Crimson Rapture (4 page)

Christina
stole a furtive look up to confront Lady Everett's stern face, then Lady
Knolls's condescending nod. She dared not reply and she swallowed, feeling her
cheeks flush.

"Well,
my word," the lady continued. "Have you no wits, child? You will
surely catch a sun rash, my dear, to say nothing of ruining your complexion.
Run along now and fetch a bonnet, then join us for tea. You spend far too much
time alone, my dear, and if I say so, it's most unnatural for a young lady of
your age and circumstances."

Justin
swung down to his small cot, waiting to hear Christina politely, though
nonetheless curtly, tell the lady to mind her own concerns. He was intimately
familiar with the woman's tone of condescension and he loathed it perhaps more
than all other banalities common to his class.

But
he heard only silence.

A
pained expression crossed Christina's features, she nodded, and then quickly
left. Once beneath the deck she leaned against the wall, trying to stop the hot
sting of tears. How she hated herself at those moments! Hated her childish
inability to make proper addresses, indeed any address! Hated the way her body
flushed, then froze, the way her tongue became as immobile as an inert block of
wood!

Why
couldn't she be like others, like Elsie or Hanna? She shared quarters with
Elsie and Hanna, along with two other young ladies, Marianna and Katie. At
first she had been amazed, but then envious of their easy manners, the gay and
carefree way they had of just being. How she envied the buxom young Hanna, her
plump and smiling face, a head crowned with untamed red curls and Elsie,
Hanna's opposite in appearance—small and dark and cute, the way they always had
fun with their mistresses' shenangians, making others laugh and chatting so
easily. How she wanted to be like them! To be like she was with Justin...

Justin
had been a bit taken aback by Christina's wordless departure, but was surprised
even more by the ladies' comments that followed.

"Such
a shy young lady," Lady Everett mused. "God knows how the unfortunate
creature will survive in the New World, having to fend for herself in a family
she knows nothing about—people she's never even met before."

"Undoubtedly
of the lowest society," Lady Knolls bothered to add.

"Undoubtedly.
It's a shame her late father failed to arrange a marriage for her before he
departed— Hanna!" she nearly shrieked in the same breath. "Do keep
the parasol over my person!"

"Yes,
ma am."

"The
captain has assured me," she resumed quickly, "that most all of the
young men on board have had an interest in Miss Marks—one is forced to see
she'd be quite a lovely thing if she'd do something with that hair—but he says
her social awkwardness turns each man away."

"That
is a shame," Lady Knolls smiled cruelly, "for if the chit is suited
to any one thing, it's bearing some man a string of brats."

"Hmmm."
Lady Everett seemed to agree. "Well, I daresay, one can't blame the young
men. Why, I can hardly get a word from her myself except when she reads out
loud, and my! Her terror whenever anyone tries to address her."

Hanna
was unable to stand another word. "Aye, Miss Marks be a shy creature for
sure but she is lovely and you know, my ladies," she felt suddenly bold,
"Elsie and myself, we share quarters with 'er and 'tis true, she 'ardly
ever says a word, but she's very thoughtful and sweet like. Just think of all
she does for everyone! A real angel of mercy, she is and, why, we've taken
quite a fancy to 'er, we 'ave."

"Exactly
what one might expect," Lady Knolls commented dryly, her meaning implied.

"Oh,
me lady, you're being unkind now." Elsie too felt compelled to scold.
"Miss Marks be a lady for sure, she just 'asn't any airs is all—"

"Elsie."
Lady Everett's shrill voice rose. "I do hope your impertinence is due to
this tiresome journey. You're quite forgetting your manners..."

The
ladies' voices drifted off as they resumed their stroll. Somewhat confused,
Justin had never known this side of Christina, a side that never manifested
when with him. He knew her as a most gentle young lady, intelligent and sweet,
incapable of harboring a harsh sentiment toward anyone or thing, but shy?
Socially awkward, unable to stand up to anyone? Nor had he imagined others
found Christina pretty. She had said she was plain and so he had always thought
of her as homely, probably as homely as they come...

Christina
returned that night and, as always, she brought Justin food. Tonight a roll, a
hard egg, a potato, and a small container of stew. He received only a daily
bowl of mush and he often thought he'd starve if it were not for Christina's
supplements. Tonight, however, before she had even taken her seat on the
overturned bucket, he began questioning her.

"Christina,
why didn't you speak up to that woman today?"

She
swallowed hard, whispered, "What do you mean?"

"Well,
sweetheart, pardon the expression, but that lady needed a swift kick in the
ass. I didn't like the tone she used with you, the condescension she implied
and I especially didn't like the way you ran off so quickly to do her
bidding."

"Oh...
well..."

"Surely
you found her offensive, ordering you about like a child?"

"No...
well, yes. Yes I do sometimes. Though I'm told by Hanna she doesn't really mean
anything by it."

"Why
didn't you say something?"

"I...
I have difficulty speaking to others," she whispered still.

"You
don't seem to have any difficulty speaking to me."

"No
I don't but I'm not like this with other people. I don't know why, but well,
with you it's just so easy for me. Maybe because we've never seen each other
before, but there's something about you—the way you are—it's like I know you're
not judging me unkindly." She struggled to say the next words, "I've
never had a friend like you before."

And
then it began to dawn on him how special he was to her, and after a thoughtful
pause, he replied honestly, "I've known literally hundreds of women and,
Christina, you're by far one of the brightest and certainly the most pleasant
company. And I know you're capable of making friends and passing social
pleasantries. So what seems to be the trouble?"

"I...
I don't really know," she managed, always affected to the core by his
smallest compliment. She squeezed her handkerchief, and then suddenly rushed
forward with words. "Oh Justin, I've tried to be like others so many
times! How I envy others like Elsie and Hanna their easy manners, idle chatter
and all. My father used to think the characteristic admirable in a girl, I mean
being quiet and all, but as I grow older even he began to see there was
something wrong with me."

"I
don't understand," he said hesitantly, for needless to say the problem was
alien to his experience. "Is it that you don't know what to say to
people?"

"That's
the odd thing. I always know what I should or might say to others, but
somehow—as soon as I see them—the words choke inside, and I become all
flustered, embarrassed, my heart races so, and oh, Justin, I'm really just...
so inept and... clumsy."

Justin
hated her self-deprecation and he felt a sudden urge to draw her into his arms
for comfort while gently scolding her for speaking of herself like that. He was
just about to suggest something when her boot kicked the wall and hard.

Colonel
Carrington and one of his mates, Stephens, had stepped on deck to enjoy the
only slightly cooler, still night air and a bottle of whiskey. They strolled
leisurely toward her spot and Christina, wearing black and hidden in dark
shadows, pressed herself against the wall in hopes they would pass without
noticing her.

Carrington
abruptly spotted her hidden against the wall. "Why, Miss Marks." He
bowed politely. "A pleasant good evening to you."

Christina
cast a quick glance up to the two gazes appraising her through the darkness and
she nodded slightly. Without a word, she rose and disappeared quickly down the
deck.

Carrington
shook his head in frustration, then pushed his hands through his thick dark
curls. "That one would drive a sober man to drink—haven't got a damn word
from that pretty mouth yet."

"Aye,
you're not the only one striking out. I don't know anyone who's gotten anywhere
with her. And from the looks of what's beneath that skirt," Stephens
chuckled, "it's a darn shame too."

"She
is most definitely ripe for the picking. One of the loveliest little creatures
I think I've ever seen— even in those appalling rags of hers."

"If
she wasn't such a scared mouse, I'd be the first one up those skirts."

"The
second," Carrington assured him.

Justin
had certainly heard baser comments in his lifetime but because Christina was
the subject, he felt his muscles tense and his blood rise to a quick boil.
Given any freedom, he would not hesitate to make any man regret the mere
thought of her in that way. And this surprised him, for he had never felt
especially protective toward any woman. He supposed the feeling was due as much
to Christina's femininity and gentleness as it was to the nature of their
relationship.

* * * * *

"What
was that?" Justin asked Christina the next night, hearing a faint
grumbling sound.

Christina
swallowed her panic. "I didn't hear anything. Justin, I was
wondering—"

"Be
still a moment," he ordered, suddenly suspicious and wanting his
suspicions confirmed. To Christina's horror the sound came again and he
exploded, "Damn you, Christina! You've been lying to me about this food,
haven't you? This isn't food left over from the others!"

"Justin,
no... I—"

"You've
been giving me your rations! Starving yourself for me—"

"Oh,
but Justin, I don't need very much, honestly—"

"I
assure you, young lady," he began harshly, furious at himself, "I am
perfectly capable of fending for myself. I don't need some slip of a girl
to—"

"Please
don't be angry at me! I just can't bear it—" And demonstrating the truth
of this, she ran quickly away.

* * * * *

Captain
Forester stormed into his cabin and, before anyone could rush in with another
catastrophe, he shut and locked his door. He went immediately to the large oak
desk and withdrew a silver flask of rum. He pressed it to his lips, swallowed
several times without tasting, and then felt the hot burst of fire in his
stomach.

He
was afraid. Everyone lived in fear, a tightening knot of dread in their
stomach. Fights broke out hourly among the crew. He had already confined nine
men to their quarters for insubordination. Left exhausted, worn and listless
from the meager rations and the severe heat, passengers remained in their
quarters, moaning their fate. Stretching food and water to minimum, they had a
mere handful of days left.

A
mere handful of days. What to do? What to do?

Owing
to Christina's nature, she wasn't suffering as much as the others, or if she
was no one ever heard about it. She busied herself helping others from dawn to
midnight, pulling and transporting bucket after bucket of cool salt water for
the brief comfort of a bath, serving the meager rations personally to those who
could no longer rise from bed. She became the right arm of the overburdened,
exhausted ship surgeon, Dr. Michaels. She surprised everyone, for no one had
suspected that such a delicate young lady possessed such a strong constitution.
She even managed to overcome her temerity to promise everyone the wind would
rise any time now to feed the sails before a real tragedy could happen.

Even
she became alarmed the next morning. A vicious fight broke out in her small
quarters. She barely understood the initial outburst of words between Elsie and
Hanna and Marianna and Katie— something about a chamber pot—but suddenly the
women were all screaming at each other, cursing like any group of hardened
sailors and then, then Marianna flung the full pot in Elsie's face and Hanna
flung herself on Marianna. Like four crazed cats—all claws and teeth—arms and
legs flew wildly, hair pulled, bodies knocked against the wall. Stunned,
horrified, Christina had never seen anything like it in her life, and finally
managed to mobilize her dazed wits to run for help.

She
wanted to speak with Justin, always finding comfort with him. But the day
rushed forward with one crisis after another. Dr. Michaels himself fell faint
in the early afternoon, leaving Christina with the burden of a growing number
of patients. She never stopped.

Late
in the afternoon, Carrington opted for the short-term relief from both tension
and thirst in a bottle of potent rum. He knew well that ultimately, even within
a few hours, the rum would make his thirst a raging monster, especially
considering the meager substance he, like everyone else, was forced to subsist
on. He didn't care. Nor did it matter that the captain had banned all spirits,
or that he had stolen the rum from a mate. He was a desperate man, one who had
just faced the unbearable reality that he was doomed.