by Lucy Ashford
He left, hurrying out to where his horse was tethered.
Verena went to sign for the curtain fabrics; then, as the carrier’s cart rumbled off, she simply stood there, alone.
Had Lucas really gone to the extremity of seducing her to get her father’s diary? Did Lucas truly intend to deliver it to the French, as Martin Bryant said? She pressed her hands to her temples.
Perhaps Lucas had taken it because it was dangerous for her, Verena, to have in her possession! After all, he must care for her! He had asked her twice, now, to marry him.
Hope was crushed by a new and dire thought. Marriage would prevent her testifying against him if he was accused of treason. For no wife could give evidence against her husband in court.
She felt sick to her stomach. But she had to be strong. She had to get the diary back. She had to confront Lucas with what she knew, and get him to tell her the truth.
But could she really face the truth?
She went inside to change her clothes. From her window she saw Bentinck riding away. She sat there, in the utter stillness, her mind conjuring up a thousand scenarios, her heart shattering into a thousand pieces. Then she prepared to leave Wycherley herself—and not for London.
Chapter Twenty
6:00 p.m.—Portsmouth
The din of sailors’ shouts and women crying farewells to loved ones filled the crowded quayside. Verena gazed around at all the vessels, all the people, in Portsmouth’s bustling harbour. She’d ridden here alone, as quickly as she could.
She had to find Lucas before he sailed for Portugal and get the diary back.
Would he be on a naval ship? Or would he be taking an ordinary passage on one of the many small vessels that carried troops and ammunition out to Lisbon for the British army?
‘He’s a coward,’ Martin had said scornfully. ‘And this betrayal is the revenge of a man whose life has gone utterly wrong’.
Still so hard to believe.…
Squaring her slender shoulders, she pushed her way along the harbour, asking the same question again and again, ‘Is there a ship sailing for Lisbon tonight? ‘
Often her request was greeted with raucous laughter. ‘Going there yourself, are you, darling? Got a man in the army? Or has some randy buck got you in trouble and is doing his best to run away from you?’
People clearly wondered what she, a young, respectably dressed lady, was doing here on her own. Most of the women here on this crowded dockside were from the town, come to say tearful goodbyes to the sailors, or the scarlet-jacketed infantry bound for the Peninsula. And there were, of course, the whores. A giggling group of them paraded past her now, the skirts of their tawdry gowns blowing in the strong sea breeze, their faces painted, their bosoms outthrust.
And as dusk gathered, even Verena’s indomitable spirit was starting to falter. Perhaps he’s already sailed. Perhaps Martin was wrong and he’s leaving from one of the other ports. I am an utter fool. She would have to ride home again, to Wycherley. It would take a while for her to be missed, because of course Bentinck had left, and she’d explained to Cook that she was visiting a friend and might stay overnight. She’d also left a sealed note for Pippa. Just in case.
She had to confront Lucas and get the diary back. Her father never gave up, and neither would she. Her fingers fastened instinctively round the small package she had in her pocket, of her father’s letters to her. She’d brought them as a talisman, to inspire her with the courage her father had always told her she possessed.
Stubbornly she continued to push her way through the crowds, asking and asking if any ships were due to leave for Lisbon.
And suddenly, she got an answer. A man in a shabby tricorne hat, with the wind-roughened complexion of a seafarer, listened to her with interest. ‘There’s the Goldfinch, m’dear. Sailing as soon as the tide turns’. He pointed along the quayside to where a down-at-heel brig was being loaded with provisions. ‘Got someone to say goodbye to, have you?’ He grinned. ‘A lover’s farewell?’
Goodbye, and so much more! She gave a coy smile. ‘Indeed, I have a great deal to say to this particular gentleman! Can you tell me, sir, where I will find the Goldfinch’s captain?’
He tipped his dirty hat. ‘Right before you. Captain Jed Brooks at your service—ma’am. And who are you so eager to see?’
She hesitated. She did not like the look of Captain Brooks. She glanced at the Goldfinch—would Lucas really travel on such an untidy wreck of a ship?
If what you dread is true, then this is exactly the kind of vessel he would choose.
She said, ‘His name is Conistone. Lucas Conistone…’
He looked down a grubby list he’d pulled from his pocket. ‘We’re carrying marines in case of trouble from the Frenchies and a few business gents from England; we’ve a Wilkins, a Patterson. But Conistone? No. No one of that name’.
‘My thanks,’ she said quickly to Captain Jed Brooks. ‘I’ll try elsewhere’.
He touched his hat, regarding her lasciviously a moment longer. ‘Good luck with your quest, missy! And I only hope your man appreciates the trouble you’ve gone to, to say farewell to him!’ He went off chuckling, pushing his way through the crowds on the wharf to his ship.
At a distance, Verena watched as Captain Brooks swaggered up the gangplank. The Goldfinch was heaving with activity. Sailors were swarming up the rigging. Deckhands, swearing lustily, were hauling supplies on board. A troop of twenty marines were lined up on the foc’sle deck, watching the crowds on the harbourside and whistling at the girls.
She was just about to turn and leave when she glimpsed a figure on the deck of the Goldfinch. Almost instantly he was hidden again, by the soldiers crowding the guard rail, and she gasped in disappointment. But she was so sure she had recognised the proud bearing, the aristocratic features, the slightly overlong black hair that singled out Lord Lucas Conistone!
She hurried up the gangplank, pushing her way past the busy sailors. She had seen him near the bridge. But now there was no sign. She must have been mistaken. Slowly she made her way back towards the gangplank.
Then suddenly two of the sailors barred her way. Two pairs of tattooed, brawny arms pinioned her. She could smell their sweat. ‘Women below deck!’ One of them grinned.
She tried to throw them off. ‘Take your hands off me!’
‘You’d prefer one of the army lads to us, would you, darling? Never fear, you’ll get your pick of them all soon enough, my lovely!’
She kicked and struggled. She shouted for help. But they almost lifted her along the deck and thrust her down a hatchway into a large but airless space below the ship’s foredeck, that was lit by a single filthy lantern hanging from an overhead beam. Some coarsely dressed women were already huddled in the far corner, playing cards and swigging gin. She caught her breath. Oh, no.…
She turned desperately to the sailor who still grasped her arm. ‘You must listen to me. This is a mistake’.
He eyed her with appreciation. ‘Your mistake then, not ours, sweetheart,’ he shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be nine, ten days a-sailin’ to Lisbon, dependin’ on the weather. Long enough to get used to having the time of your life!’
He climbed back up the ladder like a monkey, and the hatch slammed down. The other women turned to gaze at her. Their faces were bright with rouge, their clothes gaudy and revealing. ‘Evenin’!’ called out one of them as she dealt a pack of cards. ‘Come to join us in a game of rummy, darlin’, have yer? Or are you too bloody stuck-up? ‘
She could hear the straining of timber, the rasping of windlasses up above as the ship started to move. Dear God, this was a shipful of whores. Camp followers. Being sent to supply the men of Wellington’s army with—a necessary comfort, as it was explained in polite circles. She ran back to the ladder and banged desperately on the hatch. ‘I’ve no intention of sailing on this ship. I demand to speak to the Captain. You must let me out!’
Her voice faded. Up on the deck, she could hear men roaring orders. The ship
juddered and strained as the wind caught her rigging and the waves embraced her creaking hull.
They had set sail.
The hatch remained closed, and the women below laughed and laughed. ‘Make the most of it, missy! You’re in for a treat on this voyage’.
Lisbon. Ten days’ sailing, at least. She must have been utterly wrong, thinking she saw Lucas here. You fool, Verena. Pippa and the servants at Wycherley would be distracted with worry. She must speak to the Captain and explain! Surely he would help her to transfer to another British ship, heading back for Portsmouth.
And why should the Captain do that? At sea, his word was law and she didn’t have much hope for the law of Captain Jed Brooks. Best, perhaps, terrible though it seemed, to stay hidden down here. At least there was room enough for her to keep to herself, while the whores played cards or combed one another’s hair.
The first night she had been wretchedly seasick, but by the morning she was more used to the ship’s rolling motion. They were brought food—miserable food, but it was enough to keep her alive—and no one seemed inclined to trouble her. Sometimes, when the light of the lantern was good enough, she was even able to bring out her father’s letters to read. They were the only comfort she had.
For the whores on the ship, it was business as usual. As the days and nights went by, she grew to know the routine. Every evening the sailors would come down to bring up whores for the marines and officers, two or three at a time. The women would return later, jingling their money, and Verena would try to shut her ears to the coarseness of their talk.
One night a sailor came down alone, and led one of the whores close, too close to the corner that Verena had made her temporary home. In the lantern light she glimpsed him fondling the woman’s dark-tipped, heavy breasts, heard him coupling with her roughly.
Verena buried her head in her hands, trying to ignore the sailor’s growls of delight.
* * *
She stayed in her corner, coming out only for food and to relieve herself at what they called the heads. She slept when she could, wrapped in one of the coarse blankets they’d been thrown. Most of the other women ignored her—she was not competing for attention, and was therefore no threat. Though one of the younger ones, Annie, actually befriended her, and talked to her sorrowfully about her grim upbringing in Portsmouth and how this journey was almost a relief from the rough streets.
Verena thought, When we get to Lisbon, I will find someone to help me. Lisbon, they say, is still held by the British; I will find someone in command and get back to England.… She looked often at her father’s maps, remembering what she’d read in the newspapers about the British army marching across the mountains to reach Lisbon. Could Lucas really be a traitor? Could he?
* * *
On what must have been the eighth day, everything changed.
The hatch opened, and a sailor climbed down. ‘Right!’ he was yelling. ‘Six of you little beauties wanted up in the captain’s cabin. He’s havin’ a bit of a party, him and his friends, and they need some choice female company!’
Several of the women had already jumped to their feet, patting their hair and pulling their gowns low to display their full breasts.
‘Steady on!’ grinned the sailor. ‘Only six, mind! And none of the old hags! You two’ll do, and you—’ He was jabbing his finger at Annie and two of the younger whores. ‘And the pair of you, aye, the gigglers, and—’ His gaze suddenly fell on Verena. A broad grin spread across his pockmarked features. ‘How about you, now? Yes, you with the chestnut hair. You look like a dainty thing’.
She was desperate. ‘No. This is all a terrible mistake—’
Annie stepped in front of her, trying to protect her. ‘You leave her alone. She ain’t used to it…’ But it was in vain.
‘Come along,’ the sailor said softly. He was wagging his finger. ‘Captain’s orders. You’re all of you little ladies in for a treat’.
Her thoughts roved wildly as she was herded with the others up the ladder and along the deck to the Captain’s cabin. I will explain to Captain Brooks who I am. I will threaten him with the law…. She swallowed. If she made trouble, he could have her thrown overboard. No one would ever know—because no one knew she was here. Oh, what a fool she had been.
The sailor in charge, gripping her arm so tightly that he bruised her skin, kicked open the door to the Captain’s cabin.
Captain Brooks and his companions were sitting round the table. The lingering smell of hot rich food indicated that they’d just eaten, and the stench of tobacco and wine in this fusty, low-ceilinged apartment was suffocating. Verena swayed on her feet. Annie put a steadying arm around her. ‘Chin up, now, dearie,’ she whispered. ‘With luck you’ll get a kind one. And any rate, it’s easier than having to service a dozen of the brutes down below’.
They were all pushed further into the cabin. There were six men, sitting round the table. The Captain. A couple of passengers, two marine officers… and Lucas.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lord Lucas Conistone was leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. He was wearing a faded black coat over a shabby striped-silk waistcoat, and his necktie was undone. A rakish air clung to him; his dark hair was dishevelled, and his eyes hooded.
Verena, speechless, saw his expressionless glance flicker lazily across the new arrivals. He must have seen her! But— ‘Devil take it, Brooks, they look a mighty dull bunch,’ Lucas drawled. ‘If that’s your idea of entertainment, I’ll pass’. He reached for the port bottle and refilled his glass.
Just over a week ago, she had been cradled in this man’s arms. Just over a week ago, he had made powerful, passionate love to her and had asked her to marry him.
And now he was travelling to Portugal, on this foul ship. With her father’s diary, which was wanted by both French and English.
Captain Brooks, flushed with wine, thumped his fist on the table. ‘You’ll pass, you say? No, by God, you don’t get out of this so easily, Mr Patterson! You’re to—’ he broke off, hiccupping ‘—you’re to choose a wench to keep you warm and cosy in that cabin of yours!’
Mr Patterson. Lucas was travelling under an assumed name. If she’d had any lingering hope, it was gone. Lucas was going to Portugal—to sell her father’s diary to the French.
She must have shuddered in her anguish, for the woman next to her whispered in her ear, ‘Never fear, girl. Most of them are so drunk they’ll be snoring within minutes. Though there’s one handsome feller there—’ she indicated Lucas wistfully ‘—whom I’d take into my bed for free any time’.
Lucas, still seated, was stretching his arms before concealing a half-yawn. His eyes flickered over her once and she saw a familiar gleam in his iron-grey pupils. The woman was right. He was devastatingly attractive. Every part of him emanated strength, sensuality and utter ruthlessness.
And now—what would he do now, what would Captain Brooks do, if she exposed Lucas for who he was? Nothing, probably, except laugh at her. Why should they believe a single word she said?
Nothing that could happen to her now would be worse than the knowledge that Lucas was a traitor. Dear God. Keep calm. Keep calm. She kept her head high, though she felt sick with despair.
Captain Brooks was clearly drunk. ‘Never say you men don’t have everything you want sailing on board my Goldfinch,’ he chuckled. ‘But some things come extra. Now, at this stage of the voyage, I reckon you’re all more than ready for some entertainment—and I’d wager there’s more than one of you men interested in that little chestnut-haired wench with the gold-brown eyes!’ His ugly gaze fastened on Verena. ‘Come, gentlemen, what am I bid for her?’
‘Reckon she looks a mite fancy to be in the trade,’ muttered one of his companions.
‘Ah,’ said Captain Brooks. ‘Perhaps so, Mr Wilkins, but that means there’ll be a bit of fight left in her, and surely you’d enjoy knocking it out of her and giving her the ride of her life…’
‘I’ll put down a guinea f
or her,’ said a burly-looking marine officer, his cheeks flushed with wine as he leered at Verena.
‘Thank you, Lieutenant Devenish,’ appoved Brooks. ‘One guinea on the table for her, gentlemen! What about you, Mr Patterson? You’re a man fond of buying fancy goods, I’m sure!’
Lucas said—nothing. Devenish licked his lips. But then another officer, a swarthy man who reeked of sweat, thumped down some coins. ‘Two guineas for the chestnut-haired filly!’
‘Ah!’ Captain Brooks looked delighted. ‘We have a race on, gents. Any advance? Mr. Wilkins?’
‘I’d be throwing money away,’ grunted Wilkins. He was gazing at Annie. ‘I’ll bid three shilling for the lively redhead there. Any advances?’
There were none, so Wilkins led Annie out of the cabin by the wrist, already pressing wet kisses on her and fumbling for her breasts. Lieutenant Devenish shoved more coins towards the Captain. ‘Three guineas’. Grinning, he got up and staggered towards Verena. ‘I think you’re mine, sweetheart’.
She flinched, shuddering. ‘Never…’.
Then Lucas unfolded his arms lazily. The muscles of his face scarcely moving, he drawled, ‘She’s not yours yet, Devenish. I’ll bid four guineas for her’.
Brooks shouted with delight. Devenish’s jaw dropped. ‘Devil take it, Patterson—four guineas?’
‘Exactly so’. Lucas counted the coins on to the table with his long, lean fingers. There was a stunned silence. Lucas drank more port and leaned back carelessly in his chair, linking his hands behind his head.
Lieutenant Devenish looked bullishly at Lucas. ‘Five, then, for the chestnut-haired jade!’
‘Six,’ said Lucas steadily.
There were gasps of amazement.
‘Come now,’ said the Captain, leaning across the table amiably to pat Lucas on the shoulder, ‘Why don’t you and Devenish share her, eh, Mr Patterson? While the rest of us watch? Three guineas each—now, wouldn’t that be capital sport?’