Taming the Wilde (3 page)

There was a small murmur at the mention of the captain's name, the mere sound of it seemed to bring a visceral reaction from many of the women, who I saw were listening to Roake intently with a mind to studiously obeying the rules as he opened the tome and began to read aloud.

“Prisoners will conduct themselves respectfully towards guards, officers and one another. At no time shall prisoners strike up conversations with guards and officers.” He looked up at us all. “You will speak when spoken to. Naturally, foul language, shouting and fighting are all disallowed. If you are locked down,” here he glanced towards me, “shouting between the bars is strictly prohibited, as is rowdiness of all kinds. You are ladies and will behave as such.”

That drew the odd guffaw of amusement from those who had never regarded themselves as being anything like ladies. Roake responded to the outburst with a cold glare at the responsible parties that was immediately effective.

“Your hammocks will be taken down each morning and rolled and stowed, or in fine weather, they are to be taken on deck. The same applies to bunk bedding. Breakfast is held at precisely eight o'clock in the mess. At nine thirty you will assemble on deck for prayers, and at ten o'clock schooling and exercises will begin. Lunch is served at twelve and schooling and exercises resume at one thirty...”

I found my attention wandering as Mr. Roake trotted out the rest of the rules and regulations with clipped passion. I was cold and growing colder by the moment in the shadows of the cell. My sodden underclothes were not enough to keep me warm and my discarded dress had yet to be returned. I wanted to ask for it, but I did not want to draw the attention of Roake any more than was absolutely necessary.

“Wilde! What did I just say?” His harsh gravelly tones cut through my miserable reverie. I should not have been surprised that he sought to make further example of me. I had ill-distinguished myself from the very start and in doing so made myself a pet of sorts – the sort that is starved and beaten.

I opened my mouth to reply, but I found no words there. I had not the faintest inkling what dreary rule he had imparted, but to admit as much would have been to invite his ire, which already seemed to be squarely and unfairly focused on my person. A great many eyes turned toward me, some glittering with schadenfreude, others with a slight hope. I had known several of my fellow prisoners in the course of incarceration, our association had lead us to have certain expectations of one another. My dive from the deck of the Valiant would not have surprised all aboard, that much was certain. Lizzie would have cheered if she had seen me do it, and Martha the Wrestler too and no doubt Ursula, who maintained her innocence more stoically than anyone and had not smiled since receiving her sentence and learning that she was to leave behind three small children, even she might have lifted the corner of her mouth a little.

As the hush of expectation took hold, I realized that this moment was a defining one, not just for myself, but for all those who were forced to sail to foreign shores. If I
were cowardly, they would be cowardly. If I was brave and in good spirits, perhaps they too would be brave and find some cheer. I had no illusions of leading a rebellion there in the belly of the beast, but I did recognize an opportunity to lift spirits.

“Beg your grace's pardon,” I said, dropping into a sloshing curtsey. “I could not hear you over the sound of the private waterfall I have become.”

There were a few titters here and there, but for the most part silence reigned as eyes slid back towards Roake, waiting to see what he would do with my response.

We did not have to wait long for the answer. Again he came down the ship towards me, the predator prowling back towards the prey it had previously decided unworthy of biting. He reached for the keys at his belt and I felt sick to my very stomach as he unlocked my cell, drawing back the door in invitation. “Step out.”

I did not want to leave my iron cage. The cell that had so terrified me at the outset now seemed like a place of supreme security. But it was an order and I was not foolish enough to defy a direct order. As I stepped out, Roake took me harshly by the elbow and, striding back towards the stairs, forced me to trot after him in order to keep up with his longer legs.

In short order I found myself back on the deck of the Valiant as Roake made curt inquiries as to the location of my dress. In very short order the garment was procured, I know not from where. I thought I might then be free to go back to the cell and change myself, but it was not to be. With his grip still strong, Roake dragged me into a rather fine cabin and there released me to drip upon a hand knotted rug. “Remove your undergarments and don your dress,” he said, making an impatient gesture in my direction.

It was a clear order, but when it became apparent that he was not going to leave me in peace to change, I made protest. “I cannot undress with you present.”

“Nigh every man on the ship has seen the outline of your nether regions,” Roake said cruelly. “And I am sure many more have seen what lies under your petticoat.”

His insulting speech made me quite forget where I was. I drew myself up to my full height and gazed upon him venomously as I unleashed my ire without regard to common sense. “You are no gentleman to speak that way. No man has ever looked upon my person and you shall certainly not be the first, you scurrilous wretch, you blighted vermin. I pity the misfortune you must have endured to be what you are – a bully of women and a bounder to boot. You are, without a shadow of doubt, surely the most pernicious little wretch ever to set foot upon a ship. I pity all those forced to sail with you, for it is suffering to have to so much as look at you.” The words flowed with a certain poetic vitriol that took me over, relieving me of my good sense. When I was done with my tirade I found myself completely out of breath and I panted slightly as I waited to see what Roake would do with it.

With something of a cold chill I realized that he was regarding me with a sort of horror so profound that I thoroughly expected to be struck down where I stood. He moved towards me and I moved away directly, wishing to avoid that violent fate. “Do not flee, Miss Wilde, come and take the punishment you have so richly earned,” he snapped as he took me by the wrist and twisted me around so that I was vulnerable to the attentions of his palm, which he brought down in very short order against my buttocks.

It was not the blow I had expected to be sure, but the pain was sharp and exacerbated by the salty wet fabric that clung to my skin. He repeated the treatment several more times, putting the full strength of his arm into every blow. “You might be an intelligent, well bred prisoner, but you are a prisoner none the less,” he said, growling the words into my ear. “And your opinion of me could not be more irrelevant.”

He continued slapping me, forcing me towards the shameful boundary of crying out loud. “You do not know your place, but I will be glad to show you it,” he lectured, laying into my rear with the gusto of a glutton falling upon a cake.

I found myself dancing in place, holding back utterances of pain. I had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of showing that his ministrations hurt. He could strike me as much as his black heart desired, I would not be subdued. But oh did my buttocks flame as if placed over gently steaming coals. Even without an implement at his disposal, Roake was capable of truly fierce discipline. “This is but a warning, as you seem to be in need of one,” he growled against my ear. “Next time you give that waspish tongue of yours free reign, I will not be this kind.”

Every word was punctuated with another slap, an intimate chastisement to be sure and one I deemed to be inappropriate. I could not complain without making an utterance of pain so I refrained from complaint altogether, but after a time I could not help muffled yelps that erupted against my closed lips. It was a devilish treatment to be sure and in spite of my attempts to pretend that he was making no impression on me, I leaped about like a spring lamb, almost tugging out of his grasp. He regained a hold of me quite easily, much to my despair, and it seemed an endless torment as his hard hand landed over and over, drying the seat of my skirts against my rear.

Finally, against my will I let out a squeal of pain. It hoped it would not be heard amidst the quick fire slapping, but Roake must have heard it well enough, for he released me directly and turned his back, speaking over his shoulder. “Get changed, Miss Wilde, before I retain the services of a cane.”

I hesitated, lest he turn to look at me in a state of undress, but then came to my senses and seized the moment. My wet clothing fell from my body with a slopping sound and I pulled the dress over my head directly. Being clothed in warm, dry, fabric made me feel better almost immediately, but the hot sting in my rear was very uncomfortable. There was a certain ache to it, a pulsing sensation as if my flesh were still under Roake's iron palm. I took advantage of the master's turned back and rubbed my poor rear until I felt a lessening of the heat and sting.

To his credit, Roake did not so much as peer over his shoulder until I informed him that I was ready. “I have changed, your honor,” I said, bestowing yet another title upon him.

He turned with that peculiar liquid grace, fixed me with a grim look and growled. “Mark my words, Miss Wilde, you had better think upon your attitude, for my arm will never grow tired.”

My reply came quickly, almost without thought. “Never grow tired? Careful Master Roake, such a limb could fetch a pretty price if sold – and there are thieves about you know.”

Roake gave me a dour look. “You think yourself intelligent, but it is not intelligent to provoke me, Miss Wilde. Unless you have a penchant for pain.”

“Or a hide that never tires, to match your arm.”

I was being imprudent, truth be told my tender ego was stinging almost as much as my poor end. Roake had shamed me most thoroughly and by answering him smartly each time he opened his mouth I felt I could perhaps claw back some semblance of dignity. I was tangling with a tiger to be sure, but he seemed to have satisfied his urge to thrash, for he did not engage in further discussion, but showed me out of the cabin.

The good captain Morrow was on deck when I emerged, blinking into daylight. He seemed surprised to see me again so quickly, and went to address Mr. Roake, who by that time was looking very smug and satisfied.

“What was this prisoner doing in your cabin?”

Did I detect a note of possession in the captain's tone? No, surely that was ridiculous. That was the sort of thought one of the other ladies would have, not the sort of thought a sensible woman such as I would have. I pushed it away quickly, along with the dancing butterflies that seemed to have invaded my stomach.

Roake addressed his captain so frankly it made me blush. “She was being changed and disciplined. I will enter the details in the ledger.”

Captain Morrow turned to me, his brow furrowed in a way that bought the butterflies flooding back. “We have months ahead of us, and in your first hour aboard the ship you have made a scene that will have much of the lesser elements of London talking for weeks and you have crossed the man responsible for maintaining order and discipline. Are you sure you are not a political prisoner, sent down for stirring dissent?”

“I am an innocent convicted on the strength of a few crumbs,” I replied. “Damned by scraps.”

“And locked away for merely taking a dip in the sea,” he said, doubting the veracity of my claim most openly. “I have seen your kind before, Miss Wilde, and however charming you might think yourself, I urge you to consider the consequences of your behavior before indulging your impulses.”

“Of course, Captain Morrow, I will consider them deeply,” I agreed at once. It did not seem to please either Morrow or Roake, who looked at me with deep suspicion.

“See that you lock her away securely,” Morrow ordered Roake. “We are set to cast off and Miss Wilde has delayed us long enough.”

I took one last long look toward the city where my dreams had become nightmares as Roake drew me down below decks, where he performed an indignity that I could never have expected. As we reached the foot of the stairs, Roake turned me so that my back was towards the other ladies. I was perplexed as to the reason for this, but when he swept up my skirt a moment later, displaying my bare bright red buttocks to all present I understood it all too clearly. Uttering a shriek of surprise and outrage, I tried to force my skirts back down and to turn to save my dignity, but Roake wrapped his arm around my waist and held me firm. “This is merely the product of a short exposure without any implements at all,” he said with the undeniable pride of a man who considers a job to have been well done. “Mark this well.”

“How dare you!” I writhed in his grip, earning another blow that landed full force on my left buttock. It seemed more powerful than any he had delivered in the cabin and I squealed aloud, adding vigor to his demonstration.

“I dare because for all intents and purposes, you are mine for the duration of this voyage.”

I knew he was addressing us all, but the way he turned his head back and spoke directly to me, his curling lips just inches from my ear, it felt as if he spoke only to me. He followed the statement with several more wicked blows that brought tears springing to my eyes. He wished to humble me in front of my fellow prisoners and he had succeeded.

When he finally dropped my skirts and turned me back I could not see the others for the fog of tears that I blinked away as he walked me back to my cell, every step painful and raw both physically and emotionally. I was glad when the door closed behind me for I could finally stop clenching my fists with the effort it took restraining myself from slapping his filthy face.