Pirate's Bride (Liberty's Ladies) (12 page)

Self-preservation propelled her to take refuge behind one of the crates none too soon. The sailor who usually guarded her cabin appeared, and a woman clasped her arms around his neck.

“You were real good tonight, pet,” the woman crooned to the burly seaman.

“Aye, me girl, I was. What did you say your name was again?”

“Pearl, I told you,” the woman ground out.

“Aye, I had forgotten.” He chucked her chin. “Now don’t pout because I ain’t one with names. Here’s a few shillings for you.” He reached into his pocket and handed her the money which she took and dropped into the front of her blouse. Bethlyn waited to hear the clink of the money on the floor, but another look at Pearl proved to Bethlyn that the money was quite safe and not about to fall as the woman’s bosom was extremely large. “Now how about a farewell kiss?”

Pearl accommodated him, and after he’d playfully smacked her backside and left, another woman, quite young with long dark hair, appeared with a tall sailor. After a few moments of wet kisses, he then paid her and left her standing by the auburn-haired Pearl. The woman looked down at the few coins in her hand. “How much did yours give you, Pearl?”

“Cheap bastard!” Pearl cried. “I’ve had more sportin’ fun with fifteen-year-old lads who paid me better. That’s the last time I let that silly fool get a piece of me, Della, I tell you that.” The two women disappeared into the room’s confines, Pearl slamming the door behind her.

Bethlyn rose from her haunched position, legs straining with the effort. A sickish feeling crept into her stomach at what she’d just witnessed. She’d heard about women like these, but to actually see them accept money, to be willingly pawed by men who didn’t remember or wish to know their names, was so debasing. She felt humiliated for them.

Surely these women must want a better and more decent life. She couldn’t envision anyone remaining in such an existence if another road opened for them. Perhaps she might be able to help them. Jeremy had told her to stay away from the doxies, but Bethlyn, in all good conscience, felt it was her duty to offer aid. A half-wicked smile curved up the edges of her mouth. By helping them, she would also become a thorn in Ian Briston’s side.

Squaring her shoulders, she decided that now was as good a time as any. Not certain at what she would find on the other side of the door, she took deep breaths to calm herself. Finally she opened the door and peered into the storeroom.

Two lanterns gently swayed from the ceiling beams and outlined the sleeping figures of the women as they slept on pallets, covered by coarse woolen blankets. A shudder of distaste ran through Bethlyn to see what little privacy was afforded them for the personal acts they performed. Evidently none of them cared if the others saw them servicing the crew, and apparently the crew members of
Nightingale
didn’t mind, either. Outrage washed over Bethlyn to realize once again what one of her father’s ships had become.

The creak of the door alerted the woman called Pearl. Before she saw the woman rise from her pallet, Bethlyn heard her voice. “Bloody hell! Can’t a body get some rest without you horny bastards bothering us?”

Pearl moved from the shadows and stopped at the sight of Bethlyn standing demurely in the doorway. Her mouth dropped open, showing two rotten back teeth. “Well, who are you?” Pearl asked, quickly recovering herself. “Ain’t never seen you before.”

Pearl’s statement caused the other women to stir and sit up, then to stand and huddle in a group together.

“My, my, ain’t she a fancy-looking trollop,” the woman Bethlyn recognized as Della said, an immediate and intense dislike shining in her eyes. “That’s the hoity-toity bitch who’s been sleeping with the captain. I heard tell of her from one of the sailors.”

Bethlyn found her tongue, but stammered at this disgusting assumption. I … I have not … done any such thing. Captain Montgomery has allowed me to use his cabin for this trip.”

“Sure, sure,” one of the other women interrupted and snickered. “You may have on a nicer dress than us and may be a bit more expensive, but you’re one of us just the same.”

“I am not!”

Pearl moved forward, her hands on her hips. “What is it you want?”

Bethlyn licked her lips, not certain that she should even be here. She felt quite foolish standing before these women in her prim gray gown, but would appear even more so if she didn’t state her business. “I’d like to help all of you,” she spoke in a rush.

Pearl laughed. “Now how could the likes of you help us, honey? You ain’t no better than we are.”

“I won’t debate that with you,” Bethlyn said, not caring for the malevolent way Della eyed her. “I do have a great many connections. Once you’re in Philadelphia, I can arrange for you to be decently employed. Many of you can find work as servants, housekeepers, shopgirls. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

“The woman’s daft,” one of the women exclaimed, and her comment was followed by a number of high-pitched giggles.

“Aye, that she is,” Della readily agreed, shaking her long dark hair. “Who do you think you are to be pretendin’ to help us? Why, I bet we’ve made more money in our time than you’ll ever make, even with that stingy Captain Montgomery. You just take your uppity ways back to his cabin. Tell your pretty lies to him.”

A murmur of agreement ran through the room. Most of the women laughed openly, but some of them eyed her in speculation. Finally Pearl held up her hand, and instantly everyone grew silent.

“How would you help us?”

Pearl’s question was asked out of a sense of curiosity, but Bethlyn sensed that she and the others who didn’t laugh were probably the women most anxious to start life anew.

“As I told you, I will make certain that each of you is placed in a well-paying, decent position. I’ve heard that Philadelphia is a city bursting at the seams with new opportunities. Many families and shopkeepers are looking for hard-working employees. I’ll personally see that each of you finds a position best suited to your talents.”

“Hmph!” Pearl snorted. “I’ve been told my only talent is in a reclinin’ position.”

“That’s a good one!” Della shot back. “Tell the fancy trollop to take her tall tales to the captain.”

“If you’ll listen to me, please,” Bethlyn cried above the feminine laughter. “If you’re ever in need of help you may ask for Mrs. Briston…”

She was cut off by the sudden boom of a cannon slicing through the nighttime stillness and hitting a deck above them. The ship swayed and the women fell to the floor. Their voices and screams, filled with panic, washed over Bethlyn. “We’re being attacked!” one of the sprawling women cried when an answering boom sounded from
Nightingale
.

Attacked!
Nightingale
, one of her father’s ships, was being attacked and here she was in a den of doxies. There must be something she could do to help. She thought of Jeremy and Mavis and knew they must wonder what had happened to her.

Pearl was beside her, and under her breath she heard the woman whisper, “Blasted privateers! They’ll steal all we’ve got and leave us to starve, if they don’t blow us away first. “

Making a move to get to her feet and the door, Bethlyn fell again when another resounding boom hit the ship. She had to get to her cabin and assure Mavis she was all right. Perhaps she could do something, anything, to save the ship, but what that might be, she had no idea. From the sounds of running feet on the decks above her, and the outraged voices of
Nightingale
’s crew, she’d be in the way. Still, she found herself clinging to a wooden post and pulling herself up. Finally she moved and grabbed the door handle and pulled with all of her might. She must get to Jeremy and Mavis, must make certain they were all together if anything terrible should happen.

Locked! One of the sailors must have locked the door at the first sign of trouble to keep the women down here and out of danger. But Bethlyn wouldn’t believe she couldn’t get out. With a sense of desperation, she yanked until the door handle was embedded on her palm with its imprint. Then she banged on the wooden door, yelling to be released, but no one heard her above the din of battle.

“Ain’t no use,” Pearl muttered and sat up. “We’re in here for the duration, whatever that might be.”

Pearl was right and Bethlyn knew it. An urge to cry gripped her, but she quelled it. Crying never accomplished a thing. she told herself, not wanting to admit she was as frightened as the other women who clustered together, holding on to one another. But she was more afraid than she’d ever been in her life. She could barely swallow from fear; a cold numbness stole across her. Her mind reeled from the implications of this attack.

If the enemy was a pirate ship, she might make the culprits see reason and release her and everyone unharmed. She’d promise them a large sum of money. From what she’d read on the subject, pirates could be easily bought. But if, as Pearl thought, the attacking ship was an American privateer, she might not be able to bargain. It was a well-known fact that colonials were barbarians and hated the Crown. Her father was an earl, a very wealthy man. She couldn’t confess that to a privateer. Perhaps she could tell the wretched colonial captain that she was the wife of a colonial. That might work to her advantage. A colonial privateer would look kindly upon her and somehow she’d gain her release and get to Philadelphia and tell her husband what had happened. Ian Briston might be a recalcitrant husband, but he’d make certain the enemy was apprehended. Yes, she decided, that’s what she’d do.

That was what she’d do if she lived through this nightmare.

6

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, of listening to the frightened mutterings and screams of the women, of having her body battered and tossed with each hit from the other ship, silence erupted like a death knell in Bethlyn’s ears.

“Is it over?” she wondered aloud when minutes passed and nothing more was heard from above deck.

She lay on the floor, where she had been since the start, fearing to move. Finally, when Pearl and some of the other women rose to their feet, Bethlyn did also.

“Maybe we’re goin’ to die down here,” a small blond-haired girl, who appeared no older than fourteen, worried. “Suppose they forgot about us.”

“Tsk, tsk, Annie. You know better than that.” Pearl smiled at her and patted the young girl’s arm. “How could any man forget about us?”

Despite this confident statement, that seemed to be the situation when the minutes dragged into an hour. Bethlyn had lost track of time, but she guessed it was very late, probably sometime past three in the morning. She bit at her lower lip and prayed that Mavis and Jeremy were safe. She hated herself for having left the cabin, to come down here amid these women and attempt to persuade them that a better life might await them in Philadelphia. Her idea of aggravating her husband with just such a plan didn’t offer her comfort any longer. Now she decided that it was an ill conceived and stupid idea from the beginning. This thought was driven home with a vengeance as Della and some of the other women began straightening their skirts and patting their hair into place when the sound of a key grated in the lock.

“Let’s look our best, girls,” Della intoned and grinned knowingly. “No matter who might be on the other side of that door, you can bet your blasted bottom that it’s a man.”

Nervous laughter drifted through the storeroom as each woman trained her eyes on the doorway.

A large lump formed in Bethlyn’s throat when the door creaked open. Four men entered the room, and Bethlyn instantly recognized that these men didn’t belong on
Nightingale
. None of them wore the dark blue shirts and pants of her father’s crewmen. Instead they were dressed in a haphazard fashion of loose-fitting shirts, open to the waist, and tight breeches. Their hair was pulled back in a queue, but each woman in the room stood, partially paralyzed, as all eyes were drawn to masculine faces, hidden behind black masks.

“Lordy!” young Annie breathed and choked back a frightened sob.

Bethlyn placed a comforting arm around her, realizing for the first time that
Nightingale
was truly in enemy hands. No one had to tell her that the masks were a way to conceal identities. Clearly the men didn’t want anyone to know who they were, and Bethlyn surmised this meant only one thing: American privateers were now in control. She briefly wondered what had happened to Captain Montgomery and his crew, but she knew she must come forward and speak to these men if she wanted to gain her freedom.