Alana

by Barrie, Monica

  Then they’d fed him and given him water. No one spoke to him, and he spoke to no one. After that he was fed two small meals a day and given water once a day–just enough nourishment to keep him alive.

  Although he’d realized they were trying to break his spirit, he had not given up. Instead, he’d pictured Alana's beautiful face near his and felt her hands on him, her lips kissing his.

  He was living like an animal; only rarely was the hold cleaned out. By the time they had arrived in whatever port it was, Rafe was only half-conscious and barely able to move his arms and legs or open his eyes to see where he was.

  But he’d been awake enough to smell the strange scents permeating the air. They took him from the hold on the second night and carried to this place–a warehouse, he was sure. He didn’t know how long he’d drifted between awareness and blackness, but when he opened his eyes again, he’d found himself staring up at one thin line of light.

  As he had on the journey, he fueled his strength and resolve by thinking of Alana. Again, he recalled the look that had been on her face when they had been attacked.

  Rafe had seen, in those few moments before the man had knocked him out again, her look of abject terror. He had also seen the same man who had sneered so openly at him in the Wellington Club.

  It had taken him awhile, but during the six long and lonely weeks in the ship’s hold, he had come to the only conclusion possible: the man was Charles Ledoque, the same one who had tried to own Alana once before.

  But Rafe never, in all the days of his capture, allowed himself to think of what might have happened to Alana. He made himself believe she’d escaped the madman’s clutches, for to believe anything else would be to lose faith in himself.

  There was a noise behind him, but he was too weak to turn. A moment later, footsteps approached his head, and a strangely accented voice spoke.

  “Put him with the others. Give him food and water first. He won’t survive the trip otherwise. Remember, he is to live!”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll take care of it,” said another voice, this one pure cockney. Both men left, but ten minutes later, the cockney returned and knelt at Rafe’s side.

  “You heard the boss. Listen ta me, mate. I’m going ta give ya some food an’ water. Then I’m going ta load ya in the wagon. It’s a long trip, mate, so try ta get yourself ready.”

  Rafe didn’t argue. He drank all the water and ate all the food.

  Some strength returning, but when he tried to stand, he found his legs would not yet support him.

  “Gave ya a rough time, didn’t they?” the man asked as he helped Rafe up and half-carried him to the door. When the door opened, Rafe closed his eyes against the brilliance of the sun.

  “Where am I?” he asked in a croaking voice. The man leaned him against the side of the building while he closed the door.

  “It ain’t where ya are mate but where yer going. The Transvaal–ya be going ta work the mines.”

  Rafe’s hand grasped the man’s arm. “Where am I? What country?”

  The man shook his head sadly. “Cape Town, mate. Cape Town, South Africa.” Then the man started to bring him to a wagon.

  Rafe used the few seconds of rest to will strength into his weakened limbs. He knew that, weak though he was, this might be his only chance for escape. When the man reached out to help him again, Rafe forced himself into action.

  Lurching sideways, Rafe pretended to stumble. He moved quickly, bringing his manacled arms up to strike the cockney guard. A sudden, unexpected pain burst ill the back of his head, and blackness took him before he hit the ground.

  “Perhaps next time you’ll listen when you’re told that a man is dangerous.”

  The cockney guard nodded his head silently to the man who had originally given him his orders. Then, with the man’s help, he carried Rafe into the wagon, secured his manacles to the long bar on the wagon’s side, and closed the gate.

  While the cockney guard climbed into the driver’s seat and started the horses, the other four prisoners in the wagon looked at the unconscious man in sympathy.

  Two hours later, Rafe groaned and tried to sit up. A wave of dizziness washed over him. Then he felt hands helping him. When he opened his eyes, he saw a man sitting next to him.

  “You okay?” the man asked.

  Rafe looked around in an effort to get his bearings. It was dusk, and there was just enough light to see the somewhat barren land they were crossing. The earth seemed to have a purplish hue, and there were great parched cracks wherever he looked.

  The man who had helped him was about Rafe’s own size and had a beard. Across from them, chained to the side of the wagon three black men watched silently.

  “I think so,” Rafe replied as he tried to organize his senses. “Where are we?”

  “Two hours out of Cape Town, on the way to the Transvaal,” the man answered.

  Rafe moistened his lips as he readied another question; at the same time, he realized the man was an American like himself. “Why?”

  The man shook his head. “I guess that blow you got back there addled your brain. No one could be that dumb!” Getting no response from Rafe, he continued, “This is a prison wagon. We’re being sent to the mines to work out our sentences.”

  “I’m not a criminal,” Rafe whispered.

  “I’m not either,” the man said sarcastically, shaking his chains. “But if you’re on this wagon, friend, that’s just what you are, no matter what you think. I tried to smuggle diamonds out of the mine I worked for.” The bearded man paused, his eyes suddenly far away. “But I didn’t think I’d end up dying for them stones. What are you in for?”

  Rafe looked into the other’s eyes and exhaled slowly. “Stupidity.”

  ~~~~~

  Hearing an unusual commotion in the outer office, Edward Parkins left his desk and went to the door. When he opened it slightly to look out, he realized this simple motion was either the gravest mistake of his life or the most fortuitous action he’d ever taken. As he watched the scene before him, he fell in love.

  Looking out into the office, he watched a beautiful woman with a deeply tanned face and sparkling, jewel-like blue eyes that, like pale sapphires, blazed angrily at the clerk. Her voice grew louder and more deliberate.

  The wealthiest and most powerful man in Cape Town stood transfixed by the sight of the woman. She wore a simple traveling dress that rose to the base of her throat; in no way did it hide the absolute perfection of her body. As she argued with the clerk, he became entranced with her lyrical accent, recognizing it as both American and deeply southern

  Sensing that things had gone far enough, he stepped into the large, open office. When he did, several heads swung around. The clerks sitting at their desks watched him with smirks on their faces and pity in their eyes for the hapless woman.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Parkins asked in a commanding voice. The woman and the clerk turned to look at him. From the corner of his eye, he saw a tall thin black man stiffen when he approached the woman.

  “M-Mr. Par-Parkins,” the clerk stammered. “Th-this woman insists that her sh-ship has a cargo to be delivered to us.”

  Edward Parkins looked at the woman, his eyebrows raised slightly. “And you are?” he asked.

  “Alana Landow,” she replied tersely. “And you?” she challenged.

  Edward Parkins bowed his head to her in a polite gesture. “I am Edward Parkins, the owner of this company.”

  “I see. Then I have a manifest for you,” she stated.

  “There must be some mistake,” he told her. He saw anger flash on her face. “However, if you would come into my office, I will try to get to the bottom of the problem.”

  “There is no mistake, and no problem!” Alana stated, b ut let him usher her into his office. Before she entered, she turned to nod at the black man who had started following them. Chaco entered with them and went to the sidewall, where he continued to watch.

  After closing the office door, Parkin
s led Alana to a chair and returned to his desk. “Miss Landow,” he began.

  “Mrs. Landow,” Alana corrected, studying him for the first time since he’d appeared in the outer office. He was a distinguished looking man in his mid-forties, with a pleasant yet strong face, salt-and-pepper hair, and gentle brown eyes. He had, Alana sensed, an air of honesty about him. Yet she would not allow any of her senses to interfere with her goals.

  “Mrs. Landow,” he repeated, aware that she was appraising him closely, “would you please enlighten me about this–difficulty?”

  “My ship is attempting to deliver a consignment of mining equipment for which my company, Landow Shipping, was contracted,” she told him.

  “And our shipping is done through Marquette,” he replied.

  “So I’ve been informed,” Alana declared. “For three days my captain and myself have been arguing with your warehouse manager and every clerk that we’ve been sent to.”

  Parkins shook his head slowly. “I still don’t understand.”

  Alana took a deep breath, stood, and put several sheets of what appeared to be a signed agreement on the man’s desk. When she stepped back, she did not return to her seat; rather, she paced the floor.

  Before Parkins could look at the papers, Alana stopped in the middle of the floor to rivet him with a gaze that combined pure hatred with unrestrained fury. Edward Parkins had never seen that look in a woman’s eyes before.

  “My attorney will be notified of everything that has happened. I intend to bring charges against Marquette and the Maklin-Parkins company for fraud and piracy unless the terms of our contract with both your company and Marquette are honored to the letter!”

  “Madame,” Parkins said, his tone stiff and formal, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and unless you enlighten me, I shall have no choice but to consider you beautiful but somewhat insane.”

  Alana stiffened. She thrust her shoulders back; her eyes blazed. “Perhaps I am somewhat insane. Why else would I have crossed thousands of miles of ocean, involved in a running battle most of the way against another ship that was trying to pirate mine? My ship lost five men during the battles, and another seven were wounded–all to deliver your equipment.” Parkins stared at her, astonishment plainly written on his face. He held the papers Alana had put on the desk, but he was not looking at them; his eyes were for Alana only.

  She pointed one slim finger at the papers. “Those are the manifests and our contract with the shipping agent, Jonathan Martin, in New York. If you will look them over, you will see that they are in order.”

  Ten minutes later, with Alana still pacing the floor, Edward Parkins looked up from his reading. “Everything is in order. But I still don’t understand. Our agreement with Marquette is exclusive. This is a violation of that agreement.”

  “That is not all that has been violated,” Alana said bitterly.

  Again, Parkins shook his head. “Please, Mrs. Landow, I am sorrier than you could imagine for your troubles, but I know nothing of what has happened. My company has an exclusive contract with the Marquette Company for all American shipments. However, your allegations disturb me greatly, and the validity of these contracts cannot be denied.”

  “Then you will accept delivery and make payment?”

  “Absolutely. But I also want to know why this has happened. I want to know everything!”

  “The story isn’t short,” Alana said in a voice softer than she’d yet used that day.

  “In that case, Mrs. Landow, please join me for dinner so that you can tell me your story. Seven thirty?”

  Alana gazed at him, wondering whether she should accept his offer. She was by no means certain that he wasn’t involved with Ledoque or the consortium.

  “Please, I would consider it an honor.”

  A sudden, intuitive feeling told Alana she could trust him. For a change, she gave in to that feeling. “Seven-thirty,” she agreed.

  Alana arrived at precisely seven thirty. When she stepped down from the carriage Edward Parkins had sent to her, she stared up at the stone facade of his huge home. It reminded her, in many ways, of Riverbend. The house’s lines were simple yet elegant, and she felt comforted looking at it.

  When she and Chaco reached the top step, the door opened and a butler, momentarily astonished by Chaco, ushered them in. He brought Alana to a well-appointed salon and informed her that Mr. Parkins would be with her directly. Chaco took up a position by the door, and the butler had no choice but to leave him alone.

  While she waited, Alana looked around the attractively decorated room. The brocade furniture was both expensive and tasteful. Two magnificent landscapes hung on the hand-painted wallpaper.

  It was a very masculine room, and gave ample evidence of wealth. And what of Parkins? Alana asked herself for the tenth time since leaving his offices. He had seemed truly shocked by what she’d told him. He did not appear to be a part of Ledoque and Allison’s schemes, although only time would tell her the truth of that.

  Alana believed she was becoming a better judge of people than she had been two years ago, and she sensed that Edward Parkins was a decent man, a man who might help her.

  “Welcome to my home, Mrs. Landow,” Parkins said when he entered the salon.

  “Thank you,” Alana replied. When he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, she found it somewhat comforting.

  “Would you care for a sherry before dinner?” he asked, motioning to the serving tray near the settee.

  “I’m afraid it would go to my head. I haven’t had a chance to eat since dawn,” Alana said truthfully.

  Parkins smiled. “In that case, there’s no point in delaying.” Taking her elbow lightly in his hand, he escorted her to the dining room.

  Inside, Alana gazed at the room, once again feeling the masculine hand that had decorated it. The formal dining table was of red mahogany. Eight matching chairs surrounded it. A large but not ornate crystal chandelier hung over the center of the table. The dozen brightly glowing candles gave a soft illumination to the room.

  Two places had been set at the table; Parkins guided her to one. On her left was a red mahogany sideboard; its glass doors revealed a magnificent set of porcelain china.

  When she sat, she looked up at her host. “You have exquisite taste.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Landow.” Then he went to his seat. Soup and wine were served. When they were alone, Parkins lifted his glass to Alana.

  “To a very beautiful and unexpected guest.”

  Alana smiled at his compliment. She found herself warming toward the man, and she tentatively lowered her defenses. “Thank you,” she replied after sipping the light white wine.

  “I want you to know, Mrs. Landow, after you left, I looked into your charges.”

  “And?” Alana asked with genuine interest.

  “The Marquette Company agent said he had no knowledge of this strange commission of yours, but he did say that Charles Ledoque was a principal of Marquette. When I showed him the manifest and contract, he said that they appeared to be legal. He seemed as mystified as I.”

  “Is he an American?” Alana asked.

  Parkins shook his head. “From England, as I am.”

  Alana tasted the soup and found it delicious. “I would like to speak with him myself.”

  “I shall arrange it,” Parkins promised.

  They ate their soup quietly, and when they were finished, a servant appeared and took away their plates.

  In the ensuing silence, Alana took the opportunity to study Edward Parkins. His handsomeness, she realized, had a lot to do with the calm maturity in his eyes. He was in excellent health and had kept himself very fit. The heavier gray at his temples gave him a warm and dignified appearance.

  “Do you approve?” he asked suddenly.

  Alana blushed. When she realized she was blushing, the red turned bright scarlet. “I–I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be,” he replied with an easy grin.

  No
sooner did he finish speaking than the servants appeared with the next course. Dinner consisted of rack of veal, with ample amounts of broccoli and carrots complementing the meat in both color and taste.

  Another bottle of wine was served, and the white wine, although barely touched, was taken away. “I do hope you’re hungry,” Parkins said.

  Alana gazed openly at him again. “I’m starved,” she replied honestly, as she picked up her silver knife and fork.

  Edward Parkins laughed at her statement. “Well then, I shall not bother you with useless conversation.” Then he too picked up his utensils and began to eat. He maintained polite conversation with Alana, but never once made any inquiry that might make her uncomfortable.

  An hour and a half later, they were in the salon. Alana sipped from a floral teacup while her host drank coffee.

  “I think that now is the time for me to hear your story, Mrs. Landow. I do hope it will explain why you are here without your husband.”

  Alana put the delicate porcelain cup down thoughtfully. “That is a part of the story,” Alana said. At her words, Edward Parkins sat back in his chair and gave her his undivided attention.

  Alana had prepared herself for this moment, and she knew that if he was as decent a man as she believed him to be, she must tell him everything. So, as Alana spoke, she reached back into her memories and gave him the detailed story of her life. She faltered several times as she spoke, primarily when it was about Rafe or Jason. Parkins never interrupted her. He just sat silently while she poured out her tale.

  When she spoke of Ledoque’s original treachery, her voice grew harsh with anger, but she regained control of herself, and spoke as calmly as possible.

  She told him of the way Ledoque had tried to destroy the Landow Shipping Company and told him of Crystal’s help, omitting the fact that Crystal was a madam. But when she spoke of what had happened in New York, her voice trembled.

  Alana, ignoring the wavering of her voice, simplified her tale, saying only that Chaco, her bodyguard, had saved her life and ended Ledoque’s.

  She described the running sea battle between the Harmony and Ledoque’s ship and told of their relief when they had lost the other ship in a storm three weeks after leaving New York.