Forgotten Fragrance (17 page)

‘You would be wise to temper your altruistic notions in the presence of Captain Henk.'

Charlotte jumped, fearful Marcus may have read her thoughts, and pulled a tentative smile. If his temper had calmed there was every possibility he wanted nothing more than his cabin tidied.

‘He disagrees with your role as nursemaid as much as I do.'

Emboldened by the knowledge she was no longer alone Charlotte grabbed a deep breath. Christian believed in her, they loved each other. It gave her the strength to defy Marcus. ‘It is one and the same. Both Christian and those poor women in the hold are incapable of caring for themselves. Poor unfortunates who need someone to champion their cause and in the absence of your assistance the role falls to me.'

Marcus' bushy eyebrows rose. ‘There seems to be little wrong with our erstwhile Captain now.' He gesticulated in the direction of the cabin as he ignored her comment about the women.

‘He is sorely injured however he is a strong man and he will recover.' Warmth stirred low in her belly at just how strong and how recovered. ‘My concern is for the poor girls in the hold.' Her breath hitched at her lie. ‘The convicts have been offloaded so the women should spend more time up on deck. They have barely seen daylight since we left Hobart Town.'

‘Do you think they need daylight?'

‘Marcus, of course they need daylight!'

‘Normally I wouldn't mention this in front of a…' He cleared his throat and cast a dubious eye over her. ‘…Lady, but given your experience I am sure you will understand. Women of their persuasion do not usually operate in daylight hours.'

Marcus laid a hand on her arm and ran his fingers down her skin, tracing the path Christian's had taken only moments ago. Every single fine hair stood to attention as revulsion sprinted through her body. ‘Marcus!' she spluttered, pulling her arm away from his grasp. His fingers tightened on her wrist, holding her fast, a far cry from the torrent of pleasure Christian's touch engendered.

‘I've seen the way you look at him. You are not the woman I thought you to be. Your coy protestations of modesty are a sham.' He dropped her wrist but not before twisting it painfully. ‘You assured me you were not corrupted on the voyage out. Your behaviour beggars belief and leads me to presume you were lying.'

The colour rushed to Charlotte's face again. How did he know? Was he still making wild unfounded accusations, or had he somehow seen her with Christian?

With a derogatory snort Marcus reached for her. His damp white hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back. The force of his action knocked her feet from under her.

She hit the deck with a resounding thud and scrambled away from him, searching for a place to hide. ‘Get up!' His shadow fell across her blotting out the sunlight. ‘Get up!' he screamed, his pale face now suffused with blood.

Sobbing she pushed herself to her knees. Every bone in her body screamed as she attempted to clamber to her feet. His shiny black boot filled her vision and she flinched, expecting him to lash out at any time. His lips curled in a cruel sneer and his flat cold gaze screamed his loathing. A few moments ago he'd chatted amiably to Henk and now he behaved like a demon.

Clutching at the pile of crates stacked on the deck Charlotte hauled herself to her feet, awaiting Marcus' next move. It arrived with the speed of lightning. He clawed at her shoulders twisting her away from him. His rigid forefinger prodded her back in short, sharp stabs and he edged her along the deck in front of him.

‘Get down there.' He released the hatch. ‘It is where you belong. You are no better than those black island whores.'

Almost paralysed Charlotte lowered herself into the hold. Her feet came to rest on the first rung of the ladder. She threw a quick glance around the deck. To a man the crew conducted their various tasks with an air of studied indifference and there was no sign of Christian; defying Marcus would be fruitless.

His palm landed heavily on her head and forced her down into the darkness. The hatch slammed shut. Gentle hands reached out and pulled her into their world.

Without Mina's placating guidance Charlotte would have resorted to madness. It was one thing to visit the hold and speak with the girls, offer them solace, but the moment Marcus secured the hatch her heart started pounding and she plunged back into the past, the horrors of the rat-infested hold of the
Atwich
crowding her mind. The stench of bodies cramped in a confined space, the murky darkness and the incessant slap of the water reverberating around the hull. And the damp — after only a few moments it seeped into her skin, chilling her to the bone.

‘What you doing here, Missus?'

Charlotte turned to the bright eyes peering at her in the gloom, huge brown eyes in a face yet to lose its childish plumpness.

‘Leave her, Tiga,' Mina said, stroking her arm.

‘Let me explain, Mina, as much as I can. It might make everything clearer in my own mind.' Charlotte pulled her hair back off her face and retied her plait, then sank down, pulled her knees up to her chin and studied the circle of faces waiting for her to speak. If being imprisoned down here terrified her, how much worse must it be for these poor children? She could hardly call them women; their thin unformed bodies and their huge trusting eyes made her feel maternal.

‘You were helpin' us. We got food now and water.'

‘And fresh air sometimes too.'

‘But not until it is dark,' another voice put in.

‘Sssh!' soothed Mina. ‘Be patient.'

Charlotte breathed deeply; the unpleasant smells fading into insignificance in the face of their incarceration.

‘You a lady. You not be down here.' The young girl, Tiga, edged closer to her and rested against her, a child seeking comfort.

‘I am not a lady.'

The girl's small hand ran over the cotton of her dress as if to dispute her comment.

‘I'm a convict, a bonded servant. No different to you.'

‘We aren't convicts, not prisoners.' Mina jumped up, her proud head held high. ‘We are kidnapped. Taken against our will by people we welcomed to our home.'

Now the other girls quietened Mina. As much as Charlotte would like to hear the story of their arrival aboard the
Zephyrus
she had to first gain their trust, not only Mina's. She dreaded being seen as another in a long line of do-gooders who abused their friendship.

‘I was sent from England to another country, to Van Diemen's Land, because I had broken the law.' There was a hissed intake of breath. Charlotte had their undivided attention. ‘My punishment was to work as a servant for seven years. Marcus. Mr Wainwright…'

‘He's a bad man! He touched me. I kicked him.' Tiga's harsh laugh bounced around the circle of watching faces.

‘He was not bad to me,' Charlotte continued, pushing aside his recent brutal treatment and an image of his leering face as he ran his hand over the girl's buttocks. She didn't really know who he was. She'd acted as his cook and housekeeper, lived under the same roof; however, since his apparent change in attitude towards her she wondered if he'd harboured other intentions. Had she been blind to his behaviour all this time? Had she forced it aside because the alternative was too horrible to imagine? Or had she simply cocooned herself in her grief over the loss of Jamie and leant on the first person who offered her support in her time of need? A wave of guilt washed through her but she would not allow Marcus' sordid perversions to stain her time with Christian. She loved him. Not Marcus. Christian. She would think about it long and hard now she had time on her hands. She had no doubt she would remain locked in the hold until they reached Sydney and she was handed over to the authorities for punishment.

‘I worked for Mr Wainwright. I cared for his house, cooked his meals.'

‘You were his woman?'

‘No. I was his servant, never his woman. He offered to marry me once my sentence was completed. He would never marry a felon. It is why we are travelling to Sydney to start our life again, away from the stain of my convict sentence.'

‘He wanted you and he did not take you?'

The cynicism in Mina's voice made Charlotte reflect on the past six years. She shuddered at her own naivety. What kind of sexual gratification had she unknowingly provided Marcus? ‘Perhaps. The situation has changed now. The Captain —'

‘Captain Christian?'

‘He's a nice man.' Tiga's fists clenched in enthusiasm and the muscles on her scrawny arms bunched. ‘Nice strong man.'

‘He's not the captain. Now the horrid fat Dutchie has taken his place. He looks at us like he will eat us,' another of the girls piped up.

‘Or sell us.'

‘Dirty man.'

The circle of heads nodded in agreement.

‘I have discovered Captain Christian is an old friend of mine, one I thought I had lost,' Charlotte said, ignoring all their other comments and the possibilities they threw up. To think of Christian now, to think of their love pained her.

‘Ahhhhh.' Mina drew the word out like a whistle. ‘And the Marcus man, he is jealous. He doesn't like you to have a friend. He wants you for himself. If you are alone you lean on him. Then he can have you.'

Charlotte nodded. In a few short moments this woman had seen through a situation she found too difficult to even contemplate.

‘Why did the Marcus man throw you down here with us. If he wants you why not take you?' Tiga asked.

The thought of Marcus laying his long bony hands on her sent prickles of revulsion scampering across her skin — she'd imagined only a few short days ago that she'd marry him. Now everything had changed. How could something as awful as Christian's keelhauling bring about such happiness?

‘He throws her down here to keep her away from the real man. He knows she is in love with the Captain. Is it not so?' Tiga continued.

Mina turned to Charlotte with a wry grin. ‘These girls know the ways of men.'

Charlotte couldn't confirm Tiga's statement. ‘Christian is my friend, he reminds me of the past, of my family. I thought I had lost him. Now I have found him. I am happy.' She would keep their secret.

‘Now you have found him and you are a woman, you are happy.' Mina patted her cheek. ‘Fear not, he is happy too.'

‘He is happy because I am his friend. We were childhood friends and now I am helping him. He must get the ship back from Henk. He is too weak to fight. He is torn and wounded and…' A sob caught in the back of her throat at her lie and she snatched it back. She was supposed to be caring for these women, helping them, and instead they were providing her with more understanding than she'd ever received. Nothing was as it should be.

A large tear welled in the corner of Charlotte's eye and trickled slowly down her cheek. Before she could brush it away Mina wound her arm around her and pulled her head down, patting her back, soothing her like a child. The blackbirds let out a communal sigh and it wrapped around her like a warm blanket stemming her tears.

Christian eased himself upright. Judging from the shadows on the floor the sun was well over the yardarm. Late afternoon — dogwatch. He had slept and Charlotte had not returned. Catz would be at the wheel, Bristol standing watch and Henk sleeping off the alcohol he'd consumed at lunch.

The fog the laudanum cast had dispersed and for the first time since the keelhauling his mind was truly clear. His skin stretched and pulled against the wounds but with the exception of the throb where the splinter had pierced his back, the pain was manageable. He strained his ears to pick up the sounds above him, anything indicating unusual activity on the ship.

There were no sounds from the cabin next door. Where was Charlotte? Whatever had possessed him to complicate the situation even further? A hatch slammed shut and with it an irrational fear for Charlotte's safety. A sensation he remembered. Like the pieces falling from a puzzle his dreams and reminiscences unified. Charlotte was Lottie, Lottie was London, the past. His angel. The scent bottle and the coin around her neck proved it.

He sat up straighter, impervious to any pain in his back as the memory fragments interlocked. The courtroom in London, the red-robed judge pronouncing his sentence. His final glimpse of Lottie as he was dragged away. He'd thumbed his nose at the sanctimonious judge even though his heart was breaking; but transportation and a life sentence was better than death by hanging.

Murderer!

He threw himself out of the bed. His shirt lay spread-eagled on the floor and he bent to pick it up.

The girl splayed, face down on the cobblestones. A violent red slash across her lily-white skin. Her eyes wide, accusing, condemning. Eyes storm-cloud blue. The sound of Charlotte's screams. The weight of realisation. And despair.

Henk was right. James Harrington was a murderer. He'd murdered the girl in the alleyway. The knife had been in his hand, hands covered with the bright red of her lifeblood. He dropped his head squeezing his eyes tightly shut, forcing himself to remember what had come after the judge sealed his fate, but there was nothing. Nothing until the
Zephyrus
and Jonas' weathered face peering down at him.

What was he doing in the water? Why was he thrown from the transport ship? Had he murdered again? Shipboard justice threw murderers with their victims into the briny depths, food for the sharks.

With his head pounding and his skin clammy he sank back onto the bunk. He'd murdered and he hadn't swung. Living with no past had been easy in comparison to this mishmash of unexplained images and broken dreams.

Pushing back the recollections of bloodstains and stormy eyes he picked up his shirt and shrugged into it, yanked up his trousers and buckled his belt around his waist, the agony in his mind more painful than any wounds on his back. He had to find Charlotte. She had to tell him about the past.