Dark Shadows (17 page)

Margaret tried to pacify her. “The house will sell in a week, Myrtle, a month at the most. Then you can join us. I’ll have a nice place all set up for us when you get to America.”

“No. I’m not doing it,” Myrtle protested again.

“But you’ve always wanted to see London, haven’t you? You’ll be a couple of months behind me, that’s all. Think about it. You’ve got all the power. You’ll be the one to give orders to folk, and I’m going to trust you with the money.”

Myrtle began to whimper. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. For a moment, Margaret almost felt sorry for her.

Myrtle said, “No. No – bloody no, you selfish bitch.” Myrtle stared at Margaret with contempt. “You planned this all along, didn’t you? I’ll not go to London for you. I’m going to America, and you had better make all these years I’ve put in worth it for me. Do you understand me?”

Margaret laughed. “Myrtle, Myrtle, you don’t understand. I’m not giving you a choice. How are you going to get to America when you’ve no ticket and I have all the money? Who do you think Eddie and the two drivers take their orders from? You’ll go to London because I’m telling you to go, or you’ll stay in Liverpool and walk the streets. I have all the money, and if you put your hands in that valise, I’ll cut them off. So it’s up to you … Oh, come on. Don’t look so bloody glum. You know I love you, and I’ll miss you …”

Myrtle leaned in closer, her face inches from Margaret’s. “You make me bloody sick, you conniving old whore,” she said.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mercy was awake, but she remained as still as a statue, with her eyes tightly shut. Eventually, she found the courage and cautiously opened her eyes halfway. She heard soft breathing beside her and turned her head on the pillow. She moaned softly with the pain that came with the movement. She opened her eyes fully and saw Julia lying next to her, sound asleep and with a peaceful expression on her innocent young face.

Mercy poked her head under the sheet and blanket in order to examine her body. It was aching all over as though she’d been punched. Oh, dear God! She was naked. Her cheeks blushed and stung with heat, and she pulled the covers up to her chin. Where were they? Her body was clean. The sticky mess had gone, and she smelled of lavender soap. Some unknown person had bathed her.

She touched her head. The bump was still there and was giving her a headache, but it had been covered by a bandage that was wrapped around her head several times. Who had cared for her? She looked at her right hand. It was burned, the way her hands had burned many times before whilst cooking at home in London, but it too was bandaged and smelled of herbs.

She tried to gather her thoughts and put them in order: the flames, the smoke, the fire engulfing Madame du Pont’s mansion. The memories converged in her mind, overcrowding it and making her head ache even more.

She covered her face with trembling hands. She had set the fire. She had killed a man.
My God, I did; I killed him!
Other people might have died too because of what she did. She hadn’t thought about all the innocent people in the mansion. She’d just wanted to destroy it. She was going to burn in hell – if not today, then someday.

Where was she? She looked around the cabin and listened for a familiar sound. There were scrapings and thuds and men shouting orders coming from the other side of the wooden ceiling. How could she have slept through such a racket?

There were soft swaying movements beneath her, rocking her gently in the bed. It felt nice, and she was somewhat calmed by it. She was on a ship. She was alive on a ship – but why? How had she come to arrive on a ship?

It was a man’s cabin. She could smell the remnants of tobacco and cologne. She could see maps, a spyglass, and masculine adornments. On the floor were a pair of boots and a crumpled-up shirt. Trousers were strewn over the back of a chair. Surely this was not Madame du Pont’s ship? Did the madam have a ship? Were she and Julia still her captives? If not, to whom did this ship belong?

She struggled to clear her mind but found it difficult to think about her present situation. She was suddenly hit again by images of an old man, his nakedness, his murder by her hands, her setting a fire and spreading it everywhere with candles and her own gown.

Visions of blood now came to mind, gushing from the man’s head and blinding her as it spewed everywhere like a fountain. The blood had been sticking to her body. She shuddered. Her mind heard the shouts from men and women, screams filled with fear and panic. There was a memory of a man’s voice. It was a soothing, soft drawl in an accent she’d never heard spoken before last night. It told her she was going to be all right. “You’re safe now.” Who did that voice belong to?

Julia stirred but slept on.

Mercy realised that she had slept better than she had in weeks. She was in a rea
l
bed with soft white sheets and feather pillows. She snuggled deeper into the bed, revelling in its luxury. She’d never laid her head on a pillow like this one. She was used to a sack filled with newspaper that scratched her face and made a noise every time she moved her head. There was also a blanket and soft sheeting on this bed. She was warm and cosy. She somehow felt safe. Even the memories of the previous night couldn’t stop her from enjoying this one lavish moment.

She felt her eyes close again. She was so tired, but she had to get out of bed, find clothes, and, more importantly, find out where she was. Fear descended on her again like an unwanted companion, taking away her short-lived moment of peace. No, she couldn’t go anywhere. She would be safer in here.

Were they prisoners? She panicked. What if they had been carted off to be sold on to someone else, someone even worse than Madame du Pont?

She turned, lifted her aching body to a kneeling position, and stuck her head out of the open porthole just above the bed. There was an array of ships at anchor, so many ships she couldn’t count them all, even if she tried all day. She twisted her head as far as it could go and could just see the outline of jetties and buildings behind. Finally, she looked down and saw the water lapping against the hull of the ship. They were somewhere near docks, in a grand cabin on a ship.

She continued to stare out of the porthole. An accumulation of different noises was coming from the docks and from the ship itself. It sounded as though cargo was being loaded or unloaded. She could feel tremors as large crates, no doubt, were being moved. She understood nothing. She looked again at Julia, serene, and wondered how the girl could possibly sleep through the disturbance.

Mercy thanked God for Julia’s survival. Her small childlike body had probably been violated, yet she slept soundly and appeared to be at peace, without nightmares of rape and fire. Mercy hoped with all her heart that this was the case, and that Julia would sleep on and on, with the horrors of the last few weeks absent from her dreams. She would have to wait until Julia awoke to find out all that had happened to her after she’d been taken away by the man and Madame du Pont.

It’s ironic,
she thought. She had gladly taken on the task of protecting the youngster, yet Julia had saved her. Julia had found her, helped her up from the floor, and had taken her to the room where they’d been rescued – but by whom and for what purpose?

Mercy lay her head back down, and it sank into the pillow. She was too tired to think anymore. She could hardly keep her eyes open. She should sleep, she decided. She had to sleep for just a while longer. She’d be no good to either of them if she felt like a dead cat.

She yawned and turned to face the wall, snuggling comfortably into the mattress. They would have to try to escape, but her head ached. Sleep. She would sleep a while longer …

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“What the hell were you thinking, Jacob? How could you bring two women aboard? This is not a damn passenger ship. God damn it, what’s the crew going to think?” Jack growled.

Jacob smiled, just as he always did when Jack put on his fatherly hat. He found it refreshing because most of his subordinates, both on the ship and at home on the plantation, bowed and scraped when speaking to him. They used the word
master
at the end of every sentence. Jack was overfamiliar, overprotective, and in general overbearing, but Jacob liked this side of Jack’s character. Jack took the edge off the loneliness that had engulfed Jacob since his own father’s passing.

He took another sip of coffee, tore some bread off the long loaf, and then placed a lump of cheese on top of it. He took a bite, chewed it, and faced Jack’s blazing stare. “What did you want me to do, Jack?” he finally said. “One girl was near to death, and the other needed stitches on a head wound and was unconscious. Should I have left them lying in front of a burning building? Taken them to a hospital, where they would probably have been thrown out on the streets of Liverpool? Or should I have done what I did and tended to their injuries and made them safe for the night? What would you have done?”

Jack grumbled and mumbled something, then shook his head. “I know. I know you’re right. I would have done the same as you. But they can’t stay here. We’re in the middle of unloading, and your brother is arriving any minute with the
Carrabelle
. I’m just saying you’d better decide where to drop them off before the end of the day. Or have you forgotten that we set sail tomorrow night?”

“No, sir, I’ve not forgotten that,” Jacob said with humour. “But until Isaac has a look at them, makes sure they’re all right, and most importantly, finds out where they came from in the first place, they stay and they rest.”

“And then what? You think these whores have nice, comfortable houses to go back to?”

“I think they might, and that’s what I intend to find out. Don’t worry, old man. We’re not going to take them across the Atlantic with us, okay?”

Jack scoffed at Jacob again. “And if they don’t have families? They’re prostitutes, for God’s sake. Don’t think for a minute you’re saving Southern belles here. Both of them will probably leave this ship and search out the nearest whorehouse outside the docks. It’s all they know.”

Jacob grew serious now and shot an angry look Jack’s way. He was not convinced that the two young women, one no more than a girl, had been at Madame du Pont’s of their own volition. There was something in the green-eyed woman’s expression that had made him want to save her from the minute he’d laid eyes on her. Was she a prostitute, as Jack thought? Was the other young girl a whore too? He poured some more coffee and slammed the pot down on the table.

“Jack, don’t judge them just yet. You know as well as I do that Madame du Pont’s whores are different from any others we’ve seen on our travels. You know about the rumours. I’ll admit that I’ve never actually heard talk personally, but you read the secrecy clause on your membership, just as I did. If du Pont was running a legal business with legitimate whores, why the need for all the secrecy? You didn’t see what I saw last night, but all the women, without exception, were fighting to get out of that house, and when I found them in the salon, they had a gun and a damn cleaver pointed at them. I have a gut feeling that we’ve been paying blood money. If we have, we better pray to God that we’ve not been harming innocent women all these years.”

“Well, I assure you, I’ve never taken a virgin to bed in that house,” Jack retorted. “I admit that what you’re saying might hold some truth. But if, and I say
if
, they were held captive or whatever else you’re imagining, why did none of them ever speak up? The one I bedded last night smiled all the way through me fucking her, and she knew exactly what she was doing. If she didn’t want to be there, why didn’t she tell me or just leave? That’s all I’m saying, son.”

Jacob was picturing the green-eyed woman again. He couldn’t get her out of his head. Maybe he just didn’t want to believe she was a whore and had lain with God knew how many men. “You might be right. I might be imagining something that wasn’t there. But that woman … Jack, I can’t think about anything else. The look on her face last night … Nope, I can’t be wrong. She was scared, like she was looking for a way out. When I carried her downstairs, she was fighting all the way, screaming at me to let her go. Does that sound like a prostitute to you?”

Jack softened. “Look, there’s a difference between what you want to be true and what is true. So she got to you – got under your skin. She’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.”

“No. It was more than that, damn it! I felt her fear. I saw it in her eyes!”

“Well, I guess we’ll know more when the doc speaks to them.”

Jacob nodded. “Yeah, but until then, old man, we’ve got work to do. I want to be finished in time to meet Hendry and Belle when the
Carrabelle
comes alongside.”

Jacob walked with stooped shoulders along the narrow passageway towards Isaac’s cabin. His smile had gone, as was the need to display the good-humoured banter he’d set in place to pacify Jack and to hide his annoyance at being told what to do on board his own ship. Jack was very dear to him. He would never disrespect him. But he was going to have to give him some bad news, and it would probably break the old man’s heart.

Jacob’s decision to give Jack a comfortable retirement was purely business, but it hadn’t been an easy decision to make. He’d noticed Jack’s mistakes and bad judgment on this voyage. He wasn’t as agile or mentally efficient as a sea captain should be. The thought of having to tell him that James was going to take over after they got home was like being surrounded by a dark looming cloud of guilt. It would inevitably force him to give Jack the news before they docked in Norfolk.

With every step, Jacob’s worried frown grew. It was the same expression often planted on his face at home when something or someone was bothering him, only this time he was being bothered by his own thoughts. Jack was right. He could do without women on board his ship, yet he couldn’t help but look forward to meeting the green-eyed beauty again. He wanted to know her name, where she’d come from originally. He didn’t want to find a gutter-mouthed whore. He wanted to hear a soft, innocent voice, watch her perfect lips move as she spoke. He wanted to be near her, even though she would disappear from his sight after today. He had thought about her all night as he tossed and turned in an empty guest cabin. He was still perplexed as to why she had such an effect on him and why, when he’d seen her covered in blood, his heart had been shattered into shards. He didn’t know what the hell was going on with his feelings, which were usually steady and very often indifferent to female charms. He wanted her gone, off his ship, but not as much as he wanted to see her, and he’d be damned if he didn’t give himself that luxury.

Isaac opened his cabin door. Jacob watched him yawn and then grumble like an old man. He said, “Did I wake you?”

Isaac raised an eyebrow and scowled. “What do you think? I was up half the night with those two women you invited on board. I gave them some laudanum and went back a while later, and they were sleeping like babies. I washed them and patched them up. They didn’t stir, thank God. I figured they wouldn’t be too pleased about being undressed and messed with by yet another man.”

“How were they when you left them?” Jacob asked.

“The older one has a concussion. I put a couple of stitches on her forehead, cleaned a particularly nasty burn on her hand and treated it. As for the youngster, she was breathing easier by the time I left the cabin. They should have had a good night’s sleep and will be fit enough to answer our questions. I’ll tell you, Jacob, you were right about the elder of the two. She’s a rare beauty – never seen a woman to match her. Once I cleaned her face, she took on a whole different appearance … Anyway, enough of that. Come in. Tell me what you want me to do,” he said.

Jacob felt relief run through him as he listened to Isaac’s good news. Both women were as well as could be expected and with no permanent damage. That’s what he’d wanted to hear. “I want you to find out how they are. Examine them; ask them where they come from and if they want to go home. Ask them why they were in that damn house, especially the younger one. Find out everything you can about them. It just doesn’t add up. There’s something not right about all this.”

Isaac looked pensive, and then anger spread across his face. “I have to agree. I wanted to be sure before I said anything … but … I think the younger girl was raped. I believe she might have been a virgin before last night. When I bathed her, she was bruised, badly, and there were bloodstains between her legs. I’ve got no facts, but speaking as a doctor, I have to conclude that she was taken by force.”

Jacob’s face hid nothing. In it was a mixture of anger, sadness, and guilt. “Dear Lord, what have we been doing to these women? I’ve bedded countless over the years – what if they were—”

“Hold it right there, Jacob. Don’t come to any conclusions just yet. I’ll go see them and report back to you, and then we’ll take it from there. Oh, I sent someone out to buy what a woman needs to dress herself,” Isaac added as an afterthought. “It’s probably one of the strangest orders I’ve ever had to give, but he’s back, so I’ll get them to dress. I reckoned they wouldn’t want to be seen without clothes on.”

Jacob nodded, but his mind was racing and his heart was heavy. “I hope to God we’re wrong, Isaac. Taking a whore to bed is one thing, but raping a terrified girl is a different matter altogether.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

From the highest vantage point on the top deck, Jacob watched the last of the ship’s cargo being unloaded. He signed the many customs documents and finally concluded his business on the
Christina
. All hands were on deck, cleaning, scrubbing, and making sure that every part of the ship from bow to hull was in pristine condition for the
Carrabelle
crew’s embarkation.

Jacob watched the cotton crop from Stone Plantation disappear around a street corner on a cart. He sighed with relief but also with a sense of pride. He was watching his year’s work reaching its final destination, and that in turn brought thoughts of home and what he’d have to face when he got there.

The overseers would be busy right now, getting the fields ready for new seeds. His slaves, under the watchful eyes of his foremen, would be ploughing and digging, but by the time he got home, work in the cotton and tobacco fields would have stopped completely. Cotton seeds would not go into the ground until the end of March. The tobacco plants would be scattered into the soil shortly after that, when spring rainfalls began. The accumulation of perfectly timed agricultural procedures was why he was able to leave the plantation, for this was the quietest time of the year.

Jacob’s eyes casually scanned the dockyard and vessels alongside. Its latest arrival was making final docking manoeuvres. Jacob recognised the iron sailing steam ship instantly, and his heart filled with pleasure. There was no mistaking the
Carrabelle,
with her four funnels and tall masts. Her beautiful lines, speed, and size made her one of the finest ships afloat. She had cost them dearly, but she was worth every cent. Jacob had never set foot on her decks. Hendry had taken her on her maiden voyage just thirteen months ago, and according to his letters, she had surpassed his wildest dreams. She was 550 feet in length, dwarfing the
Christina.
She had a speed of up to thirteen knots, four steam engines for the paddles, and an extra one for the propeller. Her total power was estimated at seven thousand horsepower, and she had almost double the amount of crew members, as the
Christina.

The rapid growth in their business had taken Jacob and Hendry by surprise. The
Carrabelle
was trading throughout Europe. It was doing so well, Hendry had informed Jacob by letter, that plans were underway to expand routes into Asia.
Yet in the midst of their optimism was a nagging voice, reminding them that the outcome of the upcoming elections on the sixth of November might not only halt their growth but also devastate their entire business operation.

There were four candidates for the American presidency. Abraham Lincoln, the Republican for the North, posed a clear danger to the Southern slave states. His campaign for anti-expansion of slavery and slave owners’ rights issues threatened the South’s economy and way of life. Lincoln’s Northern rival, Illinois Democrat Steven A. Douglas, was a moderate on the slavery issue. Douglas hoped popular sovereignty would enable democracy to triumph so he would not have to take a side on the issue of slavery. Jacob did not approve of Douglas. He was a candidate sitting on the fence, shying away from making a defined campaign manifesto.

As he pondered his country’s politics, he wondered whether it might not have been prudent to remain at home to vote. He had dallied with the idea for weeks.

Constitutional Union Party candidate John Bell from Tennessee had Virginia’s backing. He had the ear of most of the Southern slave states, but Abraham Lincoln had a greater following in the industrial North. The fourth major candidate, the incumbent vice president, John Breckinridge, had broad support in the South but, it seemed, none in the North.