'Please, if you have any humanity, let her go!' she begged, walking to join the group.
'Are you offering yourself in her place?" Duclos asked, and glanced pointedly down at her stomach where her pregnancy was now obvious. 'Somehow, I don't think it would be so enjoyable.'
'Flora, go back inside,' Jamie ordered, and Flora had never heard him speak so coldly to her. She stared at him in shock, then at Duclos.
'You are despicable, using your position to treat women in such a fashion!' she raged, but the captain ignored her.
Mr Cameron suddenly flung himself forward, his fists flailing, and the captain was laughing, defending himself easily against the wild onslaught. Jamie grabbed Flora and dragged her out of the way, while several sailors, who had been watching the argument with grins on their faces, drew closer and formed a cheering ring round the men.
'Jamie, stop them!' she pleaded, but he shook his head.
'It's useless, we'll all be in irons if I interfere. Go back to the children, Flora.'
She resisted, and without force he could not move her. Besides, the sailors were blocking the way across the deck as they urged the captain to 'show the little runt what for'.
Duclos was playing with his attacker. That was obvious as he dodged the wild punches, skipping back out of reach, and occasionally swinging his own fists to land a blow on Cameron's face. Cameron's swings grew wilder, less directed. One eye was closed, and blood streamed from his nose. Then Duclos moved in purposefully and delivered a couple of punches so rapidly Flora could barely see his fists moving. She heard the crack as one of them met bone, however, and then a dull crunching sound as Cameron tripped on a hatchway behind him and fell heavily to the deck.
He lay still, Duclos standing over him, breathing a little faster than normal, but with a grim smile on his face. One of the sailors knelt down, felt for Cameron's heart, and then looked up at Duclos.
'Oh dear, Captain. He seems to have cracked his skull on the iron ring. I'm afraid he's dead.'
***
Flora had to suppress her own horror as she tried to console the dead man's family. She was fuming inwardly. Surely if Jamie and Bruce together had faced up to Duclos he'd have acted differently. There were other men aboard who would have helped, such as Andrew and Gordon.
She thought about Andrew. He hadn't been on deck that morning, during the fight. Somehow she knew that he would never have stood by and watched the bully Duclos make sport of Graham. After she'd persuaded Annie's mother, Isabella, to swallow one of her own sleeping draughts, and left her in the care of her sister Jane, she went to look for him.
She found him still asleep in the family's tiny living space. Eliza was sitting with her back to one of the chests, staring into space, but as Flora knelt beside her she glanced up at her.
'I heard,' she sighed. She gestured to Andrew, who was snoring loudly. 'He took more whisky than was good for him last night. They've been playing cards, and I think he lost, the fool. I scolded him, but now I think perhaps it's as well. He'd never have stood by without interfering, and what good would that have done?'
'If they'd all acted together they might have stopped it,' Flora said wearily.
Eliza shook her head. 'No, he's captain, he has the authority to do what he wants with us. I only hope I can persuade Andrew not to try and take revenge, or that devil will clap him in irons, if not worse.'
Isabella, on the following day, was still distraught. As soon as she awoke and recalled what had happened she began to weep, and not waiting to comb her hair or tidy the gown she'd slept in, she climbed out onto the deck. Flora was there with the children, listening to Brendan O'Brien, the Irish fiddler, who was playing softly while his wife Moira sang plaintive airs. Flora did not understand the words, but the emotions were clear enough.
Isabella staggered, holding up her hand to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight. She looked round, seemed dazed, then set off rapidly towards the captain's cabin in the stern. Flora stood up hastily, but before she could move Duclos appeared from his cabin, closing and locking the door behind him.
'Give me that key!' Isabella screamed at him. 'Give my my daughter back, you foul monster! You've no right to treat her as a plaything! She's a good girl, my Annie.'
She threw herself at him, clawing at his face, but he held her off with contemptuous ease.
'Cease that wailing, woman. I'll do as I like on my ship.'
Several of the people on deck drew closer to them. There were mutters of support for Isabella, but no one challenged the captain outright. He glared round at them.
'I do as I please, do you understand?' he said slowly. 'Take this besom away and keep her away from me. I'm warning you all. One more scene like this, from her,' he flung Isabella aside and she would have fallen if one of the men had not caught her, 'or from any of you, and I'll keep you all locked in the hold for the rest of the voyage. Do you understand?'
They nodded, and Isabella, now sobbing quietly, was led away. For several days most of the passengers were very quiet, keeping out of the way of Duclos. Andrew moved about restlessly, scowling at anyone who spoke to him. The only person who managed to break through the barrier he had erected was Meg.
'He's raging inside,' she told Flora as they shared the cooking. 'He blames himself for being too drunk to interfere, to help Mr Cameron. He thinks that if he'd been there the captain wouldn't have been able to kill him.'
'The captain didn't kill him directly,' Bruce said, overhearing. 'He fell, and hit his head on an iron ring.'
'It wouldn't have happened if the captain hadn't been fighting him,' Meg said stubbornly.
Flora longed for the voyage to end. These violent emotions, confined as they were in such a small space, brought back all the loathing she'd had of being surrounded by people, too many people. It was once more like a city, and she felt tense all the time, and suffered occasional recurrences of nightmares.
They'd been at sea for three weeks already, and it would take at least another three to reach Halifax, their destination. She feared it could take much longer, for the wind was slight, they often lay becalmed, and the sailors had reduced the rations of fresh water, saying they had to make sure it lasted until they reached land. Some of the men slung fishing lines over the sides, and when they caught anything the fresh food made everyone more cheerful.
The only relief was when Brendan and Moira, always seeming carefree, entertained the passengers. She sang in her pure, clear voice, while he played on his fiddle, making magic with tunes full of sorrow and longing, or happy, spritely songs which set every foot on board tapping. He was always ready to entertain the children, either with music or stories of fairies, giants and leprechauns. Flora herself was sometimes ready to believe that Ireland was full of these wonderful creatures, so convincing was he.
That forgetfulness could not last for long, however. It wasn't simply the dreadfully cramped conditions, the smells, the pervasive dampness in their living quarters, the monotonous food, or the petty squabbles which erupted daily amongst the weary emigrants that distressed Flora. She and Jamie had never regained their former ease with one another.
She blamed him for not doing more to help Annie, or save Graham Cameron. He in his turn withdrew into a silent world where she could not follow. He was punctiliously polite, did all he could to help her, was solicitous about her physical discomforts, took the children away so that she could rest when she felt low, and that was all. Though he always kissed her goodnight, the narrowness of the sleeping space made it impossible for them to lie entwined in one another's arms, talking, kissing, caressing, as they had almost every night of their marriage.
Flora began to question whether she had been wrong to urge him to oppose Duclos. She suspected he had been right after all in saying there was nothing he could do. But she didn't know how to tell him, how to explain, to apologise. And despite all these doubts she still wished they could have done something to help Annie, who hadn't been seen since she had been taken away by Du
clos.
The weather became hotter and there was virtually no breeze. Below deck it was stifling and stuffy. Most people, apart from a few who were suffering from an ague, spent their days on deck trying to escape from the stale, unpleasant smells. Flora wished sometimes she could leap overboard to feel the cool waves against her skin. Once or twice she believed she would, one day, succumb to the temptation. She relished every drop of salt spray which touched her face. Today, though, there was none, and she rubbed her eyes, desperately seeking relief, barely able to tolerate the cramped conditions on deck, the proximity of people talking, quarelling, or laughing noisily. Jamie touched her arm.
'Go and lie down for a while,' he suggested. 'It's quieter below. Bruce and I will look after the children.'
'Where's Meg?' she asked.
'I haven't seen her for some time. She might be with that friend of hers, the girl from Inverness. They always seem to be together these days.'
Flora nodded, and went below. By now, despite her increasing girth, she was adept at negotiating the ladder. Most of the women kilted up their skirts to make it easier to move around. She walked slowly towards their berth, and saw that the one next to them had a blanket drawn across the opening. Maybe Meg was there. If so, she'd ask the girl to go up and help Jamie. She pulled the curtain aside and gasped in shock.
'Meg! Andrew!'
She stopped, unable to say more. Meg's clothes lay discarded on the chests, and the girl lay sprawled on her back, Andrew lying naked on top of her. Meg was smiling ecstatically, neck arched, her hands clutching Andrew's shoulders, her eyes closed. Before Flora could move, Andrew glanced round at the sound of her voice. To her fury he merely grinned at her, and then turned his attentions back to Meg, who lay unheeding.
Flora, her cheeks hot with anger and embarrassment, hastily moved away and sank down onto her own mattress. How long had this been going on? Why had she not guessed? Probably because she regarded Meg as still a child. She was only just sixteen. Flora had been aware for some time that Meg, in common with most of the young girls on the boat, looked up at Andrew in mute adoration. He could have had his pick of them, but she'd thought he preferred Annie. What should she do? Ought she to tell Bruce?
She was still pondering the dilemma when Meg, now fully dressed, crept in to sit beside her.
'You saw us,' she said quietly. 'Andrew said you saw us.'
Flora looked at her. The child was smiling, almost purring like a cat. It seemed she was not at all ashamed of being discovered.
'I saw you,' Flora agreed grimly. 'You're being remarkably foolish, as well as wicked. What will your father say?'
'He needn't know,' Meg said quietly. 'I won't tell him, and nor will Andrew. And you need not. It would only cause trouble, as he thinks I'm still a child.'
Flora was amazed at her calmness. 'But, what if you're pregnant? Was that the first time?'
'No. We try to find somewhere as often as we can. And if I'm pregnant Andrew will marry me. I hope I am. I love him.'
'What about Annie?' Flora asked bluntly. 'Andrew was showing all the signs of falling in love with her.'
'She's damaged goods now, he said. He wouldn't want her,' Meg replied blithely. 'I'm sorry for her, of course, but it's turned out well for me. He never noticed me before we left the glen, but on the road to Glasgow I knew he was interested. Then I thought I'd lost him to Annie.'
She seemed supremely confident, and Flora dismissed her worries about Andrew's constancy. Somehow she doubted that Meg, several years younger than he, innocent and pliable as she was, would hold his interest when they reached Canada. She feared a great deal of heartache for the child.
After a while she promised Meg she would not tell Bruce, mainly because she was reluctant to stir up more trouble on the ship. Bruce would be furious, and there would inevitably be a fight. She longed to discuss it with Jamie, but Meg had begged her not to tell anyone else. And these days she never seemed to talk about anything serious with Jamie. They were too far apart, a situation she hated but didn't know how to change. Perhaps, when they reached land, things would go back to normal.
***
The heat intensified, and conditions below deck grew even worse. Several more people sickened, and lay groaning on their beds, unable to move. Four died and were consigned to the sea. The air was fetid, but at last, after two more weeks when they felt they could endure it no longer, the wind strengthened, and they began to make better progress. When a fierce storm hit them they endured the tossing and renewed nausea by comforting themselves with thoughts of fresh water to drink. This was being collected in every possible container that could be lashed securely, including sails spread out to form huge bowls. And then Rosie fell ill.
The child was hot and restless, vomited constantly, and could eat nothing. By now, because of the protracted voyage, their food was running low. The water in the barrels was stale, and rationed so tightly they had barely enough to drink, and almost none for washing or bathing Rosie's flushed body. Flora had none of Rosie's tasty favourites which she would have used at home to tempt the child to eat, to maintain her strength.
'I need eggs, and fresh milk, and can't they kill one of those hens so that I could make some broth?' she said distractedly to Jamie. 'None of us have had anything fresh for weeks. Who eats the eggs and has the milk? I thought they were for us!'
'They are apparently for the captain and the crew,' he told her.
'Then go and beg Duclos to spare some for Rosie! Offer him money, or does he want me to go down on my knees to him?'
Duclos sent back a message to say that he could make no exceptions. If one passenger were shown favours, they would all expect them. They had been told they had to supply all their food themselves.
Flora, who had not left Rosie's side since the child sickened, went to the captain's cabin, pushing past one of the sailors who tried to bar her way. She was determined to fight for Rosie. She hammered on the door, and almost fell inside when he opened it. He had discarded his jacket, his shirt sleeves were rolled up on hairy, muscular arms, and the neck open to reveal a mat of black curly hair on his chest. Despite her anxiety over Rosie she could not suppress a shudder.
'Monsieur Duclos, my child is dying,' she said, her voice trembling. 'She's so ill she can't eat, I need some milk for her. Please, of your mercy, let me buy a cupful.' She held out her pearl earrings. 'I'll pay you for it. Here, you can have these, but please give me milk for my baby.'
He looked at her for a long, silent moment, then smiled. It was the most contemptuous, cruel smile Flora had ever seen. 'Mistress, what I told your husband still holds. I don't want your baubles. There are always some deaths on each voyage. You are unused to it, but I expect them.'
'They aren't all necessary, some could be prevented,' she whispered, thinking of Mr Cameron.
'A few, maybe. But consider, if your child cannot eat what use would a cup of milk be to her? She'd probably spill it, waste it. It is meant for my sailors.'
'Grown men? You'd put them before a helpless child? That's wicked!' she exclaimed, all her intentions of not antagonising him fled.
'Grown men, true, but men on whom all our lives depend. We have to keep them fit and well, or how would the ship be managed? Could your child steer, or reef the sails, or keep watch?'
Flora turned away before she was tempted to try and scratch his eyes out. She stood there, looking down at the pearls lying in her palm. Then she drew out the necklace she'd put on beneath the high neck of her gown and looked at it. She would have bartered that for Rosie if she could, but there was no chance the captain would accept.
She glanced round, seeing a couple of sailors eyeing her curiously. Wildly she wondered if she might snatch an egg from the crates where the hens were kept, but swiftly gave up the idea. They were behind the pen with the cow, and she would not be able to clamber round in the daytime, when there were always people about, or sailors watching, like now. At night the hatch leading from the hold was always barred, and those
who chose to sleep on deck were not permitted to go below until daylight. A sailor was always nearby, Bruce had told her, after he'd moved to the deck. It was hopeless, and she'd have to depend on love and prayers to save the little girl.
For two more days she watched Rosie lose weight, and vomit every drop of water back. Eliza, giving Flora silent support, made a broth from some of the last of the salt beef, but Rosie could not drink that either. Flora's own malaise was forgotten, all she thought of was Rosie. She refused to allow anyone else to watch over the child, apart from when sheer exhaustion caused her to fall asleep where she sat, holding the pitifully wasted body in her arms.
'Go on deck for a while,' Jamie urged the next morning when Flora, distraught that she had slept for more than an hour, woke.
'I won't leave her!' Flora insisted.
'You're endangering the one you're carrying,' Eliza said gently. 'Go up, lass, breathe some sweeter air, or ye'll take ill yourself. I'll watch over her. You can trust me.'
Flora shook her head. It wasn't that she didn't trust Eliza, or Jamie, or any of the others who offered to help. She was blaming herself bitterly for not having loved Rosie enough. She had tried, and she'd thought she was succeeding, putting away her sense of disappointment that Rosie had not been the longed-for son. But when Jenny was born she had known it wasn't real. She'd pretended. Oh, she loved Rosie, but it hadn't been deeply enough, and now they were both being punished for her selfish refusal to rejoice wholeheartedly at the child's birth.
Meg, subdued, kept vigil with her until she was too exhausted to remain upright. She grew pale, but insisted on being there, dozing nearby, to help with whatever Flora needed doing.
'Flora was always good to me,' she told Bruce when he tried to persuade her to go on deck.
'Go away, don't bother me,' she said to Andrew, and Flora was vaguely aware of his petulant expression as he turned away.
She did not care. Not even Jamie could penetrate the absorption and grief which surrounded her.
To A Far Country Page 10
