The Forbidden Orchid

by Sharon Biggs Waller

  I pressed my crinoline flat, and left it standing on its side against the wall. Perhaps the privy’s owner could sell it. It’d be worth a bit of money.

  I imagined I looked a very feminine boy, but there were boys like that about, who had not yet begun a beard. For the first time I was grateful that I didn’t have fashionable round curves. I was glad for my narrow hips and long limbs, as I would pass for a boy more easily.

  Despite the noisome atmosphere of the outhouse, I was hesitant to leave it in my new garb. The Bible forbade a woman to dress as a man, but men in biblical times wore long, dresslike robes, so who knew what God had meant exactly? My hesitation lay in my own timorousness. No man had ever seen my legs before, and when I was clad in breeches, everything would be visible—the shape of my calves, the roundness of my buttocks, and the joining of my legs.

  I gathered up my courage and left the privy. With the rest of my coin and by trading my empty valise, I purchased two jugs of ginger beer, a loaf of bread, and a large wheel of cheese coated in red wax, enough provisions for at least a week if I were careful. I had no idea when I’d have another hot meal again, so I bought a hot pie from another seller and ate it where I stood.

  A woman selling cockles and whelks from a tray called out to me, “Fancy some cockles, boy?”

  I shook my head. Heartened that my disguise had fooled the woman, I slung my sack over my shoulder and walked the rest of the way to the docks.

  The sun had long set by the time I arrived. The docks were busy, far busier than in the day. Women wearing shoddy gowns stood outside the noisy taverns that lined the quay, calling to the many sailors passing by. A preacher in black robes stood on a nearby soapbox, looming over the women and warning them of eternal damnation. They paid him little heed, but one seemed to delight in marching up and down in front of him, lifting her skirt to expose her ankles as she did. A bearded, peg-legged man played a concertina and sang a sea chanty, an upturned hat on the ground. His voice was plaintive and beautiful.

  Come me own one, come me fair one, come now unto me.

  Could you fancy a poor sailor lad who has just come from sea?

  I ducked my head and wove my way through this crush to the Osprey. I hurried as fast as I could, wanting to leave the scene far behind me. I should be home by now, having supper with Violetta and Mamma in the warmth and safety of our house. How worried they must be. They expected me on the last train. I wished my letter could reach them instantaneously.

  The crowd thinned as I made my way down the dock, as there were no taverns or businesses here. The Osprey hove into view, floating at its berth in the dark, as though asleep, readying herself for her long journey. Everything was still and quiet. No one appeared to be about. The gangplank was up, and I stood, unsure of what to do next. My heart sank, remembering that the captain had called everyone aboard. It was cold, and the wind was kicking up.

  My scheme wouldn’t work. How could I possibly get on the ship?

  I wanted to cry.

  I wanted to go home.

  Stop it, baby, I told myself, dashing tears from my eyes. Crying will not help you—

  I swallowed my fear and went to the other side of the ship to look for another way of getting on board, but there was nothing. I decided to wait to see if any of the sailors in the tavern belonged to the Osprey. Perhaps I could join them when they returned. I’d been to enough country fetes to know how men were touched after quaffing beer and the like. I could fall in with them and pretend I belonged on the ship. If they were drunk enough, they might not notice me. I set my bag on the dock and wrapped my arms around me.

  The great ship’s hull cast a long shadow on the pier, and I hoped it would be enough to hide me. The wind shifted, carrying the peg-leg man’s song down the quay. The cold sea air bit through the fine leather of my boots, and I stamped my feet to warm them.

  The ship’s bell rang seven chimes, then eight. My elbows throbbed where I had fallen, and I was growing ever more despondent. Finally, when I had nearly given up hope, two sailors appeared, weaving and hanging on to one another, singing a sea chanty. One of them whistled, and a man appeared and let the gangplank down.

  The men trundled up the plank, and I fell in behind them, pulling my cap low over my face, hunching my shoulders and keeping my eyes down. If someone questioned me, I would lower my voice and claim that I’d only just been hired. If he didn’t believe me, I would reveal my identity, and Papa would be called. Perhaps he’d change his mind and let me go with him. If not, I would go home, but at least I would have tried, and that would quash my fear for Papa a little bit.

  But no one questioned me.

  When the men went off to the right, I went to the left, and in the light of the moon I saw the door to the decks below was open. The door Alex had appeared from when I first saw him. That must be the storage space.

  I darted across the deck and crept down a steep flight of stairs. In the murky light through a dusty porthole I saw bales of cotton with only a few pathways between long stacks. The sound of water lapping against the boat’s hull was louder than it was above, the temperature cooler. There was very little room to stand up, and the air was fuggy with mildew and dust, like a dank cellar. Toward the back of the deck sat a line of barrels lashed together. I peered behind them and found enough room to hide. I squeezed behind the barrels and lay down, using my sack as a pillow and my jacket as a blanket.

  And I waited.

  PART TWO

  At Sea—Spring 1861

  FOURTEEN

  I didn’t count on having seasickness.

  I wanted off the ship. If I could have flown from it like an albatross, I would have done. I had never felt so unwell in the whole of my life. It was a never-ending nausea accompanied by a spinning ache in my head—a torturous illness that I could not shake off. An empty bucket I’d planned to use as my necessary had become my constant companion, and I employed it liberally. I had found a source of water in a barrel at the back of the hold, but its stale taste only made my illness increase.

  To make things worse, a storm had broken a day or two after sailing, and the boat pitched and rolled to and fro, and I’d had to brace my boots against the barrels to keep from sliding down the deck floor. I was terrified. In the storm there was much creaking, clanging, and banging as the ship tossed about. From the way the sailors shouted, I thought the vessel was on its way to capsizing and sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

  Atop all of this, I was so lonely. I missed Violetta most of all. I longed to wake up to see her lying next to me, her hands bunched under her chin, her knees tucked up under her nightdress, sleeping like a little dormouse, as she always did. I missed our bedroom with its four-poster bed hung with drapes and set with a night table on each side—Violetta’s table heaving with novels and mine piled high with books about the natural world. I felt forsaken, as though I might never see another human being again.

  I passed the time praying for my mother and father, but it did little to abate my worries and fears. I thought of Jesus in the wilderness for forty days and forty nights and Jonah in the body of a whale. Surely I could manage a few days?

  At night, perhaps because of my illness, I dreamed the strangest dreams, the most horrible dreams. In one, my father danced the hornpipe with Alex while the Scandinavian ship’s carpenter played the violin. I knelt in the middle of the Osprey’s deck, my hands tightly bound, begging them to release me, but they only laughed and danced on.

  I was on board the ship for a week before I woke one morning to calm seas, both outward and inward. The worst of the nausea had left me along with the storm. I stood. The contents of the hold appeared to whirl round me like fluttering maple seeds caught on the wind. I choked back the gathering sickness, praying desperately that I wouldn’t be sick again. I slumped back to the floor and lay there until the world stopped its heartless spinning and my nausea abated.

  I lay on th
e floor for another quarter of an hour trying to gather up my courage to leave the hold, rehearsing what I would say to my father. I assumed he and the captain would be in the cabin toward the back of the ship. I pictured myself going there, opening the door, and announcing my presence to my father, making my confession.

  The hatch opened and a tunnel of air rushed in, smelling of the briny sea.

  I sat up. “Hello? Who is there?” I called out.

  No one answered.

  I stood up and called out again. “Is anyone there?”

  Instead of an answer, I heard the sound of claws skidding on the wooden floorboards. And then a blur of black came hurtling out from behind the bales of cotton and flung itself against me.

  I shrieked and buried my face in my hands. The thing threw itself at me again and again, its claws scrabbling against my back.

  There was a shout; the beast was pulled away from me. I opened my eyes. The little creature, now panting with delight, was Kukla.

  “Chort! Elodie?” Alex stared at me in disbelief. “What are you doing in the ’tween deck?”

  “I stowed away,” I said.

  And then I burst into tears.

  ALEX PUT HIS ARMS AROUND ME, HESITANTLY AT FIRST, BUT THEN HE held me tight against him. I could hear him breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest, and the coarse fabric of his shirt under my cheek. He whispered Russian into my ear, melodious words that calmed me. He patted my back as though I were a frightened animal. “Hush, myshka. Hush.”

  After a bit, I stopped crying and stepped out of Alex’s embrace. I dried my tears with the cuffs of my jacket. “I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  He smiled, his expression sheepish. “Ah. Pay no mind. When I stowed away, I had a good sob myself before I left my hiding place.” He sat down on a bale of cotton and leaned his elbows on his thighs. “I suppose my story put you in mind to stow yourself away?” His eyes searched mine, waiting; his expression neither judgmental nor angry.

  “I had to, Alex. My father won’t live through this journey if I’m not with him. I know he won’t. He needs help. My help.” My voice caught. “No one else would know how to care for him.”

  “I understand. You wouldn’t be the first woman to stow away, and I expect you won’t be the last. When you told me your father wished to return to China, I was taken by surprise. I don’t think he’s fit to travel on his own, either.” He looked at me. “You don’t look well yourself. Have you been seasick?”

  “No,” I said stubbornly, embarrassed to admit the truth.

  I saw his eyes slide to the bucket, which was wafting noisome smells as we spoke. Thankfully Alex did not comment upon its presence. “You have. I’ve been a seaman long enough to know the look of a seasick sailor. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You sit, and I’ll fetch you something to settle your stomach. And then we’ll sort this mess through, all right?” He patted the bale. “Sit down.”

  I did as he bade. He snapped his fingers, and Kukla jumped up next to me.

  “Stay with Elodie, Kukla.”

  Alex left the hold and returned a few minutes later with a jug of ale and a round biscuit.

  “Easy now,” he said, watching me down the jug’s contents. “That’s ale, not water. Drink slower, or else you’ll be sick.”

  The ale’s bitterness was bracing, but I found the strength of it calming. My thirst slaked, I broke a bit off a piece of the biscuit. It was hard and very plain, but Alex was right, it did settle my stomach.

  “How long have we been out to sea?” I asked through bites of the biscuit, so hungry that I cared nothing for manners. “By my reckoning it’s a week.”

  “Yes, a week,” Alex said.

  “I’ll go to my father and show him I’m aboard. He’ll be angry, I know he will, but in time he’ll see sense.”

  The lantern light flickered on Alex’s face, and his face was tense. What he said next caused the biscuit to stick in my throat.

  “Elodie, I’m afraid the captain will not allow you to remain. Holst, for one, will insist you depart. Madeira is only a day’s travel away. It would be nothing to sail into Funchal and put you off. Likely your father will go, too. I can’t imagine he’d stay onboard and leave you to find your way home on your own.”

  I set the biscuit down, the crust suddenly dry and unmanageable. “Then I’ll have to stay here in the hold. All the way to China. If Papa doesn’t find the orchids by midsummer, then he must forfeit a great deal of money that he does not possess. He will go to debtors’ prison and the rest of us to the workhouse. I have to remain. There’s no other choice.” The idea of remaining hidden for three months did not appeal to me at all. But there was no other alternative. However, my meager rations were only meant for a week, and not three months. “Please help me stay hidden, Alex.” I squeezed his hand. “I’m begging you.”

  He looked unsure but didn’t shake me loose, and he didn’t leave. “You can’t stay here in the ’tween deck all the time, not for three months. It’s too cramped, and the air isn’t fit. You’ll be crippled when we reach China and probably consumptive. You’ll be no good to your father if you’re unwell.”

  “I’m quite robust,” I said, hoping to convince him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  He was quiet for a little while, considering, and I felt my chances of convincing him slipping away by the second.

  “No.” He shook his head. “You’ll come up to my cabin at nightfall,” he said. “You’ll stay there. More men will be asleep or attending to duties in their quarters, and you’re less likely to be discovered. But you’ll have to return here in the morning. There are too many people around the officers’ cabins during the day, and someone will surely hear you moving about.”

  “But where will you sleep?”

  “I’ll have to remain in the cabin with you. I cannot sleep elsewhere, or the men will wonder why I’m not in my own quarters.”

  I was too embarrassed to reply. The thought of remaining in the same room as Alex at night filled me with anxiety. If we were caught, my fate would be that of Jane Dunning. I would not be able to wed. I would have to remain at home, forever a spinster, and whenever I went about, people would shun me and refuse to have anything to do with me. And worse, my family would be painted with the same tarry brush, and my sisters would have a difficult time finding husbands.

  As relieved as I was to have Alex’s help, I wondered why he had agreed to help me. I had helped him with his dog, but honestly, minding a dog for a fortnight was nothing compared to aiding a stowaway and letting her share a bed.

  But maybe the punishment for smuggling a woman into your room was nothing for a man. Indeed, I believed that Jane Dunning’s paramour was most likely living his life happily, with no smirch against his name at all. Maybe Alex simply wanted to help a fellow stowaway. His own scheme had worked out well; perhaps he thought mine would, too.

  The ship creaked, and I heard the footsteps of men above scurrying to their duties and someone shouting: “Keep her full and by, lads!”

  “And we must make sure no one finds you,” he said, giving voice to what I feared. “If they do, and they know we’ve been there together, they will talk as soon as we return to England. It takes no time for gossiping tongues to wag, and then I fear your life will be a sorry one. I do not want that to happen to you.”

  I thought about the alternative. To live for three months in this cramped space, all the while worrying about my family back home and my father on the ship, would be tormenting. But three months of misery was nothing compared to a lifetime of misery back home if I was discovered in Alex’s cabin.

  Between the two evils, was it better for my family to suffer the shame of harboring a ruined girl or to suffer the shame of the workhouse?

  We sat in silence for a few moments. Kukla jumped up into my lap and licked my face. I held the littl
e dog against me, hugging her tightly, burying my face in her sweet-smelling fur. She nuzzled her cold nose against my cheek, licked away my tears.

  “I’m sorry, Alex,” I said quietly.

  He patted my arm awkwardly. “All will be well. When we arrive in China, I’ll smuggle you off on one of the sampans, and you can reunite with your father in Foochow. No one else will know you were on the ship. No time will be lost for our ship or your father’s expedition.”

  Alex didn’t even try to hide the doubt in his voice. It seemed utterly unlikely that our ruse would work, but it was the only choice I had. If I made it all the way to Foochow, my father would have to take me on his journey. And then I could do my best to protect him—his steadfast and dependable Elodie.

  FIFTEEN

  Alex returned to his duties, promising to retrieve me in an hour’s time, when the sun had gone down. Many scenarios went through my head, and I knew there was a good chance that I would be seen, at least in passing. I had to make sure to pass for a boy for three months, and although the knit cap concealed my bun, my hair would give me away in an instant if anyone looked closely. I let my hair down, combing through it with my fingers. It hung to the base of my spine, and although some of the sailors had lengthy hair, perhaps to their collars, mine was far too long. I tried plaiting it, doubling the braid up to shorten it, but it still touched the middle of my back. I held the braid in my hand, considering.

  I found the billhook in my reticule and flicked it open.

  It was only hair. It would grow back.

  Before I could change my mind, I sliced the braid off, added the plait to the canvas bag along with my bodice and skirt, and shoved the bag behind the bales.

  My head felt so very odd without the weight of my long hair. I kept putting my hand up to the back of my neck to feel the bunch of hair left. I could almost feel a phantom braid swishing over my shoulder.