“I won’t debate that with you,” Bethlyn said, not caring for the malevolent way Della eyed her. “I do have a great many connections. Once you’re in Philadelphia, I can arrange for you to be decently employed. Many of you can find work as servants, housekeepers, shopgirls. I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“The woman’s daft,” one of the women exclaimed, and her comment was followed by a number of high-pitched giggles.
“Aye, that she is,” Della readily agreed, shaking her long dark hair. “Who do you think you are to be pretendin’ to help us? Why, I bet we’ve made more money in our time than you’ll ever make, even with that stingy Captain Montgomery. You just take your uppity ways back to his cabin. Tell your pretty lies to him.”
A murmur of agreement ran through the room. Most of the women laughed openly, but some of them eyed her in speculation. Finally Pearl held up her hand, and instantly everyone grew silent.
“How would you help us?”
Pearl’s question was asked out of a sense of curiosity, but Bethlyn sensed that she and the others who didn’t laugh were probably the women most anxious to start life anew.
“As I told you, I will make certain that each of you is placed in a well-paying, decent position. I’ve heard that Philadelphia is a city bursting at the seams with new opportunities. Many families and shopkeepers are looking for hard-working employees. I’ll personally see that each of you finds a position best suited to your talents.”
“Hmph!” Pearl snorted. “I’ve been told my only talent is in a reclinin’ position.”
“That’s a good one!” Della shot back. “Tell the fancy trollop to take her tall tales to the captain.”
“If you’ll listen to me, please,” Bethlyn cried above the feminine laughter. “If you’re ever in need of help you may ask for Mrs. Briston…”
She was cut off by the sudden boom of a cannon slicing through the nighttime stillness and hitting a deck above them. The ship swayed and the women fell to the floor. Their voices and screams, filled with panic, washed over Bethlyn. “We’re being attacked!” one of the sprawling women cried when an answering boom sounded from Nightingale.
Attacked! Nightingale, one of her father’s ships, was being attacked and here she was in a den of doxies. There must be something she could do to help. She thought of Jeremy and Mavis and knew they must wonder what had happened to her.
Pearl was beside her, and under her breath she heard the woman whisper, “Blasted privateers! They’ll steal all we’ve got and leave us to starve, if they don’t blow us away first. “
Making a move to get to her feet and the door, Bethlyn fell again when another resounding boom hit the ship. She had to get to her cabin and assure Mavis she was all right. Perhaps she could do something, anything, to save the ship, but what that might be, she had no idea. From the sounds of running feet on the decks above her, and the outraged voices of Nightingale’s crew, she’d be in the way. Still, she found herself clinging to a wooden post and pulling herself up. Finally she moved and grabbed the door handle and pulled with all of her might. She must get to Jeremy and Mavis, must make certain they were all together if anything terrible should happen.
Locked! One of the sailors must have locked the door at the first sign of trouble to keep the women down here and out of danger. But Bethlyn wouldn’t believe she couldn’t get out. With a sense of desperation, she yanked until the door handle was embedded on her palm with its imprint. Then she banged on the wooden door, yelling to be released, but no one heard her above the din of battle.
“Ain’t no use,” Pearl muttered and sat up. “We’re in here for the duration, whatever that might be.”
Pearl was right and Bethlyn knew it. An urge to cry gripped her, but she quelled it. Crying never accomplished a thing. she told herself, not wanting to admit she was as frightened as the other women who clustered together, holding on to one another. But she was more afraid than she’d ever been in her life. She could barely swallow from fear; a cold numbness stole across her. Her mind reeled from the implications of this attack.
If the enemy was a pirate ship, she might make the culprits see reason and release her and everyone unharmed. She’d promise them a large sum of money. From what she’d read on the subject, pirates could be easily bought. But if, as Pearl thought, the attacking ship was an American privateer, she might not be able to bargain. It was a well-known fact that colonials were barbarians and hated the Crown. Her father was an earl, a very wealthy man. She couldn’t confess that to a privateer. Perhaps she could tell the wretched colonial captain that she was the wife of a colonial. That might work to her advantage. A colonial privateer would look kindly upon her and somehow she’d gain her release and get to Philadelphia and tell her husband what had happened. Ian Briston might be a recalcitrant husband, but he’d make certain the enemy was apprehended. Yes, she decided, that’s what she’d do.
That was what she’d do if she lived through this nightmare.
6
After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, of listening to the frightened mutterings and screams of the women, of having her body battered and tossed with each hit from the other ship, silence erupted like a death knell in Bethlyn’s ears.
“Is it over?” she wondered aloud when minutes passed and nothing more was heard from above deck.
She lay on the floor, where she had been since the start, fearing to move. Finally, when Pearl and some of the other women rose to their feet, Bethlyn did also.
“Maybe we’re goin’ to die down here,” a small blond-haired girl, who appeared no older than fourteen, worried. “Suppose they forgot about us.”
“Tsk, tsk, Annie. You know better than that.” Pearl smiled at her and patted the young girl’s arm. “How could any man forget about us?”
Despite this confident statement, that seemed to be the situation when the minutes dragged into an hour. Bethlyn had lost track of time, but she guessed it was very late, probably sometime past three in the morning. She bit at her lower lip and prayed that Mavis and Jeremy were safe. She hated herself for having left the cabin, to come down here amid these women and attempt to persuade them that a better life might await them in Philadelphia. Her idea of aggravating her husband with just such a plan didn’t offer her comfort any longer. Now she decided that it was an ill conceived and stupid idea from the beginning. This thought was driven home with a vengeance as Della and some of the other women began straightening their skirts and patting their hair into place when the sound of a key grated in the lock.
“Let’s look our best, girls,” Della intoned and grinned knowingly. “No matter who might be on the other side of that door, you can bet your blasted bottom that it’s a man.”
Nervous laughter drifted through the storeroom as each woman trained her eyes on the doorway.
A large lump formed in Bethlyn’s throat when the door creaked open. Four men entered the room, and Bethlyn instantly recognized that these men didn’t belong on Nightingale. None of them wore the dark blue shirts and pants of her father’s crewmen. Instead they were dressed in a haphazard fashion of loose-fitting shirts, open to the waist, and tight breeches. Their hair was pulled back in a queue, but each woman in the room stood, partially paralyzed, as all eyes were drawn to masculine faces, hidden behind black masks.
“Lordy!” young Annie breathed and choked back a frightened sob.
Bethlyn placed a comforting arm around her, realizing for the first time that Nightingale was truly in enemy hands. No one had to tell her that the masks were a way to conceal identities. Clearly the men didn’t want anyone to know who they were, and Bethlyn surmised this meant only one thing: American privateers were now in control. She briefly wondered what had happened to Captain Montgomery and his crew, but she knew she must come forward and speak to these men if she wanted to gain her freedom.
“What a lovely treasure chest,” one of the men spoke and smiled approvingly. “It seems that Captain Hawk has finally captured booty worthwhile.”
The other men laughed and nudged one another. The first man who spoke made a sweeping bow and waved the women forward.
Della was the first to walk to the door. Her ample hips wiggled suggestively and a large, inviting smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “My, but ain’t you a masterly one,” she said and winked at the man.
“And you, my pretty, are quite a treat.” The man’s mouth quirked into a sensual smile. “I’ll see you later, my dear.”
Della giggled in triumph. Young Annie stayed close to Bethlyn and Pearl. Her hand clasped around Bethlyn’s in a tight hold, and Bethlyn felt her fear. They were the last to leave the storeroom, but Bethlyn hung back a foot and looked directly into the man’s face. “Are we to be taken prisoners of this Captain Hawk? Is his ship the Black Falcon?”
Only the slight twitch of a muscle around the edge of the man’s mouth indicated his surprise that a doxy would know such details. He eyed her suspiciously.
“What concern is it of yours, wench? A woman like yourself has no reason to care on what ship she travels or needs to know anything about its captain.”
“I demand to speak with him and discover what is to be done with us.”
Bethlyn had lifted herself to her full height and stared haughtily at the man, and for a second utter amazement appeared in his eyes. The man seemed to consider her for a moment, almost as if he were compelled to follow her command. Instead he laughed aloud and grabbed her arm, literally pulling her from the storeroom and up the long flights of stairs to the upper deck.
“You’ll discover your purpose soon enough,” he proclaimed.
Bethlyn feared this very thing, and she began to yank away from his strong grip. “I shall not be treated in such a fashion! Unhand me at once.”
“What did you say?”
“Unhand me!”
Once again, the man perused her, then he let go of her. He pointed to the cluster of women who were being transported to another ship, its black outline barely discernible in the darkness. “Go join your friends,” he grumbled.
Opening her mouth to protest, Bethlyn clamped it closed, spying Mavis at the same moment Mavis saw her. The two rushed into each other’s arms, Mavis trembling and weeping.
“I was so worried about you.” Mavis’s voice quivered with emotion and a bit of admonishment. “I woke and you were nowhere to be found. I called for Sir Jeremy, and the poor man was beside himself with worry. Where did you go? Why did you leave?”
“A fool’s errand, I’m afraid. Where is Jeremy? I don’t see him.” Bethlyn peered in the gloomy night for some sign of Jeremy, but he was nowhere to be seen. She also discovered that none of Nightingale’s crew seemed to be present. All she noticed were the privateers as they hauled cargo from the hold of Nightingale, and the women.
Mavis held a kerchief to her mouth in seeming distress, “Sir Jeremy has been placed in a longboat, along with Captain Montgomery and the others who survived the attack. They’ve been set adrift.”
A wave of horror swept over Bethlyn and she felt about to faint. “Not Jeremy. They couldn’t have done that to him. He … might not survive.”
“I know.” Mavis began to cry in earnest. Huge tears fell from her eyes. Bethlyn felt helpless to console her friend, and more helpless because she couldn’t take control of this situation as she thought she might.
“Perhaps if I’d been with you both at the start of the attack, I might have been able to prevent this.” Bethlyn’s voice drifted away into nothingness as Mavis placed a hand in hers.
“Don’t blame yourself, Bethlyn. There was nothing anyone could do. We should be thankful we survived. Just look around you.”
For the first time Bethlyn grew aware of her surroundings. Nightingale’s sails were no more; the deck flooring lay splintered and a huge hole gaped at her from the center. Wooden beams leaned in all directions or were twisted into grotesque shapes. Bodies of her father’s crewmen littered the deck, and she recognized the man who’d been given orders to watch her only by the large, silver buckles on his shoes. His face bore no semblance to a human being.
She wanted to retch. Such chaos, destruction, and death weren’t to be believed. Mavis tightened her hold on her hand. “Don’t become ill, not with these horrible men watching. Keep your chin high. Remember, you’re the daughter of the Earl of Dunsmoor.”
Bethlyn took deep breaths of the night air and steadied herself. “That would make no difference to these men,” she said after she composed herself. “I can’t very well march up to their captain and tell him I’m the daughter of this ship’s owner. But I can insist upon seeing him and inform him that my husband is a colonial. Perhaps that would gain our freedom. I don’t relish spending all my time with these women.”
“Do you think it would help?” Mavis asked, hope in her voice.
Bethlyn placed a hand to her head, her mind unable to seize upon some sort of a plan. Even now, poor, dear Jeremy was adrift in a longboat with no indication where he might end up. Responsibility for his dilemma rested upon her shoulders like a heavy sack. She’d been the one to insist they sail on Nightingale. If not for her, they’d be safe on Venture. She didn’t want to think about Jeremy at this moment. She had to keep her wits about her.
“I don’t know,” she truthfully admitted to Mavis. “I’ve never dealt with renegades before. But if I could only speak to this Captain Hawk and convince him he has made a terrible mistake.”
During the time Bethlyn and Mavis spoke to each other, the women were being transferred from Nightingale to the Black Falcon by way of a wide gangplank which bridged the two ships. With wide eyes, they managed to make it safely across, not realizing how much the dark of night disguised how high up they were. However, they both heard the churning of the sea beneath them, and more than one woman clung to a stalwart privateer who seemed only too happy to carry across a frightened woman.
“I see you made it,” the man to whom Bethlyn spoke earlier stated. “I congratulate you and your friend on your courage.” His eyes settled on Mavis and lingered much too long. He took her hand, and Mavis jumped backward.
“Please, no,” she began.
“I won’t bite you, my dear. Now what is your name?”
“Ma-Mavis,” she stammered, and even in the darkness two red splotches were visible on her cheeks.
“A lovely name for a lovely lady,” he intoned and drew her closer against him. ‘‘I’m known as Crane. I promise I won’t hurt you. I could never hurt anyone as beautiful as you. I really don’t like hurting anyone at all, please don’t turn away from me.”
In all the years she’d known Mavis, Bethlyn had never seen her truly afraid. Mavis had been the person to give her courage, to offer her friendship. Now, Bethlyn perceived panic in her friend’s eyes. Mavis’s two small fists bunched together and pushed in vain against the man’s chest.
“Leave her alone!” Bethlyn ranted, not realizing she screamed to the top of her voice. This time Bethlyn’s fists made contact with the man’s back. The adrenaline pumping through her caused her to deliver more than one hearty wallop. She’d never have known if she would have actually harmed the man. One moment she was pummeling his back and the next she found herself spinning like a top in midair, only to land in the arms of the man who broke her contact with Crane.
Long strands of honey-brown hair covered her eyes, blocking her view of the man who towered over her. With an urgent motion she pushed her hair from her face and saw him clearly for the first time. No one had to tell her his name; she knew she was staring into the masked visage of Captain Hawk.
Each of Hawk’s men wore masks to cover the upper portion of their faces. Hawk’s mask, formed in the shape of his namesake, covered his eyes and ended at the bridge of his nose. A black scarf, tied in a queue, hid his hair from sight. Even in the dim glow of the lantern light, she discerned the broad shoulders which strained against the white shirt, open to his navel. He stood with one arm on his slender hip, which was covered by black breeches. Hi
s other arm held her wrist in a grip as solid as iron.
“What’s the problem here, Crane? Are you going to allow this slip of a girl to undo you?”
Even his voice sounded disguised, almost as if he feared to speak in his own natural voice.
Crane instantly released Mavis, causing her to falter a bit. He reached out and kept her from falling, then quickly let her go again. “I was taking liberties with the young lady.” Crane nodded to Mavis, then formally bowed before her. “Please accept my apologies, miss.”
Mavis seemed at a loss. One moment the man was pawing her outrageously, like she was a common tart, and the next, she felt as if she could be in a fashionable drawing room, accepting the highest compliments from a gentleman suitor. She didn’t know what to say, but Bethlyn did.
“A feeble apology, sir.” Bethlyn sounded huffy and indignant. “How dare that man treat my friend like a doxy.”
“He treats her like that, because she is one, as are you. Now what is your name?”
Bethlyn winced. This arrogant man assumed she and Mavis were prostitutes. She wondered how the man could think such a thing. Couldn’t he tell from her clothes and bearing that she wasn’t? Suddenly Bethlyn looked down at her plain gray gown, and she realized she was shoeless. With the wind whipping her hair around her face, she most assuredly didn’t resemble the Earl of Dunsmoor’s daughter or the wife of a wealthy colonial. Her gown and her face were dirty from lying on the floor in the storeroom for so long. Indeed, she looked most wretched. She took a long, shuddering breath. She did look like one of those women. Oh, why couldn’t she have been captured in one of her better gowns?
“I’m not what you think I am.”
“Then what are you?” he countered, seemingly amused by this haughty version of a lady.
“I’m the Ear—” She stopped speaking. She couldn’t tell him who she was. He might harm her, or Mavis, if he knew Nathaniel Talbot was her father.
“Yes?”
She wet her lips, her gaze settling on Mavis, and saw the girl shake her head in a warning gesture. The look said not to tell Captain Hawk anything. Until this moment Bethlyn had decided to admit she was the wife of Ian Briston, Now, however, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her husband. Ian Briston owned part of this ship, too. Suppose this arrogant Captain Hawk decided to hold her for ransom? She wondered if Ian would pay it, but more importantly she didn’t want her husband to know she’d been captured by the notorious Captain Hawk … not until she could tell him herself. News of such a humiliating experience might cause Ian to question their marriage and end it before giving it a chance. She wouldn’t allow Captain Hawk to ruin her hope of finally winning her husband’s affections and the children she might one day have by him. Perhaps it was better for her if the man standing before her thought she was a prostitute for the time being. Nothing would be gained by revealing the truth to him. Somehow she’d blend in with the other women, having already decided that she and Mavis would hide if any of the men approached the others. Or fight, if cornered.
Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) Page 9