The Captive Heart Page 2

  “Fear’s for cowards!” Biz’s voice rose to rival the flapping of the sails. “You won’t last a day if you give in to such weak-kneed rot.”

  “We can’t all be as brave as you, Biz.” Molly’s quiet tone couldn’t have contrasted more.

  “Aye.” Biz cocked a brow. “That’s a truth now, ain’t it?”

  In light of the sun, which had finally decided to break free from the clouds, a smirk slanted a defiant streak across Biz’s face. Was the woman truly so fearless? Eleanor brushed an errant strand of hair from her eyes to gain a better view. “Do you not have a care who your new master will be?”

  “Hah! I know who my master is.” She thumped her thumb against her chest. “Me!”

  “I own I’m a bit nervous.” Molly smoothed her palms along her skirt, again and again, further wearing the threadbare fabric. Any more of that and she’d need to patch her patches. “Starvation in a familiar alley seems a mite more comforting than perishing on a foreign street.”

  Biz snorted. “The way I heared it, we’re going to a land o’ milk an’ honey. And the way I sees it, the law did me a favor by packing me off on this tub o’ boards. Good riddance to London town.” She flourished her hand in the air, as one might flick off a horsefly.

  Eleanor bit her lip instead of rolling her eyes at the woman’s dramatics. No sense refuting Biz’s embellishments. She lifted a smile to Molly instead. “I am sure Biz is correct. Whoever puts down money for you would not willingly see you perish. That would be a bad investment.”

  “La, miss.” Molly quit smoothing her skirt. “Yer so smart.”

  “Not smart enough to travel with the real ladies, though, are you?” Biz nodded toward the upper-class passengers clustered near the bow. “I wonder why.”

  The challenge hung heavy on the air, like a squall about to break. As much as she liked Biz, she also wouldn’t mind slapping the smirk off the woman’s lips. “Curiosity is a dangerous virtue at times.”

  “And other times it pays off.” Biz’s eyes gleamed. Was she provoking on purpose, or did she really know something?

  “All right, me beauties.” One of Captain Fraser’s men sauntered along the bulwark and joined them at the railing. The smell of hemp and hard work accompanied him. This was a change, for other than lewd comments, the sailors mostly kept their distance. Eleanor had thought it strange at first, until she realized were she in their shoes, she’d stay an arm’s length away from death and disease as well.

  The man lifted a finger, indicating the stairwell to the hold. “Time to take it below.”

  Eleanor squinted over her shoulder, calculating the sun’s height. “Our time is not yet finished. We are allotted an hour at the rail.”

  “I says it is.” He folded his arms, his stance ending further discussion.

  Biz planted her fists on her hips. “Well I’m not goin’. Not now. Took all my strength to lug this ball up the bleedin’ ladder, and if you think—”

  A whistle from high up in the ratlines cut off her words, followed by, “Land ho!”

  Shading her eyes, Eleanor scanned the horizon, expecting to see a thin line of green or darkness or … something other than sunlight sparkling off waves.

  “Please, mayn’t we stay?” Molly asked. “We won’t get in the way. It’s so stifling below.”

  The sailor shook his head. “Captain’s orders. He’s had one too many blighters jump ship, short-changing him on the fare. Ye’re all confined to quarters ’til he holds a fistful o’ coins from a buyer. So as I said, off ye go, my pretties.”

  With a last look past the railing, Molly turned to leave. Not Biz. She spit out curses as deftly as she had the tobacco, denigrating the sailor’s appearance, character, and finally, his mother.

  He drew back his arm, fist raised.

  Eleanor raced between them, holding out her hands. “Please, sir! Surely you will not strike a lady.”

  He sneered past her at Biz. “A poxy strumpet is no lady.”

  “Ahh, blow it out yer—”

  “Biz!” Eleanor warned.

  “Bah!” Biz ran her fingers through her tangled hair, scowling. “Yer right, I suppose. I’m a-goin’. I’d rather swelter below with that vomiting lot than stand here sharin’ breath with the likes o’ this one.” She hefted her cannonball with a grunt, then hobble-walked to the stairs, crouched from the weight and the shortness of her shackle.

  Once the sailor finished spewing his own string of curses, he turned to Eleanor. “Off with ye, too.”

  “Sir, please.” For the moment, all her hope was packaged in this scruffy seaman. Lifting her chin, she sent up a quick prayer. “Allow me to remain. I give you my word I will not run off. Once I find my employer, my debt shall be paid. I am to contact a Mr. Taggerton, who has no idea as to what ship I am on or the day I am to arrive. He merely knows that I am coming. He will, however, pay in full once he discovers that I am here, for he is related to my former employer, Duchess Brougham. So you see, it is imperative I find him.”

  “Duchess, eh?” He scratched the stubble on his chin.

  Good. Obviously her words had some effect. The tension in her shoulders loosened.

  Until he reached over and grabbed the fleshy part of her arm. “No time for prattlin’ now, missy, but if you like,” he leaned closer, his breath hot on her cheek, “I’ll stop by after me duties, and we can talk then.”

  She wrenched away, rubbing the spot on her sleeve his fingers had wrinkled. “Please, time is of the essence. I can pay you, if need be.”

  A smile spread across his face, exposing teeth the color of mouse fur. “Now there’s a switch. A lady payin’ me. Hah! That’s a good one, that is. Usually I’m the one leavin’ behind a coin, but if that’s the way ye want to play it, I’m game.”

  Eleanor frowned. Men. All alike. “The only payment you shall receive is if you allow me to slip away to contact Mr. Taggerton. A few pence ought to close your eyes long enough for that. Your captain shall be paid, none the wiser for my short absence, and you shall have enough money in your pocket to ‘leave behind a coin’ several times over.”

  “All righty, then.” His grin flattened into a straight line. “But if you double-cross me, I’ll make it so’s no one with eyes will even look at you twice.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to the foredeck, then held out his tar-stained palm. “Let’s have it.”

  “Give me a moment.” She turned her back to him and faced the open sea. Hiking her skirt was bad enough. Giving him an eyeful would be worse. Carefully, she lifted the outer fabric of her gown to reveal the petticoat beneath, where she’d sewn the banknote from Lady Brougham into a seam. She patted the area. Nothing but loose threads met her touch.

  Her stomach sank.

  The sailor’s voice grazed over her shoulder. “There a problem, missy?”

  A thousand pinpricks traveled from scalp to toe. Without that money—and more importantly the note of recommendation—her only hope was that Lady Brougham’s letter had reached Mr. Taggerton ahead of this ship and that he was looking for her. For if he weren’t, this was more than a problem. It was slavery.

  She’d be sold off to the highest bidder to pay for her passage.

  Chapter 3

  Trapped. Desperate. Eleanor tried in vain to ignore the strangling emotions as she tipped her face toward the only light intrepid enough to slip through the grate in the ceiling. She’d never longed for fresh air as much as now. With the temperature in the hog pen rising, so did the stench—and it was especially ripe today, with two more bodies yet to be removed. At first, she’d spurned Biz’s slang for the hold. Not anymore. If anything, the term was too generous. Even swine would have a hard time breathing down here. A pox on Lord Brougham and the captain for assigning her such a fate.

  “I’m not stayin’ a day more, I’ll tell ye that.” Behind her, Biz’s voice filtered through the stench. “I’m leavin’ with the next buyer what comes down those stairs, and I don’t care a figgity nigglet if it’s a one-l
egged snake charmer a-wearin’ an eyepatch.”

  With a last inhale, Eleanor turned. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the darkness and focus on Biz, though the woman stood hardly ten paces away. Lanterns hung from the bulkhead, stretching the length of the narrow compartment. None were lit, their candle stubs long since melted into memories of light.

  Eleanor tugged her bodice, lifting the damp fabric from her skin. “Are you really going to be able to still your tongue long enough to keep from frightening off another prospect?”

  Biz raised her chin. “Aye.”

  “No matter what?”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “I said aye, din’t I?”

  A worthy try, but Eleanor would not be put off. “I believe I have heard that before.”

  “Well, this time I mean it. Let ’em look at my teeth, my hair, my feet.” She flashed a defiant smile. “Why, I’ve half a mind to lift my skirt if it’ll do any good.”

  “Biz!”

  Her smile vanished. “And don’t pretend you won’t, too. Yer as close to crackin’ as the rest of us, standing below that grate from sunup to evenin’, staring like a blind woman after a lover long gone.”

  Eleanor frowned. Biz was more right than anyone knew. Desperation courted her with all the determination of a relentless suitor. If Mr. Taggerton didn’t come for her soon, well … Despite the heat, she shuddered. With the exception of harlotry, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t consider.

  Biz paced three steps forward, three back—as far as her ball and chain allowed. “It ain’t right, cooping us up like animals. No light. No air. Food ain’t fit fer Newgate bait, and I know that for a fact.” Curses sprinkled her tirade like a steady rainfall. “Even my worst days on the streets, I could catch a whiff o’ breeze or snatch a bucket o’ water to wash in.”

  Two pallets over, straddling the border where light gave up its ghost and darkness began, Molly moaned—then twisted and emptied her stomach off the side of the cot.

  Biz took a step nearer to Eleanor and lowered her voice. “How’s she doin’?”

  Eleanor bit her lip. Would that Molly’s body might not be counted among those carried out in a sailcloth. “She needs to get out of here.”

  Bootsteps pounded overhead, followed by a rattle of keys—the sweet, sweet sound of freedom.

  Biz’s eyes shot to Eleanor’s. “What if it’s not yer Mr. Taggerton this time?”

  The question circled like a vulture over a carcass, each pass one more peck at her faith. Why did God not answer? Why did the man not come? She was nearly the last left aboard, other than Biz and a few others who were sicker than Molly. Surely Lady Brougham had sent the missive directly. Surely those were Mr. Taggerton’s footsteps above. She forced a confidence she didn’t feel into her voice. “I shall hope you are wrong.”

  “For what it’s worth”—Biz angled her face—“I hope so, too.”

  “Thank you, Biz. I believe your heart is bigger than you let on.”

  The woman’s blue eyes widened, then she turned and dragged her shackles to the hull, leaving behind a trail of profanities that could drop a sailor to his knees.

  Eleanor fanned herself, hiding a grin. At first she’d suspected Biz of stealing her money while she slept, but the more she got to know the woman, the less plausible she thought the idea. Biz’s rough exterior was as thick as the layer of grime that coated them all, but her heart was pure through and through.

  “Miss?” Molly wobbled where she sat on the edge of the pallet, her face thinner than a beggar’s. “Could I trouble you for water?”

  “No trouble, Molly.” In truth, it would give her something to think about rather than wondering what was taking Captain Fraser so long. Retrieving the dipper from a bucket hanging on a beam, she filled it and carried it to Molly. The woman drank without spilling a drop—and still the captain hadn’t appeared.

  “Come on, Moll.” Eleanor set the dipper on the pallet and offered the woman her arm. “Might do you some good to walk around a bit.”

  Her lips stretched, and then she gave up, as if even smiling were too much effort. “I think I’ll just sit here, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I do not mind.” With a sweep of her fingers, Eleanor brushed back the hair tumbling over Molly’s brow. Cool skin met her touch, thanks to God. “Your fever is gone. You feeling better?”

  “Aye, a little.”

  “Good. Perhaps today, you shall—”

  Door hinges creaked, and boots thudded down the ladder. Eleanor straightened and whirled, words of encouragement dying on her lips.

  Captain Fraser carried a lantern, and for a moment, Eleanor recanted her wish for light. Lifeless eyes—more than she’d accounted for—glinted back a glassy sheen from the pallets around her.

  “Swales! The smell! What kind o’ ship you runnin’?” The words did not belong to a family member of a duchess.

  Nor did the fellow look like a family member. Traipsing beside the captain, a short man with a crooked back scowled. One eye was slanted shut, not quite puckery, but indented nonetheless. So … Biz hadn’t been too far off in her eyepatch prediction. The man’s nose was a doorknocker, large, long, and thick enough to grab hold of. Atop his head, a patch of white hair stuck out as sparse and prickly as that on his jawline. Deep lines creased his brow, matching those etched into his chin. Eleanor got the distinct impression that should the fellow flip upside down, his face would look exactly the same. Handsprings wouldn’t be likely, though. He had a good fifty—possibly sixty—years’ worth of cares bowing his shoulders.

  As though the man hadn’t spoken, the captain stalked across the hold. “These are the three I recommend, Mr. Beebright, though yer welcome to take a looksee at the others if you like.” He swept the lantern in an arc.

  After a glance into the hold’s recesses, leastwise as far as the light dared to venture, Beebright huddled closer to the captain. He lifted a finger and pointed at Molly. “That one don’t look too good.” His finger and his gaze swung over to Biz, his eyes hardening as he stared at her shackles. “And that one will be a pack o’ trouble from the get-go.”

  Biz glowered, but for once her lips pressed into a thin line instead of spouting contempt.

  “But this one,” Beebright’s finger came full circle, aiming right at Eleanor. “I’m lookin’ for a house maid, a nursemaid, and some kind of uppity lady’s companion—whole lot of nonsense, if you ask me. You qualified for any of those?”

  Better prospects than remaining with the dead and dying, but still … this might be—Oh God, please let it be—the day Mr. Taggerton came calling. She straightened her shoulders and tried not to look at Mr. Beebright’s slant-eye. “I do have experience with children, sir, but I am sorry. I already have an employer.”

  Beebright squinted up at the captain. “I thought you said—”

  “Miss Morgan,” Captain Fraser cut him off. “We’ve been moored for nigh a week and a half. If your Mr. Taggerton were coming, he’d have arrived by now. I know of a brothel on the north side of town that’ll pay me a percentage of your earnings until your passage is paid in full, but if that’s not to your liking, then Mr. Beebright here is the best option”—his gaze slid to Molly and Biz—“for each of you.”

  Beebright hitched his thumb toward Biz. “I won’t be taking that one.”

  Biz shoved off from where she leaned against the hull, chains rattling.

  Eleanor cleared her throat, several times over, until Biz took the hint and halted.

  “Suit yourself, man,”—the captain shrugged—“but you’ve seen what I’ve got. You should’ve been here days ago if shopping the market was what you were about.”

  “Weren’t for lack of trying. Newcastle’s not just a spit and a holler down the road, you know.”

  “Take ’em or leave ’em, but the next load of servants isn’t due for another fortnight.” Fraser cocked his head. “Can your patrons wait that long?”

  Beebright rubbed a hand over his prickly head, again
and again. Was it really that much effort to think? “Patrons. Mighty fine name for those what paid me hardly enough to cover my travel.” His jaw worked, and a sour look developed before he finally answered. “All right, Captain, I’ll take ’em, but can we do the paperwork up where’s we can breathe?”

  “Landlubbers. All the same.” Fraser sneered. “Makes no nevermind to me. Come along. All of you.” The captain turned on his heel. Beebright followed like a large moth hovering after the lantern.

  “What about these chains?” Biz hollered after them.

  “Lug ’em up the ladder one more time, missy,” the captain called over his shoulder. “Soon as you make your mark and I’ve the coin in my pocket, I’ll take ’em off.”

  Curses rolled off Biz’s tongue, but the men’s boots already pounded up the ladder.

  Molly tugged on Eleanor’s skirt. “I’m not sure if I can do this, miss.”

  “Neither am I, Molly.” She glanced down at the woman, the last of her hope plummeting with the movement. Frightened eyes stared up at her, and she forced a pleasantness to her voice she didn’t feel. “But I am convinced God shall be with us, even in Newcastle.”

  Wherever that was.

  Chapter 4

  One false move. A careless breath. Samuel Heath would shut down even his heartbeat if it meant he’d remain undetected. He stood still as a corpse, a move he’d perfected. Life lived in the shadows was not without its benefits.

  Five paces to his left, half-hidden in a stand of young sugar maples, his blood brother drew his bowstring taut, the weapon as much a part of him as his soul. The slightest movement of his finger would mean an arrow through the lungs.

  Forest sounds contracted into a cacophony of birdsong and insects. Air whooshed into Samuel’s nostrils and he held it, savoring the tightness in his chest. The thin space between life and death never failed to exhilarate.