by Jody Hedlund
Once again, Mercy’s chest stung with the indignation of their being left behind. And with the guilt that their plight was partly her fault.
A shadow fell across them. “Why, you little thief!”
Lifting a hand, Mercy shielded her eyes from the sun to find that one of the middle-class women was standing in front of Ann and glaring down at her. She was one of the women in Miss Lawrence’s cabin, though Mercy couldn’t recall her name. She was short and husky with a wide face, made wider by the looped braids she wore on either side of her head, which drooped like the ears of a basset hound.
“You’re a thief,” she said again to Ann.
Ann leaped to her feet, her fists balled, eyes flashing before Mercy could set aside the mattress. “Curses on your head!” Ann spat out the words.
“I do declare, you’re wearing my necklace.” The woman reached for the chain and pendant that had slipped out of Ann’s collar.
Mercy stood and brushed her feather-coated hands against her skirt, catching only a glimpse of the necklace—an oval shape with a few pearls and other small jewels affixed to it—before Ann’s fingers closed about it in a protective gesture.
“It’s mine, that it is,” Ann insisted. “And I won’t let the likes of you try to take it away from me.”
The women lounging on the crowded deck grew quiet, all eyes upon Ann and her accuser.
“The likes of me? You’re the dirty imp!” the woman snapped. “Now give me back my necklace this instant, or I shall report you to the captain and demand that he have you whipped for your insolence and thievery.”
Mercy’s neck pricked with the realization that in all the weeks she’d known Ann, she’d never once seen her wearing a necklace. Where could Ann have gotten it, if not by stealing? Of course, Ann was as good a pickpocket as any on London’s streets, at least according to all her boasting and the stories she told of her many misdeeds.
“I swear it,” Ann said to Mercy as though sensing her thoughts. “I didn’t steal the necklace. Not this one.”
The problem was, Ann was about as good at lying as she was stealing.
“I found it when I was emptying one of the pots overboard,” Ann explained. “Figured I couldn’t throw a thing like this away.”
From the horror and disbelief widening the eyes of the middle-class ladies, Mercy guessed they’d never before fished a halfpenny out of the waste in a kennel or gutter. ’Twould be nothing at all to take a piece of jewelry out of a dirty chamber pot. Mercy would have done it herself without a second thought.
But keep the jewel for herself? No. Not here aboard the ship.
“You stole it right out of my cabin,” the woman said.
“I ain’t shamming.” Ann kept a tight grip on the necklace. “It were in the pot, hidden-like, until I started to tip it out.”
“Ask any of these other ladies,” said the accuser, gesturing to them, “and they will tell you the necklace is mine.”
Several of the ladies nodded.
Miss Lawrence was among those nodding. Her copper-colored hair was covered with a fashionable hat, which shielded her face from the sun. But even with the hat, she’d gained a fair amount of color and a smattering of new freckles. With the calm weather of late, she’d had a reprieve from feeling sick. No doubt the passing of weeks had helped ease the wounds on her neck and back, for she seemed to move about less stiffly than she had when she’d first boarded.
She nodded politely at Mercy, acknowledging her presence, and Mercy dipped her head in response. “Miss Spencer,” Miss Lawrence said, stepping around the other poor women who’d been plucking and cleaning the fowl, “may I have a word?”
“Not now, Miss Lawrence.” The stout woman didn’t take her eyes off Ann, as though she was afraid that Ann would disappear with the necklace before she could get it back.
Miss Lawrence pursed her lips and lifted her chin as she approached Miss Spencer. She glanced from her roommate to Ann and back again, uncertainty flittering in her pretty green eyes.
Mercy had noticed Miss Lawrence wasn’t talkative with the other ladies and held mostly to herself. She guessed the woman would probably prefer not to get involved in the dispute at hand, that she was likely accustomed to deferring. And yet here she stood, apparently hoping to help resolve the matter.
“Miss Spencer . . .” She paused and lowered her voice. “I was in the cabin when you dropped the necklace into the chamber pot.”
Miss Spencer finally had the grace to release Ann from her glare. Instead, she turned embarrassed eyes upon Miss Lawrence. “Since you were there, you can attest to the fact that it was an accident. It slipped from my hands.”
“Truly, ’twas most unfortunate.” Miss Spencer started to respond, but Miss Lawrence continued before she could say anything more. “And yet I do distinctly remember you saying it was rubbish and that you had no need of it.”
“That was because it was . . . well, irretrievable.”
“’Twould appear it was retrievable after all.”
Ann still hung on to the necklace, her expression wary. Mercy nudged her, hoping she’d take the hint that she needed to do the right thing and give the necklace back. But the girl averted her eyes.
Miss Lawrence cleared her throat. “If this girl went to the trouble of finding and . . . cleaning the necklace, then perhaps she deserves to have it.”
The anger had dissipated from Miss Spencer’s expression, leaving indecision in its place.
Miss Lawrence leaned in and whispered, “Surely you have no desire to wear the item now that everyone knows where it has been.”
The blanching of Miss Spencer’s face was answer enough.
Mercy guessed that in the world they came from, jewelry was disposable. Once lost, they could easily buy another. At the very least, neither would consider the value the necklace could bring once it was pawned, an amount sure to feed and house a poor family for days if not weeks.
Without another word, Miss Spencer spun and stalked away, heedless of the piles of feathers she disturbed in her wake.
Miss Lawrence stayed a moment longer, studying Ann as if she wanted to say more. But at Ann’s defiant expression, the gentlewoman took a step back. She offered Mercy a tentative smile before continuing on to her side of the deck.
As Mercy watched her go, new admiration settled inside her for the gentlewoman. She sensed this voyage was the start of a journey for Miss Lawrence too, and she prayed the woman’s scars would one day fully heal.
nineteen
A cry awoke Mercy. She jolted up in bed and listened.
Through the complete darkness of the night, only the faint rumble of the engines and the soft lapping of waves met her ears.
They’d left the Falkland Islands several days ago and had sailed around Cape Horn without any problems. Some of the middle-class women had spread stories about traveling around the Horn and had stirred up fear regarding the rough waters, the strong winds and currents, the large waves, and even the possibility of icebergs. They told tales of the many shipwrecks, along with the treacherous williwaw winds that blasted down from the mountains, coming out of nowhere and driving ships to their death on the rocks. “A sailor’s graveyard,” they called it.
Thankfully, God spared the Tynemouth another brush with death. He’d apparently decided the gales they’d already encountered had been sufficient.
Instead, the ocean waters and breezes, while cold and crisp, had been calm even after they’d rounded the Horn and entered the Pacific Ocean. Although the peaceful waters were a blessing while rounding the dangerous tip of South America, the Tynemouth had gone for days with no wind to fill her sails and was apparently using up the new supply of coal much too quickly to fuel her engines when she should have sailed northward under the force of the wind.
“Mercy” came a whisper belonging to Ann. “You awake?”
“Aye, that I am, dear heart.”
“It’s Sarah. She’s burning up with fever and retching until she ain’t got not
hin’ left.” Ann’s whisper was laced with fear, a fear that curdled in Mercy’s stomach like sour milk.
Mercy cast aside her coverlet and crawled from her bunk. She bumped against Ann, who was kneeling on the floor next to Sarah’s bed. “Have you been awake for long with her?”
“Awhile now,” Ann admitted softly. “I was hoping to let you sleep.”
The gesture had been a kind one, especially after Mercy had been up the past night tending to the women who’d suffered from food poisoning.
With the bountiful catch of wildfowl hanging out on the decks in the cold of the Southern Ocean breeze, they’d gorged themselves on duck soup and goose drumsticks. The gentlewomen had declared it was a feast just like Christmas, although for Mercy and the others from the city slums, it was their first real taste of such rich, roasted meat.
After several of the women had gotten sick last night, Mercy overheard Mrs. Robb speaking with Mr. Scott about the fowl, that even with the cold weather the meat was turning rancid and causing the sickness. The captain and Dr. Colville made the unpopular decision to throw the remaining carcasses overboard to prevent any further contamination.
Mercy laid a hand on Sarah’s forehead. The girl’s skin was burning up. At Mercy’s touch, Sarah thrashed and cried out, the same hoarse cry that had awoken Mercy moments ago.
“Is she suffering from the tainted food too?” Ann asked.
“I don’t think so.” The others hadn’t been afflicted with fever, nor had they been delirious. They’d been miserable to be sure, but by morn they were through the worst of the ordeal.
Sarah’s symptoms were different. Mercy ran her hands down the girl’s arms and across her back. The fever radiated from the girl like water boiling on the hob.
“She’s in a bad way, Mercy,” Ann whispered. “I ain’t never seen her so ill.”
“Bring me the water pitcher,” Mercy instructed as she began to unlace Sarah’s nightshift.
“I’ve already been cooling her with a rag.” Ann pressed a cold cloth into Mercy’s hand. “She needs the doctor, that’s what.”
Mercy nodded. Joseph. She’d seen little of him during the rest of their stay in the Falklands. He’d knocked on her cabin door a few more times in the early morning hours to deliver fresh eggs, a loaf of bread, more oranges, and even some soap.
The girls were delighted with each of his gifts, and she had been too. Though she’d wanted him to linger, she didn’t encourage it. And he hadn’t stayed, as if he’d finally resigned himself to abiding by the strict rules that kept them from socializing.
Joseph had checked on the sick women the previous night but was gone by the time Mercy went to care for the ailing ladies.
“I’ll go fetch the doctor,” Ann said. Before Mercy could protest, the girl was out the door.
Mercy knew Ann was right. They needed Joseph. Even so, Mercy’s heartbeat began to thud at the prospect of being near him. She couldn’t deny she longed for his presence, dreamed about him, and hungrily took him in each time she glimpsed him from a distance.
Sarah cried out again, and Mercy dipped the cloth in the cool water and bathed the girl’s face. She’d cared for plenty of sick children and knew, at the very least, she had to bring the fever down.
“There, there, my lamb,” she murmured as she sponged the girl’s forehead.
Only minutes later, the door opened, and Joseph rushed in along with a gust of cool night air. His shirt was askew and only buttoned halfway. Her face heated at the memory of the first time she’d brought Sarah to his cabin and she’d caught him in a state of undress.
He knelt on the floor next to her. Even as she moved to give him space, his presence overwhelmed her. He was close enough that she could almost feel the strength in his arm as he pressed his fingers against Sarah’s pulse.
“What are her symptoms?” he asked without preamble. When tending patients, she’d learned he was single-minded, almost brusque in his determination and devotion. And she liked that about him.
“Fever and vomiting,” Mercy answered.
“Did she voice any other complaints?”
Ann had followed the doctor inside the cabin and now stood behind him. “She complained of being sore.”
“Aching in her joints?” Joseph pressed a hand to Sarah’s forehead.
“Guess so,” Ann replied. “That and being tired.”
Joseph slipped his arms underneath Sarah. “I’m taking her to my cabin so I can examine her more thoroughly and administer something to help bring her fever under control.”
Mercy nodded.
As Joseph stood with the girl, she opened the door for him. And as he stepped out onto the deck and started striding away, she remained where she was in the doorway. She was torn between wanting to be with Sarah and needing to keep her distance from Joseph.
“You ought to accompany her, Mercy,” he said over his shoulder without breaking his stride. “She’ll want you by her side.”
Mercy let out a sigh, turned and grabbed her cloak, and wrapped it around her nightgown. Joseph was right. No matter the rules, she had to stay with Sarah. Besides, she could be back in her cabin before Mr. Scott or Mrs. Robb became any wiser.
Not bothering with her shoes, Mercy raced after Joseph. The deck beneath her bare feet was frigid, the night air blowing off the open sea freezing. Sometimes she forgot they were still near the bottom of the world, where the weather was winter-like.
Once inside Joseph’s cabin, she helped him lay Sarah out on the bed. Then for some time she worked with him at trying to bring Sarah’s fever down. Finally, the medicine he’d given Sarah began to calm her thrashing.
As the girl rested more peacefully, the light of dawn brightened the porthole and cabin. “I must go,” Mercy whispered.
Joseph stood at his counter, the lantern illuminating his medicines as he worked to mix another concoction. At her quiet declaration, his movements stilled along with the clinking of glass.
“I’ll take Sarah with me,” she said, not wanting to burden Joseph any longer with the girl’s care.
Joseph pivoted, a small glass bottle in one hand and a stirring stick in his other. “She cannot leave here, Mercy.” His grave expression sent a shiver through Mercy.
“I have to get back to my cabin before Mr. Scott figures out I’ve been gone.”
He shook his head. “I’m quarantining Sarah here until I’m certain she’s not contagious.”
“Contagious, sir?”
“It’s quite possible she has smallpox.”
Mercy pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
“Her symptoms point to the disease. But I shan’t know for certain until I see if she develops a rash.”
Outbreaks of smallpox happened regularly in London. The disease spread rapidly, leaving both children and adults dead or disfigured with blister scars. The afflicted were always shunned, fear rising up to take the place of common decency.
“Have you experienced smallpox,” Joseph asked, “or perhaps been inoculated?”
She shook her head.
“Precisely what I expected.”
Her mind set off to scampering like a cornered kitten. “The other girls in my cabin?”
“I shall quarantine them as well, until I’m certain none of them has been exposed.”
“Then we’ll stay with them, sir. It’ll be for the best thataway—”
“If the others haven’t been infected yet, then Sarah surely will infect them.”
The rest of Mercy’s protest faded.
“If you leave Sarah here, there’s yet the chance for you to return to the others and avoid further exposure.”
“No, Doctor. I won’t skulk away to safety and leave her alone.”
“I shall be here with her.”
“But she needs me.”
Joseph nodded as though he’d expected her to say as much.
Even with her mind made up, the doubts lingered. “It’s just that my chaperones won’t take kindly to—”
“Lord Colville” came a voice from outside, followed by rapping against the door.
Mercy stiffened. It was Mr. Scott. He’d certainly wasted no time in coming after her.
Before Joseph could reach the door, the reverend continued, “When I was retrieving Mercy this morning to attend to the sick women, her cabin mates informed me that she has interrupted your sleep and burdened you with the care of one of the orphans who has taken ill with the tainted food. My lord, I—”
Before he was finished with his sentence, Joseph pulled open the door to reveal the short gentleman, already attired in his black suit and stiff white collar. He bowed at the waist and held himself in the position.
“How may I be of service to you, Mr. Scott?”
The reverend straightened, allowing himself a sweeping look inside the doctor’s stateroom, taking in Sarah on the bed and halting on Mercy, who knelt on the floor next to the sick girl. His eyes widened, and he swiftly looked away.
Only then did Mercy realize she was still attired in her nightgown and the cloak. Her bare feet poked out shamefully, revealing her ankles. Mercy yanked at the thin material and attempted to cover herself.
Mr. Scott’s expression turned grave, almost ashen. He bowed again before straightening and tugging down his coat hard as if that could somehow cover Mercy’s feet. “I beg you to forgive me, my lord. It is I who must try to make amends on behalf of my wayward charges for disturbing you so indecently.”
“They have not disturbed me, Mr. Scott. On the contrary, I prevailed upon them when I learned of Sarah’s fever.”
“You are indeed generous, Lord Colville. In fact, you are more generous than most men of your esteemed station. And I do thank you for understanding.” The reverend gestured at Mercy and hissed, “Come now, girl. You must return to your cabin at once before you shame us all with any further misconduct.”
Mercy stood, ducked her head, and rushed to obey, feeling his wrath upon her back as though he’d struck her there.
“Mr. Scott, do not be so hasty.” Joseph’s tone became stern.
“Have no fear, my lord. I shall not leave you without assistance. I shall send one of my daughters to your aid just as soon as they have partaken of the morning meal.”