“He was just trying to frighten you.”
“The captain looks like he’d like to have my hide. He glares at me with them scary blue eyes and tightens his mouth up and—and I get all trembly inside. He don’t like niggers, I can tell.”
“You’re—don’t use that word, Corrie.”
“But I is a nigger, Miz Marietta.”
“You’re a beautiful and intelligent young woman, and one day you’ll be able to hold your head up with pride, not because of the color of your skin but because of what you are.”
“You is so good, Miz Marietta,” Corrie said.
I moved over to the mirror and looked at my reflection, touched by what she had said, saddened, too. The yellow and silver striped taffeta gown had puffed sleeves that fell off the shoulder, and even after Corrie’s alterations the bodice was provocatively low and snug at the waist. I gazed at the reflection, but I didn’t see the woman with copper-red locks and worldly blue eyes. I saw, instead, a very young girl who had been as pure of heart as the Negro child who stood beside the bed, fastening the valise.
“No, Corrie,” I said, “I’m not good. Perhaps I was once, a long time ago, but—things happened.”
Corrie stepped over to me and placed her hand over mine, and when she spoke, her voice was grave and as lovely as dark honey.
“But them things weren’t your fault,” she said. “It ain’t right for you to blame yourself. Them men took my cherry, but that didn’t make me bad, they’s the bad ones. You let the captain poke his tool in you ’cause you have to, not ’cause you want to. You has a fine heart, Miz Marietta, and you is kind and them is the things what makes a person good.”
“I wish I could believe that,” I said dryly.
“Believe what?” Em asked, stepping into the room.
“Nothing,” I replied.
“Jesus, can you believe we’re finally going to get-off this ship? I hope I can walk! Do you feel that? We’ve stopped moving. How am I going to survive without the floor tilting under my feet and the ceiling swaying overhead? Well, luvs,” Em said, “we’ve made it to the island. The first hurdle is behind us, the next one coming up.”
“You looks lovely, Miz Em,” Corrie said.
Em had changed into a pale, creamy tan satin gown embroidered all over with tiny brown silk flowers and tiny emerald silk leaves. Her glossy chestnut waves were piled on top of her head, several long locks spilling down in back, and she was wearing a gorgeous pair of emerald earrings. Hazel eyes saucy, cheekbones lightly dusted with golden brown freckles, a rueful smile on her small pink mouth, she did indeed look lovely.
“Michael told me to fix myself up,” she explained. “He wants to impress his chums on shore with his fancy new whore. He gave me the gown and gave me the earrings and told me if I behaved myself I’d get a necklace to match. You think I’m not going to be an angel? At least until I get the necklace,” she added. “If I seem to be chattering like a magpie, it’s because I’m terrified. Did you see that mob on shore?”
“I saw them,” I said.
“Getting off this island isn’t going to be as easy as I thought it was going to be, but we’re going to do it, luvs. The three of us are going to escape as soon as possible, cannibals or no.”
Corrie’s dark eyes grew wide. “Cannibals?” she said.
“Nothing for you to worry about at the moment, luv,” Em assured her. “I’d as soon face a tribe of cannibals as face that mob out there, but I suppose we’d better go on up on deck.”
Em took hold of my hand and took hold of Corrie’s and squeezed both tightly. She smiled a bright, rueful smile but wasn’t quite able to hide the apprehension in her eyes. She was brave and feisty and determined to keep up a cheery front, but I could see that she was as dispirited as I.
“We are going to make it, Em,” I said.
“Of course we are,” she retorted, squeezing our hands again. “A bunch of pirates are no match for us.”
She let go of our hands and Corrie picked up the valise and we joined the men on deck. Tremayne appropriated Em immediately, seizing her roughly by the arm and leading her away. He was foppishly attired in brown satin breeches and matching frock coat faced with gold braid, his wide brimmed brown hat festooned with curling gold and white plumes. He led Em down the gangplank, greeting his cronies with gusto and showing off his new acquisition with a boisterous, swaggering pride. Em wore a patient, resigned expression as lewd shouts and noisy catcalls filled the air. One of the slatternly women broke free from the crowd and spat, barely missing the hem of Em’s gown. A pirate clipped the woman on the jaw, knocking her down, and as she climbed to her knees Em gave her a dignified look and extended a stiff middle finger. The crowd roared with raucous laughter.
Tremayne grinned and slung his arm around Em’s shoulders, and they moved on up the street. Draper came over to where Corrie and I were standing. His gray eyes were fierce. The nostrils of his sharp, beaklike nose flared, and there was a sullen curl on his lips. He was wearing the clothes he had been wearing the first time I saw him, black boots, black breeches, the loose-fitting silky green shirt with full sleeves. His coal black hair was held back with a green bandana, and the gold hoop dangled from his earlobe, gleaming in the brilliant sunlight.
“Your little friend is much too sure of herself,” he growled, watching Em and Tremayne with flashing animosity. “She may have a nice pair of teats, but she’d better watch her step.”
“Tremayne will take care of her,” I replied.
“Yeah, he’s pretty cocky, too, gettin’ much too big for his breeches. He dudn’t watch it, I’m gonna take the wench away from him. I’d like to get my hands on those teats.”
I gazed at him with repulsion. Draper’s eyes continued to flash, the fingers of his left hand beating a tattoo on the hilt of his cutlass. An erection strained against the cloth of his breeches as he watched Em and thought of what he would like to do.
Red Nick strolled over to join us. He had been watching the scene, too, and there was a glint of wry amusement in his eyes. The amusement faded as he looked at Corrie. His thin lips curled down at the corners. Corrie cringed, her shoulders trembling. He glared at her with strong aversion for half a moment, then dismissed her from his mind and turned to me.
“Draper will accompany us to the house,” he said.
“What a charming surprise.”
“Are you ready?”
“I suppose,” I said.
My voice was cool, my manner cooler. Nicholas Lyon smiled a twisted half-smile and extended the crook of his arm. I placed my hand in the curve, and we moved toward the gangplank. Corrie remained where she was, nervously clutching the valise, not knowing what to do. Draper gave her a savage prod, and the two of them fell in behind us. The wooden plank creaked a little beneath our weight as we descended. The crowd on the dock cheered robustly, those men with hats waving them in the air as their leader stepped into their midst.
It was a huge, horrifying mob at least a hundred strong. The men had surly, savage faces, many of them with scars or broken noses or eye patches. They wore jack boots and bandanas and many, like Draper, sported golden hoops in one earlobe. All carried knives and cutlasses and pistols, even though there would seem to be no reason to here on the island. There were at least twenty women in the crowd, plump, soiled creatures with coarse faces and long, tattered hair. I repressed a shudder as the shouting, smelly crowd surrounded us, reeking of rum and sweat and filth. This was human nature at its foulest and most depraved, a nightmare mass from the depths of hell. They screamed lustily, waving hats and arms and bottles.
Nicholas Lyon raised his arm, his features stern. Silence fell immediately. His eyes were expressionless as they swept over the mob, and I saw fierce, brawny men stiffen with fear, as though they expected him to find some fault and mete out severe punishment. Tall, harsh, handsome in a cruel, chilling way, he did indeed have them under tight control, subduing an unruly pack of cutthroats without a word. He exuded an aura of utter
ly ruthless power, and had he ordered them to, all of them would have fallen to their knees to pay obeisance. He held them in suspense a few moments longer, eyes like blue ice, his lips curling with a faint smile of satisfaction as he savored his power, and then he gave the smile full play.
“It’s been a highly successful trip, men,” he announced. “We’ve returned with a hold full of booty. There will be free rum in the canteens tonight to celebrate our return.”
Cheers rose in a deafening roar. Hats were thrown in the air. Red Nick acknowledged the cheers with a curt nod and, when the cheering died down, took me firmly by the elbow and led me toward the cobbled street that rose immediately above the docks. I held my chin high, looking neither to the left nor the right, but I could see the men eyeing me with curiosity nonetheless. The women looked at me with active hostility they strove to conceal. Taunting Tremayne’s new whore was one thing. Offending the captain’s woman was quite another. As we walked past stores and shacks and large canteens with flaking white walls and red-orange tiled roofs, I reflected that the women would gladly have torn me limb from limb merely because I was young and attractive and wearing an elegant gown. Red Nick’s patronage was all that protected me.
“Frightened?” he inquired.
“Not at all,” I lied.
“They envy you, you know, the women.”
“I imagine they do.”
“They were young and beautiful once, when they arrived on the island. Rum and rough usage have taken a sad toll. I’m going to have to import some new women before long.”
“What will happen to these?”
“They’ll cook and scrub floors and make themselves useful in other ways,” he said. “You needn’t worry about them. As my woman, you’re perfectly safe, and so is Tremayne’s little whore. None of the townspeople are allowed up on the hilltop, unless invited.”
The cobbled street curved to the right, past an ever thicker congestion of sheds and shacks, chickens and goats in the yards beyond. Ahead, a smooth road curved gradually upward, lined on either side by tall palm trees, their heavy, green-brown fronds rattling in the breeze. I could see a huge square structure beyond the trees, walls gleaming white in the sunlight, enclosing several buildings with multilevel red-orange tile roofs. I realized that it was an enormous stockade with a walkway on the inside and notches along the top with cannon pointing out. The only access was a huge pair of solid oak doors studded with brass. They stood open now, and I glimpsed green lawns and fountains and houses within.
“The island is impregnable,” he explained, “but the stockade is a final precaution. Once the doors are closed, a handful of men could hold off an entire army.”
“How many houses are there inside?”
“Seven,” he said, “plus a small barracks. The main house is quite large, quite luxurious, as you will see, and the six cottages are comfortable. They’re occupied by my lieutenants. Twenty of my best men live in the barracks.”
We passed through the enormous doors. There was a spacious courtyard with palm trees and fountains and lush green lawns. The barracks was immediately to the right of the great doors, and the six small white cottages faced each other across the courtyard, three on either side. The main house was directly ahead, large and lovely with white walls and black wrought-iron grills over the windows and roofs that rose and slanted at different levels. Brilliantly colored flowers grew in beds on both sides of the main portico, wide white steps leading up to the recessed front door.
Everything was clean and peaceful and calm. The nightmare noise, and fury of the town below might never have existed. Em and Tremayne were standing in front of one of the cottages. Em waved. Twenty men with muskets stood at attention outside the barracks, all tall, lean, powerfully built, dressed in attire similar to the other pirates’ but much more neatly, boots polished, breeches clean, colored shirts full-sleeved, silky. Lyon stopped, turned to them, saluted sharply and told them to be at ease. The men lowered their muskets and moved lazily back into the barracks. Red Nick led me past the fountains and colorful flower beds and up the wide front steps. Draper and Corrie were following behind.
We stepped into a long, wide hallway with archways on either side opening into spacious, airy rooms filled with sunlight. At the end of the hallway a curving staircase rose to the second floor. Moving through one of the archways, we stepped into an enormous salon graciously appointed with the finest French furniture, deep blue brocade drapes hanging at the window, pale blue and rose Aubusson rugs on the golden brown parquet floor. With its graceful lines, delicate colors and carefully balanced elegance, the room would have delighted the most demanding Parisian aristocrat.
Red Nick turned to Draper. “Take the nigger to the servants’ quarters,” he ordered. “See that she gets a room, then report back to me.”
Draper nodded, took Corrie by the arm and led her away. She cast a frightened glance at me over her shoulder as they left. Lyon removed his hat, tossed it onto one of the chairs. He looked at the elegantly molded white marble fireplace, the gleaming silver candlesticks, the two crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling with cascades of sparkling pendants. The wide skirt of his frock coat rustled as he strolled across the room to remove a glass and crystal decanter from the gilded white liquor cabinet.
“Wine?” he inquired.
“I think not.”
“What do you think of the place?”
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“I appreciate beautiful things. Beautiful furniture, beautiful objects, beautiful women.”
“And don’t care how you acquire them.”
“I vowed I’d have all this one day. When I was young and hungry and cold, I vowed I’d have wealth and power. I was an orphan, you see, stealing food and pennies when I was no more than five years old. I was lucky. A gentleman whose watch I pinched took pity on me, took me into his home. He and his wife raised me as their son, gave me a fine education, the best tutors.”
“And?”
“They died when I was sixteen years old, the fever, both of them within a week of each other. Their nephew arrived in Edinburgh to take over. He threw me out onto the street, literally. I climbed back in through a window and took a poker and cracked his skull open.”
He stook a sip of wine, his eyes expressionless as he continued.
“I fled. The authorities caught me. I was scheduled to hang. I managed to escape. I overpowered a guard and wrested the pistol out of his hand, shot him, shot another guard who tried to rush me. I hid out in the slums for over a month before I finally managed to get out of the city and take to the sea, a fugitive from justice. There was no turning back.”
“So you became a pirate.”
“It seemed the logical thing to do.”
He finished his wine as footsteps sounded on the stairway.
“Neek-oh-las!” an excited voice cried. “Neek-oh-las! Ess that you?”
The footseps clattered noisily down the hallway, and then Maria burst into the room, absolutely stunning in a dark pink brocade gown that made a striking contrast to her dark, creamy tan skin. Her hair was a luscious blue-black, spilling over her shoulders in rich profusion, and her eyes were a lively brown, flashing, full of expression. Her mouth was wide and red and undeniably sensual, a mouth designed for passion. Not nearly as tall as I, she had an extremely curvaceous body, the clinging pink brocade bodice accentuating smooth shoulders and full breasts and slender waist. Lovely though she was, there was a suggestion of greed in the petulant curve of the mouth, an acquisitive gleam in those dark, flashing eyes.
Halfway across the room, she paused and took a deep breath and placed her hands on her hips. I was standing by a table to the left of the archway, and Maria hadn’t seen me yet. Her eyes were fastened greedily on Nicholas Lyon, a pouting, provocative smile shaping on her lips.
“You bring me a present?” she asked.
“I’ve brought you a surprise.”
He watched her with a stony face that showed no em
otion whatsoever, mouth held in a straight line, one slanted brow slightly arched and almost touching the heavy copper wave. Maria hesitated, puzzled, obviously expecting him to pull out a glittering bauble.
“Where is it?” she demanded.
Lyon nodded in my direction. Maria turned, curious. When she saw me her lips parted in surprise. She stared, her eyes full of dismay, alarm, anger. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, even when the lovely features hardened into a vicious mask. I stood there with a cool, detached expression, refusing to display my feelings. I pitied her. I hated him for what he was doing to her. Maria knew immediately, of course. No words were needed. She stared at me for several long moments, clenching and unclenching her hands, and then she gave a furious cry and whirled around and flew at Lyon with nails extended, planning to rake them across his face.
He caught her wrists, restraining her, cool, sadistic amusement in his eyes as he bent her wrists back. Maria began to scream and kick, struggling furiously, her blue-black locks flying, tumbling over her cheeks, her eyes flashing with Latin rage. She bit his hand and broke his hold on one wrist and threw her hand back and brought it across his face in a stinging slap, at the same time delivering a particularly vicious kick to his shin. He hurled her away from him with such force that she fell to the floor in a sobbing heap.
“You can’t do this to Maria!” she screamed. “You can’t do it!”
Draper strolled into the room, showing no reaction whatsoever to the scene in progress. Maria climbed to her feet and stood there for a moment with angry tears spilling down her cheeks, and then she looked at me and screamed a curse and leaped toward me. Draper reached out and deftly caught her, slinging his arm around her waist. She reared and bucked like a wild animal. He grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, pulling her off her feet, holding her up in front of him. She continued to kick, her pink brocade skirts swirling wildly. Draper chuckled, tightening his arm around her waist, tugging at her hair with savage force, arching her head back across his shoulder.
“You want her?” Lyon inquired.
Love Me, Marietta Page 21