Virginia was no sailor, but as she breathed in the salt-stung air and looked out across the water, it felt like an auspicious day for sailing. Brilliant blue sky overhead, clouds scudding by in puffs like a giant’s breath. She knew that no wind was just as bad as too much wind, so this amount seemed fair. But the captain would tell her, she supposed.
She saw him then, Captain Malcolm, the loud bark of his orders making it obvious he was in charge. At first she saw only his head and shoulders, higher than most, his cap a spot of stillness in the maelstrom. When coincidence turned him in her direction, she saw that his skin was a shade or two lighter than Elizabeth’s, his cheekbones high and sharp. His close-cut black beard was spotted here and there with gray, his features suggesting a combination of races she couldn’t identify at a glance. As she watched, his narrowed brown eyes skimmed over her and were off again, raking the deck, searching his men.
She took a step in his direction, almost without meaning to, studying his wide face, its sharp planes. She could tell he was thickly built, even in the navy greatcoat, his posture as straight as a soldier’s. Wide but muscular, a definite bulk in his shoulders and chest. He looked like he could pick her up without effort and snap her in half just as easily.
Still, she took another step toward him. They should speak.
His eyes met hers for a longer moment this time. He looked at her when he barked the order. She understood it was not meant for her ears, and yet he called so loudly, the force of his voice made her flinch.
“Fit up!” he shouted. “We’re underway!”
Then he turned away again, pointing and shouting, tending and calling, going about the ship’s business as if she and her women weren’t there at all.
She looked out over the sailors, a motley two dozen, all ages and colors and moods. They ranged in size from men among the largest she’d ever seen, barrel-chested and hale, to a pair of young boys as slender-hipped as girls. The only thing they seemed to have in common was their strict focus on their work, getting the schooner underway. Not a one of them spared her a second glance.
She knew from Brooks that the men of the Doris were whalers, and she knew from Doro that whalers could be a wild lot. Men who never would have stood next to one another in society made societies out here on their own where the only things that mattered were hard work, luck, and loyalty. Some were venturesome men willing to risk everything on a rich score, and some were desperate men who’d already risked everything and lost, then gone to sea to build their lives back up again. Which were the men of the Doris? What had they risked, what did they hope to gain, and what would they do to gain it?
Fear came upon her then, far worse than she’d expected it to be, here on the water with the unknown all around her. She was afraid of the Arctic, yes, an area of cold terrain that would almost certainly try to kill them. She was afraid of her own lack of skill and confidence. But in this open moment, she also found herself afraid of the men on this ship, the sailors who scurried about the deck like hard-shelled beetles, men who’d made a living being tougher, sterner, more durable than other men.
She knew little of ships, but she knew that in some ways, they were like forts, and in that area, she had far more expertise. The commander of a fort set the tone for every soldier under his command. It followed that the captain of a ship was a bellwether of his entire crew. So one question weighed heaviest on her mind.
What was Captain Malcolm like?
If he was not a good man, if his crew were not good men, she had brought a dozen other women into a den of danger that she would not necessarily be able to rescue them from. Already, they were surrounded. Already, there was, if things went bad, no escape.
When she bedded down that night with the other women, her fear grew no less in the silence. The last thing Virginia did before she slid downward into an exhausted, irresistible sleep was to raise her eyes, somewhat toward heaven, somewhat toward the unknown, mysterious Captain Malcolm, both invisible above.
Chapter Nineteen
Elizabeth
Aboard the Doris
June 1853
The worst part about being surrounded by water, thought Elizabeth Kent, was how the temptation to shove Caprice Collins overboard was a constant thrum in her blood.
The idea of doing her mistress harm had, of course, crossed her mind many times over the years. It was Elizabeth’s firm belief that anyone who knew Caprice for any length of time fantasized about doing her in. She could tell the leader of their party, this Virginia Reeve, had no love at all for Caprice. Even if Mr. Bishop hadn’t gossiped to the other servants, Elizabeth would have known. Something about Virginia seemed to bring out the worst in Caprice. Heaven knew there was plenty of bad there to bring out. It wasn’t even buried very deep.
Of course, having served the Collins family since Caprice was a child, Elizabeth knew the girl had no chance of growing up likeable. If Caprice were generous and openhearted, she wouldn’t have been a Collins, just as if Elizabeth hadn’t been intelligent and reserved, she wouldn’t have been a Kent. Then again, Elizabeth thought, perhaps she went too far in assuming the worst of the Collinses. When it suited them, anyone in the family might be generous, if only money was required.
Mrs. Collins herself had increased Elizabeth’s wages when her grandmother first fell ill and Elizabeth had nearly buckled under the strain, fainting from exhaustion one day and coming back to consciousness under Mrs. Collins’s suspicious, judgmental eye. Confessing that she’d been forced to take on other work to care for the only family she had left was her only option. Then, surprising her, Mrs. Collins had offered the increase without Elizabeth even asking. Ever since, that money went directly to her grandmother’s care, and Elizabeth knew she could not have earned so much so quickly by honest work in any other household in Boston. It was a gracious act but not a selfless one. In return, Elizabeth had given up nearly everything else to keep her position.
The piecemeal jobs went first, and that was a relief, but her mistress asked more and more as time went on. Elizabeth no longer attended the Twelfth Baptist Church, as Mrs. Collins thought it too radical, and she gave up abolitionist rallies and conferences for the same reason. She’d helped with the escape of the Crafts in 1850, but by the time Shadrach Minkins needed assistance a year later, she didn’t even know about his case until she read it in the papers. Her father would have been disappointed, she knew, but if he’d lived long enough, they would have shared the load. As it was, she bore it alone.
And Mrs. Collins joked—was it really a joke?—that Elizabeth shouldn’t expect a reference from her if she chose to leave, as much as she’d done for her over the years. Getting a new position without a reference would be challenging to say the least, and out on the street, she wouldn’t be safe alone. Then what would happen to Mimi Lolo? Mrs. Collins just chipped away at her like a block of cheese, only taking a little at a time but working at her so steadily, she’d end worn down to a nub.
Then Mimi Lolo had passed, God rest her soul, and in the daze that followed, Elizabeth found herself bundled onto a train by Caprice without having any notion where they were headed. She knew now, too late.
Caprice had likely dragged her all this way—a truly absurd distance—merely to make a point. To prove to Virginia that she could force a whole other person into the party if she wanted to. Her mistress demanded that Elizabeth be nearby in case she needed her—though for what, in this environment, Elizabeth could hardly imagine—yet during daylight hours, Caprice steadfastly ignored her. Elizabeth could swear that once or twice, her mistress had even looked at her as if she didn’t really recall who she was. She’d wanted to shake Caprice’s shoulders the first time it happened. She hadn’t, of course. She only laid a hand on her mistress, to adjust her petticoats or help her off with the stays she still insisted on wearing though none of the other women bothered, in the rare minutes of the morning and evening when Caprice demanded he
r help.
In her spare moments, Elizabeth had explored the ship, finding that despite its size, the schooner offered precious little space. The storerooms were jammed from planks to rafters with goods, packed so tight the doors barely closed. There was one cabin for the captain, one for the crew, one for the women, and one for the dogs. There was a medical cabin, a galley, and a mess. There was nowhere to be alone, and she feared anywhere she tried to be alone she’d be found by someone else, and God only knew what the intentions of that someone else might be.
But there was all that water. All around. Every minute of every day and night. And while the railing wasn’t particularly low, neither was it particularly high. Certainly not high enough to keep someone from tumbling over the edge, not if the push were strong enough, especially if the wind blew in the right direction.
Dangerous thoughts of watery graves were not, however, the only ideas preoccupying Elizabeth on the journey. Another had popped into her head the first time she’d spotted that redhead Stella aboard.
She’d groaned on the inside when she’d seen Stella, whom she recognized. A bit of the groan actually escaped her mouth when she learned the two would be sharing a bunk. There was one cabin for all the women, six bunks to a wall. Twelve women would have fit. Thirteen women had boarded.
“That’s quite all right,” Caprice had said. “I have a solution. My lady’s maid will share.”
No one asked Elizabeth whether she wanted to share. Giving her a choice would mean taking the risk that she would choose otherwise.
And so Elizabeth and Stella shared a bunk. Stella snored like a sawn log. Exhausted as she was, Elizabeth slept little those first few nights before she laid her hands on some wool to stuff into her ears to muffle the worst of the sounds. It was not only Stella’s rumbling snores that kept her awake. It was the knowledge of Stella herself.
At home, she wouldn’t have made a stir; she kept her head down, always. She could not risk losing her wages, not with Mimi Lolo depending on her. But they were no longer at home, were they? The rules, what rules there were, were different here. And she had the sense she was becoming different too.
Not to mention, every servant in the Collins household knew from Bishop—not that he’d meant to reveal exactly this—that Virginia Reeve had stood up to Miss Caprice. If she could do that, thought Elizabeth, she could do almost anything.
When she spotted her opportunity, Elizabeth seized it.
“Miss Reeve, please, begging your pardon,” said Elizabeth, approaching the dark-haired woman near the doorway to the women’s cabin. She took care to keep her manner extra deferential. “May I speak with you a moment?”
“Certainly,” Virginia said, her face quickly narrowing in concern. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Could we speak in private?”
Virginia glanced in one direction and then the other and took her gently by the elbow, guiding her toward a kind of blind corridor that, judging by the warmth radiating from its wooden planks, backed up against the ship’s stove on the other side.
“Will this do? I think we’re quite alone.”
“It’ll have to,” said Elizabeth. “But please, I want you to keep the details of this conversation private. Do I have your word?”
Virginia seemed to be sizing her up, but after long moments, she said simply, “Yes.”
“This Stella,” Elizabeth began. “Why is she on the ship?”
“Why are any of us?” Virginia responded, her tone matching Elizabeth’s, neither flippant nor angry. “She was put on the roster by our patron.”
“Well,” Elizabeth said pointedly, “at least one of us wasn’t put on the roster, for all the difference that made.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Virginia said. “I’m sorry Caprice dragged you along. I imagine you would have rather stayed at the Collins mansion or found another position.”
She’d meant only to speak of the rumors she’d heard but found she could not bite back a response. “It isn’t as easy as all that, miss.”
“Why not? Servants leave their households and find new employment every day.”
“Maybe white servants do, miss,” said Elizabeth.
Virginia seemed stunned at that, slow to react. It was disappointing, really. At last, she said, “Why would that make a difference?”
“Without a reference, a new position is hard to come by. Doubly so for women of my…hue.”
“You seem so capable. I’m sure you could strike out on your own.”
“On my own?” asked Elizabeth, trying hard to keep the mockery out of her tone, only partially succeeding. “I suppose, since I don’t have anyone, that would be my only option. No savings, no church, no family. My only living relative died a month ago, and either Caprice doesn’t know about it, which makes her a fool, or she does know, which makes her a devil.”
Virginia fell silent and then repeated, “I’m sorry.”
Elizabeth was tired of white women’s apologies, though at least this one seemed sincere. Still, apologies were cheap. What good were empty words? Words wouldn’t get her home, wouldn’t get her into a better situation. Some words had power, but these, these were hollow.
Elizabeth said, “Anyway, I didn’t come here to jaw at you about sadness. I came to mention something I thought you should know.”
“About Stella?”
“About Stella.”
“Out with it, then. You know her?”
“By sight and by reputation,” said Elizabeth. “She worked for another Beacon Hill family, the Hollidays.”
“And?”
“Word had it she was dismissed for stealing, a few weeks before we left Boston. No one’d seen her since.”
“Stealing, you say?”
“And before that, there were other rumors about her.”
“I hope this isn’t idle gossip, Elizabeth.” The confidence was back in Virginia’s voice.
“I do not gossip idly. But the consequences of…certain behaviors would be magnified in our current situation.”
Virginia eyed her. “Certain behaviors?”
“I hesitate to say, miss,” said Elizabeth, stumbling, “but I believe you will understand when I tell you that the Hollidays have a son named Charles. Eighteen years old, rather handsome, rather…romantic. Do I need to say more?”
Something crossed Virginia’s face. A shadow. Somehow this touched her, but Elizabeth could not tell exactly how. She’d done her duty, in any case. Now it was all in Virginia’s hands.
“Thank you,” said Virginia. “You do not. I am in your debt, Miss Kent.” She seemed to hesitate and then drew closer to Elizabeth, her voice dropping low. “I’m sorry Caprice dragged you along on this mission. I understand you had no choice.”
“We all have choices, miss,” said Elizabeth, thinking of the ones she’d made that got her into this situation. Maybe she would have made all the same ones over again—she could never have abandoned Mimi Lolo—but could there have been another way? Some path that took her anywhere but here?
Virginia said, “When we get back, I’ll help you. I don’t know how, but I’m sure there’s something. If we succeed on this expedition, there’ll be a share of the money for you, I promise.”
“Do you really think we’ll succeed?”
There was just a moment of hesitation before Virginia said, “Yes, I think we very well might.”
Elizabeth said, “You are an optimist, Miss Reeve. It suits you well to lead this expedition. But please do not make promises to me that you have no way to keep.”
Virginia, head bowed, put her hand atop Elizabeth’s. Elizabeth froze. The woman meant well, but what could she really do? Here or elsewhere?
Finally, Virginia whispered, “I’ll try. That is what I can promise.”
Elizabeth did not bother to reply. She’d flattered the woman, but her
eyes were open. They were up here in the frozen North, miles from civilization, unprepared and overmatched. The men on this ship watched them with suspicion and barely concealed disdain. Once the women went out on the ice to search for Franklin, even if they managed to survive the cold, starvation would stalk their steps. Virginia might be an optimist, but Elizabeth herself was a realist.
She did not believe she would ever see Boston again.
Chapter Twenty
Virginia
Massachusetts Superior Court, Boston
October 1854
Another day of uncertainty, another hollow ache of worry wondering who will testify against her next. Virginia finds herself wishing they’d just get on with it. Then she reminds herself that it might be the noose she’s speeding toward, and she tells herself to let the days unfold as they will. As if she has a choice.
Today, the attorney for the prosecution is flustered, which is a novelty. This, Virginia will savor. She can barely look at her own counsel anymore, as deeply as the man’s inaction affronts her; it will gladden her heart to watch this one stumble for a while, given the opportunity.
“The prosecution calls…” A shuffle, a rustle. The attorney looks through his papers, creases his brow, turns one paper over and seems offended by what the page shows. From where Virginia sits, that page appears blank.
“What is it?” says Judge Miller, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“I’m just confirming the name here, Your Honor. Just a moment, if you’ll forgive the delay.”
“I haven’t yet decided,” says the judge in a voice that suggests he has. “How much longer do you think we might need to wait?”
“Only a moment—there—yes, sir, I apologize. We do not have the legal name of the witness on record.”
Now she knows who’s next.
Oh, thinks Virginia. Of course. Of course they’ve found her.
Of the surviving members of the expedition not sitting in the front row, Dove is probably the one she’s gladdest to see. That isn’t to say the woman’s testimony will be favorable. Why would the prosecution bring Dove here if not to say things that will damage Virginia’s case and threaten her life? To bring more nails for her coffin, hammer them in?
The Arctic Fury Page 13