Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  Arriving back in Nassau harbor was like coming home. From her place in the prow, Lorna watched the channel narrow between Hog Island and New Providence Island, watched the emerald green palm trees grow larger and the familiar buildings take shape, shining pale gold and pink and white in the diamond-bright light of early afternoon.

  The Lorelei came in with panache, her few sails spread and thin gray smoke streaming backward with her speed. At a signal, her canvas came down, the engines were stopped, and she glided to a halt in a burst of steam. Lorna turned to smile at Ramon, and he gave her a triumphant grin. In both their minds was the same thought, she knew, of how different was this return from the limping progress of the last one. It occurred to her, then, as it had many times before, how much pride Ramon took in his ship, and with how much affection he used her. She was almost like a living thing, with the shudder and throb of her engines and paddle wheels moving through her timbers like a heartbeat. Lorna felt it herself; how much more must Ramon, who had been with her far longer, be attached to her

  The outward run from Wilmington had been without real incident. There had been a thick fog lying on the water. The spars and rigging of federal ships had twice been sighted above the swirling mist. Still, they made their way through the first squadron with ease, passing near the flagship whose position had been accurately given by the watch at Fort Fisher. Once only had they been seen, and that in the outer cordon of ships. It had been a slow gunboat, little more than a converted river steamer, that had opened fire. Her shells had fallen short, and the Lorelei had easily increased the distance between the two vessels until the gunboat had dropped out of sight. Ramon had then ordered the helm put hard over, setting them on a course at right angles to the one they had been following. After keeping to it a few minutes, they had stopped dead in the water. Looking back, they had been able to watch the progress of the next gunboat by the flashes of her guns and the soaring calcium rockets sent up to draw other blockade ships to the area. It was a wonder they had not attracted the attention of the entire fleet with their unrestrained laughter as the gunboat had plowed furiously away from them, firing into the black, fog-muffled night at nothing.

  Lorna turned back to survey the ships that sat rocking on the vivid blue and green water of the harbor, bowing to their dancing reflections, which were small underneath them due to the angle of the sun. After the last few weeks, she scarcely needed their painted lettering to identify them, recognizing instead their lines and rigging. There was a new coal barque in, and Peter’s Bonny Girl was lying alongside, refueling. He had made a swift trip, even though Charleston, where he had been bound, was closer to Nassau by some hundred miles and more than Wilmington. Still, there was shell damage to the ship’s bulwarks, indicating something less than an easy run. There were other ships with worse problems in evidence, however. One appeared to have suffered damage below the waterline, for she was lying with her decks nearly awash, while another flew a quarantine flag indicating that there was yellow fever aboard. As the hot, rainy season advanced, they could expect to see more and more of this.

  Nate Bacon’s blockade runner looked to be ready at last. It rode heavily with its load of cargo, and there was a drift of smoke from her twin stacks, as if she were getting up steam for a run as soon as night fell. That was good; she hoped Nate intended to make the maiden voyage himself.

  Her satisfaction vanished as she saw that the ship had been christened in their absence. The sight of the name swirling over the bow in crimson letters on the gray hull sent a chill running along her spine. No frivolous or dashing or grand appellation had he chosen, but one that was grim and, to Lorna, disquieting. He had called his ship Avenger.

  They were behind the schedule of the ships that had gone to Charleston, but ahead of the others that had made the Wilmington run. They were lucky enough to find a dock waiting, and, after a quick clearance, Ramon ran the ship up to it. Unloading commenced at once, though with more leisure than dispatch in the heat of the day. Ramon was pleased, since he planned a quick turnaround for yet another run.

  No matter how she pleaded, Ramon would not agree to her going with him; the danger was just too great. He had not, however, argued with her determination to remain on board while the ship was in port, returning to the hotel only just before she was due to sail again.

  The ship had been met by Edward Lansing, who had been in the Bay Street office as they came in. As he and Ramon talked over coffee and brandy, poring over invoices in the cabin, Lorna decided to make a quick trip to the hotel, since she was to be allowed to remain on the ship. She had been an uncomfortably long time in the same clothing yet again, and felt the need of a change, plus sundry other articles she had left behind. More, while in port there was greater need for extra clothing.

  Largo, the young black boy who had been of such help to her a few short days before, met her at the gangplank. His eyes were big and bright, his smile proud as he greeted her, took the lightweight trunk she carried, then turned to walk beside her. She congratulated him on the success of his ruse of nearly drowning, asking him what had happened after he had been pulled from the water. He had told the officer he had a cramp in his stomach from eating too many mangoes, he said. Then he had thanked the wet man and run away, leaving him dripping water on the dock. Her praise for his quick wit made him walk taller, and he was pleased to tell her that he thought her much prettier in her women’s clothes than as a gentleman. She was a nice, ver’ nice, lady, generous and of good judgment, and if she had more jobs to be done, he was her man.

  Laughing at his blandishments, which managed to flatter them both, she invited him to come with her and carry her trunk when she returned to the ship. He was so happy to be of further service that he danced along beside her, jabbering every step of the way. It was all too obvious that he knew everything worth knowing about her and her relationship with the captain. He thought her choice of man a wise one, but was in complete agreement that a woman’s place was to remain on land while a man went to sea. He would own a fishing boat himself one day and come home loaded with the conch and the spiny lobster that he would sell for much, ver’ much, money.

  So amused by his company was she, that as she turned into Parliament Street for the uphill climb to the hotel, she nearly walked into Nate Bacon. He had been well aware of her approach, for he stood in her path with the cane he carried held across his body in both hands like a staff. Largo saw him first and put a hand on her arm. She looked up and came to an abrupt halt.

  “So, you went with Cazenave again,” he said, his face as he looked from her to the boy at her side a mask of sardonic contempt.

  She threw out her chin. “I did, and we returned safely. Isn’t that amazing?”

  He did not bother to pretend ignorance of her meaning. He gave a porcine grunt. “I would have been more careful, if I had known you would be on board.”

  “Since your hireling failed you,” she returned, “it is neither here nor there. But were I you, I would have a care for my own safety. Ramon has suffered much at your hands, but his patience is not endless.”

  “He can prove nothing.” Nate’s formless upper lip lifted in a sneer.

  “Did I mention legal redress? I assure you, that wasn’t my meaning at all.”

  A slight frown passed over his face. “He’s too much the gentleman.”

  “That might have been so at one time, but his calling these days does not encourage the trait. Besides, few gentlemen encourage scoundrels and traitors, or fail to break the backs of the snakes that cross their paths.”

  “Why you little—” he began.

  But she did not stay to listen. Coming down the hill toward her from the direction of the Royal Victoria, was a family group or English visitors out for an evening stroll, one of them pushing an elderly woman in a wheeled chair made of bentwood with padded velvet arms and seat. By stepping smartly, she put the party between her and Nate Bacon and, inclining her head, moved away.

  “Ho,” Largo said, staring up
at her in admiration, “you are one ver’ brave lady, too.”

  She smiled at him, but made no answer. She did not feel brave. In truth, the way Nate had looked at her, the covetous, lascivious expression she had seen in his eyes, made her feel ill with unease.

  It was later than she intended when she left the hotel for the return to the ship. Being so near the hotel’s spacious bathing rooms, she had not been able to resist making use of them and changing into a fresh gown of blue-figured white calico with puff sleeves and a square neckline. Her hair, damp from having the dulling salt spray washed from it, she had coiled at the nape of her neck, meaning to let it down to dry later. With so much time wasted, her packing had been hasty. Still, she had stuffed enough into her straw trunk to make Largo puff and fall behind as she hastened toward the dock.

  They had left the hotel gardens and were descending the hill along Parliament Street, where loomed the buildings of government. Lorna moved with a quick step. They had planned a late luncheon because of making port so near the noon hour, and Cupid would be holding the meal for her. She was hungry, for the first time in days. This last trip back to Nassau, she had been bothered by the motion of the vessel in a way she never had before, though the seas had been relatively calm. Doubtless Largo was hungry, too. She would insist that he share their meal; he had waited so patiently for her, and he would, she thought, consider it a treat.

  Ahead of them, they could hear the faint sound of raucous music from the grogshops, barrel houses, and brothels along lower Bay Street. It sometimes seemed they never closed; even when the runners were gone, there was always the custom of the stevedores and clerks, the speculators and hangers-on. Now, of course, the runners were coming in again, and their crews would be paid off shortly.

  She glanced at the carriage drawn in on the side of the street near the government buildings as she passed it, thinking some official must be working late, but paid no more heed to it than to a thousand others. At the sound of the door opening on the vehicle, she looked back, more to see that Largo did not get in the way with his cumbersome trunk than for any other reason. By the time she saw Nate Bacon jump down, landing heavily on his feet with another man behind him, it was too late.

  She whirled, picking up her skirts, but they were upon her. Hard hands caught her arms, wrenching them in their sockets as they twisted them behind her. A gloved fist holding a cloth drenched in some sickening liquid was held over her nose and mouth. She twisted away as she felt herself lifted, crying out, “Largo — the captain!”

  But even as she called, she heard the thud as he dropped her trunk, and the patter of his running feet. A man cursed. A groping paw found her breast, squeezed. As she drew in her breath with the excruciating pain, the cloth covered her face once more. She swung dizzily, and at the apex of the arc, fell face downward into soft and suffocating blackness.

  She awoke by degrees. She heard the quiet rush of water against the hull of a fast-moving boat, the splashing of paddle wheels and the thump of the beam. She could feel the rise and fall of a ship at sea, a soothing, familiar rhythm. Her nose was assailed by the smell of sweat, however, and of bed linens long unchanged. She was lying face down on the hard surface of a bunk, with the edge cutting into her shins where her feet dangled over the side. She opened her eyes to darkness, then realized from the slick feel of the lining and the unmistakable odor, that there was a man’s jacket thrown over her head.

  Remembrance returned in a sickening wave. The urge to fling off the jacket and jump to her feet was nearly overpowering, but the sound of a scuffing footstep held her immobile.

  As she lay straining to hear, she discovered something else. When she was placed on the bunk, no attempt had been made to arrange her skirts. Her hoop had been tilted upward, so that it collapsed upon her. Now she lay with her gown and petticoats around her waist, the steel of her hoop on a level with her head, and her lower body, clad only in pantaloons, exposed.

  The footsteps moved nearer. She heard the whisper of clothing. A hand descended on her thigh, sliding to grasp the roundness of her hip, kneading the flesh with hard, digging fingers.

  Lorna sprang up, slinging the jacket from her head, retaining her grasp as she brought it around, so that the sleeve struck Nate Bacon across the face. As she heard his grunt of surprise, she thrust herself to her feet and righted her hoop. Her senses whirled, and darkness rushed in upon her once more. She had to clutch at the foot support of the bunk to steady herself.

  “I rather thought,” Nate said in rich satisfaction, “that a hand on your backside would bring you around.”

  “You … you are as vile as your son. What have you done to me?”

  “Nothing of interest — yet. Merely dosed you with chloroform. Britain’s Victoria proved its usefulness in childbed, but the bawdy-house operators of England swear by it to persuade reluctant young women to part with their virtue. I am only following in their footsteps.”

  “You haven’t—?”

  “—Ravished you? The idea occurred to me, and I will admit to indulging in certain liberties while you were unconscious, but I prefer that you be awake and fully aware when I finally take you. It is a pleasure you have so long denied me that I intend to make it as painful and humiliating an experience for you as possible.”

  Her breasts were sore and the lace that edged the neckline of her gown hung in a strip from one shoulder. Where else he might have touched her, she could not tell, but the thought of it made her feel unclean. She turned her head slowly to send him a scathing look. “I would expect no less from you.”

  “My dear Lorna, you have no idea of what to expect from me, but you will learn. You will learn.”

  The menace of his tone, the hot look in his eyes as they moved over her, sent an alarm ringing through her brain. She straightened, turning to put her back to the bunk support, collecting her wits with an effort. Weakness threatened to overcome her, but she pushed it from her. She searched for something to say, anything that would deflect him from his purpose. “This ship we are on, I assume it’s yours?”

  “You assume correctly.”

  “Is her destination Charleston or Wilmington?”

  “Neither.”

  “Mobile, then.”

  “No. Nor Galveston.”

  She sent him a cool stare. “Then, we are simply cruising for your enjoyment. An expensive means of abduction, and a dangerous one with these waters swarming with federal frigates, but I suppose it suits your whim.”

  “Wrong again, my dear girl,” he said, his smile expansive.

  “Oh?” She lifted a brow. “Do you mean to tell me, or shall I guess again?”

  “We are bound for New York.”

  She froze, her expression incredulous. “New York!”

  “Where else should a good, loyal Union man be?”

  “A loyal Union man, you? One of the biggest slave owners in the state of Louisiana? It’s ludicrous.”

  “But, I’m not a slave owner, you know, not now. I had it from most reliable sources that Lincoln is considering a proclamation freeing the slaves. It will be completely illegal, of course, the equivalent of Davis’s declaring that all owners of northern railroad stock must burn their certificates. The purpose, despite the humanitarian ballyhoo, will be to create internal discord and encourage insurrections that will require the Southern armies to turn their attention to the home front. The outcome will be chaos, with men of property finding their land worthless overnight, since there will be no one to work it. Can you blame me for selling my people quickly, before I was caught in that disaster?”

  “Since it is you, no.”

  “Take care, Lorna,” he said, his tone hardening. “You will pay for every insult you utter, this I promise.”

  She gave him a look of cool distaste that made his jaws tighten. “You will feel ridiculous, there in New York, when the South wins.”

  He turned his head, and, finding a small table behind him, leaned against it with his arms crossed over his chest. He wagge
d his head from side to side in mock sorrow. “They won’t win, you know. They will fight gallantly and die in droves, but in the end they will be defeated. And then I will come back and make the Mississippi River my garden stream, and Louisiana my outhouse.”

  “Even you aren’t that rich,” she jibed, her smile making a mockery of his pretensions.

  “I will be, when I’m through.”

  “How? By running the blockade? This ship of yours is so old and slow compared to the Lorelei that it waddles; it will never get past the federals to make New York, much less stay the distance for a run.”

  “I could prove you wrong, but I will forego that pleasure. Once I reach the North, I may send her back to be sold, concentrating on other ways to increase my store of gold. I could sell spoiled pork to the Confederates, for instance; there’s already been a fortune or two made in Yankee dollars doing that.”

  It was common knowledge in Nassau that much of the salt pork that was loaded for the South had come to the islands from the Midwest via Boston harbor. Some even had the stamp of the federal military inspectors still on it. “That,” she said lightly, “is an occupation that should suit you admirably, your being so similar in nature to the commodity.”

  It was a moment before her meaning penetrated, then he came erect and reached out to slap her, a hard blow that brought the taste of blood to her mouth as her head snapped around from its force. She clenched her teeth on the pain, wishing passionately for the derringer left behind in Ramon’s cabin, put away in his trunk when she had returned Chris’s clothing to him. Failing that, she would have liked to flail at him with teeth and nails, except that she would give him no excuse to touch her.

  She turned her head slowly, facing him once more. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “The last time you did that, if you will remember, I stuck a needle in you.”

  “It’s you who will have something stuck in you, and it won’t be a needle,” he said crudely.