Horsman, Jennifer

by Crimson Rapture

  In other circumstances even Hanna would never dare venture out among men dressed in flimsy night-clothes. Predictably however, as each windless day passed and added ever increasing increments of desperation to the situation, one by one manners and formalities dropped. Few passengers even rose from bed, yet alone bothered to attend to pretenses, propriety, or appearances.

  Elsie took Christina's hand and squeezed it reassuringly, but they remained in anxious silence, waiting and listening to what was now sounding like a furious battle above. Christina kept glancing at the opposite bunks, wondering how in the world Marianna and Katie could sleep through the noise? At one point she thought she heard laughter, Justin's laughter, but surely that couldn't be.

  It seemed well over half an hour had passed before Hanna finally slipped back through the door, her dark eyes wide as saucers.

  "What happened?" Christina asked, jumping to her feet.

  "You won't believe it! I swear you won't! Seems your Mister Phillips broke the bloody bastard's leg. No one kin figure 'ow 'e did it, locked up like that. But oh my, the captain's in a rage, 'e is! 'E ordered Mister Phillips whipped—"

  "Oh no!"

  "Yes! 'E did! 'E did! But seems it can't be done. That's the ruckus we've been over'earing. Mister Phillips is a fightin' like a wild animal, 'e is and so far 'e's knocked out four of the crew, knocked 'em out cold. The captain orders 'is men in, then Mister Phillips throws em out, until now there's not a bloody soul left willin' ta go in!"

  "Justin?" She didn't believe Justin was capable of this, of such violence. There was a mistake—

  "Yes!" Hanna answered excitedly. "The captain, well, 'e's furious, 'e is. 'E's standin' on deck screamin' 'tis mutiny and that if'n we reach Aussie, 'e'll see 'em all court-martialed and that 'e's a gonna starve Mister Phillips out if 'e don't shoot 'im first—"

  "Shoot him!" Christina cried, and hearing the unthinkable, she raced from the cabin. She ran down the dark hall, up the steps, and out on deck. She spotted Captain Forester on the quarterdeck, still shouting orders at his men. In a swift rush of skirts, she climbed the ladder, ran, and fell to her knees before the captain.

  "Please Captain Forester," she begged with all the drama her youth afforded, "please don't shoot him! It was all my fault..."

  Captain Forester interrupted his orders and looked down at Miss Christina Marks's lovely upturned face. Tears streamed down flushed cheeks, making her eyes so misty, so translucent, and, for a brief moment, he could only stare in stupefaction.

  My God, what was the girl going on about? Here he was in the middle of an emergency that could cost his ship. He had hardly the time and even less inclination or energy to listen to Miss Marks's trouble, whatever it was, though her sudden rush of words was noted. Like every other passenger and crew member, Miss Marks had finally lost her wits under the strain of events and small wonder too, considering how arduously the young lady worked alongside Dr. Michaels to help others.

  "Secure these men to quarters!" the captain shouted, interrupting her lamenting and lifting her to her feet. She seemed most distraught though, her tone of desperation touched his heart even through his far weightier concerns. He was just about to order her off to the overburdened ship's surgeon, or perhaps those women with whom she shared quarters, when, suddenly—by some miraculous intervention—the barest whisper of a breeze blew across the deck.

  For the response it solicited, the breeze might have been the trumpets of heaven signaling an opening of the gates. Everyone, the twenty or so men standing on deck, the captain, and Christina, stopped and then froze, waiting for senses to confirm the long-awaited phenomenon. Each half feared their dazed and desperate minds might have just played a cruel trick.

  But no, it was real. It was real!

  Cheers sounded loud and long, mixed with cries of hallelujah, as men jumped up and down hugging and slapping each other on the back. The captain cried too and having lifted Christina to her feet, he embraced her as though she was a long-lost daughter. "We're saved! The Lord has saved us!" and in the same breath, the captain turned to the welcomed labor of starting his ship sailing.

  Left suddenly alone, Christina stared first at the captain shouting orders to his excited crew and the abrupt bustling of activity. She stepped quietly to the side of the ship and looked out into the ink-black night. A thousand blinking lights and the cloudy ribbon of the Milky Way laced the vast black night, separating sea and sky. Lanterns on the ship cast long ribbons of light into the water. Ribbons of light that began to move with this wisp of a breeze.

  The breeze grew stronger as she stood there. It tickled her skin and blew stray wisps of hair from her face. A chill ran up her spine and she knew, she knew as surely as she drew breath that something tragic waited for her. Waited for everyone.

  "Justin!"

  She experienced the premonition of a feeling rather than a conscious level and the feeling was one of fear, a panic of startling intensity. She attributed it immediately to a turn of events that would bring Justin to a life in prison. Without a thought that the decks swarmed with men and even other passengers now, she raced to Justin's small hole and flung herself on her hands and knees.

  "Justin! Justin," she could barely manage to whisper through her tears.

  Justin rose swiftly to his feet. Her voice was just what he wanted to hear. "Christina? Are you all right? Did that bastard hurt you?"

  "Me?" She was the last person she was concerned about. "Justin, the wind! It's come, it's finally come!

  "And thank God too. I heard the shouts and I felt the movement and all I can say is thank God! These walls are—"

  "But, Justin, we'll reach Australia now and... and they'll send you to prison and... and I'll never see you again—" She stopped and covered her mouth, her voice choking on her tears.

  Justin chuckled, could not help himself. She was by no means the first woman he had reduced to tears but never had he felt taken by such a tender display of emotion and concern.

  "What shall we do, Justin? I... I just can't bear it—"

  "Hold on, hold on, sweetheart," he said softly. "I assure you, I have no intention of spending my life in prison."

  "You... you don't?"

  "No, Christina. Two of my ships are at this very moment probably about fifty miles off and heading this way. My ships have been suffering these same doldrums out there, but now they should be here by tomorrow afternoon, the day following at the latest. I'm a fortunate man." He smiled unseen. "Each of my men would gladly risk his life for me and none of them would ever rest until I was free."

  Stunned and then confused, Christina was reduced to silence. He must be imagining things. It was wishful, fanciful thinking or perhaps—she gasped— he had lost his mind.

  "How do you know this?" she asked haltingly, "that your ships are out there?"

  "It's a rather long story," he shrugged, thinking of his very influential father, Lord Winston Phillips. England would always protect its aristocracy, even at the expense of some principles. While his father could not openly support his bastard rebel son, the old man had certainly operated behind the scenes before, during, and after the trial to make certain his son was both spared a hangman's noose and never saw prison. Not that his father's help had really mattered, for Cajun, Jacob, and the rest of his men would have managed even without help. "Suffice to say, the Defiant's course had been made known and my ships have been paralleling her. They would have been here far earlier, except for the dead weather."

  Christina had no idea why this information frightened her far more than it relieved her. "Captain Forester," she thought out loud, "is not going to let you go without a fight."

  Justin merely laughed at this. "The Defiant stands not a chance against one of my ships, yet alone two. Captain Forester seems a fair and smart man and I'm sure he'll surrender without a fight. But, Christina, I want you to know—"

  She suddenly gasped as two strong hands lifted her bodily upright.

  "Miss Marks! What in God's name ar
e you doing talking to Mister Phillips!" Captain Forester never gave her a chance to answer. "You should be ashamed, Miss Marks, ashamed—a young lady of your position and background. Well! I've had just about enough out of you! You're to remain in your quarters."

  CHAPTER 2

  Justin's dog Beau, a huge Saint Bernard known for his ability to outsmart people and an occasional heroic deed, lifted his body onto the deck rail of the Athena. The ship glided effortlessly over eight-foot crests. Sails flapped madly, greedily fed by a strong wind. A gray dawn broke over the open sea and yet a mysterious strip of black settled between the gray sky and the darker sea. For Beau, though, it was the smell; the scent of sea and air were wrong and he barked, growled, and then whimpered, concerned.

  Jacob Robbins had just been called on deck, having given the order he was to be awakened as soon as the Defiant came into view. Standing alongside Cajun, Jacob looked for the Defiant off windward on the far horizon, and once he spotted her, he enthusiastically began a discussion of its easy capture.

  The two men, Justin's longtime friends, presented an arresting picture. Nearly as tall as Justin, Jacob had a long and thin, not unhandsome face. A scar slashed across his cheek and many more appeared on his muscled arms and chest, evidence of too many fights. Golden colored skin set off light blue eyes, but he had silver hair and brows. Not gray but rather that pure metallic color of precious metal, a color at direct odds with his youthful face. His father had been a wealthy Italian shipping merchant, his mother of the fiery Irish ancestry, and the only thing he loved more than fighting and ladies was the sea.

  Cajun stood in direct contrast to his friend. He possessed a strange, almost mystical air and no one could ever guess his origins from appearance. One might say Oriental from his fine almond-shaped and dark liquid eyes, Indian from the smooth caramel color of his skin, Negro from his unusual height, large white grin, and deep bellowing laughter, and Arab from his famous surprise attacks and the ever-present saber on his side. And always he stood with his legs apart, his arms folded across the huge expanse of his bare chest, seeming as though he was separated from his surroundings, but a passive observer in this world. It was a misleading impression, one that was often a fatal mistake of his enemies.

  "Captain!" a man shouted from the lookout, stopping Jacob mid-sentence. "To starboard!"

  Jacob and Cajun, along with the rest of the crew, quickly assembled on the starboard. For several moments Jacob simply refused to believe the phenomenon taking shape there, a phenomenon that Cajun prophesied in one of his dreams. Two days ago, Cajun had dreamed of seeing a huge dragon devouring the ships and neither Jacob nor he had known what to make of it.

  Like many others, Cajun though had never witnessed the sight and he had no idea what to make of the small stripe of darkness on the gray horizon.

  "A storm?" someone finally questioned, breaking the ominous silence.

  "If it only was just a storm," Jacob muttered under his breath.

  Looking like a gathering from the Tower of Babel, the men remained in an uneasy silence as they watched and waited. Dawn spread slowly against the barren gray desert of ocean. Wings of light reached from one corner to the next, but the darkness, still but a sliver of black on the most distant horizon, remained untouched by sunlight. An impenetrable black void.

  "Well, w'at in God's name is it?"

  "That mate," Jacob explained, "is the opening to hell."

  * * * * *

  After weeks of nothing but an empty blue sky and windless sea, a storm was heading their way. All passengers were confined to quarters until further notice, and each passenger had been given ropes to tie themselves to the bunks. While these measures had frightened all the other passengers, Christina's fear grew from a far graver concern.

  Despite the captain's warning of danger, there existed a collective calm in her small quarters and the five young women pretended nothing was wrong. Christina sat on Hanna's bunk finding a strange comfort as Hanna took a brush to her loosened hair. Hanna stroked methodically, almost absentmindedly, while she chatted with Elsie, Marianna, and Katie. On the bunk above, Elsie swung stick-thin legs to and fro, rocking with the ship's growing movement, while amusing them with stories of her mistress's ludicrous pretensions, speculating out loud on how Lady Knowles might be faring in the face of danger.

  Hanna and Elsie, so brave and unconcerned, Christina thought. They might have all been sitting safely by a warm fire in a cozy parlor back home. How she admired their daring and recklessness.

  Like her mother before her, Hanna May Haley had been in service to the Everetts as long as anyone could remember. Elsie had arrived at the house later and the two women, so alike in temperament, had become fast friends.

  Christina often marveled at how strikingly similar they were in character while completely opposite in appearance, and once she had tried to render Hanna and Elsie in her sketchbook. Hanna had a tall voluptuous figure, bordering attractively on plumpness. Tight red curls framed her round, pleasing face and her cheeks were always flushed; her bright eyes always danced with laughter. Elsie was her opposite. She was small and thin with an abundance of dark brown hair haloing a pixy-cute face, a face that revealed all the mischief in her heart.

  Christina had been dissatisfied with her sketch and had given up. Elsie and Hanna had come out looking somewhat humorous. Somehow her emotions and feelings always prevented her from rendering the stark realism she sought.

  No one ever told her this was the gift of an artist.

  Marianna and Katie, while laughing softly at Elsie's fun, had a bit more trouble dismissing the increasing motion of the ship. The two women sat closely together, Marianna's arm resting protectively over her friend's shoulder to brace against the rocking. Katie's small white hands wrapped tightly around Marianna's arm. She had tried to be sick but none of them had eaten more than bread rolls and Christina worried as the young lady's pallor blanched whiter still.

  Marianna and Katie were both in their late twenties, as close as sisters, and for most of the voyage had kept to themselves. "Katie's all I have in this world," Marianna once said to Christina. The two women had been orphans, raised together in a poor house and eventually had become "house mums" there. While they tried to speak of the poor house with humor, Christina—sensitive to the meaning hidden in the words—knew the humor covered despair and loneliness of two children trapped in an unkind world. Together, they had both opted for marriage by posting in Australia rather than face certain spinsterhood in England. Spinsterhood not the result of their appearance or manner, for indeed both women were fairly attractive and pleasant, and each owned a Christian education. But their lives presented precious few opportunities to meet eligible men.

  Katie might even be considered pretty. She was small, with baby-fine chestnut hair and pleasing features, although many scars from a bout with childhood pox marked her skin. Marianna was unnaturally tall for a woman, but her somewhat ungainly features were softened by a warm smile and pretty blue eyes.

  Christina could not fathom what Marianna's and Katie's lives would be like. The idea of entering into the sacred union with men one didn't know scared her. The two men were supposedly good Christians and, like Christina's uncle, they each owned small farms not far apart, so at least Marianna and Katie would have the comfort of each other. Christina often wondered, though, what if their husbands were unpleasant or even cruel? What would happen without the protection of family, or indeed even congregation?

  Christina would have been shocked to discover that both Marianna and Katie, along with everyone else who could weigh their respective circumstances, saw her own future as far more uncertain and potentially unfortunate.

  Hanna lifted Christina's hair to the side and began braiding a small portion, creating a fetching chignon, as she joined Elsie's musing. "Oh aye," she laughed, "I kin just see me mistress and ole 'enpecked 'Enry now—" Hanna called the lord by that affectionate title. "No tellin' w'at ole Lord Henry will do once 'e gets the lady tied to
a bunk. No doubt 'tis the poor man's first opportunity in years." With the exception of Christina, they all laughed. "I suspect the ole guy is a avin' the time of is life right about now. Why I kin just 'ear that shrill voice of me lady's: 'Enry, stop it! Stop it I say! I'm warning you... Oh! Oh! Oh..."

  Christina was hardly listening as she turned her cruel fate over and over again in her head. Justin's men would rescue him today and she would never hear of him again. If only she had a chance to view his person. Just once! She would draw him immediately. How she would cherish a picture of him to carry with her always.

  She often tried to imagine what he looked like. In her mind's eye she created a picture of a man not very tall, but medium height like her father. He would possess a slight, perhaps even slender physique, though she could not say why she thought so. Perhaps because his intellectual facilities were so keen and sharp. She dismissed the trouble Justin had caused fighting the crew and Mister Carrington as patently not true. There must be a mistake in the telling. Justin, kind and gentle and so very compassionate, would not be capable of any such violence. Nor would he be handsome, though surely she'd find him attractive with his soft blue eyes, eyes that were at once intelligent and—

  A tremendous explosion jolted the ship sharply on its side, throwing Christina, Hanna, and Elsie above hard against the wall. Katie screamed and Marianna hugged her tightly while bracing as though for a blow to the face.

  " 'Tis cannon fire!" Elsie cried as she recovered. They all braced themselves and waited, listening to the shouts, orders and running feet heard above, sounds that were small and weak against a fierce howling of wind, rain, and a raging sea.

  Captain Forester watched the sleek sailing ship draw boldly alongside the Defiant, while the Hero drew along starboard. The two ships' cannons were manned, readied, and aimed, seemingly at his very person, as he stood on quarterdeck giving orders. A lifeboat was being lowered into a menacingly churning sea.