The Bastard (17 page)

Bread of sorts. Probably old bread but old bread was better than nothing.

Blessing the hand of providence and being careful to avoid the carcass of the fish, she stuffed her pockets with the hard, round disks and hurried off to find a place where she could enjoy them.

After descending another deck, she found herself in an arsenal, among containers of priming-irons, wads, shot, and various pieces of hardware used in the rigging and sails. Too bad she hadn’t found the reserves of beef, pork, and other food—although how she’d get into such barrels she didn’t know.

A couple of sailors worked in the dark, cavernous hold, hammering wedges between barrels to keep them from rolling.

Jeannette hovered just outside the light shed by their lantern. Their presence gave her a modicum of peace. This would have been a frightening place to be alone.

Several crates were stacked nearby. She climbed up and set about eating.

Her stomach rebelled at the taste; she’d never tried the likes of the hard old biscuits before. But they were food. Determined not to starve, she chewed and swallowed—and nearly screamed when someone at her elbow murmured, “Do ye ’ave any more?”

“What?” Jeannette whispered, turning toward the voice that had come out of the darkness. “Who are you?”

“Don’t matter, does it? I’m ’idin’ down 'ere, same as ye. Only I’m ’ungry. I could ’ave sworn ye were eatin’ somethin’ a minute ago.”

Judging from the voice, it was a woman. “I have got a little bread.”

Whoever it was moved beside her. Then a distinctive odor filled Jeannette’s nostrils—a combination of sweat, dirt, and cheap perfume. She recognized the stench as one she had smelled on the docks at Plymouth. Was this woman a prostitute?

A hand reached out and touched her, and Jeannette steeled herself against pulling away from the faceless stranger. Whoever it was was
hungry. She handed over what remained of her supper as the sailors finished their work and moved away.

When their light was gone, the blackness became complete. Jeannette imagined herself as Jonah, lost inside the whale. She hugged her knees to her chest, wondering if she could tolerate the cold, damp darkness.

“Where’d ye find these?” her new friend asked. “I wish I ’ad a dozen, at least.”

Jeannette grimaced, thinking she’d rather go hungry than eat another. “They were in a sack next to the steward’s room, with a dead fish on top. I am sure there are more, if you want them.”

A low chuckle sounded. “I thought I tasted bargemen.”

“Bargemen?” Jeannette echoed.

“Aye. Ye know, little white worms. Surely ye’ve seen ’em.”

Jeannette’s stomach lurched. She fought to keep her supper down, but the thought of “bargemen” was too much for her.

The person at her elbow pulled her away from the mess and led her to some barrels farther back. “That smells worse than the damn bilge,” she complained.

Jeannette said nothing. She sat beside her new companion, utterly miserable.

The thought of Henri and her parents caused a sharp pang of loneliness. Two days, she reminded herself. She only had to survive on the frigate for two more days. “How did you know?” she asked. “About the...maggots, I mean. Can you really taste them?”

“When I concentrate I can. But it’s the fish what was the clue. Ye said yerself ye found a fish on top of the sack. It’s supposed to draw ’em out, though if the steward’s left the whole lot for anyone to take, ’e’s not much concerned with savin’ ’em, eh?”

“I don’t suppose so.” Jeannette shivered. In an effort to block the maggots from her mind, she said, “It’s so cold down here.”

“Aye. And dreadful damp. But ye get used to it.”

Jeannette felt an arm go around her as the stranger briskly rubbed her limbs. She didn’t know who this woman was, or what she looked like, but she didn’t move away. She was far too desperate for any crumb of human kindness.

“That oughter ’elp, oi? Now...what’s this? Yer soft as a—” The woman’s hand encountered the swell of one breast, then dropped away before Jeannette could react. “I thought ye were a lad. Ye’re a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are ye wearin’ trousers?”

“For the same reason you are hiding in this hellhole.”

“Ye got a lover on board?”

Jeannette thought fleetingly of Treynor. Why, she couldn’t say, didn’t want to contemplate. “No. You?”

“Yeah. ’E’s gonna marry me when the war’s over.”

“Doesn’t he bring you any food?”

“When ’e can. We’re just out of port, so for now, I’ve got to lay low.”

“I see.”

Silence fell between them. They were two of a kind, in some ways. “Do you stay down here all the time?”

“For the most part. This is as good a place as any. The men work ’ere once in a while. They ’ave to make the stores secure in case of bad weather or battle. But the smell from below keeps everyone away, if they ’ave a choice.”

“What’s your name?”

“Amelia.”

Jeannette gave her name in turn and listened as Amelia boasted about the many virtues of her beau. He was a regular seaman, she said, but she was as proud of him as most women would be to catch an officer.

“What’s his name?” Jeannette asked.

Amelia paused. “That I’ll not say. I don’t know ye, after all. An’ I’ll not do anythin’ what could bring ’im a floggin’.”

Jeannette didn’t press her. Considering the circumstances, she had no desire to become embroiled in someone else’s intimate affairs.

Still, they sat huddled together as if they’d known each other for years.

“Do you like life at sea?” Jeannette asked.

“Aye. It keeps food in me belly, for the most part.”

Jeannette pictured a gap-toothed smile. None of the prostitutes she’d seen on the pier had possessed all of their teeth. “Not today, evidently.”

“I’ll live till tomorrow. My man will bring me a bite or two. He’ll be wantin’ somethin’ ’imself by then.”

Jeannette thought of Treynor—the memory of his smooth skin, the latent strength of his well-muscled body, the tingle of his lips moving against hers. They were all sensations connected with desire, a desire she would never feel again if she couldn’t free herself from her hateful marriage.

The ship rocked to the side, knocking Jeannette against her new companion. When she encountered a hard, well-rounded belly, she pulled away as quickly as she could gain her balance.

“Don’t worry, ye didn’t ’urt me,” Amelia said.

Jeannette didn’t know how to respond. That Amelia was pregnant was obvious. That she would stow away on a frigate while in such a condition was alarming. “When do you expect your baby?” she asked, hoping that what felt like a melon-sized middle wasn’t quite melon-sized at all.

“In another month. P’raps two.”

Jeannette’s nails curled into her palm. Two of her mother’s four babies had not survived their first year, and Maman had hinted about the pains of childbirth when she deemed her daughter old enough to know such things. Jeannette could not imagine braving such an ordeal at sea.

What if the baby came early? And why didn’t Amelia know with more certainty when the baby was due to arrive? A month was a long time. It could mean the difference of being in port.

Of course, considering the woman’s probable profession...

“Does your, um, man know?”

“’Ow could ’e miss it?” She laughed. “’E wants a brat of ’is own. ’E’s goin’ ter marry me after the war.”

She’d said that already. Doubt nipped at Jeannette, but she hoped, for Amelia’s sake, that her beau was truly as devoted as she said. That he’d not brought her anything to eat while she was in such a delicate condition certainly gave Jeannette reason to wonder.

“I am sure he will.” She hoped she sounded more convinced than she felt.

“Shhhh!” Amelia stiffened next to her. “We must ’ide,” she whispered and scrambled away.

Dumbfounded, Jeannette blinked after her until she heard what Amelia had already detected. Someone was coming. Boots ground on the wood floor, then a light appeared.

Ducking behind the barrel on which she’d sat, Jeannette crouched in the darkness. Whoever it was was alone, but it took only one man to drag her back to the main deck.

“Jean, are you down here?”

The rich timbre of Lieutenant Treynor’s voice echoed against the walls, causing Jeannette’s heart to pound.

“Jean?”

Hunching lower, Jeannette held perfectly still. It would be next to impossible to find her amid the barrels. The halo of Treynor’s light extended only so far; she could circle around him indefinitely. Unless he went back up and brought others to canvass the hold with him, she was safe if she could only move quietly enough. The steady creaking of the ship would help.

“Jean, if you’re down here, you must come to me immediately. We have left port. We are not going back.”

Was he lying? He called her by her boy name, but she would be a fool to let him trick her so easily.

“There are others who are looking for you. It would be wise to let me help you.” Treynor walked to the other side of the room, flushing Amelia out of whatever hiding place she’d chosen. She voiced a short cry of pain as she stumbled over something in her rush to avoid him.

The light bobbed as Treynor weaved between the barrels, homing in on the sound. With Amelia so far along in pregnancy, Jeannette knew her movements would be slow and awkward. Chances were good that Treynor would catch her. Jeannette didn’t know exactly what that would mean, but she knew by Amelia’s reaction that she was afraid.

Jeannette didn’t want to get her in any trouble. She thumped the barrel next to her, hoping to draw the lieutenant away, and he stopped and cocked his head.

“So you want a game of chase, do you?” he said.

The subtle threat in his voice made Jeannette swallow hard as she ducked behind a hogshead and waited. Only this time, the light didn’t move. When she braved a peek over the rounded slats of her hiding place, she spied Treynor’s lantern sitting alone on the floor. The lieutenant was nowhere to be seen. He’d relinquished the one thing that gave him away and was pursuing her stealthily.

She held her breath again, straining to hear his movements. Was the rustling she detected the lieutenant or Amelia?

Afraid to move for fear she’d run straight into him, she crouched down and kept still. She hoped Amelia would do the same. But when a rat scampered over her hand, Jeannette squealed and fell back.

Footsteps pounded in her direction. She scrambled away, scaled a stack of crates, and tried to see Treynor come at her through the dark. But outside the edge of the light, shadows and darker shadows created the illusion of the lieutenant to her right, then to her left. The noise of his movement was gone; she could hear nothing until he laughed behind her.

“Are you afraid, my sweet?”

He sounded close enough to grab her by the shirt. Jeannette jumped to the floor and tried to run, but she careened into something angled that nearly sent her sprawling. Crying out before she could stifle the sound, she teetered on her feet as a moment of dizziness combined with the darkness to disorient her. Terrified to move, yet unable to stay where she was because of Treynor’s predatory closeness, she began to turn in circles.

Then he was there, directly behind her. His hand snaked around her, inadvertently catching her breast as he slammed her back against his chest.