Lady Savage

by Donna Lea Simpson

  “Would you ladies like to take breakfast?” he asked, steadying himself against the paneled wall.

  When Savina indicated they would, he guided them down to the dining cabin. Insulated as it was from the external weather, one could still sense the heave and dash of the giant waves in the tilt of the cabinetry. Railings and pegs kept all of the dishes secure from sliding onto the floor.

  Lady Venture Mills and her fiancé were in the dining cabin already, and as Savina took a seat, Lord Gaston-Reade entered, his clothing immaculate, his expression dour and his temper clearly uncertain.

  As Zazu took a seat away from the others, Lady Venture said, “Miss Roxeter, surely you are not going to allow your maid to dine with us?”

  Savina frowned across the table at the lady. “I certainly am.”

  “My maid is taking her meal in my cabin.”

  “That is your maid. It will be far easier on the serving crew if all who wish to eat, eat together, rather than making more work for them.”

  “Really, Savina, it would be better if your maid took her breakfast in your cabin. She is a servant, after all,” Gaston-Reade said.

  “She is my servant, though, not anyone else’s,” Savina said, disturbed by her fiancé’s penchant for taking his sister’s side over his fiancée’s.

  “Nevertheless,” Gaston-Reade said, “serving staff do not eat with their superiors.”

  Zazu had already risen and was on her way out of the cabin. Savina stopped her with a hand on her arm as she passed behind her chair. “No, Zazu, sit and eat.”

  The young woman pulled her arm out of her employer’s grasp. “I go because I want to,” she said, “not because they command it.” In an undertone she added, “I do not feel very well. May I return to the cabin?”

  “Of course,” Savina whispered and began to rise. “Let me go back with you.”

  “No,” Zazu murmured back, her dark eyes gleaming. “Stay, and fight the battle.”

  Savina grinned. They had spoken many times of Lady Venture’s uncertain temper, and how Savina would deal with such a sister-in-law. Together they had decided the voyage would be the battleground of wills, with Savina sure to win. “Go. I’ll have a crew member bring you some seltzer, if it is available.”

  When Zazu had exited, Lady Venture, her mouth twisted in a sour expression, said, “She is impertinent. I would have slapped her if my maid had spoken in that insolent manner to anyone.”

  “What did she say but the truth?”

  “Perhaps that’s the problem,” Lord Gaston-Reade said. “I have noticed before a penchant on your maid’s part to impudence; I blame that on her heritage. I would never have hired as a servant anyone from those mutinous Maroons!” He shuddered, as many Jamaican plantation owners did, at the mere mention of the independent mountain dwellers. The Maroons were a constant concern, for runaway slaves were welcome in Maroon townships, though the plantation landowners constantly petitioned for help from the government to keep their chattel from slipping away in the night. “You must curb her behavior,” he said grimly. “What is tolerated in what passes for society in Jamaica will not be allowed in England. As your maid, Zazu will accompany you everywhere, and she must know her limits. Servants are like animals; a tight collar and short leash are advisable.”

  “That is a disgusting thing to say, Gaston-Reade,” Savina said, accepting a dish of eggs from a young cabin boy. She gave the lad a warm smile and he ducked his head in embarrassment. “You cannot treat a human being like a pet.”

  “Why not?” Lady Venture said. “She’s named like a pet!” She laughed, but when no one joined in, she fell silent with a petulant look.

  “Though Vennie was being humorous, it is something I have been meaning to speak to you about,” Gaston-Reade said, shooting his sister a warning look. “You must find another name for Zazu. Perhaps Mary. That’s a good Christian name.”

  “I can’t rename her as if she is a doll!” Savina said, staring at her fiancé, trying to tell if he truly meant what he said. It didn’t seem possible, but he was serious. “I wouldn’t even try! She’s a person, and Zazu is her name. It came to her grandmother in a dream before she was born, and it’s a part of her. You may as well say you will rename me after we marry.”

  “You must give her another name. And you must not let her speak out of turn.” Gaston-Reade stared at her steadily. His tone mild, he said, “I will not have you flouting my wishes. Really, Savina, you have a most unattractive streak of independence. You must learn to curb it. Your behavior must conform to society’s expectations or you will find yourself an outcast.”

  Though his voice was gentle, the words he spoke cut Savina to the soul. He made England sound so bleak and friendless, and marriage to him a prison. “I must do this and I must do that? I refuse to believe that English society is so devoid of humanity as you suggest that anyone who is not exactly the same as everyone else is shunned.”

  “I think, Miss Roxeter, that you should believe his lordship,” Anthony Heywood said. As little as he liked seeing anyone’s spirit crushed, it was perhaps better that she arrived in England knowing what to expect.

  He watched her eyes widen, and her questioning gaze swung from his face, to her intended husband’s, to Lady Venture’s and finally to Mr. William Barker, Lady Venture’s silent fiancé. Tony knew some of Miss Roxeter’s history, and that she had come to Jamaica nine years before; that meant she was, at most, a child of eleven or twelve when she left England and would not have mixed in society at that age. Raised in independence on the island by an indulgent father and with only occasional contact with other English inhabitants, she perhaps had no idea what returning to England would mean, nor how her behavior would be curtailed by marrying Lord Gaston-Reade.

  His employer was a pompous ass, and Anthony had gotten into the habit of thinking that if Miss Roxeter could not see that, or saw it and accepted his proposal anyway, then she was a featherbrain who deserved her fate. It had not changed the fact that he admired her looks more than any lady he had ever seen. She was lovely, and the teasing wind, which had pulled her dark hair from its confines, had only made her more so. She had pink in her cheeks from the confrontation with her fiancé and his sister, and dark curls floated around her pale oval face.

  However, he now wondered if she had accepted her fiancé as he was—and he could be charming at times—without thinking how she would be expected to modify her own behavior. If that was the case this might be the first time she realized what marriage would mean for her.

  “Do you believe, Mr. Heywood,” she said, staring at him and following up on his last comment, “that I will be out of place in English society, then?”

  He considered his reply, aware that the others’ gazes were on him. Working as Lord Gaston-Reade’s secretary was a wonderful opportunity, even though he despised the man. The circles he traveled in allowed Tony access to people he would never have met in his normal life, and he had plans for his future, plans he had made advancements on, though not enough to strike out on his own yet. He still needed his employer’s goodwill, but he could not remain silent, not with Miss Roxeter’s eyes searching his, even if it meant offending his employer with his frankness.

  “I do think you will be out of place, miss. Most ladies have no idea what they think, and you clearly do.”

  A gasp from Lady Venture told him he was treading on dangerous ground.

  “And ladies in society never speak their mind, nor do they care about those in their employ. You will most certainly be an anomaly.”

  Mr. William Barker, whom he had never suspected of having a sense of humor before, suppressed a snort of laughter, turning it into a cough.

  Gaston-Reade stared at him. “Have you lost your mind, Tony?”

  “Perhaps, sir.”

  Lady Venture peered at him through the gloom of the dining cabin and said, “I think he was being rude to me, William. Was he being rude to me?”

  “Why would you suspect it, my love?” Barker smir
ked over at Tony behind his fiancée’s back, but Tony did not return the smile. She smiled at him and said, “You make me feel it may not be such a terrible thing to stand out in English society, Mr. Heywood.” She settled down to her breakfast, turning away from her fiancé and his sister.

  Tony was silent. It had become, over the last twelve hours or so, abundantly clear to him that Miss Savina Roxeter had a brain to think with and a heart to feel, that in fact she was chock-full of important and valuable organs superior to those contained in most people’s bodies. The discovery dismayed him, for as long as he could maintain his comfortable sense of superiority, he need not admit how perfectly lovely, amiable and sweet-tempered he had always found Miss Roxeter, and how beautiful he thought her. And now, to believe her intelligent and with a compassionate heart . . . her perfection was dangerous to him.

  The meal was soon over with no more discussion; Savina had nothing more to say to Gaston-Reade, nor to his sister, though she had much to think about. As the day wore on, it became clear the storm was rising. Savina’s father stayed in his cabin, as did Zazu, but the others gathered in the cabin assigned to them as a parlor.

  The Prosperous was a merchant vessel carrying sugar to England, but the captain was not averse to mingling with his few passengers. He entered the parlor near dinner to reassure them that though it was clear to all that the storm had worsened, they would ride it out in safety.

  Unfortunately, his speech was interrupted by a particularly bad heave and a shout from somewhere among the crew.

  “Now see here, Captain,” Lord Gaston-Reade said, his face white and his breathing quickening, “I demand that you steady the ship this instant and calm your crew!”

  Savina stared at him in dismay. Had she heard him correctly? Had he even thought about what he said?

  Captain Gallagher glared at him. “I have a measure of power, my lord, but sorry I be that it don’t extend to the heavens and the Almighty. But the ship, I assure you, is a sound one, an’ we’ll do. As for my crew, they be perfectly in control, as much as anyone can be, for God will command and we must obey. Now, if you will all excuse me, I have a storm to ride out.”

  “What would that shout have been, Captain Gallagher?” Savina asked politely, before the captain exited.

  “Could have been anything, Miss Roxeter,” he said, turning back and speaking with a kind tone. “I’ll let you know, if I find out, but don’t worry yerself about it. Now, excuse me, miss, ladies and gents,” he finished, turning and bowing to the others. He disappeared out the door.

  “Impertinence,” Lord Gaston-Reade spluttered.

  Savina held her tongue, for her comment would have been pithy. Though the company chatted, at times having to steady themselves against the heaving of the ship, most felt the tension. Mr. Heywood, Savina noticed, was tight-lipped and wordless, but that was often his demeanor. He occupied the difficult position between servant and gentlefolk, for as Gaston-Reade’s secretary he mingled with the other passengers, and yet could not become overly familiar.

  Though she retreated to her cabin at about ten in the evening, she didn’t sleep. She stayed awake with Zazu, both of them unnerved by the howling wind and pitching and tossing of the ship, and both determined to comfort the other.

  Toward morning the seas seemed to calm, and as daylight broke, Savina felt the urgent need to see for herself that they had come to no harm through the long night. She made her way to the deck to find that though they had indeed ridden out the night in safety, all was far from well.

  Three

  Another ship was lashed to their own, but it was not the HRH Wessex, nor was it the Linden, the two ships they had been accompanied by when they left Kingston Harbour. The flag the new ship flew was that of the United States of America, with whom her native country was locked in a war declared by that fledgling country, and the name she could make out through the rigging of her own ship was the Gryphon.

  Savina scrambled onto the deck, shivering in the freshening wind of a gusty gray day, but when she rounded a coil of heavy rope it was to find a confrontation taking place.

  Anthony Heywood was already on deck watching the confrontation between Captain Gallagher and a uniformed officer of the United States Navy. The American captain was surrounded by many of his well-armed men, who held at bay the English merchant captain’s crew.

  Savina murmured her alarm and Mr. Heywood turned to her.

  “Miss Roxeter!” he whispered. “You should not be up here. Go back immediately!”

  “No. What has happened, Mr. Heywood?”

  A couple of the American officers looked her way, and one smiled and winked at her, but she kept her expression grim, not willing to bring any more attention to herself than inevitably she would get.

  “What’s going on?” she repeated to her reluctant companion, tugging his sleeve.

  “I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look good,” Mr. Heywood said, not letting his attention stray from the scene before them.

  Savina thought that was a vast understatement, since Captain Gallagher had been caught by the arms by one of the American commander’s men. “Oh! Is he going to be all right?”

  But Anthony Heywood had already started forward; Savina followed at a safe distance, not to interfere but to watch. She couldn’t possibly retreat now, and besides, if things started to look dangerous she wanted enough warning so she could go belowdecks and muster Zazu and her father and the others to resistance, as futile as that seemed, confined as they were.

  Hostilities between the two nations, in this late summer of eighteen fourteen, were as unresolved as they had been in the two years the nations had been locked in enmity, and she had no desire to be taken by Americans. Savina had heard much from the officials who visited her father all summer; they had spoken about the coming raid on New Orleans, which they hoped would procure them some help from the local Creole population, chafing under American rule imposed upon them so recently as a mere fifteen years earlier. She didn’t want to be forced to share the knowledge she had with these Americans, though from the indiscretion of the British officials, who were so sure of their own superiority they spoke openly of the coming raid, she had always felt certain the Americans would have much advance warning of the coming attack.

  Mr. Heywood, his plain buff trousers and navy jacket a dull contrast to the smart uniform of the American commander, approached the group.

  “Say now,” Heywood said, his tone even. “Sir, please release Captain Gallagher. I assure you, his primary concern is the welfare of his passengers and crew; if he made any threatening gesture, it was merely in the aid of that goal.”

  The American cocked an eyebrow at him and looked him over. “And you are?”

  “Mr. Anthony Heywood, passenger on this ship.”

  “I would think, sir, that you should shut your damned mouth.”

  Savina watched Mr. Heywood’s hands clench into fists, but his voice, when he spoke again, was calm and unruffled.

  “I think, sir, that rudeness is unbecoming your uniform.”

  The American captain stilled, then gave a signal, and the officer holding Captain Gallagher tight loosened his hold.

  “You are correct, Mr. Heywood. I forgot myself in the urgency of the moment, but it is not politic to be goaded into returning rudeness for rudeness, is it?” He strolled closer to Heywood. “You, sir, must be a diplomat?”

  “Nothing so grand, just a humble secretary. But with an interest in maintaining my hide, and that of the other passengers.”

  “But not the crew?”

  “The crew is the captain’s realm, sir.”

  “True.”

  Savina let out a breath of relief at the pacific nature of the exchange. The red-faced American captain, though he looked to be a hard man, seemed willing to be composed if met with calmness. But her relief was short-lived as Lord Gaston-Reade blustered above deck and charged toward the odd grouping.

  “What is going on?” he bellowed. “Why is that ship there?
Who are you?”

  The American looked over the new arrival with an interested air. “Captain Charles Verdun. And you?”

  “I am Lord Albert Gaston-Reade. What is the meaning of this . . . this outrage?”

  Savina rolled her eyes, for there could not have been an utterance more trite, like a phrase out of the poorest species of adventure novel.

  “Are there other passengers?” the American captain asked, turning to Captain Gallagher.

  “Yes, of course,” the English captain growled. “Damned rebel buffoon, let us go!”

  The American captain refused to be insulted by his English counterpart. He strolled to the railing and looked at his own ship. For the first time Savina let her gaze travel it, and she saw that it listed badly. Crew members lined the railings and watched avidly the proceedings.

  When Verdun returned, he was about to pass by her but stopped and bowed. “Miss, may I ask—”

  “Step away from her, you damned jackanapes.”

  Savina sighed. Again Gaston-Reade insisted on sounding like the worst kind of novel character, one provided by a writer with no imagination beyond the trite and hackneyed.

  The American stiffened and turned slowly. “Sir . . . pardon, my lord,” he said with exaggerated and insulting politeness, “I was merely going to ask the young lady a question.”

  “You will address me, not my fiancée.”

  “Glory to God,” Verdun said, turning his gaze to her, his brown eyes wide with wonder. “This man is your intended, miss?”

  Savina could not ignore him and nodded, restraining her quivering with hands clenched before her.

  Gently, the American said, the expression in his eyes softening, “Miss, please be assured I mean you no harm. I don’t know what you have heard of us Yankees, but as in any war, you have likely heard that we are monsters, which is the same nonsense spread about English commanders, who I have found to a man to be a valiant, brave, if hard species when crossed. I expect nothing less. But I was merely wishful to ask, are there other ladies on board?”