Her frown widened. “You could’ve given me the chance to choose. You use that fast brain of yours to excuse your heavy hand. You didn't want me to have a true choice, just your choices. You greedy man.”
He propped up on one arm and looked at the dangling braids along her long neck, the frustrated heaving of her chest, and couldn't see or think of a reason to leave the fireball in London. “London without Welling protection would not be enticing for you. And poor Jonas, would you send him here alone? Mrs. Narvel is nice, but trying to get him to calm down after seeing you hurt took a long time. Would he do that for another Mamie?" He thumped his chest. “I doubt he do it for this wayward man who claims him as an heir.”
Her sweet chestnut eyes narrowed. “You mean his father. Don't think I hear you say those words that often.”
He pulled his fingers to his lips and wanted to smash them in for his careless phrase. Some secrets should simply die. “Yes, his father.”
Her gaze sharpened, as if she could see through his shirt, straight into his fortressed heart. “I need to know everything that happened in this room, not just the bits you wish to share.”
He stuck his finger on her brow and smoothed a crinkle. “Everything, Precious Jewell? I am not sure you can handle that. Besides, I think that the there’s too much slave still up in that head to handle much.”
“What?”
“Like clockwork, mouse, each time you do something you think has angered me, you act as if I am going to beat or attack you. That’s not the thinking of a free woman. No, a woman who bears no chains, mentally or physically, will find others to assign blame. I'm surprised Eliza didn't teach you the trick.”
“Then your men must be trained to enslave, for they surely thought that you should hurt me for nearly dying.”
He swiped at his hair and lay back upon his pillow. “I can’t excuse their horrible behavior, but, if you had listened, hadn't been so frightened of me, you'd never have been endangered. Eliza once told me of how the masters treated their slaves. She never mentioned how you were specifically treated, but I can imagine.”
Precious’s pretty eyes went wide as she sat up and struggled to bend her feet to her. Her muscles must be stiff from lying sick so long. “You have no idea. So don't pretend you can.”
He held up a hand in the air to calm her. “Then tell me.”
At first, she shrank back, then, as if she’d reached her fill of cowering, she lunged forward and slapped him with her full strength, a paper swat, across his cheekbone.
The surprise of it made him squint at her. He couldn't decide if he should laugh or curse. “Watch it, mouse.”
“Auugh.” The girl kicked him in the thigh, a sharp bony thrust with the heel of her foot. She lurched as if to pop him with the arm she’d hurt. Good thing he and Mrs. Narvel had bound it tightly to her side.
“I’m no rat!”
The pacing of her kicks picked up, with the last almost punching his stomach. "And why did you kiss a rat, if that's what you think of me?"
Why had he? There could've been another way to muffle her screams. His gaze left her fiery eyes, falling upon her lips, her very generous mouth with the plump curve of a cupid's dimple atop, and how inviting it was with her huffing at him. "It seemed a good idea at the time. And you didn't quite object."
Her cheeks darkened, and her caramel skin reddened as if her fever had blossomed again. "You bounder baron." She started kicking again.
To stop her from hurting herself or actually connecting with one of her blows, he slipped off the bed, and rolled to the floor. Laughter poured out him. “You done?”
Another long puff came out of her. “Yes, unless you come back up here. You should take two years off my sentence, or I… or I'll pester you for the reason you made me stay in here with you. I know it wasn't for my benefit.”
He cocked his head and almost choked on his chuckles. Only one woman understood, well, tried to understand him, and she was dead. No one but Eliza had the capacity to accept him and his ills. But it was good to see true spirit in his mouse. “Precious, there is hope for you yet.”
Reaching up, he pulled down a pillow, popped it under his neck and closed his eyes. "Goodnight."
Getting comfortable on the floor, he stretched his tired limbs. He’d keep protecting Precious, and he'd get her to not be afraid of men. Like every other woman, someday she’d yearn for love, to be married. Helping her overcome her fears now felt right. Yet, could he stand to let another man take her away? Would he allow someone else to enjoy her fine eyes and spirit?
Chapter Seven: Cabin Fever
Precious sat with her back to the firm mattress of the small bed in the women's cabin. She'd never been more pleased to be anywhere than on the floor of the women's cabin, reclining on the sturdy pallet. Taking a deep breath, she rejoiced, for she was out of Lord Welling's room, away from his irritating charm, and definitely out of his bed.
He said she begged for him to kiss her. Had she done that? Deep in her heart was there something inside that wanted what Eliza had; a beautiful son, a handsome husband?
She rubbed her neck, as if the shame could rub off. There was a small part of her that wanted happiness like Eliza. The day she tried on the emerald silk, she wanted to be like Eliza, but that never meant taking Eliza's place. She loved her too dearly, never wanted her hurt.
But kissing her Lord Welling? That must be wrong.
His kiss had been gentle. It wasn't sloppy or full of spittle. It was just right. And that made Precious sad.
She could never think of it again or act upon it. No more fodder could be shoveled onto that. All the crew, even her quiet cabin mate, Mrs. Narvel, had to think of her as a harlot. The captain's woman. Oh, why did she have to fall overboard?
Jonas's chubby palm lifted her chin. "Mamie sad?"
Precious gathered him up in her arms. "Not with you, sweet boy. I missed caring for you."
He surely had grown an inch on this voyage. Six weeks had passed since leaving London, but just two since her drop into the ocean.
Mrs. Narvel's voice floated down from the bed. "He's been an angel. It was my pleasure to tend to you both. Need to make myself useful before my time of confinement."
The lady crawled to the edge of the mattress and stretched, tapping Jonas's nose. The glow of the woman's tan skin had increased as her stomach grew. "Truly, I like helping. I was a governess before I married Mr. Narvel. I haven’t felt so useful since. Don't mistake my words; I love being a wife, I just don’t like being idle. Once the babe's born, I'm going see about helping with the missionaries. I want to help bring light to Port Elizabeth. I think that will help in Lord Welling's call for peace."
Nodding, Precious lifted another piece of biscuit to Jonas's lips. "Thank you for your kindness; I should've listened to you."
"Hoot." The little boy made another noise, blocking out Mrs. Narvel's acknowledgement or condemnation. That was all well and good. Precious couldn't hear so much over anger at herself. Well, at least she had a new nightmare of being sucked down into the abyss, instead of hungry Charleston eyes coming after her.
Mrs. Narvel leaned her head over. Her smiling gaze had become something Precious counted on seeing. Even with her own tiredness from the babe growing big in her belly, she took care of Precious when she was so weak. Precious vowed in her heart to be a comfort to Mrs. Narvel when her time of confinement came.
She took a napkin and dusted Jonas's face. "Are you and the little one done? The cabin boy will return for the plates."
At least the young fellow didn’t stare at her too much, not like what the rest of the crew would do if she faced them. She wiped her fingers on her soiled bodice. "I think Jonas is done. Surely left crumbs enough."
Mrs. Narvel hummed as she curled up in her quilt. The garnet and gold sections looked quite festive and expensive. "You look like you are feeling so much better, but I think you need something different to wear. That always makes me feel better."
"I just have bu
t two dresses. With my arm still on the mend, I didn't get a chance to clean the other."
Precious put her head in her hands. She might as well tell the nice woman the truth. "I didn't do laundry when the boat docked. I didn't want any one to see me, not even Lord Welling."
The anguish burst inside. Precious enjoyed a neat appearance; now she was just a low ragamuffin, a lowly mouse.
Jonas's hand fisted on one of braids. "Mamie no cry."
Mrs. Narvel wiped a tear from Precious’s cheek. "Don't be uneasy, dear. I've plenty gowns. There's bound to be something in my trunk for you."
The lady sat up and pointed to the big box in the corner. "Check inside."
Precious ran her finger along the fine leather top. Her thumbs stopped on the brass hinges. When she opened it, the most beautiful gowns, almost as wonderful as Eliza's, were folded inside: creamy taffeta, smooth silk, airy muslin, all so beautiful. "I can't wear these. They are too nice."
"Precious, keep rooting through. There should be something simpler, if that is better for you."
Encouraged, she let her hands sweep through the fabric. That one time of playing dress-up with Eliza stirred in Precious's head. Before she could stop, she'd picked up a floral print and held it to her chin. "What do I owe you?"
"Just let me read to you. I see your caged spirit, Precious Jewell. Let me read you something to help you with your peace. You don't have much."
Another one of those Bible-toters, the ones who went to church on Sunday and kept enslaved people, sun up to sun down. "All you want to do is to read to me, and I can borrow this dress?"
Mrs. Narvel nodded. "That's all. Jonas might like to hear, too."
Precious studied the weave of the gown, the embroidery of the flowers on the cuff. It looked so nice, too nice.
Again, her roommate's cheery voice sounded, like the tinkling of Christmas bells. "Go ahead. I think that will look really well on you."
Precious laid the gown on the bed like she used to do for Eliza, smoothing the hem, checking the underskirt. This was a dress for a somebody; not a woman who shamed herself. "It's too much. Maybe later."
The woman started to frown. "You can wear it, and I won't read aloud. I just want to be helpful."
Mrs. Narval sounded so small, like Precious had pushed all the air out of her. Even her puffy cheeks had diminished. "Except for my husband, I don't know anyone in Port Elizabeth. I would like to have a friend. I know I am going to need one when the baby comes."
The woman was trying to be helpful, and she'd just rejected her. This place, Port Elizabeth, was new. Shouldn't Precious try to be new, too? What would it hurt to trust Mrs. Narvel? Would it be so awful if Precious gained a friend?
And the woman had been so kind, taking care of her and Jonas. Being filled with so much distrust, was Precious worthy to be a friend to anyone? Oh, how she hoped there was something other than bitterness inside her chest.
Taking a slow breath, she straightened and put her gown back in the truck. "I might try it on later, but, right now, why don't you read some of that book? I reckon that Jonas and I are a little restless being in this room for so long."
The widest smile Precious had ever seen bloomed on Mrs. Narvel lips. "Thank you. I'll read you just a little of the Twenty-third Psalm."
Precious dressed very carefully, buttoning one silk button at a time. Her shoulder felt better now, much of the tenderness gone. She could pick Jonas up without wincing. And today she would get some air.
Mrs. Narvel had made the past two weeks in the cabin pleasurable with funny stories. Her voice had become almost melodic when she read the Bible. The woman even explained a few things and didn't try sound like a saint or a preacher. Her peace seemed true. It was something to consider.
Her traveling companion was nice. The woman didn't think her a savage. She offered kindness and friendship. Precious was a free woman, and free people could choose friends. Though enslaved by the Marsdale family, Precious knew in her heart that she and Eliza had loved one another, but love was an enigma. The strength of it could break through roles and stations in life. She'd seen it.
Precious looked back at Mrs. Narvel. The lady napped, just like Jonas. Both had a quiet looks on their pink, sleep-warmed faces.
But she didn't want sleep, she wanted air. Today, she felt strong enough to get it. With one more button pinched closed on the flowery dress that her roommate had let her wear, she strengthened her limbs. Heart filling with gratitude, she tiptoed out of the room and closed the door with a soft push.
Shaking hesitancy from her limbs, she plodded to the ladder leading to the deck. The reward above of sweet ocean breezes awaited her. C'me Come on, Precious. Encouragement in her head sounding like Granmama's wispy voice made Precious want to grab the first rung of the pine ladder, but uneasiness held her back. Instead, she took a fingernail and traced the grains of the rounded wood.
C'me Come on, Precious. She rolled her fingers about the rung and witnessed the curling of the muscles in her forearm. The cap sleeves of the flowered dress fit near her elbows and puffed with the exertion.
With its simple skirt, the floral muslin was far from the dresses in Eliza’s closet, but Precious felt just as elegant in it as she did the day Eliza let her try on the emerald taffeta.
Sighing, with eyes widening, she again glanced at ladder. It looked taller and more rickety than she remembered, but hadn't it taken Lord Welling's and her weight at the same time? It couldn't be that feeble.
C'me on, Precious. Smoothing a braid behind her ear, she chided herself. Her nerves were stealing her peace. She'd let the faith that Eliza had in her, that even Mrs. Narvel and Lord Welling believed her to possess, begin to show. No member of the snickering crew would keep her from feeling a small bit of wind on her face.
Rung by rung, she climbed again, pushing Lord Welling's laughter, his knowing remarks, out of her head. It took more effort to reach the top, but the growing warmth from the bright sun on her temples felt so good.
Smoothing her dress of wrinkles, she tiptoed to the rail, very near the spot she'd fallen. The ocean below swirled and sparkled. Blues and greens cut through the waves, but the foam peeked out like a white petticoat. The tang of salt washed over her. She didn't hate the water. Never did, but she now understood its strength. She'd never take for granted that its beauty hid power.
Ripples came and went as the sea rolled past, dancing to some slow jig. The water amazed her. The more she stood in the strong sunlight the more she marveled at the colors, the size and lengths of the rushes. It wasn't the least bit scary now. How could she have been so frightened of it just because of the dark?
And why had she been so frightened of Lord Welling? Yes, he annoyed her, and, yes, his wit stung, but he never hurt her, never even tried to give her much of a scare. A memory of his touch, the ginger way he undid her nightgown to fix her shoulder, and the firmness of his encompassing kiss, settled onto her.
She shuddered.
He was someone to fear, for he knew how to set her at ease.
Shaking off the mixture of helplessness and some tortured sense of wonder about him, she turned, looking for the baron, but her gaze stuck on a burly man heading her direction.
This one she hadn't seen before. He hustled from the back of the boat. Boots clomping on the deck, he ambled near. "Mornin', ma'am."
He kept moving, and soon he and his pitchy tune disappeared.
The sailor didn't stare, ogle, or threaten her. No, he acted as if the black woman in the nice dress on The Margeaux’s deck was normal, nothing unusual. Precious had to wipe the disbelief from her face, giving each cheek a good pat. Maybe there was some good for being thought of as the Captain's woman.
He’d been right in allowing the charade. Boy, did it burn her insides to admit him being right about anything. Even now, she could see that impish grin on his face, laughing, smiling at her.
Cupping her hand to her face, she scoured the boat, her eyes trailing planks and the handful of men
pulling ropes to adjust the billowing sails. Finally, she spied Lord Welling at the wheel. With her fingers, she measured his height. From this distance, the baron measured only a few inches.
He wasn't so scary sitting betwixt her fingers. She smashed her index into her thumb, as if that action would lop off his stupid hat or smear his grin, the one she could picture with her eyes closed.
His whole body was focused straight ahead. Even at a distance, he seemed rigid, set apart. But this was a lie. He’d masked warmth and caring that sprung free in hidden moments. Before her accident, he'd come a few evenings and played with Jonas, telling tales of the colony and how his friend, Lieutenant Narvel, was a man of honor and valor.
No, the baron wasn't so scary.
Her heart did a stupid dance. No doubt from realizing that he was just a man, one who, so far, didn't mean her harm.
With a shake of her head, she abandoned nice thoughts of a man who called her a varmint, and headed for the ladder leading to her cabin. She’d risked enough for this mouth of air.
"What's Wowski doing today?" The screechy voice assaulted her ears. The worm of a man sent by London had climbed up from the ladder behind her. He came near, fingering the button holes of his onyx jacket. "Looking for your prince?"
Brow raised, she gaped at him.
The squint-eyed man trudged a few more steps. "I asked you a question."
She folded her arms about her. "No, you didn't."
"Yes, I did. I called to Wowski. Or maybe I should say it plain, harlot."
This was the attitude she'd expected of all men, but it still hurt. It still crushed her growing feelings of worth on the inside. Breath burning in her lungs, she made her voice strong. "The name is Precious Jewell. Learn it if you wish to speak to me."
He rubbed his chin and the nasty shadow cleaving to his jaw. "That's not a name. And why would someone call a servant such?"
"Because it's my name. Maybe one too honorable for the likes of your tongue."
She turned her back to him. She didn't need to talk to him or pay him any attention. She wasn't enslaved, and needn't pay deference to anyone, except, well, maybe her employer. But that was it.
The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2 Page 7