The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2 (6 page)

No more caring for Jonas.
 

No more anything.

The light of torches added a halo about her tall rescuer as he talked with his crew.
 

Her eyes pinned him and all she could do was wonder about the baron. Why did he risk his life? Was caring for the man's son enough to warrant such? Forget once being his property, did she have value to him now as a servant?

She moved her shoulder, and it stung as if it had it had been cut with a knife. She bit her lip, holding in the pain. Tears came to her eyes but it wasn't the sting of the salt or her arm, it was the gnawing in her gut. A small hint of doubt built up on the inside, and she felt worse and worse. She wasn't worth saving. Why didn't he know that?

Lord Welling stripped the rope from around his chest. "Thanks, men. Here." He handed them the thick braided jute that had pulled them from the ocean as he pushed on wet fabric clinging near his heart. "Roll it back tight."

Her vision clouded as she coughed up salty seawater. Blinking, her eyes cleared in time to catch the heat of hungry glances from the four men standing around, tugging on slack rope, probably trying to appear busy.
 

She tried to cross her arms to keep them from ogling her wet bosom, but her right shoulder wouldn't move. How could she cover herself from the numbing cold and these men, their curiosity and lust?

She pushed at her brow. Her aches, her wet clothes, this was all her fault. One moment she was arguing with Lord Welling. The next, she fought evil in the dark. She couldn't see light any more until she fell in the cold water. Why couldn't the awful memories of that dark shed drown without taking her too?

Lord Welling's voice interrupted her building guilt. "Get the girl a blanket. I didn't pluck her out of the ocean for her to die of exposure."

A young lad nodded and started running, but the bumbling man they’d found in the cabin stepped in front of the baron. "Captain, you yelled ‘man overboard’. You could have been killed, over
her
?" A stubby finger pointed her direction. The snarl in his voice repeated his venom. "Over her!"

She swallowed, and waited to hear Lord Welling's reply to confirm the emptiness of her soul. He must hate her so for causing problems. She hadn't listened to him, so didn't she deserve what befell her?

The baron caught the man's hand and lowered it. "Lieutenant Grosling, what I yelled was correct. I was overboard. My men saved me. I saved her. "

The lieutenant guffawed and shook his fists. "You are twisting things up. This is insupportable."

Lord Welling didn't move and, if his stiff stance was any indication, he didn't seem to want to budge. He kept separating Precious from the grousing bird. "You’ve been hand-picked by the War Department to accompany me. You're an observer. Stick to observing. We're still heading to Port Elizabeth without delay. ”

Mr. Grossling rent his robe, even pulled at his hair. “This is reckless. Simply reckless.”

Lord Welling squeezed at his wet sleeve. He was just as water-logged as she, but the chill didn't bother him. His hair hung down, matting to his lean cheeks, as if he’d been caught in a simple storm, not dunked in the ocean. “I lead this ship and this mission. I'll do what I think is best."

Mr. Grosling shook his head, his sharp nose whipping up and down. He was too puffed up to be satisfied with the baron's answer. He whipped his head around Lord Welling and stared at Precious. It wasn't lust in his face; no, it was a look she saw often. He had a bug in his britches over the fact that this man risked all to save a black and a woman.
 

Well, she had a bug, too. Why had Lord Welling done it? Jonas would have no parents left if Lord Welling had drowned trying to save her stupid self. And whatever this Port Elizabeth was, it would've lost a brave leader.
 

For a moment, she closed her eyes and felt anew the sensation of the cold numbing water dragging her down, and the baron's strong arms pulling her to safety, pulling her to the warmth of his embrace.

Short, hard steps tapped closer. "She's not even one of your crew member's wives. She's a black."

There, the grunt had said it. At least he'd named his hate, and not pranced around it.
 

She was black, a mere servant, and Lord Welling valued her. She stared up at the baron. With all her heart, her shivering limbs, and with toes that were so cold they might fall off, she wanted to thank him. When he turned, she mouthed the words through chattering teeth.
 

Lord Welling's lips pursed, but a smirk soon came. "No, Grosling; she's more caramel. There's a difference betwixt caramel and black. My young heir will be able to teach you the colors, too, in a few years."

The gloss of Lieutenant Grosling's boot caught moonlight and some of the shine from the wavering torches of the crew. All heads were nodding, but with whom did the crew agree?
 

A clap and a few harsh chuckles came out of the War Department man, someone who seemed to be shaping up into Lord Welling's enemy. "Baron. You know what I mean. You don't jeopardize our mission for the likes of her."

The awful man stooped near her, his voice rising, like that would help convey his meaning. "Woman! Can you stay out of trouble for the rest our trip? This captain and crew have more important things to do than fish a servant out of the ocean."

Pushing wet hair from his brow, Lord Welling glanced in Precious's direction then back to the lieutenant. For a moment, it looked as if fire claimed the baron's eyes. "I think Miss Jewell is done playing in the water, but her safety is my concern, as is the safety of everyone who is under my command."

The man swiveled, folding his arms. His eyes cut in a sly manner. "Is she your…"

Lord Welling's muscled legs bent. His arms folded. He seemed poised to attack. "What, the nanny to the boy traveling with me? Yes, she is."

The fool backed up. "All for a dark nanny. You're going to a place of thousands of them, more blacks than you can count. Blast, you can get a Spanish or Dutch courtesan if you want. That is, if any are alive after the Xhosa have their way. Remember, Welling, you have a job to do. Peace won't come to Port Elizabeth if you drown yourself before we get there. Don't give in to carnal misalliances."

"I know what I have to do," the baron's tone sounded stiff, steeped in fury, "and I have just decided that it starts by valuing every life, not just the white ones."

The man guffawed as he tugged on his robe. "You're foolish, Welling; nothing has changed from the war."

Slapping water from his sleeve at the boisterous man, the baron leaned back against the mast pole. "And why should it? My record was impeccable, but I never said my manners were; now, Junior, go back to your hammock, before I forget to value your life."

The thin man scrunched up his face and marched along the deck to the opening. "This will be in my report. Maybe it is a bad idea to let you lead Port Elizabeth. You're not as steady as your uncle."

"But I am a lot more alive than he is at the moment. Port Elizabeth is a Welling calling. Good night, little man."
 

If his stomping was any indication, the troll would cause problems.
 

Precious tried to raise her arm to stop the baron from getting in trouble over her, but it radiated with pain. Her formerly-numb arm screamed. Falling into the ocean hurt so bad.

A young lad came running with a blanket and handed it to her. So cold she could barely take it from him, she nodded and mouthed, "Thank you". Using her left hand, she worked the wool about her and her sore shoulder.

The baron looked down at her. His eyes scrunched up with concern. "Miss Jewell, what’s matter with your arm. Is it working?"

Why was he so observant? He had other worries than her foolishness.

Before she could respond, Ralston started laughing. The raucousness was loud and spiteful-sounding. He stroked his ebony mustache that covered most of his fat lips. "A fine fish you caught there, Captain. Before she spun herself in the cloth, quite a curvy little thing, but I suppose she's now your prize, aye, Lord Wellin'?"

The baron straightened, almost blocking the man from viewing her, but nothing could block a lustful eye. Mrs. Narvel's warning came to her. Precious pulled her naked toes under the blanket as best she could.

"Ralston, she's in my employee, just like you. So, unless you are ready to care for my charge's needs, let her be. Come on, Miss…."

The plucky man tugged on the baron's shirttail. "See, fellows? Since Captain Gareth Conroy has become titled the new Lord Welling, he's turned soft."

The baron pried his shirt free. "The liquor is talking, Ralston. Go below and sleep off the rum."

The man stepped so close to Lord Welling that they could've share the same breath. "Admit it; you just don't have it in you to pleasure a woman since your wife died."

The brute pedaled backward and shouted to the growing group of crewmen who'd come up on the deck. The number was up to eight. "Have you seen him wenchin'? I guess he's become too refined for this. Still mooning over a dead woman, or was it the war injuries that took your manhood away?"

The baron's hands had dropped to his sides, almost hiding his fisted palms. "Good joke." Though his words sounded light, the tension in his stance increased. A powder keg would explode soon.
 

Precious had seen the bucks go at it at Charleston picnics when the liquor had been flowing, but the baron was sober. But maybe he should pound Mr. Ralston for taunting him over Eliza. Why couldn't an honorable man be left alone?
 

Huffing, Lord Welling waved his arms at the crew. "The excitement is over, fellows; go back to bed. We've got a busy day tomorrow."

Ralston made a circle, prancing with his finger in the air, inciting each of the crewmen to laughter. He again stopped at the baron's side. "Don't worry, Captain, we'll collect your due from the blackamoore. You just go on to your cabin, stare at the wife's picture, or read your Bible for priestly inspiration. We'll show her a good time."

A belly-rolling laugh belted out of Lord Welling. He ducked down and gripped his sides. "Ralston, you sure have me pegged."
 

More laughs came out of the baron, and even the formerly-silent two or three men gave into chuckles and hooting.
 

Precious's heart sunk. For a couple seconds, she let herself believe that Lord Welling valued her. He was no different; not when it came to pressure from his crew.

Yet, it couldn’t be that simple, for why would he rescue her, keep rescuing her?

Lord Welling's laughter came harder until he had bent and grasped his sides. Then, like the world slowed to a crawl, he rammed head-first into Ralston's stomach.
 

The stout man gasped for air as the baron's fist pummeled his jaw.
 

 
Clutching his face, Mr. Ralston fell back, only to be tossed forward by a few crewmen. "Captain, what the h—"

The baron hit him again, bloodying an eye. "Just showing my jokes. Isn't that funny, taking a beating from a man filled with honor?"

"Captain's title or not, I'll not let you do that to me." Arms waving, Ralston charged at him.

 
Lord Welling ducked low, flipped the man onto his back, and tossed him over the rail. The sound of the splash silenced the remaining chuckles.
 

Getting the rope the men had coiled, he leaned over the side and tossed one end into the ocean. "Ralston, you still alive down there? If so, tie a loop about you."

The baron pulsed his hands, as if to shake off the sting of battle. "You," he pointed to a tall, skinny man. "Let him thrash about for a bit, then pull him back on board. That is, if he learned something. Anyone else need a lesson?"

Silence and head-shaking answered him.

 
Breathing hard, like steam filled his chest, he swiveled toward each of the men standing around with mouths gaping. "Anyone else think I’m too refined because I’m not a whoremonger?"

Again, silence and stunned faces prevailed.

Marching back to Precious, he gave her his arm and helped her to stand. His eyes seemed wild, whirling with thoughts. He put a hand to her cheek. "I do think Ralston was right. I have earned a reward from you, Jewell." He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. "She's the Captain's woman now; off limits to you all. You hear me?"

Almost in unison, every fellow with low or screeching voices responded the same. "Yes, Captain."
 

Blood rushing to her head, those words were the last words she could make out before the noise of his boots pounding along the deck covered everything.

Precious flailed against Lord Welling’s shoulder as he climbed down the ladder to where the cabins sat. The jarring of the motion on her shoulder was enough to make her temples burst, but that was nothing compared to his anger. What was he going to do…to her?
 

His boots planted on the flooring, but he swayed a bit as the boat moved. “You shall be a delight, my dear.” His words were loud, almost as if he intended others to hear.
 

He paused, as if he considered dumping her in the cabin she shared with Jonas and Mrs. Narvel, but that surely was wistful thinking. The taunting and the trouble she’d caused had pushed him too far.
 

Passing by her door, she wished she had just stayed inside and heeded her shipmate’s warning. Then she’d still claim some dignity and maybe a small portion of the baron’s respect.

Slam
! Lord Welling kicked open the door to his cabin.
 

The room bore little light, just the small glow of a hurricane lamp. A bed made for two sat in the center. He strode inside and dumped her onto the firm mattress. Groaning, he marched away and bolted the door.

He laid his head against the paneled and trimmed wood. His fists flattened on the smooth part near the brass plate. With his shoulders sagging, he didn't seem so angry now. No, he looked more defeated. “Couldn't stay below, could you? It's hard enough traveling with women, but a hardheaded one is too much.”