Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  “Mr. Ramsey,” she panted. “I believe you have the wrong room. Please remove yourself immediately.”

  For one inebriated enough to slur his words, Ramsey moved surprisingly quickly. In the faint moonlight she saw him stand and pace around the foot of the bed. She was trapped in a corner of the room. She grabbed up handfuls of skirt preparatory to leaping over the bed to escape.

  “Come, my dear,” he drawled. “You only delay the ineb—inef—” He paused, no doubt untangling his tongue. “In-ev-it-able,” he said finally, as if spelling it out for a child. “You’ll not be able to establish a,” he paused and cocked his head to the side. “A plantation! That’s it. On your own. You can’t do it. You don’t know no one in Rio and yer brother’s title means something. Nothing. Yer brother’s title don’t mean nothing here.” He paused to belch again behind his hand. He frowned as if trying to remember what he’d been saying.

  “My wife. That’s the only way you’ll succeed. I’ll handle errything.”

  “We will discuss this tomorrow,” Jo said, eyeing the bed to determine how difficult it would be to cross.

  “Don’ be stupid,” he said, his inebriation doing little to lessen the threat in his tone. His speed caught her off guard again, as he lunged around the foot of the bed.

  Jo leapt up on the mattress, scrambling across it, but he caught the hem of her skirts and with a vicious tug she lost her footing and fell face forward, In an instant he was upon her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. She felt him struggling to pull up her skirts and she screamed into the covers, fighting to pull her trapped arms free, to turn her head for a breath.

  The foul fumes from his mouth overwhelmed her as she finally turned her head enough to fill her lungs.

  “You only make it harder on yourself if you struggle,” he said.

  I will not let this happen, she thought frantically, even as a small voice in her head warned that for all his bland exterior and slurred speech, Ramsey was surprisingly strong. His fingers dug painfully into her hips and he weight made her ribs--still sore from Degroot’s kick days before--throb painfully.

  He dragged his lips across her cheek and she recoiled in disgust, desperately trying to free her arms from their combined weight. She felt his hands on the back of her legs, heard fabric tear again. Tears of fury and frustration stung her eyes as the realization that she might not be able to fight off this man crept into her mind.

  He was fumbling at her knickers and she rallied her strength for one more ferocious fight when the door of her room opened and candlelight spilled in. She craned her neck to see Dominique enter the room as calmly as if she were simply delivering a breakfast tray.

  Jo tried to call out to her but Ramsey had shifted, bracing all his weight on her back as he continued to fight her voluminous skirts, and she hadn’t the breath. She could only watch as the maid set down her candlestick and took up the heavy wood case of the clock. She crossed the room, her steps silent in the thick carpet.

  Jo lost sight of her as the maid stepped behind them, but she heard a thud and a grunt, and then felt Ramsey’s full weight pressing her into the mattress. She couldn’t draw a breath and her vision darkened at the edges before the weight suddenly disappeared, rolled to the side. Jo scrambled off the bed, her breath heaving, her face wet from the tears she hadn’t realized had escaped her eyes.

  She pulled her skirts into order as Dominique asked, “He didn’t get ye, did he?”

  “What? Oh. No. Not like that.”

  The other woman nodded. “Didn’t think he’d had enough time.”

  “What do you—do you mean to say you saw him enter my room? Why didn’t you come in sooner?” She fingered the gaping hole where her skirts had split from her bodice.

  “Couln’t” Dominique said with a shrug. “Had to wait until he was distracted, else he’d a beat me first and still raped ye, miss.”

  This explanation was delivered with such nonchalance—as if she were simply describing the timing of putting a roast in the oven—that it took Jo a moment to realize that the maid spoke with the ease of familiarity, that she had no doubt learned the hard way just how to escape Ramsey’s attack.

  Jo rushed forward and took Dominique’s hands in her own.

  “Thank you, Dominique. Thank you so much!”

  The young woman nodded and said, “Your men get the carriage ready. You take me with you.”

  “Yes, of course,” Jo agreed instantly. “I must warn you—we’re not actually establishing a plantation. We’ve a boat docked—oh I can’t remember where, but we’ll be departing immediately.”

  “I ain't getting on no boat,” Dominique replied as she picked up the clock case and set it back on its pedestal.

  “But—”

  “I’m done bein’ a slave. You jus’ drop me outside of town.”

  “But Dominique! If you’re caught you’ll be punished!”

  The maid was observing herself in the dressing table mirror, adjusting her colorful turban by the light of the single candle. “I’ll not be caught, miss. My husband meet me there soon.”

  “Husband?”

  Dominique smiled coyly. “We married a few months ago, jus’ before he escape. He send word last week to get to a spot near the city and he take me to his farm at one of the quilombos.”

  “What is that?”

  “A town of runaways out in the jungle. Farming, making they own life.”

  “Of course we will take you to your husband,” Jo agreed fervently.

  Dominique nodded shortly. “We best be goin’ then. No tellin’ how long this homen doninha be out.”

  Jo cast a glance at Ramsey, who was sprawled awkwardly on the bed, his mouth hanging slack, drool puddling beneath his cheek. She pushed down her revulsion and turned back to Dominique.

  “Will we have difficulty leaving the house?” She glanced automatically at the clock, but the face now had a large Y-shaped crack obscuring the hands.

  “Here,” Dominique said, handing Jo her short boots. “Your men not in dey room. Where are they?”

  “Er, they’ll be ready for us to leave shortly. Let’s just get to the carriage.”

  Dominique nodded and Jo wondered if the maid suspected what they were about.

  “Don’t say nothing until we get outside,” Dominique warned as she opened the door a crack and peaked into the hall.

  Jo nodded and stooped to lace her shoes. She followed close behind the other young woman as they made their way down the servant’s stairs, pausing on the last landing, while someone—a guard perhaps? The butler?—passed through the back hallway, lantern light flickering up the stairwell.

  Jo was convinced her pounding heart would give them away and she pressed her free hand over her chest as if she could muffle it.

  Several seconds passed during which Dominique remained still. Then a barely whispered, “Come now,” and they exited the narrow stairway and crept through the back hallway to the rear entrance.

  Dominique stealthily unbolted the latch and opened the door slowly, pausing when a hinge creaked.

  Jo glanced frantically around before remembering that she was not a prisoner here. Were they stopped, she could surely brazen out a reason she and the maid were going for a moonlit walk.

  Her extemporaneous skills were not put to the test as Dominique quickly swung the door open enough for them to slip through and carefully latched it behind them. Jo followed the maid off the verandah and across the dirt lot behind the house to the carriage house.

  It was dark and musty inside. Their rented carriage was a hulking dark shape just visible in the faint moonlight, which filtered into the open open doorway. There was no sign of any of the men.

  “I’m supposed to meet them at four o’clock this morning. Have you any idea what time it was when you came to my room?” Jo could just make out the shake of Dominique’s head.

  “What you doin’ leavin’ at four in the morning?”

  “Odysseus said we’ll be able to see enough
to travel shortly after that. We need…we need to get back to our ship as soon as possible. We never intended to stay the night.”

  Jo trusted Dominique—the young woman had rescued her from a hideous fate, after all, but she thought it best not to reveal everything until the last moment.

  Now, with nothing to do but wait, Jo was overcome with shivers, as if she were in wintery England instead of on the edge of a tropical forest. The strain of Ford’s abduction, the constant worry about him, and the terrifying events of the last hour threatened to overwhelm her now that she had no plans or preparations to occupy her. So tightly wound was she, she nearly screamed in alarm when Odysseus and Pallet emerged from the nearby forest, supporting one man between them while another limped behind.

  As they made their way across the yard, Jo could see that the man barely able to walk was Ford. She started to go to him, but Dominique held her arm.

  “Wait, miss. Wait til dey get here. No need to be makin’ more racket.”

  Though Jo realized the other woman was right, she quivered with impatience to touch her husband, to see to his injuries, to know he was safe.

  They entered the shed where Jo and Dominique stood next to the carriage. Jo rushed to Ford, picking him out unerringly, despite the darker gloom of the shed. Her heart lurched painfully when he recoiled from her touch.

  “Ford,” she whispered, thinking he didn’t realize who she was.

  “He’s gravely injured, madame,” Pallet said, gently pulling her to the side.

  “But I can—” Jo began.

  “Give him time,” the Frenchman said.

  What did he mean? Give him time, Jo wondered. She stood helplessly by as Odysseus and Pallet ushered Ford and Bussa into the carriage. She heard Ford say hoarsely. “No. I won’t do it.” She didn’t catch Odysseus’ low response, but after a few seconds, he and Pallet emerged from the carriage and he turned and saw that Jo was not alone.

  “Who is this?” he said sharply.

  “Dominique. She, er, saved me from a difficult situation. We will be giving her a ride.”

  “Jes’ to the outside of the city,” Dominique piped in.

  In the dim light, Jo saw the Russian’s head turn sharply, but she could not see the expression on his face. She was about to speak up, demanding that the maid be allowed a seat when Odysseus said to Dominique, “Into the carriage. Quickly, while we harness the horses.”

  Dominique scrambled in, and when Jo would have followed Odysseus put his hand on her arm.

  “Give him some space, your man.”

  “Space? What do you mean? How badly is he injured?” she finished, a note of hysteria entering her voice.

  “His wounds will heal. Just—” he paused, then turned as Pallet brought the horses from the stalls in the back.

  The two men harnessed the horses with remarkable speed considering Jo could scarcely see her hand in front of her face, and considering the two men were more accustomed to furling sails. She waited outside the coach, now suddenly afraid to enter, to discover what Odysseus meant by Ford needing space.

  Odysseus appeared at her side again, and held open the door, offering a hand to assist her up. He squeezed it in gentle reassurance and Jo squeezed back rather more desperately.

  Inside the coach, it was pitch black. Jo had no idea which way to turn until she heard Dominique say, “over here, miss,” right before the maid took her hand and drew her down to sit on the forward-facing bench.

  Jo could still see nothing, but she could hear the labored breathing of one of the men—Ford she assumed. It went against her every instinct not to reach out for him, not to tell him she was her, that he was safe. But Odysseus’s strange words gave her pause. Clearly there was something she didn’t know or understand and the fear of saying something wrong kept her mouth sealed. She clung to Dominique’s hand as the carriage jolted to a start and the maid patted her reassuringly, as if she was accustomed to fleeing for her life in the dead of night.

  The carriage rattled down the long winding drive and Jo tried to estimate how long it would take them to reach the main road. Long past when she was sure they should have reached it, she felt the carriage tilt slightly as they turned. Outside, the sky was no longer inky black, and Jo could discern a pearlescent grey to the horizon, though the inside of the carriage was still too dark to make out more than large blobs of what were Ford, Bussa, and Dominique.

  The air inside the carriage was hot and fetid, the smell of unwashed men, blood, and another acrid scent that Jo knew instinctively was fear.

  She longed to lower one of the windows, but her body, like her tongue, seemed incapable of motion. Oh, if only the sun would rise so she could see Ford, so he could see her! She was certain then everything would be alright. Whatever his injuries, she would nurse him back to health.

  Her mind began to sort through a list of injuries that might cause him to need “space.” Horrible images of disfigurement and dismemberment splashed across her mind’s eye to the point that she wasn’t even aware when the light had brightened enough to see that Ford was sitting directly across from her. With a start, she came back to herself and studied him intently. His clothes were filthy and torn, with liberal blood spatters, as if he’d suffered a bloodied nose and had been unable to staunch it. He seemed to have all his fingers, his limbs appeared to be sound. He was staring out the window at the lightening jungle and the side of his face she could see looked wary but unharmed.

  She gazed at him steadily, willing him to look at her, to acknowledge her, but he kept his head turned. She glanced at Bussa, who was slouched against the other window, dozing uneasily. Dominique, however, was bright-eyed and tapping her fingers merrily to a tune only she could hear. She nodded her head to the silent melody, looking out the window with obvious delight.

  Jo smiled at the young woman, glad that, for everything Dominique had done for her, she could repay her in some small way by delivering her to her husband and freedom.

  They rode in silence perhaps another quarter hour, Jo continuing to stare at Ford, her husband resolutely ignoring her. She was gathering her courage to say something, to force him to look at her, when shouts behind them and the thundering sound of hooves startled her, causing her heart to clench in fear.

  In a blur of motion, Ford shook Bussa awake. The other man moved off the seat and Ford lifted the bench, revealing the coffin-like space beneath that Odysseus had built to secrete the men.

  Bussa climbed in and Ford lowered the bench. Jo made to move off her seat so Ford could hide himself, but he ignored her, peering out the window closest to the thick jungle forest. As the carriage rounded a corner, it brushed against the heavy brush. Ford opened the door and flung himself out of the vehicle as Jo screamed, “No!”

  The approaching riders drew closer and Dominique threw herself onto the now empty seat, laying down facing the back cushions so her face was obscured as she pretended to sleep.

  The riders drew alongside the carriage, and one pulled ahead, compelling Odysseus and Pallet to slow to a stop.

  Jo heard loud voices questioning her men, but could not discern what they were saying over the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

  She felt the carriage sway slightly as one of the men climbed down and a moment later, Pallet opened the door.

  “My apologies for the intrusion, milady. We had no choice but to stop,” he said with an obsequious bow. For a split second, Jo wondered why he was acting so strangely, but then she felt a wave of calmness wash over her as quite without thought, she assumed her role.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked imperiously. Behind Pallet, she could see a small group of rough men. “Why have we stopped? I am expected at…at Dom Cavaco’s home before noon.”

  “Forgive me, milady, but these men are searching for two escaped slaves who seem to have—” he paused so briefly, only Jo could tell he hesitated. “Who seem to have murdered Mr. Ramsey.”

  Jo felt the blood drain from her face and from the corner of
her eye she saw Dominique’s shoulder twitch.

  “That is dreadful,” she finally managed, though her voice was tight and her mouth dry. “But why do they stop us?”

  One of the men stepped forward. He wore a jacket and waistcoat of coarse fabric and his collarless shirt was open at the neck. His skin was as tanned as his hair was sun-lightened blonde. When he spoke it was with a harsh accent Jo was at a loss to distinguish. “We must check your coach. Milady,” he added after a look and a muttered, “Tcha!” from Pallet.

  “I can assure you, there are no escaped slaves here. As if I could bear to have some sweaty, rough men in this cramped carriage. The smell alone would overwhelm me. This is quite the most odiferous country I’ve—oh, very well,” she said, trying to sound as aggrieved as possible when it was evident the men were not going to allow them to leave without at least a glance inside.

  The blonde man pushed past Pallet to lean into the carriage.

  “Who’s that?” he said, pointing at Dominique who continued to feign sleep.

  “My maid. She’s ill. Suffering from a terrible stomach ailment,” Jo improvised.

  As if on cue, Dominique released a particularly noisy blast of wind.

  “I’m sure you can understand why I wish to reach my destination quickly,” Jo said, fighting to contain a burst of hysterical laughter. She heard the luggage boot at the back of the vehicle opening and prayed the men would not investigate the back wall of it, which had been hastily added to provide the hiding spot under her seat. If they found that, they might look to see if there was a similar spot under Dominique’s seat where Bussa was concealed.

  “You were at the Ramsey home last night,” the man said.

  “Yes.” There seemed little point in denying it. “I stayed to dine with Mr. Ramsey and it grew too late to return to the city, but I’m expected in Rio shortly, so we had to get an early start.” She heard the plaintive note in her voice and pulled herself upright. “Dom Cavaco will be most displeased to learn I have been detained.”

  The threat was lost on the man who Jo suspected was one of the bush captains Ramsey had told her about. He ignored her as his gaze roamed the small interior of the carriage, as if the missing men might suddenly appear.