Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (255 page)

An uncomfortable feeling in her bladder reminded her she must use the bucket and was mortified at the thought of being caught in this act by anyone. No, she could not risk it.

Just as she made the decision, a key sounded in the lock and the door was thrown open to reveal a tall, thin stranger. The man leaned in to the doorway, introduced himself as Winston Liddell, and then awkwardly drew the rest of his body into the cell. Confused, she stared vacantly at the man.

He cleared his throat. “May I ascertain if you are indeed Miss Shipley, madam?”

She nodded and gestured for him to take a seat on the rickety chair. Liddell tried to fit his gangly frame onto it, lost his balance and almost toppled to the floor.

A moment later, perched on the edge of the table, he explained the purpose of his visit. “Lord Rann is quite concerned for your welfare, Miss Shipley. He has engaged my legal expertise to present your case in court.” Liddell tilted his head and smiled as if all her problems were now solved.

She did not rise from the cot nor did she take his outstretched hand when offered. Her calm exterior hid a rising anger that Edward had not had the courage to accompany the lawyer. She found it impossible to be gracious to the poor man.

“And why has he not been to see me, Mr. Liddell?”

“Er, terribly busy my dear. Parliament’s been sitting, social engagements. Sends his regards of course.”

“And what of my many other acquaintances? Have none asked to assist me?”

“They realize you wouldn’t want a fuss made and would be much more comfortable with everybody getting on with their business, eh?” He pursed his lips in what passed for a grin.

Her shoulders slumped. So that’s how it was to be. A social leper. Someone to be avoided at all costs in case her misfortune tainted them. She wondered would she have been so callous and superficial herself? It did not seem possible. She wriggled on the cot, painfully aware of her very full bladder and wished the man and his platitudes gone.

He started to discuss her case, but she interrupted him again. “When did you last see Edward?”

He frowned and then remembered, “Ah, yes. I saw him and Miss Hemingway at Lady Trent’s recital and — ”

“Miss Hemingway? What was my fiancé doing with Miss Hemingway?” Priscilla Hemingway had long had an eye on Edward, but now it seemed the attraction may not have been one-sided.

“Oh dear, er — I only have a short time and we must speak about your case,” he mumbled, with a nervous tug at his collar.

She struggled to apprise Liddell of her uncle’s actions but the immovable lump in her throat hampered the words. The shock of Edward’s further betrayal had numbed her mind and she was dimly aware of gaps in her information. When finally he left, she rushed to use the bucket and then let herself cry for Edward and all she knew she had lost.

Later, when the tears were spent, she took a little comfort in the knowledge that it would soon be over. As soon as her case went to trial, she would prove her innocence and her uncle would be exposed as the criminal. The whole ghastly mistake would be remedied. And Miss Conniving Hemingway could have Edward and good riddance to them both. Meanwhile, as ludicrous as it seemed, she must swallow her pride and live by the rules of Newgate.

With the promise of payment, she had a note delivered to Aggie and Bolger. She instructed them to sell a portion of her jewelry and to bring the coins, clean clothing, food, and books to the jail. The money already held by her housekeeper, Mrs. Crouch, was to be used to pay the staff and keep the house running until she was released.

Two days later, a terrified Aggie scuttled into her cell.

“Oh, ma’am it’s jes’ awful. They can’t let you stay. My gawd, the noise and the smell … an’ them rats … ” She burst into loud sobs.

Electra looked at the little maid, unable to find a word of consolation. “Just give me what you’ve brought, Aggie, and take yourself away from this dreadful place.”

Aggie sniffed loudly, handed Electra the bag she held and waited, her eyes consciously averted from the bucket in the corner.

“Aggie?” ventured Electra.

“Ma’am?”

“You spend some time with Lord Rann’s groom do you not?”

Aggie swallowed, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Has he spoken about Lord Rann having taken up with another young lady? A Miss Hemingway?”

Aggie’s face drained of color and she bit her bottom lip. Electra had her answer even before the maid spoke.

“He don’t deserve you ma’am, he never did. That little strumpet threw herself at him, so Danny says and … ”

Electra’s stomach clenched as the punch dealt her by Edward’s actions connected. Catching her breath, she held up her hand, “It’s all right, Aggie, let’s say no more about it. And thank you for your help.”

“I’ll come again if you want, ma’am, I will.” The maid swiped a hand across her eyes and sniffed.

“I know you will Aggie. Just go quickly now.” She fought back her own tears as she watched the only contact with her old life disappear down the passageway.

• • •

The trial of a person of consequence always drew a good crowd. As the last day of May was uncommonly warm, there was an even greater number of people at this court hearing than normal. And the trial of the niece of the new Viscount Gascombe would be well worth the outing — or so the woman with the wheezing lungs, who brought her meals, informed her. Electra had yet to hear a word from Edward and wondered briefly if he would be in attendance.

She shuffled into the courtroom behind the seven other accused felons, her gown loose on her desperately thin frame. Her hair was roughly pinned and covered with a cap. She hung her head in shame that anyone would see her in such disarray.

Beside her a middle-aged woman accused of her husband’s murder hissed violent curses through her toothless gums. Electra ignored her, eyes riveted on the judge as he swept into the room. Her hands were ice cold and when she tried to swallow, her throat refused to cooperate. Every nerve in her body tingled — with hope, but mostly with fear.

When justice had been dispensed to her fellow prisoners, the clerk turned to Electra and after she acknowledged her name he asked, “You are charged with the felony of theft through embezzlement. How do you plead?”

Her lip quivered with the indignity of the question. “Not guilty, Your Honour.”

“How will you be tried?”

She straightened and looked at the judge. “By God and by my country.”

The prosecution presented its case and her uncle stood to give evidence.

“My niece has betrayed the family name and the trust of myself and her dear departed father, my brother.” Electra froze as the words of poison seeped from his lips. “She has embezzled large amounts of money over a long period of time from the family business.” He looked at the jury and shrugged his shoulders. “I can only believe that her father knew of this deceit and protected her.” Electra leapt forward to protest this slur on her father’s name but was pushed back and hushed by Mr. Liddell. She swallowed convulsively to keep the anger and tears at bay.

When her uncle’s paid witnesses added their evidence to his, every juror nodded in sympathy. A chill moved through her body and her eyes darted desperately to her lawyer.

Mr. Liddell stood and, armed only with the scant information she had given him, attempted to make a believable case. Even in her distraught state, Electra did not miss the pursed lips and cynical eyes of the jurors as Liddell spoke. Her body trembled and her lungs refused to draw breath as she finally understood that the truth would not save her. As the foreman stood to present the verdict, a soundless scream of denial echoed through her body.

“Your Honour, we find the prisoner guilty as charged.”

The judge looked up through hooded eyes, banged his gavel and said, “The prisoner is sentenced to seven years transportation to Parts Beyond the Seas. Next.”

The blood rushed to Electra’s head in a deafening roar and her legs collapsed beneath her.

Chapter One

Six months later.

“Orders for one Electra Shipley to see the captain.”

Electra swallowed the relentless nausea and turned her head toward Lieutenant Clarke. No recognition showed in his hard eyes as he scanned the hostile faces of the women gathered in the hold. His nostrils flared and a shiver of revulsion disturbed his stony features.

“What’s wrong darlin’? The smell not to your likin’?” snorted one of the women.

He scowled but did not respond as his head swivelled from side to side.

There was nowhere to hide but still she shrank back into her rank, sweat-soaked bedding. On a prison ship, invisibility was always preferable to the alternative.

“Ouch!” yelped Electra, as a sharp fingernail jabbed into her side.

“Here she is sir, take her with yer an’ give us all a rest from her moanin’.” Another vicious jab shoved her toward him. She slapped listlessly at her assailant and was kicked for her trouble.

With a deep breath to calm both her heaving stomach and her fear, she hauled herself up. She stumbled, clutched the doorframe for support, and stepped out of the women’s hold.

The ship lurched and Electra again gripped the walls to keep her balance as she struggled to follow the lieutenant. Why had she been ordered to the captain? It was no use asking the lieutenant; he would need to consider her a human being to respond and this was clearly not the case. Her usually active mind had been taught not to question or argue over the past months. Electra’s compliant submission was testimony to a lesson well learnt.

Dizzy from seasickness and lack of food, she tried to match the lieutenant’s pace. They navigated the dark warren below decks, climbed the ladder, and stepped out onto the quarterdeck. At the risk of a beating, she stopped, closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath of fresh, salty air. This small act of defiance served to ignite a remnant of her former pride as she was prodded toward a polished oak door. She straightened her shoulders, raked her nails through her mass of greasy, matted curls, and brushed at her grimy skirt. The lieutenant rapped on the door, turned the brass handle, and stepped back to announce her presence to the captain.

Ashamed to have a gentleman see her in such a state, she lowered her head and waited.

Before he acknowledged her, the captain removed a clean handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket and gave his nose a vigorous blow. He bundled it back into his pocket and spoke.

“Miss Shipley, my log states you are able to read and write and have an interest in mathematics. Is this correct?”

As she lifted her head, the captain stepped back in apparent surprise. She was well used to the effects of her unusual eyes and watched dispassionately as the captain attempted to check his reaction.

“Your information is correct, sir.”

The captain shuffled a stack of papers, regained his composure, and turned to the lieutenant.

“Please see Miss Shipley washed and … ,” he gestured to her gown, “er — re-clothed before returning her to my cabin.”

“Clothes from … sir?”

“Use your head, man. From the clothes the women have sewn for the shops,” snapped the captain.

Electra looked down at her filthy, ragged skirt, bemused at the captain’s discomfort. She had forgotten the feel of water on her skin and wore the only clothes that had survived the last six months. Heat stole up her neck at how she must look, and worse, how she must smell.

She had once lost her way when seeking a haberdasher in the London area. Somehow, she had found herself in the maze of St. Giles. With scented handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses wrinkled in distaste, she and her companion had turned away from the smell of the poor and unwashed that inhabited the narrow hovels. A hoarse request for coin to buy food had been dismissed with the flick of a fan. She flinched with shame at how quick she had once been to judge.

The lieutenant turned to leave and she almost tripped in her haste to follow. He sent the cabin boy to fetch the clothes and then led her to the back of the galley. His mouth turned down with displeasure as he held out a bucket of seawater, a rag, and a stained, shaggy scrubbing brush. She snatched the brush from his fingers, desperate to begin.

Electra’s body glowed red from the furious scrubbing. How long had it been since she washed? She stopped to savour the moment; the tingle of clean skin, the fresh smell of water on her body, and the illusion of being alone. A runnel of water trickled from the rag she held to her face and she watched it slide down her body. It undulated over her full breasts and prominent ribs to her flat stomach; picked up speed down her long, slim legs, and swirled through a gap in the floor.

She rung out her wet ringlets and pulled a battered brush through the newly washed curls. Perhaps her luck was changing. After all, here she was with a new role, clean clothes … she blew out her cheeks in a loud sigh. Did she truly believe that by scrubbing the dirt from her body, she might scrub away the filth and despair of the past few months? As she pulled the rough brown smock over her head, reality settled over her with the garment. There was no escaping the facts. She was still a convicted felon. And at the mercy of the captain. Did he think to make her his mistress? Was that why he had summoned her?

A sob threatened to escape from her throat at the memory of a young, innocent girl who had sat and dreamed on wet afternoons: of love with a strong, handsome stranger; of two beautiful children and an opulent mansion where they would be forever happy.

She snorted. A silly, childish dream and one that had no place in the world she now inhabited. She swallowed her bitterness and called the lieutenant to escort her back.

• • •

Captain Hawley regarded Electra’s improved state. He was only a few inches taller than she and seemed conscious of his stature, as he shifted from one foot to the other. There seemed to be something that still bothered him as his eyes flickered down her body. She watched him flip the pages of his well-thumbed ledger, but his attention returned to her face, her hair, and then, predictably, to her breasts.