Petals on the River (4 page)

had not been motivated by bigotry, Shemaine pondered bitterly, why was

she here aboard this convict ship and why had she suffered all her

refusal to leave Maurice and England behind her forever?
 
Had she but

agreed to the Grand Dame's terms, it seemed unlikely she would have come

to this precise end.

Tears came to blur Shemaine's vision as waves of anguish washed over

her, almost drowning her in a sea of despair, for if Edith du Mercer had

indeed connived to have her whisked away from England, then the woman's

schemes had been fully realized.
 
Not only was Shemaine a continent away

from home and family, she was about to be cast into bondage and divested

of her last shred of hope for deliverance from a way of life for which

she was ill prepared.
 
If she did not die of remorse, she would, in all

probability, succumb to some other dreaded malady prevalent in the

colonies or, if Potts found her, the mayhem he intended.

A thin arm slipped about Shemaine's shoulder, snatching herabruptly from

her doleful reflections.
 
With a start of surprise she glanced around to

find Annie Carver watching her curiously.

"A fittin' justice for ol' Potts, eh, m'liedy?" the young .woman

ventured with a tentative smile as she sought a reason for her friend's

tears.
 
"Ye can bet he won't be gettin' a chance ta do any more o'

Morrisa's foul deeds afore we leaves the ship."

Shemaine was far from convinced that she had seen the last of Potts.

"I'd feel considerably more at ease if Mr.
 
Harper would keep that beast

locked away in the cable her until the London Pride sails back to

England," she confided glumly.
 
"Morrisa knows just what it takes to get

her bullyboy vexed with me, and she'll not rest until I've been severely

punished for defying her these months at sea."

Annie mentally agreed.
 
Prior to coming face-to-face with Shemaine

aboard the ship, Morrisa had successfully coerced her cellmates into

giving her the best and greater portion of what little food had been

doled out to them.
 
She had fully expected Shemaine to comply as well,

for it had been evident that the girl had lived a sheltered, pampered

life far above their own.
 
Yet in spite of the harlot's threats,

Shemaine had stood her ground, resisting Morrisa's every effort to see

her broken or brought down.
 
Shemaine had eventually talked the rest of

the women into revolting against the strumpet, deepening a virulent

hatred.
 
'Aye, ye managed ta set Morrisa awry from yer first encounter.

She's been in a fair ta frothin' snit ever since."

The strife the harlot had caused Shemaine had convinced her of one

thing.
 
"Morrisa would like nothing better than to carve me up with that

little knife of hers.
 
Or better yet to get Potts to do her dirty work

for her.
 
She seems to enjoy giving orders, but she prefers others to

reap the blame and recompense."

Annie's gaze slipped beyond Shemaine and grew noticeably chilled.

"Speakin' o' the witch, look oo's comin'."

Shemaine followed Annie's pointed stare and released a bleak sigh when

she saw Morrisa's hip-swinging approach.
 
"The devil's own, no less."

The dark-eyed harlot simpered smugly as she halted beside Shemaine.

"Didn't like yer stay in the cable her, eh dearie?
 
Well, I can't says

I blame ye none, though I knows nary nother what deserves em chambers

more."

''Oh, I knows one alright." Annie cut her eyes meaningfully toward the

strumpet.

Lifting her lip in a cynical sneer, Morrisa bestowed a full measure of

contempt upon the tiny woman.
 
"Why, if'n it aren't the dour li'l crab

scootin' round on her belly after her liedyship again, like she was

hopin' for a handout in good looks.
 
Well, dearie, ye're wastin' yer

time with this here bog-Irish scum.
 
Sh'maine aren't gots none ta spare."

"I knows me friends," Annie stated in a flat tone.
 
"An' I knows me

foes, an' tis sure ye aren't no friend o' mine.
 
Truth be, I'd sooner be

caught a-molderin' in a bogtrotter's grave than cavortin' with the likes

o' some lecher's tart."

Morrisa's brown eyes flared at the slur, and she hauled back an arm to

strike, but she froze in sudden wariness.
 
In contests of brawn she had

already discovered that Annie Carver could best any woman twice her

size, and a swollen lip or a bruised eye could dissuade a buyer from

taking a chance on a bondslave who might prove unruly.
 
Though the urge

was great, Morrisa could not bring herself to complete the stroke.

Petulantly she lowered her arm and shrugged her shoulders, setting her

thinly clad breasts briefly ajiggle.
 
By the wealth of curves she

exhibited, it was not hard to determine that she had suffered no lack of

victuals during the long voyage.
 
"Too bad ol' Potts got carped by the

bosun.
 
The bugger might've resented ye callin' me names."

Shemaine sighed heavily, making much of her lamentation.
 
"Poor, blind

Potts.
 
If he only knew how much you truly hated him.
 
Why, he'd squash

you like a bothersome gnat."

Morrisa smirked contentedly.
 
"He wouldn't believe ye, dearie, even if

ye told him.
 
Ye sees, Sh'maine, I knows how ta handle ol' Potts. Sides,

he may be useful ta me in these here colonies.
 
The bloke's even been

talkin' bout jumpin' ship an' stayin' on with me instead o' sailin' back

ta England.
 
Wouldn't the two o' ye be surprised if'n he did?"

Shemaine mentally shivered at the thought.
 
Indeed, she could almost

hear the banshees whispering her name.
 
Despite the prickling dread that

crawled up her nape, she made a point of growing thoughtful and voiced a

possible solution to such a problem.
 
"Perhaps I should warn the one who

buys you that he'll likely get his throat slit by you or your lackey on

a leash.
 
I'm sure your master would be able to keep you adequately

fettered and out of trouble, at least for a while. Besides, when Potts

ceases to be of use to you, you'll find another buffoon to fetch and

carry for you.
 
I doubt that you have it in you to remain loyal to any

man longer than it takes for him to hand over your fee."

Morrisa's haughty smirk twisted into an enraged grimace.
 
"Ye don't know

when ye're well off, do ye, Sh'maine!
 
Anyone else would've learned by

now, but not ye!
 
I has ta pound it inta yer ugly noggin!"

Morrisa lunged at Shemaine with fingers curled into claws, having every

intention of gouging those green eyes from their sockets, but the

bosun's shout rang out for a second time, foiling another fight.

"Start anything, ladies," James Harper warned, using the title loosely,

"and I'll have the both of you keelhauled til your tempers cool !
 
"

Morrisa's glower conveyed her unabated fury, but the bosun was a man of

his word, and such a dreadful threat from him gave her cause to

reconsider.
 
Her fingers finally relaxed, and with a flippant toss of

her raven mane, she sauntered off, dragging her chains behind her.

The keening cry of a sea eagle pierced the blustering breezes, drawing

Shemaine's gaze to the turbulent clouds churning overhead. Beneath their

dark and looming shroud, frightened gulls wheeled on black-tipped wings

and dove close to the water in an effort to escape their nemesis, but

the erne seemed indifferent to the smaller birds as he casually rode the

currents on widespread wings.
 
Mesmerized by his free-spirited flight,

Shemaine could almost envision herself mounting to the air on similar

wings to escape the ordeal of what the coming moments or even the next

seven years would bring.
 
But harsh reality was only a heartbeat away.

Chained by iron fetters and forever bound to earth, she could only watch

in helpless dismay as the eagle soared beyond her restricted view.
 
His

freedom to wander hither and yon brutally mocked the constraints that

she and the other prisoners had been subjected to since being convicted

in an English court of law.

Annie sighed wistfully beside her.
 
"I'll be happy ta leave the ship,

m'liedy, but I'd be gladder still ta be bought by some kindly folk what

gots a wee one or two for me ta tend."

"Perhaps you will be, Annie." Seeking encouragement for her friend,

Shemaine climbed atop the hatch cover and stretched her own slight frame

upward until she could see over the railing.
 
Her gaze flitted over the

colonials waiting on the quay for the shipboard sale to begin.
 
To be

sure, she was not greatly heartened by what she saw. The chance of Annie

being purchased by a young family seemed ridiculously farfetched when

she considered the potential buyers. Grayhaired men with pallid skin and

short, plump wives, landowners with bald pates, and spinsterish-looking

women with thin, hatchet faces seemed the primary choices.
 
Only one man

stood apart from the rest in both distance and appearance.
 
He was

definitely young enough to lend some hope for the gratification of

Annie's aspirations, yet his sharply brooding scowl was formidable.
 
The

other settlers eyed him furtively, as if afraid of meeting his stoic

gaze, which did little to ease Shemaine's own speculations about the

man.
 
Yet, for all of the others' diffidence, he seemed to be the main

reason for their incessant chatter.

James Harper approached the women and took a ring of keys from his belt

as his gaze flitted over them.
 
Gertrude Fitch had not allowed the

female prisoners to come on deck and bathe in sight of the men in

preparation of the sale.
 
Instead, she had sent down a scant bar of soap

and two buckets of water which they had immediately fought over and

wasted.

Three months at sea had taken its toll, for they looked no better than

the poorest beggars of London.
 
The odds of getting a fair price for any

of them seemed remote, which of course would serve Turnbull's meddling