Petals on the River (7 page)

schooling.
 
"I was hoping to find a woman who could teach my son to read

and write in years to come.
 
Is it possible that you can instruct him?"

"Blimey no, gov'na!" Annie gasped, confounded by the requirement.

Deeply disappointed, she was about to turn away when a sudden thought

struck.
 
Facing him again with an eager smile, she informed him, "But I

knows one what can!
 
She's a liedy, ta be sure, sir."

 
"A lady?" Gage was clearly dubious now that he had seen the greater

share of women.
 
"Here on a convict ship?"

"Aye, sir!" Annie's answer was emphatic.
 
"M'liedy knows readin' an'

writin' an' can even do sums in her head.
 
I seen her do it, sir."

"Ninety years old, no doubt," Gage scoffed.
 
He couldn't waste his funds

on a woman who would probably fall dead five minutes after leaving the

ship.
 
Old arguments surfaced to cast his expectations into the realm of

the absurd, stripping away his confidence and nullifying his hopes.

Certainly no gentle-bred woman would have committed such a grievous

crime to warrant being sent to the colonies on a convict ship, unless of

course she had been thrown into debtor's prison.
 
Even then, he had

grave doubts that he could afford her.
 
He had other commitments which

negated his ability to pay off such encumbrances.

A smug smile twitched at the corners of Annie's lips.
 
"Nay, sir! A

young liedy!
 
An' a comely one at that, sir."

"Where is this marvel?" Gage asked blandly.
 
He was afraid Annie didn't

fully comprehend the meaning of the word lady, for he had neither seen

nor heard any similarities since boarding the Pride.

Turning, Annie motioned for her companions to move aside as she searched

for her friend.
 
When a path had opened, she thrust out a thin arm to

point to a lone figure sitting on the hatch cover.
 
"That's er, gov'na!

Shemaine O'Hearn, she be!"

Shemaine became instantly aware of the attention she had gained and the

strength of those startlingly beautiful brown eyes as they settled on

her in amazement.
 
She could entertain no uncertainty about whether or

not she had piqued the stranger's interest, for he was totally engrossed

in looking her over.

Gage Thornton had worked too hard for everything he now owned to be

fooled into believing his goal could be met so painlessly.
 
This young

woman was uncommonly fetching, a possible prize to be sure, but he was

leery of some hidden flaw.

He leaned aside to question Annie.
 
"A lady, you say?" At her

affirmative nod, he asked the obvious.
 
"But why is she here?
 
What

offense did she commit that justified her being sent to these shores on

a prison ship?"

Annie lowered her voice to a whisper.
 
"A thieftaker snatched m'liedy

whilst her parents were away an' wouldn't let her go an' fetch people

what knew her, so ye see, sir, there weren't none ta say the bloke nay

when he swore she were the one what stole another liedy's jewels."

Gage was hardly convinced, but his reservations were not enough to

diminish his interest.
 
Even with her cheeks smudged with grime and her

hair wildly snarled about her thin shoulders and down her back,

Shemaine' s beauty was unmistakable.
 
Her face seemed delicately

wrought, as if some artist had painted an image of a dream and brought

it to life with an enchanted kiss.
 
Her breeding, he strongly suspected,

was thoroughly Irish, for no other race seemed quite so naturally

favored with combinations of flaming red hair, sparkling green eyes and

creamy fair skin.
 
Despite the rags that adorned her, her graceful

bearing gave undeniable evidence of her refinement, for she held herself

with a regal air, her chin slightly elevated, her eyes meeting his

directly, as if she suffered no qualms about being his equal.

Gage marveled at the unusual tumult inside of him and could only wonder

what excited him more, the discovery of a girl who seemed to fulfill his

every requirement for a nursemaid or the other, unspoken purpose which

he had not dared hope to satisfy.
 
If he did acquire her, his future

intentions would probably astound friend and foe alike.
 
But then, it

wouldn't be the first time he had gone against proper decorum to carve

out a definite direction for his life.

Mentally Gage hauled back on the reins of his racing thoughts and,

assuming a casualness he did not particularly feel, pointed the girl out

to the bosun.
 
"Mr.
 
Harper, I'd like to make inquiries about that

prisoner over there."

James Harper craned his neck to see which of the women had interested

the man, just as an aging crone stepped in front of Shemaine.
 
Harper

bade the elder forward, mentally questioning the man's taste and good

sense, but Gage negated the summons with an impatient slash of a hand.

Stepping to a place where he could command Shemaine's attention

directly, he bade her to come forward with a single beckoning motion.

Conscious of those sparkling brown orbs feeding on her every movement,

Shemaine rose from the hatch and slipped through the press of women

whose troubled frowns openly conveyed their envy and dejection. Her

progress went unhindered, however, until Morrisa blocked her path.

"If'n I were ye, dearie, I'd be a mite cautious o' going' off with this

here Thornton gent.
 
Ye sees, Sh'maines I aren't seen such a handsome

bloke in all me born days, an' I wants him for meself.
 
An' if'n ye

keeps me from havin' him, I'll not be takin' it too kindly. For sure,

I'll be wantin' ta slice ye up good an' proper."

Shemaine was amazed that Morrisa still sought to intimidate her. It

seemed by now that even a half-wit would have realized she was too

obstinate to be moved by threats.
 
"And if I were you, Morrisa," she

gritted back through a tight smile, "I'd consider the mayhem the man

might heap upon your hide if you manage to harm a servant of his,

especially one he's paid good money for."

"I'll come after ye, Sh'maine, mark me words.
 
An' when I finds ye, I'll

make ye sorry ye didn't heeds me warnin'.
 
This here bloke won't wants

ye after I gets through with ye."

The visual daggers that pierced the strumpet belied the softness of

Shemaine's words.
 
"I hope you'll not be too surprised, Morrisa, if I

let Mr.
 
Thornton know you've threatened to do me harm."

Morrisa snarled in exasperation as Shemaine brushed past her.
 
Her

failed attempts to see the bogtrotter killed or, at the very least,

seriously maimed were even more grievous now, when it was evident the

red head had attracted the best of the lot.
 
A scarred face would have

certainly discouraged the handsome bloke from wanting the chit.

James Harper hadn't bothered to glance up as Shemaine halted beside

them.
 
He had grown impatient with all the fuss over the settler and,

like Potts, was anxious to conclude the sale so he could enjoy his

liberty on shore, for he had a fair thirst building for a large tankard

of ale.
 
Checking the lists, he questioned brusquely, "Your name?"

"Shemaine O'Hearn."

His head snapped up in surprise at the velvety reply.
 
The name conJured

up different images of a slender, red-haired beauty he had both glimpsed

from afar and ardently admired at close range.
 
If there was one

prisoner he was loath to see sold to another man, it was this girl who

had aroused the hopes and imagination of many a sailor aboard the London

Pride.
 
Even Captain Fitch had been smitten, and only the most discreet

members of the crew knew his wife would soon have valid reasons to be

envious of the maid.
 
Ere long, her husband would settle the girl in a

nearby house and make her his mistress.
 
It was not an arrangement

Harper enjoyed making for his superior, but he simply had no choice in

the matter.

He spoke in a hushed tone to the stranger.
 
"I fear you'd not be content

with this one, sir," he advised, having been instructed by Captain Fitch

to discourage all serious buyers.
 
"She has a sharp tongue which can lay

a man open with a deft stroke.
 
Ask the captain and his missus if you

doubt what I say."

Having overheard the warning, Shemaine fixed Harper with an incredulous

stare, wondering why he should be so callous as to distort the details

of that specific day when he had assembled the prisoners on deck to

witness the scourging of Annie Carver.
 
They had been forced to watch

the cat-o-nine rip open the small woman's back and were warned as the

whip fell that similar infractions would result in like discipline.

Their confused and questioning murmurs had turned rapidly to muttering

indignation, for they had known only too well what had caused Annie's

attempt to kill herself.
 
One by one they had faced the quarterdeck

where the captain had stood.
 
Shemaine vividly recalled the contempt

that had risen like sour gall in her throat when her own gaze had

settled on the captain standing stoically beside his gloating wife. With

as much passion as her Irish father had ever thought of venting, she had

climbed atop the hatch cover and harshly berated the couple for their

barbarous treatment of Annie.

Now, with considerably less venom than she had exhibited three months

before, Shemaine questioned the bosun.
 
"Will you give me no chance to

explain, Mr.
 
Harper?"

"Did I not tell the truth?" he queried, growing distressed because in

the process of obeying orders he could turn her completely against him.

He was no more partial to the idea of letting her go off with this man

than he was to the captain's claiming her, but what could he do?

"You accused me rightly, sir," Shemaine admitted brittlely, lifting her

chin as she met his troubled stare.
 
"But there was much more to the