As soon as they settled down and faced her, she ventured a smile. “Good morning. I trust you slept well.” When they murmured responses, she went on. “Many of you already know me as one of Mrs. Fry’s ladies who visited at Newgate. But for those of you who don’t, I’m Miss Sara Willis. I’m your teacher.”
The women began muttering. They’d been told they’d receive instruction, but the idea clearly didn’t appeal to some of them. After much prodding and whispering, one of the women stepped forward from among the others.
The poor dear’s face and gloveless fingers were chapped and reddened from the cold. Nonetheless, she wore a haughty air quite at odds with her situation. “Some of us know our letters and sums already, miss. We won’t need instruction.”
Sara didn’t take offense at the woman’s insolent tone. The convicts had gone through many disturbing changes recently and were bound to be suspicious of her. She’d just have to allay their suspicions as much as possible.
She smiled at the woman. “Very well. Those who already have an education can help me with the ones who don’t. I’ll be pleased to have your help, Miss—” She broke off. “What is your name?”
Her amiability seemed to take the woman aback. “Louisa Yarrow,” she blurted out, then scowled as if she’d been tricked. She tossed her head, making her cropped-short blond hair bounce. “I don’t know if I want to help you.”
“That’s purely your decision, Miss Yarrow. Of course, it’d be a shame if the children went the entire voyage without any instruction. I was so hoping someone could deal with them while I tend to the women who are interested in furthering their education.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “But if no one wants to help—”
“I’ll help, miss!” called a voice from the back of one of the compartments.
Sara looked toward the timid young voice, but when the black-haired girl stood, clutching at the iron bars of a cell to steady her balance, Sara realized she wasn’t a girl at all, but a doll-like creature of womanly proportions.
Sara cast her a reassuring smile. “And your name is—”
“Ann Morris. From Wales.” The woman’s heavy Welsh accent made that quite clear. “I don’t know my English letters so good, but I know the Welsh ones.”
“What the bloody hell good will that do where we’re goin’?” a harsh voice cried from one of the berths. “Just because it’s called New South Wales don’t mean it’s got Welshmen!”
Everyone laughed uproariously at that sally. Little Ann Morris looked stricken, which made some in the crowd only laugh harder.
With a frown of disapproval, Sara clapped her hands until she got silence again. “You can help me anyway, Ann.” She ignored the snorts of the others. “You don’t need to know your English letters to be able to help the children while I teach the women. You and the children can learn together.”
Another woman might have been insulted to be lumped in with the children, but Ann Morris flashed Sara a grateful smile before she sat down again. Clearly she liked children, and Sara intended to take advantage of that to help the girl learn.
When Sara returned her attention to the others, she was surprised to find that some of their hostility had abated. “Now, then, the Ladies’ Committee has provided us with a hundred pounds of cloth scraps and sewing materials for making patchwork quilts. Each of you will receive a packet of materials and two pounds of cloth. You may sell whatever quilts you complete and keep the proceeds for yourself.”
That proposal met with more approval from the women. Though the money the quilts brought in might not be much, Sara knew it would be welcome in a strange land. This was the first time providing materials had been tried. On previous journeys, ship’s crews had complained that the restless convict women caused trouble. Of course, anyone with an ounce of common sense could have seen that the women needed something to do, but common sense had been scoured out of the Navy Board members at an early age, so it had taken Mrs. Fry to point out the obvious. Once she’d gained the Navy Board’s approval, the Ladies’ Committee had convinced several textile factories to donate cloth scraps. The ladies had bought the thread, needles, and other tools on their own.
“I’ll distribute the packets in a moment,” Sara informed the women, “but first, I want to determine what sort of education all of you have. Those who already know their letters, please raise your hands.” An uncomfortable silence ensued, full of wary glances and shifting feet. When nothing happened, Sara added, “I assure you, ladies, I simply want information. I promise not to hold your ability to read or your lack thereof against you.”
That seemed to reassure them. About half of the women lifted their hands, including Louisa Yarrow. When they started to put their hands down, she said, “Wait. Those of you who know your letters well enough to read a page of type, keep your hands up. The rest may put theirs down.”
Half of those with their hands up lowered their hands. Sara estimated there were about thirteen women who professed to be able to read. She did a similar division for those who could write and ended up with seven women who could both read and write. After some discussion, she succeeded in assigning two of the women to help Ann with teaching the children and the other five to teach small groups of women, divided according to their level of skill.
One of the women who claimed to both read and write, a saucy tart by the name of Queenie, refused to do any teaching, stating that she’d rather spend her time in “other” pursuits. When she lifted her skirts and swished them about her calves, several women laughed and Sara knew at once what Queenie meant.
Mrs. Fry had warned Sara that the problem of the sailors consorting with the women wasn’t always the men’s fault. Some of the “soiled doves” among the convict women were more than happy to continue their profession on the voyage.
Sara refused to tolerate such behavior. It took only one woman engaging in such illicit acts to provoke the men into forcing the others to do so, too. She’d seen it happen in Newgate, and it would surely happen here. Besides, she wanted these women to see their own value—and they wouldn’t do that by selling themselves.
But she couldn’t very well say that to Queenie, could she? Instead, she took a different approach. “That’s fine, Queenie. If you’re incapable of teaching, then by all means, do something else. I want only those with true ability. If you’re inadequate for the position, I certainly wouldn’t want you ruining the other women’s chances to better themselves.”
At the titters of those around her, Queenie lost her smirk. “See here, I wasn’t saying I couldn’t do it, just that—”
“I’ll be perfectly happy to take Queenie’s pupils,” Miss Yarrow cut in, much to Sara’s surprise. When Sara shot her a questioning glance, the well-spoken young woman stuck out her chin and added, “I don’t have any other pursuits, not of Queenie’s kind, at any rate. I’m not letting any filthy man put his paws on me.”
Her words were spoken with such vehemence that Sara couldn’t help wondering about it. She stared at Louisa Yarrow, straining to remember what she’d read about her in the list of convicts and their crimes. Ah, yes, Louisa was the one who’d been a governess to the Duke of Dorchester’s daughters until the night she’d stabbed the duke’s eldest son and nearly killed him. Now the gently bred woman was serving a sentence of fourteen years’ transportation.
Louisa’s angry words had silenced the women, and Sara didn’t know how to respond. Suddenly, a soft voice spoke up. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Louisa, but it ain’t like we’ll have a choice when we reach New South Wales.” It was Ann Morris speaking, her girlish brow creased with a frown. “I’ve heard tell of what they do, how they send the women off to serve the colonists. There’s too many men, I heard. They’ll make fallen women of us whether we want it or no.”
The blood rose in Sara’s veins at the thought that even a sweet young woman like Ann could feel so helpless. “No, they won’t. I’ll do all in my power to keep that from happening. Once we reach New South Wales, I’ll see to it you
receive decent assignments where you’ll be treated with respect.”
Moving to the burlap bags filled with the packets of sewing materials, Sara took a handful and began to pass them out. “But before you can gain respect from others, you must learn to respect yourselves. You must strive to improve your other feminine strengths and make yourselves proud. Then you’ll have a chance at escaping your former lives.”
There were some who scoffed. They gathered to form knots of grumbling voices in the cells. But others looked to her with renewed hope. They took the packets from her, staring down at them with curiosity.
Soon she was joined by Ann Morris, who shot her a shy smile as she helped pass out the packets. Then some of the ones Sara had chosen as teachers joined her, and before long the women were thoroughly engrossed in looking at their materials and talking about quilts.
When all the packets were distributed, Sara stood back to observe her charges. So many of these women had never been given a chance. No one had ever told them they were worthy of saving, and they’d been taught to believe that they were forever lost to a world of thievery, prostitution, and murder.
But it wasn’t true. They were capable of more. She could tell from the way some of them helped each other, the way others sat down at once to begin sewing, the way Ann took aside one of the little boys and patiently showed him how to pick a pocket—
“Ann Morris!” she exclaimed, hardly able to believe her eyes. She walked up to the petite Welsh woman just as the little boy whisked a packet of sewing materials out of Ann’s apron pocket with a giggle. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
Ann looked up, a wide, ingenuous smile on her face. “’Tis a magic trick, Miss Willis. Queenie showed it to me yesterday. You can take a body’s things off him without him even noticin’.” She turned to the boy. “Hand it back, Robbie. You can’t keep it. That would be stealin’.”
Suppressing an irritated sigh, Sara shot a stern glance beyond Ann to Queenie, who suddenly became very engrossed with organizing her cloth scraps, mumbling all the while about “naive country girls.”
Sara softened her tone as she returned her attention to Ann. “Yes, well, I suggest you avoid using such ‘magic tricks’ from now on. They’re liable to get your sentence lengthened.”
When Ann merely looked at her questioningly, she shook her head. She certainly had her work cut out for her, trying to keep the incorrigibles from corrupting the innocents.
Some of these women could become contributing members of society. It just wouldn’t happen in a day.
Night had fallen by the time Sara ended her first day with the women. Though lessons had long been over, she’d lingered below decks, trying to find out as much as she could about the convicts. They’d hesitated to tell her much at first, but after some coaxing she’d gleaned a few tidbits about them and their children.
There was Gwen Price, a Welshwoman like Ann, except that she spoke so little English Ann had to interpret for her. There was squirrelly Betty Slops, who seemed a slave to her wretched surname, for she constantly sported the remains of her last meal on her coarse cotton gown. And there was Molly Baker, who’d been convicted of selling stolen goods and was pregnant with her second child. Her first child, Jane, was the daughter of her husband, but the baby had been conceived in Newgate after she’d been “seduced” by a guard. More like rape, it was. And it was infuriating to think that the very same system that had gotten her with child had punished her for something that wasn’t her fault by following through with the sentence of transportation despite her very advanced pregnancy.
Sara had tried to spend a few moments with all of them. By the time the women were locked in for the night and she’d climbed the steep steps from the hold to the ’tween decks, her head ached and all her muscles were sore. She’d left the prisoners only twice to take her meals in the galley, and now all she wanted was to climb into her berth and sleep.
Then she opened the hatch to find a sailor standing beside it in the cramped ’tween decks. Bother it all. It was the same sailor who’d sought to go down to the women the night before, and he looked as surprised to see her coming up as she was to see him standing there.
Taking advantage of his surprise, she clambered up quickly and closed the hatch behind her. “Good evening,” she said in her sternest voice. He was alone, of course. The ’tween decks were used as storage. Seldom did anyone come down in them, which meant he was probably there for all the wrong reasons.
Feeling a tremor of uneasiness, she sought to hide it by glowering at the sailor. “What are you doing down here?”
The sailor was of the most unsavory sort. His beard was unkempt and he stank of stale sea water and grog. Too much grog. “Look here, missy,” he retorted. “Queenie’s expectin’ me, so don’t you be interferin’.”
The thought of this man having relations with a woman in front of everyone in the prison appalled her. Donning her most severe expression, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Surely you realize I can’t allow you to expose young children to such debauchery.”
He scowled. “Young children? Nay. I’ll be bringin’ her up here with me, I will.” He drew out a ring of keys that had been tucked into his grimy breeches and dangled them in front of her. “I’m sure the lass and I c’n find a private spot to do our business, not that ’tis any of yer concern.”
She stared at the ring of keys he was twirling round and round on his grubby forefinger. “Who gave you those keys?” she demanded.
“The first mate. Tole us men that as long as we don’t bother nobody, he don’t care wot we do with the women.”
The very idea! She would certainly record that in her journal. The Ladies’ Committee would be apprised that this travesty extended all the way up to the ship’s officers.
Quickly, she stepped on the hatch, blocking his way to it. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to go down there.”
“You ain’t got any say in it, missy.” He stepped closer and grinned, exposing a gap between two of his rotting teeth. “You best be gittin’ out of me way, before I change me mind about who it is I’m wantin’.”
She colored as she realized what he meant. The audacity of the man! Oh, she would speak to the captain about him at once! Surely the captain wouldn’t countenance such overtures made to a perfectly respectable woman!
“I’m not moving until you vacate this deck,” she retorted. “Leave now or I shall tell the captain what you’ve been up to!”
An ugly frown beetled his low brow. He set down the candle he’d been carrying, then clasped her arms with two hammy fists and lifted her off the hatch. “You ain’t tellin’ nobody nothin’. I’ll say you lied and the first mate’ll back me.” He dropped her behind the hatch like a sack of meal, then bent to open it.
She refused to give up, especially with Ann Morris’s mournful words about forced whoredom still ringing in her ears. After regaining her balance on the rolling deck, Sara shoved the hatch door closed again with her foot. This time the wretched sailor drew back his hand as if to slap her.
But a voice from the steps behind him arrested him. “Lay a hand on her, matey, and you’ll see stars, you will!”
Both Sara and the sailor turned to the steps in shock. They hadn’t noticed the man who’d climbed down from the top deck and was now rounding the steps, his flattened hands held in front of him like knives.
Sara groaned. It was the monkeyish sailor who’d spoken to her on deck this morning. Wonderful. Now she had two oafs to deal with.
“This ain’t none of y’r business, Petey,” the sailor with the rotting teeth spat. “You go back up where ye came from, and leave me and the miss to settle our tiff.”
The man named Petey drew circles in the air with the edges of his hands. “Get away from her or I’ll lay you out.”
“Lay me out? A scrawny little thing like you?” The sailor shook his fist in the air. “Get on with you, and leave me and the chit be.”
What happened next came so quickly t
hat Sara could scarcely believe it. One minute the two men were facing each other. The next minute the sailor who’d accosted her was flat on his back unconscious, and Petey was standing over him, locked in a strange stance.
When Petey lifted his gaze to Sara, she whispered, “Good heavens, what did you do to him?”
He relaxed his peculiar stance, his face shadowed in the candlelight as he scooped up the keys that had been thrown clear of the other man. “I learned a few tricks about fightin’ when I was in Chinese waters, miss. With me bein’ a little man an’ all, I figgered I’d best learn what I could. A little man can fight the Chinese way as easy as a big man.”
She shut her gaping mouth, a sudden fear overtaking her. If Petey could send a hulking sailor unconscious in two seconds flat, what could he do to her?
Still, he had come to her rescue, hadn’t he? She forced a cordiality into her tone that she certainly didn’t feel. “I see. Thank you, sir, for using your…unusual tactics on my behalf. And now, if you’ll excuse me—”
She moved toward the steps, hoping to get away before he decided to claim some unsavory reward for his help.
But she wasn’t fast enough. “Wait, miss, I gotta have a word with you. I been tryin’ to talk to you all day—”
“I can’t imagine what you could have to say to me,” she muttered as she hurried up the steps to the main deck. Oh, if only she had some sort of weapon—a knife, a pistol…anything.
To her alarm, he stepped over the inert sailor and clambered up the steps after her. “Please don’t worry yerself. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He caught her by the ankle, and when she looked down to fix him with a frosty glance, he added in a lower voice, “Name’s Peter Hargraves, miss. I’m Thomas Hargraves’s brother. I’m in the earl’s employ.”
Everything changed in that one moment. A rush of relief hit her, so intense she felt faint from it. If he was Thomas Hargraves’s brother and in the earl’s employ, that could only mean one thing: Jordan had hired him. Thank heavens for her meddling and overprotective stepbrother.
The Pirate Lord Page 3
