Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  “What is our status? Was there much damage?”

  If Odysseus thought her costume odd or outrageous, he did not betray it by so much as a flicker of an eyelid.

  “They were as inept at setting fires as they were at slashing ropes,” he said scornfully. “There is minor damage which we are already repairing.”

  Jo glanced overboard at the water purling away from the prow of the ship. They were well underway at a fast clip.

  “Very good.” She wondered what she should do now. Odysseus certainly had everything under control and she didn’t know the first thing about sailing. Still, she had to take some action. She strode about the ship with more confidence than she felt, inquiring of the crew if they’d tended their injuries, assuring those who asked that they would most definitely free the captain and the others. Perhaps because she’d tended many of their previous injuries, or perhaps because they’d attended her wedding, the men treated her with a deference and gravity not unlike how they’d treated Ford.

  She was terrified of being the person the crew looked to for orders but she also knew that no one—not even Odysseus—could possibly be as committed to freeing Ford and his men, as she was.

  She had not endured four years of marriage to an abusive Thomas Kent, escaped said husband, traveled across the Atlantic, and begun a new life—a life which brought her the greatest love she could imagine--only to lose him to an ill-groomed, foul-mouthed, filthy slave trader!

  Jo stopped at the rail, gripping it tightly as she stared in the direction of Cuba, willing the ship to go faster.

  She would easily kill Degroot if she had to, she decided, pressing her lips into a flat line of determination. She’d never thought herself capable of such an act—surely if she had, she’d have killed Thomas Kent after one of his more severe beatings. But while her own safety and liberty hadn’t been enough to force her hand, where Ford was concerned, she was realizing that she had a ruthless streak that would stop at nothing to rescue him.

  She wondered at Degroot’s unmitigated audacity in boarding their ship. Even had the Nightingale been transporting slaves—Jo felt her lip curl in disgust at the thought—such an act would have constituted piracy. But to kidnap a merchant ship’s captain and crew to fill his own nefarious quota was so far beyond the pale, Jo could not fathom what type of man he must be.

  Though slavery was still in effect through parts of the Caribbean and South America, slave trafficking had been banned by England and many other countries nearly fifty years before. Portuguese slave ships still sailed the Atlantic, but Degroot was clearly not Portuguese. His patois was a mix of dialects, his accent as indistinct as it was crude. He was like a pirate of old, a pillager intent only on his own profit. Who knew how many other men he had forced into slavery? The man must be stopped, she vowed.

  “There’s Pallet’s ship!” one of the men called from the crow’s nest as they sailed into port that evening. The winds had been in their favor and they’d made better time returning to Havana than they had when they’d left.

  Though there was just enough light for them to navigate into the harbor, they’d not be able to dock, so Odysseus ordered the anchor dropped.

  “Also, it will be faster to row to Pallet’s ship than to dock and walk around,” he said as he swung the wheel to port while the anchor chain clattered noisily.

  Jo nodded and chewed her lip as she focused on Pallet’s smaller ship, as if it might slip away in the encroaching darkness. Though they’d made good time, she was acutely conscious that each moment brought Ford and the other men closer to enslavement. What if they were too late and they arrived in Brazil to find the men had all been…sold. The very word was anathema to her. How would they track them down? How would they convince the owners—another word she found foul in her mouth—to accept her counter offer? What if, even with Appleton’s sugar profits, she still didn’t have enough for all the men?

  Odysseus’s low voice interrupted her increasingly frantic thoughts, his broad rumbling accent somehow soothing to her frayed nerves. “Sometimes when action is imminent, it is difficult to simply wait to do something. The mind, it can run like rabbit before hounds, da?”

  She smiled at the stalwart first mate—though now that she considered it, without Ford on board, he was technically the captain.

  “Da,” she said, imitating his heavy accent.

  “Aha! I knew you were a devushka at heart and not a fainting Englishwoman,” he said approvingly.

  She smiled ruefully, thinking again of her years at the hands of Thomas Kent. “I have found fainting to be a dangerous habit,” she said lightly.

  Odysseus studied her closely, as if he could tell there was more to her statement, but thankfully he did not press her for details.

  “Come,” he said. “I assume devushka will not stay on board to wait for the Frenchman’s answer.”

  Her smile this time was genuine. “Nyet,” she replied and took his hand to climb over the rail and down into the row boat below.

  “Ma chere Madame Spooner!” Pallet said once they were aboard his ship. “Never did I consider myself so lucky as to see you again this soon.” He glanced at the small group of men with her and a small frown puckered his forehead. “Is everything all right, ma chere?”

  “Monsieur Pallet, I need your help,” Jo said, feeling the press of tears sting her eyes.

  “Mais bien sur! Tell me what I must do.” The ever present flirtatious tone was gone from his voice, replaced with brisk attention.

  “It’s Ford—” she began, but her voice broke.

  Odysseus stepped forward and succinctly explained what had happened.

  “Mon dieu! Degroot you said?”

  Jo nodded, still not trusting her voice to work properly.

  “Fils de pute! I will kill him myself for this!”

  “You know him?” she asked.

  “Only as one knows of syphilis and wishes to avoid it at all costs, madame.”

  Jo choked on her laughter while Odysseus said sharply, “That is no fitting language for lady ears!”

  Jo laid a hand on the Russian’s arm. “I am not so high in the instep as that, especially after having been on the Nightingale for a fortnight. Despite your and Ford’s best efforts, I fear my vocabulary has been greatly expanded.”

  “And that is why you are a true lady!” Pallet declared.

  She looked askance at the Frenchman. “Because I now know about venereal diseases?”

  “Non, non, non! Because you handle such situations with grace and don’t need to faint to prove your womanliness.”

  “She does not faint,” Odysseus said firmly and Jo smiled at him.

  “Of course not! Very well, let us plan. We must have food and wine, however. Come, you must be hungry.”

  Jo was about to protest that she couldn’t eat, but then realized she was ravenous. Breakfast seemed an eternity ago. Was it only that morning?

  After a simple but elegant repast—Jo would have expected nothing less from the fastidious Frenchman—Pallet said, “Now tell me everything again and leave nothing out.”

  Between she and Odysseus, they relived every moment of the attack, recounted everything Degroot said.

  “We are going to rescue them,” Jo concluded firmly, as if daring Pallet to try and talk her out of it.

  “Certainment,” he said immediately, allowing some of the tension to drain from Jo’s shoulders.

  “Shall we attack this cochon at sea? I can secure us weapons and—”

  “We cannot catch him before he reaches Brazil,” Odysseus said.

  “We plan to rescue them once they’re in port—p-purchase their freedom, if necessary,” Jo explained.

  Pallet stroked the sparse hairs of his carefully trimmed goatee.

  “A direct approach, to be sure. Forgive the indelicacy, but have you the funds for, what, four men? Five?”

  “Five,” Jo confirmed. “And to answer your question, I—I’m not sure. I have all of the money Theo sent me, but
Odysseus feels it may not be enough.”

  “Cherie, Pallet said softly. “I would give you the shirt off my back, but I have very little cash. I—”

  “What about Appleton’s sugar profits?” she asked.

  Pallet’s eyebrows rose. “Well, yes, I have that of course. But that will put Captaine Spooner in a difficult position with Appleton and the other landowner who trust him to export their goods.”

  “We will get Appleton’s money back somehow,” she added at the worried look on Pallet’s face.

  “The captain is not without resources himself,” Odysseus said. “Once he and his men are free, he will repay Appleton out of his own pocket.”

  Pallet’s expression instantly cleared. “Zen what are we waiting for? Let us go rescue nos amis.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jo watched the port steadily grow larger as the Nightingale approached Brazil’s coast. Had she and Ford arrived here together, she would have been fascinated by the low rolling hills on which pale buildings, small and large, sprouted alongside curved palm trees.

  As it was, she found herself scanning the docks, looking for Degroot’s ship, praying they were not too late. They’d made excellent time, so Odysseus and Monsieur Pallet assured her, but returning to Havana to fetch the money (and Pallet who’d insisted on joining them) had put them two days behind Degroot.

  “We are in time, chere madame,” Pallet assured her when he joined her at the rail. “The slave market is only open on Thursdays and Saturdays. There is nothing that can happen until tomorrow.”

  “How do you know?”

  Pallet waved a hand dismissively. “It is common knowledge to those who sail these waters,” he assured her.

  Something told her he was simply making that up to reassure her, but since they would know soon enough the status of their men, she allowed his gallant gesture to go unchallenged.

  Once they were at anchor, Jo was the first into the rowboat. Pallet had tried to suggest she remain on board while he and Odysseus went ashore to locate where Ford and his men were being held. Fortunately the big Russian spoke before Jo could scream her frustration at Pallett.

  “Madame Captain has the right to see to her husband. To deny her would be to deny her ability to help him.”

  “Ma chere madame,” Pallet said instantly. “I only worry for your safety. I do not doubt your ability. It is just that Valongo is a coarse place, unfit for a lady’s delicate sensibilities.”

  At the look Jo gave him, the Frenchman simply bowed and said, “Forgive me. I should have known better than to suggest you stay behind.”

  Once on dry land, she and Odysseus followed Pallet through the swarming streets lining the beach. Men and women—clearly slaves—easily made up half of the crowds. They carried sacks, boxes, and personal possessions of the well-dressed white men in front of them. Jo found she could not tear her eyes from them. She needed no marks of punishment, evidence of malnutrition, or rag-clad bodies to know these people were not free.

  Her recent arrival in the Caribbean came more than a decade after the practice had been abolished under Queen Victoria. Though she was well aware that the Africans of St. Kitts were not seen as equals by the European settlers, she had lived in sheltered isolation with Theo and their few paid servants.

  But now she was confronted with the reality of slavery and it simultaneously enraged and sickened her.

  She saw a corpulent white man strike a young black man and continue his conversation with no more thought than if he’d swatted a fly.

  She didn’t realize she’d taken a step toward the man until she felt Odysseus’s hand on her arm.

  “This is not why we here,” he reminded her, his voice a low, insistent rumble. “You must concentrate on helping the captain and the men.”

  “But he’s only a child!” Jo protested.

  “Da. And you are only a woman. And I am only an ignorant Slav. We cannot stop such gadost today. But,” he said, patting his jacket pocket so that her coins clinked softly. “We can save our men.”

  Jo nodded, forcing her attention back to Pallet who had turned to see why they were not behind him.”

  “Is everything all right, ma chere?”

  “I hate this place,” Jo replied, her voice clogged with suppressed tears. “Let us hurry.”

  Pallet nodded and half an hour later, during which time Jo forced herself to focus only on the warp and weft of the Frenchman’s coat in front of her, they arrived in a large promenade, flanked on one side by a wharf and on the other by tall stone buildings.

  “Wait here,” Pallet said. “And I will enquire when the next market is.”

  Jo nodded tightly and despite the heat, huddled closer to Odysseus. She closed her eyes and tried to feel if Ford was close, but all she could sense was the frenetic energy of hundreds of people bustling about their business. The air was thick with dust, salt, and the press of sweat-soaked bodies. Despite that, Jo forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. She recalled Ford’s capable, efficient calmness when she was fleeing Livingston on St. Kitts and she willed herself to emulate it.

  “One obstacle at a time,” she whispered to herself. She must free her husband and his men first.

  Pallet returned a few minutes later to report that there had been a morning sale but that a few more slaves had been brought and there would be another auction shortly.

  “Were Ford and the men here this morning?” she asked, her stomach dropping in fear that they might have missed them.

  “Je suis désolé, madame. There is no way to know. They do not record names of the…people.”

  Jo felt the panic rising again. What if they’d already been here? What if Degroot had taken them to another market? What if—

  “One obstacle at a time,” she murmured again. “What about the sellers? Surely they would track who had profited from the auction.”

  Pallet shrugged with an apologetic look on his face. “Certainment. But they will not share such information with a stranger such as myself. Markets like this,” he said with a nod to the large, open-air pavilion in which they stood. “Are increasingly rare. Brazil is one of few countries left in this part of the world in which slavery is still legal. Were I to ask questions, especially as a Frenchman, they would assume I was an abolitionist seeking to disrupt the sale.”

  Jo studied the two men who stood behind a podium inside the pavilion, flipping through a large leather-bound book. The milling crowd outside suddenly surged forward to take their places around the perimeter of the auction building as a line of men, hands bound and feet and chests bare, were brought in through a door behind the podium.

  Jo scanned the faces of the men but none of them were familiar. The bidding began and the sale proceeded quickly.

  “Will we have enough money?” she asked Odysseus. She had no idea what their sterling would convert to in Brazilian real. She watched the Russian’s face closely as it wrinkled in concentration. “I think so,” he finally said. “As long as prices do not rise as the auction proceeds.”

  Jo nodded and returned her attention to the next group brought in. She pressed her hand to her mouth and turned away. “There are children!” she whispered in anguish to Pallet and Odysseus. The Russian’s face remained stoic as he searched for his shipmates, though the muscles at his jaw were bunched and a vein pounded visibly at his temple.

  Monsieur Pallet looked at her with sympathy. “Perhaps, madame, it is best if we get you a seat outside, under that tree over there.”

  “No!” she hissed, shaking her head.

  “Ma chere, it is hot and close in here. It is not necessary you endure this. Allow Odysseus and me to—”

  “If these innocent children can endure being chained and sold, I can certainly endure the heat!” Her voice was louder than she’d intended and several of the men around them turned to frown at her. One in particular bore such a striking resemblance to her former husband, Thomas Kent, that she felt her nerves jolt in shock. Her first instinct was to bow her he
ad, shrink away, flee. Instead she straightened her spine, glowering at him and holding his gaze until he turned away. She gasped for breath and returned her attention to the auction.

  It was several more rounds until Jo heard Odysseus’ sharply indrawn breath. She snapped to attention and saw Bodega and two of the other men chained in a line with several others. They all bore marks of healing bruises and cuts from the shipboard battle, but didn’t seem otherwise injured.

  She stared hard at Bodega, willing him to see her, but his hard gaze was focused over the crowd’s head as if he was unaware of their presence. His normally open, smiling expression was flat and inscrutable.

  Odysseus made a sharp barking sound and Bodega’s head turned immediately. Jo saw Odysseus give a tiny nod and when she looked back at Bodega, his expression, while still stoically neutral, had relaxed considerably. When his gaze landed on her, however, his eyes widened in shock so much that Jo would have laughed were the situation not so dire.

  A thought occurred to Jo and she turned quickly to Odysseus.

  “Which of you will bid?”

  Pallet, who was standing in front of Jo, turned slightly and said, “I will, madame.”

  She gave a short nod as the auctioneer began the bidding on one of the other men in the line. Her stomach roiled with a mixture of fear that they’d not have enough money for all of their men, and revulsion at the process. She nearly cried out in protest when one of the buyers, a well-fed, well-dressed man with long sideburns and a mincing step, insisted on inspecting one of the men, poking at his lean, bare chest, and gesturing for him to open his mouth that he might view his teeth. Only Odysseus’ squeezing grip on her elbow stopped her.

  At last, one of their men, Jean-Jacques, came to the front. Jo clenched her fists tightly, willing Pallet to be successful.

  “Why isn’t he bidding?” she whispered to Odysseus.