He spent six years at sea, sailing aboard ships that were among the fastest of their day. With both cargo capacity and speed, the Vanguard ships were built for profit. Simon and Justin were among five Vanguard shipping partners. They had combined with men of similar interests and motives, and conditions aboard their vessels varied from good to grossly inadequate. In the years Andrew spent in their service, he experienced every comfort and nearly every misery known to the lines. At times, he thrived. At others, he was embittered and angry. He saw men break and die before their time, in conditions which were inexcusable. He, at times, found himself weaken when he knew better food, more hands, cleaner quarters would have spared considerable agony.
He grew rapidly, in all respects, becoming a skilled seaman at fifteen, malevolent and dangerous by the time he was nineteen. Early in his career, he returned home on rare occasions, looking forward to seeing Louisa for reasons he couldn't explain, nor had even considered. They never met, because she, at last, had gone out into the world. Soon he stopped looking for her, and stopped going home. When he thought of her, he realized she had gone as Marshall had, into a world separate from his. And he forgot her.
The bulk of his additional knowledge about women was learned from shipmates. His home experiences had been warm and wholesome, and at first most of what he heard seemed alien, His earliest ship's leave was spent in pleasant circles with seamen who had families. But as he grew older, and became lost in the trade, he began to travel with men whose education appetites, and dreams never approached his own. But they became his tutors and his disillusionment turned to rancor. He went with them into ports, and sought relief of his normal and intense sexual urges among women he loathed as much as needed. He soon found alcohol as much a solace as the women who opened their palms for him. Still, he was young enough to wonder in his toil if life had more to offer than sweat, and infrequent and indifferent relief of bitter human isolation.
When life at sea eventually became intolerable, Andrew jumped ship in Liverpool to make his way on the docks and in the low, mean streets. The handsome child who left Louisiana at thirteen was gone forever, and a quick, wary animal emerged from its torturous cocoon. He had changed physically as well as emotionally. The blond hair had darkened, and even he was surprised by his own reflection, the likeness of his friend and brother.
Had the two been side by side, it would have been easy to discern which man had labored and sweated, and begun to consume far more alcohol than was wise, which had eaten well and sufficiently. Yet Andrew was a vigorous man, readily employed and eagerly seduced. But there was a shadow cast over his countenance, a hint of self-destruction and self-hate. He drifted amid his sweat and alcohol along the dank waterfronts, and rested in beds which were solitary even when they were shared. He had no plans, no direction, and eventually, he found himself in London. There he supported himself variously: loading cargo, gambling, as a teamster, as a barge captain on the Thames―cleverly, lucratively. He began to live beyond the mere survival level and a glimmer of selfrespect crept back into him.
One rainy night early in his London experience, he spent the evening in a pub that changed the direction of his life. Set in a dark lane, the Hound's Ear was a common tavern, but the young barmaid was uncommon enough to stop Andrew for nearly a year and perhaps for life, if fate had not willed otherwise.
Chapter Twenty-two
JULIET knew her worth and exacted her price. She was as much an attraction in Joseph Wright's tavern as was the hearty warm ale and nourishing fare. When Andrew first arrived, soaking and grimy from a day's labor, he made little impression on her. She classified him merely as another patron, watching throughout the evening as he filled his spare, wellhoned frame with double portions of food and ale, as if he were starving. She smiled to herself. "A few weeks of regular meals and he'll look uncommon handsome." But she dismissed the thought. Who had she ever known with that much promise? Everyone she knew seemed fated to work themselves to death in short order.
Her own good looks would cost her plenty, she thought, though they might make her life pleasant for a time. Yet she realized she would never leave her station in life. She would only bargain as best she could for some measure of comfort, and, as of now, Jake Collins looked like the best prospect for her. '''E's fifteen years older'n me, but 'ardy 'n' prosperous enough," which meant he could support them if money was carefully managed. He was a riverman, gone most of the time, but Juliet accepted that prospect.
Juliet was a product of a hardworking, devoted, but unrealistic mother, and an equally energetic father. Constance Wright looked at her last and only surviving child when she was a toddler and vowed the girl would never break her back in a tavern, or go to one of the crude patrons in order to escape the place, and she took great pains to protect her, working harder than' necessary to keep her delicate, ravenhaired child from the thick of tavern life. Joseph Wright was also won over by his comely child who had acquired and improved on the best of her parent's features and abilities. He encouraged Constance and sought to shelter Juliet, but after his wife died suddenly of a fever when the girl was twelve, Juliet found herself working in the tavern those same long hours her mother had, among men quick to know her prospects and ready to wager for her. Joseph regretted it, but as he said, "Fate deals the 'and, an' we but play the cards."
Juliet soon enough learned what was expected of her in the way of labor, and in the way of charm. She loved her father, but she was bright enough to realize sheer toil would shorten his life as it had her mother's. She was not willing to live out her life that way. She sized up her future and decided to cast her lot on the side o' money." She would trade whatever she had to escape a certain future of back-breaking work. She saw her plans in terms of simple survival.
Now she was fifteen and "old enough." Jake Collins had been a regular patron of the tavern for years, and when Juliet took stock of her prospects, Jake seemed the best choice. She approached him, feeling "a little effort will go a long way wi' 'im." And she was entirely right. Jake was a rugged, brutal man, but he could conduct himself intelligently when the circumstances warranted. He had worked for a number of gentlemen in the past and he'd learned the rudiments of polite behavior. Over the years, Juliet had seen the best and the worst of this man in his various stages of drinking. His darker side even excited her as she watched him command respect among his companions.
Actually she knew little of what existence with him might really offer. But she cast herself with him, stealing into his room at the inn, whenever he was alone, sealing his affection with glorious charm Jake thought beyond his reach. Juliet was beautiful and delicate, almost ethereal, someone more likely to be seen among gentlewomen than among drunks in a common pub, and Jake promised her what she wanted. "I can set ya up proper. Won't 'ave to slave 'ere no more. Yer father can 'ire a girl." It was completely settled in his mind.
Yet Juliet prolonged the courtship. She made him promise to say nothing, and kept a clandestine affair going. Inns being what they were, with common sleeping rooms, Juliet was not able to come to him whenever he wanted. And Juliet found she liked it that way. She discovered herself hoping something better would come along. Joseph Wright suspected her of singling out Jake, and mourned the fact, all the while acknowledging she had no better hopes. He imagined the deal she'd made with Jake and what it was she offered in "good faith" to firm the bargain. But when no announcement was made. he worried about the tack she might be taking, the failure in judgment she might have made. No one had ever made a serious bargain with Jake Collins and failed to fulfill the pledge, without some horrible loss. Jake prized his reputation, especially in the area of feminine conquest. Juliet would never survive jilting that man, Joseph worried.
"Juliet, I 'ave watched you single out Jake Collins. I wud not trifle wi' 'im. It could mean yer life."
But Juliet only put her father off, embarrassed that her schemes had been so transparent. "I don't know what ya can mean. I'm only bein' friendly wi' the man."
/> So it was into this situation that Andrew hastened one stormy evening. What he saw after filling his empty stomach and drying the rain-soaked clothes that hung on his almost emaciated body, was enough to bring him back to the tavern again and again. What he had found was enough to begin at last to fill the cavernous empty places in his soul.
Chapter Twenty-three
As Juliet had guessed, Andrew lost his starved look after a few weeks of regular meals at the pub.
"You don't look so hungry as you used to," she said, one night when she brought him a tray of hot food and warm ale.
"I haven't eaten this well in years. I'm grateful to have stumbled in here!" They had watched each other the first days, speaking only casually. Andrew regarded his attraction for Juliet to be simple need, as well as appreciation for her unusual appearance. She was clean and fair-skinned, flashing a pretty smile from her delicate face, made more so by her paleblue eyes and her thick shining black hair, and soon she singled him out with special care.
Even Joseph noticed. His daughter seemed especially charming, softening her ways with the handsome stranger. Joseph thought they would have made a remarkably handsome couple in different circumstances, for Juliet's unspoken promise to Jake weighed heavily on his mind.
Juliet learned the stranger was presently working on river barges, and that his name was Aaron Sumner. When he paid for food and lodging, she saw he managed quite well. He dressed simply, and lately he was scrubbed and prosperous-looking. She noticed his few companions held him in high regard, but he had no close friends. He seemed remarkably solitary, seeking no particular comradeship. He often stayed up until the inn closed, watching her as he drank, leaning his chair against the fireplace wall, warming himself in the relentless chill. Juliet had not seen Jake for weeks and he was hardly missed.
Aaron looked better to her than Jake ever had, and after a few days, they began to talk in the late hours of the evenings. In earnest, they discussed their lives, and their hopes, surprising even themselves with the extent of their sharing.
"I'll never stay 'ere forever," she promised. ''Think I've found me a good way out wi' a man I know. 'E's not got much, but enough to keep us, I think. Saw my mum drop dead, 'ere. It's not for me. She didn't want it for me. Neither does my pa. Only, he doesn't want me making any bad bargains."
Aaron told her of his life, and she was fascinated by his story, and equally fascinated by the possibilities of attaching herself to him. He was only four years older than she was―a better match for me, she thought, sizing him up carefully. With his experience, his prospects for truly good wages seemed certain to her, and she forgot any plans she had made with Jake Collins. Juliet was as open with Aaron as she knew how to be, and her wants were clear enough to him. She wanted a better, easier life, all understandable to Aaron. And what he wanted from her was not much more than the simplest pleasure and warmth, things that seemed abundant in her nature.
She brought him to her bed, both of them inexperienced in their individual ways. Aaron had wide experience in performance, but much to learn in tenderness. He would not take Juliet as he had the whores who taught him to be more vicious than gentle, and Juliet had more to learn than she knew. But she had eagerness and warmth to offer to their bargain. She told him she had known Jake "a few times, but 'e was rough and I didn't like 'im much. I know I'll like you better," she said truthfully and simply. Aaron was amused, but didn't bother to confess his previous encounters.
Juliet knew Aaron must have known many women from what she had learned about his travels. She accepted his past readily, and sensed what it was he wanted from her. She knew her own beautiful young body well, and was happy to share her private pleasures with him. She showed him the tenderness he ached for, her warmth seeping slowly into his being, and the festering anger and hatred eased out of his bones.
Aaron thought about the joy he was finding in their lovemaking, and regretted that his first experiences had not been like this. Over the years, he'd willingly satisfied his undeniable urges, but so much of what he had known left him empty at best. Juliet satisfied more than his physical demands. At last he could remember what it was he had been deprived of for so long, and, at the same time, he recognized why Juliet's face had been so compelling and familiar to him when he first saw her. He suddenly remembered the intense child he had left in America, and the strong feelings he'd had for her, feelings never before defined, never before consciously acknowledged. But the unspoken words echoed in his memories as he heard himself say, "I love you, I love you," to Juliet, words he uttered for the first time in his life.
Juliet loved Aaron without reserve, from her simple loving nature, and because of what he could promise her. If her love was not unselfish, it was honest and absolutely straightforward, which was more than enough for Aaron. He'd paid plenty before, and he put no credence in love without a price. He believed such a condition rarely existed.
Again, Juliet made plans. She felt an urgency to carry them out, suddenly remembering Jake in his uglier moods. One early morning she packed a few things and left a note written by Aaron for her father.
Papa,
You knew I would be gone someday soon. I am going with Aaron. He promises to look after me.
I will have Aaron write again for me, soon. Perhaps Elsa will work in my place.
Your loving daughter,
Juliet
She left the letter under her father's door, and without a backward glance, she and Aaron went out into the damp morning, arm in arm, eager to begin, with no certain plans. In crowded London, it was easy to move a few miles from a former home and never mingle with the same people one had known for years. Juliet was counting on this for an element of safety. As she planned to go with Aaron, she remembered her father's warnings about Jake. But she soon dismissed her fears. She eagerly put her past behind her. At fifteen, Juliet had left her childhood behind. Past was past, she thought, tomorrow a new day. All she saw was a bright future, ignoring the fact that a future is built on a foundation of the past. Juliet had great hope for the future. After all, her dreams were coming true. She was confident.
Finding rooms in London was difficult since housing was always in short supply, but they eventually found two rooms and began a very ordinary life. It was a revelation for Aaron and a relief to Juliet. Aaron seemed to provide for them easily. Her wants were simple enough and Aaron generous. For Aaron, it was a brief time of solace and renewal, and though he began to think his existence dull, he forced himself to relax in the simple atmosphere. On the Thames he developed his reputation as a boat handler and found his opportunities almost limitless. He dreamed of one day owning a craft of his own, but such plans would require more capital than he now had. Yet he was certain he would find a way, and his great energy seemed to grow as he made a new life for himself and Juliet. He even looked like a different man than the one who had darted out of the rain into the London tavern, and both he and Juliet seemed to grow more attractive each day, especially to one another. They were incredibly happy and very young and very hopeful.
Chapter Twenty-four
"ANDREW! Ho! Andrew Sutton!"
He was hailed across the wharf as he tied the final line of Harper's barge. Andrew looked up to see an almost grotesquely enormous man striding toward him. It could only be Mason Jennings. There could be no duplicate of that body, nor that bass voice combined with it.
"I cannot believe my eyes. I never thought to see you here. You caused a ruckus leaving the ship like that!" he roared, laughing. "Thought you'd be home, by now. How is it?" he boomed at Aaron.
"Jennings! What's there to go home for? You never did. I'm fine—don't I look it?"
"I say. Almost didn't recognize you, at first. You looked like hell the last time I saw you!"
"Why not? We were in Hell, wouldn't you say?"
"Can't argue that!"
"What brings you here?"
"Well, something that might interest you. I left the slaver myself, soon after you did. And―and
I could use a mug of something. I think we may have some plans to work out." He slapped Aaron on the back heartily, yet with restraint because of his enormous strength. Jennings was nearly six feet five inches tall, a veritable giant. His height was coupled with mammoth girth, muscled in every inch. Had he not been a cheerful man, he would have been terrifying.
Aaron looked forward to an evening with Jennings, one of the few lasting friends he'd made at sea. They sailed together on his last voyage for the Vanguard line―on the Antonia, a stinking hole of a ship, whose ghastly mission it was to transport slaves from Africa to the Indies. Andrew had seen one run aboard Antonia, which finished his career with Vanguard ships. Upon leaving he'd destroyed a particularly valuable contraband cargo that left the owners distraught, but with no legitimate recourse, since it was neither claimed nor legal. He merely disappeared into the hordes, changed his name, and. felt reasonably protected. For jumping ship, he could be fined and jailed; for jettisoning an almost priceless cargo, he could easily be murdered by agents of the investors. But when he did it, he had done it as an afterthought, not giving a damn for the possible consequences to himself, a parting gesture of respect for the owners―all of them, with no special malice toward anyone in particular.
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