Shanghaied

by K'Anne Meinel

  She stepped back and the body popped up. She was shocked to see Seamus’s eyes gazing belligerently up at her. At first, she thought she was seeing things, but then, he blinked. He reached for her, and Mel punched him in the jaw. Her surprise turned to anger. She knew if she let him live, he would kill her. If not by his own hands, he would take delight in watching others punish her, and when they found out she was a woman… She pushed him back under the water, her hands holding him under. His own hands were like grasping tentacles on her wrists as she held him under. This time, she held on longer, well after the bubbles stopped rising, and only released him when she felt his body go limp. She watched as the body floated away, face down in the cold bilge water. As she turned to head for the ladder, she heard, “Hey, down there. How deep is it?”

  She recognized the first mate’s voice, and she confidently answered, raising her voice to be heard over the noise of the storm, “At least two feet, sir.” She began to climb, wondering how much he had seen. He waited for her as she unlatched the lantern. “I hope I’m making some headway,” she said by way of distracting him, so he wouldn’t wonder why she had been down there. She nodded towards the pump. She hung the lantern back up and took the handle, starting to pump again.

  “Aye, we’re almost through this storm. You keep it up,” he encouraged, clapping her on her back and turning to head down a passageway. It was a good thing he turned just then, so he didn’t see Mel wince from where he had clapped her. He’d unintentionally hit the two whip marks that were now on her sore back. She glanced down, and her heart froze. Seamus’ whip lay on the deck. She glanced around, relieved when the first mate disappeared down the passage. She quickly scooped up the short whip and threw it through the hatch into the hold. It caught on the corner of the hole, and she suddenly heard someone coming. She stopped her steady strokes at the pump long enough to pull desperately at the whip, the leather lengths caught in a crack in the wood as she tugged, finally freeing it and throwing it into the hold. Faintly, she thought she heard a splash as she resumed her methodical pumping on the lever. She nodded as two of the ship’s officers came down the passageway, wondering if they had seen anything and hoping they hadn’t.

  Seamus’ body wasn’t discovered for a couple days. At first, they thought he had been swept off the deck, but a search of the ship turned up his body in the bilge water, which was much lower now that the men had been pumping it out around the clock. Men had been sent all over the ship to check for leaks and to unofficially search for anything out of the norm. Mel had been assigned cargo holds and was relieved that someone else discovered Seamus’ stinking corpse. It was determined that he must have somehow fallen into the hold. That accounted for the bruises to his face and forehead where he had hit the post. Mel nearly threw up when she caught a glimpse of his pasty white face before they bound him in cloth and the captain said a prayer over his decomposing body. Throwing him overboard, his feet weighted to make him sink, they continued on their way.

  Mel couldn’t conjure up any happy memories for a long time as they continued sailing east towards the Orient. She had gleaned from Humphrey Duggins that they were heading to the Far East for spices and other cargo to sell before they headed to some of the islands south of China and eventually, Australia. She tried to remember what she knew of China and Australia. Other than they were British penal colonies, she really didn’t know much.

  Humphrey Duggins was a font of information, if Mel cared to listen to the man. He didn’t speak much, but if Mel waited long enough, the sheer silence between them had the man wanting to share information from his long years at sea. She learned if they had sailed directly from San Francisco to Australia, it would have taken approximately one hundred and fifty-two days, at least that is what a passenger ship could claim. He’d seen the advertisements for it when in port, and although he couldn’t read very well, that one fact had always stayed with him once he had made it out. Since they were a cargo ship, heavier and stopping at various ports, it would be months before they made their way to Sydney, the largest port in Australia.

  It took weeks, but with Seamus’ death ruled an accident, Mel was finally able to calm herself enough to once again spend her nights before sleep with Abigail.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The day before the birthday picnic was a blustery, late spring day. It was rainy and threatening to ruin the women’s plans. Lady Baxter had been very accommodating to the idea of an innocent picnic for the girls. Mel had given Abigail a spring dress as a gift, her father willing to have a seamstress come in and make a dress for his oldest daughter. This seamstress was nothing like the Belgian one, and Abigail was pleased to see that. Mel didn’t even look at the woman twice. Instead, she was gazing at Abigail, as though seeing her for the first time as she stood there in her undergarments for her fittings.

  “I do hope this rain blows away,” Abigail fussed as the seamstress fitted her one last time, promising to have the dress done that evening.

  “I’m sure tomorrow will be warm and cheery, and all your friends will come,” Mel reassured her, happy for her friend. She’d overhead Sir Baxter discussing who they might match his daughter with. He sounded very much like the horse breeders and owners she had overheard at the races they attended together. He had discussed pedigrees and bloodlines of any potential suitors. He had dismissed any of the foreign men who had sought his daughter’s hand, even those who had determinedly written more than once. Instead, he was looking to find a man who could increase his own stature here in England through his daughter while she was still young enough to bear children. Mel had been nauseated as she contemplated her friend’s fate. Over the months she had known Abigail, she had developed a real affection for this girl, who was now a woman. She realized there were deeper feelings there, but she had never acted on them and never even intimated that she was attracted to Abigail. She never would either. Abigail was clearly a friend, and she would do nothing to jeopardize that.

  Abigail, however, had other ideas. She had carefully watched Melissa since their trip last spring when she knew she had been with that seamstress. She hadn’t seen her with anyone else since, but that didn’t mean Melissa didn’t seek out others who might satisfy her needs the few times she wasn’t staying with them. She felt strangely hurt that Melissa didn’t see her. She was eighteen, quite grown up now, and felt strangely drawn to Melissa. but she didn’t know how to make her wishes known.

  The next day dawned bright and beautiful. The storm had blown out to sea, leaving behind the promised warm temperatures, and it was cheery. Melissa had promised, and Abigail had gladly accepted, not only the gift of her beautiful day but also the dress that had been made especially for her. It was a light dress, gay and fun, and she could wear it all summer long. She looked pretty in the yellow material that was complemented with blue ribbons that showed off her pretty, blonde looks. Her other friends were thrilled to attend a picnic, both them and their beaus had been invited. A couple of them tried to keep Mel from joining in, but Abigail wasn’t having it. Mel was her special best friend, and she’d learned so much from the American. Just because she wasn’t titled was no reason to snub her. Mel ignored them, used to these kinds of girls from her time at school and abroad. She’d learned long ago to avoid them, not respond to their taunts, and rise above them, which irritated them no end. She knew it was because they thought she felt superior to them and her money made her better than them. That, added to the fact that she had no title, made her a non-entity to them. What they didn’t know is that Mel had been hurt for so long by girls just like them that it no longer penetrated her thick hide. She was determined that this day, Abigail’s eighteenth birthday, was going to be special. She had worked with Lady Baxter, who, despite her husband’s edict, was going to make her oldest daughter’s birthday special. The servants had been in on it, and the cook had even made a spun sugar cake, thrilled when Melissa had discreetly provided the funds necessary for the supplies. She was eager to show off her skills for the young
lady. Abigail was well thought of in her father’s household, and the servants wanted to see her happy.

  The picnic was a delight, and the young women enjoyed themselves thoroughly in the warm sunshine. Those with beaus showed off a little, preening and posing with the young men. A few had brought brothers, who were hoping to catch the eye of some of the young women. Mrs. Jessup, Lady Baxter, a few well-chosen footmen, and Anthony and Robert Baxter were in attendance to make sure that no one went off by themselves.

  Croquet and other amusements were set up on the lawns leading down to the river that flowed through the Baxter estate. Mel found herself sweating as she beat several of the young men, much to their disgruntlement.

  “You should let them win,” Anthony admonished, coming up behind her.

  “Why?” Mel asked, looking at the young man in puzzlement.

  The fact that he had to look up at the American woman annoyed the man. Just because of his sex, he felt he was superior to a mere woman. He hated that she towered over him, almost intimidating him. Still, she was enormously wealthy, and for this reason, he could look past her many faults. As Robert had quipped, all pussies looked the same in the dark, and once he got several heirs from her body, he could ignore her and find a mistress that suited him. “You are hurting their feelings. They are my sister’s guests,” he told her haughtily, as though the American had no manners and should know better.

  “What about my feelings?” she asked, looking sardonically at him. She knew he didn’t like to argue with a woman, but she wasn’t intimidated at all by him in all his maleness.

  “Your feelings?” he repeated in astonishment. It had never occurred to him that she wouldn’t bow to his wishes. She should let the others win. He had stated that, and she should do it.

  “Yes, I have feelings too. Maybe they should step up their game and play better, so they could genuinely beat me,” she pointed out. She had relished that last ball she had to hit, sending it sailing across the lawn and nearly into the river. The young gentlemen had taken several hits to get it back into play, losing horrendously to the rest of them. He had glared his discontent at the American. Mel wasn’t doing anyone any favors.

  He was astounded, intrigued, and more than ever, he was determined to bring this American woman to her knees. The thought of her on her knees before him had his member tingling, which surprised him since he felt she was so unattractive. He realized it was the power that was exciting him, not the ugly woman. He turned suddenly to hide his erection, shaking his head as he walked painfully away.

  Mel didn’t laugh aloud but she wanted to. She knew men didn’t like to be shown up. Her father had explained it during the painful teen years when Mel had done that to others. It was a good thing she had left school and had a tutor, or she’d have embarrassed herself and any young man foolish enough to try and compete with her. Now, she shouldn’t be so petty, and Anthony was right, she should let them win for their fragile egos. Still, it galled her to admit that.

  “I hear you just won another round of croquet,” Abigail said as she walked up, delighted for her friend. She couldn’t hit the broad side of a fence with a ball and was terrible at sports. She linked her arm with Melissa’s as she walked with her, drawing her away from the croquet, so others could play without the American beating them.

  “Are you having a good time?” Mel asked her, enjoying the arm through her own as they strolled on the lawn.

  “I am. This was a delightful idea, and Father certainly couldn’t object, although I’m sure he tried,” she muttered in an aside as she glanced at her beaming mother. Her mother and her best friend, Melissa, had made this happen. “Thank you for the idea of the picnic and for this dress,” she said, her hand brushing at an imaginary speck on the yellow linen.

  “I’m so glad you like it,” Mel told her, happy for her young friend and remembering her own eighteenth birthday. Her father had taken her down to Virginia to hunt on the farm they owned there. It had been delightful. She hadn’t hunted here, although she heard they went to the hounds. Hunting a fox with hounds did not appeal to her or her father.

  The day was declared a success as they ate along the river on blankets that the helpful servants laid out. Chicken and other cold foods were brought out for their guests to eat. Even though they were starving, the young women ate daintily and not too much, so they didn’t look like gluttons. They were jealous of the hungry, young men, who didn’t have to be as polite. The men seemed to inhale the foods brought out for their enjoyment, even the wines and fruit juices. Lady Baxter had made sure none of their young visitors had more than one glass of wine, which they could ill afford, which was used in a toast to her daughter on her eighteenth birthday.

  All too soon, the afternoon waned, and the carriages and horses were brought to take their guests home before it got dark. A couple of the guests walked across the enormous fields to their own estates, escorted by servants who had come to take them home and protect their charges. The day had been beautiful, and Abigail declared she would never forget it as she took off her birthday dress and changed into something more fitting for their dinner that evening.

  Sir Baxter was at a race, which had allowed them to have the picnic without him in attendance. Everyone had been relieved not to have him there, unsure if he had even known about it or would have allowed it. Everyone in the Baxter household had wanted Abigail to have a nice birthday, so no one had told him. Her younger sister, Janie, had found herself falling in love with one of the young men who attended, following him all over the lawns until Lady Baxter had taken pity on him and called the young girl away.

  Dinner that evening was formal, but the games they played afterwards—cards and charades—were just a nice family time together. There was none of the angst or anger that Sir Baxter brought with his demands and drinking. Even Anthony’s imperious attitude when Melissa soundly beat him at cards was laughed off by Lady Baxter. She well knew the attitudes of this younger son of hers and thought he had no hope of convincing the woman or her father that he was a worthy suitor. The American was just so different from any other girl he had ever met, and her money was probably his only incentive. If he couldn’t have the title, he would like to be richer than his brother.

  Mel got ready for bed, pleased that the day had gone so well for her friend as she thought over the events of the delightful day. She knew her father would be coming to get her in a few days, and they would be traveling on to the south of England for more business investments. She’d be sorry to go, not having had a friend so close to her in a long time. She would miss Abigail and her family, despite Anthony’s arrogant certainty that he could convince her father to let him have her hand in marriage. She started when the door opened, ready to admonish the servant who had come in without permission, and then stopped when she saw Abigail standing there in her robe, a candle on a candle holder held before her.

  “Is everything okay?” Mel asked, concerned. She could see her friend’s face in the light of the candle, and Abigail looked…worried.

  “I just wanted to thank you again for making this the most perfect of days for me.”

  “You’ve already thanked me several times today for that very thing. You know you are very welcome,” she replied, amused at the young woman’s enthusiasm.

  “I know, but I…” she suddenly lost her nerve, certain she had made a mistake as she leaned against the door she had come through, closing it behind her. She gathered her wits and would have left if Melissa hadn’t spoken again.

  “Was there something else?” she inquired, walking towards her. Abigail looked very fetching in the light of the candle, her light robe covering the nightgown she was wearing, her feet bare, and her hair released from its bun. She had brushed out the long tresses before coming through the door and it shone in the muted light of the candles.

  Abigail looked at her friend, steeling herself. Without her normal day dress and wearing a dark robe that matched her dark hair, which was down, unbound, long, and luxuriou
s, she looked…inviting, not intimidating at all. She had thought about this for a while, wondered at it, and now she was here. She wanted this perfect day to end even more perfectly. “I was wondering…I mean…could you…would you…I…I…” she suddenly found her mouth too dry to speak.

  “What is it, Abigail?” Mel didn’t have a clue, and she was concerned that something might have happened in the few minutes it had taken for them both to dress for bed.

  Suddenly, taking a deep breath, she blurted out, “Would you give me a kiss, a proper birthday kiss?”

  Surprised, it took Mel a moment to start smiling and nod. She leaned down and gave Abigail a kiss on her cheek, inhaling the scent of the blonde, who smelled of the violet water her maidservant bathed her in.

  Exasperated, Abigail tried to turn in time to capture Melissa’s lips, but the American’s height put her lips immediately out of reach. “No, not like that,” she said, putting up her hand to try to tug Melissa’s head back down to hers.

  Mel was puzzled. Abigail had never requested a kiss from her before. Of course, she had chastely hugged her friend from time to time, but now, she was confused by what the petite blonde wanted. She didn’t dare to hope what it was Abigail really wanted. The thought didn’t even enter the woman’s mind that Abigail wanted more.

  “Come down here,” she whispered in exasperation, suddenly feeling as though she had a big letter A on her chest and the servants would know why she was here in Melissa’s room. She’d read that forbidden book over at a friend’s and thought the premise quite titillating.

  Mel, still confused, bent down obediently and was completely taken by surprise when Abigail kissed her on the lips. She didn’t know how to kiss properly though. Her lips were tightly shut, and she pecked at Melissa’s lips, first one and then another, before pulling back and looking up at Mel as she slowly backed away in her confusion over the sudden attack. She brought her fingers up to her lips in wonder, looking down in Abigail’s purple eyes. They were suddenly awash with tears, and Abigail turned to leave, feeling the rejection as Melissa stared at her in stunned disbelief.