by Téa Cooper
‘Miss Charlotte, please come and sit at the table.’
Her eyes flashed at him but she ignored his words. Surely the pompous preacher wasn’t expecting her to wait until he’d eaten before allowing her to sit at the table.
‘I’d like something to drink with my meal, Charlotte. A little ale, I think.’ Charlotte walked the length of the table and reached for the flagon in front of Christian. He flinched as a lock of her unbound hair brushed his hand and had to bunch his fingers to restrain the urge to reach out and entwine his fingers in the silken threads. Leaping to his feet he snatched up the vacant chair and scooted it to the corner of the table next to him. ‘Sit here, Miss Charlotte.’
Her hand fell from the flagon and casting a questioning look at Wainwright she sank onto the chair. With a flick of his wrist Christian sent the flagon skittering down the table. ‘Help yourself. There’s plenty more where that came from.’ Ignoring the hooded glance from Wainwright, he said, ‘Cookie, bring another plate for Miss Charlotte. Fill it from the kitchen, the food will be warmer.’
‘So where were we up to, Capt’n?’ Henk said.
‘I think this would be better discussed at a later stage, Henk, when we don’t have company.’ Marcus Wainwright could keep his bony nose out of the Zephyrus’ business. He’d already said more than enough.
Henk lapsed into a thoughtful silence and picked his teeth with a splinter of chicken bone.
‘No, no, gentlemen. Carry on.’ Wainwright bent to examine his next forkful with a myopic stare.
Henk’s head came up and a flash of determination crossed his face. ‘We were discussing our cargo — maybe a second opinion wouldn’t be such a bad idea. What d’you think, Capt’n?’
Christian narrowed his eyes and frowned at Henk. What was he up to? A man of Wainwright’s standing would be horrified at the thought of those poor young women being transported like animals to some dubious establishment servicing a mob of randy sailors.
‘What are your thoughts on human cargoes, sir?’ Henk invested the word with heavy emphasis.
Wainwright chewed thoughtfully on a piece of cheese, and then ran his tongue around his pale lips. ‘A cargo is a cargo. I’m no more than a cargo for you, except you have to feed me.’
‘You’ve got a good point there.’ Henk patted his belly and rocked back in his chair. ‘So you don’t see anything wrong with us transporting convicts for the government to Port Albert where they’re needed to work on the new wharves?’
‘No, I can’t see much wrong. I presume the government pays you.’ Wainwright’s gaze flashed up at Christian, searching for confirmation.
Christian had to hand it to Henk. He was doing a pretty good job of lining up his argument; however, once Henk mentioned the words ‘women’ and ‘South Sea Islands’ Wainwright would disagree. Christian smiled at Charlotte and resisted the temptation to cover her small hand as it rested beside his on the table.
Henk grunted and removed the piece of bone from his teeth before flicking it over his shoulder. ‘Then you wouldn’t see anything wrong with us carrying human cargo for a private party?’
Wainwright poured another mug of ale and swirled it around. ‘No.’
Like the ship’s cat with a sewer rat Henk grinned.
‘And what if the cargo were women?’ Christian’s patience exhausted, he spat the words down the table, anger churning in his gut.
Wainwright pushed his chair back and crossed his long skinny legs, preening with delight at being the centre of attention once more. ‘It depends on…’ he cleared his throat, ‘…the nature of those women. Sometimes women need help and sometimes they are beyond even our good Lord’s assistance. Now take Miss Charlotte. She is my bonded servant and must do as I request.’ His bony fingers reached across the table and patted her arm like some patronising uncle.
Christian ground his teeth. The sanctimonious prig should keep his hands to himself. Charlotte’s eyes flickered and she withdrew her hand and placed it in her lap.
‘I’m sure she’ll be happy to admit she arrived in Van Diemen’s Land aboard a transport with a group of very dubious characters.’ Wainwright raised his bushy eyebrows.
Dubious characters? The man should take a good long look at himself before he judged others.
‘I saw it as my God-given duty to rescue her before her soul could be further tainted. Once her sentence is served and her dues paid she will be able to marry me.’
The thought of Charlotte tied to the arrogant fool for life made his blood run cold. ‘But what if these women were not convicts, if they had been stolen from their homeland?’ Christian persisted.
‘Stolen from their homeland?’ Marcus guffawed. ‘I can’t see it happening. Press gangs are a thing of the past and besides, I’ve never heard of women being press ganged.’
‘These women are from the South Seas.’
‘Black savages you mean?’ Wainwright’s face flushed as he contemplated the possibility. ‘No hope. Spawn of the devil. Deserve everything they get. No morals, none at all. Stories I could tell you about blacks in Van Diemen’s Land.’
Charlotte’s face remained a blank mask as she shrank back from the table, her cheekbones standing out against the pallor of her face.
‘Right!’ Henk slammed his fist on the table. ‘So you agree with me and the crew there’s no reason we shouldn’t be carrying a cargo of women to Boyd Town.’
‘I can’t see why not. No. It seems like a reasonable cargo to me.’ Wainwright threw his satisfied grin around the table like pennies to paupers.
Charlotte’s pale cheeks flooded with colour and the tears welled in her eyes. Before Christian could speak she threw back her chair and stood glaring across the table. ‘Marcus, Mr Wainwright, how can you say such a thing. I saw those poor creatures. They are starving children and almost as naked as the day they were born, caged like animals in the hold.’
A flash of brimstone sparked in Wainwright’s eye and he pulled his silver fob watch from his pocket and studied it, his thin lips curled in a smirk. ‘Then you have work to do, my dear.’ Thrusting the timepiece back into his pocket he rose from the table and pinned Charlotte with his cold glare. ‘Come with me.’
Charlotte’s mouth dropped open in astonishment as Wainwright’s hand tightened around her upper arm. Christian leapt to his feet intent on peeling the man’s hands from her body, but a light flickered in her stormy eyes warning him off and he stood helpless as the pompous prick towed his wife-to-be out of the confines of the galley.
Christian’s rage grew with every subtle sway of Charlotte’s hips as Wainwright dragged her out. She should not suffer such indignity. The sanctimonious jackass had no right to deal with her this way. Anger slanted into his heart like a well-aimed punch, robbing him of breath, winding him.
As she disappeared from view, Christian slumped back against the wall, sliding down till he sat; his elbows propped on his raised knees and his face covered by his hands.
Charlotte shrugged away Marcus’ arm as he propelled her onto the deck. A huge moon hung like a ripe melon behind the rigging casting sinister shadows across the ship.
‘So, my dear, your philanthropic nature has come to the fore. I would have thought with your family history you would be happier to leave your past experiences behind you. But if you must, you must. I cannot interfere. God moves in a mysterious way.’
‘Marcus, I cannot leave those children in that state. You should see them. They are caged like animals and it makes no difference what colour their skin is. No one should be kept in those conditions.’
‘So be it. Lead the way.’
Charlotte skirted a pile of crates stacked beneath the deck rail until she reached the hatch. Someone had to do something and it had become clear to her that Marcus and the other members of the crew cared little for the girls’ welfare. With a great deal of shaking and shoving she pried the cover of the hold loose.
Marcus stood by, his arms folded, his disapproval evident in his refusal to off
er any assistance. The hatch weighed far more than she expected. Christian had lifted it with such ease. She staggered as she slid it onto the deck. Garnering courage from some unknown reserve she peered down into the darkness, forcing back her rising nausea. The foul air emanating from the hold threw her back to the time when only Jamie’s promises had kept her alive. Her hand clasped the chain around her neck and she clamped her lips together.
‘Marcus, I can’t see at all now. We need to get a lantern. It is far too dark.’
‘Perhaps it is better left until the morning then. One more night is not going to make any difference to them.’
‘One more night might make all the difference. Please. I beg of you, fetch a lantern and at least let me see if the crew have done as Captain Charity asked and provided food and clothing.’
With a tiresome groan Marcus disappeared, returning moments later with a lantern. Charlotte backed down the ladder, one careful step at a time. The hold was eerily silent except for the quickening beat of her heart. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she made out the cage where the girls were imprisoned. Before she’d reached the bottom step fractured beams of light spilt into the hold from above. Marcus lowered the lamp down through the open hatch and she grasped the thin metal handle and swung it around.
Someone had taken the Captain’s orders to heart and a bundle of clothes and thin blankets sat next to the open doors of the cage. A flurry of movement rippled through the crumple of bodies. Dark eyes wide with fright gazed up at her, and then the same low pitiful wail filled the confined space.
Resisting the temptation to cover her ears Charlotte crept closer and moved the pile of blankets revealing several hard dry hunks of bread and a pitcher of water. She stepped gingerly to the slatted gate of the cage and crouched down, offering a slab of bread in her outstretched hand. Long brown fingers reached out, snatched it from her and retreated into the stack of bodies then, slowly, the conglomeration of limbs untangled.
‘Don’t be afraid, I am here to help you.’ She tried to beat back the tremor in her voice.
Crawling on all fours like a beaten dog, a body wrapped in a tattered cloth moved forwards, blinking in the light. Charlotte reached for a blanket and offered it. The woman grabbed it from her and pulled it around her naked shoulders.
‘What is your name?’ Realising her foolishness in expecting the woman to understand she reached for a second blanket.
‘Mina.’
Charlotte turned around. ‘Mina,’ she murmured, breaking off a piece of bread and passing it to her. Mina tore in with her nimble fingers and chewed.
‘Where is your homeland?’ Charlotte said, settling the lamp on the floor. In the light she could see Mina clearly and contrary to her expectations she was indeed a woman.
‘Loyalty Islands,’ she replied, wiping the remaining crumbs of bread into her mouth. ‘Loyalty Islands the missionary men call them.’
Charlotte nodded. Marcus talked of the work of missionaries all over the South Seas and New Zealand. ‘I’m here to help you. I have clothes and blankets for the hammocks.’ Determined not to make any sudden movement and jeopardise the fragile truce she’d established, Charlotte stood.
Reaching up she hung the lantern on one of the beams and then stooped to pick up a damp blanket from the pile on the floor. She placed it in the hammock and swung it gently. ‘You can sleep here.’
Mina’s white teeth flashed and she called something in her own tongue. In a matter of moments a dozen girls surrounded her.
‘What in God’s name are you doing down there?’ Marcus’ voice filled the hold and the girls stilled like startled fawns, pulling the blankets over their frail shoulders.
‘Marcus, everything is fine. I will be up in a moment.’
‘I’m coming down.’ His footfall echoed on the ladder, breaking the tense silence.
Stooping, his turtle-like head protruded below the hatch and he issued a pained guttural sound, then moved rapidly down into the hold and grasped one of the girl’s arms. She let out a small cry.
‘Poor unfortunate,’ he murmured.
‘Marcus, be careful, you are hurting her.’
‘Rubbish. I am doing no such thing; they don’t feel pain as we do. Watch!’ His hand pushed aside the blanket and snaked down the girl’s body, around the curve of her bottom, pinching her heavily. Despite her struggles he dragged her flush against his body.
The girl’s knee shot up and landed with a sickening thud against Marcus’ groin.
He dropped her like a hot coal and bent double. ‘Heathen bitch!’ With one hand clutched between his legs he flayed the other in the air. So close to the girl’s face that Charlotte grimaced, her own cheek throbbing in sympathy, then he bent double again groaning loud and low. He deserved it.
A stunned silence filled the hold and no one moved until Marcus straightened up, his face devoid of expression save for the sweat glistening on his brow. He unhooked the lantern and made for the ladder without a backward glance. Darkness descended.
‘Charlotte! Come now. Enough is enough.’
Mina’s fingers squeezed her hand gently. ‘Thank you, Missus,’ she whispered.
In the all-encompassing darkness Charlotte groped her way up the ladder. Marcus had vanished, concerned for his own safety no doubt. The moonlight lit her steps to the top of the ladder. She sucked in a refreshing gasp of clean fresh sea air. Such a relief to be out of the hold. With food, water and blankets the girls would be safe enough until morning and if the kick Marcus had received was any example, they were better able to defend themselves than she was.
‘Oof!’ The breath flew out of her lungs. Her heart thundered as strong hands pulled her up the last remaining steps onto the deck. Christian’s warm arms wrapped around her and she found her face pressed to his chest. Her pulse raced and she melted against him, drawing comfort from his big, masculine form. A long shuddering sigh raced from her lungs as she relaxed against him.
‘Stay away from him.’ He cupped her chin in his rough hand and tipped her face up to his. The seconds hung like sea spray as though she stretched for something beyond her reach, something she couldn’t find, an echo of a long forgotten cry. A wave lifted the ship and she rocked against him. Steadying her with his arm around her waist he led her to the wheel.
‘I’ll take it from here, Catz,’ he said, dismissing the pot-bellied seaman. ‘Take hold of the wheel, Charlotte.’
Charlotte curled her shaking fingers around the smooth teak polished by hundreds of hands and thousands of miles. He reached around her to the wheel, the heat of his body chasing away the last remnants of her fear.
‘You’ve stopped shivering. Are you warm now?’
‘I didn’t know I was shivering.’ Charlotte smiled into the darkness, relishing the heat of his body at her back and the unexpected security he provided. She’d never stood this close to a man. To a boy…to dear Jamie when they had hidden behind walls and lurked in dark alleys waiting for the Bobbies to pass, but never this close to a man, least of all Marcus.
‘What were you doing down there in the dark alone. I thought Marcus was accompanying you to the hold.’
‘Marcus was with me but he left and took the lantern with him. One of the girls kicked him.’
A laugh rumbled in Christian’s chest. ‘So you have tended to our passengers?’
‘Yes. I’ve given them the blankets and food and shown them the hammocks. They will at least be warm and comfortable tonight, but Captain —’
‘Christian…’ His smooth deep voice cloaked her like down. ‘Call me Christian.’
‘Christian.’ She tried the word and as before it stuck on her lips. It didn’t belong to this unconventional man. She glanced down at his arms, strong, corded and tanned, so different from her own. Even his hair was unlike anything she’d seen before, wild and untamed, every colour from darkish brown to almost white, a lion’s mane. Different, different to anyone she’d ever seen, yet nestled in his arms she was more at ease than she cou
ld ever remember. A mass of contradictions.
‘You can’t allow those poor children to be sold into a brothel. They’re hardly old enough to have left home. Never mind being thrown into a world of rough seamen to have their bodies abused. There must be an alternative.’
‘We will find one. I will either arrange for some sort of transport from Boyd Town back to their homeland or we will take them with us to Sydney and solve the problem there. Whaling ships call into the South Sea Islands all the time.’
‘Loyalty Islands.’
‘Loyalty Islands?’
‘Yes, they are from the Loyalty Islands. One of the girls speaks passable English and she told me.’
‘Ah yes — the missionaries. They started making their mark in the South Seas a few years back. Zephyrus called in there often to take on supplies and sometimes…’ His words petered out and his arms stiffened on the wheel. ‘Jonas would never have condoned slavery. Henk is wrong.’
Chapter 5
Henk couldn’t possibly be right. After six years aboard the Zephyrus Christian would have known if Jonas traded slaves. Until this voyage the ship functioned as a whaler, at sea for months on end, calling into port only for repairs or when their supplies of fresh water ran low. The sea provided food aplenty and even a bay whaler was a self-sufficient factory set up to process the whale from oil to bone. The only time they’d been in port for more than a fleeting moment was the recent refit in Hobart Town.
And Jonas! The old man knew every breath taken aboard ship no matter how insignificant. He would never trade a human cargo.
‘What are you going to do?’ Charlotte’s voice broke into his thoughts.
