Taming the Wilde

by Renard, Loki

  I closed the good book and placed it carefully upon his desk. “Not all things are uplifting in the Lord’s sight.”

  “Indeed they are not.” A light danced in his dark gaze as he looked upon me, his lips twisted with dry amusement. “Are you feeling as one forsaken, Miss Wilde?”

  “None are forsaken in the Lord, that is the lesson of the psalm.”

  “Once more you are quite correct.” He acknowledged my interpretative skills, but still he seemed amused. “I have a feeling, Miss Wilde, that you do not perhaps believe the message.” He sat back in his chair and looked at me. I had difficulty meeting his gaze, for again there was intimacy in it. Nothing I could have claimed as inappropriate, but I found myself increasingly aware of the fact that he had not yet donned his coat and his upper body was clad in a loose sailor’s shirt, which went a long way towards revealing the nature of his frame. Roake was built with a divine artistry that balanced elegance and power in one form, that my fleeting gazes revealed quite amply.

  “Belief must be between a woman and her God,” I said, neatly avoiding the trap he had set before me. “It is not for the likes of man to judge.”

  He smiled and bade me to sit, as if he were not aware that sitting itself was a painful adventure for me. “Have your breakfast, Miss Wilde, you will need your energies for the day ahead.”

  My mouth was dry and the ship’s biscuit was too but I choked it down whilst Roake picked up the Bible and began waxing on the importance of a sound theological education for those still below decks. I made noises of assent where appropriate, though my mind was drifting. I had heard enough sermons to last me a lifetime and my belief in a higher power had largely been buried with my father. If there was a God, then he and I were very much at odds. Perhaps that was the reason for my continuing misfortune. Perhaps, like Roake, God had determined that I should never be happy.

  Suffice to say I was relieved when the time for lessons came. Teaching the others gave me something to focus on other than my own miseries and seeing them improve within a short time was quite gratifying. Many of the women I found myself tutoring were quite able of mind but had simply never had instruction of any kind. To them the sounding of simple letters was quite a task, but when they recognized a new letter after a period of close inspection, their pleasure was all too real.

  When the end of the day came I felt quite satisfied with my labors. I was gratified that Roake seemed equally satisfied, indeed I had been careful with my behavior so that there could be no reason to deny me exercise and when Roake dismissed me I did not hide my eagerness to climb into fresh air.

  My first moments up on deck were awe-inspiring. I had been fearful of my reaction to open waters, for many had spoken of how fearsome and lonely they were, but when I saw the ocean spinning out to forever and the ship tossing atop the waves in the environment it was built to conquer I was awestruck. The Valiant was a busy place; everywhere men were working, yelling to one another, hauling ropes and manipulating the great sails that billowed overhead. I held to the railing and watched as a cabin boy scaled the rigging with the alacrity of a monkey, his shirt hanging loose off his back as he dashed up into dangerous heights without a care.

  The majesty of it all threatened to overwhelm me as I stared out in all directions, not a speck of land to be seen in any of them. It was as if we souls were the only in existence, as if the world itself had left us behind. As terrible as the thought was, I found a certain freedom in it. If we were never to strike land again, then we women were not truly prisoners; we were as free as any of the sailors. Thinking so made me smile, using muscles that had wasted in recent days and weeks.

  “Enjoying the view, Miss Wilde?” Captain Morrow addressed me from behind. I turned, blushed deeply and dipped into a reflexive curtsey. I had not seen him approach and he had caught me in a moment of wonder that I feared made me look rather simple.

  “It is beautiful,” I said, holding fast to the rail as the ship rode a swell.

  “There is no place like the open ocean,” he said, taking a spot next to me and casting his eye out across the waters. “She can put a spell on a man that will have him roaming her breadth all the days of his life.”

  I was just barely listening to his words, for my mind was consumed with how very fine and dashing he looked in profile view, a long straight nose, thick lashes about his eyes and a mouth set sensually near a firm jaw. It occurred to me that the other women would have been jealous if they had seen us chatting. I remembered well Lizzy’s report that Captain Morrow usually held himself aloof from the prisoners and wondered why he had chosen to speak to me.

  “I trust you are not considering a swim,” he said with a charming humor. “We are well under sail and I fear you would be lost to the winds if you were to hurl yourself from the vessel.”

  I assured Morrow that I was not contemplating such a move and I must confess that I smiled yet again, and perhaps a little wider than his humor really required.

  There was little time to bask in the handsome captain’s presence however, for Roake had emerged from below and was approaching the spot where we stood with a good measure of haste. I was still holding fast to the railing for the sea had grown increasingly choppy even in the short time I had been on deck, but he had admirable sea legs and moved with the rise and fall of the boat as if it were solid ground.

  Though he had been pleasant enough when he dismissed me to take exercise, Master Roake no longer appeared to be in good temper. As he drew nearer he gave me a look of pure displeasure that quailed me in spite of the fact that I knew very well I had done no wrong. “You should be walking about the ship, Miss Wilde,” he instructed me. “Stretch your limbs and take the air in motion please.”

  I glanced towards Morrow to see if he might object, but the captain merely chuckled and waved me on my way. Once I had moved out of earshot I saw that the two men became engaged in quite an animated conversation. I sensed that it had something to do with me, and it made me rather uncomfortable – as did the curious glances from some of the sailors who then expressed uncouth opinions regarding my person to one another.

  Within a few minutes exercising alone had lost its charms. I would have gladly been lumped in with the others; my separation from their ranks was already causing me no small measure of grief. Some were accusing me of being Roake’s favorite, though the evidence to the contrary was striped across my hindquarters. If they were to find out that I had a private audience with Captain Morrow, no matter how brief, their jealousies would no doubt rise against me.

  Making my way across to the other side of the ship with an unsteady gait I once more took hold of the railing. Being at sea took quite some time to acclimate to, though some of our number were doing better than others. Poor Lizzy had been sick almost every morning since we left port, and her nausea was increasing by the day.

  My stomach was a little more robust, I had not experienced any upset below decks and the vicious predictions that I would soon feel ill when I saw nothing but ocean and sky proved to be false. As I looked out over the sea I came to quite enjoy the rise and fall of the ship and forgot about my problems with the other prisoners. We were moving at quite a pace and I leaned slightly over the railing to watch as the timbers moved through the water, little waves buffeting the ship at her stern and behind us a low frothing wake trailing out into the deep gray blue beyond.

  I was startled when a hand grasped low on my dress and tugged me firmly back onto the deck. I had not realized it until that moment, but my feet had begun to dangle as I leaned out trying to get a better look at what lay under the sprinting water. “Miss Wilde! You will abstain from leaning on, bending over or leaping off the railing for the duration of the journey, have I made myself clear?” Roake’s deep graveled tones rasped near my ear as he held me in place and scolded me before all on the ship.

  Squirming out of his grasp, I turned to defend myself. “I was just…”

  He held up a hand, cutting my objection off. “If I see you over
the railing again, it will be the worse for you, understand me?”

  “Very well, Master Roake,” I demurred. There was no sense in arguing with the man; he held ultimate authority after all.

  Morrow happened to wander past at that point and flickered a small sympathetic wink in my direction, which made me smile in spite of myself. It struck me that I should have a much more enjoyable time aboard the Valiant if Captain Morrow were in charge of discipline and Roake were stowed somewhere down below for the duration.

  “Do you have a reason to be smiling, Miss Wilde?” Roake’s eyes were narrowed at me in an expression of displeasure that boded ill for my person. His jaw was set in the hard line that I had come to understand meant serious trouble, yet it was not his jaw I had eyes for.

  “I beg your pardon, Master Roake. If you’ll inform me of the expression most pleasing to you, I shall use it exclusively.” I made the pert reply whilst my gaze drifted after the fine form of Captain Morrow. He was now ascending towards the ship’s wheel, affording me the opportunity of viewing his fine form from an active angle that showed it in very good light.

  “Miss Wilde!” Roake snapped. “Your flippancy does not please me. You will now retire directly below decks.”

  “As you wish,” I curtsied just as the ship dipped and found myself tumbling forwards. I would have probably done myself an injury if Roake had not smartly caught me under the arms and hauled me up against his body before I was dashed against the deck.

  “If you can do so without the acrobatics, I would prefer it,” he added dryly, turning me and sending me off in the right direction. I made my way across the ship with unsteady footing, quite glad to escape Roake’s further attentions, though my body did seem to be glowing where it had momentarily been pressed against his hard form. It was strange, I thought as I made my way to my bunk, just how different the male and female forms were, and how much more strength was contained in the male body, for Roake had lifted me as if I weighed nothing at all.

  No wonder some men liked to make sport of women. We were as dolls and playthings, easily manipulated, ordered around and thrashed if we were not pleasing. It was not at all fair, but it was the way the good Lord had made us. “Another wise decision, o Almighty,” I whispered under my breath as I slipped onto my bunk and let my weary bones rest.

  Chapter Five

  A month we had been on the ocean. A month and the seas had become odious, lessons dull and prisoners restless. Our vessel was becalmed for a time, the winds not seeing fit to speed us on our way. This was a source of frustration to captain, sailors and officers alike, even some of the prisoners expressed annoyance though many of us were quite content to stay away from the blasted shores we were destined for.

  Lessons became the main matter of concern for prisoners, and due to the spirit of restlessness that prowled the ship; they were also the place where disorder attempted to make headway. It was a curious thing, for when we were alone on the prison decks we entertained ourselves well enough telling stories, sewing new garments from old and playing simple games that passed the time. But during lessons, when mind and body were confined by Roake’s strict regime, some prisoners became quite unsettled.

  Master Roake was more than equal to the task of keeping order. He seemed to anticipate the rising rebellion and held it at bay with displays of disciplinary ardor that cowed those who had been considering misbehavior. The first occasion he had cause to punish a prisoner other than myself was quite an event.

  The woman’s name was Mary Brawley. She could not read and did not much care to learn. She was not shy in expressing her displeasure at being compelled to recite the alphabet and as I was the one tasked with teaching her the letters, she was my problem. I was quite concerned by her belligerence, for she was a sturdy woman who had been known to live up to her name. Her knuckles bore the marks and scars of many battles fought and won and I was not keen to learn what they might feel like when hurled with the full force of her strong arm. For that reason I did not take her to task when she refused her lessons in favor of inane chatter. She left me alone to teach those who were interested and I left her alone to comment on whatever thoughts might be passing through her mind at a given moment. It was a system agreeable to us – but not to Master Roake.

  “Miss Wilde.” Roake interrupted one such lesson and beckoned me from my small group of students with a crooked finger. I went to him immediately, though I was reluctant to do so. He looked displeased and I had no desire to bear the brunt of his displeasure. “Part of your job as my assistant is maintaining order. That woman has not done a lick of work since she set foot in the room.” His gaze, of course, settled on Mary Brawley.

  With the utmost respect and caution I communicated to him that it was beyond my ability to maintain order when the source of the disorder had almost two decades and a hundred pound advantage over me. He seemed to understand, for he asked no more of me aside for inquiring after the woman’s name, which I gladly gave him.

  “Mary Brawley,” he snapped across the room. “You will be silent for the rest of the lesson.”

  “I won’t you know,” she said, shifting her body on the bench that could barely take her not inconsiderable bulk. Mary was one of the few women who had expressed a complete lack of fear of Roake, Morrow or almost any sailor on the ship. If her stories were to be believed she had knocked down many men in her time and she did not believe that the ‘pretty boys’ commanding the ship would be a match for her.

  “Excuse me?” Roake spoke softly, his demeanor quiet. I fancy it lulled Mary into thinking that she had the upper hand, for she uttered a foul epithet in his direction and returned to her conversation. We were all in awe of her nerve, she seemed to fancy herself quite beyond Roake’s control.

  It was an illusion that was soon shattered, for Roake came down the aisle and hauled Mistress Brawley up from her seat with naught but a strong grip on her ear. It took very little effort on his part to ensure her compliance, for the woman was compelled to follow that delicate body part. As her outrage grew she lashed out at him with large fists, but failed to make contact of any kind. She might have been strong, but Roake’s reach was greater than hers and she was able to do little more than windmill her stout arms quite frantically until she tired and was released.

  “You are near forty years old,” Roake lectured her. “A mature woman and yet you squall like a spoiled brat.”

  Her reply to his criticism was profane in the extreme and I thought that she would surely be beaten where she stood, but Roake abstained from striking the woman and instead spun her into a corner and bade her stay there. Only when she refused did he lash the cane across her rear with a stroke so quick and vicious she emitted an ear-rending screech. I winced and I saw many others do the same. As imposing as Roake could be, he usually kept his punishments and remonstrations private. But Mary Brawley would not allow that. She continued to complain and disobey his orders, up to the point that he caught her by the back of the neck and slapped the cane down with three cracking hard strokes, each one perfectly under the other. We all saw them bite through her thin cotton shift with wicked precision and heard the gasping intake of breath before she collapsed in the corner, entirely undone by the punishment. The cane had slapped through her last defenses and without them she became a wailing heap.

  “Up, Mistress Brawley, or I will repeat the treatment.” He stood over her quite imperiously, the cane in his hand ready to meet her flesh again if she did not obey him. I felt a shiver as I beheld his tall frame poised for further punitive action. The expression on his well-shaped face was emotionless, his dark eyes boring down at the unfortunate woman who was now begging for his forgiveness. Perhaps it was merely the Biblical passage he’d bade me read that morning, but something about his aspect put me in mind of an avenging angel, perfect in appearance but cold of heart.

  Gathering herself from the floor, the woman stood, shaking and sobbing until Roake demanded that she stop on the grounds that she was yet again interrupting t
he lesson. “You may weep, but do so quietly.”

  Order was restored and maintained for quite a while after that event, and Mary Brawley never refused to participate in lessons again. She no doubt thought him a monster as I once had, but for all Roake’s fearsome threats and, once in a while, actions, he never laid a hand on a prisoner who did not well and truly deserve it. Indeed he was almost lenient with some of the younger members of our number who were terrified of him in the extreme.

  At the end of each week, tests were conducted to determine the pace at which prisoners were learning. Those who had demonstrated progress were moved on to new material and those who had languished for too long occasionally came in for censure, usually of the verbal kind.

  During one such test Roake commanded Rosaleen Wright, a girl of no more than fourteen, to read from the primer. The poor girl was shortsighted in the extreme, but with no money for spectacles she read with the book two inches from her face, which gave her the sadly amusing appearance of being a talking book with a body. Unfortunately being compelled to stand alone and read to Roake before her peers was all too much for the girl, whose voice rose to no more than a whisper for the duration of the reading no matter how many times she was exhorted to speak up.

  I saw Roake’s brow twitch and feared that he might be about to unleash his ire upon the waif. Indeed I prepared myself to intervene on her behalf if it should become necessary. But when she laid down the book he praised her quite warmly for the effort and bade her sit. Her smile at having pleased him was very bright and she grew increasingly confident in subsequent readings.

  Through such incidents I was forced to privately admit that Master Roake was genuinely interested in the betterment of those in his care; yet I could not forget that he was a paid minion of those who were sending us off to the other side of the world on the flimsiest of pretexts. I did not therefore regard him, nor any of the other men on the ship, as good men. I made certain to remind myself of that fact every time I felt my feelings softening towards Roake.