Lady Savage

by Donna Lea Simpson

  “Yes, there are, sir,” she answered, her voice a squeak at first. She cleared her throat. “There is another lady, and our maidservants.”

  “Ah.”

  “And . . . and my father . . . he’s older—”

  “Don’t be afraid, miss,” the man said, looking pained. “I have a daughter near your age; I would no more hurt a lady than I would hurt my own golden child.” The American walked to the railing. He shouted an order and the sailors began to scuttle about.

  Gaston-Reade, a vein throbbing in his neck, trailed Verdun, shouting incoherent questions at him. Heywood dashed after him and Savina watched as he tried to speak to his employer, but was repeatedly brushed away. Finally Verdun rounded on Gaston-Reade and shouted an incomprehensible order, and two of his men seized the earl.

  “Tie him up and place him in the hold,” Verdun said.

  Heywood stepped forward. “What are your intentions, Captain?”

  Verdun glared at him, a nerve jumping on his cheek. “You said you’re a secretary. Is that . . . that bumblehead your employer?”

  “Yes.”

  Gaston-Reade grunted wildly and struggled at the insulting appellation.

  “More the pity, for you seem a reasonable enough young fellow, for all you’re on the wrong side. But I will not have him blustering around causing trouble. We are taking this ship. Our own is foundering badly, as you can see, injured by a damned British naval vessel two days ago. Storm made it worse. We’re taking on water and bound to sink. This sweet vessel is a blessing from the Lord.”

  Savina quivered inside. They were taking the ship? What were they going to do with them? Were they prisoners of war? Would they be tortured, or . . . she shivered. She had heard tales of women suffering a fate worse than death, of terrible humiliations at the hands of Americans, and she was frightened, but it was vital that she remain calm and listen, to gather all the information she could.

  Mr. Heywood, his backbone stiff and hands still clenched at his sides said. “What are you going to do with us?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Verdun said. He glared at Gaston-Reade, who still struggled, grunting and puffing.

  The American sailors were unloading the Gryphon, hauling sacks of gunpowder, foodstuffs, and barrels of rum by a ramp over the gunwale, until Verdun interrupted and told them only the guns and gunpowder until they saw what the Prosperous had on board.

  Gallagher, his ire once more under control, said, “Captain, you’ll hafta let go of my passengers. Do what you must to me and my men, but the ladies—”

  “Enough!” Verdun bellowed. With a deep, exasperated sigh, he glared at the men facing him: Gaston-Reade, his mien finally frozen in impotent fury; Heywood, his steady frown demanding answers; and Gallagher, his lined face red with suppressed fury. When the American captain turned to her, Savina quailed, but then rallied her courage and faced him. But she was not prepared for what he had to say.

  “I shall leave your collective fate up to this brave young lady. Miss—”

  “Savina Roxeter, sir,” she said, proud of her steady voice.

  “Miss Savina Roxeter, you have three choices.” He paced toward her and stood, hands clasped behind his back, his stance swaying with the rolling of the vessel. “We intend to take this ship. We need a vessel to get back to the United States, since the wretched British navy has so badly damaged ours. It is our luck last night’s storm seems to have separated your rich little brig from your companion vessels. It’s small, but it will do, and the sugar in your cargo hold will be welcome. Now . . .”

  He smiled and smirked over at the men. “As I said, Miss Savina Roxeter, you have three choices.” He held up three fingers. “One,” he said, pulling down one finger and folding it against his palm. “You and your gentlemen swear an oath of allegiance to the United States of America. You’ll get all the benefits of citizenship in the greatest nation in the world.” He smiled, but the smile changed to a harder look. “I would not recommend taking this line unless you mean to abide by it, for we don’t cotton to deserters. Two,” he continued, folding the next finger down. “You, the other ladies, the crew and all of your gentlemen companions come along with us as our prisoners. If we can find a safe harbor to drop you off we shall do so, but there are no guarantees, for we are at war and we have a duty to perform. You will spend all your time locked in a chamber in the hold together.” He moved toward her and looked her over, his brown eyes challenging. “I will guarantee your safety from any predation by my crew, though, for I’m a civilized man, no matter what your countrymen would have you believe. However, if we are engaged by the enemy, I make no promises at all. Three,” he continued, folding the next finger down. “We find you a nice cozy island and drop you off with enough supplies for a couple of weeks and a good knife or two and a pot to boil in. We’ll also make certain someone knows where you are, though I can’t warrant anyone of your addled countrymen will care enough to find you.”

  “You can’t let her make that decision!” Gaston-Reade sputtered. “She’s a woman. What does she know?”

  “Do shut your mouth, my lord,” Tony Heywood said. He turned to the American captain. “It’s not fair to the young lady, sir, to put her in the position of choosing in this way. Surely—”

  “See how your menfolk trust your intellectual powers, miss? Young Mr. Heywood here puts a smooth face to it, but he’s saying the same thing as your intended, that they don’t trust your powers of decision. But I . . . why, in my estimation women are mightily constructed for making life-and-death decisions, otherwise we wouldn’t let them take care of our future—our children—am I right?”

  Savina stared down at the deck, examining the pattern of the boards. Was he truly going to leave it up to her? And if he did, what should she say? Should she decline? She looked up and met his eyes. “Why are you doing this, Captain?”

  Verdun stared back, his graying beard bristling along his hard jaw. He looked weary. “We lost a few men in the storm so we need the crew of this ship. And if the gentlemen have valets, we will be recruiting them to bolster our numbers. But frankly, miss, you all—yourself, your lady’s maids and the aristocratic gentlemen—are a nuisance to us. We’re at war with your country, but I’m no barbarian.”

  “But why me?”

  He shrugged. “Why not you? P’raps I find it entertaining to see his lordship there ready to burst a blood vessel. And Mr. Heywood, while he seems a likable enough young pup, seems a mite pompous. And Captain Gallagher? I don’t trust that he’ll do what’s best for you. He might figure we’d be more careful with the lot of you on board, should we run into another British naval vessel. We wouldn’t, but he might think so. Besides, it tickles me to see them so vexed.”

  “But that places me in an awkward position.”

  He nodded. “That it does, miss, but that’s not my concern. Make your decision. You have until we empty our vessel of as much as we can carry. Then, depending on your decision, we’ll take a few more things off our ship for you all to use on your island, if that’s your decision, and we aim to scuttle the poor Gryphon.” He turned and walked away, but then turned back. “Think well, Miss Roxeter. You have ’bout an hour, at most.”

  Four

  The hour dragged on as Savina and the others gathered in the gloomy state parlor, watched closely by American crewmen, who unabashedly listened in on her discussion with the others.

  What should they do? Her stomach churned and groaned as she alternately sat on her hands and fiddled with the ribbons on her dress bodice. If there had been a consensus, it would have been a much easier decision, she reflected, glancing around at the disparate group, her father sitting stiffly, fear in his glazed eyes, and the others in varying states of anger, watchfulness and trepidation. Given the diverse personalities involved, unanimity was never a danger. It would have been much more difficult, in a sense, she supposed, if all had understood her dilemma and been more kind in their attempts to influence her decision. As it was, they variously questioned
what enticement she had used to get Captain Verdun to allow her to make the decision, what right she had to make a decision for the others, and why she would not listen to each one of them and do exactly as they recommended.

  “I still think it very odd that that barbaric American should have placed our fates in her hands,” Lady Venture said loudly to no one in particular, glaring at a point to the left of Savina.

  No one responded, but one of the American crew members posted by the door snickered and whispered something to his companion, another rough-looking fellow in stained trousers.

  It was odd that the American captain had done things the way he had, Savina thought, but it was so, and she took her duty seriously. At first Lord Gaston-Reade had assumed she would defer her decision to him; when he found it was not so—she didn’t think it would be right to abdicate responsibility—he had lapsed into confused and resentful silence for a time, and then had occasionally burst into obscure and incensed remarks. But rather than influence her to give up her difficult charge, the sometimes rancorous comments merely served to harden her resolve to make the decision herself. She thought she was, perhaps, better suited than any of them to make the judgment; being a woman she did feel somewhat alarmed at the thought of being marooned on a deserted island, and yet having lived in Jamaica for nine years and understanding the climate and habitat, she knew that they would likely survive, even if rescue was some time coming. Also, she understood completely, through her father’s involvement in government, the dangers inherent in being held captive of an enemy nation. She prided herself, too, on being calm and reasonable, not something that could be said for some of her companions, nor even her own fiancé.

  “Let us consider the possibilities once more,” she said aloud, aware of the ticking clock on the sideboard.

  “All right,” Anthony Heywood said from his position near the far door into the captain’s dining room.

  Savina glanced over at the two seamen and found that they had gotten bored and had begun a game of mumblety-peg in the hallway, over which they argued vociferously. “Come closer, all, and let us talk,” she said. “We only have twenty more minutes and must come to a decision.”

  “You cannot order us about like this, Savina,” Lord Gaston-Reade said. “It is not becoming.”

  She sighed and ignored her fiancé. There was no time, and she had no response anyway. “I think we can agree that one of the choices Captain Verdun offered us is out of the question,” she said, looking around at the various expressions of her fellow captives. “It is unthinkable that we should pledge allegiance to their flag and join them.”

  Lady Venture, her eyes gleaming, leaned forward and whispered, “But we could pretend allegiance, you know, and then when we had lulled the captain and his crew into believing us, we could murder them all in their beds and take the ship back.”

  Savina gazed thoughtfully at her soon-to-be sister-in-law, wondering how such bloodthirsty notions could hide beneath the façade of a perfectly demure ladylike exterior. Mr. William Barker, gazing with horror at his blissfully unaware fiancée, seemed to be thinking the same thing. “There are far too many of them, and it is as likely we should all be murdered in the attempt,” Savina answered, as if she had considered the idea. “No, we have only two choices. We can go as prisoners to wherever Captain Verdun will take us, or we can be deposited on a nearby island, with his assurance that he will inform our people of our whereabouts.”

  “My dear,” her father said, glancing back, seeing the seamen well entertained with their game and looking back at his daughter. “Our valets are to be left here, with those dreadful Americans. I think . . . well, at least as prisoners we shall be cared for and fed. If we are abandoned on an island, who would look after our needs?”

  “Why, we should, sir,” Mr. Heywood said. “Presuming the captain would give us supplies, we could take care of ourselves, and there would be fish in the ocean to catch for meat, and fruit in the trees. Better that than an uncertain fate at the hands of the Americans.”

  Lord Gaston-Reade cleared his throat. “I say, why should we only accept that American’s choices?” He lowered his voice and leaned into the group huddled together now, as far as they could from the door. “We muster arms and attack! Take the ship back now!”

  “What, against trained, armed, aware naval officers?” his secretary asked, incredulous, glancing at their armed guard, who had quit their game and were watching with alert expressions of distrust.

  “But they’re American,” Gaston-Reade said, disdain in his voice. He didn’t bother to lower his tone this time, displaying what some may have mistaken for brash courage, and others would condemn as dunderheaded idiocy. “What danger can they possibly be? We are three . . . nay four British gentlemen,” he amended, looking at Savina’s father, “and can beat the stuffing out of them with little trouble, I think.”

  “Ah, yes, as we beat them in the rebellion and as we are beating them in this conflict.” Anthony Heywood turned away from his employer.

  “But what of the ladies, my lord? Would you subject them to armed combat, with nowhere for them to go if things went badly except the bottom of the ocean?” That was Mr. William Barker speaking up for once.

  Perhaps there was more to Mr. Barker than a slightly vacuous but opportunistic young man. “Thank you sir,” Savina said to him, “for thinking of us. In any of our plans we must remember that the crew of the Prosperous is not made up of fighting men, but merchant vessel sailors. We could not rely on them for support. Keeping that in mind, I think even four British gentlemen are vastly outnumbered by such a crew of men as those.” She indicated with a glance the two tough sailors who grinned over at them, having no doubt heard the earl’s preposterous plan. She turned to her maid, who was listening on the periphery of the group, as was Lady Venture’s maid, Annie. “Zazu, almost everyone else has given their opinion; what do you think we ought to do?”

  “You cannot mean that you are asking the opinion of your servant?” Gaston-Reade said, mortification in his tone and outraged bearing.

  “That is exactly what I have been pointing out,” Lady Venture said to no one in particular as she folded her hands in her lap. “Miss Roxeter has the most odd ideas, and consults her maid on everything. Very eccentric.”

  Lady Venture’s maid, Annie, timidly said, “We are in danger too, my lady.”

  “Exactly right,” Savina said.

  “I think,” Zazu said, raising her voice above the ensuing hubbub, and Lady Venture’s incensed reply to her maid’s impertinence, “that I would rather take my chances on an island than on a ship manned for war and sailing into an enemy harbor.”

  Savina nodded. “Yes, that did occur to me. Annie?” she said, turning back to Lady Venture’s maid. “What do you think?”

  “Really!” Lady Venture said, sniffing with disdain. “Even my maid is to be consulted? When am I to be asked? After the servants?”

  “I see Miss Roxeter’s point, my dove,” Mr. Barker cautiously offered. “You have given us your opinion already, my dearest one. The lady servants will be suffering the same fate as us. Should they not have at least their opinion considered?”

  “I . . . I think we ought to stay with the American captain, Miss Roxeter,” Annie said, her voice trembling and her glance slewing to the tough-looking sailors. “At least it is not abandonment on a horrible bare island with wild animals and savages, perhaps.”

  “Savina, listen to me,” Gaston-Reade said, his tone suggesting great forbearance on his part. “I will not have you flout my wishes, now or after—”

  “Stop!” This moment . . . this very second could determine the rest of her life, whether she was to be allowed any say in her life from that moment on. “But the decision was left up to me,” Savina said, feeling that she was doing an admirable job of keeping her voice controlled. “And I’ve come to a conclusion.”

  • • •

  As the last rowboat receded in the distance toward their ship, Anthony Heywood
felt a momentary qualm but supposed no matter what course of action they had taken he would feel the same. He glanced briefly at the pile of provisions on the beach the American captain had allowed them, and then turned away from the ocean and looked up at their new island home, temporary though he hoped it would be.

  It appeared to be one of the many small islands that rimmed the Atlantic on the outer edge of the Caribbean Sea. They had been marooned on a quarter-moon-shaped beach bounded by two high jagged outcroppings of ancient coral rock. Above the sloping beach was a jungle of slanting palms, thick underbrush and sharp tough grass.

  The others stood in the hot sun, a tight knot of humanity watching the rowboat disappear, becoming a tiny bobbing buoy by the ship Prosperous, which then raised sail, hoisted anchor and disappeared over the far horizon. Though the whole procedure took over half an hour, no one moved nor said a thing, stunned into silence by the turn of events. Even with a group of seven others, Tony had never felt so lonely as he did that moment, and judging by their bewildered expressions he was sure some, at least, of the others shared his uneasiness.

  They were abandoned, and who knew when next they would behold any sign of civilization?

  And yet he couldn’t help but believe that what Savina Roxeter had decided was for the best. Sitting in a locked room in the hold of the ship for days, weeks, perhaps even months would soon become a living hell. At least this way they had some measure of hope to have a hand in their own survival.

  He examined the people he was mired with for the uncertain future. First those he knew best: Lord Gaston-Reade and his harpy sister, Lady Venture Mills. Gaston-Reade was a pompous windbag who would complain every moment they were on the island, no doubt, while Lady Venture was an irritable, condescending, desperately managing young woman who was fortunate in finding for a fiancé a fellow who didn’t have a mind to make up on his own anyway. Her maid was a sad-eyed young woman whose one attempt at speaking up had been punished, no doubt, by the frosty silence and poisonous scorn of her mistress.