Flames of Desire

by Vanessa Royall

  “I had help,” she said. “One of the sailors was less an animal than the rest.”

  Celeste laughed loudly, her fat cheeks rippling. “All men are animals, my dear, when it comes to that. Don’t you know?” Subsiding, she wanted to know whose ship it was.

  There seemed no point in lying about the rest of it.

  “It belonged to a man named Royce Campbell,” she said, dropping her eyes. “It was called the Highlander.”

  Pause, then: “Well, well, my dear, is that so?” There was respect in the tone.

  Selena nodded. Celeste patted her hand, and Selena was certain that she could trust the fat woman.

  “You’ve been had by a rogue, all right, my dear, but you’ve been had by the best of rogues, I daresay.” She clucked her tongue. “Well, we’ll take care of you here until you decide what you want to do…”

  Once again, Selena glanced reflexively at the British ship outside.

  ““Is something wrong?”

  Selena wasn’t up to the entire explanation. Instead, she relied on Celeste’s apparent perspicacity. “I’m Scottish,” she said simply. “I can’t say I’m too fond of the English these times.”

  “Ah! I knew you were nervous about something. But never you mind. Let’s get you upstairs to a hot tub, and out of sight. Some of those sailors are bound to be up here soon, wanting their rum…”

  She let her voice die away, as if there was something else those men might want. Selena looked up. Celeste was smiling.

  “But you already know about that, don’t you? No, no. Never you mind. Don’t worry. I don’t run that kind of place. Not at all.”

  The bath was incomparable, baking the dirt out of her pores, the tension from her muscles, even the fear and fatigue from her very bones. It did everything, in fact, but wash away the memories of Royce, which kept welling up, and the shattered dreams of all that might have been. Two men, two splendid men, she had already lost in her life, and had it not been for the friend she had found in Señora Celeste, Selena might have been tempted to consider the knife Father had once asked her to use. But the bath was a balm, and while she bathed, servants entered and left. The rich, warm smell meant food, and it was there in the room, hot on a silver serving platter, when she toweled off, brushed her hair, and slipped on a loose dress of lavender silk that had been laid out for her. It was noon now, and the sun was hot and high, but the windows of the room had awnings and were shuttered against the heat. She ate a meat that tasted like roast pork, with a fine gravy, buttered bread with a tender, brown crust and a fresh green salad. There was chilled white wine, almost sweet, and the two glasses she drank soon did their work.

  Selena barely remembered Señora Celeste entering, and helping her to bed, and the invitation to “dine with some good friends of mine this evening” seemed like a summons to something as remote as Judgment Day.

  She awoke late in the afternoon, warm but very refreshed. Another of the servants had left her a pot of tea, still hot, and a plate of biscuits and muffins.

  Selena heard footsteps in the hall. Doubtless the servant. She walked quickly to the door, to express her thanks.

  The door was locked.

  She blamed herself, this time. Completely. She did not even feel betrayed. On the Meridian, she had promised herself to be more careful, to master her judgment of people. There was only one person to blame when one’s own counsel was ignored. In cold anger she drank the tea and ate, not knowing when she would have food again, not knowing what to expect. When the knock came at her door, Selena felt defiant.

  It was Señora Celeste. “And how are you feeling, my dear? Were you able to rest comfortably here?”

  “My door was locked from outside,” Selena snapped, and let her eyes convey all the fury she could muster.

  Celeste’s fleshy face fell in a look of deep personal affront.

  “Why…my dear…certainly you don’t think that…oh, no, you don’t understand. There are many sailors in a port such as this, and while I attempt to remind them of their manners, one cannot be too careful. Some of them are fond of another variety of establishment, of which you may have heard, where things go on upstairs. I secured the door for your own protection, just to be sure…”

  Selena listened. Was it possible? The protests of the fat woman seemed genuine enough.

  “I have given many girls my counsel and aid,” Celeste was saying. “There are two fine young women here right now, and you may talk to them at any time and ask them if I have not proved myself to be a woman of honest and charitable character. Come now, I’m sorry for having given you fright…”

  In the face of Celeste’s aggrieved protestations, Selena wavered.

  “Come along, please, and join me and some of my guests for dinner. An American freighter, the Massachusetts, is in port now, bound for the Orient. Her captain is a born Scot, too, and very charming. Perhaps you’ll be able to learn something of aid in making your own plans.”

  Celeste smiled and opened her arms as if to embrace Selena, as if to forgive the young woman for her cruel mistrust.

  But Selena was still suspicious. Something seemed ever so slightly amiss. She went to the window and found it unlocked. If she had had to escape, she could have done so. And, down on the waterfront, just as Celeste had said, was the American freighter.

  “I’m sorry,” Selena apologized then. “Forgive my suspicion. It was ill-mannered of me.”

  Her big-bosomed, big-hearted hostess waved the words aside. “Let us forget the entire matter, dear,” she said. “We’ll not mention it again.”

  Something about the captain of the Massachusetts troubled Selena, but she could not decide what it was. His manners were impeccable, his bearing above reproach. He did make bold to flirt, but so totally within the bounds of propriety that Selena felt it was merely part of his social manner, something he felt he ought to do for the entertainment of the young ladies present.

  There were three: Selena, Roxanne, and Marinda. A striking girl with lustrous, roan-red hair, Marinda was Spanish and had come to the Canaries from Andalusia. Her father had brought along the entire family and had sought to establish a cotton plantation in the interior. Her mother had died of fever shortly after their arrival. Two older brothers had returned to Spain in disgust. And, finally, the natives had killed her father. Out of the goodness of her kind heart, Señora Celeste had taken Marinda in until a ship bound for Spain should dock in Tenerife.

  Roxanne was French. Her hair was almost as blond as Selena’s, and she was not quite as cultivated as Marinda appeared to be. Roxanne seemed the most experienced of the three, and they soon learned of her adventures, which she related with rueful, world-weary good humor. Two years previously, she had run away with her lover, a French naval officer, of whom her burgher parents had not approved. Hers had been an experience of bad luck and bad love. The naval officer had been deficient in honor, just as Roxanne’s mama had divined. He had jilted her finally in the Azores, after telling her he was leaving for the Canary Islands and she could do as she wished for the rest of her life. Roxanne had promptly spent the last of her money on a dagger and a ticket to Tenerife, only to find that the naval officer had lied about that, too.

  So Celeste had taken Roxanne in as well, until she could book passage on a ship back to Marseilles.

  “You certainly are among the most fortunate of young women,” said the master of the Massachusetts, whom Celeste introduced as “Captain Jack,” “and adventurous ones as well.”

  He seemed sympathetic. What is it about him that bothers me? Selena asked herself. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but…

  “They’re young. They’ll survive,” harumphed a stuffy British captain who was also at table with them. He paid them only the bare minimum of social attention, however, being himself clearly outclassed by Captain Jack. Rafael, whom Selena had met on the beach, was also there with his wife, a young lady with the sturdy good health of a peasant. She seemed to feel Rafael had done a great thing,
although she was not quite certain exactly what it had been.

  They ate in Celeste’s private dining room. She had been truthful when she said that hers was not a typical waterfront establishment, nor even an actual inn. She did have a public room adjacent to the dining area, but insisted that order was maintained. Some sailors were drinking at the bar. Selena could see them as she ate.

  “Blimey, et war the oddest thing,” wheezed the British officer, his mouth full of roast veal and sweet potato. “We picked the poor bloke out of the drink nigh on three days ago. ’E said ’e’d been driftin’ fer o’er a day, e’en then. Sounded like a mutineer t’ me, ’e did, so I ’ad ’im flogged while I asked ’im some questions.”

  “A castaway?” Jack asked, with interest. “Naval or merchantman?”

  The British officer laughed. “Neither,” he grunted, gulping down a good half-pint of port. “Privateer. Said he was impressed on with Royce Campbell, but couldn’t take it no more, so jumped ship…”

  Royce Campbell! Selena froze. It was all she could do to keep from looking at Celeste. She weakened, failed. But the fat woman went on eating, quite serene, and gave no sign. I can trust her, Selena thought, with immense relief.

  “…said drowning was preferable to serving a bastard…ah, oh, pardon me, ladies…like Campbell, and…”

  “Where is he now?” Jack inquired. “I could use an extra crewman or two. I’m shorthanded this voyage.”

  The British jerked his thumb. “’E’s right in there, like any bloody seaman, a-swillin’ down the sauce. ’E’s the one careful not t’ lean back on anything,” he added, chortling. “Oh, me, when I order the cat laid on, I don’t spare my bosun’s arm.”

  Gleefully, he wiped his eyes with a napkin, shaking with mirth.

  Selena looked in the direction of the taproom, and spotted the sailor. It wasn’t difficult. He was looking right at her, an expression of fear and horror on his face. She understood at once. He had been on Royce’s ship. She remembered him, working on one of the cannon crews, when Royce had shelled the Meridian. He had not dared mention the plague—not if he wanted a job again, not if he wanted to live—and she understood, too, that he would not betray her. She felt the touch of a warm, once-familiar emotion way down deep. It took a moment before she recognized it as the sense of safety.

  “And what are your plans, Miss…ah…?” Captain Jack was asking.

  “Selena,” said Celeste, avoiding the last name.

  “I…my plans were to make my way to America.”

  “America, eh? Fine place for a lovely young lady like yourself. My brother does a measure of sea running between England and Boston, as do I. He’s remained attached to Liverpool as his permanent base, however, whereas I myself chose Boston. We sometimes contrive to meet one another on the high seas, and we were supposed to have done so this time. But he must have been delayed. The rendezvous did not occur. Tell me,” he asked the British captain, “have you seen his ship, the M.S. Meridian?”

  Selena did not hear whatever the British officer replied. Now she knew why Captain Jack had disturbed her: a certain slope of his forehead, the telltale delicacy of feature, and a kind of perverse intelligence around the eyes. Captain Jack Randolph! And he would make no more rendezvous with his brother on this side of hell.

  Selena, who had been feeling rather secure, even content, felt the sense of well-being slip away in the darkness, leaving no trace.

  “Will you have sherbet or mousse?” Celeste was asking, her fat finger circling the air for a waiter.

  Selena’s luck held, and her secrets still seemed safe a little later when a small orchestra began to play dance music. Even the sailor had departed. Celeste winked and got heavily to her feet, leaning on the back of a chair. “I had best attend to a few details,” she said to the small group. “Please, all of you. Remain here. Enjoy your evening.?

  “We shall certainly make every attempt, my lady,” said the British captain, who was slightly drunk now. He ogled Roxanne with a mixture of lust and belligerence.

  Captain Jack asked Selena to dance and held her close. She could feel his sex swelling against her, and he grinned when she looked up.

  “You’ve a room upstairs, I suppose?”

  She gave him her most winning smile. “Not for you.”

  He was undaunted. “Come now. I’ll be back from the Orient by and by, and if you’re still here…” he coughed discreetly “…I’ll run you over to America, for a favor. Just like that.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Well…” He glanced meaningfully at the ceiling and the rooms upstairs. My God, she thought. I’ve no money and Celeste has said nothing about how I’m to get out of here. Is this the way? Marinda was dancing intimately with the second officer of the Massachusetts, and at the table the British captain maneuvered his hand, getting into position for a sortie beneath Roxanne’s skirts.

  But Celeste said she didn’t run a place like that!

  “Come now, sweets, I haven’t got all night. Must sail in the morning. Now, you just run your delicious little bottom up those stairs, and I’ll join you in a bit. And don’t worry, l’ll give you such a time you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  He pressed even closer to her, straining. “Feel it?”

  There was a hard, no-nonsense glint in his eyes now. What should she do?

  “All right,” she told him, “you wait here. Come up in a few minutes.”

  “That’s my girl,” he gloated.

  Her smile was brittle, but she kept it until she got out of the dining room. Celeste was in the front hall, going through some papers or records at a desk. She started when Selena came up behind her.

  “Oh, my, what a fright! I wish you’d have announced yourself,” she puffed, putting the papers away. “Why, what’s the matter?”

  Selena told her, and once again the fat woman proved she could be trusted.

  “Captain Jack Randolph,” she lectured, when the tumescent officer came out of the dining room, walking swiftly—if a bit uncomfortably—toward the stairs. “I warned you to keep your shenanigans on the dance floor. Now, you’ve in suited this fine young lady, who’s my personal guest here, and I think you owe her an apology.”

  To Selena’s considerable surprise, the captain did as he was bidden. Flustered, abashed, he asked Selena’s forgiveness for his “temerity,” and even promised to take her to America, should she still be in Tenerife on his return voyage.

  “Thank you, Jack, that’s better,” Señora Celeste told him. “But I’m sure another ship will be by before that. Anyway, I don’t know if I’d let one of my girls on a vessel with you.”

  He muttered another apology before leaving the inn and retreating to his ship.

  “You’ve got to know how to handle them,” Celeste said calmly, putting her hand on Selena’s. “Now, why don’t you retire? Perhaps this has been too much for you?”

  It sounded like a very good idea, and Selena went upstairs to her room. She had the key this time—Celeste had given it to her—and as soon as she closed the door behind her, she turned the bolt. It slid to with a heavy, reliable click. A small oil lamp burned dimly on the table. She adjusted the wick, and the room brightened. The sailor was sitting on her bed, a knife in his hand.

  “Make a sound and ye’re dead,” he hissed.

  Too startled to cry out, she nonetheless registered the fact that he was as scared as she.

  “Tha’s a girl,” he sighed, relaxing. “’Ow did ye get off the ship?”

  She told him.

  “Any others?”

  “I don’t think so. Even Roy…even the captain was dying…”

  The thought of her beloved, dead now, and floating somewhere in the black fathoms of the sea, was like an assault. She swayed.

  “Here,” he said, “are ye sure ye’re not ill?” He got up sand let her slump to the bed.

  “Then we two must be the only ones left o’ the Highlander; an’ what de ye think o’ that? I got of
f right away, when I seen ’ow the men was goin’ mad. Now, tomorrow, I’m shippin’ fer the Orient aboard the Massachusetts, an’ I’ll stay out there ’til I die, probably. Ye won’t say nithin’ aboot’ t plague, will ye?”

  She shook her head. It would be mad to do so.

  “Then neither will I. Ye’re a smart girl, an’ I’m sorry aboot ye’re…” He tried to think of a polite word to describe Royce’s relationship to her, couldn’t, and gave it up. “Sorry about the captain. Ye take care of yerself now, unnerstand?”

  With that, he climbed out the window, moving the shutters apart, hung for a moment by his fingertips, and dropped to the ground with a soft, thudding sound. She heard him walking off toward the docks. A haze of moments drifted by, and she was almost asleep when another set of soft footsteps sounded in the hall. And stopped outside her door. There was no sound for a minute, and quietly she crept over to the door.

  “Who’s there?”

  The voices were a relief. Roxanne and Marinda. She threw open the door.

  “Are you all right?” they wanted to know. “You left the dancing so early.”

  “I’m all right I was just tired.”

  Roxanne smiled. “We know how it is. The men also tried to make love to us, but Señora Celeste told them ‘basta is basta,’ and made them go back to the boat. She is a fine lady, don’t you think?”

  Yes, she was indeed, a fact repeated and confirmed when a servant brought up warm milk for them to drink.

  “Sleep well,” the servant said courteously, solicitously. Almost as if they would be doing him a great favor by complying.

  In the morning, Selena was disoriented, coming out of sleep. At first fighting to open her sleep-shrouded eyes, she thought she was still with Royce in his cabin aboard the Highlander. But there was no easy motion of the hammock, nor his sweet body beside her. Then the smell of seaweed, salt, and wind seemed all about but that could not be either, because she was in a bed at Celeste’s inn. A hard bed. Hard? Her arms would not move. Dreaming? Captain Randolph’s ship again? Startled, she opened her eyes.