To Love Anew (7 page)

When Hannah reached the cottage, she stood on the stoop and stared at the door. Perhaps it would be better if she simply disappeared into the darkness. She looked out at the street with its menacing shadows. No, she couldn’t do that. She turned back to the door and knocked softly. A few moments later, she heard a voice from inside.

“Now, who is it that’s waking me from my sleep?”

“It’s me, Ruby. Please, may I come in?”

The door opened. “What are ye doing out at this time of night?” Ruby focused on Hannah. “Oh dearie, what’s happened to ye? Ye look dreadful.” She bundled Hannah inside and hustled her to the settee. “Let me get ye a cup of tea.”

Shaking and weary, Hannah huddled inside her cloak. She still didn’t know what explanation to give. “I’m sorry for disturbing you so late. I . . . I didn’t know where else to go.”

“What’s happened, luv?”

Hannah looked at Ruby. She’d decided to say nothing, but now knew that would be impossible. Ruby wouldn’t tolerate her silence. How could she explain what had happened? She could barely even think of it.

Ruby sat beside Hannah. “It’s all right, dear. Ye can tell me.”

“Well . . . Mr. Walker . . . he . . .” She shook her head.

“He what?” Ruby’s voice sounded strident.

“He came to my room . . . and . . .”

“Did he touch you?” Ruby asked, with outrage.

Hannah could only nod.

“And did he have his way with ye?”

Again Hannah nodded, only this time tears burned a hot stream down her cheeks.

“I’ll hang him by his thumbs!” Ruby stood and acted as if she’d stride right out the door and then on to the Walkers. Catching hold of herself, she returned to Hannah, her countenance tender. She knelt before the young woman and pulled her against her breast. “Now, now. It’ll be all right. Ye’ll see. Everything will be all right.”

“Ruby,” a surly voice called from a back room. “What’s going on out there?” A moment later Ruby’s husband, Percy, tottered out of the bedroom. He was barely clothed. He rubbed his face and gazed bleary-eyed at Hannah. “Why she ’ere?”

“It’s none of your concern,” Ruby said. “Go back to bed. I’ll see to her.”

“She’s not stayin’ ’ere. We got no room.”

Ruby stood and faced her husband, hands on her hips. “I’ll not put her out in the middle of the night. No matter what you say or do.” She stood directly in front of him, looking fierce.

Percy glared back at her. “She can stay ’til mornin’ and then she’s got to go.” With that, he turned and disappeared through the dark doorway.

Ruby walked back to Hannah and sat beside her. “Don’t worry ’bout him. He don’t know what he’s sayin’. ” She rubbed Hannah’s back. “Ye can stay as long as ye have need.”

“Thank you, Ruby, but you don’t have room. And I’m not about to cause trouble between you and Percy. But I will stay the night.”

“All right for now. Ye need to sleep. I’ll fetch a blanket for ye and ye can sleep on the sofa.” She walked into the bedroom and reappeared a moment later, a blanket and pillow in hand. “Here ye go, luv. Try to rest. Put all this out of yer mind. It can’t be undone so ye might as well just leave it behind ye.” She smiled and helped Hannah lie down and then covered her with the blanket.

“Thank you,” Hannah said, feeling embraced by Ruby’s gentleness.

“Tomorrow will be a new day. Ye’ll see.” She kissed Hannah’s cheek. “I’ll leave the lantern . . . just in case ye might need it.” Before leaving the room, she stood over Hannah for a moment and gazed at her with sad eyes. “Good night, then,” she said and left Hannah alone.

Hannah turned down the lantern and stared at the window. Moonlight filtered in, illuminating the room. Something leapt onto the sofa, startling Hannah. Then she heard a deep, thrumming purr. “Oh, Jasper,” she said, pulling him to her chest. She rubbed her cheek against his soft fur. “Jasper,” she whispered. “How good to see you.”

She settled into her pillow, keeping the cat in her arms. She closed her eyes, comforted by his steady purring. But her mind took her back to the dark room in the Walker house. Again, she felt fear and revulsion as if it were all happening again. She opened her eyes, but the images stayed with her. She would never be the same.

A cold stone of bitterness grew inside.
I’m defiled and no good to anyone.
Hannah loathed Mr. Walker. But she also loathed herself. Maybe she had been at fault. Had she, indeed, beguiled him?

6

A guard strode toward the locked cell door. “Lindston . . . Bradshaw . . . Steller,” he called.

John pushed to his feet. This was it. His prison term would begin on one of the decaying ships known as hulks. He didn’t yet know when he’d be sent to New South Wales. It mattered little; his life was no longer his own. The truth of it felt like lead in his gut.

I ought to be thankful to have my life
, he told himself. By the grace of God and a good attorney, he’d escaped the gallows. But he couldn’t muster any joy. He’d be lucky to survive the six-month passage. All that he held dear was gone. And worst of all, he’d been betrayed by people he trusted. How could he believe in anyone again?

Margaret’s saucy smile flashed through his mind. As his anguish swelled, he pushed her image aside. She was lost to him forever. Leland Martin had brought word just two days before. Margaret had died from an undiagnosed ailment.

His throat tightened at the thought. Even with her betrayal it was a loss beyond understanding.
She deserved it
, he thought, his bitterness driving out his grief.

I won’t think on it
, he told himself as he picked up a bag containing clothing, soap, tooth powder, and a hairbrush that Leland had left with him. They were his only possessions.

The three men lined up at the cell door. No one spoke. One man kept his eyes on the floor, while the other defiantly glared at the guard. John tried to look indifferent.

The jailer yanked open the door and stood watch while another guard put the men in wrist and ankle irons and then looped chains around their waists, tethering them together.

“Get away with ye. And don’t make no trouble.” The gaoler carried a bludgeon and glared at the defiant-looking bloke. Chains clanking, the three shuffled along the dank corridors of the prison, through a monstrous gate, and outside to a waiting wagon crowded with other prisoners.

John blinked against the bright light of day. He hadn’t been outdoors since his hearing. Most likely this would be a brief encounter with the outside world. His mind carried him to the dark hole he knew was waiting. He didn’t want to think on it.

With the ousting of one dreadful thought, another replaced it and his mind returned to his trial. Outrage filled him, but it was better than despair.

He’d stood in the oppressive courtroom, his senses insulted by the stinking union of cigar smoke, unwashed bodies, and the stale smell of spirits given off from the many spectators. A bellowing plaintiff and the blustering prosecutor harangued. Before Mr. Martin could utter a word, the judge had already made his decision—guilty. John had been certain he’d hang, but then Leland Martin had skillfully presented his background and his character, and John received a prison sentence instead—one to be carried out in New South Wales.
Life in prison. The gallows would have been better
, he thought dismally.

A guard grabbed him by the arm and thrust him up into the back of the wagon. He barely managed to hang on to his belongings.

“Sit down,” the guard ordered.

John sat on one of two wooden benches that ran from the front to the back of the wagon and then glanced about, trying to get his bearings. His manacled ankle was secured to a bolt in the floor. The irons cut into his skin.

While the last of the three men from John’s cell was being shackled, the wagon lunged forward and the prisoners started their trek through the city. John tried not to look at staring bystanders. Instead, he concentrated on the buildings and the markets. It would most likely be his last look at London. The fast pace of the city, the cries of vendors, and the merging smells of cigars, coffee, and horse manure that he’d complained of only a few weeks before no longer repulsed him.

How had life gone so awry? He stifled a shudder.

John glanced at the other prisoners. There were ten others locked in just as he was. A skinny young man looked back at him. John could see panic and disbelief in his blue eyes. He wondered if the same expression lay behind his own gaze. Under normal circumstances he would have offered a smile of encouragement, but John had nothing to give. Instead, he looked down at his hands and slid the manacles down to loosen them slightly.

The wagon moved slowly through the streets. John wished the journey over. He didn’t like the stares. What if someone he knew saw him? He couldn’t bear that. The horses plodded on, and the more of London John saw, the more wounded he felt at being dragged off to another continent.
There is no justice
, he thought, the bitterness inside growing.

They rumbled past businesses and crouching cottages, and John wondered where Henry had gotten to. Was he somewhere along this very route? If he saw him, what would his response be? Rage boiled inside. He deserved a chance to face the man, to tell him what he thought of his deception, his treachery.

All of a sudden, a young apprentice who had worked for John stepped into his line of vision. The lad’s eyes widened when they met John’s. He quickly looked away and then back again. He held his previous employer’s gaze and finally nodded in respect. John managed a slight smile, thankful for the kind gesture.

The wagon turned a corner and rolled over cobblestone streets, heading for the Thames.
So it’s the river, then
. The hulks tethered along the Thames might be better than the ones in the bay. Still, his stomach tightened. He’d heard stories about the misery on board the decaying ships.

Transportation for the term of his natural life
, the judge’s voice reverberated through his mind.
How will I endure?

His father’s voice replaced that of the judge’s.
“One day at a time, son.”
How many times had he heard that advice? More than he could count. When John had been fearful or had wanted to give up on something that seemed too difficult, his father was there, steady and wise. “You can’t scale a mountain all at once,” he’d said when John had lamented over learning the machine trade.

One day at a time,
John told himself.
I can do today. That’s all I need think of. Today will be my first day of survival.

The cart approached the river and a row of tethered hulks. The derelict ships looked like hideous caricatures of vultures hunched over carcasses, their wings spread possessively. Dread swept through John and his earlier resolve faltered. What awaited him? Bile rose up into his throat and he swallowed, trying to keep his stomach in place.

The wagon jolted to a stop, and the men were unloaded and marched across a gangplank that tied a hulk to the shore. “This’ll be your home for a while,” one of the guards said, chuckling. “Enjoy your stay.”

The prisoners were handed off to marines wearing red-breasted uniforms. They were hustled onto the ship and into a small room, then left to wait. A guard remained at the door.

The prisoners sat on the floor. John rested his back against a bulkhead. A small man who reminded John of a scrawny chicken couldn’t keep from crying. As he sobbed, his shackles clanked.

“Stop your sniveling,” a prisoner next to him ordered. “You chose your lot like the rest of us. Now it’s time to pay the price. Why you crying like a baby?”

“Got me a family,” the man said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. The movement carried the other man’s hand with his.

He jerked back on the chains. “Aye! Keep my hand away from your nose.”

The man’s shoulders drooped. “Don’t deserve this. All I done was get me family somethin’ to eat. We was starvin’. ”

The prisoner chained to him glared. “You’re no different than the rest of us. We all done something we figured we had to do. And none of us is innocent.”

The door opened and an officer stepped into the room. Arms folded across his chest, he stared at the men. “Up on your feet.” No one moved. “Stand up, I said.”

The men stared; some slowly stood.

“Up with you! Now!”

The authority in his voice got the rest of the prisoners to their feet. He nodded to the guard who then removed the men’s manacles.

“Now, strip. I want everything off.” The guard at the door proffered a wooden club. “I wouldn’t want anyone to be bludgeoned on their first day here.”

Although still tied to one another, the men managed to undress. Most stood in their underdrawers.

“I said everything.”

The underdrawers came off.

The men stood naked and vulnerable. Wearing a smirk, his eyes heated by scorn, the officer looked the men over and then walked out.

“Now what?” a rather rotund prisoner asked.

No one answered.

The men moved to the wall and sat. John pulled his knees up close to his chest, and tried not to think about his imminent future. Instead, he allowed his mind to return to his father.
I’m glad he can’t see me now
, he thought, rubbing his sore wrists. He hoped he’d stay free of the irons.

John rested his chin on bent knees and closed his eyes, longing for rest. He was weary, to his very heart.

Without warning, the door was flung open and a tall, heavyset man stepped into the room, followed by a sailor. The first man was so tall, he had to bend to get through the door. “Up! Everyone up!”

The men scrambled to their feet. John’s muscles tensed. He kept his eyes straight ahead.

The man walked to the first prisoner in line. “Bend forward.” The convict did as he was told. The big man looked through the prisoner’s hair. “Straighten up. Open your mouth.” He peered inside the man’s mouth, checking his teeth, and then examined his body, including the prisoner’s private places. After that he moved to the next man and the next, examining each similarly.

When he’d finished, he said, “You’re a healthy enough lot. Get dressed.” He left abruptly.