The Pits of Passion

by Amber Flame

  “Where is everyone?” she cried angrily.

  “Gone,” Trevor said.

  Elizabeth whirled on him. “I can see that, you idiot. Why is the mansion locked?”

  “Gonna be sold to pay the debts,” he answered.

  “They can’t do that!” she said to no one in particular. “Everything I own is in there. My gowns, my jewels, everything!”

  Trevor chose to sit silently up on his box and let Elizabeth fume. She paced irritably on the front walk, so taken aback by this intrusion in her life that she found it hard to think clearly. Then it came to her--the Magistrate! If anyone would help her, he would. He must be able to stop this seizing of her property without notice, or at least let her gather her own possessions. Feeling somewhat relieved in spite of the atrocities being forced on her, she climbed back in the carriage and ordered Trevor to drive to the Magistrate’s office.

  The sight of the familiar office brought back memories of the last time she was there. How long ago it all seemed! Was it really just a week? She stepped down from the carriage and walked proudly in on the Magistrate. She may have been penniless, but she still had her pride.

  The Magistrate looked up with confusion and surprise on his face. He was aware of Elizabeth’s predicament, but had hoped to stay clear of her indignation. Much as the comely sight of her set his blood boiling, the determined look on her face boded no pleasantries for him.

  “Good day, Miss, uh, Mrs. Elliott,” he faltered. He came around his desk and guided her to a chair. The heady scent of her was enough to keep him by her side, but he admonished himself and took his usual place.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked, knowing full well.

  “Oh, sir!” Elizabeth said, her resolve crumbling. Before she could prevent it, the tears flooded her eyes and spilled down over her pale cheeks. “They’ve taken my mansion and locked it against me and I cannot even get my own possessions! There are things there that cannot be replaced--my gowns, my family jewels, my riding crops! I must be allowed inside, I must!” Her tirade over, she dissolved in tears.

  The Magistrate jumped up and ran around the desk to comfort Elizabeth. He went to pat her reassuringly, but the soft curves of her body made him hesitate. Finally, plucking up his dignity, he slipped a consoling arm around her shoulders and with the other he patted her knee.

  “Now, now, Mrs. Elliott,” he said. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” His soft words and patting hands seemed to ease her somewhat. “It will all work out,” he said, although he had no idea how things would work out.

  “Then you’ll help me?” she asked, looking up at him pleadingly. Her deep, limpid eyes and heaving breasts seemed to reach out to him, imploring him, beseeching him. He raised one trembling hand toward the swelling roundness that beckoned him, then caught himself and put his hand upon her damp cheek.

  “You poor child,” he said, his eyes straining to see past the lace inset of her bodice.

  “Oh, I knew I could rely on you!” she said, and collapsed gratefully into his arms. She caught him off guard and he almost fell over, but righted himself and stood up, folding her into his arms. She allowed herself to burrow into his shoulder, crying again but this time from relief. The Magistrate cradled her in his left arm while his right hand patted and soothed her narrow waist comfortably. Then his right hand soothed her side, then her ripe young breast. His left hand trailed down to the gentle swell of her buttocks.

  Suddenly the door flew open and Mr. Pramburg strode in. The Magistrate released Elizabeth so suddenly that she almost lost her balance. Mr. Pramburg glared balefully at both of them, a disgusting sneer on his thin lips.

  “So the beggar has come begging here, eh?” he asked snidely. The sight of Elizabeth’s flushed face and heaving bosom was obnoxious to him.

  “Now see here, Pramburg,” the Magistrate said.

  “I am not begging,” Elizabeth cried angrily. “They have locked my own house against me with all my possessions inside! The Magistrate has agreed to help me regain what is rightfully mine.” She lifted her chin arrogantly.

  “Ahem,” said the Magistrate nervously.

  “Yes,” said Pramburg, not missing a trick, “Tell the young lady how you’re going to help her. Tell her how you can do absolutely nothing for her!”

  “What?” Elizabeth asked, looking to the Magistrate. The elder man cringed under her steady gaze. “Can you or can you not help me?” she demanded slowly.

  “Uh, well, uh, ahem,” said the Magistrate.

  “That translates to mean ‘no’,” said the head constable gleefully.

  “I asked you a question, “ Elizabeth pressed. “Can you help me or not?”

  “Actually, no. You see it’s all beyond....”

  “Yes, I can see that it’s beyond you,” she finished. She drew herself up to her full height and stared levelly at the Magistrate. “Since I shall get no help from you, I’ll have to handle it myself. I won’t trouble you any longer.” She smoothed her skirt and went to the door, passing Mr. Pramburg.

  “You, sir,” she said as she paused at the door, “are vile and ill-mannered. How you were ever elevated to this office is a marvel.”

  “Be mindful what you say,” the head constable said with a sneer. “Your station is not so high as it was a week ago, and any disturbances will eventually come back to me. Conduct yourself carefully.”

  Elizabeth eyed him hostilely for a moment then. Seeing he was expecting her to argue with him, she turned coolly and opened the door. She flipped her honey hair back over her shoulders, flipped Mr. Pramburg the finger and stalked out.

  When she was again outside, her anger turned to dismay as she saw that both Trevor and her carriage were gone. She looked fruitlessly up and down the narrow street but the familiar coach was nowhere around. Mr. Pramburg’s doing, no doubt. Stamping her foot in uncontrollable rage, she cast about for what to do. How could this be happening to her? How could she suddenly be left alone like this, with nothing?

  She had no course of action except to make her way to the shipyard and see if she could find word of her husband. She had no idea how long a trip to the Mediterranean took, but she hoped not more than a few days.

  The walk to the shipyard was torture to Elizabeth. Every time a fine carriage drove by, she stopped and stared as if expecting it to be hers. The glances of the wealthy people within them made her want to scream and tell them, “I didn’t always have to walk! Just this morning I had a luxurious carriage of my own!” But the people drove by, uninterested, uncomprehending her plight. She trudged on.

  As she neared the docks, she seemed to notice seaminess in her surroundings. The shops suddenly looked less charming, more forbidding, and the people she met on the street turned curious, lewd eyes upon her. She cringed under their stares, not wanting these denizens of the wrong side of town to even notice her. She heartily wished she were invisible, so she might pass unseen, but the farther she walked, the more noticeable she became.

  She had heard stories of robbers and cutpurses, but she had no idea how to spot them, so she hugged her small bag to her breast with both hands. She had very little coin, enough for a meal or two and maybe a night’s lodging, but she knew she might be murdered for less. She glared warningly at the broken-toothed beggars and sharp-eyed children that seemed to press around her. Bedraggled, garish-looking women smirked knowingly at her, and she could hardly keep from staring at the colorful painted faces. All these sights were new to her, and she glanced around in amazement.

  When she finally saw the tall ships’ masts at the end of the street, she was so relieved that she ventured to run. Now she did not care if anyone stared at her as long as she could find Benjamin.

  But how was she to find him? She had no idea what ships were his, although she was sure they must be splendid. She wanted to ask someone, but she was reminded of her last venture to the shipyards and how defenseless she really was. Not only did she not have her pistol, she didn’t even have her riding crop!


  Trying to look courageous although she did not feel it, she began to search the docks. There were not very many splendid ships. Most of them were dirty, smelly affairs, their crews much the same. She was sure Benjamin would not have an unwashed crew.

  She went from one dock to the next, searching, looking, but never finding anything that might guide her. All the people that she saw were disgusting, leering seamen, none of whom she cared to talk to. Then, finally, she chanced to see a constable walking about.

  “Sir,” she said, smiling gaily with relief, “can you tell me where I might find Captain Elliott?” She managed to forget her many problems and cast her lovely jade-green eyes up at the constable invitingly. Turning toward what he expected to be a shipyard strumpet, the constable was taken aback by the beauty that beamed up at him. He tried to say something but it was difficult with his tongue hanging out.

  “Beg pardon, ma’am,” he said finally. “What did you say?”

  “I said I’m looking for Captain Elliott. Can you tell me where I might find him?” She batted her sooty black eyelashes at him.

  “Oh, Captain Elliott,” he said, brushing the soot from his jacket. “Yes, he ties up down that way.” He pointed to the direction toward which she was working. “Don’t know that he’s there, though. I seem to remember something about him going to the Mediterranean.”

  “Yes, I know that, but I must find out if he’s back yet.”

  “Then that’s the place to look,” he assured her. “Would you be needing an escort?” he asked hopefully. His eyes followed the thick ropes of her hair down to the swelling curves of her bosom.

  “No, thank you,” she said quickly. “Thank you very much, but I can find it myself.” She excused herself with a parting smile and hurried off down the docks.

  At the end of the shipyards there were many buildings and Elizabeth soon realized they were warehouses. She found she had to go in between them in order to get close to the ships, but she knew now she was getting closer to Benjamin. Being an importer, he would have to have warehouses in order to unload his goods. Feeling her spirits rise, she rushed on.

  Just about that time, she passed through a narrow alley between two warehouses and when she emerged into the bright sunshine, she stopped to allow her eyes to adjust. Before she could take another step, she found herself grabbed by rough hands and a foul-smelling sack was thrown over her while her hands were jerked brutally behind her.

  “Got her!” She heard a man’s voice close to her ear. “Tie her up good, lads. The captain will pay a pretty penny for this one.” Elizabeth fought, panic-stricken, but the men were too much for her. She tried to scream, but a rough hand held the sacking against her mouth. She did not know how many there were, but hands seemed to be everywhere. They prodded and fondled her, pushing her this way and that until she thought she would go mad. Then they seemed to settle down to a definite plan, and they worried her along the rough planking she recognized as a dock. What was happening to her, she asked herself. Was she taken to be ravished or murdered or perhaps even to be sold into slavery? Her mind reeled with the possibilities.

  Suddenly she stumbled.

  “Damn,” one of the kidnappers said.

  “Careful of the ramp, lads,” the first voice said. “Get her down gently now. The captain don’t abide damaged merchandise.” Elizabeth felt herself coaxed down an unsteady ramp, one that seemed to rise and fall like a ship. She was fearful of taking too long a step, afraid she would plunge into the murky water and drown before she could free herself of the coarse sacking.

  “Come on, lass, you can walk faster than that. We’re almost down.”

  With relief, Elizabeth set her foot upon the comparatively steady deck of a ship. Her captors let her find her sea legs, then trundled her off again.

  “Where does he want ‘em?” a man asked behind her.

  “He said if we found very many to take ‘em to the hold, but with only one, he said his cabin would do. He likes to pick one out to keep him company, anyway. And since we only got one, he’ll have to pick her.”

  Elizabeth wondered what it all meant. She was beginning to lose her fight, and instead allowed herself to be propelled along without a struggle. She realized when the warmth of the sun disappeared that she had been taken through a doorway, then led carefully down a narrow night of steps. At the sound of a heavy wooden door opening, she was ushered through another doorway, then pushed unceremoniously onto a bunk. Afraid of what would happen next, she lay still.

  “Where’s the captain?” one voice asked.

  “He’s rounding up a last minute crew. Some of the swabs jumped ship so he had to shanghai some more.”

  “Oh? Then maybe he wouldn’t mind us tasting his little tart for him afore he gets back.”

  Elizabeth froze as she heard a chorus of “ayes.”

  “Now wait a minute,” the man who seemed to be the leader said. “Captain doesn’t like his goods second hand. If you lay a finger on her, or anything else you might have handy, he’ll keelhaul you for sure. Come on now, before you get yourselves in trouble.”

  “But he’ll never know,” one argued. “He don’t know if the ones we bring him are used or not. And we can, uh, persuade the lady not to tell.”

  The way he said ‘persuade’ made Elizabeth cringe.

  “Yeah,” a third voice agreed. “He won’t know. If we hurry we can all have a turn.

  The murmurs of agreement rose and drowned out the one dissident. Heavy steps came across the planking and Elizabeth felt rough hands groping at the sacking, dragging it and her skirts upward. She came to life now, kicking and flailing, and heard one man cry out.

  “Well, I don’t think old Georgie will be wanting any for awhile,” someone said, and Elizabeth knew her kick had been good. She struggled more, hearing cloth rip and realizing it was her skirts coming apart under the savage onslaught.

  “Hold her, boys!” one man cried, and she felt hot hands upon her thighs. Her legs were forced apart and she steeled herself to what was coming next. She was quickly and silently thankful for Benjamin. After him, this would be easy.

  “Hold there!” a deep voice thundered. The hands fell away from her and she felt a curious apprehensive charge fill the room. The only sound was the uneasy shuffling of feet on the floor.

  “Captain, I tried to stop them,” said the first man. “I told them you weren’t liking ‘em to mess with your girls, Captain, but they wouldn’t listen.”

  There was a strained silence and Elizabeth imagined the captain glowering at his men.

  “Get out of here,” he said quietly. “The first one of you who touches my property again will be fed to the sharks. Get out!”

  A confused jumbling of hurried footsteps followed the Captain’s words, then the angry slam of the door. Elizabeth managed a sigh of relief but wondered if she was any better off: With her luck she had just gone from the frying pan into the fire. She remembered all the stories she’d heard of captains with hooks for hands and wooden legs. She wondered if any of them ever had wooden.....”Welcome aboard my ship!” the captain said jovially. She heard him moving about the cabin, heard the clink of glasses and the sound of spirits being poured.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asked. Elizabeth was not sure what her reply might bring, so she remained silent. She heard the scrape of chair leg along the floor.

  “Well, now,” he said conversationally. “I find myself perplexed. We’ll be casting off any time now, and I am undecided if I should savor you now or wait until we are out to sea. I’d like to take a peek at you, but I’m afraid you’ll be ugly. I can’t abide ugly women. I suppose I could leave the sack over your head though, if that were the case. Rather difficult to kiss that way, though. Hmmm.” The sound of liquid swishing around a glass came to her.

  As if deciding for him, the ship suddenly shuddered and began to move. Elizabeth felt sick at heart, and a little at stomach, too. She had hoped to be able to jump ship before it cast off, or at least scream for help. Why
hadn’t she taken the constable’s offer of an escort? Now she was trapped. Feeling alone and miserable, she began to cry.

  “What’s this?” the Captain demanded. “Don’t do that, I warn you. Crying makes women so ugly. It makes their faces red and then their eyes swell and I won’t have it. You’d best make yourself as presentable to me as you can, or I’ll let the men have you.”

  Elizabeth stopped crying.

  “That’s better.” The chair legs scraped across the floor again and she heard the Captain walking. “Must have caught the tide just right, “ he muttered. “Making good headway.”

  His footsteps sounded again, only this time Elizabeth knew they brought him closer to her. She tried to turn away, but the tangle of sacking was as binding as a rope.

  “All right, let’s have a look, “ he said. “I guess I can always put it back if I have to.” His hands worked the cloth up and away from her, freeing her from the foul material. With a jerk he snatched it from her head.

  “You!” he said.

  “You!” she said.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” Franklin asked. “You must have a fetish for sailors.”

  “Why is it every time I go looking for Benjamin, I find you?” she demanded angrily. “You’re the one who got me into this mess to begin with.”

  “What mess? You don’t think I’m going to sell you into slavery, do you? I have more compunction than that. I never sell anyone I know on a first name basis.”

  “I’m talking about the whole mess! It’s all your fault that Benjamin and I got married and....”

  “Married?” he asked quickly. “You and Benjamin are married?”

  “Yes, and I must find him. Something terrible has happened. They’ve taken all my possessions and are going to sell them to pay my father’s debts and I must find Benjamin so he can put a stop to it.”

  “Hmm,” Franklin said, thinking. Elizabeth found she did not like the idea of Franklin’s thinking. It made her very uneasy, especially when she thought of him throwing rats off London Bridge.