The cobbler’s workshop was nigh the heart of Newportes Newes, and though the afternoon was swiftly aging, Gage refused to leave the hamlet without completing all the errands he had set out to do, the last being to order shoes for his bondswoman. He pulled the wagon to a halt in front of the cobbler’s shop and lifted his son and then Shemaine down to the boardwalk. As he did so, he noticed that a number of people had stopped along the thoroughfare and were watching them in unabashed curiosity. Their interest seemed mainly centered on the girl, and after his recent chat with Mrs. McGee, it wasn’t hard to surmise what most of them were thinking. Then, too, accounts of Shemaine’s recent set-to with Potts might have been spreading through the village, and some people were no doubt interested in seeing how the girl had fared.
Several bachelors were edging closer for a better look as well. Though Gage couldn’t imagine the pinch-faced Mrs. Pettycomb lauding the beauty of a convict, other residents of the community had witnessed his purchase of Shemaine and were far more apt to describe her in greater detail. It was conceivable that such talk had given rise to the curiosity of the young gallants. But then, considering the scarcity of available women, they would have looked with yearning at any fetching maid who might have ventured into the area.
Gage knew most of the men well enough, some certainly better than others. Two of the younger ones had even worked for him as apprentices for a time, but they had failed to come up to his expectations, and he had let them go. He was cognizant of the bachelors’ lengthy struggles to find themselves wives. He had experienced many of the same frustrations himself ere he had married Victoria and again in more recent months, but their plight was of little consequence to him. Had any of them been of such a mind, they could have braved the bigoted opinions of the town biddies and gone to the London Pride, just as he had done. But they hadn’t, and he’d be hanged before letting them skim off the best of the cream now. Shemaine was his possession, and short of her parents arriving to buy back her freedom, he had no intention of selling her, even at a huge profit. She was precisely the kind of bondswoman he had been hoping to find, perhaps even better and more beautiful than he had dared to envision, and that was enough reason to refuse any and all overtures.
“Why, if it isn’t Mr. Thornton and Shemaine O’Hearn!” a woman jeered behind them.
The harsh feminine voice was only vaguely familiar to Gage, but Shemaine knew it too well. Its caustic tone evoked dark memories of long hours locked away in a cable tier and morbid scenes of lifeless bodies being dumped into the sea. Drawing in a deep breath to steady herself, Shemaine reluctantly responded in like manner as Gage faced the woman whom she and the other convicts had derisively dubbed “Mrs. Captain Fitch.”
“Madam.” Gage briefly tipped his hat as he recognized Gertrude Fitch. Then, with an equally concise greeting, he acknowledged her glowering husband. “Captain Fitch.”
Gertrude raked her gaze scathingly over the object of her hatred and felt a bitter disappointment as she took note of the much-improved appearance of the girl. Her lips twisted downward snidely as she made comment. “Life as a servant certainly seems to agree with you, Shemaine.”
Gertrude Fitch had been motivated by spite to find out how the bogtrotter was faring as a bondslave. In fact, she had all but demanded that her husband escort her about the hamlet, on the chance that she would glean dreadful news of Shemaine’s circumstances from various remarks townspeople were wont to make. But when she saw the colonial reach out and gently gather the girl’s slender fingers in his own, Gertrude nearly choked on the bitter bile of animosity. Whether a gesture of reassurance, compassion, or (worse yet) tender affection, it conveyed sentiments that pierced her heart anew with hostility. When the man made it evident that Shemaine was under his protection, Gertrude could foresee nothing radically unfavorable happening to the girl.
A brief silence ensued as Gertrude glared at Shemaine, but Captain Fitch was totally unsympathetic with his wife’s enmity toward the girl and tromped on her onerous taciturnity with a faint trace of scorn in his smirk. “This is the first time my wife has ever ventured beyond the shores of England. She was so curious about this blasted colony, she nigh threatened me with mayhem if I didn’t show her about.” Disguising his resentment with a humorless chuckle, he rocked back upon his heels as he cast an irksome glance down the thoroughfare. Knowing full well that Gertrude had been hoping to hear tales of Shemaine’s adversity, he continued with his subtle innuendos. “I assured her there would probably be nothing worthwhile to see, but I suppose she was longing to find a wee bauble or even a bit of news to content her.”
Everette Fitch settled his gaze fleetingly on Shemaine. With her hair combed and subdued in a braided knot behind her nape, the girl looked as prim and comely as he had once imagined she would under better circumstances. Considering the depth of Gertrude’s hateful expectations, he could only surmise that by now his wife was seething with disappointment.
Gage was keenly perceptive of the glance Captain Fitch flicked over Shemaine and the torturous yearning burning within the gray eyes. He had also caught the significance of the man’s words and answered him adroitly. “Aye, there are treasures to be found . . . but in their true form, they might not always appeal to the one who searches for them so diligently. But to others, they are highly prized. In fact, some men would chance everything to have them safely within their grasp.”
The guileful insinuations riled Everette so thoroughly that he could hardly trust himself to meet the amber-flecked gaze, much less to speak. He was still incensed over losing Shemaine, but he was even more resentful of the fact that this impudent interloper had challenged his authority as ship’s captain by cunningly petitioning Gertrude to consider his offer to buy Shemaine, as if the man had actually perceived that it was his wife who held the ultimate power. The fellow’s success in plucking the girl from his grasp would have been a despicable blow to any man’s pride, but for Everette Fitch, it was compounded by the suspicion that J. Horace Turnbull had deliberately arranged matters so that Gertrude would be the controlling entity in any situation, perhaps for no other purpose than to see his son-in-law thoroughly humiliated.
Gertrude was oblivious to what had really been bandied back and forth between the two men. During their exchange, she had swept her eyes over the mud-pocked thoroughfare and wooden buildings that lined the boardwalk and drawn her own conclusions. With a sneer she conveyed her distaste. “I’ve seen nothing in this settlement that would make me want to ever come back.”
Gage managed a tolerant smile. “Newportes Newes is but a babe compared to London, madam. Still, there are other cities in this land that are becoming quite impressive even in their youth. Williamsburg, for instance. The governor’s palace is representative of a more gracious way of life than you will see here in this port. As for myself, I enjoy living on the river, and I treasure the space and freedom of this area. The spirit of adventure thrives in this land and appeals to my heart.”
Gertrude wasn’t very appreciative of the tenets of a backwoods colonial, especially one whom she could only presume was low-born. “I’m sure you must be overwhelmed with excitement in this savage wilderness, sir, but I much prefer the civilized refinement of England to this small, filthy hamlet. Of course, only an enlightened Englishman would esteem his cultural heritage.”
Her sneering tones worried Andrew. The child had heard about witches from his playmate, Malcolm Fields, and was afraid he was seeing one right now. Stumbling around, he hid his face against his father’s buckskin-clad thighs, desperately wishing the ugly, gruff-voiced woman would go away.
Gage combed his fingers idly through his son’s hair as he offered a reply. “I know London very well, madam. I grew up there and worked nearby building ships for my father. I’ve met aristocrats who thought themselves knowledgeable beyond the common man. Granted, some were, but more than not, I sensed the views they expressed originated from a narrow-minded prejudice.”
Gertrude sniffed arrogantly. Such a clod needed to be set in his proper place, and what better way to accomplish that feat than to demean his ancestry. “You say your father is a shipbuilder, sir, but I wonder if anyone in England has ever heard of him. You’d not be living here in this backwoods settlement if he were all that successful. What may his name be?”
“William Medford Thornton,” Gage answered, preferring to leave off the title of lord.
Gertrude shook her head, unable to recall anyone by that name, but she failed to consider that her own world was painfully narrow, her circle of friends even more so. In supercilious pride she posed another supposition. “I’m sure you’ve heard of my father. He’s quite well-known among the best of circles. Almost everyone in the shipping trade knows J. Horace Turnbull.”
Gage lifted a brow in amused wonder. “J. Horace Turnbull, did you say?”
“Then you have heard of him.”
“Oh, indeed!” His reply was emphatic though somewhat cryptic.
Gertrude smiled smugly, pleased that she had proven her point. “ ‘Twould seem his fame has spread even here. But tell me, Mr. Thornton, how is that you know of my father?”
A dark brow twisted dubiously upward as Gage met her gaze. “I’m not sure that I should tell you, madam.”
“Oh, you must!” she insisted. “I’ll not have it any other way.”
Gage glanced down at Shemaine, who had sidled close to him, as if unconsciously seeking safe refuge, like Andrew. His answer would probably be the only revenge the girl could ever savor. He squeezed the thin fingers reassuringly.
“Ten years ago or so my father sent me on a mission to find your father, madam,” he said, once more bestowing his attention upon the matron. “Before the occurrence of that event, J. Horace Turnbull had taken possession of a ship he had ordered from my father and had left a chest of coins as payment in full. The contents were carefully counted before the agreement was sealed, but after your father sailed away on the ship, the chest was taken to a London bank. When it was opened, musket balls were all that it contained. At some place and point in time, your father had managed to switch two trunks that were exactly alike, except for their contents, a connivance which we later learned he had planned with Lendon Crocket, once one of our most trusted men.”
Pausing as Gertrude gasped an outraged denial, Gage noticed that Captain Fitch seemed peculiarly elated by the tale. The woman’s stuttering attempts to convince him of her father’s integrity were slowly silenced as Gage continued. “Though Turnbull had assured Lendon Crocket that it would be the bankers who’d be held accountable and no one would ever know of the healthy bribe he had been given, it seemed his real purpose was to let our man take the blame. Mr. Crocket was wise enough to realize that he had been duped and told all, shortening by some degree a very lengthy sentence in Newgate.
“Though I was only a couple of years past a score of age at the time, my father sent me out on a ship manned with an extra crew with orders to hunt Turnbull down to the ends of the earth if need be. We found the vessel taking on supplies as near as Portsmouth and waited ‘til the eve of the scheduled sailing, when most of the men were enjoying a last fling in the taverns. While they were doing so, we slipped aboard the ship, threw the rest of the crew over the side and sailed her back to the River Thames. My father sold the cargo and kept the profit as usury for what your father had tried to steal from him. Turnbull was enraged and tried to call it thievery, but he forgot about our man in Newgate, who was willing to testify in our behalf. Turnbull had enough wealth to buy his freedom and was released to carry on his shipping trade. Needless to say, it was the last time we ever built a ship for your father.”
“I’ve never heard of anything so preposterous!” Gertrude squawked indignantly. “I don’t understand your purpose, Mr. Thornton, but I do know your story is nothing more than a vicious, slanderous lie!”
Her eyes flared with unsurpassed fury as they settled on Shemaine. “You little trollop! Somehow you convinced your master to tell these lies against my father.” Despite the frantic shaking of the fiery red head, Gertrude snarled in contempt, “What did Mr. Thornton require to see it done? A night’s toss in bed?”
“That’s enough!” Gage barked sharply. “Shemaine had nothing to do with this! You insisted on being told, and I obliged you, madam! If you’re so set on accusing someone, then talk to your father the next time you see him! Perhaps he’ll tell you the truth. But leave the girl out of this! She’s one nothing!”
“Ha!” Gertrude scoffed. “She’d do anything to see me shamed!”
“You shame yourself, madam,” Gage accused brusquely. “You abuse others out of malice and then judge them by your own despicable character. I assure you, madam, that whatever shame or slander you or your father reap in this world, you’ll have brought it down upon your own heads. Now good day to you.” Releasing Shemaine’s fingers, he slid a hand beneath her elbow and gently guided her toward the door. Feeling her trembling, he wanted to pause long enough to quietly reassure her, but there was no privacy to be had, for the cobbler awaited them in his shop and, behind them, Mrs. Fitch still stewed.
Andrew cast a frightened glance toward the large woman as he trailed behind his parent. In his pair of years on earth, he had never seen anyone look so mean or turn such an ugly color. Tottering hurriedly through the doorway after his father, he tugged at the elder’s breeches, winning Gage’s immediate attention. Fearfully he pointed toward the matron with the liver-hued face. “Fat witch mad, Daddee?”
His son’s anxious question did much to relieve the tension that had beset Gage since their arrival in the hamlet. Even as he looked back at Gertrude Fitch, he had difficulty subduing his mirth, and by the time he swung the portal shut behind them, he was guffawing out loud, amazing Shemaine, who stared at him in wonder.
“Whatever has taken hold of you, Mr. Thornton?” she asked, startled by his mirth. It was totally unlike the man, whose smiles were far too sparse and rarely glimpsed.
“Fat witch mad,” Gage mimicked, and inclined his head toward Gertrude, who still mouthed threats at them through the small, square panes of glass which made up the larger window that stretched across the front of the shop. “Would you say that’s an understatement?”
Shemaine felt a strange, burgeoning contentment rise up within her as she glanced toward the fuming woman. After all the abuse she had suffered at Gertrude’s hands, she found it rather satisfying to have witnessed the puncturing of the shrew’s overly inflated pride.
They’ll both pay for this! Gertrude silently promised herself.
Whether her subconscious summoned forth an evil incantation or, more farfetched, providence yielded to her beck and call, a silky voice queried from behind her, “What’re ye gonna do ’bout them two, Mrs. Fitch? Ye ain’t gonna let Sh’maine’s lover get away with callin’ yer pa a thief, now are ye?”
Gertrude turned her bulk stiffly about to face the woman who posed such a question, and with a confident smile, Morrisa Hatcher sauntered from the doorway of the adjoining building, where she had deliberately tarried to hear the whole exchange. The last Gertrude had seen of Morrisa was when the harlot had strutted away from the ship with the bawdily garbed older woman who had bought her. In high spirits, Morrisa had thrown kisses to all the sailors who had called to her and had invited them to come visit her at the tavern.
“What does it matter to you, Morrisa?” Gertrude asked haughtily.
“ ‘Tain’t none o’ my concern, Mrs. Fitch, but it just seems ta me ye ought ta see ’bout silencin’ all them lies they’re tellin’ ’bout yer pa,” Morrisa replied with an indolent shrug. She had been displeased by Potts’s recent failure to deal a death blow to her adversary and could now see a need for another monkey on her leash. Gertrude Fitch had served her well enough on the ship, albeit through Potts, but if handled right, the old crow could be a useful ally. According to what Gertrude had said while liberally lauding her father aboard ship, it would only be a matter of time before he docked somewhere north of Virginia. “If Lord Turnbull was right here today, I’d bet me last shift he’d set his mind on doin’ somethin’ ’bout them two.”
Against the shrewd wiles of a skilled manipulator, Gertrude was as pliable as rain-soaked mud. Her pride swelled at the harlot’s deliberate magnification of her parent’s importance, and she deigned to consider her suggestion. Gertrude knew that within a fortnight or two her father would be sailing into the harbor of New York on the Black Prince, no less than the biggest and best of his merchant ships. Perhaps if she were to arrange for a message to be awaiting him when he arrived, he’d be willing to sail south and deal with this Thornton fellow. Once they faced the wrath of J. Horace Turnbull, the colonial and his bitch of a bondswoman would soon realize the insanity of telling their vindictive lies about him!
Gertrude conveyed her gratitude with a crisply cynical smile, the best she could manage for the slut. “You needn’t fret yourself over such matters, Morrisa. I’m sure ere long they’ll both reap their just recompense.”
Morrisa emulated solicitude with a troubled frown. “Seein’s as how Mr. Turnbull is so well-known an’ admired, m’liedy, it just seems a bloomin’ shame when a common yokel like that colonial can sully yer pa’s good name.” She smiled and waved coyly at Captain Fitch, making him bluster in red-faced discomfiture. Easing his plight only slightly, Morrisa took her departure of Gertrude with the same light fluttering of her fingers. “A right good evenin’ ta ye both.”
Gertrude jeered in distaste as she watched the fancy-garbed harlot saunter leisurely toward the tavern. Then she cast a glare toward her husband, who had carefully fixed his gaze on some insignificant spot in the opposite direction. The fact that Gertrude hadn’t let him out of her sight since leaving England saved Everette the odious task, of answering a lot of angry accusations. He had been as much her prisoner as had the convicts on the London Pride.
Once again lending her attention to the young woman in the cobbler’s shop, Gertrude frowned menacingly and shook a fat finger as if chiding a naughty child. “You filthy little bogtrotter. I’ll make you sorry yet.”
Shemaine shrugged off the muffled threat and faced her master again. “I think you deliberately provoked the woman, Mr. Thornton, and I could kiss you for it.”
Gage leaned forward slightly with a broader grin. “If that’s a promise, Shemaine, I’ll collect when we get home.”
“Well, I really wasn’t . . . I mean, I was only . . .” Shemaine was rather astonished at the colonial’s ability to unnerve her, for she couldn’t recall ever being flustered in Maurice’s presence. And her betrothed was a marquess, for heaven’s sakes!
Becoming aware of the cobbler waiting expectantly, Shemaine indicated the man in helpless confusion. “Shouldn’t we order the shoes now so we can get back to your cabin before dark?”
Lifting a hand, Gage bade the man to draw near. “Miles, I’ve got a girl here who needs to be fitted for a pair of shoes. Can you accommodate us?”
The gray-haired man hurried forward eagerly. “Sure thing, Gage.”
“Shemaine . . .” Gage politely made the introductions. “. . . Mr. Miles Becker. Miles . . . may I present Mistress Shemaine O’Hearn.”
Miles Becker nodded a jerky greeting. “Miles, if you’d prefer, Miss O’Hearn,” he offered with a fleeting smile. Motioning for her to take a seat in a chair, he settled on a stool in front of her and slipped one of the oversized shoes off. He admired the trimness of her stockinged foot for a moment before he raised his gaze to the greenest eyes he had ever seen. A seasoned bachelor, he was rather astounded by his suddenly racing pulse as he stared into those sparkling orbs. He didn’t dare trust himself to speak as he measured her foot and traced an outline of it on a piece of wood. Yet he could not entirely ignore her effect on him. It was tantamount to the giddiness derived from strong libation, which he felt in great need of at the moment.
Gage’s brows gathered slightly as he detected the shoemaker’s sudden confusion, for it was not difficult to discern the reason for it. Being within close proximity to Shemaine O’Hearn certainly had its disadvantages, he realized. Indeed, if she was able to stagger the wits of a bachelor like Miles Becker with nothing more than an innocent stare, then no man would be safe from her beauty and guileless charm, least of all one who was ever near.
“What kind of shoe will you be wanting, Miss O’Hearn?” Miles inquired, his voice quavering. He cleared his throat nervously, hoping she wouldn’t notice his discomposure.
“Something serviceable,” Shemaine answered, marveling at the change in herself. Not so long ago she would have ordered the costliest silk or the softest leather for her slippers without suffering the slightest concern over how they would last. But that had been when she could rely upon her father to pay for all her clothing and accessories. Now she had to consider the limited resources of the man who owned her and refrain from being a burden. “They must wear well and not cost too much.”
“I’ve got two styles that fit those requirements,” Miles informed her as he stepped to his workbench. After sorting through a small, jumbled pile, he brought back two different kinds of shoes which he was sure would serve her well. “These are rather bulky and not much to look at, but they’re extremely durable, miss.”
Shemaine was somewhat distressed at the ugliness of both and wondered how she would be able to wear them for any measurable length of time without the stiff leather blistering her feet or their burdensome weight causing her legs to cramp. Unfortunately, she couldn’t allow herself to worry about such minor details. She was a bondslave, she reminded herself, and indentured servants could ill afford to be choosy. “If it’s all right with Mr. Thornton . . .”
Two pair of eyes lifted inquiringly to Gage, drawing his attention away from the girl. Chiding himself for being no less vulnerable to Shemaine’s allure than Miles Becker, he took a shoe in each hand and examined them side by side, then tested the pliability and weight of each before handing them back with an admonition. “You’re not shoeing a horse, Miles. The girl will need something lighter and more flexible than these cumbersome clogs.”
“A better leather will cost you more money, Gage,” the cobbler advised, “and may not last as long.”
“Did I ask you to worry about the size of my purse?” Gage questioned testily. “Now let me see what else you have. I’ll not see Shemaine hobbled by those clumsy things.”
Miles complied, and they finally settled on a more suitable pair that was also better looking. Gage counted out coins for a deposit and then, with a nod of farewell to the cobbler, lifted Andrew in his arms and followed Shemaine outside.
Dusk had settled, and lamps had been lit in the tavern a short distance down the boardwalk. Boisterous laughter and a lively plucking of a stringed instrument drifted from its doors and flowed into the street beyond.
“Daddee . . . me . . . hungee. . . .”
“So am I, Andy,” Gage replied, realizing he hadn’t stopped long enough to eat anything since the morning meal. “Too hungry to wait until we get home to eat.”
Glancing at Shemaine, he jerked his head toward the establishment. “It’s not a proper tavern or a coffeehouse like some I’ve visited in the Carolinas. There’s usually a lot of drinking and revelry going on inside, considerably more than a well-brought-up young lady might feel comfortable with. But in Newportes Newes, it just happens to be the best place to get a cooked meal outside of a private home. But if you’d rather not . . .”
Shemaine gave him a brief glimpse of a smile. After her confrontation with Potts, she hadn’t felt like eating anything at Mrs. McGee’s. “Actually, I’m starving, and as long as there’s food inside, I wouldn’t care if the place were an old barn.”
“We’ll probably meet up with more sailors from the London Pride,” Gage warned. “It’s a place that’s often frequented by seamen and their ladies.”
Undismayed by his information, Shemaine responded with a casual shrug of her shoulders. He was apparently trying to fortify her against the possibility that some unseemly event would take place on the premises, but she wondered if such an incident could be any worse than what the prisoners had been subjected to during the ocean crossing. Being caged with Morrisa for three months had been a very enlightening experience, one she wished never to repeat. “I think I could even tolerate another encounter with Mrs. Fitch if it meant having a meal.”
Shifting Andrew to his outside arm, Gage slid a hand to the small of her back and rested it there as they walked along the boardwalk toward the tavern. Shemaine held herself in rigid reserve, acutely aware of the tall, handsome man strolling beside her and his lean hand lightly riding her waist.
A furtive movement in the recessed entrance of the general store made Gage halt in sudden apprehension. Delaying Shemaine with a hand on her arm, he silently bade her to wait and put Andrew down beside her. He crept forward cautiously, wondering if Jacob Potts had decided to come back and launch another assault. But when he reached the covered entry, Gage released a sigh of relief, for he saw only the hunchback crouching in the shadows.
Realizing that he had been found out, Cain shuffled from his cubbyhole and, leaning forward, peeked around the front of the store at Shemaine. In his hand he carried a wilted bouquet of wildflowers. Facing Gage, he held them up, but when the tall man refrained from taking them, Cain lifted a hand to indicate the girl.
“Floawers . . . faw . . . Shamawn. Plawse . . . gawve . . . haw . . . floawers.”
“You give them to her,” Gage urged, and motioned for his bondswoman to draw near. “It’s all right, Shemaine. It’s Cain. He’d like to give you something.”
Shemaine reached down to take Andrew’s hand, but he balked at the idea of going anywhere near the deformed man and shook his head vehemently. Despite her soft assurances, the boy would not be convinced and hung back in trepidation, making it absolutely clear he wanted nothing to do with Cain. Finally leaving him, Shemaine moved to the doorway where his father stood. At her approach, Cain retreated back into the shadows again, as if reluctant to let her see him up close, but her smile encouraged him, and as she waited, he stepped forward clumsily and handed her the bouquet.
“Thank you for the flowers, Cain. They’re very lovely,” she murmured kindly. On an impulse, she leaned forward and bestowed a kiss upon the man’s cheek.
Cain stumbled back in astonishment and gaped up at her. Then, quite baffled, as if unable to believe what she had done, he gently touched the place where her lips had brushed.
Gage marveled at her benevolence. “ ‘Twould seem you’ve won his heart, Shemaine.”
She had seen many heart-wrenching sights since her arrest and, in many cases, had been frustrated by her own helplessness. There was nothing like cruel incarceration to make one yearn for a kindly word or a charitable deed. The hateful insults and the mean-spirited persecution to which she had been repeatedly subjected during her confinement had instilled within Shemaine a deeper compassion for the pitiful and less fortunate. It was not hard for her to discern that this poor, unsightly man, ill-favored from birth, was most desperately in need of friendship and a little tenderness.
Shemaine clasped the nosegay to her bosom. “I shall treasure your gift, Cain,” she gently pledged. “Thank you again for your kindness and also for the return of my shoes. I don’t know many people here in the hamlet, so if you don’t mind, I shall consider you a friend.”
Not knowing what to answer, the misshapen man canted his head to peer up at Gage as if to glean a bit of understanding from one who knew this gentle-hearted creature. Gage could offer the hunchback nothing at all, for he was just as amazed by her compassion as the one upon whom she had bestowed it.
Bewildered and yet filled with a rare feeling of awe, Cain took his leave, shuffling away in the opposite direction from where the young child stood rooted in wide-eyed trepidation.
Gage took pity on his frightened son and, stepping near, swung him up in his arms. Andrew hugged his father’s neck, extremely relieved that he was safe and the monster man had gone.
“Are you still hungry?” Gage asked softly, drawing back to look into his son’s face. The child nodded eagerly and, with a sudden grin, tightened his arms around the elder. Gage smiled and embraced him in return. Glancing toward Shemaine, who seemed poignantly distracted by the flowers, he whispered in the boy’s ear, “What about Shemaine?”
“Come . . . Sheeaim,” Andrew called, extending an arm toward her. “Daddee . . . hungee.”
Shemaine laughed as she glanced at the two grinning males. Heeding the irresistible summons, she approached them, but the familiarity of the sprightly tune flowing from the tavern seized hold of her Irish spirit, and with a soft cry of glee, she danced a fleet-footed jig toward them, much to Andrew’s giggling delight and Gage’s smiling pleasure.
When she fell in beside him, Gage resettled his hand at the small of her back. It was a nice, comfortable place for his hand to rest, and he really didn’t care what lewd conjectures were being dispersed about the village in regards to his motivation for buying her. He enjoyed touching her, and that was enough justification for him.
“I’d better take you home soon,” he remarked as his lips twitched with unquenchable humor. “Or I might find myself fighting off the town bachelors in droves. And I can assure you, my girl, it wouldn’t be because they’d have a yearning to kill you like Potts tried to do. Indeed! They’d be trying to steal you from me!”
Shemaine could imagine the proud and elegant Edith du Mercer fainting from shock after witnessing her undignified cavorting. Mimicking the elder’s condescending demeanor, she held out a hand as if laying it upon the carved silver handle of the tall walking stick the woman had never gone without and, lifting her chin, strolled forward imperiously. “I suppose you’d prefer me to act more refined and aloof, sir.”
Gage’s eyes glowed as he viewed her enchanting mime. “Andrew and I like you just the way you are.”
Rising upon her toes, Shemaine twirled about to face him and then sank into a deep, graceful curtsy equal to those she had once executed at lavish balls. At their applause, she laughed and threw up her arms in girlish verve. “You may blame it on the Irish blood, Mr. Thornton. ‘Tis strong-willed and usually gets the upper hand despite my very best efforts to control it. More often than not, it tempts me to play the jester.”
Gage was captivated by her playful antics. “You bring a lightness to our hearts that we’ve not experienced for some time, Shemaine,” he acknowledged with a lopsided grin. “You make our spirits soar.”
Shemaine felt strangely exhilarated by his relaxed smile. Beaming, she bobbed a curtsy. “I’m delighted you’re delighted, sir!”
At Gage’s responding laughter, Andrew clapped his small hands, showing his own approval.
“Sheeaim funny, Daddee!”
“You’re funny!” Shemaine accused, pressing her face close to the young one’s. She snickered playfully and waggled her head from side to side. When she straightened, she gently tweaked the small nose, evoking more giggles.
Once they stepped beyond the tavern door, a loud din assailed their senses. Andrew wisely covered his ears. Shemaine cringed, wanting to do the same. Gage promptly suffered second thoughts about his ability to endure the noisy bedlam. The place was alive with imbibing sailors and loose women decked out in colorful garb. Shemaine saw Morrisa Hatcher sitting on a man’s knee and leisurely sipping from a mug of ale as she watched him playing a game of chance. Her attire was as brazen as her profession, which apparently would continue under the supervision of her new owner. Thus far the woman had failed to notice them, and Shemaine sincerely hoped they would be able to find a secluded nook before she did. Hardly anyone in the tavern gave them heed, for the customers seemed too involved in their own adventures and endeavors to care what happened beyond their narrow world. While the patrons laid out coin for food and libations, frazzled tavern maids in drab garb rushed about with large platters of food or mugs balanced on trays. One serving wench passed near the door, and Andrew’s eyes widened at the heavily laden trenchers she maneuvered through the crowd.
“Perhaps we can find a quieter corner in back,” Gage suggested, taking Shemaine’s hand in his and leading the way.
James Harper had quaffed a liberal amount of ale by the time he caught sight of the tall, dark-haired man and recognized him as the colonial who had bought Shemaine. With a sudden snarl contorting his visage, the bosun pushed through his companions in a concerted effort to block the other man’s passage. Upon reaching Gage, he rose on his toes and leaned forward to gaze intently into the colonial’s face. “I don’t like you, Mr. Thornton,” he sneered drunkenly as he sought to focus his gaze. He staggered back unsteadily, then caught himself. Assuming a more dignified mien, he straightened his coat with a jerk and stumbled a step closer. “In truth, I think you’re the most obstinate, conniving scalawag ever born. ‘Tis certain that Shemaine O’Hearn is far too good for the likes of you.”
“I came in here to eat,” Gage announced gruffly. “If you want a fight, I’ll have to accommodate you another day. I’ve got my son and Shemaine with me now.”
James Harper’s brows arched to lofty heights as he searched beyond the colonial for the young woman he had become enamored with. He settled a bleary-eyed gaze upon her and began to leer with avid appreciation of her refreshing beauty. Spreading his arms, he plowed toward her as if he would take her into his embrace, but he came up short when Gage caught his lapel in one hand and yanked him around.
“Keep your distance, Mr. Harper,” Gage growled in low tones. Though he held his son within the crook of his other arm, Gage stretched the stocky fellow to the very tips of his toes and held him in a steely vise. “She’s mine now, not yours, and I’ll break your bloody hands if you try touching her again. Do you understand me?”
“You don’t frighten me,” Harper mumbled above the white-knuckled fist clasping his coat. “You’re only a cloddish colonial. . . .”
Gage gave the bosun a rough, angry shake, causing Harper’s eyes to roll like loose marbles in their sockets. “I may be a cloddish colonial, but you’re a fool if you don’t think I can embarrass you in front of your shipmates. If you don’t leave us alone, you’ll be licking spittle from the spittoon ere I’m finished with you. Do you understand me now?” Lending emphasis to his threat, he lifted the man until his feet dangled above the floor.
Some sanity returned when James Harper tried to draw a breath and found that he couldn’t. The other’s fist was wedged tightly against his windpipe, preventing any passage of air to his lungs. Suddenly doubtful of his survival, Harper nodded briskly, and then, almost gently, he was lowered to his feet. The hard fist relaxed and dropped away. In the next brief moment the lean fingers were again clasping Shemaine’s hand and leading her through the spectators, who had halted what they were doing to gape at them.
Testing the condition of his throat, James Harper swallowed several times and gingerly stretched his neck to assure himself that nothing vital had been damaged or broken. Though he might have suffered some shortage of breath for a few moments, he felt amazingly clearheaded for a man who had partaken copiously of so much ale. He lurched toward a chair and slithered loose-jointedly into the seat. Thankful to be alive, he heaved a wavering sigh of relief, expelling fumes that reeked of strong ale.
A serving wench paused beside him and tilted her head aslant as she considered first the bosun and then the couple who were presently making their way toward the back of the tavern. “By rights, gov’na, ye should consider yerself fortunate,” she informed the seaman. “That Thornton fella can be mighty mean when he wants ta be. Once I saw him thrash a man twice his size when the bloke tried ta accost his wife on the street outside this here tavern. O’ course, Miz Thornton’s dead now, an’ some maybe wonder if’n Mr. Thornton didn’t kill her himself, seein’s as how he’s so ornery an’ all, but ta me own way o’ thinkin’, that would be a bloomin’ shame ’cause he’s so handsome an’ all.”
Harper had difficulty deciphering her words at precisely the time she said them. The dawning came with agonizing slowness several moments later, prompting him to finally lift his gaze and stare aghast at the dowdy woman.
The serving maid grew immediately worried at his stricken expression. “Ye needn’t fret so fearful like, lovey.” She patted his shoulder in a motherly fashion. “Mr. Thornton’s forgotten ye by now. Ye’re safe.”
Morrisa Hatcher elbowed her way through the crowd, shoving the serving maid out of her path as she passed the bosun. James Harper’s eyes wavered unsteadily as he observed the widely swinging, gyrating motion of her hips, but the harlot gave him no heed as she followed in the wake of her red-haired adversary. Halting at the table Gage had selected near the back, Morrisa struck a sensual pose and smoothed a hand over her voluptuous curves as she awaited his notice. Gage stood Andrew in a chair between himself and Shemaine, and then pulled another chair out for his bondslave. Finally facing Morrisa, he acknowledged her presence with a stiff twitch of his lips, the best greeting he could offer the woman.
“Morrisa Hatcher, I believe.”
“Right ye are, gov’na.” The harlot flexed her arm in a sly movement that sent the sleeve of her magenta gown falling over her shoulder, leaving much of it bare. “I been watchin’ for ye ta come in here, but I didn’t knows ye’d be o’ a mind ta bring yer son in with ye. A right handsome li’l boy he is, too.” She considered the child thoughtfully for a moment before concluding, “ ‘Tain’t hard ta see ye done yer manly duty by his ma. He’s the spittin’ image o’ ye, al’right.”
“Did you want something?” Gage asked impatiently, hardly in the mood to tolerate her mischief.
“Nothin’ what could be called real important, gov’na.” She shrugged, managing to lower her neckline over her bosom. “Just thought I’d invite ye ta come back an’ stay a spell when ye ain’t got yer kid or Sh’maine hangin’ onta yer shirttails. If’n ye be o’ a mind, I can service yer manly needs right good-like. I knows more’n Sh’maine ’bout what kind o’ things can pleasure a bloke like yerself. I might could even teach ye a thing or two, if’n ye’d let me.”
Shemaine’s face flamed scarlet at Morrisa’s bold solicitation. Quickly directing her attention to Andrew, whose nose barely reached the edge of the table now that he was sitting down, Shemaine jumped to her feet again and made use of a small nearby cask, which she turned on end and, as his father lifted up the boy, placed in the chair beneath Andrew.
After Andrew was resettled on the keg, Gage faced the harlot again and grew rather annoyed that she hadn’t decided to leave of her own accord. He sighed in exasperation. “All I really want right now, Morrisa, is to be left alone with my son and Shemaine. I sincerely hope that’s not too much to ask of you or anyone else here.”
His reply drew an angry sneer from Morrisa. “Ye ain’t a very friendly bloke, are ye?”
“No, I’m not,” Gage admitted. “It seems everywhere I’ve gone today I’ve met someone from the London Pride, and the encounters have always ended in some kind of fray, so I beg you leave us in peace before I really lose my temper.”
“Suit yerself, gov’na!” Morrisa snapped in a huff. “I was only tryin’ ta offer me services . . . seein’s as how ye’ve got a li’l know-nothin’ under yer roof.” Morrisa started to turn away, but paused as she glanced at Shemaine. Gratification had turned rapidly to frustration when the colonial had snatched the Irish twit from Potts’s grasp. She yearned to deliver a death blow to her adversary even now, but while there were witnesses to mark her actions, she had to limit her efforts to a more acceptable form of torture. “I hears Annie’s papers got bought up by that squeaky li’l mouse what came aboard the Pride yesterday ta look us over, Sh’maine. Him bein’ single an’ all, I ‘spect Annie won’t be havin’ any babies ta look after. But as I figgers it, she’ll be needin’ shelter from that sour ol’ carp afore too long. A li’l mouse like Samuel Myers can be meaner’n a big rat when ye gets right down ta the truth o’ the matter.”
“Are you finished?” Gage asked curtly, seeing through the harlot’s vicious schemes. The distressed frown that Shemaine now wore was a fair indication of her deep concern for her friend.
“That’s all, gov’na! Sees ye ’round sometime . . . maybe after ye gets tired o’ M’liedy Prig here.” With that, Morrisa tossed her dark mane over her shoulder and pranced off, exaggerating the sway of her hips as she went.
Shemaine leaned forward to claim her master’s attention. “Mr. Thornton, do you really think Annie is in danger of being abused by the man who bought her? That Mr. Myers?”
Gage met his bondslave’s troubled gaze. “I don’t know, Shemaine, but if you’d like, I can make inquiries about the nature of the man from some of the townspeople who know him better.”
“I’d be grateful, Mr. Thornton. Annie has been hurt in so many ways. I’d like to see her able to enjoy her work and be content with her life.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
A serving wench came to their table and, in a bored tone, announced the fare. “We’ve got Burgoo and biscuits. Take ’em or leave ’em.”
“We’ll take ’em,” Gage informed her, and then gestured toward Andrew. “Not so much for the boy.”
“Burgoo and biscuits?” Shemaine repeated in confusion after the woman had left. She had chewed on a few hard biscuits in the dank hole of the London Pride, but the word burgoo meant nothing to her.
Gage responded with a casual shrug. “Burgoo is a stew made with different meats and vegetables. Biscuits are a type of bread we eat here . . . definitely much better than the sea biscuits you might have tolerated on the voyage.”
In a few short moments, separate dishes of the stew and a large platter of biscuits were placed before them. Shemaine copied Gage’s lead as he buttered Andrew’s bread, and then, at his urging, she sampled a bite. Much to her amazement, she found them delicious.
Gage smiled, noticing how brightly her eyes glowed when she was elated, and watched in anticipation as she carefully tasted the stew. “Good?”
Shemaine nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes!”
“Good, Daddee,” Andrew agreed with a toothy grin.
Gage peered at the girl questioningly, managing a crooked grin. “Then you’ll forgive me for bringing you in here?”
Shemaine was amazed that a master would even concern himself about his slave’s feelings. “There’s nothing to forgive, Mr. Thornton. You’re not responsible for other people’s actions. You’re no better able to dictate Morrisa or Mr. Harper’s behavior than you can command the sun to go hither or yon and expect it to obey.”
“I was, at the very least, tempting fate by bringing you in here. For some years now, the sailors have been inclined to gather here for odd and sundry reasons.”
After being around Morrisa, Shemaine could well imagine what those reasons were. “You gave me a chance to decline, but I must tell you truly, sir, that I have seen and heard far worse on the London Pride than I’ve noticed going on here tonight. If I was at all naive about life before my arrest, then I can honestly say, Mr. Thornton, I’ve learned much through my ordeal, some of which I’d rather forget. I assure you I’m not made of spun sugar. I’ll not shatter into a thousand pieces the very moment I’m faced with adversities. I’d not be sitting here now if I were so fragile. I’d have probably succumbed to Mrs. Fitch’s abuse or Morrisa’s spite long before the ship ever reached safe harbor.”
“ ‘Tis good to know that, Shemaine,” Gage murmured, “because this land is tough and sometimes rather austere. It’s difficult for the weak to survive here. The hardships can overwhelm, even break, a strong-minded person if he’s not prepared to meet the challenges of living in the wilderness. It certainly helps to be resilient.”
“Growing up in the safety of my parents’ home, I never once imagined there would come a day when I would have to face calamity,” Shemaine mused aloud. “Before my arrest, I seemed destined to become a marchioness. Little did I suppose that I would soon be subjected to the hostility and brutality of others who had the power and authority to dictate my circumstances, or that I’d be cast adrift in a way of life with which I was unfamiliar. I’ve learned some harsh lessons since the thieftaker snatched me, Mr. Thornton, but I’ve come to realize that I’m not without substance or stamina. God willing, I’ll see these seven years through to good advantage.”
Gage permitted her a glimpse of a smile. “I think I’m already seeing a change in you since yesterday.”
Shemaine blushed, realizing she might have sounded a bit boastful of her own strengths and perseverance. “I understand, Mr. Thornton, that any benefit I might derive from my servitude to you will stem mainly from your forbearance with my shortcomings. I know there is much that I have yet to learn, but if you will be patient with me, I’ll try to overcome my faults.”
“You’re much more of a blessing to Andrew and me than you realize, Shemaine,” Gage said with a generous measure of honesty. “You’re as refreshing as a spring shower after a harsh winter. Right now, I’m too busy appreciating your worth to notice whether or not you have any flaws.”
Shemaine smiled, feeling pleasantly reassured. “If we’re not too late arriving home, perhaps you and Andrew would like to have some custard pie before you retire. I made it for you both this morning.”
A nearby lamp cast a golden aura over Gage’s face, lending a luster of softly polished brass to his noble features. For Shemaine, it was like looking at a statue of a fabled god who had come to life. The same glow lightened his brown eyes to a rich, translucent amber, making her marvel at how beautiful they were. But it was the gentle radiance of his smile that infused her heart with a strange, stirring warmth.