by Jana Petken
Eddie Gunn stood just outside a saloon in Portsmouth and spotted the woman walking gracefully down the street towards him. He recognised her immediately, and his mouth gaped open with surprise and shock. Mercy Carver. He’d never forget that name, that face, or that body naked in the stable. Mercy Carver, the troublemaker, the girl who would have gotten her throat cut on that very first day had she not been a high-value virgin.
He slid around the nearest corner, wondering what to do. Mrs Mallory, as he’d been repeatedly reminded to call her, was at a party. She’d been quite the popular guest of Norfolk’s and Portsmouth’s finest families lately, with her tales of widowhood and cotton factories gaining her the respect and admiration she’d been determined to find in this backward country.
Her new farm, sitting to the west of Portsmouth on prime land, had also endeared her to the plantation belt. She’d be gone till tomorrow, Eddie thought. She would curse the world if she knew Mercy Carver was here, able to point the finger at her, reveal her for what she was and what she’d done. If truth be told, he was just as worried. He didn’t know the law here or what the law would do if the Carver woman accused him of abduction. How the bloody hell had she ended up here? That’s what he wanted to know. How did she get on a ship? Why was she dressed in finery? Who was her benefactor? She’d have him in jail before the bloody cock crowed. She probably had some old git looking after her for sexual favours – or worse, who knew the bloody sheriff!
He was sweating now. What would Mallory want him to do? He laughed. It was obvious what Mallory would want to do – he would have to kill her, and it would have to be done quickly.
Eddie thanked God that Mallory had all that land now. She could start another graveyard like the one she’d had back in Liverpool, if she had a mind to. He had a gun: a Colt in a holster. It was easy to get guns here. He had a brand-new rifle and two more guns back at the farm too. Never met a savage Indian yet, though, he thought, getting easily distracted after a few whiskies.
He cautiously peeked out from a porch and saw Mercy go into a shop. A plan was beginning to form in his mind. He still had his skills. Abduction was what he was good at – he just hadn’t done it in this country yet. He concentrated now.
His horse and trap were tethered with Moses, his slave, just a short distance from where he stood and not far from the shop she’d gone into, no more than a hundred yards away. Mercy Carver was feisty; he knew that. She wouldn’t go with him without a fight. But she was up against the best, he reminded himself. He’d abducted her before, and he’d do it again.
Mercy left the Haberdashery, telling the woman who owned it that she would be back to pick up her packages. She had decided to buy some wool. She would knit a shawl for the baby. It would be a nice surprise for Belle. She turned left and walked towards the restaurant she had seen earlier. She was beginning to feel light-headed after having spent so much time recently indoors and was surprised at how tired she felt after just a short walk. As she walked, a feeling of peace swept over her. She was a stranger here, yet she felt at home.
A hard pointed instrument poked her back, and a strong hand grabbed her shoulder. The sound she heard sent her mind into turmoil. So shocked was she to hear Eddie’s threatening voice in her ear that she froze, paralysed, stricken with fear and unable to scream, run, or answer. His words echoed loudly in her mind, though in reality they were whispered softly.
“Move forward. Don’t speak, don’t struggle, and I won’t shoot you where you stand. Smile and nod your head.”
Mercy nodded, and he punched the gun into the small of her back again. She wanted to say something. Why couldn’t she speak? Dizziness washed over her again.
She walked in a daze, pinned between Eddie and the row of shops. Eddie ran the gun teasingly up and down the side of her body. He stopped abruptly and spoke to a slave standing by a two-horse trap. “Be as quick and as discreet as you can, Moses, in getting me and my friend here home.” He dug the gun in even deeper, until Mercy thought her ribcage might crack.
Eddie pressed her body against the small door of the trap. He moved the hair covering her ear and whispered again. “Get up into the seat and smile at anyone who passes by. I swear to almighty God, if you make a spectacle of yourself, this gun will make a hole in your back and the bullet will fly out your stomach.” He opened the gate door and bowed in a gentlemanly fashion for effect.
As Mercy put her foot on the step, her leg gave way. Eddie held her up with one hand under her arm, pushed her onto the seat, and then jumped up quickly, all with the agility of a cat, to sit beside her. She looked down at her side just above her waist and saw the glint of his gun peeking out of his jacket, resting over his arm. He punched the gun into her again, smiling sweetly at the same time.
“Just a short drive for you and me, Mercy Carver. Then we’ll have a nice little chat. What do you think of that, eh? Happy to see your old pal Eddie again?”
She still felt light-headed. She wished she hadn’t taken that medicine before she left home. It was clouding her mind and slowing her down. She felt as though her brain had been pickled. Eddie was speaking, but his words were coming out of his mouth in slow motion and made no sense whatsoever. Her movements were lethargic. Her arms felt heavy. Even her head felt too heavy for her body to support.
She wanted to live. She wanted to see Jacob again and feel safe in his arms. But for the life of her, she couldn’t snap out of the drowsiness that had taken hold.
She looked at the back of the driver’s shiny bald black head and wondered why he was not helping her to escape Eddie. As the trap sped down the road, she knew her life was in danger. At the very least, she should scream, gun or no gun. But Eddie was evil and would kill her, even if it meant he had to make a run for it afterwards.
She finally found her voice, but it was slurred. She sounded like a drunken man. She ignored Eddie and talked directly to the slave as he pushed the horses into a soft canter through a quiet hedge-lined lane. “I don’t know your name, but they’ll hang you for this. Is that what you want? This is a bad man. His name is Eddie, and he kills women. If you stop now and help me, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded. I’ll get them to set you free. I know people.” There was no response.
Mercy cursed Abby again for making her drink the bloody medicine that she normally took before a nap. Then she cursed herself, for ultimately she was the one who’d drunk the bleedin’ stuff. God’s grace, if only she didn’t feel so dizzy or relaxed. If only her mouth weren’t so dry. If only she could think straight!
Eddie laughed. Mercy’s body was swaying next to him. “What’s up with you? You sound like a halfwit. Where’s that Mercy Carver spirit we all hated, eh? Gone soft, have you?” He laughed again and pushed her body into the corner of the seat, where the half canopy hid most of her from sight. He moved along the seat with her until there was not an inch of space between their bodies. He put his arm around her shoulder and continued to smile and make small talk about how nice the weather was. They were taking back streets where there were very few houses.
Mercy panicked. Her heart was thumping, yet she was not displaying her terror. She tried, with great effort, to free herself from Eddie’s grasp, but she was as weak as a day-old babe. She looked around her, and trees, houses, and the road began to jump and sway before her eyes. Eddie was saying something about getting a warm welcome from Mrs Mallory. She looked at him through her blurred vision and said, “Who is Mrs Mallory?”
“Oh, that would be Madame du Pont to you, Carver.”
Her head fell forward, and white spots bolted in and out of her vision. She repeated the name: du Pont. She was going to die today.
Eddie watched her head loll to the side. Her eyes were closed. He was thrilled but not exactly sure what was up with the girl, the same girl who’d put the missus’s patience to the test: It had all been too easy. She was too easy? He’d taken risks, as always, but this was not London, and the street had been almost empty where he’d found her. It was probably too
cold for these Southern gentry. He quietly despised the lot of them. He’d come to what he could only describe as a small kingdom, with exaggerated politeness and protocols; weak, tasteless beer; and bitter whisky, and where every white man was king to his black subjects. Christ, this had been the best day he’d had here so far, he thought. He was actually beginning to enjoy himself.
He looked at the woman next to him – Mercy bloody Carver, all weak and submissive. Not what he’d expected from her.
He thought about what to do when they got home. He’d fuck her; that was as sure as his next beer being served to him by one of them black slaves in the house. He’d keep Carver alive until the missus got back tomorrow morning. He’d demand a nice bonus and the pleasure of watching Du Pont kill her in any way she saw fit.
Chapter Forty-Nine
As Mercy was dragged down from the trap, she took a quick look at her surroundings. She stood and inadvertently yawned. Eddie laughed again.
“Bored, are we?” he asked her.
Mercy ignored him and looked around her. An attractive wooden house with a wrap-around porch greeted her. There were two barns close to the house, where she believed she would be taken to be killed. White waist-high picket fences surrounded open fields, and beyond were dense woods. This is du Pont’s lair, she thought with hatred and disgust. She’d see her any time now, gloating, laughing, and no doubt delighted at the prospect of killing again.
She was pushed forward, not to one of the barns but to some stairs at the side of the house. At the bottom of these stairs was a passageway with an old wooden door at the end. The wall of the house was on her left, and an earthen bank was to her right.
Eddie opened the door with a large, rusty key. It was dark inside, but Mercy could just make out a small landing and then some wooden stairs. She shuddered. It was like a black hole down those stairs.
Eddie stopped in front of her and lit a fat candle. He moved down the stairs. A poke in the back from the black man encouraged her to carefully follow Eddie all the way to the bottom.
Eddie placed the candle on a table sitting against the back wall of the airless room and lifted keys off a hook above it.
The black giant, who had not given any indication of what was going to happen, watched Mercy. He suddenly surprised her by pushing her hard against a side wall, knocking the air out of her lungs. He forced her to the ground with a strength that made her squeal with fright. He calmly attached iron bracelets to her wrists.
Eddie moved closer, guiding the slave with the candle. She was being shackled, like the black people she’d seen in Norfolk.
Eddie tossed the slave the keys, and he locked the shackles in place. He then lifted her arms high above her head, and she moaned in pain. One long chain was attached to the central bar between the wrist shackles. She craned her neck in the semi-darkness and could make out an iron shaft sticking out of the wall, with a ring at the end of it.
The slave took a padlock from Eddie and hooked it to her chain. He then attached it to the ring at the end of the wall shaft and clicked the padlock closed, until both shaft ring and her chain connected like a necklace. He tugged at the chain and then at her wrist shackles. He nodded to Eddie and threw the heavy keys back to him, and Eddie hung them again on the wall.
Eddie slapped the slave on the back and got down to Mercy’s level. He lifted the candle to her face, blinding her.
Mercy’s arms felt as though they would break at the shoulders. She looked into the blinding light and smelled Eddie’s breath. She felt the candle’s flame burning her cheeks.
Eddie’s fingers whipped her head around to face front. His head suddenly swooped in, and his mouth connected with hers in a deep, penetrating kiss. He said, “If I had my way, I’d kill you right now and be done with you. But as it stands, keeping you alive will bring me some more of those dollar bills. So I’ll be back later, depending on how I feel after I eat a nice cooked chicken and drink a few beers, and then we’ll have some fun to pass the time. You’d like some fun before you die, wouldn’t you, Mercy? I can give you that. Something nice to take to your grave.”
Mercy jerked her face away from him. She couldn’t bear to look in his direction.
“Hmmm. We’ve got all night, you and me,” she heard him say. “Mrs Mallory won’t be back till morning, so you can enjoy a night with the rats and your last day on Earth thinking about what a bad, bad girl you’ve been. She’ll finish you good this time.”
Mercy spat in his face. “You’re a bloody rat, Eddie. No, you’re du Pont’s dog, wagging your tail when she gives her orders. Well, I’ve never been scared of dogs or rats,” Mercy threw at him. “Let her come. And when she gets here, be sure to tell her that it was me who burned down her bloody house in Liverpool. See how she likes that!”
She still refused to look at him, but she heard his intake of breath and felt his fist connect with her cheek. Her head banged against the uneven wall. She cried out in pain. Then she finally saw his face as it came within inches of her own. She spat at him again, aiming for his eyes. Her mouth was dry, but a smattering of saliva dribbled down his forehead.
He wiped the droplets away with his sleeve and surprised her by smiling. Then he laughed. “You fucking clever whore. So it was you who destroyed du Pont’s empire? I have to give it to you; you’ve got spunk.” He laughed again. “She doesn’t even know you’re here, so she didn’t order me to take you. That was me, all me – woof, woof! You’ll be a nice surprise for her when she gets here.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing her, so I will,” Mercy told him defiantly. “And I’m not a whore. I left that bloody house a virgin.”
Eddie ignored her words. “Oh, she’s going to have a great time finishing you off. It won’t be a quick slice of the throat, though; I’ll tell you that for nothing. She’s going to make you suffer slowly, and I’m going to enjoy watching.”
“I’m not scared of you or her. Do you hear me? I’m not scared, you arse licker!” Mercy shouted as Eddie moved away into the dark shadows.
She sat and watched both men climb the stairs. The door opened, and then the candle was snuffed out. She was left in the darkness, terrified and alone.
Chapter Fifty
Mercy sat in the black freezing-cold room, defeated, afraid, yet strangely calm. Her cursing bothered her, and she silently said sorry to God. Her arms were so painful that she decided to try to stand up. Twisting her legs, she brought her knees up to her chest and turned to face the wall. She then palmed her way up the rough stones until she stood at shoulder level with the iron shaft that held the rings, padlock, and chain. She turned around again and leaned against the wall with her arms mercifully lying at a more or less correct angle.
She sighed with a half sob. Madame du Pont was going to inflict excruciating pain on her body. She’d seen what the woman was capable of. Her bravado in front of Eddie had only stoked the fire, for when du Pont found out that Mercy had burned down the mansion, she’d make her suffer even more. You’re so stupid, Mercy Carver. Stupid and prideful. She could kick herself for those words to Eddie.
God had swooped down to effect vengeance on her for murdering an innocent man. He had brought Du Pont to carry out the sentence for him. Only God could have made this situation come about. This was her punishment, her comeuppance, as her grandfather used to say. “You’ll get your comeuppance, girl, if you do that.”
She sobbed now. Grandpa’s judgements had been lenient in comparison: a caning or a few slaps on the backside with a shoe, a couple of days without food – but this? She should be screaming at the thought of dying. Why wasn’t she screaming? She felt numb and witless; that was why. She couldn’t imagine not being alive. She pictured her throat being sliced open and felt nothing. She saw herself being punched and stabbed – nothing. Death, she decided, was simply unimaginable.
Mercy’s breath caught in her throat. She stared into the darkness, swearing she had heard a voice coming from somewhere in the basement.
“Miss �
� miss, can you see me? Over here. I’s over here.”
Mercy clearly heard the soft, deep voice, but she couldn’t see an inch in front of her face. She focused her eyes, looking to her left, right, and front. The sunny morning had gone, and the grey light outside was almost redundant. Even the small shaft of light shining through a hole in the stone wall had diminished.
She heard a rattling of chains, and again, and a third time. She was not alone in this dungeon. Who was here with her? Whoever was there, he’d remained silent while she was being shackled, and Eddie and the giant slave had completely ignored him.
“Who are you? Where are you? I can’t see you. Are you chained up too?”
“Over here, miss, against the other wall – near the table. I’s at the corner wall next to the table. My feet are shackled real tight. I’s sittin’ on the floor. I can’t move.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t see you,” Mercy said again, trying desperately to locate him. “Can you see me?”
“I sees you, miss. I sees you when you came down here.” He rattled the irons again to give her direction.
This time Mercy looked to where she remembered seeing the table – and then to the right. The chains were still rattling. The noise was as heavy as the irons. She looked again. The small shaft of light from the broken wall stone settled on specks of dust falling softly down the wall diagonally in front of her. The ray of daylight cast itself upon them. She followed the dust until it settled, and then she saw the outline of a head. The man’s body was impossible to make out because of his ebony skin. However, the sand-coloured dust was like tiny shining crystals raining in the air. She focused her eyes on the head and said, “Rattle the chains again – harder this time.”
