In Spite of Lions

by Pike Scarlette

  “And it is absolutely lovely to meet you,” I returned with a fervent handshake to each. “Goodness!” I pointed at David, whose bright gold cuff links could blind the eyes if placed in the correct angle. “Don’t you know one unfortunate wind or shove of a workman could send you overboard? And with those weights, surely you would never resurface!”

  Mr. Bradbury squirmed in unease and placed both wrists firmly behind his back.

  I took James’s arm and began walking, but found myself gazing at the ships as I passed. Of all the ships along the line, my assigned ship seemed to be the largest. The Madras was her name, and I stopped to admire her splendor and strength. James told me she was used primarily for transporting goods; however, the captain of the ship was allowing a few passengers aboard for this voyage. He was not known to allow women before, but I suspected it had something to do with the five thousand pounds I had given him.

  “Ah! The lady of the hour!” My attention was drawn to a stern face approaching us.

  James cleared his throat gruffly. “Missus Mary Livingstone, may I present Miss Anna.” He seemed slightly embarrassed at having no surname to introduce me with. She curtsied in response. “Missus Livingstone was born and raised on the land you are sailing to!” he added proudly.

  “It is a treat, indeed, to meet you, Miss Anna.” she said with a small, wise grin.

  In an instant, I knew I would like her. It did not appear that she was born in a foreign land, with her white skin and smart bonnet. She was rather short, yet hardy, with a blunted nose. Her hair was raven black and forced back into a simple and strict bun, yet she smelled of freshly baked bread and hardworking mornings. She had two small children in tow, both peering at me from behind her skirts. Neither of them could be older than four years of age.

  “My husband is David, whom we are traveling to join,” she continued, “and the children are Robert and Agnes, respectively.” She gestured to each child as they peeked behind her skirts. The oldest, whom she had introduced as Robert, gave me a small wave. “I hope you will call us by our first names as well.” She agreed with a no-nonsense tone. “We travel alone, I’m afraid, so I’m glad for your company.”

  “The pleasure is truly mine,” I replied. I cannot convey how much I enjoyed her frankness. She said what she meant, and I knew I would always respect a being like her.

  I turned to James. “Do you know how we are to board the ship?” I asked as I craned my neck around, searching for access. “I confess I do not see any type of ramp or access at all.”.

  “The ramp is up, my dear. Do you not see the wooden board?”

  I looked again at the ship and saw a long, feeble-looking board, whose width could be no more than a few feet, reaching from the dock to the ship’s side.

  “I see,” I murmured warily. I had no experience with heights or narrow spaces, and I suddenly felt nervous. Nevertheless, faith would not have sent me forward if I were meant to be stopped by a wooden board, so I held firm.

  I confess I held my breath as each tiny soul bravely walked up the board. Mary and her children must have been frequent travelers, for the children bounced up the board without a look of fear, but if they had fallen, they would have found themselves in deep water. They were so small. I would have no way to fish them out if they fell in, except perhaps jumping in myself. Could they swim? Could I swim? Would the weight of my dress drown me if I tried? My heart leapt in my chest in genuine panic.

  However, my fears were unwarranted—everyone made it across safely. Mary then made her way to the top, after informing me I could leave my belongings with a small group of crew members just outside the ship. It would not be a herculean task for them, since all I had taken with me were a few books, four dresses, and undergarments.

  Suddenly, I was alone on the dock, staring at the long, flimsy gangplank in front of me. It seemed like a very long way to go, and the water beneath seemed to beckon me to fall and feed its hungry depths. I took a single step, then a deep breath in, a step, and a deep breath out, all the while forcing myself not to stare at the black water. Several times I considered turning back, but then I remembered that even small children had conquered this. If they could do it, I could do it.

  Eventually, I reached the top. I stood on the edge of the ship and could finally see past the commotion of the crew and into the endless waters. A strong, sweet breeze came over me as if in congratulation. I breathed in deep the sea air I had always loved. I had made it. I felt I could conquer any obstacle the world had to offer. I truly was strong enough.

  Someone held a hand out to assist me, breaking my reverie. I felt almost sad to get onto the ship. Here on the edge between London and the sea, I had no obligation to move forward or back. I was on the verge of adventure and I was happy for it, but standing on this ledge, I need not take any action other than breathing. I was completely liberated.

  After a time, I heard Robert, the oldest of Mary’s children, snicker at my exuberance. I scowled, taking the impatient hand that was still waiting, and jumped to the deck. The little children clapped at my accomplishment, and I curtsied dramatically. I smiled and turned to thank the owner of the hand that helped me down. And now I regretted not having turned back, because the man, who now fiercely grasped my hand, was the scowling man from the inn.

  “Welcome aboard, Miss Kensington,” he muttered sternly.

  I retrieved my hand quickly from the man and gasped. I froze and stared. He had revealed my surname. Was he here to take me back? Would he disclose my full name to everyone or force me to return to the living nightmare? Was I safe? Panic coursed through me.

  “Miss Anna,” Mary interjected, “this is Captain Dunna. Captain, Miss Anna.”

  Captain? Dunna? But I knew him as Benjamin Ashmore. Had he changed his name also?

  The captain bowed, and I curtsied automatically, still keeping an eye on him. The introduction was hardly warranted, since he knew more of my name and my past than Mary, and I knew him. I knew his broad, menacing shoulders and hands could have easily crushed me, but as a few seconds lapsed and he didn’t force me back to land, I began to relax in the smallest degree. His gesture was polite, yet the hardened expression in his eyes could have cut steel. He was obviously unhappy at my being on board. I was equally unhappy at this coincidence—and also confused.

  “Captain?” I asked hesitantly.

  “First Mate Anderson will show you to your cabins,” he announced, gesturing to the elderly man standing directly to his left, then nodded to us before walking steadily to the ship’s helm. I stared after him in wonder and confusion.

  “Surely next time you could employ a wider ramp,” Mary called after him. “Miss Anna is not used to such a narrow climb.”

  I flushed in embarrassment.

  The captain’s chin reached over his shoulder as he peered in our direction. “If she is afraid of a narrow board, I should not have allowed her on the ship at all.” He exited.

  Afraid of a board? I was certainly not afraid of the board, but of the water beneath! Had I not made it on board unscathed? Didn’t I deserve praise instead of censure? And I doubted he would deny my passage because of fright, when my five thousand pounds were most certainly, at least partially, in his pocket. I started toward him, eager to speak my mind.

  First Mate Anderson stepped directly in front of me, and I jerked my eyes up to meet his. He had large bushy eyebrows, and his skin told a tale of many years on sea. His eyes, though, were open and kind, and halted my anger. He gave me his arm and escorted us to our cabins.

  The Livingstones had a small cabin with several cots to share between them, and I was situated in the cabin directly next to them. It was a simple and small space, filled densely with not only my luggage but also supplies needed for the ship. There was precious little space to maneuver around the room. Directly ahead of me there was a row of low cupboards, on top of which a thin mattress was placed. To one side there was a washing basin with a tall pitcher of fresh water. The pitcher was held with groo
ves in the counter so as not to tip over when the ship swung with the waves. To the other side and above me hung several items stored for the use of the crewmen, I supposed. A ladder, several pots and pans, and a few wicker baskets hung precariously. It was more crowded than I was used to, but it represented the new life I was taking on and I was glad for it. We had a few hours to collect ourselves and organize our things while the men set sail, so I found myself with time to ponder in my little space.

  I was forcibly struck with questions I could not answer. Of all the places in the world, this was the very last place I thought to find an Ashmore. And what of his name? Why had he changed it?

  I found myself remembering odd moments that had passed between us years before.

  During balls and social gatherings, he would stand in a corner as if physically pinned to the wall from both sides. He always looked as if he had smelled something unpleasant. It was all too easy to be distracted by his dark, evil eyes, menacing expression, and rakish, unkempt, black hair. In quiet circles around the ballroom, if there were ever talk of violent city news, several pairs of eyes would move slowly to his corner in suspicion.

  The only person to recommend him had been his wife, Marianne. I had not gained many friends in my youth, but she had been one of them—a sweet, amiable girl. When circumstance allowed, we were often found on the library floor, digging through book after book of beautiful dresses, fashionable hats, and new gloves. In our later years, though, we drifted apart. Soon she was the envied girl with a small fortune, doted on by every male in the room. She was rumored to have received several offers from wealthy men, yet had refused them all. She enjoyed living life without constraints. We did speak on occasion, and I still enjoyed her company. We simply didn’t have much to talk about anymore.

  One memory in particular stood out to me. Marianne and I had secured a spot to ourselves on a sofa in the grand hallways of Almack’s. She had been married for a few months now, but still seemed the same happy girl to me. I was glad to see it.

  She was in the midst of sharing a particularly amusing story with me when her arm was suddenly jerked far above her head and she was jolted from her seat into a standing position. Her husband stood not an inch from her frightened face, with malice set in his brow.

  “You wretch,” he whispered harshly. No one in the room could hear him, save myself.

  “My dear,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “My dear, you’re hurting me.”

  “I have just found out how you have been occupied today,” he pushed the words out through gritted teeth. “Hats, dresses, shawls. And, of course, the bill has been laid to my door. Where will it end?”

  “You gave me a monthly allowance, sir,” she spoke boldly, trying to defend herself with a quivering chin. “I was only spending what you yourself had given me.”

  He took hold of both her delicate arms and shook her violently. “You are materialistic to your very core!” He spoke in shouting whispers, directly next to her ear. “You return those things, and all the other frivolous things you have purchased, or you will feel my glove on your cheek. My love for you is quickly diminishing, Marianne.”

  She visibly sank in her chair. She knew I could hear him, and her embarrassment must have been extreme. She had never known much money before she had married this man. Was he supposing she would use her allowance on gruel and hard biscuits? I ached to defend her, but could not find the words. I was not accustomed to standing up to accusers of any kind.

  He took a step away from her at long last, then ripped the shawl from her shaking hands. “I’ll return this piece myself. You may find another means of returning home. Goodnight.”

  He then exited the building, to my great relief.

  Marianne sat quietly next to me again and wept for a few minutes.

  She was carried away by illness only four months after the scene at Almack’s. We were not allowed to attend her funeral, nor say goodbye to her in any way; her husband would not allow it. One could wonder if it was illness that had killed her after all.

  In my wonderment and bitter regret, I dozed off just as Mary’s children had done.

  I was looking into the dancing flames in Father’s office and lost track of time. Suddenly, Mother came into the room and screamed. It was only then I realized the flames had surrounded me. Flames were crawling up my back and had begun to kiss my bare arm. I looked to my parents in panic. Their figures froze in my sight. Father had started to stand from his chair and vault toward me, but he was too far away in the large room. Mother was much closer. She had seen the flames at once and had come running at a full gallop that would make Father’s grey geldings proud. For a small, infinitesimal moment, as my mother rushed toward me, I dreamt that she was coming to rescue me. Maybe she was rushing toward me in pure love and genuine concern. I stepped toward her in response. I spread my arms as wide as they would stretch to cling to my mother, my breath of life, as moss clings hard to a tree.

  I woke with a sob and clutched my arm. In my moment of absolute misery and terror, I heard that sweet voice again. My mind repeated the words that had spurred my faith and flight. The words of my angel.

  “Run, Anna! Oh, please, run.”

  Chapter 2

  I startled to the sound of four-year-old Robert knocking on my door.

  “Miss Anna?” he began loudly, “Mama says you are to get ready for supper now. You have slept too much and Momma says we want to see you now!”

  I laughed shakily.

  “Thank you, Sir Robert,” I responded.

  He giggled happily and ran away yelling to his mother along the way that he had delivered her message in a fine way. Had he said supper time? I had slept the day away! And I had awoken such a mess. My dress was wrinkled beyond immediate repair and I had been laying in such a position that I was sure my hair resembled that of Medusa. I found a new dress and did my very best with such obstinate hair. There would be no one to help me with these tasks any longer. The thought actually made me glad.

  Once I was as presentable as I could manage, and smothered in layers upon layers of undergarments, I emerged from my cabin and walked up the steps to the main deck. The sun was beginning to set on the water as the waves continued their conversations. I stopped amid the bustling crew members to appreciate the sun’s final dive below the horizon. The sea reflects what we are feeling, I believe. If someone was afraid, they must have looked on this as the sun abandoning them to the dark. But as bright and unknown as my future was, and with the echo of the voice still ringing in my ears, I felt in the sun’s dive a calm assurance. After a long day of mundane duties and forced circulations, it finally got to rest, as I now rested. I sighed.

  “I suppose you have been informed that your supper will be served in my cabin.” A sharp voice interrupted my reverie.

  I spun around to face Captain Dunna—or so he was calling himself. He held the same stance and glare as he wore at every function I had ever witnessed him. It took me a moment to recover from my surprise and respond.

  “Yes, Captain, I will attend,” I said.

  “Then you will attend now,” he said. “We are waiting on your presence.” Then he held out his arm to me. I knew that I must move to the cabin immediately. However, in that moment, I was suddenly unsure of what I was to do. Finally, in my confusion, I stretched my hand forth and, for reasons that are still unclear to me, placed it atop his own.

  Of course, the traditional way to take an arm was through the crux near the elbow. Placing the hand on top of another was sometimes used in dances, of which we certainly were not doing. Sometimes, in the presence of the queen, duchesses were known to do it. My mind knew all these things and reviewed them while he stared at me as if I were incapable of proper thought.

  Yet I did not move my hand. After a moment, he simply started toward his cabin and I flushed every time someone stopped to stare and mentally question our position. I was too stubborn to relinquish, and possibly he too exasperated to move my hand himself, and we slowly
and oddly made our way to supper.

  As we stepped inside, I saw that the space consisted of the management of the ship all clad in their handsome uniforms. They all stood in readiness. One in particular stood at the back of Mary’s chair, waiting to assist her. The captain led me to my seat to the right of his own at the head of the table. The ladies sat with assistance.

  Robert peeked around a broad shoulder to wave hello to me from a small table to the side, which was set up especially for the children. I smiled and winked at him.

  The captain spoke. “If you please, Miss Kensington, Missus Livingstone,” he began, “I would be honored to introduce to you my set of worthy men.” He then named off every man’s name and title, and they each bowed in turn. The men sat and the meal began.

  After only a small breakfast, I was sure I could consume as much as any man there. The table was covered in beef, pork, tarts, and fresh fruit. Decorum dictated that I speak to the persons on my left and right at meals, but I was determined to leave the polite world behind. As a result, I took great pleasure in observing the young man across and two chairs down from me, whose name I had remembered.

  “Lieutenant Warley, isn’t it?” I inquired sweetly. I nearly had to shout to be heard across the din of the supper table. I kept a steady gaze on him so he was sure I was speaking to him and no one else.

  He glanced around himself for a moment in slight shock, looking for guidance as to how to respond to this odd female. He had light hair and a fair complexion. I guessed him to be about my age, and also, remarkably handsome.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he responded, finally.

  “And from where do you hail, sir? Is this your first time at sea?” I persisted.

  Several of the men around the table looked at me in shock at raising my voice above a whisper. I smiled as I cut my meat.

  “No, Miss, I have been out to sea with Captain Dunna once before.” He paused, embarrassed and unsure. “I am from Wales.”