Horsman, Jennifer

by Crimson Rapture

She glanced quickly around, thankfully found the deck still empty, and with a rush of skirts, she raced back to find her boots. She stopped dead in her tracks. They were gone!

  "Looking for something, Miss Marks?" Justin asked unseen, after having overheard her conversation with the captain.

  Christina bit her lip in vexation, immediately perceiving the problem. He had taken her boots. She could hardly solicit help in retrieving them, for that would mean admitting to having taken them off in the first place.

  "You have my total sympathy, Miss Marks. You do seem to face a monumental problem. God knows what people will think of you after learning of such wanton, careless behavior. Imagine! A young lady removing her shoes and permitting a man—a hardened criminal no less—a glimpse of her bare feet. And furthermore, from the looks of these boots I'm holding, I'd wager they're your only pair, which in turn brings me to yet another unfavorable conclusion. In addition to poor looks and slow wits, you have little enough fortune to recommend you to the state of matrimony—"

  "Please," she whispered, frightened and unable to hear his cruel comments, comments she could easily believe about herself. "Please give them over."

  "Not a chance."

  "Ohhh... Mr.... Mr.—"

  "Justin."

  "Whatever could you want with my shoes?"

  "Tell me your Christian name," he demanded.

  She cast an anxious glance in both directions, then replied, "Christina."

  "Well, Christina, permit me to explain my situation and the favor I'd ask for the return of your boots. I have never in all my twenty-eight years been so bored..."

  He proceeded to list the ways in which he had coped with imprisonment so far; twice daily he completed two hundred pull-ups on an overhanging beam, two hundred push-ups, stood on his hands for over an hour, and then, being intimately familiar with Indian religions, he meditated for hours on end, "Though unfortunately," he added, "I rarely find the peace that most other people practicing what is called yoga seem to do. And so I turn to mathematics, both mundane types of figuring and difficult equations..."

  The list seemed endless and Christina listened avidly to this monologue, confused and quite anxious, not at all understanding what this had to do with her boots. Though his remarkable ingenuity and cleverness was noted, especially considering his circumstances. He was obviously an uncommonly intelligent man. Her father had read many reports from India, some on Indian mysticism and she might have inquired about the subject had she been able to think with her heart pounding so.

  "So you see, Christina," he finally concluded, "I'm forced to blackmail you into doing me a favor."

  "What would you have me do?"

  "Bring me a few books. I'm dying for something to read."

  "Oh, goodness." She smiled, the first smile in long months. "You certainly asked the right person. I've brought half a trunk full of books. It was the only thing I permitted myself to take of my father's because... well, I'm told that there are no books in Australia, that the sin of illiteracy abounds—" She stopped and blushed, realizing abruptly she had quite forgotten herself. Perhaps owing to the fact that she couldn't see him or that he couldn't see her, she had— without a thought—overcome her shyness! She had just spoken to him like other people speak to each other, like... like how she had always wanted to speak...

  Justin grinned. "Well, I can hardly believe my luck finding a young lady with a trunk of books. I had thought you'd have to beg, borrow, or steal. Do I have a selection?"

  "Oh yes. I'm sure I might find something you like—"

  "I prefer philosophy, especially political philosophy and history."

  "I'll see what I might find." She started to rise but remembered her bare feet, looked in both directions, and knelt again. "Might I have my boots back," she whispered. I promise not to let you down."

  Justin reached a hand through the hole to touch a long braided rope of hair that had fallen when she knelt, coiling neatly in front of him. He had never seen hair like that. It seemed there was no end to it, at least two feet of thick braided hair. The color struck him most though, a blondish red flame like gold on fire. "Christina," he asked suddenly, "what do you look like?"

  Christina hardly heard his question. She stared at the hand stroking her hair, bronze-colored, lean and calloused, his hand spoke at once of strength, while the intimacy of his gesture brought a flush rising from the tips of her toes to the very roots of her hair.

  "Hmmm?" He smiled unseen. "Might I have been mistaken about your looks?"

  "I'm... I'm afraid not," she assured him softly. "I truly don't have very much to recommend me, as you had guessed." Being plain of face was not the worst of it, she knew. Her social awkwardness and ineptitude, what others thought of as shyness, was by far her worst and most debilitating fault. A fault strangely missing with Justin Phillips.

  "Every woman has something—at least one thing— to recommend her and you, Christina," his voice softened, "have this hair. It's beautiful. Like silk through my fingers." He withdrew his hand reluctantly, ignorant of the warm blush his compliment caused. "Back to your question. I'm afraid I can't return your boots yet. These boots are worth their weight in gold. It's my only guarantee you'll return."

  "Yes, of course, I quite understand," she replied, recovering somewhat and standing up. She would just have to hope no one would see her. "I'll return soon."

  Christina never saw the lift of his brow, the smile that followed, as Justin suddenly realized he had just met a most sympathetic and sweet young lady, all plainness aside.

  * * * * *

  Christina sat in Lady Everett's more spacious cabin after the midday meal, reading out loud at the lady's request. The lady lay reclined on the divan, a cloth dipped in salt water cooling her face, while Hanna, her maid, methodically waved a large ostrich feather over the bed. Lady Knolls lounged in a nearby chair, while her maid, Elsie, knelt in front to work on the lady's nails. All pretended to listen to Christina's soft voice as she read to them.

  The HMS Defiant had remained motionless on a glasslike blanket of windless sea for another long week and the situation had soon become dangerous. Supplies dwindled; apparently less than two weeks worth of food and water remained. Supplies were rationed daily and the captain warned that even if the wind picked up immediately, it would be at least another two weeks before the ship reached the shores of Australia.

  Tension soared among the passengers and crew alike. Christina, who had just endured a meager— though she thought certainly adequate—meal with the other passengers, was beginning to be embarrassed by their incessant complaining. How could people fail to grasp the necessity of food and water rationing? How could the good captain be held culpable for a situation orchestrated by fate, one that might only be changed by the hand of God?

  Christina read as best she could, thankful for the peacefulness that settled on the room. The ladies would soon indulge in an afternoon nap; Hanna and Elsie would also retire, as would most of the crew, and then she would be free to visit Justin.

  Lady Carolyn Knolls leaned back in a miserably uncomfortable chair as Elsie finished her nails and she stared at the small gathering and thought—not for the first time—what a pathetic lot they were. Lady Everett, in a ridiculously absurd state of undress, looked old and haggard, her normally stout, solid frame sagging wearily in the severe heat. At least the old hag was silent and for this she was glad. God knew how that high shrill voice could shatter nerves.

  She gasped suddenly and then glared at Elsie for scraping her fingers. Even the wretched servants were becoming infuriatingly indolent with the unpleasant conditions on board ship. It was bad enough to have to endure this voyage in the first place, leaving every small comfort behind, but to have to endure such insufferable society—Lady Everett of all women, this awkward little Miss Marks, old boring men like Lord Henry and Captain Forester—well, it was nearly intolerable. Should anyone—anyone!—ever know exactly how bad it was, she would surely be ruined socially.


  She sighed, leaned back, and closed her eyes, cursing fortune and fate, this miserable world, cursing most of all the tiresome journey. How had she ever gotten to this point. In the beginning the plan had seemed perfectly flawless. It would have succeeded, too, had not the barest hint of scandal crept through the gossip monger's mouths. Scandal enough to force her to accept Lady Everett's invitation to Australia— of all ungodly places—until the odious speculations on Lord Knolls's untimely death subsided somewhat. Those stupid idiots! Of course she had married the old lord for his money. Why else would a beautiful young lady marry anyone? And she had had everything then: wealth, position, a whole string of adoring lovers, and if only...

  It had started when, to her shock, Lord Knolls insisted on his marriage rites. She had assumed from the start that he was simply too old, never imagining the old gizzard could perform, not even in his wildest dreams. She had laughed at him then, the mere thought of his crooked old hands on her flesh was as absurd as it was disgusting.

  She shivered slightly, remembering his face torn with pained humiliation—as well it might—but then his anger, threats and the ultimatum. She had had no choice. No, no, not really. Once Charles, her current lover, suggested the obvious solution to the problem, she had not been able to get it out of her mind. She had tried—oh how she tried—but the thought persisted and persisted and persisted, until it became an obsession.

  After all the lord had been terribly old...

  "Miss Marks," Lady Everett abruptly interrupted in a tired voice and without condescending to look up, "do read with a bit more inflection."

  The lady's reprimand visibly shook Christina and it took a moment to recover. The lady insisted on finding fault with her every movement and manner. Hanna had sworn her lady's criticisms only meant to instruct, given without malicious intent and "do forgive the Lady 'er trumps. She don't know 'ow she sounds and really, she does it to everyone, she does." Christina had her doubts and, owing to her nature, she could not help but take each criticism to heart.

  Hanna shrugged her plump shoulders, winked, and smiled sweetly. Christina returned the smile, gained some courage back, and began reading again. But she continued to steal quick glances up, waiting for the lady to drift to sleep. This with an impatience she had never before known.

  In the total of seventeen years, Christina had had only one friend and that had been her father. She had loved him tremendously and she considered him the wisest of men; worthy of respect, admiration, and her complete devotion. Since his death, her mind, body, and soul ached with the debilitating pain of his loss. She would miss him the rest of her life.

  She never expected her heart's void to be filled by Justin Phillips.

  Three times each day, before anyone rose in the morning, during everyone's naps in the afternoon heat and after everyone retired, she stole a visit to Justin's small opening to the world. She brought him books daily. He read voraciously; his appetite was insatiable. Though he had already read most of the books she brought—his education seemed to have been the finest—he found it worthwhile to reread them.

  After each book they shared their thoughts and the discussion at night often lasted well past the midnight hour. She hung on his every word, compelled and intrigued by his thoughts. His ideas seemed iconoclastic in the extreme. Ideas her father would disown her for even listening to, yet alone sometimes agreeing with. She did not often think of what her father would have done to her had he ever lived to learn of her liaison with Justin.

  While at first their secret talks were limited to the intellectual, they soon transcended into the personal. She could hardly believe the life he had lived, a life vastly different from hers and ever so adventurous. She loved listening to his descriptions of the many different people and lands he had known, and at times she felt she relived the adventures and experiences to find enchantment, intrigues, and mysteries in his telling. She especially loved his stories of the young republic of America, a country he called home.

  She forgave Justin his crimes, and while for the most part she lacked the necessary presumptive authority to judge another, the matter had been completely settled once she had asked if he had any regrets in his heart. Justin had laughed and had assured her that any thinking man has regrets, though as far as his crimes against the crown, "No, sweetheart, I have no regrets and, given the opportunity to do it all over again, I'd not hesitate." He scorned England's imperialistic colonial practices, her callous disregard and stealing of wealth and riches of the conquered lands, especially England's attempt to control America's future. "I could have no regrets about stirring up all the trouble. And," he smiled unseen, "I'm only too glad to make a fortune doing it."

  Each passing day Justin became more special to her and each passing day her anxiety increased. It was not the thought of her liaison being discovered—an event that spelled certain disaster—but rather, she could not bear the thought of Justin spending the rest of his life behind bars. This concern grew to a point that at night she lay in her small bunk shedding tears for Justin, praying for God or even fortune to find a way to free him. And secretly—she could not even tell him this—she greeted each windless day with thanks and relief, for it meant yet another stall, another day to share with him.

  Lady Everett finally dropped off and, with a heavy sigh, Lady Knolls rose, interrupting Christina's reading. Christina watched the lovely woman smooth her pretty pink silk day dress—so incongruent with the oppressive air of the ship—and leave the cabin without so much as a nod in her direction. Elsie followed obediently, silently. Christina set down the book and lifted her reticule. Her purse was filled with bread and cheese from her midday meal for Justin. She grasped her ever-present sketchbook and, with a soft rustle of skirts, followed Hanna from the cabin.

  Hanna whispered in the dark hall, "I half thought she'd never drop off and oh me aching back." She stretched like a cat and then sighed, "Kin 'ardly wait to loosin' me stays—don't know 'ow I kin be gettin' thinner what with not eatin' proper and all, and yet my corset feels like 'tis gettin' tighter."

  Another lady might have found the reference to undergarments vulgar but Christina thought such boldness remarkable, wonderfully remarkable, that was all. "The flesh swells to heat," she quietly suggested.

  "Aye, that it does and I'm near swelling to burst. Are you comin' to rest?"

  "No." She glanced nervously down the empty hall. "I think I shall remain about, reading or sketching."

  "I 'aven't a clue as to where you get your stamina but, Christy," Hanna kissed her cheek sweetly, "I 'ave to thank you. You're a regular angel of mercy, you are—w'at with all your kindness to me and the misses."

  "Oh," Christina waved her hand in dismissal, whispered, "it's nothing, really."

  "It 'tis to me." Hanna smiled. "Well, see ya later."

  Christina watched Hanna disappear down the hall to their cabin, and oblivious to the climbing temperature, she nearly ran to the stairs leading on deck, leading to a small hole of happiness.

  Two more days passed uneventfully, except for smaller rations, which predictably led to increasing distress among the passengers. Most of the passengers, the captain, and the ship's surgeon began to notice Christina's quiet fortitude, thoughtfulness, and kindness, the way she was always willing to administer to everyone's needs first. She never complained, and those rare times she spoke out loud it was to voice optimism and hope. Not the least of the people considering Christina an angel of mercy was Justin.

  The afternoon sun had just began to sink slowly toward the horizon and Christina, sitting on an overturned bucket, listened to Justin's heated argument concerning Hobbes's Leviathan. He spoke passionately and she smiled to herself, thinking how much he sounded like her father on the pulpit.

  Justin was enjoying himself too and at times the very fact amazed him, for never in all his imaginings had had he thought to find such an unexpected friendship with a young lady of her restricted background. Her fondness for him was returned twofold: He felt the affection a
n older brother might feel for a younger sister toward her. He was also incredibly grateful for her books, the extra food she brought, as well as their conversation. She was unquestionably the kindest and most gentle young lady he had ever known. And then, too, he had never enjoyed a woman's intellectual facilities as much and, while her naivete and irrational idealism constantly amused him, he admired her brightness, the breadth of her education through books.

  As soon as his men rescued him from this hellhole, he would offer Christina passage to anywhere she wanted to go in the world. He certainly had enough connections to set her up in any position she might want, as a governess, shopkeeper, lady of leisure— whatever. If she still wanted to journey to Australia to stay with her uncle's family, then he'd give her a trust fund with enough money so that she'd never be in want of anything. He'd also make certain she could always reach him in the event she needed something.

  Lost to his pontifications, Justin launched into an attack of man's greatest crime against humanity— that of slavery—and Christina could hardly believe she was hearing her father's exact sentiments voiced again, though even more astutely. So taken by what she perceived as a growing, even uncanny similarity between Justin and her father, she almost failed to stop Justin in time.

  Lady Everett and Lady Knolls strolled toward her, out for an unprecedented stroll before supper and followed as always by Elsie and Hanna. The ladies' gaily colored day dresses, the fashionable hats, and colorful parasols looked bizarrely ostentatious against the lifeless air of the ship and somehow accentuated rather than hid the two pale and tired faces of the owners.

  Christina quickly tapped her boot against the wall, warning of people approaching. Justin immediately fell silent. Elsie winked conspiratorially but Christina quickly lowered her eyes, bracing for the inevitable. Sure enough, as the party reached speaking distance, Lady Everett cast a disapproving look toward Christina and wasted no time in voicing her complaint.

  "Why, Miss Marks!" she exclaimed at once. "What in heaven's name are you doing in this sun without a proper bonnet?"