The Emerald Tartan

by Patricia McGrew

  She took the last couple of steps down from the Palace and began to walk her way back in the direction of the harbor and the Emerald Tartan. A couple of moments later, she heard the approaching clack clack clack of a horse’s hooves, and Mr. Rodrigues pulled up beside her in the carriage.

  “Miss Holcomb, wait! Where are you going? May I take you back to the ship?”

  She looked up and recognized him. “Yes, please.”

  “Are you all right?”

  Looking up at him, she said, “Yes, just very tired. Could you go back to Hale Ali’i for the Captain after you take me to the ship?”

  “Of course.” He stopped the carriage and helped her into the seat.

  “I did not want to bother the Captain. He had business to take care of, so I decided to simply go back. I thought I remembered the route, but then I wasn’t sure.”

  “You were on the right street to return to the ship. Fortunately, my carriage was on the outside of those waiting for their return fares, so I was able to catch up to you.”

  She looked up and saw a faded street sign that said, “Hotel Street”. She had a vague recollection of seeing the same sign on the way to the Hale and felt a small degree of reassurance she was on the right road. However, because it was so late at night, the streets were now crowded with drunkards and painted women. She felt relieved to be in the safety of the carriage.

  “I am so glad to see you,” sighed Lydia.

  “This is no place for a lady, Miss. One of the other carriage drivers saw you take off on your own, and he let me know.”

  “Thank you.” She kept her head down as though she was trying to do something with her fan. She was certain her eyes and nose were red, and keeping the flood of tears back became difficult. It would be a relief to be swiftly taken out of all the chaos so she could cry her heart out in privacy.

  “Miss, I hope you do not mind if I make a quick stop at the tavern just ahead. A friend of mine is holding a letter for me from my dear mother, and I am anxious to pick it up.”

  “No, that is not a problem at all. I am just very tired, so I will wait here in the carriage here for you.”

  “Thank you. I will be back right way.”

  Lydia learned into her cushioned seat and closed her eyes while she waited.

  The carriage shook and a series of voices began shouting. Lydia’s eyes flashed open. Mr. Rodrigues stood by the front of the horse, holding the bridle. Just then a strange man jumped into the carriage, told her her be quiet, and forcefully held a rag over her nose. Lydia grew very still as a sweet aroma and darkness overtook her senses.

  CHAPTER 23

  Her eyes felt glued shut. Not certain where she was, Lydia lifted her hand slowly and cautiously rubbed her eyes before opening them. Even though she had not opened her eyes, strange odors assaulted her nose. Garlic, fish, and the putrid aromas of human misery wafted through the air like a cloud of smoke. She took her time to open her eyes, afraid of what she would see. The lighting was dim and a cacophony of strange tongues, with musically pitched intonations crept into her consciousness. It was the singsong language of voices of excited men she heard, just as she heard when Mr. Rodrigues left the carriage to retrieve the letter from his mother.

  That’s interesting. I do not remember getting back to the ship. I was on it, I think. Whoa. I feel … so strange.

  Lydia felt as though she had been sleeping for weeks, and her muscles ached as she tried to sit up.

  “Ian,” she called out. The mere sound of her own voice made her head throb. Her mouth and throat felt dry. Rubbing her eyes, she realized she needed to get up to apologize to Ian for her impulsive behavior at the ball. Any feelings she had for him simply had to be ignored. His conduct toward her at the ball helped her to understand he was interested in other women, most likely ‘more respectable’ women. She knew she had nothing to gain by mourning the loss of Ian, especially when he had never really been hers. At least that was what her brain tried to tell her, even though her brain shouted out heart-broken objections to such reasoning.

  Her sense of reality told her the first order of business was to get to San Francisco to find out if Lord and Lady Saxonby still wanted to hire her as their nanny. If not, she needed to make other arrangements for herself. This would not be easy with no money and no suitable clothing. Perhaps she could write to her mother back in England to let her know she survived being washed overboard. She had to hope her mother had survived the storm and made her way to San Francisco.

  Pulling her hand through her thoroughly knotted hair, she looked around her surroundings for the first time. Something was very wrong. Not only was the room not Ian’s cabin, but it looked nothing like any quarters on a ship. The room appeared to be more like a hovel, dug underground in some sort of cave. A thousand tiny needlepoints stabbed at the nerve endings around her heart, lungs, and stomach. Dread crept through her body. Alarms rang in her head. A sick feeling gnawed at her stomach.

  Lydia shook her head again to clear out the sensation of a morass of cobwebs which clouded her mind and kept her from thinking clearly. What happened to her after she left the ball? Gradually, bits and pieces of her memory came back to her. She remembered the major events at the ball. I heard something at the back of the carriage. When I turned around I saw … two men dressed in clothing which looked like silk pajamas. Then one of them tried to put a nasty rag over my nose.

  Where am I? I don’t remember any details at all. Noises, sounds, some seasickness I think, but nothing more.

  She lay very still in her bed, and tried to look around without letting anyone know she was awake. The cave-like walls smelled of dampness and mold. Metal bars crossed the entrance to the room, like a jail cell. The bed she lay on was nothing more than a couple of crates pushed together with a moth-eaten blanket thrown over some stained and smelly straw. There was a large chamber pot in the far recess of her cave-cell. Trickles of water ran down the sides of the cave in a couple of places. The dampness and chill in the air created a dank atmosphere which caused her to shiver. She looked at her clothing and realized she was still in her green silk ball gown. It was no longer beautiful, but rather stained, dirty, and torn at one shoulder.

  Looking out to the main area of the cave, she saw a dome-shaped room with low ceilings. A few crates, used as chairs, surrounded a large round table. On the top of a table rested a huge battered metal pot. A thick wooden paddle lay across the top of the pot. A couple of tin plates covered with leftover rice and some brown stuff also lay on the table. She could not see anything to the sides of her barred room, but across the open area, stood two crude passageways which lead off into the darkness. The place appeared to be part of a tunnel system.

  A young Asian man, wearing red silk pajamas like she had seen in Honolulu, walked into the main room from one of the passage ways. He wore a long pigtail down his back. Another man followed him and continued to yell at him as they entered the room. The second man was also Asian, but unlike the first young man, this man appeared to be almost six feet tall and obese. Although this huge man also wore the silk pajamas, he appeared to have outgrown the outfit a long time ago. His stomach protruded out from under his short shirt and fell in one large roll over the top of the bottoms. His head was shaved and one giant earring loop hung from his left ear. A pink scar, that looked to be very sore, arced across both of his lips up to his right eye. It would be difficult to find another person with such a similar and intimidating countenance. While both men were Asian, physically, they were complete opposites of one another.

  Neither man looked in her direction as they entered the main portion of the cave. They were too intent on their argument in their singsong language. The slender man pointed in the direction of the cells and yelled. Then, he noticed Lydia staring straight at him. She was sitting up. He left the large man and ran over to her cell.

  “So sorry, Missy. You must be very hungry,” he managed to say in broken English. He went to the old pot on the table and took one of the plates of f
ood which had already been dished out and shyly offered it to her. He glanced at his feet, hesitated, and then the words poured out: “You very skinny, Missy. You must eat now and get good health. Our boss be very unhappy if he see you skinny. We wait and wait for you wake up. Chong give you too much smelly stuff. You no wake up for long time. Eat now! We bring water for you for bath. Have other dress you must wear.”

  Even though much confusion still clouded Lydia’s brain, she understood she had stumbled into another misfortune. “Where am I?”

  “San Francisco, Missy.”

  “No! Not again!” The anger and disappointment spiraled from her stomach to her heart and exploded into a mass of words.

  “I do not know who you think you are, but you cannot go around kidnapping young women! Why … why” … the right words to frighten the men just would not come out.

  Then it occurred to her: “You must contact Lord and Lady Saxonby immediately. I am very important to them. You do not want to get yourself into big trouble with the British aristocracy, do you?”

  The young man looked back at her. A worried frown passed over his face for a moment, and then he smiled, “Not to worry, Missy. British Lord come look at you very soon. But, no British man pay for girl like you the way Sheik Omar pay. Good things happen to you soon. But you must eat lots of rice, quick. Too skinny. Sheik likes women with soft curves and body.”

  Lydia stared at the young man in complete disbelief. “What are you trying to tell me? Am I going to be sold to someone? That is not acceptable at all! I am not a chattel to be bought and sold at some man’s whim. Do you understand?”

  He smiled, and appeared amused by her outburst. “Why not? Everybody get bought and sold, unless you rich man. You woman, no can be rich man. Women no have money like men. Everybody knows that. Even I am bought man. Lord Darke buy me. If he no like you, he sell you to Sheik. That is the way of life. If you obey and do as told, then you get no whippings. Took me long time to learn to be obedient.”

  With that comment the young man turned away from Lydia and lifted up the back of his pajama top to reveal lash scars all over his back – some of them still scabbed and as yet, unhealed.

  “I make decision – no want more whippings. Will do as told and do good job. Then life be easy for me.” He announced all of this with pride, as though he had just won a prize.

  “You, Missy, be obedient and you, too, not get whippings. But then, Sheik no like scarred women, so Lord Darke not hit you until he certain Sheik no want you. If Lord Darke keep you, then you must learn obedience fast.”

  Exasperated, Lydia mumbled out loud, “What is it with men and obedience? Are you so unsure of yourselves, the only way you feel secure is if no one disagrees with you? So much for a reasoned, logical approach to life!”

  He looked at her and frowned. “Women talk too much!” He did not look insulted, but rather surprised at Lydia’s outburst.

  She studied the young man. He appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen, rather thin, and not bad looking … if she did not look too closely at the vicious jagged scar across his forehead. How could anyone beat someone like that? He was so young, and yet he had already accepted fate - he was a slave. Had he always been a slave?

  “Who are you?” she asked. “Me? My name Sing Hee. Who are you?”

  “My name is Lydia Holcomb, and I am from England. I was on my way to San Francisco when I got washed overboard from the Wyndom Wydoh during a storm. Another ship rescued me, but we had to go to Hawaii. That is where you took me from, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Where are you from, and how long have you been a slave?”

  Sing Hee hesitated and looked around the room. The other man still sat at the big table shoveling the rice and brown bits of food into his mouth. In a whispered voice, Sing Hee said, “It no longer matter. I am what I am now. Nothing change. Next life be better for me.” He smiled and said to Lydia, “What you going to do in San Francisco?”

  “I was on my way to work as a nanny to the children of Lord and Lady Saxonby. I need to get to them as soon as possible to find out if the position is still available. By now, they may have hired someone else if they thought I was lost at sea.” She wrinkled her brow. She bit her lower lip as she pondered the seed of an idea which began to sprout.

  “Sing Hee, would you consider helping me to escape?”

  He stepped away from Lydia, and acted like he did not hear a word she had said. It was almost as though he felt true fear because of the words she whispered. He busied himself cleaning up the big table.

  A muffled shout emanated from the tunnel to Lydia’s right. She could not see anything, but occasional curses told her more than one person was stumbling through one of the tunnels. Suddenly, almost violently, a bundle of blankets and a large rug rolled out in front of Lydia’s cell. An exotic woman with hair down to her waist tripped on the blankets and rug as she tried to stand up – her feet and legs still tangled in the mess. With great care, she rearranged her feet and skirts so she could stand up. As she did so, she stepped off the rug which had been her temporary prison. The tallest and largest of the two men who struggled to bring her into the cave, was still standing on the edge of the old faded blanket. Eyeing him carefully, the woman leaned over, grabbed a handful of the blanket and yanked it towards herself. The feet of the large man came out from under him; he flew up in the air and landed on his backside with a howl.

  “You swine. You will pay for this.” She spat at the face of her abductor. The woman rose to her full height, and even Sing Hee stopped what he was doing to look at her. She must have been six feet tall, or more! While she was not a fat woman, she was definitely a large woman – and very strong. Her fiery dark eyes darted around the room, taking in her new circumstances.

  “The Hawaiian King will not be happy with you. I am related to the family of Queen Ruth. You should let me go, so the King will not harm you. A curse will be put upon your families for your shameful acts. Let me go now and I will see to it no curses rain down upon your miserable lives.”

  Neither Sing Hee nor any of the men there moved. They all appeared to be hypnotized by the height, strength, and yet elegance of this unusual looking woman. On the other hand, the largest of the men who had just entered into the room did not demonstrate any fear of or surprise at her. His facial traits and coloring in some ways looked similar to hers, but he did not seem to be fazed by her conduct or appearance at all. In fact, he snorted rudely and yelled right back at her. She scowled, turned towards Lydia, and waited. Sing Hee approached the door to Lydia’s cell and opened it with his key. The large woman backhanded Sing Hee as she walked into the cell. The other men laughed nervously. Sing Hee did his best to stand up quickly and bow as he stepped away. The obese man, waddled over to the door of the cell, pushed the big woman into the recesses of the cell and closed the cell door.

  “Bah. Women – too much trouble,” he said. He stroked the few hairs that sprouted from his chin and chuckled, “but worth so much money!”

  “Pakelekia, is that you?”

  The woman’s dark eyes focused on Lydia. “Who are you?”

  “Lydia. Lydia Holcomb. Remember, we met at the ball.”

  The woman squinted slightly. “Oh my goodness. It is you! How did you get here?”

  Lydia sighed. “I have a feeling that we both both got here the same way – on one of those Chinese junks moored in Honolulu Harbor.”

  “Oh. I left the ball about an hour or so after you and I spoke together. My younger brother was with me outside Hale Ali’i, and saw one of his friends. He wanted to go speak with him, so I told him to go ahead and I would wait near the armory for him. The man you saw bring me in here had asked me how to get to Kawaihao Church, so when I began giving him directions, someone, I guess, hit me on the side of my head. That’s about all I remember except for being awakened to eat food while on some sort of a ship. She pulled her long hair around to the front of her chest and began braiding it

  “We must
both victims of some sort of slavery ring,” said Lydia. “I have learned from Sing Hee, the young man whom you hit, these men kidnap women and sell them to the highest bidder. A Lord Darke is apparently the mastermind of all this activity. In fact, it would be helpful to us to be very kind to Sing Hee – he is a slave too. Lord Darke bought him some years ago, and he is no happier in his position than we are in ours. In fact, I have asked him to help me to escape.”

  Pakelekia looked sharply at Lydia. “Did he agree to help you?”

  “No. But then he did not say he wouldn’t help me either. He is frightened. You should see his back. He has vicious scars all over this back from the whippings he has endured. Somehow, we have to help him believe we can escape successfully. His greatest fear is being recaptured by Lord Darke. I don’t think he can handle too many more beatings.”

  The two women, bound by their captivity and burgeoning friendship, sat down and talked in whispers to plan a way to escape.

  Sing Hee refused to talk with either woman about his status in life. Something was not right, though. Lydia guessed he was not a lowborn person. While his English was peppered with incorrect usage and accent, he had a rather good grasp of English – much better than any of the other Chinese people she had heard talking in Honolulu. He also understood and practiced good manners. While the other men who came into the underground room were always foul-mouthed, unkempt, and poorly dressed, Sing Hee seemed to be very concerned with cleanliness. Even his own clothing, while well-worn and with small patches here and there, was clean.

  “He is so small,” grumbled Pakelekia. “How can he possibly be of help to us?”

  “He is smart,” responded Lydia. And, more importantly, he has the keys to our cell. He also happens to know the way out of these underground tunnels. Even if we were to get out of our cell, we have no way of knowing which tunnel to take or where any given tunnel will take us. While he may be small and without much muscle, you are very strong! I would bet on you in any contest.” Lydia giggled and Pakelekia grinned in agreement.