isabella certainly prayed, but gave little thanks. Her father had already arranged her passage to Barcelona on a trading ship under the captaincy of an old friend, Louis Bertrand. Captain Bertrand had often been a guest at the Silverto household and Isabella knew him as a steadfast and upright citizen of the Mediterranean who would protect and chaperone her on the two-week voyage. Isabella was to be the ship’s only passenger. Her father had sought and received Bertrand’s assurances of his personal protection and a safe passage. His ship, the Bella Virago was already in port, being loaded with the fabrics, glassware and other goods her father and his friends were trading with western Spain. Isabella’s dowry, in the form of porcelain, gold and silk, was ready to be loaded and Isabella herself was being urged to be ready to depart within the fortnight. The Bella Virago would weigh anchor as soon as the winds and tides were right.
The sudden urgency of her departure, with its farewells and packing, meant that Isabella had little time to reflect on her future, or on Marisa’s earlier vague promise of intervention. It seemed that her life was now on a fixed course that only disaster could shift. As was her nature, she quickly resolved to make the most of her circumstances and set to the preparations for her new life in Spain with great energy, if not good humour. She farewelled the sisters and children at the school, the local clergy and all her friends, including Anton, who was the only one to properly commiserate with her. He also warned her of the rumours surrounding the Inquisition in Spain, which she, as a woman and a foreigner should heed with even greater than the customary wariness. He specifically warned her to show absolute discretion in the taking of lovers, something he otherwise encouraged, lest betrayal result in the unwelcome attentions of the Spanish clergy. Isabella heeded his wise counsel and resolved to keep her scrimshaw lover close at all times.
The day of her final parting with her family and with her beloved Naples came swiftly. A message one evening from the captain requested her presence on board at first light for a departure on the forenoon tide. Accompanied by Alberto and Marisa, after farewelling the household staff, Isabella arrived at the dock just before sunrise on a cloudy and cool morning on which the sea mists had yet to clear. She found Anton waiting for them, lantern in one hand and his walking stick in the other. Their goodbyes were brief and courteous. For a moment Isabella felt that her father was about to apologise, but he remained stiff and formal even when he hugged her one last time. Marisa was tearful but also restrained. As she kissed Isabella’s cheek, she whispered, ‘Everything will be fine, Isabel. Don’t worry or be sad.’
The ship’s bell rang three times, the signal for final boarding, and the captain received his passenger courteously at the top of the ladder. He had her traveling luggage, including her capacious leather satchel, stowed in the cabin he had had specially fitted out for Isabella. He introduced her formally to his three officers while the crew scuttled and ran to weigh anchor and loose the thick ropes that held the ship to the little dock. Isabella stood at the landward railing to wave her final farewell, holding back tears. Her parents and Anton waved silently as two bells sounded and the anchor was weighed. As the ship started to drift slowly away from the dock, under minimal sail, Isabella noticed a dinghy powered by four rowers speed from under a wharf nearby. It swiftly rounded the stern of the Bella Virago and nestled against it’s seaward side. Isabella could not see it from her dockside position and was reluctant to test her sea legs so soon. A moment later however, she saw a lone crewman drop a rope ladder over the side. Immediately a hooded figure scrambled up and over the far railing and disappeared down a hatchway nearby. Two bags or seaman’s sacks followed, bundled below by the furtive seaman. All of this had happened in less than a minute and without so much as a pause in the methodical movement of the ship and its crew as they made their way from the dock to the deeper channel a hundred yards out. In the half light and mist, Isabella was not even sure whether the hooded figure was a man or woman, but it did have, to her mind at least, the unmistakable gait and clandestine demeanor of a clergyman.
It was only another minute before the rolling mist totally shrouded the ship and the dock disappeared completely. Sails were being unfurled amid shouts and bells and the captain returned to Isabella’s side, followed this time by a curly headed boy.
‘Mistress Silverto,’ Bertrand began ‘allow me to introduce Simon, who I have assigned to you for the duration of your voyage with us.’ The small boy bowed and smiled shyly.
‘Why, thank you, Captain.’ Isabella replied. ‘I was not expecting to have a servant on board. Are you sure that Simon does not have other, perhaps more important, duties of greater value to your ship?’
‘Not at all, not at all.’ The Captain replied. ‘His service to you is of the highest value to me as your captain. And I must warn you, Mistress, that your first few days at sea may not be as comfortable as you might presume. Refined ladies often find the movement of a ship to be somewhat unsettling at first.’
‘So I understand, Signore Bertrand. I will try not to be nuisance.’ Isabella paused. ‘Captain, I was given to understand that I was to be your only passenger. Did I not see a priest board just now, as we pulled away from the dock?’
Bertrand’s face reddened and he stiffened his back.
‘Ah, the priest.’ He said, clearly collecting his thoughts. ‘Yes. Father Thomas did join us at the last minute. He is to travel a short way with us. I believe that your mother was informed of this late change to our arrangements.’
Isabella raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Marisa had mentioned no priest or change to any arrangements. A curious development, Isabella thought, considering her Mother had very little time for the cloth, particularly the male clergy.
The Captain cleared his throat, anxious to change the subject. ‘Simon will show you to your cabin, Mistress Isabella. If there is anything you would wish changed or anything that I can do to make your journey more comfortable, please let me know immediately.’ With that, he bowed deeply and left her with young Simon, making his way to the wheel to supervise the Bella Virago’s exit from the harbour under full sail.
‘This way, marm.’ piped Simon in a voice that had yet to change from that of a child’s. He delicately took her elbow and started to escort her to the main gangway leading to the second deck. ‘Hold the rail, missus.’ He advised. ‘Always get a hold on a rail. Ya never do know when she’s gunna pitch or roll.’ Isabella did as she was told and eventually, hitching up her skirts discretely, climbed down the dozen broad rungs to the accommodation deck. It was dark and smelt slightly of stale seawater and men. Simon followed closely and directed her down a short passage way. She had to bend her head to avoid the beams. At a small door to the seaward side, Simon stopped and showed her into her cabin.
Freshly painted and clean, the cabin was more than Isabella expected. It was naturally small, having only room for a hanging cot, a washstand, a narrow armchair and her trunks, but she could stand upright and she had a window,
a porthole rather, and fresh air was flowing through a narrow ventilator in the ceiling.
‘Oh, this is lovely,’ she said, to Simon’s obvious delight.
‘Made special, this was.’ He said proudly. ‘Used to be the first officer’s cabin but theys all bunkin together for this trip.’ He proudly demonstrated the opening porthole and showed her the lever to operate the ventilator. Pointing to the washstand beaming he said ‘Captain got this one in special. Said a lady had to have one. Never ‘ad a real lady on the Della Virago before.’ He looked down and blushed, then mumbled ‘Even gotcha own privy next door down.’
Isabella was touched, both by the obvious efforts of the captain to make her comfortable and by Simon’s excitement and pride in what was clearly a special event in the ship’s history.
She looked around, found her satchel and removed a sheaf of writing paper, a new pen and a small bottle of ink. Simon understood her need and, with even greater excitement, showed her how a section of wall paneling under the porthole could be induced to hinge down to form a small but serviceable surface for writing. Smiling, Isabella uncapped the ink and drafted a short note to Captain Bertrand, expressing her thanks for the efforts he, his officers and crew had made on her behalf and assuring him that all her needs for the journey had been anticipated. She folded the note and handed it to Simon, telling him to deliver it to the Captain when he was free and to give her an hour alone to unpack and change her clothes. Simon blushed at the thought of her changing her clothes but pulled his forelock in obeisance, muttered ‘yes’m’ and left her alone.
Her ‘unpacking’ consisted of opening her traveling trunk and checking to see that her hanging clothes were still in order and that the drawers containing her other clothes were functioning. She used the washstand to freshen up and changed into a long skirt and jacket she imagined was suitable for a sea voyage. Sitting on the edge of the hanging cot, she almost lost her balance before she decided it was more appropriate to lie down. We must be leaving the harbour, she thought as she detected an increase in the pitch and frequency of the ship’s rocking motion. She could hear the sea churning and hitting the sides of the ship through the porthole and felt a slight spray on her face when a particularly large wave broke over the bow. She rose to close the porthole glass but found herself swaying unsteadily and had to grasp the bed ropes to remain upright. She almost fell against the wall before finally latching the window shut and lying down again. While she had expected the ship’s motion to take some adjustment on her part, she was surprised at how unsettled she now felt. She was feeling a little dizzy and the light breakfast she had consumed back at home was reminding her of its presence by rising to the back of her throat.
As she lay on the swinging cot Isabella tried to focus her mind on things other than her rising gorge and spinning head. The priest for instance. What did Bertrand call him? Father Thomas. Odd name. Not a name usually taken by Italian, or even French or Spanish priests, as far as Isabella knew. English? Perhaps German? Surely Mama would have mentioned…. Isabella quickly and instinctively reached under the cot. Thankfully a chamber pot was within easy reach. She rolled to one side, simultaneously raising the pot to her mouth that opened wide to expel the remainder of her breakfast. She wiped her mouth with a kerchief from her jacket pocket and looked around for something to rinse with. A corked bottle of water and a metal cup sat in a holder under the washstand. She sat up and reached for it, feeling nauseous again. She poured a full cup and drank it down but before she could make herself horizontal again had to reach again for the chamber pot.
By the time Isabella heard Simon at her door she was feeling hideous. She called to him weakly to enter. He stared at her as if he had never seen someone seasick before.
‘Geez, that was quick missus. Gentry usually takes a couple of bells to get this sick.’
Isabella moaned and tried to raise her head. She had great difficulty talking.
‘Don’t you worry marm’ said Simon, brightening now. ‘I been through all this meself. We all have, ya know. I’ll fix it so you can weather the storm.’ He took the half-full chamber pot and left the room. Returning a few moments later he assembled a bucket and towels beside Isabella’s cot, draped damp face towels from a wire rack he inserted into holes in the wall above her head and placed a new bottle, containing a reddish-brown liquid, in the water pitcher on the washstand.
‘We ain’t spectin heavy weather, miss, so this oughta pass pretty quick. But I gotcha some o the Doctor’s good medsin for just in case, and keep one of these,’ he placed a damp hand towel on her forehead, ‘just like this till the puking passes.’
Isabella whispered her thanks and Simon continued.
‘This ‘ere medsin ‘ll proly knock you out for the rest o t’day’ he said, taking the brown bottle and pouring a cup. He held it to Isabella’s lips and lifted her head gently. She sipped it, resisting the urge to spit it out. It was acrid and burned her tongue, but she immediately felt a rush of warm relaxation spread from her stomach and chest to her limbs and face. Before passing out, Isabella flashed on a distant memory of Anton and her father’s study.
The rest of that day and most of the night passed with Isabella in a deep laudanum-induced sleep. When she finally started to rouse, she found herself drifting in and out of dreams in which she was being tossed around and ravaged by a group of sailors. Frightened or inflamed by the images of violence and lust, she must have called out because she heard Simon’s little boy voice whispering to her that everything was fine. She felt him replace the damp cloth on her brow.
Eventually, pressure on her bladder did bring her to state of groggy wakefulness. She sat, bleary eyed and, still feeling slightly nauseous, asked Simon to leave for a few moments. Finding the, now thankfully empty and clean, chamber pot by the flickering light of a small lantern, she relieved herself squatting on the floor while holding onto the arm of the chair beside the bed. She covered and replaced the chamber pot under the cot, adjusted her clothing and lay down again, giving Simon a signal to return.
He opened the door shyly and entered, taking up his position on the chair beside Isabella’s bunk.
Isabella managed a wan smile and said ‘Hello, Simon. Have you been here all the time?’
‘Almost, marm. I ducked out for my dinner a few hours ago.’
‘You must be tired,’ Isabella said. ‘Please go to bed, I seem to be over the worst of it now.’
‘Thankee, missus,’ he replied, yawning. ‘I’ll be back at first light to make sure you have what you need.’ So saying, he rose to leave.
‘Simon,’ ventured Isabella ‘Who was that priest, Father Thomas, who came on board in Naples?’
Simon paused, thinking of a response. ‘I never seen him, marm, but Jesso the cook says he’s a friend o’the Captain goin’ to Sardinia.’ Simon paused, as if ready to say more, but halted and left the room quickly.
Isabella lay back on the bunk, her head still slightly muddled and her tummy uneasy. But the sickness was definitely passing now. She wondered whether her unnamed suspicions about the priest were simply a by-product of the illness or perhaps of the laudanum. As the night slipped away and the lantern sputtered out, the sea became calmer and Isabella dreamt of Spain, horses and gypsies. The familiar figure of the robbed, green-eyed woman, hair flowing like a dark whirlwind around her head, appeared on a deserted beach, beckoning to Isabella. As she approached the woman, Isabella felt great comfort and relief. She bent her head and knelt before her as if taking the sacrament. But the woman lifted her chin with a gentle hand and stoked her cheek lovingly. Isabella could not later re
member more of the dream, but the woman had spoken to her in soothing and loving tones, cradling Isabella’s head to her warm body.
When Isabella awoke just before sunrise, she felt rested and well. The ship was rolling gently and she could hear sailors moving about the deck and rigging, calling orders and talking quietly. The sea air roused her quickly and soon after, Simon knocked quietly at the cabin door.
‘Mornin’, missus,’ he smiled. ‘Feelin’ better now I see.’
‘Much better, thank you Simon,’ Isabella replied, stretching and beginning her morning ritual of combing her long black hair. ‘The sea seems much calmer now and I hope I might take a walk on deck once the sun is properly up.’
‘Yes’m. And the Captain sends his compliments and hopes you will join him and the officers for breakfast at seven. But I would wait half an hour before going on deck, if I was you marm. The men ain’t finished their washin and swimmin’ jus yet.’ He raised his pale eyebrows to emphasise his meaning. Isabella imagined the fuss a woman could cause arriving unannounced upon a group of naked sailors.
‘Thank you for the warning, Simon. Please tell the captain that I would be delighted to join him and his officers for a light breakfast.’ She emphasised the word ‘light’ and Simon immediately understood her meaning. ‘Would you please let me know when the deck is suitable for a lady to take a brief walk in the fresh air.’
Simon smiled and left, promising to return the moment all was ready. Isabella resumed her morning routine and tidied her room. It was only ten minutes before Simon returned to announce the all clear. Isabella followed him down the narrow passage and up the stairs to the open deck. She immediately noticed the light breeze and the silence. Looking around and using her hand to shade her eyes from the bright sunshine, she realised that the entire crew were frozen in their places, staring at her.
A voice boomed from above her ‘All right youse slack dogs! Back to work!’. It was the first officer on the wheel deck and his instructions were immediately heeded by the crew who scurried or climbed to their tasks. The clean-shaven first officer, removing his hat to reveal a shock of dark slicked down hair, addressed Isabella.
‘Sorry marm,’ he offered. ‘They ain’t much used to passengers. Not women passengers anyway.’ He smiled and replaced his hat, immediately turning to address the man at the wheel with instructions to turn the ship as the wind changed direction to the west.
Isabella had not expected her presence on board the Della Virago to excite so much interest or attention. She was a little embarrassed by the obvious curiosity of the crew and hoped the novelty would soon wear off. Simon tugged at her elbow and indicated the forward lee railing as a suitable vantage point to view the ship and its progress. Isabella allowed Simon to escort and steady her across the deck, clearly inciting the admiration of the crewmen nearby. At the railing, where she could finally get a grip on something more substantial, Simon released her arm and started to indicate the various matters of interest. He explained the current set of the sails and showed how the ship was cutting through the gentle swell. Isabella took it all in, the sights, the smells and lively feel of the deck rising and falling beneath her feet. She watched as white seabirds cavorted behind the ship, dipping now and again into the white froth of the wake that trailed behind then. She felt the warmth of the sun, now well above the far horizon, and the freshness of the breeze on her face. Naples lay far behind and Spain far into the future. It was as if, she mused, she was caught in a beautiful place between two times. She wondered whether she would stay in this in-between world if she could.
Two bells were struck somewhere aft and Simon touched her arm and spoke. ‘That’ll be breakfast, marm. The Captain’s dining room is this way.’ He led her back to the open ladderway leading down to the accommodation deck.
Mhairi
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