Page 127 of The Pirate and the Pagan
Earlier in the day he had ordered the Neptune readied for its voyage to America and had curtly dismissed William Penn’s objections to transporting prisoners. He took over Bludwart’s office, throwing the man and his furnishings out until the room stood bare. He ordered his militiamen to scrub it down as if it had been the deck of his ship and bade them burn brimstone and saltpeter to disinfect the air.
One table was placed in the room to hold the great ledger of records. One immaculately uniformed militiaman presided over those records. When all was ready, he had all the women who were incarcerated brought before him. They numbered between fifty and sixty. As they filed in they were told to stand against the wall.
Lord Helford’s keen eyes searched each and every face as it entered the room. He had hardened himself to the fact that she would be changed. Try as he might, however, he could not accept that any one of these poor wretches was his wife. His man read out each name, and as the woman stepped forward the catalog of her crimes was read aloud.
Ruark Helford was well known for his hardness, his discipline, his strong belief in right and wrong, crime and punishment, but this day he felt nothing so much as pity for these women who had spent months in shame and degradation, suffering slow starvation in filth because of their sinful misbehavior. He felt shame, too, that the reason he experienced compassion now was because his beloved was one of them.
He felt panic rise within him. She was not here. Please God she had not died before he could save her. His distraught fingers went through his hair over and over in frustrated alarm. He took the ledger and scanned it distractedly. “Are there any names unaccounted for?” he demanded grimly.
The efficient militiaman had put a neat tick beside each woman’s name who had come forward. He had also ticked off the names of the deceased, who had a black line through their names. His finger went down the columns rapidly and he pointed out four names which were unaccounted for. The name St. Catherine jumped off the page. “Bludwart!” Ruark thundered, striding from the room. “There are four women I have not yet seen.”
The warden wrung his hands, opened his mouth, and closed it again.
“Well? Is this a dumbshow?” he demanded.
“Your lordship, they are vicious killers,” he babbled. “I’ve kept them confined, but they have even murdered one another. Originally there were six and a child, now there are but four.”
Ruark closed his eyes and prayed. “Please God, not this close only to find you have taken her.” When he opened his eyes, they bored into Bludwart’s. “Fetch them,” he croaked hoarsely.
He was again standing in the roomful of women when the four wraiths slipped through the door. His heart stopped beating and he momentarily died when he saw that Summer was not one of the women. Then suddenly his hard mask almost crumbled with the force of his rage as he recognized the exquisitely delicate cheekbones. Then the knife twisted in his heart as he saw that she would rather die than have him recognize her.
He cleared his throat to gain some measure of control over his voice and his emotions, then in a matter-of-face tone explained to the women the reason for his being there. When he mentioned America, when he spoke of freedom, he saw hope rekindle in their eyes where there had been no hope. His eyes slid over Summer and on to the next face with no slightest hint of recognition. “I hereby reduce every sentence in this room to transportation to America. The phantom of death has stalked you long enough. I charge all of you to henceforth abide strictly by the letter of the law. I charge you to become useful members of society. I charge you to watch out for the Phantom.” He turned his back upon the women, no longer able to look at her without breaking. He instructed his men to see that the women were fed a decent meal and bedded down with sufficient blankets. With his back still turned, he raised his voice over the whispered murmurs of the women. “Tomorrow you will all be bathed and disinfected and issued clean clothing before you board the Neptune.”
When she saw his ramrod back quit the room, Summer felt only relief. Thank God his eyes had not even flickered as they passed over her. She would never have been able to bear being humbled and humiliated by his revulsion. It was then that she realized her damnable pride was still intact. Prison hadn’t been able to destroy it, even though she had felt numb for the last months, thinking her pride had been destroyed forever. In her great relief at the prospect of escaping this horrific prison, her spirit and pride were restored.
The thought of going to America, however, filled her with such anguish, she didn’t know how she would bear it. It would prevent her from seeing Ryan again, but she must endure it because he was probably better off without her.
Something drove Ruark to see for himself the dungeon where she had endured half a year. He took a lantern and went below to the cellars. The stench down here was worse by a thousandfold. In one corner was a heap of something unspeakable which at one time must have been straw before it became fouled with blood and excrement. He recoiled instinctively from the open drain and the slop bucket, but more horrific to him than the putrescence was the mean size of the room in which she’d been caged. Lord Ruark Helford slid down in a corner against the slimed stones, and the rats gathered curiously at the sound of his sobbing.
Captain William Penn had almost a hundred women aboard the Neptune. They took up over half of the hold space, which had been fitted with narrow, tiered bunks. Food and water supplies for the monthlong voyage took up the rest of the space. The women were not shackled, but they were only allowed up on deck during daylight hours, then locked below-decks at dusk.
Most of them had never been to sea and it frightened them enough to keep them huddled below, fighting off the misery of mal de mer. But if they had been given a choice between staying in England and sailing to America, there wasn’t one who would have chosen to remain behind.
Summer spent every moment that she could up on deck. She sat quietly in a corner, speaking to no one. It was like paradise simply to breathe in the clean fresh air of the wind and the sea. The iodine smell of tidewrack, the taste of salt on her lips, the sound of creaking timbers and the chain rattling through the hawse hole were music to her ears. She had not yet begun to speak or even think, but she had begun to feel.
When the Neptune sailed past the Isles of Scilly, she caught the fragrance of its flowers upon the sea breeze and realized with amazement that it was spring. Two days past the Scillies a murmur rippled through the ship that another vessel had been sighted. It flew a Union Jack, so Sir William Penn was not disturbed when it veered toward the Neptune, drawing close enough to exchange greetings. He was more than disturbed, however, when the sleek, well-armed vessel put a ball across his bow and ordered him to heave to.
“Clear the decks for action! Gun crew to stations!” bellowed Penn, but he knew it was too late. The colors she’d been flying had completely lured him into complacency, and as the Phantom came alongside and he saw the swarthy, grinning faces and noted with alarm the carronade guns capable of smashing through a three-foot-thick hull, he realized they were pirates.
“Prepare to repel boarders!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, then he was stunned to hear himself hailed from the deck of the Phantom.
“Captain Penn,” came the booming voice of the pirate, “I wish the Neptune no harm and will allow you to sail on in peace.”
“What do you want?” demanded Penn in a skeptical voice.
“I want a woman,” called the pirate.
“These women are being transported to America. They are under my protection.”
“One woman only, Captain Penn. I’ll even buy her from you … name your price.”
Penn eyed the guns trained on his decks and was almost tempted. “You godless swine, women cannot be sold!”
Black Jack Flash swung across the ship’s rail and landed, sword in hand, lithe as a panther on the deck of the Neptune. Black, calfskin boots reached to his thighs. A ruffled shirt opened to the navel was tucked into black, skintight breeches. His unshaven face contrasted sharply with the silver streak of hair which zigzagged above his temple. He bowed low to William Penn. “Never trust a religious man, he hides behind his God; an atheist, however, stands before you naked.” When he received no rejoinder to his sally, he explained himself further. “My woman is aboard your ship. I am here to collect her.”
“What is this woman’s name?” asked Penn.
Rory glanced about the decks for Cat. “She knows who she is, Captain.”
