Taming the Wilde

by Renard, Loki

  “Good morning Miss Wilde,” he greeted me, handing me cup of hot sweet tea as I entered his chamber.

  “Thank you.” I sipped at the brew and gave a deep sigh of pleasure. “That is perfect.”

  “Come. Sit. Eat.”

  “No thank you,” I demurred, retiring to lean against the wall of his cabin, bracing myself with my shoulders as the room rolled gently with the motion of the ship.

  “I take it you are not in a sitting condition this morning,” he said, glancing in my direction as he tied his hair back with a thick velvet bow and donned an overcoat.

  “Not exactly.” I could feel myself blushing. I wished I could hide my embarrassment, but it was impossible to do so.

  “The results of loss are often unpleasant.” He spoke with casual disregard that sparked my ire.

  “I think you just enjoy beating women.” I half hid behind my brew, letting the steam obscure my eyes.

  “What makes you say that?” He turned and regarded me with a faintly smirking look, folding his arms across his chest in a way that made my innards start quivering all over again.

  “It is plainly clear.”

  “It is no such thing. I could just as easily say that you enjoy being defiant.” He paused for a moment and gave me a searching look. “Or perhaps even that you enjoy being beaten.”

  “I most certainly do not.” The tea slopped as I made my indignant reply. The very idea. Enjoying being beaten. It was ludicrous. Ridiculous. Fantastical in the extreme.

  “You certainly seem to put yourself in the line for discipline often enough,” he said, sitting before his desk and handing me a saucer full of sour milk. I wrinkled my nose then supped at it. It was tart, but I supposed it would be nourishing.

  “During our most recent encounter I thought I was going to get out of trouble, not into it,” I reminded him.

  He settled down to his breakfast with apparent gusto, but not before making another jest at my expense. “Ah Miss Wilde, you strike me as a woman who is incapable of getting out of trouble,” he said before drinking deep of his tea.

  Looking back over my life whilst he consumed his vittles, it seemed that he was correct. The thought made me morose. “True enough.”

  “Do not look so sad,” he said, examining himself in a looking glass and brushing stray crumbs out of his whiskers. “Good things are ahead.”

  “Good things? I am on my way to a penal colony, sir.”

  “Redemption can be found in the strangest places.”

  “Perhaps for you, Master Roake. For people like myself life is a spiral to the grave.” With that one short sentence I made myself vulnerable in a way I had not before. I had displayed a part of myself that I usually kept hidden and the moment I opened my mouth I wished I had not for he looked at me with an expression that made me more uncomfortable than any other – pity. I averted my gaze from his and pretended to be entirely absorbed by the dregs of my tea as silence stretched between us and became strange.

  “Perhaps the good book will bring us some hope,” Roake murmured, opening the Bible that always sat at the right hand side of his desk. He began to read apparently at random. I did not listen as well as I should have until I heard a passage I did not recall having heard before.

  “Jesus said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Before Abraham was, I am. Then took they up stones to cast at him: but Jesus hid himself, and went out of the temple, going through the midst of them, and so passed by.”

  Forgetting my cares for a moment, I smirked at the Lord’s methods of escape. “If only I had thought to hide myself and go out of the prison before being loaded on this cruise to hell.”

  He closed the book and gave me a wry, toe-curling look. “Please tell me, Miss Wilde, that you are not intending on turning our heavenly father into a justification for misbehavior.”

  “I am fairly certain that Jesus is a heavenly brother, not a father. God is the heavenly father and Jesus is his son and we are all god’s children, ergo…”

  “Enough Miss Wilde, you are quickly growing impertinent.” He pretended to speak harshly, but I saw the gleam of good humor in his eye and I fancied he had chosen the passage quite deliberately because he knew it would tickle my sensibilities.

  We passed the rest of the time before schooling began discussing theological points of interest in a discussion that became quite lively. I forgot about much of the physical discomfort I was in as I pressed Roake over some of the finer points of the Apostle Paul’s letters and he expressed some quite outrageous views as to fig trees. In conversation I quite forgot myself as a convict and prisoner – and he seemed to forget his assigned role with equal grace.

  When it came time for us to depart for lessons I found myself sad that our conversation had to end. I fancied he felt the same way, for he grew dour and stern before my very eyes as he rested his hand on the door handle and glanced towards me. “Very well Miss Wilde, shall we continue this divinely inspired tragicomedy below decks?”

  “Of course Master Roake, lead the way,” I said with a small curtsey, similarly assuming the role of dutiful assistant as we made our way out onto the deck of the Valiant to do our duties in the eyes of lord and man.

  *

  From becalmed state to high winds, the weather changed from one extreme to the other in a very short period. At first the sailors were pleased to be underway again, prisoners too, for fears that we would run low on provisions and have to eat one another in order to survive had been flung about in overly dramatic and entirely inaccurate fashion on the prison decks.

  Unfortunately with high winds came wilder weather and more than once the Valiant rode stormy seas, tossing about like a spirited stallion. Totally at the mercy of the weather we were sometimes confined below decks for weeks at a time and on particularly severe days there were no lessons at all for it was impossible to learn anything whilst one was clinging to any solid object to avoid being tossed across the room like a rag doll. Though I could barely admit it to myself, I missed Master Roake’s presence. I had become accustomed to seeing him each morning and being around him for a great part of the day. Whilst we were confined to the prison deck I did not see him at all.

  I was not the only one experiencing anguish during our confinement below decks. Life was quickly becoming more complicated for poor Lizzy. We were almost halfway through the voyage and she was beginning to grow larger, large enough that there were many snide comments and plenty of gossip regarding her condition. We both defended her honor vigorously but it was an uphill battle and ultimately a losing one. By the time the seas calmed and routine was restored Lizzy was called to account for her condition, which had been reported many times by snappish women consumed with petty ideas of morality.

  It was a matter of grave enough concern that the captain himself was involved. When she was summoned to see him Lizzy took my hand and would not let go until I consented to accompany her. I agreed readily, for I had every intention of making good on my promise to be there for her no matter what.

  When we presented ourselves to Morrow we discovered that Roake was also in attendance. I wondered at the reason for his presence and hoped very deeply that it was not in his role as disciplinarian. He said very little however and Lizzy and I were both soon distracted by the good captain.

  Morrow appeared fine as always in breeches of pristine white, matching stockings and black leather shoes so shiny I could see my face reflected in them. He paced back and forth in front of us, his hands clasped behind his back, the lace of his cravat tumbling down his chest like the leavings of some ethereal vagrant animal. He was making quite a meal out of the situation, bringing a dramatic flair that I considered both hurtful and unnecessary.

  Lizzy stood before him a broken woman, her hands splayed over her burgeoning belly as if they alone could mask the swelling growth. “You should have informed us of your condition,” Morrow said as he finally drew to a halt and gazed down at her with an imperious eye. “We would not have taken you aboard”
>
  “I didn’t know about it,” Lizzy said, tears misting her eyes. She was finally getting her audience with ‘her Morrow’ but it was not the audience she had dreamed of. It was a humiliation, a shame she would never live down. The scandal saw her turn red and pink all over, her skin splotching with emotion.

  “Are you aware of the identity of the father?” The question seemed designed to be cruel and I found myself liking the captain less as a result of it. There was little point in being handsome and well made if one had no compassion for those in a delicate state.

  Poor Lizzy uttered a sob of shame that sufficed as an answer to the negative.

  “We are making as quick a time as possible,” Morrow said, “but if you are as far along as you seem to be, there is no avoiding your giving birth on this vessel.”

  I squeezed Lizzy’s hand as she sobbed and put my arm about her waist. “She is aware of these facts,” I said, defending her when she could not defend herself. “She does not need your condemnation.”

  “The Valiant is a transport ship, not a crèche, Miss Wilde.” Morrow threw me what I fancied was supposed to be a look of dry wit. It did not suit his face in the slightest.

  “We are all very well aware of that,” I replied. “The plain stating of facts is not necessary. Help is necessary. Compassion is necessary. A little good Christian forgiveness would not go astray either.”

  “Help you say,” he sneered. “Help would have been to have kept her legs closed long enough to get on a ship without bearing a mewling bastard.”

  Lizzy sobbed all the more at the insult and my temper sparked. “And are we to suppose that you have never sampled the sweetness of a honey pot? Does your quill go un-inked? Are you a man of virginal virtue, Master Morrow? Or is it simply easier to pass judgment when one is a man and not responsible for the results of pleasure?”

  “Your presence begins to grow tiresome, Miss Wilde,” Captain Morrow snapped. There was fresh color on his cheeks. I fancied I had shamed him. I hoped I had.

  “As does your hypocrisy,” I returned. “You have made free with more than one of the women on this ship. Your seed is spread from bow to stern.”

  “Miss Wilde!” Roake came forward at that point, his eyes burning with punitive fury. “Hold your tongue!”

  Morrow gave a bark of laughter. “Spread from bow to stern? What an imagination you have, Miss Wilde.”

  “There is a reason the sailors must swab the decks daily,” I rejoined.

  Roake’s jaw dropped even as Lizzy giggled against my shoulder and Morrow bellowed with laughter. To his credit he did have a fine sense of humor. Roake did not find my jests at all amusing, I could tell that from the hard set of his jaw and the way the vein in his forehead was standing out. I had fallen short of his standards of behavior and would probably pay for it, but I would have done anything, said anything to make Lizzy smile and to ease her pain.

  Our audience concluded shortly thereafter, it had served no purpose other than to shame and bully poor Lizzy for her condition and I could tell that her misery had deepened as a result of it. No matter how many off color jokes I tried to tell her, her laughter rang hollow and her smiles were forced.

  “When we land in Australia, you will have a new baby and a new life,” I said as I braided her hair so that she might feel pretty again. Her condition was stealing much of her old beauty, though it was replacing it with a new kind of appeal, a maternal glow that suited her well.

  “Miss Wilde!”

  Roake shouted down through the hatch. I ignored his yell, preferring to focus my attentions on the person who needed them most.

  “Miss Wilde!”

  Again he shouted and again I ignored him. A few more moments passed by and then he came down the stairs. His eyes flashed with irritation, as he caught sight of me not a few feet from the hatch.

  “Why did you not come when I called?”

  I looked him square in the eye as I finished one of Lizzy’s braids. “Because I am not a dog, Master Roake.”

  “Correct. You are not a dog; you are an uppity wench begging to be shown her place. Come and see me in my cabin, immediately,” he growled. “And do not keep me waiting if you value the ability to sit.” He spun on his heel and ascended directly, leaving me scowling after him

  “Go,” Lizzy said as I pinned the braid about her head. “You don’t need no more trouble.”

  I smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

  She reached for my hand, held it close and shut her eyes for a moment. “Thanks Jane, for everything.”

  I could feel her sadness like a tangible thing. Some deep instinct told me not to leave her side. She seemed so vulnerable and frail. “Will you be all right if I go?”

  “I will, but you won’t be if you don’t so hurry yourself already!” There was a little of her old self in the exhortation, so I took her advice and made my way up to face Master Roake’s wrath.

  Roake was pacing back and forth when I arrived at his cabin and presented myself for yet another rousing episode of his displeasure. As I came through the door he thrust a bar of soap into my hand wordlessly and continued his walk. It was plain to see that he was deeply agitated, though I barely knew why.

  “What would you have me do with this?” I held the soap out toward him as he came past me.

  He shot me a fiery glance. “Put it in your mouth.”

  I looked at the soap then back at him. “I will not put it in my mouth.”

  “I have never heard such filth from a woman as I heard from you today,” he fumed at me, ignoring my refusal. “Implying that the ship is…”

  “Awash with Morrow’s seed?” I finished the sentence for him as he stumbled over the end of it.

  “Filth!”

  I looked at him agog. Was his sense of humor really so very stunted? Was he truly so puritanical in his sensibilities? Or was some other force at play? I began to think that it was not the filthy jest he was taking such umbrage at, more my familiar manner with Captain Morrow.

  “Would you have preferred it to be your seed I spoke of, Master Roake?”

  He stopped and stared at me with such intensity that I felt my throat tighten. “You are playing a very dangerous game Miss Wilde.”

  “I am playing no game at all, save that of sparing my friend unnecessary mental violence in the form of judgment pronounced by those who have no business pronouncing it. If you do not like my methods then feel free to go and boil your head!” I punctuated the statement by tossing the soap across the room with significant force. “And,” I continued before his outrage bubbled over. “If you had spoken in her defense as a true gentleman would, then I would not have been forced to make such foul quips.”

  “You claim your flirtation with Captain Morrow was nothing more than an effort to protect your friend? How noble of you Miss Wilde.” Sarcasm dripped from his every pore as he stopped by the desk and glared at me witheringly.

  “If I were to flirt with the captain,” I said recalling something similar he had said, “then you and I would not be having this discussion for he and I would be occupied with other affairs.” It was a bold, base statement, but he had pushed me to my very limit.

  Roake growled. “So the virgin is become a whore.”

  “The only whore here is a man so obsessed with rutting that he can’t see past the end of his own pud.”

  His visage twisted with fresh anger. “You dare call me a whore?”

  I held my ground as he stalked forward, so full of stupid masculine anger. “You called me one first, and my virtue is a great deal further above reproach than yours.”

  He stopped so close to me there was barely any distance at all between us. I could feel the heat coming from his body, taste his breath against my skin as he looked down at me from on high. “I suggest you leave now, Miss Wilde, before I do something I may regret.”

  “It would be my pleasure to leave,” I said, gathering my skirts after the fashion of the lady I no longer was in his
eyes.

  As I left I had no inkling that I would forever be grateful to Master Roake for having dismissed me so abruptly. As I stepped out onto the deck I saw Lizzy’s pregnant form take three swift steps towards the railing then quite deliberately topple over it.

  I was later told that my scream penetrated through several decks, but at the time I did not know that I had so much as made a sound. Without a second thought I rushed forward and saw that by some merciful chance she had come to her senses and not let go of the railing she went over.

  She was barely clinging to the ship when I got to her, her knuckles white with the effort of holding on, the weight of her belly threatening to draw her down into the crashing waves that slammed themselves against the Valiant. I took her arms in mine and tried to pull her back aboard but I could not do it alone. Her weight pulled me further over the rail and I shrieked as I realized that she and I were both soon to be overboard.

  Lizzy’s eyes bored into mine as I pressed my knees under the railing and held fast, gripping her with every inch of my strength. I saw pain and despair there, but more than that I saw the hope of a woman who has seen the deep void of death and does not wish to step further toward it. She might have thought she wanted to die before taking the plunge o’er the edge, but she had changed her mind.

  “Save me Jane!” She cried out desperately, her voice caught by the wind and whipped back into the great airy void atop the ocean spray.

  “Hold fast!” I shouted the instruction back at her. “Hold fast and you will be saved!”

  She tried her damnedest, but her flesh was weak and she was fast loosing her hold. Her hand slipped from the wooden railing and in an instant all her weight was put into my grasp. She slipped a good inch through my fingers before I redoubled my grip and hauled back, putting every ounce of strength I had into the task. I had lost too many loved ones in my short life; I would not lose her.