Perfect Wedding

by Duncan, Alice

  One of the brutes reached into the tonneau and grabbed something. As soon as the something fell out of the automobile, Marjorie saw that it was Jia Lee. Poor thing. Marjorie hoped she was still alive and not too badly damaged from all the rough handling she’d undergone. Life was so confounded unfair to women! For the first time, Marjorie spared a thought for Loretta’s agitating for women’s suffrage. If she survived this ordeal, she might just have to join in the next march.

  “Careful, Bart. The boss don’t want her hurt.”

  “Dammit, Frank, I know what I’m doing.”

  Aha. The dim-witted duo of Bart and Frank again. They were as ugly as Marjorie had supposed they’d be. Marjorie wished she had a gun. She might be able to fire it into the air and get the villains to release Jia Lee. Of course, then she’d have to figure out what to do with the girl. And herself. Bother.

  Where was Jason Abernathy when she needed him? He’d been ever so happy to deposit Jia Lee at the Quarleses’ house for other people to take care of, but every time something happened to the girl after that, he was sleeping. Bluidy damned man.

  “The boss wants her on the boat,” said Bart. “I’ll carry her.”

  The boat? Och, God! Marjorie folded her arms on the coil of rope and dropped her head onto them. She prayed as hard as she’d ever prayed in her life for approximately fifteen seconds. Then she lifted her head, saw that Bart was carrying out his fell scheme, and that Frank was following him onto the craft, which was a shiny mahogany pleasure yacht with brass fittings, about forty-two or forty-six feet long. Anyone else in the world would consider the craft positively gorgeous. Marjorie hated it on sight.

  But she knew she had to follow the men. She couldn’t not follow them without being plagued by her conscience for the rest of her life. Damned inconvenient things, consciences. So . . . she’d have to follow them.

  Easy to say. She couldn’t follow them either. She’d die if she got onto a boat again. She knew it. No matter what Dr. Hagendorf said.

  Anyhow, her legs wouldn’t move and her feet didn’t work, so it was impossible to board the boat. She was also at present having to gasp for breath and was on the verge of fainting dead away.

  Excuses, excuses.

  Och, good Lord, now it was Loretta’s voice that had invaded her head. It had been bad enough when Dr. Hagendorf intruded, but Loretta?

  Loretta wouldn’t be daunted by a mere fear. And Loretta certainly wouldn’t allow a fainting fit to stop her from perpetrating a rescue. Of course, Loretta didn’t have an ounce of common sense and didn’t suffer from Marjorie’s bluidy phobias, either.

  “Take hold of yoursel’, Marjorie MacTavish,” she commanded herself in a murmur. “If ye canna do this, ye’re a feeble excuse for a human being.”

  Big words. But they gave her a measure of courage. Since Bart and Frank and Jia Lee were long gone, Marjorie attempted to take a deep breath, failed, and decided the ability to breathe was overrated and that she had a duty to perform. Duty had been her salvation thus far in her life; it would see her through this ordeal. She meant this challenge.

  So, with her heart in her throat, further impeding her ability to take in more than tiny inspirations of air, with her knees knocking together like castanets, with sweat pouring from her although her skin felt like ice, with a mouth so dry that she couldn’t swallow, and with a feeling of doom pervading every cell in her body, Marjorie crept out from behind her protective coil of cable. Bracing herself for dear life on whatever solid object was closest at hand, she inched toward the boat. Before she’d taken her second step, she’d begun to cry. She hated herself for doing so, but she couldn’t help it.

  Why hadn’t she gone with Loretta to the seashore for that picnic back in May? Why hadn’t she gone to the Cliff House when Jason had invited her? Why hadn’t she gone on that boat ride when Mr. St. Claire took her to the Pan Pacific Exhibition? Those incidents could have served as practice for this crisis. But she’d been frightened of the water, so she hadn’t done any of them. And now she had to pay the price for her cowardice and stupidity by doing this without any kind of practice at all.

  Weaving her way to the boat—her steps were unsteady, and she was still gasping for air—Marjorie arrived at the gangplank. She was going to be sick. Her stomach heaved and pitched, and she bent over, clutching at it and squeezing her eyes shut. Her stomach settled gradually, but she realized she was just standing there, on the pier, holding on to the rope rail to the gangplank, and that somebody might see her any second.

  Frightened by that possibility, Marjorie was spurred to scuttle across the gangplank, which swayed slightly, sending her stomach into turmoil once more. As soon as she was on-deck, she jumped behind a barrel—and collapsed into a shuddering heap.

  She didn’t know how long she remained in that pitiful condition, but eventually she realized she wasn’t dead. Unfortunately, an increasingly angry voice in her head said acrimoniously. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It was absolutely and completely rotten. Why should she who had a—justifiable, by God—fear of the ocean, have to rescue this confounded woman? Jia Lee wasn’t her problem, confound it!

  In that moment, she hated Jason Abernathy, Jia Lee, Loretta Quarles, and God, not necessarily in that order, but profoundly. And, recalling why this crisis was taking place in the first place, she added Jia Lee’s parents, her purchaser, Chinese tongs, and Bart and Frank to her hate list.

  It was, in fact, her hate that got her up and moving again. She decided she wasn’t going to let them win. She was going to survive this ordeal, rescue Jia Lee, and, by God, tell them all what she thought of them.

  First, of course, she had to find Jia Lee. Since she was already on the deck of the boat—she hadn’t picked herself up yet—she peered out from behind the barrel. No sailors’ legs and feet met her gaze. Lifting herself into a kneeling position and hoping she wouldn’t throw up, she peeked again. No one. Not a soul. Where the devil were they?

  Perhaps whoever had masterminded this event preferred to keep his fell business to himself and, therefore, had not employed a huge staff. That made as much sense as anything else about the business did, she supposed. If it were true, it might make this job of hers easier . . . if anything about it could possibly be easy.

  After she had made it to her feet and stopped swaying, Marjorie dared take a step away from her barrel. At once, she retreated behind it again. She needed a plan before she tackled anything as panic-inducing as actually walking on the deck of a water-going vessel again, even so small a one as this.

  First of all, she needed to find Jia Lee. Then she could formulate further plans, even if that only meant returning to shore and reporting to the police.

  Damn and blast, she’d forgotten that the police didn’t care about people like Jia Lee. Well, she’d report it all to Jason. And Loretta.

  So she sucked in a breath—and thank God, she could take one again—and once more sallied forth in pursuit of Jia Lee. Because her shoes sounded like cannon blasts when she stepped on the wooden deck, she again retreated behind her barrel, telling herself as she did so that she was merely being prudent and not giving in to her panic.

  “Gudgeon,” she muttered, knowing that prudence was only a tiny part of the reason she didn’t want to leave the safety of her barrel. Not that it was much safety.

  She hated having to leave her shoes behind, but in the interest of safety, she did so. Then, making herself as small as possible against the cabin of the yacht, she sidled along, listening for all she was worth. She hadn’t gone far before she heard voices coming from inside the cabin.

  “Good. Just leave her on the chair, fellows. I’ll take care of everything now.”

  “What are the tongs gonna do to you?” either Frank or Bart wanted to know.

  “That’s not your problem.”

  That voice, which sounded awfully familiar to Marjorie, as well as quite supercilious, must belong to the leader of the gang. Marjorie was dying to know who he was.

&nb
sp; She wished she hadn’t thought the word dying. Ah, well . . .

  Inching toward the porthole, keeping a wary eye out for signs that someone else might be on the boat, Marjorie crept. When she reached the porthole, she very gingerly crouched beneath it, trying to judge by the voices where everyone in the cabin was located. She couldn’t. Confound it.

  Well, it couldn’t be helped. Praying that no one was looking her way, she quickly took a peek inside the cabin—and nearly suffered a spasm. As quickly as she’d looked, she crouched again, her heart battering against her rib cage like gunfire.

  Good God! Was that who she thought it was? Marjorie didn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. Her state of panic must have interfered with her vision. She must be seeing things. Or . . . God forbid, maybe Loretta was right, and she was a raving lunatic. She couldn’t have seen whom she thought she’d seen. She must be . . .

  Very, very slowly, she inched up toward the porthole once more. Praying that the attention of everyone in the cabin was still focused away from her, she allowed herself a slightly longer peek.

  It was he.

  Good Lord in heaven, it was Hamilton St. Claire! Was Hamilton the evil importer of Chinese prostitutes? How could he be? He was a lawyer! He was rich! He was a baby, for sweet Jesus’ sake!

  Baby or not, he seemed to be in charge of this situation. As she listened for all she was worth, Marjorie’s opinion of Mr. Hamilton St. Claire underwent a revision. From thinking of him as a slightly silly young lad, she suddenly realized he was an intensely evil man.

  Merciful heavens, wouldn’t his pater have a fit when he heard about this, though?

  She heard Hamilton tell Bart and Frank to leave the cabin, and she searched wildly around for somewhere to hide. A lifeboat was suspended on a divot several feet away. Marjorie was about to make a dash for it, when, before her eyes, flashed a scene from the last time she’d been aboard a lifeboat. She froze in place, a virtual pillar of salt, like Lot’s wife.

  Stap it! She rubbed her eyes, hard, to eliminate the vision. Then, with a monumental effort of will, she forced herself to head for the lifeboat. Do it scared, her inner voice commanded. So she did.

  Right before she left the porthole, however, she heard Hamilton say, “I’ll just take the yacht out and eliminate this problem forever, boys. You won’t be needed again. And if you ever come back and ask me for more money, you’ll regret it. Believe me.”

  Marjorie believed him. She’d never heard such menace in a human voice. And she had no doubt he’d carry out his threat.

  Evidently, neither did Frank nor Bart. One of them said, “Sure, boss. We won’t do nothing stupid.”

  But whatever did he mean, he was going to take the boat out and eliminate the problem? Marjorie gulped painfully. She had a feeling she knew what he meant. Good God, what an evil person he was! She never would have guessed. He’d seemed so . . . so . . . insipid was the word that sprang to mind. Some judge of character she was!

  And what would this do to the cast of Pirates?

  Marjorie told herself not to be an idiot. She had enough to concentrate on right now without adding irrelevancies to the mix.

  It occurred to her then that she’d become so engrossed in the conversation inside the cabin and her terrifying memories concerning the lifeboat that she’d forgotten to be afraid of the ocean.

  Naturally, as soon as she thought about it, terror overwhelmed her. Since she was lying in a lifeboat, she could faint in peace, but she didn’t. Again, fury and hate propelled her to shove her fears aside. Until this hair-raising experience, she’d never realized how convenient those two emotions could be.

  When Bart and Frank lumbered past her lifeboat, Marjorie held her breath. If either one of them bothered to glance into the boat, she was sunk. Perhaps literally. God, God, God, please help me!

  God was evidently hearing at least some of her desperate prayers, because the two men’s footsteps veered onto the gangplank and disappeared. Marjorie heard the automobile rumble to life, and its noise, too, faded into the distance.

  So. Now all she had to do was foil Hamilton’s vicious scheme, rescue Jia Lee, and get the both of them back to the pier. Resisting the urge to pound her head against the bottom of the boat, Marjorie peeked over its side. No one seemed to be anywhere on the boat. Was Hamilton all alone except for Jia Lee? It was possible, she supposed. He probably didn’t want too many people to know of his business dealings outside of his father’s law firm.

  Perceiving no choice, Marjorie slung a leg over the side of the lifeboat and hoisted herself down onto the deck. Again, she sneaked up to the porthole and looked inside the cabin. Hamilton’s expression was as black as any Marjorie had ever seen on a human face as he glared at Jia Lee. Poor Jia Lee was tied to a chair. Marjorie added one more thing to her to-do-list. Secure some way of severing her bonds.

  Oh, Lord, she wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing! Why hadn’t it fallen to Loretta to rescue the bluidy woman?

  Realizing that this sort of thinking signified a weak character—at the very least—Marjorie guided her mind onto a more productive path. Where the devil could she find a knife or a large pair of scissors?

  Hamilton’s voice scared her nearly out of her skin. She gasped loudly, and prayed he hadn’t heard her.

  “I’m going to start the motor now, my little dove. And then we’re going to take a trip out into the bay.”

  Jia Lee probably hadn’t understood a word he’d said, but she sobbed, thereby proving to Marjorie that she understood his intent, if not his words.

  Marjorie didn’t understand his words, either, if it came to that. Start the motor? Marjorie guessed she had heard about outboard motors propelling boats, but they were uncommon, and she’d never seen on—naturally. She wouldn’t be seeing this one if necessity hadn’t forced her to.

  “Don’t cry.” Hamilton’s voice was snide and vicious. “I know you believe yourself to have been hard used, but it’s your parents’ fault. Whoever heard of selling a daughter into prostitution? Christ, your people are barbarians.”

  And just what did he think he was, Marjorie wanted to know. The notion of buying a woman was absolutely appalling to her. She supposed some kind of cultural imperative might possibly allow for the sale of daughters in some places, but in the United States, where slavery had been abolished more than fifty years before, there was no excuse for Hamilton’s behavior.

  Och, God! He was leaving the cabin! As quickly and quietly as she could, Marjorie scuttled back to the lifeboat and crawled inside. Her skirt caught on a divot and tore, leaving a scrap of fabric dangling in the open air, but she didn’t have time to snatch it back before the cabin door opened. Squeezing her eyes shut, praying for all she was worth, and trying to scrunch into the smallest bundle possible, she waited for Hamilton to notice the tatter of her skirt flapping in the wind, find her, and murder her along with Jia Lee.

  His footsteps approached. She swallowed and held her breath. Her heart hammered so hard, she felt certain he must be able to hear it. Her ears rang. Her nerves jangled like sleigh bells. A sob caught in her throat.

  And the footsteps passed the lifeboat without a pause. Marjorie’s relief was so great, she nearly cried. Firmly she told herself that she could cry later. As soon as Hamilton was wherever the engine was, she had to rescue Jia Lee, with or without a knife. For the first time in her life, she wished she went about armed. This would be so much easier if she could simply shoot Hamilton.

  She told herself she was going crazy. It was impossible to account for her bloodthirstiness in any other way. Perhaps she’d get over it if she survived this adventure.

  Listening hard, she heard a noise some distance away. She scolded herself for not ascertaining exactly where everything was on the yacht before she began spying, although it did no good to second-guess herself. When she’d first boarded the cursed thing, she’d been so terrified, it was all she could do to remain conscious. She ought to be proud of herself, confound it, not scolding herself!<
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  That being the case, and as soon as she heard a motor rumble, Marjorie again scrambled out of the lifeboat. She hurried to the cabin, praying the door wasn’t locked. Thank God, it wasn’t. With a finger pressed to her lips to keep Jia Lee from crying out, she pushed the door open.

  Jia Lee had been drooping in her chair, hanging her head, and looking as if she were already dead. At Marjorie’s abrupt entrance, she jerked violently, and Marjorie barely had time to dash over and catch the chair before it could topple over. There was no gag covering Jia Lee’s mouth, so Marjorie clapped her hand over it, just in case the woman’s astonishment led her to cry out.

  “Shhh,” Marjorie said. “I’m here to help you.” She wished she’d learned more Chinese words and phrases. It would do no good to ask Jia Lee where she hurt or if she’d like a nice cup of tea. What she needed to know was where a knife could be procured.

  Despite the language barrier, Jia Lee understood. She nodded vigorously, so Marjorie felt safe in removing her hand. She made sawing motions with her hands over the bound woman’s ropes and lifted her eyebrows. Jia Lee appeared puzzled for a moment before she nodded her comprehension and tilted her head to the left.

  And, to Marjorie’s utter astonishment, a knife lay on the chair where Hamilton had sat. Something had gone right for a change! Heartened by this, the first indication that all wasn’t lost quite yet, Marjorie picked up the knife and set to on Jia Lee’s ropes. It wasn’t an easy task, since she was trying not to cut the girl as she worked, but she finally succeeded.

  “Can you walk?” Marjorie demonstrated her question by taking a couple of exaggerated steps toward the door.

  Nodding, Jia Lee started to rise from her chair. Hurrying to help her, Marjorie said, “Careful. Your circulation might be impaired.”

  Again, Jia Lee nodded, although Marjorie was sure she didn’t understand her admonition. However, she must have comprehended her intention because she hesitated before taking one tiny step and halting, Marjorie holding fast to her the while. She didn’t topple over after that one step, so she took another one. Again, Jia Lee nodded.