The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2

by Vanessa Riley

  "Well, aren't you something? I'll still call you Wowski. But I'd bet the prince's trollop had better manners than you." He came close and almost elbowed her. "By the way, you may have caught Welling's eye and think you can get away with mischief, but passions fade and you may need another friend soon. I could be such."

  What was the troll angling for? Did he think her weak enough that she'd want someone who called her a harlot to be her friend? She swallowed gall and tried answer like the baron would. "Can't be a friend to someone who doesn't like my name."

  "I won't sweet-talk you, but I can be of more help than Welling. And our relationship would be transactional, information-based. His days of being in charge will end."

  Didn't that beat all? The nasty man wanted her to choose him over the baron. On what side of stupid was he birthed? "I didn't think the likes of you would think I knew anything."

  He tapped the rail with his stubby fingers. "You're smart. More than I'd given you credit. And since Welling is sweet on you, he'll be careless. You'll be privy to his plans."

  So the skunk wanted her to be a gossip. She pivoted and started walking toward the baron's perch. "Well, I should go see what evil he's about."

  "I'm not joking." He grabbed her arm as she attempted to move past him. "And my offer is not forever."

  Anger whipping through her, she shook free then lifted her chin. The worm wouldn't frighten or hurt her. She wasn't giving him that right. "Get your hands off me, before I slap you into tomorrow."

  He dropped her arm and swung his hands behind his back. "Just remember what I said and keep this to yourself."

  So the fool was frightened of Welling. Good. "You remember to mind your manners."

  She didn't wait for him to reply and headed to Lord Welling's perch. Mr. Grossling was a desperate troll, and that type was the exact kind of fool that could cause trouble. But what harm would he cause? And what would happen to Precious or Jonas, if Lord Welling lost his power?

  Through his pocket scope, Gareth spied Precious coming his way, hips swaying, but lips pressed into a frown. Putting the lens into his jacket pocket, he could feel a hint of a smile growing on his face. The two-month-long voyage was nearly over, and she'd all but disappeared when he returned her to the women's cabin. Teasing her would provide a needed distraction.

  Hopefully her spirits had bloomed again. He had to know he could count on her reasoning. A level head was a must, for Port Elizabeth had its own troubles.

  His fingers tensed along the wheel. He'd navigated the ship past all the dangerous reefs, but the biggest danger still lay ahead: docking and unloading. That would be the most vulnerable time. The Xhosa could attack when all the men were busy carrying supplies.

  With Precious, Jonas, and the pregnant Mrs. Narvel on board, the stakes were higher. Yes, they'd wait for night before embarking upon the last miles.

  "Lord Welling," her voice held no notes of shyness or deference, "when do we arrive? Is this Port Elizabeth a real place?"

  "Oh, it's very real, Miss Jewell." He swiveled his head from his view of the ocean to her. His breath caught for a moment. He'd never seen her in anything but her uniform; well, that, and her nightgown.

  But this? A floral muslin that tucked about her bosom, alluding to her rounded hips and the small waist he knew existed. Something crossed through him, a mix of awareness of her striking appeal and a jab of raw masculine protection. "The dress... it's…"

  She folded her arms. "It's Mrs. Narvel’s. She let me borrow it. It shows my ankles a little. I suppose I'm a little taller."

  Of course, he felt compelled to dip his head and study her neat legs. With a sigh, he turned back to the ocean. "You look very nice, Precious. Well, you've had your air. Now go back to your cabin. Your wanderlust has been sated. Go prepare. We dock tonight."

  Precious pushed forward and gripped the rail of his deck. Her face lit. "Is that it? There're groves of green and mounds. No buildings."

  He moved to her and handed her his scope. “That green you see is a wild jade canopy of trees from a forest, and the brown are dunes. The land is almost split in two with wonderful trees to serve as building materials, and sandy beaches."

  "What are they for?"

  The breathless quality of her words made him want to scoop her up and show her everything. Instead, he took a couple steps away and gripped the wheel with both hands. "It's land for building, or a barrier to separate those who can't get along."

  She nodded and put the scope to one of her pretty eyes. "And what of the people?"

  "They are just like in London or Eliza's Charleston."

  She turned to him. Her face fell, the joy stripping away, leaving a frown. "Oh."

  Catching her gaze, he felt her sorrow, the disappointments she must bear. Well, he must surely have been one for her, too. "Did I treat you poorly in London?"

  "No. You didn't pay me much mind. I was glad of that. It's never good when masters... or employers take notice."

  Oh, his head was in a fog in London to not notice Precious's fire. Too consumed with trying to please his own masters, his uncle and Eliza, he'd missed her blooming into a fine young lady. "I'm glad I'm not one of the memories you are running from."

  She put a balled hand to her hip. "Are you sure? You haven't told me what happened that night I fell. What happened after you fixed my shoulder and you kissed me? You said nothing, but I'm not sure."

  "You mean, after you begged me?"

  The crease between her brows deepened. "Don't make me hate you, too. Tell me."

  He wanted nothing of the sort. He needed her to like him, to trust him. "Nothing happened, Precious. My doctoring was limited to your shoulder. I took no other liberties."

  Her posture relaxed.

  She seemed a little too happy, and that stung his pride. "Did you want something to happen, Precious? Did you want more than a kiss?"

  Her caramel skin glowed about her cheeks. The woman blushed and looked even more beguiling. "Nothing."

  She rotated back to the sea and looked again out the scope, but it was too late. She'd confirmed that his attraction to her was returned.

  That would be dangerous knowledge to any other man who had been a faithful widower, but not Gareth. His discipline and the fact that she worked for him had to be enough to withstand the draw. Still, the hope of her looking at him, chestnut eyes sparkling with desire, warred in his breast.

  He pushed air out his nostrils. The one woman who could understand his shortcomings was dead. There was no replacing Eliza.

  "What of the men in the trees? Do they want you to build?"

  "What?" He marched over to Precious. "Let me see."

  Her long fingers touched his as she handed him the lenses and energy passed through him. "Over in that thickest grove."

  Putting the eyepiece to his face, he saw nothing but leaves. " Are you sure? I don't see anything."

  "He was there. I saw him and the glint of something shiny, like a mirror. That's what got my attention."

  The concern in her eyes with her long lashes batting made him believe her about what she'd seen and so much more. His head bent, and he kissed the air near her lips. He didn't dare move closer.

  At first she didn't move either, but dipped her chin and hid her expression, looking down at the planks.

  "Still unsure of me?" With a shake of his head, he pivoted and searched the land again. "Well, your tree dweller is gone. We'll take more precautions. Now, below with you."

  "I thought the captain's woman could be anywhere she chooses. I'd love to watch The Margeaux pull into port."

  He stuffed the scope in his pocket. "Well, you're not, are you, Precious?"

  She turned and started pacing. "Everyone thinks so. That hateful war department man is calling me Wowski. Is that another British term for prostitute?"

  "Wowski? No that's the name the London presses used to describe the affair the Prince of Wales, King George's own brother, had with a island woman. She was a black, or a mulatto, of mixed
race." That urge to protect Precious rose up in his bones. "Why was he talking to you?"

  She started to pace. The floral gown swayed and silhouetted her lovely form. "I'd slap the little troll if he weren't set on harming you. He is out to get you."

  He stopped her and took her hand in his. "You care that much of me... my reputation?

  She lifted her head and caught his gaze. "Yes. But why is his or any other man's opinion so important to you? You are so much finer than they. "

  A joke wouldn't do for Precious. Nothing but the truth for her eyes beginning to shine with trust. For a moment, he kissed her palm along the cross of its lifelines. "If every physical need a man may have, he'll still want two intangible things: The want of affection from a desirable woman and an ego. Both need stroking upon occasion."

  "Captain." The cabin boy stood on his deck. "I made the checks that you asked. The men are getting rested for tonight."

  "Miss Jewell." He gently released her hand. "Return to your cabin. At nightfall I am going to guide The Margeaux into port. That way, if anyone is in the trees, they won't be able to see our movements."

  She nodded at him with wondrous eyes, ones full of questions.

  "Boy, help Miss Jewell back to her cabin. I wouldn't want the captain's lady distressed."

  "Yes, the captain's lady." She came close leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Good evening, Captain."

  She curtsied and left with the young man.

  Gareth touched his warmed jaw. Was Precious going along with the ruse? Or was there more to this open sign of affection? If everything went smoothly tonight with docking and unloading The Margeaux, he might find the time for an answer.

  Chapter Eight: Docking at Port Elizabeth

  Silence finally crept in and covered the boat. Precious had the door cracked so she could overhear what was going to happen, but nothing; no creaking from below, very little movement above. Everything was still and quiet but for the unease in her spirit.

  Mrs. Narvel put down her embroidery. Her face didn't seem happy. It had lines, as if she had something to dread.

  "What's wrong? Mrs. Narvel, are you feeling well. It's not time for the baby."

  She seemed to smile but her lips kind of pinched then faltered. "Call me ‘Clara’, and, no, my body feels well."

  Precious looked at the door, but then drew her attention to her friend. Whatever was going on out there would keep. "But not your spirit, Miss Clara?"

  She nodded. "I don't know what's the matter with me. I'm about to see the man I love. I am going to tell him of our baby. He's going to be so happy."

  Precious tucked a blanket about a snoring Jonas. He loved sleeping with her on the pallet. "Then, why are you fretting?"

  Clara dabbed at her eyes. Her ruddy cheeks looked ashen. "I don't know. Maybe he'll think I changed. Maybe he'll think I'm too fat."

  With a shake of her head, Precious came and sat on the edge of the mattress. "I don't think you have to worry. If he's the man you've been describing, he won't care about weight, ‘specially since it's his doing."

  "It's not that."

  The weepy sound of the woman's voice filled Precious with angst. She held Clara's hand. "Then what is it?"

  "I just have fear. His last letter described the violence of this place. What if something has happened to him before I could see him? What if he never gets to behold his son? What if--"

  Precious squeezed Clara in her arms and held her till the lady's tears stopped. "Don't do this. The what-ifs will do you in. No more of it. Lord Welling will keep everyone safe." She picked up the lady's heavy Bible and set it on the blanket. "You calm yourself, Miss Clara, just like you did me so many nights. Read it, and believe those words like you told me to do."

  "Did you believe them, Precious?"

  She didn't know what to say. Nothing had wiped away her nightmares, but she had more peace now than she had in Charleston or London. She patted Clara's arm. "I know you believe them. You don't lie with your faith in order to coerce. You're honest in it. That's what I believe. Now start in that book of Psalms. That David sounds like he's hurting, too."

  Clara brought Precious's hand to her cheek. "You're right, Precious. I'm working myself up, over a bad dream. All will be well."

  Precious framed a smile on her face and waited for Clara's before she got into a comfortable spot next to Jonas. Nothing could go well with her friend in a panic or with Precious joining her in letting fear run wild.

  But Precious did believe in dreams. They were warnings sometimes, but she'd keep this sentiment to herself, along with her shaking limbs under the blanket. The movement she saw in the trees was a figment of her mind. Or, if it was real, let it at least be friendly person to Lord Welling and his party.

  After a couple of chapters, Clara's fidgeting stilled. The woman took slower breaths. "Precious, thank you. I've been getting weak in my faith these days, fretting over the baby or my husband's safety. But none of anything that happens is in my control. I have to have peace with that."

  Nodding, Precious shifted her eyes to the crack in the door, to the drifting sound of men's boots marching all about. The docking must be starting. "Yes, there's not much to do but the waiting and the hoping for the best."

  Clara released a yawn. "I have to trust that, even in the bad, there will be good. God says that He wants our best. Suppose I have to believe that He will be true to His word."

  Precious didn't respond, and kept her doubts tucked in her belly. Bad things always came, but hopefully it would stay away at least today and tomorrow.

  When Clara's head dipped fully onto the blankets and her whistling snore sounded, Precious got up and slipped on her shoes. The movement of the boat seemed halted, almost still. She opened her door wider and saw the shadow of the ladder was the same as it had been an hour ago. Their position from the moon hadn't changed. They must be docked. They'd made it to Port Elizabeth.

  Skin tingling with excitement, she pushed into the hall. Anticipation mixed with her doubts and started a rumbling in her tummy. Shhh. She held her middle and wondered what she would see if she took a peek.

  Lord Welling warned her to stay in the cabin, but that had had to be if something went wrong. Surely, it would cause no harm to crawl up and take a gander at what was happening. She'd only do it for a few minutes.

  Yes, that's what she'd do.

  Holding her breath, she plodded to the ladder and climbed to the top. It took seconds for her eyes to adjust to low, almost nonexistent, light. Her scan of land saw endless patches of trees and mounds of beach. The curves blended into the ebony night. This place was very different from London.

  She craned her neck to make out figures marching down the plank. Her pulse raced when she found the tall figure wearing the moon-shaped hat. The glow of the torch in his hand exposed him fully. Lord Welling was glorious, his jacket billowing in the breeze. He lifted his arms, and he and his men started down the plank.

  "Wowski? Don't you know the women should be below?"

  The worm who wanted her to be a spy had come from nowhere, and now stood behind her, whispering, "That includes the black woman, too."

  The hair on her neck rose as the scent of liquor and sweat from his sorry hide invaded her nostrils. "Hadn't you heard I’m more caramel?"

  He chuckled, his tone sounding harsh with each fake note. "Funny Wowski."

  She turned back to watch Lord Welling, but her head filled with questions. "What's going on? Why must this be done at night? And why aren't you with him?"

  He moved to stand next to her. "What, your friend, the Captain, didn't tell you? The savages could be out, attacking us as we unload the cargo. Once everything is stowed, someone, probably your prince, will come for you."

  Now wasn't the time for his bluster. Between Clara's unease and the sense that what she saw moving in those trees was real, Precious had lost patience with his joke. "Isn't Wowski a mocking of your king? Isn't it treason to speak ill of his brother?"

  The man sputtered
, as if caught in the snap of bear trap. "Go on below with you. Leave this for the men."

  He stepped around her and kept going.

  Good riddance, but Precious wasn't moving, not until she knew all was well. The wariness in her stomach didn't quit. There was something odd in this.

  Her gaze left the landing party and moved to the trees. The close ones didn't look right. A limb or two bent opposite the wind. Either her imagination had become crazed, or something was out there.

  She counted to ten and nothing happened. Swiveling, she again focused on Lord Welling's lantern. His light and those of his men cut through the ebony night.

  This was just like the woods on the Marsdale Plantation, except the water there smelled of fish and stinky fishermen. This place had a scent of newness, and some raw, unexplainable danger.

  Precious wasn't scared. The bumps pimpling her skin weren't mostly from fear, but a restless anticipation. This place would be her home, and she was going to set foot on it, not in chains and not enslaved.

  She craned her neck to hear. Was that the sound of drums filling the wind, or just her nerves? Everything within her screamed something was out there.

  A party of five or six lanterns marched from the dunes to the gangplank. They must be causing the noises. But what if they weren't?

  Pacing to the lieutenant, she thought of how to alert him and not give him more fodder. It was one thing to be thought of as a harlot, but a nutty one, too? That had to be avoided.

  A cry pierced the air. It was man's death yell. The lead man of the party on the shore fell.

  Lord Welling charged forward. "Take cover, men!"

  Another man dropped to his right, but Lord Welling kept moving until he stopped at the end of the gangplank. He seized a stick and pulled it from the first man's back. Even from this distance, the look of it, no one could survive, but her baron didn't leave him. He stayed.

  She grabbed Mr. Grossling’s arm. "Lieutenant, you have to go to the baron and help him."