by Jody Hedlund
The girls crowded at the door with Mercy, eager for any news that would break the monotony of their days confined to the cabin—except for the short periods their chaperones allowed them to walk outside on their small stretch of deck.
She ought to tell the girls to move away from the door and stop trying to listen to the conversation outside, but how could she rebuke her charges for eavesdropping when she was doing the same?
“As Miss Lawrence is still not eating or drinking,” the doctor continued, “the captain and I are growing increasingly concerned.”
“Such a shame, such a shame,” Mr. Scott remarked.
“Can you save her, Lord Colville?” Mrs. Robb asked at the same time.
Mercy tried to picture Miss Lawrence’s face from among the fancy ladies of their group, but they rarely mingled with or spoke to any of the poor women.
“I shall continue to do my best,” Dr. Colville said. “But as I am unable to be with her at all times, I’m requesting that one of your other women nurse Miss Lawrence.”
“The women aren’t allowed beyond the ropes,” Mrs. Robb stated.
Mercy trembled to think what Mrs. Robb would do if she discovered Mercy’s visit down into steerage and the short while she’d sat on the deck with the doctor and sipped his coffee. Even if Mrs. Robb had given Mercy leave to fetch him, she certainly wouldn’t approve of such familiarity. If Mrs. Robb found out, she’d put Mercy on the first ship back to London. Or perhaps even throw Mercy overboard.
“Surely you can understand the need to make an exception in the case of illness,” Dr. Colville said. “As Miss Lawrence is confined in a different part of the ship, and you’re busy with your duties here, she has need not only for a nurse but also a chaperone.”
Silence stretched in which the creaking of the ship reminded them that their voyage was at the mercy of the ocean and its ever-changing temperament.
“Very well, Doctor,” Mrs. Robb said reluctantly.
“Perhaps one of my daughters?” Mr. Scott offered. “They are almost recovered—”
Dr. Colville cut off the man. “I would like the assistance of Mercy Wilkins, if she is so agreeable.”
At the mention of her name, Mercy sucked in a breath. In the same moment, the girls nudged Mercy.
“Mercy?” Mrs. Robb’s voice rang with surprise.
“She has already proven to be a capable nurse,” Dr. Colville added. “She has quickly learned to ride the ship and has a strong stomach.”
Warmth radiated through Mercy at the words of praise. The girls elbowed her again, clearly as flustered by the unusual attention as she was.
“My lord,” Mr. Scott said, his voice laced with concern, “our dearest Miss Lawrence will most certainly want to have another gentlewoman at her attendance, not a ruffian pulled from the streets.”
The comment was like a splash of icy seawater against Mercy’s skin. She froze as the warmth of the doctor’s words was dashed away by the reality of who she was and her place in the world.
“Have a care, Mr. Scott.” Dr. Colville’s tone hardened. “If not for Miss Wilkins’s untiring devotion during the gale, many more of your women would be in the same position as Miss Lawrence.”
“Of course, of course, my lord,” Mr. Scott rushed to reply. “You are indeed right as usual. The young girl of whom we speak is stalwart in nature. Nevertheless, are you certain you do not wish for a more genteel woman to be at your disposal? My daughters have oft spoken of their wish to serve you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Scott. But I need an assistant, not a companion.”
“Very well then, Doctor,” Mrs. Robb interjected. “We shall send Mercy to nurse Miss Lawrence straightaway.”
“My sincerest gratitude.” The sound of Dr. Colville’s footsteps faded, leaving only the rush of the wind and the never-ending crash of the waves against the hull.
As the girls returned to the bunks and flopped themselves onto their thin mattresses, Mercy pressed her forehead against the cool wood of the door, not sure whether to feel embarrassed about the conversation or excited.
“There, there, Mr. Scott.” Mrs. Robb was still on the deck nearby, obviously waiting to speak again until the doctor was gone. “Don’t fret. You have nothing to worry about. A man of Lord Colville’s stature would never consider a woman of such low rank.”
“Very true, Mrs. Robb. Very true. At least not as a marriageable option.”
“You don’t think Lord Colville would attempt a—” Mrs. Robb paused and cleared her throat—“a dalliance with the girl?”
A dalliance? Mercy lifted her head. Was Mrs. Robb insinuating the doctor had an ulterior motive for requesting Mercy’s assistance?
“Lord Colville is a man of honor,” Mr. Scott replied almost too quietly for Mercy to hear. “But he is also just a man, after all.”
“Then we should reconsider our allowing any of the women near him. I made a vow to Miss Rye, to see that all the women in my charge remained chaste in body and soul.”
“As did I” came Mr. Scott’s solemn reply. “Still, we most certainly cannot refuse an esteemed and illustrious man such as Lord Colville.”
“Heaven save us.” Mrs. Robb’s voice was filled with horror. “Whatever shall we do?”
“We shall do all we can to oversee the situation, Mrs. Robb. And perhaps if Lord Colville is presented oft with my lovely daughters, they will serve to distract him from temptation.”
The voices grew distant as the two began walking down the deck. Even after their conversation wafted away altogether, Mercy couldn’t move herself from the door.
In all her interactions with Dr. Colville, he’d been kind, compassionate, and considerate, never giving her the slightest impression his motives were anything less than honorable. But then he had invited her to sit with him and had shared his coffee. Why would he do so unless he had some kind of interest in her?
Mrs. Robb and Mr. Scott were right in saying an important, wealthy man like Dr. Colville would never consider a woman of her station to be his wife. And that was perfectly fine by her. Even if she and Dr. Colville had been equally matched, nothing would affect her decision against marriage.
Unless Dr. Colville was contemplating something else entirely . . .
“Oho.” Ann whistled softly. “Do you think Lord Colville be wanting you as a mistress?”
“No!” Mercy spun and plunked her hands on her hips. Even if Ann had given voice to Mercy’s fear, she had no intention of letting such a fear grow into a reality. “That’s rot. All rot.”
“If he wanted me, I’d snatch him up quicker than a fogle hunter snatching a gold coin from a pocket.” The others laughed at Ann’s bold statement.
“You’d do no such thing, d’ye hear me?” Mercy retorted, her glare taking in all the girls in the cabin. “That kind of thinking will only get you in a heap of trouble.”
Wide eyes stared back at her from their beds.
Sarah, from her curled-up position on the bottom bunk, said quietly, “I never knew my dad. My mum didn’t talk about him. But I ’spect he was a rich fellow somewhere ’cause she always warned me not to let myself dream about being together with someone who weren’t like me. Told me he’d just use me and then leave me.”
“That’s right. We haven’t come this far to start letting men use us.” Mercy said the words fiercely, thinking of Twiggy and the men she’d let use her. Her mum could have resisted them and their gifts. Surely she could have found a different way to help the family. “We’ll stay strong and build new lives for ourselves.”
Mercy closed her eyes and willed herself to believe the words. She had to stay strong. She couldn’t let herself be swayed by a man—no matter how handsome and kind he might be.
“Miss Lawrence?” Mercy knelt next to the prostrate woman.
“Be she dead?” Harry, the ship’s boy, stood behind Mercy and peered over her shoulder.
Mercy tugged down Miss Lawrence’s high collar and touched the vein in the woman’s neck as she�
�d seen Dr. Bates and Dr. Colville do to their patients. She avoided a bruised spot that looked strangely like teeth marks—almost as if someone had taken a vicious bite out of the woman’s neck. At the steady rhythm of a pulse, Mercy expelled her breath. “No, she’s yet alive.”
The lanky, freckle-faced boy shrugged his shoulders as if disappointed there wouldn’t be any unfolding drama to entertain him.
“Then I guess I’ll be on my way.” Harry backed out of the stateroom. “Dr. Colville said to holler if you need me to fetch ’im.”
“Thank ye,” Mercy said, although she wasn’t planning to be near Dr. Colville any more than she had to, not after the conversation she’d overheard between Mrs. Robb and Mr. Scott.
She’d do best to stay as far from him as possible.
After Harry closed the door, Mercy glanced around the private berth given to Miss Lawrence. It was tiny, with a single bed attached to the wall, a built-in writing table that could only hold one sheet of paper at a time, and a simple three-legged stool. There was hardly enough space to stand next to the bed, much less kneel. Regardless, Mercy could sense right away that the wave-tossed motion at the middle of the ship was calmer than in the cabins at the aft.
Mercy skimmed her fingers across the woman’s forehead, feeling for fever. Though her skin was clammy, it wasn’t hot, not even warm.
The stench of vomit permeated the cramped cabin. The lantern Harry had hung above the bed revealed that Miss Lawrence’s lovely satin gown was coated with the filth.
Mercy set about fetching warm water and clean clothes for Miss Lawrence. When she returned, the woman was still in the same position as before. Mercy gently rolled her patient over, noting her delicate features, unblemished pale skin, and hair that was a beautiful copper color. Waves had come loose from an elegant coil and lay in tangled strands around her neck and down her back.
Miss Lawrence’s long lashes resting against her skin made the contrast between her burnished hair and light skin more pronounced, as did the sprinkling of freckles over her face.
“I’ll get you cleaned up right well,” Mercy said softly, not sure if the woman could hear her. “Then you’ll set to feeling better in no time.”
As Mercy began to unbutton the woman’s shirt, her lashes flittered up, revealing green eyes. The hue was lovely, one Mercy hadn’t seen before. She didn’t have anything to compare the color to, except perhaps the sun-warmed fields they’d passed during their train journey from London to Dartmouth.
“Thank you . . . ?”
“Mercy Wilkins, miss.”
“Thank you, Mercy,” Miss Lawrence whispered in a raspy voice. “But I shall wait to change until I’m no longer sick.”
“When’s the last time you heaved?”
“I cannot recall.”
Mercy searched Miss Lawrence’s gown. “You’re dry, which means you’re most likely over the worst of it.”
Miss Lawrence’s lashes fell, and she held herself so still that Mercy began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep again. “Miss Lawrence?”
“If you leave the clean garments,” the woman whispered, “I shall change momentarily.”
“Dr. Colville thought you’d prefer to have a woman tending you, miss. I’m here to stay and help where I can.”
It had been mighty generous of the captain and Dr. Colville to move Miss Lawrence amidships to make her more comfortable. If only Sarah could be moved as well. But Mercy knew well enough that a street orphan like Sarah wouldn’t get the same fine treatment as a wealthy gentlewoman.
Miss Lawrence opened her eyes, and Mercy caught sight of shadows of pain in them. The beautiful woman’s lips parted as if she might protest further, but then she seemed to school her face into resignation.
Mercy finished unbuttoning and slid the gown over Miss Lawrence’s shoulders. She nearly gasped at the sight that met her. The chemise couldn’t hide the vibrant red welts and bruises covering the woman’s back. Miss Lawrence looked as if she’d been recently whipped with a cat-o’-nine-tails. Some of the lacerations had opened up and were scabbed over, while others were still raw.
The gentlewoman stiffened as Mercy gently peeled the layers of her garments away but didn’t say anything.
What had happened to this poor lamb? Had she been attacked by an angry mob?
Mercy waited several heartbeats for Miss Lawrence to give an explanation. But when she offered nothing, Mercy knew she had to say something. “You must be a right strong woman to hold up against whatever happened to you.”
“I took a tumble while out riding.” Miss Lawrence spoke quickly—too quickly—almost as if she’d rehearsed her answer. “’Tis of no consequence and will mend soon enough.”
Mercy didn’t know much about horse riding. But whatever had happened to this woman hadn’t been an accident. She’d clearly been attacked. But by whom, and for what reason?
She bathed Miss Lawrence as tenderly as she could and then helped her into a clean gown, taking care to leave the fastenings loose. When Miss Lawrence was finally attired, Mercy worked at untangling the woman’s hair and washing the vomit out of it. She brushed and plaited it simply so that it hung down her back and out of the way of any further seasickness.
“Thank you,” Miss Lawrence said as Mercy settled her back into the bed. “You have been very kind.”
“Think nothing of it, miss.” Mercy propped up the gentlewoman with pillows.
Miss Lawrence winced at the contact against her back. “I should not like anyone else to know about my accident. I pray you will be discreet?”
“’Course, miss. You’ve got nothing to worry about with me.”
Miss Lawrence tugged the collar of her gown up over the mark on her neck. When she realized Mercy was watching her, she dropped her hands into her lap. “You seem to be a strong woman, Mercy. How is it you can withstand the ship’s tossing and turning so well?”
“Not sure why some are stronger than others, miss. My sister always said if we’re stronger in body, that just means we’ve got more responsibility from the good Lord to take care of any who are weaker.”
Weariness settled over Miss Lawrence’s pretty but gaunt features, and the same shadow of pain from earlier flickered in her eyes—a pain that went much deeper than just physical. Mercy had no doubt this woman was suffering in both body and soul.
Mercy had always believed life was easier for the wealthy, had assumed money and titles provided everything a person could ever want. Yet Miss Lawrence’s battered body told a different story. Perhaps the devil could make his home in the wealthy parts of London every bit as much as in the slums.
“Is your sister along on the voyage?” Miss Lawrence asked weakly.
“No, I left her behind at the workhouse.” Once the words were out, Mercy felt the weight of them, as if she’d locked Patience there herself. Had she done the right thing in leaving her sister behind? Could she have done more for Patience if she’d stayed with her?
“I shall most assuredly pray for her,” Miss Lawrence said, reaching for Mercy’s hand.
“She’ll need the prayers, to be sure,” Mercy replied. Then before she could fall into too much despair, she pushed the melancholy aside. She had to keep believing Patience would get better and come on the next ship to meet her. She couldn’t give up hope. “And what about you, miss? You must be missing your family.”
Miss Lawrence shrank back deeper into her pillows, her face growing paler, her lips trembling. “I think about them every day and wonder what has become of them.”
“Become of them, miss?” Had they suffered the same abuse?
“I left them in a terrible predicament,” Miss Lawrence said in a strained voice. “Very terrible.”
Mercy wanted to press the gentlewoman further, but Miss Lawrence clamped her lips together as though she could say no more.
“A drink, miss?” Mercy lifted a tin cup and helped her take small sips before settling her back into the pillows.
“Thank you,” Miss Lawrence whi
spered and closed her eyes.
Within seconds the gentlewoman’s breathing was even with the peace of sleep.
Mercy watched the delicate face for a moment longer. She was sure she’d passed by Miss Lawrence many times during their excursions on the deck. But she wouldn’t have guessed this woman was hiding painful secrets, that underneath the layers of frilly and fancy garments was a broken and bruised body.
Maybe Mercy was as guilty of making assumptions about the wealthy as they were of forming their views of the poor. She’d do well to stop rushing to judge and instead see beyond the surface to the real person.
thirteen
Joseph paused in the open doorway of the stateroom.
Mercy crooned words of encouragement as she spooned broth into Miss Lawrence’s mouth.
When Arabella Lawrence had first come to his attention, she’d been so dehydrated, Joseph feared she would die. Thankfully, with Mercy’s persistence, the sick woman was finally beginning to keep down some sustenance.
Of course, it helped that the ship was cutting her way into the calmer waters of the mid-Atlantic and that the wind had abated. The closer they navigated toward the equator and into the tropics, the smoother the sailing.
Nevertheless, Mercy’s ministrations had coaxed life back into Miss Lawrence. Even now, as Mercy perched on the edge of the low bed, determination etched her profile. “One more sip, miss. Just one more,” she murmured.
Miss Lawrence allowed Mercy to feed her another spoonful before sagging against the pillows. Mercy lowered the tin cup and then smoothed a loose strand of the woman’s hair back under her nightcap.
“Thank you, Mercy,” Miss Lawrence said drowsily.
Mercy kissed the woman’s forehead with a tenderness that made Joseph’s chest pinch. How was she able to give so much to others when she had so little herself? She’d admitted to the direness of her living conditions and difficulty of her life. If such adversity had left its mark on her for the worse, he didn’t see any sign of it.
She stood and began to stretch. At the sight of him, she stiffened and rapidly turned her back.
