Captive Innocence (3 page)

“I knew you were just playing a game with me, Royall. Why, no lady of quality ever talks that way. But you're right, I am sleepy. I'll remember you when I do my God-blesses this evening.” Within a few moments, she was asleep, low, rumbling snores coming from what Royall thought was the tip of Rosalie's toes.

The lusty snores, ricocheting off the deck, made Royall smile in spite of herself. Poor Mrs. Quince. She was always so worried about being the proper lady, and look at her now. Plump cheeks mushroomed out and then deflated as her lower jaw hung slack with each raucous snore. Royall was just about to inch herself gingerly from the deck chair when Mrs. Quince's triple set of chins quivered, making the poor lady gasp for breath. Royall resembled a bird poised for flight until once again the rumbling sounds wafted across the polished deck.

Holding her skirts in both hands, Royall raced along the companionway until she came to her cabin. Pell mell, she tossed the contents of one bag onto the hard bunk, followed quickly by another, till she found what she was searching for. A thin packet of white powder lay in the palm of her long, slender hand. Tilting her head to one side, she tried to recall how much of the feathery granules was required for a good twelve hours' sleep. Quickly, she multiplied in her head for the time she felt she would need to elude the ever-vigilant Mrs. Quince. Recklessly, she decided two quick shakes would make the ponderous lady sleep for an entire day. Royall excused her actions by telling herself Rosalie needed a long, relaxing sleep tomorrow while she, Royall, went out to meet whatever Mardi Gras had to offer. Her decision to administer the sleeping draught to her traveling companion so exhilarated her, she felt decidedly weak in the knees. Mentally, she cursed Mrs. Quince for not permitting her to have the glass of wine. If ever there was a time for sampling the spirits, this was it. Throwing caution to the winds, she left the cabin in search of a steward. Briskly, in a no-nonsense voice, she ordered a glass of wine brought to her stateroom and then, at the last minute, changed her order and haughtily demanded an entire bottle.

The steward knocked and entered her cabin and deftly placed the small tray on a table next to the bunk. He refused to meet Royall's eyes as he backed out the door, closing it softly behind him.

“God only knows what rumor will be going around this ship tomorrow,” Royall muttered aloud. With no wasted motion, she uncorked the decanter of port wine and then poured until the goblet was full to the brim. “To Mardi Gras and freedom,” she said softly to herself. She held the glass high, marvelling at the scarlet liquid. By this time tomorrow I will be tasting life in a new land, having a high adventure and enjoying every minute of it. “To freedom,” she sang aloud as she once again held the glass high.

By the time the decanter was empty, Royall was twirling around the room, humming to herself. The decanter slipped from her hands and rolled under the bunk. Laughing delightedly, Royall tossed the goblet under the bunk, where it came to rest next to the sparkling bottle. Long, sooty lashes closed momentarily and then flicked open. Now, all the evidence was gone. Just like tomorrow. She would leave no telltale clues or evidence behind when she set off for Mardi Gras ... alone.

Rosalie Quince poked her head around the half-open door. She had knocked softly, and when there had been no response, she opened the door. Seeing her charge sleeping peacefully, she quietly withdrew. Sleep was exactly what the poor child needed. Sleep would help her cope with her bereavement. Only in sleep could one forget. Yes, sleep was what the child needed. Even if she slept through the dinner hour, she wouldn't wake her. Later, if she was hungry, she could get a snack from the steward. Sleep was more important than nourishment.

An hour before dawn, Royall woke, uncertain of her surroundings. The ship rolled sickeningly against its moorings. Lordy, her head throbbed and her stomach felt sour and queasy. Then she remembered. She sighed heavily as she swung her legs over the side of the bunk. “Oh, no,” she groaned aloud. Holding her hand over her mouth, she raced to the pail in the corner of the room.

Exhausted, Royall sat down on the hard bunk with her head bent, palms massaging her throbbing temples. She winced at the loud knock on the door. She wanted to snarl and spit at the cheerful countenance of Rosalie Quince.

“Dear child, didn't anyone tell you that the early bird gets the worm. Come along now, we don't want to be late for breakfast. You know what happens; all the breakfast buns are cold and the coffee gets flies in it.”

“Well, if that happens, we'll just give the flies to that early bird you're so worried about. You go along without me, Mrs. Quince. I want to ring for the steward to have some warm water for a bath. I'm really not very hungry this morning. I think I ... I think I may have slept too much. My head is throbbing unmercifully.”

“Miss breakfast!” Rosalie Quince was aghast. “But, child, you had no dinner last evening. You should be starving. We don't want you wasting away to nothing. You realize, or you will soon, dear child, that nothing is going to bring back your dear, departed husband. This life is for the living. I know you must feel that you are being sorely tested, but there is really nothing else for you to do but make the best of your bereavement, and by that I mean not missing your meals. I'll let it go this time, but I expect to see you at the luncheon table. Here,” she said fishing in her reticule, “eat this bit of sugared ginger. Ginger cures any and all ills. Join me when you've freshened up. I'll be on deck with my needlework.”

“I'll do that, Mrs. Quince. Join you later, I mean. And, Mrs. Quince, thank you for being so concerned about me. I'll be fine, truly I will.”

“I know you will, child. You're young and beautiful. Before you know it, the suitors will be lined up all around the Baron's plantation. I know you can't possibly be thinking of taking a new husband, but after all, we have to face life. A man needs a woman, and a woman, it doesn't matter who she is, needs a man. You just think on the matter while you're soaking in your warm tub.” With a swish of her long skirts she was gone, leaving Royall feeling confused and slightly embarrassed.

The cabin was hot and airless as Royall stepped from the tepid bath. She toweled herself dry and lay down on the bunk unclothed. Her headache seemed to be abating. Perhaps it was the sugared ginger Mrs. Quince had given her, because her stomach had settled back to normal while she had relaxed in the warm, wet bath water. Her eyes took on a dreamy look as she contemplated the prospect of Mardi Gras. What to wear in the way of a costume? She had nothing that would be appropriate, but she did have a mask that she had bought the day before, telling Mrs. Quince it was a souvenir. It was a gay, scarlet half mask that had small wires to attach it to her hair. A new hair arrangement, and who would know who she was? For that matter, who would care except Rosalie Quince? She was feeling better by the minute with the anticipation of the coming afternoon. First came the big parade where everyone walked in costume. Then there was the music pavilion, along with assorted food stalls. Contests and wine would be more than abundant for all the happy frolickers. Then, in the evening, after a large dinner in the center pavilion, would be the masked ball, and wine would flow and spirits would soar.

Royall's eye fell on the packet of sleeping powder, knowing a twinge of guilt. What in heavens was she thinking of? How could she give sweet, well-meaning Rosalie Quince a sleeping draught? What kind of person was she that she would contemplate such drastic methods? For all she knew the dear Rosalie might never wake up, and then she would have it on her conscience for the rest of her life. She shuddered—she would be a murderer! All for a day at Mardi Gras. There must be some other way to evade her ever-watchful guardian.

An hour passed and then another as Royall massaged her temples, her mind racing, negating one idea after the other. She was just about to get up and get dressed and tell Mrs. Quince the truth —that she was going to Mardi Gras with or without her—when a disturbance outside her door startled her from her thoughts. Quickly, she threw on a dressing gown and opened the cabin door a cautious crack. Two heavy-set stewards were escorting Mrs. Quince to her room. On closer examination, it appeared they were carrying the portly lady. Their breathing was labored, and Mrs. Quince made no effort to soften her moans of agony. Alarmed at the look of pain on Mrs. Quince's face, Royall hastily closed her door and raced after the struggling men. “In the name of God, what happened, Mrs. Quince?” she demanded.

“A very foolish thing on my part, Royall,” Mrs. Quince said through clenched teeth.

“Is there anything I can do? What can I do to help you?” Royall cried wretchedly, her plans for thwarting the older woman forgotten.

Carefully, the two stewards laid Mrs. Quince on the bunk and then propped her leg on top of several hard pillows. “The captain has sent for a physician, Miss,” one of the stewards gasped as he straightened his shoulders. “It would be best if you stayed with the lady until he arrives.”

Royall's eyes were wide. “But of course I'll stay with her. I wouldn't think of leaving her.” Her gaze shifted from the steward to Rosalie's tight, pain-racked features. “You must tell me, Mrs. Quince, what happened?”

Rosalie Quince leaned back against the pillows at the head of the bunk. Her plump, pink cheeks were white with strain as she struggled with her pain. “As I said, a very foolish thing. I keep forgetting I'm not as young as I used to be. I thought I saw a neighbor of mine and I got up from the table so I could call to him. In doing so, my foot caught in the rung of the opposite chair, and down I went for all members of the dining room to see. I feel such a fool. A clumsy fool.”

“A sprain or a bad bruise, Mrs. Quince. A few days of rest and you'll be as good as new,” Royall said, trying to make her voice sound reassuring.

“I'm afraid not, Royall. I heard the bone crack as I fell. That's what happens when you get to be my age. Bones snap like twigs in a strong wind. No, my ankle is broken. Poor Alonzo, when he hears of this, he will say he told me so. Husbands are like that, Royall. He didn't really want me to make this trip, but I insisted and he went along with my idea after he saw how much it meant to me. Now look at me. I do so hate to be a burden to anyone. In Manaus when a horse gets old and limps, they shoot him. That's how I feel right now.”

“Please, Mrs. Quince, just lie there and rest. Talking is too much of a strain. You're pale and exhausted. Perhaps a cool cloth on your forehead will help.” Not waiting for a reply from the woman, Royall dipped a soft cloth in a basin of water that stood near the bunk. Tenderly, she placed it on the older woman's face. “Mrs. Quince, I'm going to my cabin to dress and I'll be right back. You must not move. Promise me.”

“Child, where could I go and what could I do?” Her tone was tart, and she immediately apologized to the young woman. “The thing that bothers me the most about all of this is I still don't know if it was Sebastian or not that I saw down on the wharf. It must have been. There aren't two such handsome devils in the world. I'm just a foolish old woman. I thought if it was Sebastian Rivera he could perhaps take you to Mardi Gras, as I know how badly you want to see the festivities. Sebastian would keep you safe.” Tears of self-pity gathered in Mrs. Quince's eyes as she stared at Royall.

A lump of something she had no name for settled in the pit of Royall's stomach. And she had been about to administer a sleeping draught to this wonderful old woman. For shame, Royall Banner, she scolded herself on the way back to the cabin. God will punish you, she told herself as she hastily dressed. I deserve to be punished, she almost wept. The poor old lady was thinking of her all along, and here she was acting like some ... some ... some damn criminal. She dressed quickly in a light green morning gown, and after several quick swipes with her hairbrush, she was ready to return to Mrs. Quince's cabin.

Voices from within the adjoining cabin startled her. The physician must have arrived. Nervously, she paced the corridor for what seemed like hours. When the cabin door opened, Royall reached out to grasp the doctor's hand. “Tell me, did Mrs. Quince break her foot? You must tell me so I will know what to do. I want to take care of her.”

“My dear young lady, please calm yourself,” the tall, thin man said in a quiet voice. “The lady did indeed break her ankle. I've set the bone, and she'll mend when God is willing that she should walk again. There is nothing you can do for the lady now. I've administered a sleeping draught that will take effect soon. She'll sleep off and on for the rest of the day and into the night. When she wakes, she'll have some mild discomfort, but that's about all. I've seen to it that there are biscuits and tea next to her bed. The captain will have one of the stewards bring it along any second now. If the lady awakens, they will be within her reach. She's not to have any heavy food for the rest of the day. So, you see, there is nothing for you to do or for you to concern yourself with. Go to Mardi Gras with all the other young people, and enjoy yourself.”

Royall wanted to throw her arms around the doctor. He was giving her an order and at the same time absolving her of her guilt. She was used to obeying orders, and obey this one she would.

“If you're sure, doctor.” Her voice was hesitant, almost pleading.

“Open the door and see for yourself,” the doctor said jovially.

Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, Royall opened the cabin door a bit and peered into the dimness. Rosalie Quince lay on the bunk with her hands folded over her ample chest. There was a peaceful half smile on her face as strange sounds erupted from her throat.

“You see, the lady is sleeping quite peacefully. There's nothing you can do. If only all my cases were so simple. Close the door now and prepare yourself for the grand parade. I've told the captain I'm sending a woman to stay with her until the boat departs.”