The Pirate Lord (3 page)

Louisa’s angry words had silenced the women, and Sara didn’t know how to respond. Suddenly, a soft voice spoke up. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Louisa, but it ain’t like we’ll have a choice when we reach New South Wales.” It was Ann Morris speaking, her girlish brow creased with a frown. “I’ve heard tell of what they do, how they send the women off to serve the colonists. There’s too many men, I heard. They’ll make fallen women of us whether we want it or no.”

The blood rose in Sara’s veins at the thought that even a sweet young woman like Ann could feel so helpless. “No, they won’t. I’ll do all in my power to keep that from happening. Once we reach New South Wales, I’ll see to it you receive decent assignments where you’ll be treated with respect.”

Moving to the burlap bags filled with the packets of sewing materials, Sara took a handful and began to pass them out. “But before you can gain respect from others, you must learn to respect yourselves. You must strive to improve your other feminine strengths and make
yourselves proud. Then you’ll have a chance at escaping your former lives.”

There were some who scoffed. They gathered to form knots of grumbling voices in the cells. But others looked to her with renewed hope. They took the packets from her, staring down at them with curiosity.

Soon she was joined by Ann Morris, who shot her a shy smile as she helped pass out the packets. Then some of the ones Sara had chosen as teachers joined her, and before long the women were thoroughly engrossed in looking at their materials and talking about quilts.

When all the packets were distributed, Sara stood back to observe her charges. So many of these women had never been given a chance. No one had ever told them they were worthy of saving, and they’d been taught to believe that they were forever lost to a world of thievery, prostitution, and murder.

But it wasn’t true. They were capable of more. She could tell from the way some of them helped each other, the way others sat down at once to begin sewing, the way Ann took aside one of the little boys and patiently showed him how to pick a pocket—

“Ann Morris!” she exclaimed, hardly able to believe her eyes. She walked up to the petite Welsh woman just as the little boy whisked a packet of sewing materials out of Ann’s apron pocket with a giggle. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

Ann looked up, a wide, ingenuous smile on her face. “’Tis a magic trick, Miss Willis. Queenie showed it to me yesterday. You can take a body’s things off him without him even noticin’.” She turned to the boy. “Hand it back, Robbie. You can’t keep it. That would be stealin’.”

Suppressing an irritated sigh, Sara shot a stern glance beyond Ann to Queenie, who suddenly became very engrossed with organizing her cloth scraps, mumbling all the while about “naive country girls.”

Sara softened her tone as she returned her attention
to Ann. “Yes, well, I suggest you avoid using such ‘magic tricks’ from now on. They’re liable to get your sentence lengthened.”

When Ann merely looked at her questioningly, she shook her head. She certainly had her work cut out for her, trying to keep the incorrigibles from corrupting the innocents.

Some of these women could become contributing members of society. It just wouldn’t happen in a day.

Night had fallen by the time Sara ended her first day with the women. Though lessons had long been over, she’d lingered below decks, trying to find out as much as she could about the convicts. They’d hesitated to tell her much at first, but after some coaxing she’d gleaned a few tidbits about them and their children.

There was Gwen Price, a Welshwoman like Ann, except that she spoke so little English Ann had to interpret for her. There was squirrelly Betty Slops, who seemed a slave to her wretched surname, for she constantly sported the remains of her last meal on her coarse cotton gown. And there was Molly Baker, who’d been convicted of selling stolen goods and was pregnant with her second child. Her first child, Jane, was the daughter of her husband, but the baby had been conceived in Newgate after she’d been “seduced” by a guard. More like rape, it was. And it was infuriating to think that the very same system that had gotten her with child had punished her for something that wasn’t her fault by following through with the sentence of transportation despite her very advanced pregnancy.

Sara had tried to spend a few moments with all of them. By the time the women were locked in for the night and she’d climbed the steep steps from the hold to the ’tween decks, her head ached and all her muscles were sore. She’d left the prisoners only twice to take her meals in the galley, and now all she wanted was to climb into her berth and sleep.

Then she opened the hatch to find a sailor standing beside it in the cramped ’tween decks. Bother it all. It was the same sailor who’d sought to go down to the women the night before, and he looked as surprised to see her coming up as she was to see him standing there.

Taking advantage of his surprise, she clambered up quickly and closed the hatch behind her. “Good evening,” she said in her sternest voice. He was alone, of course. The ’tween decks were used as storage. Seldom did anyone come down in them, which meant he was probably there for all the wrong reasons.

Feeling a tremor of uneasiness, she sought to hide it by glowering at the sailor. “What are you doing down here?”

The sailor was of the most unsavory sort. His beard was unkempt and he stank of stale sea water and grog. Too much grog. “Look here, missy,” he retorted. “Queenie’s expectin’ me, so don’t you be interferin’.”

The thought of this man having relations with a woman in front of everyone in the prison appalled her. Donning her most severe expression, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Surely you realize I can’t allow you to expose young children to such debauchery.”

He scowled. “Young children? Nay. I’ll be bringin’ her up here with me, I will.” He drew out a ring of keys that had been tucked into his grimy breeches and dangled them in front of her. “I’m sure the lass and I c’n find a private spot to do our business, not that ’tis any of yer concern.”

She stared at the ring of keys he was twirling round and round on his grubby forefinger. “Who gave you those keys?” she demanded.

“The first mate. Tole us men that as long as we don’t bother nobody, he don’t care wot we do with the women.”

The very idea! She would certainly record
that
in her journal. The Ladies’ Committee would be apprised that
this travesty extended all the way up to the ship’s officers.

Quickly, she stepped on the hatch, blocking his way to it. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to go down there.”

“You ain’t got any say in it, missy.” He stepped closer and grinned, exposing a gap between two of his rotting teeth. “You best be gittin’ out of me way, before I change me mind about who it is I’m wantin’.”

She colored as she realized what he meant. The audacity of the man! Oh, she would speak to the captain about him at once! Surely the captain wouldn’t countenance such overtures made to a perfectly respectable woman!

“I’m not moving until you vacate this deck,” she retorted. “Leave now or I shall tell the captain what you’ve been up to!”

An ugly frown beetled his low brow. He set down the candle he’d been carrying, then clasped her arms with two hammy fists and lifted her off the hatch. “You ain’t tellin’ nobody nothin’. I’ll say you lied and the first mate’ll back me.” He dropped her behind the hatch like a sack of meal, then bent to open it.

She refused to give up, especially with Ann Morris’s mournful words about forced whoredom still ringing in her ears. After regaining her balance on the rolling deck, Sara shoved the hatch door closed again with her foot. This time the wretched sailor drew back his hand as if to slap her.

But a voice from the steps behind him arrested him. “Lay a hand on her, matey, and you’ll see stars, you will!”

Both Sara and the sailor turned to the steps in shock. They hadn’t noticed the man who’d climbed down from the top deck and was now rounding the steps, his flattened hands held in front of him like knives.

Sara groaned. It was the monkeyish sailor who’d spoken to her on deck this morning. Wonderful. Now she had two oafs to deal with.

“This ain’t none of y’r business, Petey,” the sailor with the rotting teeth spat. “You go back up where ye came from, and leave me and the miss to settle our tiff.”

The man named Petey drew circles in the air with the edges of his hands. “Get away from her or I’ll lay you out.”

“Lay me out? A scrawny little thing like you?” The sailor shook his fist in the air. “Get on with you, and leave me and the chit be.”

What happened next came so quickly that Sara could scarcely believe it. One minute the two men were facing each other. The next minute the sailor who’d accosted her was flat on his back unconscious, and Petey was standing over him, locked in a strange stance.

When Petey lifted his gaze to Sara, she whispered, “Good heavens, what did you do to him?”

He relaxed his peculiar stance, his face shadowed in the candlelight as he scooped up the keys that had been thrown clear of the other man. “I learned a few tricks about fightin’ when I was in Chinese waters, miss. With me bein’ a little man an’ all, I figgered I’d best learn what I could. A little man can fight the Chinese way as easy as a big man.”

She shut her gaping mouth, a sudden fear overtaking her. If Petey could send a hulking sailor unconscious in two seconds flat, what could he do to her?

Still, he
had
come to her rescue, hadn’t he? She forced a cordiality into her tone that she certainly didn’t feel. “I see. Thank you, sir, for using your…unusual tactics on my behalf. And now, if you’ll excuse me—”

She moved toward the steps, hoping to get away before he decided to claim some unsavory reward for his help.

But she wasn’t fast enough. “Wait, miss, I gotta have a word with you. I been tryin’ to talk to you all day—”

“I can’t imagine what you could have to say to me,” she muttered as she hurried up the steps to the main
deck. Oh, if only she had some sort of weapon—a knife, a pistol…anything.

To her alarm, he stepped over the inert sailor and clambered up the steps after her. “Please don’t worry yerself. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He caught her by the ankle, and when she looked down to fix him with a frosty glance, he added in a lower voice, “Name’s Peter Hargraves, miss. I’m Thomas Hargraves’s brother. I’m in the earl’s employ.”

Everything changed in that one moment. A rush of relief hit her, so intense she felt faint from it. If he was Thomas Hargraves’s brother and in the earl’s employ, that could only mean one thing: Jordan had hired him. Thank heavens for her meddling and overprotective stepbrother.

She should have known Jordan would never give up so easily. When he hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted from her, he’d simply found another way to make sure she had protection. She ought to be furious with him. Instead, she was thanking her good fortune that he’d decided to ignore her wishes.

“I understand.” She glanced around, hoping no one else had heard his words. “Perhaps we’d better discuss this in private. In my cabin.” Then she climbed up to the main deck and waited for him there before heading toward where her cabin was situated beneath the quarterdeck. “Come with me.”

As soon as they’d entered her modest cabin, she turned to survey the sailor, who’d removed his broad-brimmed hat. Now she understood why he’d looked so familiar. He resembled Hargraves quite a bit. He had his brother’s ginger-colored hair and deep-set hazel eyes.

She couldn’t, however, imagine Hargraves attempting to lay a man low with fancy Chinese maneuvers. She smiled at the man. Jordan had chosen well. “Would you like a jot of wine to warm you before you return above decks, Mr. Hargraves?”

“Nay, miss, I’m on night watch. I ain’t got much time. But thank’ee kindly.”

“If you don’t mind, I shall take a little myself.” The encounter with that wretched sailor had left her cold to the bone. Opening one of the oak compartments that contained her utensils and meager private stores, she removed a bottle of burgundy and a glass. “So my stepbrother hired you to look after me, did he?”

“Aye. He said I was to make sure nobody harmed you.”

She poured a generous amount of burgundy into the glass. “And I suppose I was not to be informed of this arrangement.”

“Actually, yer stepbrother told me to wait until we were well out to sea, then let you know I was here to watch out fer you. I meant to tell you sooner, but y’ve been down in the prison all day.”

“I see.” At least Jordan hadn’t intended for her to spend the entire voyage oblivious to the fact that help was available if she needed it.

“As for you stayin’ down in the prison till all hours of the night,” he added, “you really shouldn’t be below decks after dark, you know. ’Tis dangerous.”

After replacing the wine bottle in its compartment, she took a sip from her glass. “So I gather.” She couldn’t prevent the accusing note that entered her voice. “But somebody has to keep these men from molesting the convict women.”

He turned his hat round and round in his hand, scrutinizing her with curious eyes. “You care about these women, don’t you, miss? Tom told me you were a soft touch, but I didn’t think you’d be riskin’ yerself for a lot of bloomin’ whor—I mean, ladies of easy virtue. You mustn’t take such chances no more. Next time, I mightn’t be around to see that you come to no harm.”

Bother it all. She could see this protector of hers could be a nuisance. “I won’t let the sailors have their way with the women,” she warned. “There are children
down there, and girls who are no more than fourteen. If the crew are allowed to come and go as they please—”

“Don’t you worry none about that, miss. If you want the women looked after, I’ll make sure the men don’t go down there no more, even if I have to speak to the cap’n about it meself.” He scratched behind one ear. “But you got to promise me you won’t stay below decks after dark no more, you understand? It ain’t safe.”

She took another sip, eyeing him warily. “You mean that? If I promise to halt my work after supper, you’ll protect the women from the sailors, Peter?”