Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (258 page)

She left the cabin before he could reply, silently cursing her integrity.

• • •

Still distracted by the captain’s proposal, Electra did not at first register the figure hidden in the shadows as she descended the ladder.

Critchley stepped out, blocking the way.

“I got somefin’ needs attendin’ ter and yer the one’s goin’ ter do it,” he hissed.

“The pigs are in the crates on deck. I’m sure they would be more your style,” she snapped and pushed him away. Her angry reaction hid the claw of fear that gripped her chest and sent an icy chill up her spine. She had believed the captain’s protection would be enough. Not for scum like this though. Surely, someone would hear her struggles and come before it was too late.

Critchley lunged forward and dragged her into the small storeroom to the side of the ladder. She opened her mouth to scream and gagged as he stuffed a greasy rag into it. He pinned her flailing arms to the wall, then pushed both her hands together and holding them with his right hand, untied his trousers with the left. She plunged her knee between his legs and jerked upwards. His sharp howl of pain brought her a moment of satisfaction. With a growl, he grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back. His rotten mouth was inches from her face.

“So, yer like it rough do yer, duchess? Happy to oblige.”

His piggish eyes were sunk into the bloated face and she shuddered at his hot breath, worse than the overflowing privy in the women’s hold. He rammed his knee between her legs, pried them open and ripped her blouse to expose her breasts. Electra tried to numb her body to his moist, creeping fingers.

She struggled wildly, her muffled screams lost in the filthy rag. Tears of anger and frustration stung her eyes as she fought. Had she truly escaped the molestations of the sex-starved crew for months at sea only to be violated when they docked?

Critchley pushed her to the floor and fell upon her. A sharp pain shot through her head as it hit the corner of a small cupboard and the odorous weight of his sweating body slowly pushed the air from her lungs. She knew it would be only moments before this abomination penetrated her. Unbidden memories from her childhood flashed through her terrified mind but she pushed them aside, no time for that. Close to exhaustion and submission, she closed her eyes to endure the ultimate degradation. It would be over soon …

Suddenly, Critchley reared above her and dangled in mid-air. A fist cracked against his jaw and the sweaty, heaving creature slumped motionless across her. She turned her head to see a brown-booted foot kick the unconscious body away.

Electra grasped the torn edges of her bodice and looked up at the stern, strong face of the stranger who stood over Critchley’s inert body. She held his gaze and assessed him warily, like a wild, injured animal. He returned her cautious appraisal as his deep, blue eyes acknowledged her state of undress. He lingered on the exposed skin above her bodice for the briefest of seconds and then cleared his throat.

“Are you badly injured, madam?” His voice was low, and she caught the hint of concern.

“No, you stopped him before … ” she hesitated, embarrassed.

The stranger reached for her arm, but she shrank away from him. He raised an eyebrow and glanced at Critchley as if to question whether she preferred his treatment.

She shuddered, shook her head at his unspoken query, and tried to speak.

“I-th-thank you for rescuing me. The foul creature sought to dishonour me.”

“Really, madam? Or perhaps you misunderstood the situation?” he said.

Her first reaction was offence at the intimation. But his words were incongruent with the gentleness of his actions as he knelt beside her to dab at her forehead with his handkerchief. Still trembling and confused from the attack, she pushed his hand away and began to sob. The man frowned and got to his feet.

“Don’t move.” He hesitated at the door to glance back, then left the room.

Something warm dripped onto her hand. She reached up to feel blood seep from a deep gash on her forehead. As she wiped at the blood, she wondered who the stranger was. He was not part of the crew, so he must have boarded the minute the ship docked. Although she was not familiar with the form of dress in the colony, he appeared well clothed and his speech was that of a gentleman. She felt abandoned by his leaving, but reminded herself she was only a convict woman and of no consequence to him.

Thoughts of the stranger had distracted her from the obese body lying next to her. She shuddered and edged her way to the other side of the tiny room where she remained curled in upon herself. How long would it be before she was missed? Some perverse curiosity made her turn back to Critchley. Her eyes were drawn to his right hand where she noticed his smallest finger was absent. It was merely a stub. She wondered who had relieved him of this appendage.

A shadow darkened the doorway and she looked up to find the stranger had returned with a bowl of water, a clean cloth and a blanket. He knelt in front of her and again gently dabbed the gash in her head until the bleeding stopped. His intimate actions seemed at odds with his obvious discomfort at her close proximity. Electra submitted to his ministrations. In fact, she had a ridiculous urge to grab the corner of his coat and hold on like a child to keep him with her.

“Would you like me to fetch someone?” he asked.

“Who were you thinking of? My maid?” she muttered.

His lips twitched. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

He placed the bowl on the floor and in one smooth movement, grabbed her waist and stood, lifting her with him to her feet. Then he reached for the blanket and draped it around her shoulders.

She lifted her chin. “I’m perfectly fine now. Please … please attend to your business.”

He looked as if he would speak and then thought better of it. He nodded and left.

The room felt cold and empty with him gone. She glanced once more at Critchley, then angrily drew back her foot and kicked him. He moaned and she shrank back toward the door. Even defenceless, he sent a chill up her spine.

As she stepped through the doorway she heard him mutter, “It ain’t over, whore.” She fled toward the women’s hold as if the devil himself was at her back.

• • •

“All right, you lot, get into a line and not another word,” said Lieutenant Clarke, as he directed two of the crewmen to place the women’s legs in irons.

“What happens now, sir?” asked Lizzie Cranston.

“You’re all to be taken directly to the female factory in Parramatta and put to work,” he answered.

“Mr. Hansen told me them unmarried men can come down to the factory and choose a wife if they likes. Is that true, sir?” asked Polly Harris.

“It is. But don’t get your hopes up, they only choose the pretty ones,” he snapped.

“He’s a rude bastard, he is. They won’t be lookin’ at me face when they see these though,” she cupped her large breasts. The women laughed as the lieutenant left the hold.

The women shuffled out and up onto the deck under the sardonic supervision of Lieutenant Clarke. Some called lewd goodbyes to the crewmen with whom they had spent the last ten months. Electra raised her eyes in time to see the captain salute her. She nodded and turned away.

The air from the docks was rancid with rotted fish, waste, and unwashed bodies. Even so, it was perfume after the foul smell of the bilge water that had seeped through the bulkhead throughout the journey. Two officers stood at the ship rail and she followed their gestures to the ugly squat buildings on the shoreline. Well, it was after all a penal colony, she thought, as she moved onto the gangplank.

Her mind turned back to the stranger who tended her so gently. She had hoped to catch sight of him before she left the docks. Her body warmed at the memory of his awkward tenderness as he cleaned her head injury and the pressure of his hands as he lifted her to her feet. She shook the memory away and firmly reminded herself of his unflattering assumptions.

Electra stepped off the boat, her fingers clutched around a small bag of belongings and a pouch of coins the captain had pressed onto her the evening before. He had assured her the coins would be the difference between survival and starvation.

Regardless of the stories on board, she still had no idea what to expect. It was all too much to take in, this strange, remote land that was her prison.

The docks were a chaos of activity. Merchants and landholders anxious for the safe delivery of goods, convict workers unloading cargo, idle spectators, and the usual sprinkle of prostitutes, eager to relieve the crewmen of their pay.

Suddenly her attention was caught by a shouted command to her left. A tall, fair-haired man called out to three others who were unloading goods from the ship. With a start, she realized it was her stranger. She watched for a moment, captivated by his strong, hard presence. He turned his head and she sucked in her breath as his deep blue eyes locked with hers. For a dazed moment, she was drawn out of herself toward his magnetic presence.

Quick as a whip, a hand darted out, snatched her bag of coins, and disappeared into the crowd.

“No!” she screamed. “He’s got my money!”

She lurched forward to give chase and too late remembered she was chained to the woman beside her. Electra hit the ground with a thump but managed to protect her face with one arm. She sensed rather than saw the tall, blue-eyed stranger leap over a jumble of boxes and run into the crowd. In seconds, he reached the boy, grasped him by the scruff of the neck, and dragged him back to where she now stood.

The boy was no more than seven years old, whippet-thin and dressed in rags. He trembled with fear, obviously no stranger to punishment. The boy’s captor pushed him in front of Electra, ordered the boy to return the pouch and apologize for the theft. Tears trickled down the boy’s dirt-streaked face as he stammered an apology.

A crowd gathered, drawn by the disturbance.

“It’s a good job you caught him, sir,” said one.

“You’ll hang for this, boy,” said another.

“Let him go!” Electra demanded, askance at the comments. “He’s only a child.”

“Absolutely not,” the stranger responded. “He needs to be taught a lesson.”

As she reached out to wrench his hand from the boy’s shirt, a stick struck her arm, breaking the skin. She bit back a cry at the searing pain and clutched the wound. The stranger turned, loosened his hold on the boy and smashed his fist into Lieutenant Clarke’s face. Cheers exploded around her.

“What sort of coward chains up a woman and then hits her?” he demanded.

“She’s only a convict whore,” Clarke gasped, as he pressed his handkerchief against his split lip.

“You sick bastard,” growled the stranger.

The men in the crowd cheered and the chained women, desperate for entertainment, urged the fair-haired gentleman to teach Clarke a lesson.

Electra knew she had to stop him. The stranger’s fists were clenched and she could see the rage building. She suspected the lieutenant would not be the victor in an altercation between the two men and the thought was not unpleasant. But she also knew she would face the consequences.

“Wait!” Electra put her hand out to stop him. “Please, leave it. You will only make things worse for all of us.”

He unclenched his fists but did not take his eyes from Lieutenant Clarke. She turned, apologized to the lieutenant and quietly submitted to his next order. The lieutenant pointed to a cart and herded the women onto it like animals.

As the cart rattled toward the women’s factory, Electra scanned the crowds for a last glimpse of the stranger. She sucked in a sharp breath of surprise as she saw him ruffle the urchin’s hair, flip him a coin and send him on his way. As if he sensed her attention, he turned and held her gaze.

She tore her eyes from his, toward the hardened faces of the women beside her.

• • •

“All right, in here you lot,” said the superintendent as she led them into the single, long room where they were to work, eat, and sleep.

She indicated the fireplace at the far end. “That’s where you’ll cook if necessary. Put down your things and then I’ll show you how to work with the wool. Do what you’re told, when you’re told, and you won’t need to meet my assistant.” She tapped a large rod against her left hand. After a long enough pause for her intent to be clear, she left the room.

Electra stood alone next to the door. Their surroundings were austere and her nose twitched at the strong, oily smell of the fleeces stacked against the wall. A faint smell of smoke drew her eyes to the fireplace, where the dust of cold ashes swirled and resettled. She waited while the women with children claimed their places, and then walked over to a corner and squatted on the floor. When she looked up, she saw Lizzie Cranston’s eyes on her.

One of the women put her hand on Lizzie’s arm to turn her away from Electra. Lizzie swatted the woman’s hand away, picked up her possessions, walked over to Electra, and squatted beside her. Electra released a long breath, unaware she had stopped breathing in the moments before Lizzie made her decision.

• • •

Electra and Lizzie sat in companionable silence, separating the locks of washed fleeces and carding the wool.

Lizzie looked over at Electra and shook her head. “What yer doin’ that more ’n once fer? Yer daft y’are.”

Electra held up the lock. “It’s so nice and soft when I card it twice,” she said, as she fondled the soft fibre between her fingers. “And I am sure it makes for a finer quality of garment as well.”

Lizzie squawked, “I ain’t sittin’ here achin’ from head to toe so’s some toff’s bum don’ get itchy.”

The women erupted with laughter and Electra giggled at Lizzie’s outburst.

“Perhaps you’re right, Lizzie. In fact, the scratchier the better I say.” She wrenched the wool off the card.

“Gawd, we’ll have you thievin’ an’ all soon, eh?” The others rolled their eyes and shook their heads.

Electra stood up, stretched her back, and looked around the room. Their numbers had dwindled considerably since they arrived. Many of the women had been sent into domestic service in the homes of free settlers and emancipists. In fact, Mary Buckley and her baby, Freddy, had gone the week before. By a stroke of luck or generosity, the settler to whom Mary had been indentured allowed her to bring her infant. Many refused to take children and the only alternative was the orphanage. Whoever he was, Electra would always be quietly grateful to him. The thought of the pale, thin infant she and Lizzie had delivered on the ship being taken from his mother and sent to an orphanage was unbearable. Electra had hoped there might have been some connection between them after the birth of the baby, but Mary had remained suspicious and distant until she left the factory.