Chance the Winds of Fortune

by Laurie McBain

  No, Rhea decided, guided by an instinct for survival, she would not reveal her true identity to these kidnappers until she reached her destination, wherever that might be; then she would have the great satisfaction of seeing them beg for mercy. But none would be forthcoming. They had murdered Wesley Lawton, and she would see that they paid for that crime. His life had been so needlessly forfeited by these greedy men.

  The profit in this trade must be enormous and the risks apparently minimal, since there were always the hopefuls and dreamers searching for a better life, who would temporarily sell their freedom for that chance. As well, there were the cells in Newgate Prison, overflowing with petty thieves and debtors who might be given a second chance in the colonies. But this time, those who had been foolhardy enough to go to Camareigh had made a terrible mistake, for surely no sane man would have dared to take the Duke of Camareigh’s daughter.

  Yes, Rhea thought with a slight smile, she would enjoy seeing their faces when they discovered their gallows-destined mistake. But right now, all she could wonder about was where her own destination was to be.

  “Where are we bound for?” Rhea asked.

  “A city called Charles Town. They say ’tis a lot like London,” Alys informed her, as if trying to convince herself that it was not a wilderness full of savages. “How long did ye sign yer indenture for?”

  “I didn’t sign anything,” Rhea told her bluntly. “I am here against my will.”

  “’Twas odd how ye was bundled on board, but folk down here have their own woes and keep to themselves. Silent as a tomb, ’cept for the cryin’.”

  “I was drugged,” Rhea enlightened her. Then, as she glanced around at the blackness engulfing her and felt the unrestrained fury of the sea throwing its might against the frail hull of the ship, she knew a sudden pessimism of spirit. “I want you to know my story, Alys,” she said quietly, as if she’d accepted the fact that this ship might become her tomb. “I want you to know who I am. And, if for some reason I do not survive this journey, I want you to be able to tell my family someday what happened to me.”

  “Happened to ye?” Alys repeated nervously, sensing the fatalism in her newfound friend’s voice. “Nothin’ is goin’ to be happenin’ to ye. Please, don’t be sayin’ such things,” she pleaded tearfully, her fingers digging into Rhea’s shoulder with a death grip.

  “I am not saying that anything will happen, but I would feel better if someone at least knew who I was and what had happened to me.” Rhea was trying to convince the girl, but her teeth were chattering so much that she could barely speak. “Listen, Alys. I want to go home as much as you do. I don’t wish to die. I was kidnapped from my home, and I have a family that I love very much, and I know that they must be dying inside wondering where I am and whether or not I am even alive.”

  “I don’t even know yer name,” Alys mumbled, stricken by the anguish in the other girl’s voice. “I want to hear ye story. Please.”

  “My name is Rhea. Lady Rhea Claire Dominick,” she told her, oddly comforted by the familiar sound of her own name on her lips.

  “Lady?” Alys squeaked in disbelieving awe. “Coooeee! ’Tis the truth? Ye be a real ladyship? I never met any of them before, although I did meet a lord in the shop one day. Yer father, he be a lord, then?” Alys asked breathlessly.

  “Yes, he is that. He is also the Duke of Camareigh,” Rhea told her, not quite prepared for Alys’s squeal of excitement.

  “Oh,” Alys breathed, momentarily silenced by the grandness of the title. “Yer mum, she be a duchess, then? And I bet ye’ve plenty of brothers and sisters too? And I reckon ye live in a grand mansion, maybe even a castle? And ye’ve servants, and fine silk drapes hanging from all of the windows,” she said dreamily, her terrified mind escaping from the miseries of her forced confinement and her uncertain future in the colonies. “Ye must have fine clothes, m’lady, and a room all of yer own. And d’ye—” But her daydreaming words were cut off abruptly as the ship heeled sharply, threatening to upend them across the slanting deck.

  Alys’s screams of terror were lost in the deafening roar of the sea and the splintering of cargo as it broke loose from its moorings and smashed against the ship, leaving a path of debris-scattered destruction. Rhea gasped in horror as she was thrown across the floor, sliding on top of Alys. They ended in a jumbled heap against the bulkhead, with other tumbling bodies careening into them.

  “Ooooh, that fair cracked me head wide open, it did,” Alys groaned, feeling around in the darkness for Rhea. “Hey, where are ye? Are ye all right?”

  Rhea sat slumped against the bulkhead, her head in her hands as she tried to keep from fainting. She could feel the bump on her forehead beginning to swell as she fought off the nausea.

  “If only I could get some air,” Rhea cried. Futilely, she tried to rise, but staggered against Alys, who had found her friend and was trying to place the fur-lined cape around the two of them.

  “W-where are ye goin’?” she demanded. “Ye’re not leavin’ me? Oh, m’lady, please. W-what are ye goin’ to do? No, please, sit down,” Alys beseeched Rhea. “Ye can’t be goin’ anywhere, m’lady.”

  “Up on deck,” Rhea murmured. “Fresh air.”

  “Ye can’t get up there, m’lady. They seal the hatches. No one will be allowed up there until the storm is over. And I heard tell that this time of year, the Atlantic is stormy all of the way across,” Alys said. Her knowledgeable words held no comfort for Rhea, who thought of the endless days and weeks that she might have to spend below decks, never knowing if the icy waters of the ocean might start pouring in, never knowing whether or not their ship would make the crossing safely.

  Had Rhea known then how accurate her fears were, she might well have given up all hope, for the pattern of their journey was set that day. Soon she lost count of the days spent confined in the raw cold of the damp hold, and began to wonder if she would ever again see the light of day.

  It was just as well that she had decided against confronting the captain of the London Lady, for of that man she saw nothing, nor did she see much of the crew, who were kept busy aloft, climbing the masts and yards. They were always shortening and trimming the sails while the ship labored through the heavy seas, her timbers straining under the pounding of the gale-fed waves. A rum-sodden ship’s doctor, who doubled as the ship’s cook, paid the captives of the hold a visit every so often, but he seldom stayed longer than it took to make certain the sick were still breathing.

  Feasting on weak tea, noisome herring, potatoes, and oatmeal did nothing to assuage the wretched condition of the passengers in steerage; in fact, it worsened with each passing day. When a dark day dragged into night, the suffering would-be colonials knew no difference, for their eyes knew no light, nor their flesh warmth, and the hours continued to tick away with unvarying sameness.

  But the blackest day of all for Rhea Claire Dominick had been the day when she’d discovered her ring missing. She had been rubbing her hands together, trying to restore the circulation to her stiff fingers, when she had felt the bareness of her finger. The loss of so treasured a personal possession, the ring that had been given to her by her parents on her seventeenth birthday, had been almost too much for her to bear. She had borne up well enough against the freezing cold that struck deep into her bones, against the unpalatable provisions she’d been forced to consume in order to survive, and even against her worst enemy—her own fears. But this final loss nearly doused that small spark, which was all that had remained of her spirit.

  Day after day she sat listless and bleary-eyed, her limbs suffering with spasms of ague. Her riding habit fit her loosely now, the waist gaping wide, while the jacket hung bag-like from her shoulders. Her long golden hair fell in untidy strands to her waist, where it curled limply.

  It was strange that it should be young Alys Meredith, with her fanciful dreams of grand houses and silk curtains draping every window, who
should be the one to draw Rhea Claire Dominick back into the realm of the living.

  At first Rhea ignored her persistent requests for stories about life at Camareigh. She had resented the never-ending questions that kept her from slipping into a welcome apathy. But Alys was not to be denied, and finally Rhea had relented and begun to satisfy Alys Meredith’s insatiable desire to hear about the Duke and Duchess of Camareigh, about Francis and Robin and the twins. Rhea told her about her cousins and her aunt with the gift of second sight, about her uncle who lived in a castle in Scotland, and about Butterick, Mrs. Peacham, and old Mason. As she described the grand house of Camareigh to her awed audience of one, Rhea revisited every room in her own mind. And never had there been a more responsive, spellbound listener than Alys Meredith.

  Canfield, with her persnickety ways, Rawley and her special knowledge of herbs and potions, Robin’s pony Shoopiltee, and Mr. Ormsbee and his Shakespearean plays all came to life with Rhea’s vivid recollections of them. And from then on she fought off the seductive sleep of death, for she no longer felt alone when her memories could keep her company.

  A bond of friendship had been forged between these two girls of such disparate backgrounds, and because it was nurtured under adverse conditions, it grew strong and inviolable. And yet, because of the darkness of their confinement, if they had met on the street, they would have walked past one another without a flicker of recognition.

  It came, therefore, as somewhat of a surprise when standing on deck together for the first time to finally look into each other’s faces, although if Rhea had seen the reflection of her own visage, she would not have known herself, for the weeks of deprivation had taken their toll. Her once softly rounded, heart-shaped face now had chiseled, sharply defined cheekbones and chin, while her feverishly bright violet eyes seemed far too large for her delicate-featured face. Her rose-tinted complexion now looked translucent, the skin stretched taut across the bones of her face.

  She could not compensate for her loss of weight, but she had made an effort to comb her hair into some semblance of order. Even though she might feel as if she had been through the private hell of an inmate in an asylum, she had no intention of looking like a madwoman with her hair tumbling in unkempt tangles around her shoulders. She had borrowed Alys’s brush and comb, which her friend had produced from the small bundle of possessions she had brought with her for her new life in the colonies, and had then braided her hair into a thick rope which hung down below her hips.

  Now Rhea stared into the soft blue eyes of Alys Meredith and felt a sense of recognition as Alys smiled at her shyly. Alys Meredith was a tall, thin girl, who would not be described as pretty by any standards, and certainly not now with her straw-colored hair hanging dankly around her gaunt face. But under normal circumstances Rhea imagined that Alys’s lightly freckled face would project a good-natured wholesomeness. A childish pug nose made her look younger than her fifteen years.

  “Coooeee! Did ye ever see so much water, m’lady?” Alys exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder as she stared around at the endless expanse of whitecapped sea surrounding the London Lady. “Never did believe there could be this much, that I didn’t. Reckon I was better off not knowin’ all of this was out here,” she said nervously. Then she began to turn a sickly green as she stared up at the tall masts swaying dizzily with the motion of the ship in the choppy sea.

  A tangy spindrift caressed Rhea’s face as she raised it heavenward. The sun was a pale shadow of its summer self, and it was hoarding its warmth like a miser. But the silvery gray skies were better than darkness, and the bleak winds were at least fresh; the stench below finally had become overpowering and unhealthy for those too sick to climb on deck.

  Rhea could feel her heart pounding with excitement, for land had been sighted, which meant this interminable voyage soon would be over. She had long ago lost count of the days, but that no longer mattered. As she stared at the hazy outline of distant land, Rhea felt a surge of triumph when she realized that she had survived the voyage, and that soon she would be homeward bound. But that was not a voyage she feared.

  Suddenly someone tapped her on the shoulder, and Rhea turned to see a stranger assessing her thin face. He stood no taller than she did, and he had reddish hair swirling around his sharp-featured face. His pale brown eyes darted about in a calculating manner that reminded Rhea of a fox sniffing out its territory.

  “Ye haven’t fared too well this journey, but then I s’pose most folks in steerage suffer a bit. Pity, though, fer ye was a real beauty when I brought ye on board,” Daniel Lewis remarked. He knew by eyeing the goods that his asking price would have to drop, and his disappointment was evident. “Of course, ye still are a pretty little thing. A mite thin, ye are, but we’ll fatten ye up and git ye into some clean clothes. Yes, sir, we might fetch a goodly sum fer ye yet,” he chuckled, pleased by the sight of the Carolinas sitting off the London Lady’s bow, and anticipating with pleasure the profits he would reap when they docked.

  He eyed the young girl thoughtfully, thinking it always did these kidnapped ones a might of good to suffer some on the voyage across; after all, if they were left to their misery, they were usually quite subdued and agreeable by the journey’s end. The only difficulty, which was easy to overcome, was their reluctance to sign the indenture papers that made everything nice and legal. Daniel Lewis grinned, for this little chit wouldn’t give him any trouble at all. It was usually the strong young men, brought on board drunk after being escorted from a tavern, who gave him the most problems. By this time the liquor had long ago worn off, and it was about now, when they smelled their freedom, that they turned mean.

  “Now, I know ye’d like to git off this ship real soon, but before ye can, ye’ve got to sign papers,” Lewis began, his smile friendly, his words persuasive. “’Twill be the easiest way to go about gittin’ ashore. So,” he said with a wide grin, his hands outspread, “I know ye won’t be givin’ me any trouble now, will ye?”

  “You had better think again, for I am not signing anything,” Rhea told him with an angry glint darkening her eyes.

  “Aye, well, I can understand that ye might not know how to sign yer name,” he replied agreeably, misunderstanding her reason for refusing to comply with his wishes. “I’ll read the document to ye, I will. ’Tis me job.”

  “I am afraid that you have misunderstood me, Mister Whomever-you-are,” Rhea responded, her confidence growing now that she was finally facing one of her kidnappers, “for I have no intention of signing anything, nor do I intend using your good offices to get ashore. You have committed a grave error in judgment this time, Mister Fox,” Rhea informed him, a smile of her own curving her lips.

  Lewis seemed momentarily stunned by this young girl’s elegant speech and haughty manner. A doubtful look began to grow in his eyes as he stared at this proud creature, whose disdain for him was only too obvious. Despite her pitiful appearance, she possessed a certain dignity that put him to shame, reminding him uneasily of a certain select segment of London society that dressed in silks and satins, and could, with an indolent flick of a fan, have him gallows-hanged for his misdeeds.

  “I dunno who this Mister Fox is that ye be talkin’ about, but ’tisn’t me. Ye got the wrong man,” he said quickly. “Me name’s Dan’l Lewis, and I’m the supercargo on board the London Lady. Now, what I’m wantin’ to know, is who be ye?” he demanded aggressively, knowing before she spoke that his worst fears were most likely going to be realized.

  “I am Lady Rhea Claire Dominick, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Camareigh. And you, Mister Fox,” Rhea said, satisfied by the spasm of fear that crossed his fox-like face, “are implicated in kidnapping and murder.”

  Lewis’s mouth gaped open in surprise when he heard her words passing sentence on him. “Murder!” he choked. “I don’t know nothin’ about no murder,” he said, lowering his voice as he glanced around nervously. “I’m innocent of any wrongdoing,
honest I am, and I take exception at bein’ so unjustly accused of so—so—so,” he stuttered, searching for the proper word.

  “So malicious an act,” Rhea supplied kindly.

  “Aye, m’lady, if indeed ye be who ye say ye are,” Lewis agreed. “I don’t know nothin’ beyond me duties as supercargo on board the London Lady.”

  “He was the man who brought ye on board,” Alys contributed helpfully. “Ye was carried on board senseless, so he must know somethin’,” she added, taking a step backward as Daniel Lewis eyed her with a look of growing dislike.

  “Yes, it might be interesting to learn who the gentleman was who shot down the Earl of Rendale, then kidnapped me from my home,” Rhea remarked, watching the different emotions fleeing across Lewis’s paling face.

  Although it was close to freezing on deck, Lewis was sweating profusely and silently cursing the name of Edward Waltham for getting him involved in kidnapping and murder—and not just the murder of any bloke, but an earl. Lord help him, but this was turning nasty, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of it. If it meant saving his own neck, then he would with great pleasure inform the authorities about Teddie Waltham. As for himself, well, all he was guilty of was illegally transporting a bonded servant. A man couldn’t be hanged for that, could he?

  He glanced back at the young girl. Her thin face looked pinched as the cold winds blew against her, making her cape billow out around her. The daughter of the Duke of Camareigh, eh? Aye, that was bad.

  “Reckon the best thing to do is to have a word with the captain,” Lewis suggested. “Now I’m not sayin’ I believe ye, but just in case ye be tellin’ the truth, I don’t want no duke thinkin’ I mistreated his daughter,” Lewis said with a sickly grin. Then he looked around for the familiar figure of his captain.