A Reluctant Bride

by Jody Hedlund

  Joseph bowed slightly at the women, noting that there were three of them.

  “My wife, Mrs. Scott, along with our daughter, Miss Charlotte Scott, and our other daughter, Miss Lavinia Scott.”

  Again the ladies curtsied. As they did so, Joseph caught sight of a woman in blue farther down the deck. Although she wore a bonnet, her pale golden hair couldn’t be contained. Tendrils blew in abandon, apparently having come loose from her long plait.

  Mercy Wilkins.

  She stood at the railing, surrounded by several younger girls. With their faces raised to the sunshine, Joseph guessed they were enjoying the warmth of the afternoon after the past cloudy days. He hadn’t seen her since Mrs. Robb had marched her out of his cabin yesterday morning. In the ensuing hours, he’d considered visiting her and checking on Sarah. But he’d pushed aside the strange urge. Sarah was suffering from a mild case of seasickness, not scarlet fever.

  “My daughters and wife are delighted to make your acquaintance, Lord Colville,” Mr. Scott said. Once more, his starched collar pushed his chin upward, almost as if it were strangling him. “We are all quite relieved to have such an esteemed man such as yourself serving in so lowly a position. I’m sure we shall rest much easier knowing you are accompanying us on so arduous a journey.”

  The women straightened, forcing Joseph’s attention away from Mercy and back to Mr. Scott. “Thank you, Mr. Scott. I hope my services will not be needed by your family, but if they are, I pray I will be of aid.”

  “Very true, Lord Colville,” Mr. Scott said. “We hope we shall not need your services either. But I must say that it is my greatest hope you will honor us with your company during the long voyage.”

  Once again, Joseph was distracted by the women beyond Mr. Scott and his family, particularly by Mercy. She was in the process of removing her bonnet, lifting it away to allow the sunshine to bathe her entire head. She closed her eyes and smiled—a smile that transformed her face from pretty to utterly alluring.

  “As I’ve already mentioned, my daughters are quite accomplished at many things, Lord Colville,” Mr. Scott continued in his even tone. “Not only that, but they’ve been tutored in geography, science, history, and even languages. I’m sure you’ll find their companionship and conversation quite scintillating.”

  “Perhaps I shall.” Joseph nodded at Mr. Scott’s daughters, who beamed at him with wide smiles. Like their father, they were both short in stature. Whereas he was thin, they seemed to take after their stouter mother. And although they appeared graceful and poised, Joseph could find nothing remarkable about them to draw his attention.

  Unlike Mercy. His eyes drifted to her once again. He had the suspicion that Mercy’s smile was rare, that she had little occasion for it. It was beautiful nonetheless.

  He wasn’t surprised to discover she wanted to emigrate. He’d only needed to work in the Shoreditch neighborhood one day during his time in London to witness for himself the worsening conditions for the poor who lived there. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder again why she felt she must join a bride ship. Surely she could find a husband elsewhere, rather than sailing halfway around the world with the purpose of marrying a stranger.

  “My daughters are also quite well read, Lord Colville,” Mr. Scott was saying with the utmost gravity. “They have persuaded me to bring along a chest of their favorite books. Perhaps you will join us in the evening for a time of reading aloud? I guarantee you’ll find the time most entertaining.”

  At a sharp command, Mercy’s eyes flew open and her smile faded. Joseph searched for the source of the interruption at the same time Mercy did, landing upon Mrs. Robb, who was exiting one of the staterooms farther down.

  “Young ladies, you must put your hats back on this instant,” Mrs. Robb called.

  Mercy and the girls bobbed a curtsy at the matron and rushed to do her bidding, their fingers fumbling in their haste to don their hats.

  Mr. Scott shook his head, having followed Joseph’s gaze. “The poor lost souls are in need of much instruction, Lord Colville. But I am happy to report that Mrs. Robb is up to the task. She is indeed a wonderful role model for those in our midst who haven’t had the proper training in what is acceptable.”

  “And what, Mr. Scott, is unacceptable about removing one’s hat in order to enjoy a few moments of sunshine?” The question was out before Joseph could stop it.

  The man’s mouth hung open as he struggled to utter his next comment.

  Mrs. Robb stepped in front of Mercy and peered down at her with undisguised irritation. “You are to be a good example to the younger ladies, Mercy. But thus far you are leading them astray.”

  Joseph couldn’t hear Mercy’s response, but from the dip of her head she’d obviously accepted the harsh words of condemnation.

  “What shall I do with you?” Mrs. Robb went on.

  Joseph strode toward the women. He had no idea what he planned to do, and that other part of him again warned that he had no business interfering with the brides. Nevertheless, his feet carried him down the deck, his soles echoing with the indignant thud of his heartbeat.

  “Lord Colville.” Mr. Scott’s choppy steps rushed after him. “At the very least, may we have the honor of your company this eve for dinner in the passenger salon?”

  At a cord cutting across the deck, Joseph stopped abruptly, causing Mr. Scott to bump into him. “My sincere apologies, my lord” came a quick response behind him.

  “What is this?” Joseph took hold of the cord. His question carried so that it drew the attention of the women, who stood only a dozen paces away.

  Seeing him there, Mrs. Robb sniffed. “It is rope, Doctor, as you can plainly see.”

  “I am quite aware what it is, madam. But why is it here?”

  “I should think that would be quite obvious.” Mrs. Robb glared at him as if he were a common ruffian coming to prey upon her charges.

  Mr. Scott sidled next to him. “Mrs. Robb, have you met our highly esteemed ship’s surgeon, Lord Colville, Baron of Wiltshire?”

  At the mention of his title, Mrs. Robb curtsied, even if her expression didn’t change. Mercy and the other young women turned wide eyes upon him.

  He found himself looking directly at Mercy. Up close and with the bright afternoon sunshine upon her, he could distinguish a slight dusting of freckles upon her nose and a rosy pink in her cheeks.

  “Miss Wilkins.” He nodded. “How is Sarah today? As I do not see her on deck, am I to assume she is still feeling ill?”

  Mercy gave Mrs. Robb a sideways glance as though asking for permission to speak to him. Now that the chaperone knew he belonged to the aristocracy and was titled, she wouldn’t dare slight him, would she?

  The matron pinched her lips together and hesitated before finally inclining her head toward Joseph.

  Mercy curtsied. “She’s faring better today, sir, that she is. Thank ye for asking.”

  “I would suggest she get as much sunshine and fresh air as possible while we are still moored, and perhaps an extra portion of water and food while her stomach is calm.”

  “Thank ye, sir. I’ll see to it right away.”

  For a reason Joseph couldn’t explain, he felt uncomfortable hearing Mercy’s subservient response. He rather liked her better when she was free to be herself. He’d expected that taking on a physician’s role would show people he had no wish to put on airs. And to a degree, it had. He’d gained the respect of the sailors and passengers on previous voyages—respect for himself alone and not simply because of his family name.

  Perhaps he would have to constantly wage such a battle to earn respect for his deeds rather than his title.

  Of course, he hadn’t set off with such lofty goals. Rather, his desire to pursue physician training had been fueled by his grief. After he’d finished Oxford, he didn’t want to return home and walk in his father’s footsteps. The very idea of doing so had been paralyzing. Instead, he’d buried himself in his studies at the Royal College of Physicians.

/>   It was then he discovered how distancing himself from his past not only eased the ache and emptiness but also had helped to expand his view of the greater world. Outside his grand homes and exclusive clubs, he came upon opportunities to meet ordinary people and discover what life was really like.

  “We will be at sea together for many long days,” Joseph said to all the women there, hoping Mercy would take particular note of his wish not to be treated deferentially. “I do pray you will see me as your servant and nothing more.”

  Without waiting for their reaction, Joseph excused himself and walked away.

  eleven

  The swaying of the ship tossed Mercy against the bunk. She grabbed on to the upper bed to hold herself steady. The seawater seeping in under the door wasn’t helping her to keep her balance either. It made a steady nuisance of entering the cabin whenever the ship leaned leeward. And then the water would flow back out when the ship rocked the opposite way.

  In the darkness of the windowless room, she had to feel her way around and pray she didn’t trip over or bump into anything that had been dislodged during the ship’s tossing.

  She’d already made sure their food rations were picked up and tucked away for safekeeping: biscuits, butter, preserved beef and fish, potatoes, raisins and currants, soup and bouillon, oatmeal, coffee, and even lime juice to prevent scurvy. They’d been given more for one week than they would have eaten in a month at home.

  Mrs. Robb allowed one woman per cabin to prepare the food and do the cooking. Of course, the girls had nominated Mercy. So twice a day she went to the galley in the forecastle. There, along with the other women, she used the ship’s stove, pots, pans, and utensils to cook the meals under the watchful eye of the ship’s quartermaster. Mrs. Robb was present too, of course. When finished, Mercy returned to her cabin, where she and the girls ate each morsel with gratefulness, knowing how fortunate they were compared to the ones they’d left behind in London’s slums.

  Even if they were more fortunate, Mercy wasn’t about to take any chances with having their weekly rations ruined by the water flooding their cabin. Already her new boots and stockings were soaked through, her skin was shriveled, and her toes felt numb from the cold. She aimed to keep the others from suffering too.

  But her task had grown more impossible as the rough night had turned into an equally rough day. After waiting in Dartmouth nigh onto a week for everyone to board, including the steerage passengers, they’d finally set sail on the morning tide two days ago.

  They’d been out into the English Channel, entering what Mr. Scott had informed them was the Western Approaches, when a southeast gale struck.

  And it hadn’t let up since.

  Gripping the bunk, Mercy slid along the wooden beam until she came to Ann, who was curled into a ball. In the darkness, Mercy brushed a hand over Ann’s warm cheeks and down her back over her long braids. The girl groaned in reply.

  “Bless you, little lamb,” Mercy crooned. “Can you drink a sip of water?”

  Ann shook her head.

  Mercy applied some of the minty ointment to the girl’s nostrils before making her rounds to Flo, Minnie, then Kip. One by one, the girls had given way to sickness until each had become violently ill. Even Mercy had battled the churning in her stomach, which seemed to rival the churning of the sea.

  Finally, Mercy knelt in front of Sarah and touched the girl’s forehead. It was hot and clammy. The girl was faring the worst. Still weak from her last bout of sickness, she’d grown nearly delirious.

  “Sarah?” Mercy attempted to draw the girl back to reality. “Don’t you give up.”

  She didn’t respond, not even to moan, and her silence sent fresh anxiety skittering up Mercy’s backbone.

  As the ship began to sway again, a loud creaking accompanied it. The vessel acted like a huge rocking chair rolling back and forth, her old timbers protesting every move, her groan rising above the shouts of sailors and the constant crashing of the waves.

  With the water receding again, Mercy allowed the ship’s momentum to carry her to the door. She’d waited long enough. She needed to fetch the doctor to help Sarah.

  “I do pray you will see me as your servant and nothing more.” Dr. Colville’s statement from several days ago had hovered in her mind. She didn’t understand exactly what he’d meant by it, but his kindness was clear enough. She was confident he’d treat Sarah again if she but made him aware of the need.

  As she struggled to close the door after stepping outside, the wind clutched at her, ripping at her hair and garments as if to tear them from her body. She fought against the invisible foe as she’d done before when going to check on the other women.

  Most had taken to their beds. Yet there were a few like her whom God had spared from the misery of the sickness, and they were all doing their best to ease the discomfort of the others.

  Mrs. Robb had been one such sturdy soul. The last time Mercy had ventured from her cabin, Mrs. Robb was emptying basins and pitchers, having spent the night tending to one sick woman after another.

  Clutching the doorframes, Mercy made her way from one stateroom to the next. She wanted to rush to the doctor’s cabin without delay, but after the fuss Mrs. Robb had made over the previous visit, Mercy didn’t dare go beyond the rope without permission.

  “Mrs. Robb!” she called as she knocked on the last door of the third-class cabins.

  “She’s bumped ’er head,” someone replied from inside, “and she’s bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”

  Mercy pushed open the door to find Mrs. Robb hunched on the edge of her bunk, her eyes closed, a towel pressed against her forehead. Streaks of blood ran down her thin face, dribbling off her chin.

  “Mrs. Robb.” Mercy crouched next to her. “Are you cut bad, ma’am?”

  The woman’s face was unusually pale. When she didn’t respond, Mercy reached out and gently shook her arm.

  “I think I should fetch the doctor for you, ma’am.”

  Either the movement or hearing the word doctor was enough to stir Mrs. Robb. Her eyes fluttered open. She glanced around as though dazed before settling her gaze upon Mercy.

  “Yes, the doctor,” Mrs. Robb said breathlessly. “The gash is deep and needs suturing.”

  Mercy patted the woman’s hand to reassure her before rising. Then, without wasting further time, Mercy fought the wind and rain and spray of the waves as she made her way down the deck, under the rope, and to the ship’s surgeon’s cabin.

  She pounded on the door and then waited, her chest seizing with the sudden anticipation of coming face-to-face again with the kind, handsome doctor. Mercy hadn’t spoken with him since their meeting on the deck when he’d inquired after Sarah’s well-being.

  Of course, she’d glimpsed him on several occasions when she and the other women strolled along in the roped-off area. Not that she’d been looking for him. Not in the least. It was difficult, however, not to notice his appearance, especially when the other women—mainly the wealthy middle-class ladies—stopped to fix their eyes full upon him.

  These women in their fancy gowns and hats and parasols made a right pretty sight. In their roomier second-class cabins, they had trunks of clothing and books and other amusements to help them pass the time while at sea. One woman was rumored to have brought along a piano, another a treadle sewing machine, with both items stored safely away belowdecks.

  The middle-class ladies protested the ropes that hemmed them into their small section of the ship just as much as the poor women had. But no amount of complaining had swayed Mr. Scott or Mrs. Robb from taking the barrier down.

  Mercy wiped a strand of wet hair out of her eyes and lifted her hand to knock again.

  “The doctor ain’t there!” shouted a sailor from farther along the deck. He was an older, burly man with a shaggy head of gray hair and an equally shaggy gray beard. His skin resembled cracked old leather, brittle and tough from the years spent at sea, and the few teeth he had left were of varying shades of gray.


  During the few times she’d watched the barefoot sailors climbing the rigging far above the deck, she’d heard them shout out questions to the older man, referring to him as Gully. He wore an oilskin overcoat with a hood that appeared to be waterproof. Even so, seawater dripped from his face and beard.

  “D’ye know where he be?” Mercy shouted above the crashing waves and roaring wind.

  Gully nodded and motioned for her to follow him. She tried to imitate his even gait as she fought against the pitching of the ship and the waves that sprayed over the side and threatened to soak her. When they reached the quarterdeck, he crouched before a blackened hatch and lifted it.

  A waft of foul air rose up to greet her. The stench was so overwhelming, she almost retched. She could sense Gully gauging her reaction, testing her. Did she have the stomach to enter?

  She didn’t need his test, not after living for so many years in Old Nichol, the devil’s home. Without waiting for Gully’s instruction, she lowered herself to the first rung of a ladder. It was slippery, and the air was damp. She gripped the ladder tightly, even as her slick soles fumbled for traction.

  The rain followed her downward, until Gully lowered the hatch and plunged her into darkness. Without the noise of wind and waves, the moans and cries coming from below swirled up to taunt her, making her wonder if indeed she was descending into the pit of hell.

  As her feet connected with a landing, she steeled herself. A chicken flew up, clucking in distress and flapping its wings in her face. The motion startled her, and she would have fallen if her hands hadn’t found the ladder again.

  Dull lantern light glowed through a square opening. She bent and ducked through the entrance and found another, shorter ladder that led down to crowded accommodations that she guessed to be steerage. Without any windows, the cramped quarters were especially dark. The only light came from a lone lantern that hung from a beam near the far end of the deck.

  Thick wooden bunk beds, similar to the style in their cabins above in third class, lined the walls on both sides. It appeared some families and passengers had erected makeshift partitions with sheets in order to gain a semblance of privacy between them. But without separate rooms or separate areas for men and women, Mercy guessed that privacy was as absent here in steerage as it had been in the slums.