Shanghaied

by K'Anne Meinel

  “Mr. Lawrence,” the count greeted him, bowing slightly, his heels tapping together as he stood back at attention. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Countess de Croӱ.”

  “Count de Croӱ,” Victor said charmingly, bowing to them both and taking the Countess’ hand and kissing the back of it. “Countess de Croӱ. May I introduce my daughter, Melissa Lawrence, her friend, Lady Baxter, and the lady’s chaperone, Mrs. Jessup.”

  “Charmant,” he said, bowing first over Melissa’s hand and then Lady Baxter’s hand as his wife acknowledged the older woman.

  They were led into the formal ballroom where people were standing about gossiping, waiting for the amusements to begin. The men and women had segregated, and the countess led Melissa and Abigail towards a younger group of girls, Mrs. Jessup trailing discreetly behind. She introduced them around and left them to attend to some of her other guests.

  The women, girls really, talked rapidly in French, assuming the American and the Englishwoman didn’t speak a word of it. Mel exchanged a look with Abigail, and together they turned their backs on the group and walked away.

  “Excusez-moi,” a young gentleman approached them.

  Mel nearly laughed at his bad French and decided being straightforward might shock this polite society, but she wasn’t going to let the young man be miserable as he was looking so hopefully at Abigail. “We speak English,” she told him quietly.

  He looked instantly relieved as he immediately bowed. “May I ask to be introduced to your chaperone?” he asked, looking hopefully to Mel as though she had this title.

  “Of course,” Abigail said, a delighted smile of mischief on her face as she glanced at Melissa. She had been appalled at the few words of French she had caught from that group of Belgian girls. They had been rude towards Mel, who simply turned away. She caught it in time to turn with her, making it look as though both were of the same mind. She had to wonder how often Mel was insulted like that. “May I introduce you to my chaperone,” she said, giving it the French inflection, “Mrs. Jessup?”

  The young man looked surprised at the frowning matron several paces behind the two young women he had approached, but he quickly recovered as he bowed to her formally. “Madam, I would like to be introduced to your charge…s,” he added belatedly, looking at Mel. She gazed at him as though his equal, and it alarmed him. She was taller than he!

  Mel distinctly heard Mrs. Jessup mumble, “Impertinent,” under her breath before she obliged the young man.

  The title of lady delighted him as he gazed at the petite blonde, but he was surprised and confused by the title of Miss attributed to the large, young woman. Still, she was dressed expensively, which bespoke money. He glanced once more at Lady Baxter.

  “May I ask for the privilege of the first dance?” he asked in what he hoped was a charming voice.

  Abigail glanced at Mrs. Jessup, who was eyeing the young man with distaste. He was barely out of the schoolroom from what she could see. She glanced at her best friend, who was trying not to laugh and nodded once before looking away. “I would be delighted,” she assured him, remembering her manners.

  He smiled, showing off teeth that belonged in a horse’s mouth. His delight was apparent to anyone who cared to look. “I will seek you out as soon as the music starts,” he assured her. He bowed again to both her and Mel and forgot the older Mrs. Jessup, who harrumphed and mumbled something under her breath again.

  “Why did you encourage me to dance with him?” Abigail asked Mel as they strolled along looking at people, nodding politely and being seen, an important part of these social gatherings.

  “He was so earnest, and I thought you might enjoy dancing with him. It will give those,” her head nodded back to the girls they had left, “something to talk about.”

  “They were nasty–” Abigail began, then put her hand to her mouth in shock that she had said it aloud.

  Mel chuckled and nodded. “Your French is improving.”

  They enjoyed themselves. The young man’s request for a dance was the first of many as gossip flowed that Abigail was the daughter of an earl. The gossip got a lot of facts wrong and frequently, Melissa Lawrence’s name and value as an heiress was confused with her friend’s background. Mrs. Jessup had a busy night keeping an eye on Abigail and the many young men who wanted to make the pretty young blonde’s acquaintance.

  Abigail was surprised when Victor Lawrence danced with her and asked if she was having a good time. Tongue-tied at the man’s presence, she calmed when she realized how kind the man had been to her. After all, he valued her opinion on horses, and he was her good friend’s father. She did wonder if he knew about Melissa’s proclivities and if he approved.

  Mel danced a few times, showing she was well versed in the current dances. Despite her height and girth, she was graceful, witty, and to some men’s alarm, very direct. Older men appreciated her humor and honesty as well as her intelligence. One or two were looking for a second wife and considered courting the heiress. The young men, while trying to be polite, couldn’t get past Mel’s looks, and many times, she was taller than they. Her enormous wealth attracted only the ones that were down on their luck and looking to enrich their coffers. Still, Mel enjoyed herself and was pleased to dance with her father on several occasions before the night was concluded.

  “Did you girls have a good time?” Victor asked them both again at the end of the night as the carriage drove them back to their hotel. They would be moving on to other establishments in the next few days, having been invited to private homes for the rest of their stay before they would return to England.

  Both girls assured him they had before fatigue quieted them and they were glad to go straight to bed. Mrs. Jessup was asleep almost instantly as she got into her bed next to her charge, and she never heard when Abigail got up to peek out the bedroom door.

  Victor Lawrence had gone downstairs to smoke cigars with some men he had invited back to the hotel to talk business despite the lateness of the hour, and Melissa was alone in the living room. Abigail nearly went out to her when she heard a discreet tapping on the door to the suite, and Melissa got up to answer it. She watched as Melissa snuck the seamstress into her bedroom, closing the door firmly, the sound of the lock distinct in the quiet of the suite.

  Abigail returned to her bed, exhausted from the evening but thinking about everything she had observed. The American girl seemed not to care that the girls their age snubbed them, and the men their age were only after her money. She’d had lively conversations with older men, some who seemed interested in her, but Abigail wondered if they were just interested in the American’s immense fortune. She had no idea how much money Melissa would one day inherit, but Victor Lawrence was not only generous with his only child but seemed to have no qualms about spending his money on his latest venture. Would he force Melissa to marry? Would she continue to seek out willing women? Why didn’t Melissa see her? This, above all other things, was bothering the young woman.

  * * * * *

  They returned to England, eager to share their adventures with the entire Baxter family while Victor went off to inspect the work he was having done on the farms he had purchased.

  “Oh, this is lovely, Abi,” her younger sister enthused as she looked at the gown that Abigail had had made in Belgium. She was envious that her sister had gone to a grown-up party. She listened to the stories the two girls shared avidly, surprised that she was even interested.

  “We’ve had several letters,” Sir Anthony announced to his daughter a few days later, sounding aggrieved.

  “Letters?” Abigail asked, surprised. Had someone reported her for inappropriate behavior? She hadn’t done anything, had she? She quickly thought back to their trip and wondered if Mrs. Jessup had told him something. She immediately thought of Melissa’s behavior and wondered if someone had seen something there. No, Melissa had been most discreet.

  “Apparently, you made an impression in Belgium, and these are inquiries for your hand in marriage
,” he told her, looking thunderous. “I’ll have no daughter of mine wasted on those Frenchies!”

  “I think they are actually more Dutch,” Lady Baxter tried to soothe him. She was just grateful he wasn’t drunk for this conversation.

  “Dutch, French, I don’t care. I won’t have it! My daughter will marry a good Englishman, or I’ll know the reason why!” he thundered, pounding his fist in his hand and wincing at his own strength.

  Abigail agreed, trying to reassure her father it hadn’t been her idea, and she hadn’t encouraged any of them. It took some convincing, with Melissa speaking up on her friend’s behalf, before she was believed, but finally, he calmed down. Her brothers, Robert and Anthony, kept making faces behind their father’s back, pleased that she had been called on the carpet for these unsolicited proposals. They couldn’t believe that their little sister was of marriageable age and would tease her mercilessly when their father wasn’t about.

  “Can you believe that?” Abigail hissed once she and Melissa were alone.

  “Actually, I can. You looked very fetching,” Mel told her, wondering why it was such an outrage to Sir Baxter that others would find his daughter appealing. “They obviously thought you worthy.”

  “But father was so angry,” she said, sounding relieved to be away from it.

  “Of course, he doesn’t want to lose control of you to others. It’s ultimately his decision who you marry,” Mel reminded her, suddenly feeling sad for her friend. She knew her father wanted her to marry too but would never pick a husband for her.

  Abigail resented that Sir Baxter had the final say of anyone she married. He could force her to marry anyone he wanted to make a match with. She wished it weren’t so. She glanced at Melissa and sat down on her bed.

  Mel sat in the room’s only chair and watched her friend, hoping she wasn’t too upset. She’d seen how Robert and Anthony had behaved. Not only had it been disrespectful to their father but to Abigail. If she hadn’t wanted to marry Anthony before, she wanted to even less now. What childish and inappropriate behavior. She’d enjoyed some of the conversations she’d had on the continent with older men, finding men her own age more interested in what she could bring to a match or talking some drivel that only a girl with nothing in her head would be interested in. The condescension they heaped on women set her teeth on edge.

  “Oh, God. Melissa, what will I do if he’s horrible?” she asked, worrying about who her father would ultimately pick.

  “Didn’t your mother once say you weren’t to marry until you were eighteen?” Mel asked, remembering something she had heard the older woman say.

  “But I’ll be eighteen next month. Didn’t you know?” she asked, suddenly looking alarmed.

  “Well, are you going to have a party?” she asked, trying to distract her from the thought of marrying someone she didn’t want.

  “No, Father says they are getting too expensive, and I have my coming out party next fall,” she replied, sounding miserable.

  “Well, we must have a private party then,” Mel enthused to cheer her friend up.

  “How can we do that? Father won’t allow a party.”

  “Let’s invite some of your friends,” Mel began musingly. Even though she didn’t like some of those girls, they were Abigail’s friends. “We can have a picnic.”

  “Oh, you think we can?” The idea really appealed to her, effectively distracting her from her plight.

  “Let’s conspire with your mother. I’m sure she will say it’s okay.”

  Completely distracted, Abigail was suddenly happy again as they made their plans.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Thinking back to that long-ago picnic, Mel smiled, reveling in her memories as she drifted miserably off to sleep in her hammock. She was awoken by the shouted commands of men who were thrown about as the storm worsened. She was assigned to one of the pumps, pumping water out of the hold, so they wouldn’t sink. Her large, strong shoulders effortlessly worked the lever as she watched the bellows sucking in water and propelling it through the hose onto the deck above them.

  “Faster there, faster!” the nasty voice of Seamus O’Grady interrupted Mel’s more pleasant thoughts of the picnic on Abigail’s eighteenth birthday.

  “Aye, aye,” Mel agreed, grunting out the words, so the man couldn’t tell how annoyed she was to be in his presence. Since she had awoken on this ship all those months ago, she had been belittled, treated like a slave, only her size preventing a beating or two. She’d be respectful, but she wouldn’t take his guff.

  “What’s that?” he asked, getting close enough that she could smell his fetid breath. His teeth were nearly all rotted out of his mouth.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” she said respectfully as she pumped the water out of the hold. She glanced to where the other man had been. He was nowhere to be seen, the other pump lying idle. She hadn’t even noticed him leaving as she daydreamed back to England and Abigail’s delightful presence.

  “I ain’t no sir. I ain’t no officer,” he said, sounding insulted, his spittle hitting her in the face. She could smell the rum about him. She briefly wondered if it was stolen from the holds. She knew he wasn’t supposed to be drinking, especially as they had a crisis to deal with during this storm.

  She nodded, not sure how to answer that.

  “I been a watchin’ you. You learn quick. Mayhap we can do for each other?” he asked crudely.

  Mel froze for a second, unsure what the man was asking. He was one of the men who had used that boy they had captured. She glanced at him, sure she had misunderstood, and saw him eyeing her muscular arm, almost salivating.

  “I’m fine,” she said, turning her back to him, trying to ignore him. The ship was heaving to and fro, and she could hear the water sloshing down below. She pumped harder, faster, hoping he would leave her alone. Instead, she suddenly felt the lash of his whip. It stung painfully. More than the pain though, she was concerned that her thick shirt would be cut to ribbons, exposing that she was wearing a band to flatten and hide her breasts. She knew the men wouldn’t hesitate to hold her down and rape her repeatedly if they discovered her sex. Not all the men were of his ilk but enough that the decent ones could do nothing to protect her.

  It was bad enough that the man had blithely thought she would accommodate another man. She didn’t mind that some of the men partook in their pleasures this way. The boy seemed to enjoy his keepers now, even if he had become a little cocky and arrogant. There were a few men who were faithful to each other. Most on the ship were heterosexual men, who would wait to find a woman when they were in port rather than pleasure each other, while others were only pleasuring each other while on ship. They seemed to think that while on ship it didn’t count. She’d heard enough of them wanking off in their hammocks at night and slipped barefoot on the results of that, disgusted and wishing for her sturdy boots. The pain of her back as she was struck again had her turning and lashing out. Seamus was closer than she realized; he was closer than he realized too. Her fist struck the man and he went flying into one of the supporting beams, his head cracking against it as he bounced off and fell, stunned, into the hold she was pumping out.

  Mel quickly went to the hatch, peering down into it and grabbing a lantern. She looked around. No one was near to help her, and they couldn’t hear her shouts for help over the sounds of the storm. Holding the lantern as the ship rode the waves, knocking everyone and everything about, she peered around and made her decision. She carefully made her way into the hold, completely aware that she could drown down there and no one would know until they realized she wasn’t at the pump. She wondered if they’d be angrier that she wasn’t manning her station or for the loss of her hard-working body. She knew they didn’t care about her as a person, only about her ability to work. She peered into the darkness, looking for Seamus and hearing a faint groan. She hung the lantern on a hook placed there for that purpose, being careful to latch it, so it wouldn’t fall into the water as the ship rocked back and forth. She saw
Seamus was barely above water, his face scarcely held up by his buoyancy as the waves in the bilge splashed over him. The water was filthy from the upper decks filtering down. It contained all sorts of contaminants, including human urine. And there were rats. She could hear them off in the darkness, their squeaks a reminder that this place was disgusting. She shuddered. She hated rats.

  She went to fish Seamus out of the water, and he feebly tried to shake her hands loose. In that moment, she had another thought. She looked around, peering off into the darkness and then up at the lantern and the hole she had crawled through to get into this space. No one knew they were down here. If she brought Seamus back up out of the bilge, he would make some outrageous claim, and she would be whipped for insubordination. He would enjoy every minute of her pain and humiliation. It wouldn’t matter if it was true or not; he held the power of life or death over her and many others. He had made their lives horrible. Only her size and willingness to work had kept her from some of his cruelties. Now that she had rebuffed him, he would make her pay. She knew she was in a dangerous situation.

  Seamus pawed feebly at her hand, trying to get her to release him, and with the ship lurching, she accommodated him. Standing in the cold, stinking water, she watched as he popped back to the surface. He was becoming more aware of where he was; she could see it in his expression. The stunning blow to his head must be fading, and she had to work quickly if she was going to do anything. She looked around once more, then without another thought, she lifted her bare, filthy foot and put it down on his chest. He went under immediately. When he realized what she was doing, his hands started to pull feebly at her foot, her ankle, and then her leg. She put her whole weight on that leg, careful not to lose her balance as she held him under the water while the ship rocked to and fro. She peered into the light cast by the lantern and looked at the bubbles rising. She wondered how long it took for a man to drown. His hands eventually stopped pulling at her, and when the bubbles stopped, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears over the noise the ship was making in the storm. She relaxed and stepped back, taking her foot and weight off the man’s chest.