The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2 (3 page)

The boy snuggled next to Precious’s bosom, and she covered his face from the whipping wind. She thought about his mother more and more these days. Poor Eliza, Precious’s long-time protector, would she be happy to see how this boy had grown? Would her heart leap as Precious’s did when the baron began spending more time with him?

If Eliza had lived, they wouldn't be traveling to Port Elizabeth. She liked the parties of London too well. Entertaining, that was Eliza’s fun. Oh, how she would have reveled in throwing a first ball as Lady Welling. Her friend died, hours before she could even use the title.
 

Precious's woolgathering sent her barreling into a thick man who bore saggy cloth bags.
 

Tall, and black as pitch, he doffed his hat to her. “Miss, you need to be careful.” His head lowered, and it seemed his gaze seemed to stop near Jonas's mop. “Your mistress about?”

Precious lifted her chin, a bit of pride buzzing like a lightning bug in her nervous stomach. “His mother is not, by my employer is somewhere.” She stared him in the eye, something she rarely did with men, but she wanted him to know she wasn't enslaved.

“An American’s tongue.” He tossed the bags on his back. “Betcha you like it here better since you got rights. A slave's got rights here. I got mine.” He adjusted his bundles and went on his way.

What was he talking about? She tugged her snowy mobcap over her ear. Whether the man believed her or not, she didn't care. Her freedom was true. She nodded, patted her bag with her papers, and kept trudging to the loading area of the M-A-R-G-E-A-U-X.

Mr. Palmers, the nasty butler, ambled down the wide plank leading from the ship’s deck. The grim lines of his face stayed in a permanent frown. In fact, since Lord Welling announced his plans to take her and Jonas with him, the butler never smiled. He stopped next to her. “Don't disgrace His Lordship on this trip. You may have fooled him into thinking you’re more than a backwoods savage, but we know the truth."

A thousand responses, all more hateful than the last, sprang to her mind, but she buttoned her lips. She’d save her good breath on someone more worthy.

“No retort? No drivel about nonsense?” He shook his head and tugged on his grey mantle; such a puffed-up, mean-spirited bird. “Maybe you’ve learned some manners and respect after all.”

Tongue burning with an apt phrase she’d picked up in London, she couldn't hold it inside any longer. “You bacon-brained fop, it hasn’t been your doing. Go on now. Go play lord and master to the empty house.”

As if he knew she and the butler would squabble, Lord Welling appeared, standing a few feet away with brows rising and tight lips.

She stilled her fidgeting fingers. There was no hiding her disgust of the butler, and, in another, hour she wouldn’t have to. Palmers wasn't sailing. If all went well in Port Elizabeth, it could be a year or more before she'd see the troll again.

The crowd keeping the baron from them parted, and he marched near, with a pretty young woman on his arm.
 

Who was she, and why was giggling?

“Miss Jewel, Palmers,” he said, patting the lady’s fingers, “this is Clara Narvel. She’s joining us on this trip.”

The fancy woman in a peach-colored cape and bisque bonnet must be a rich woman. "I am so excited, Lord Welling."

Precious didn't like the feeling stirring inside. A breathless, quiet anger, like somebody stole something, filled her chest. She looked down at Jonas and hoped her face didn't show the contempt brewing.
 

She rubbed her temples, and came very close to swatting her foolish self. Lord Welling hadn't done anything wrong. He wasn't betraying Eliza. He'd been widowed for two years. The handsome man surely couldn't expect to live as a monk forever.

Still, unease simmered as he swiveled this stranger with her cape billowing toward his boat.
 

“’Tis a good season for traveling,” his voice sounded happy and strong. "You will like The Margeaux."

The buxom red-haired lady nodded and giggled again. “Captain Conroy, I mean, Lord Welling, I am so excited to be going with you.”

She'd called him by one of his other names. The lady must know him well. This wasn't good.

The young lady's buttercup-yellow glove blended into his dark-blue tailcoat. The fluff of his town cravat was gone, replaced with a simple one that allowed the natural square of his jaw and long neck to be seen. He looked well without all the fuss, but Precious didn't like his black moon-shaped hat. Still, it was much nicer than the stuffy top hats that cluttered London.

Yet, she couldn't quite get over his bringing a woman who wasn't a servant or his wife on the same boat as Jonas. Precious swallowed, the answer stinging her throat. What better way for the boy to get used to a new stepmother?

Palmers gripped the ash-grey mantle shrouding his stinking bones, and craned his neck as if surveying the busy dock. “I didn't know more women would accompany you.”

Well, well, the old bird was worth something after all, doing the dirty work of inquiring about all his lordship's guests. She caught Lord Welling's gaze and waited for his response.

The reticent dimple on the baron’s cheek popped. “She’s the wife of my lieutenant, the man I left in charge in the colony. This is her first trip to Port Elizabeth, too. Jewell, she’ll be your traveling companion.”

Once he said the ‘Mrs.’ part, Precious felt her lips curling up. She would gladly share a cabin with the lady now.
 

Mrs. Narvel smiled bigger, showing a few white teeth. “Oh, and I can help with the little boy. My husband and I will need the practice, God willing.” The lady patted the front of her cape, exposing a rounding stomach. "Soon."

A woman in love with her husband and with a baby; how very nice. Precious inhaled a little easier. “Jonas is not too much trouble if he gets his nap.”

Palmers made tsk sound with his teeth. “A pregnant woman? Is it safe? There are dangers to childbirth. More so at sea."

The woman looked up. A sense of serenity shrouded her like a blanket. "All will be well. I'm but four months, plenty of time to travel and be with my husband to see the birth of his babe."

Head lowering, as if something had dropped weights on his shoulder, Lord Welling kicked at the cobbles. "It's my duty to get you to Narvel. A man
shouldn’t
miss such an event if it can be helped."

The old bird pushed close to the baron. "It’s not too late to allow your son and his nanny to stay. I’m sure you can concentrate on your duties better without them getting into trouble.”

Chin rising, Lord Welling stared in Precious's direction. Something flickered in his eyes, before he toggled his hat. “No, Palmer. I’d be more worried about the trouble they'd face without me. Go keep Firelynn in order. Come along, Miss Jewel, Mrs. Narvel. Let me show you to your cabin. Good day, old man.”

Lord Welling, clasping Mrs. Narvel’s hand, led her up the gangplank.
 

Waving Palmers good riddance, Precious stroked Jonas in his comfy bundle and followed after the baron. Her short heels clicked on the wood plank leading to the deck of the boat. Stopping midway, she glanced at the frothy water below. It looked cold and sort of brown. Would it be the same in Port Elizabeth? No, it had to be clear and blue to be everything she imagined. Yes, it had to be new, nothing like London and Charleston.

She started moving again, but stopped at the board's edge. A jump of a few feet to the deck lay ahead. By herself, she’d jump like a rabbit, but not with Jonas. Nothing came before his safety.

Turning, Lord Welling lifted his arms to her. “Hand me the boy and then I’ll help you.”
 

She unhooked him from the cloth sling and handed him to his father’s large hands.

Jonas had awakened and his large eyes must have caught site of the baron, for he started cooing baby talk and ended with, “Papa.”

The baron’s serious face softened for a moment. “Mrs. Narvel, hold this precious cargo, while I help another. Right, Miss Precious Jewell?"

Without giving her any warning, his hands seized her waist. He swung her wide, the surprise of it knocking the air from Precious. She clutched tightly to her bag to keep it from ending up in the water.

Chuckling, he set her down. "Welcome aboard The Margeaux."

Panting, she squinted at him, giving him an evil eye. Lucky for her she had a tight hold on her satchel or she’d have dropped it. If Precious could get away with it, she’d box his ears, but she’d have to wait for the world to stop moving. "Marg-geaux, that's the boat's name?"

"Yes." He lifted his hands and pointed side to side. "She was my uncle's pride and joy. I come from a long line of sailing men. Nothing is better than being at sea. It's one of the few freedoms that I know."

Precious couldn't respond, too disbelieving that a man born to a title could dare to think he wasn't free. Her fingers coiled tighter around her satchel holding the documents, which ended her enslavement. No. No free-born man could ever understand.

He stuffed a hand in his jacket, and with the other he swiped at his chin. "You're in my territory, ladies. Now the rules begin. You must stay in your cabin at all times, unless I come and escort you. Being at sea can be a dangerous time. I need to know where you are every minute.”

Blinking at the sun, which decided to tunnel through the clouds to smite her, she surveyed the big beams she'd spied from shore. Massive, bigger than the girth of several men, they stood all around, with ropes binding them together and to the deck. Her mind’s eye became aware of the big male crew members staring at them, ten in all. "Why? How can you get lost on a boat?”

Lord Welling folded his arms, his tanned face looking very serious, but mirth stayed in his crystal blues. “Oh, it's very easy, Jewell. There are dark passages on The Margeaux, corners made for mischief. And the manners of my crew will evaporate as the trip gets long. So do as I ask, this one time?”

He took his son back from Mrs. Narvel and put his big hat on him. "I didn't hear a ‘yes’, Miss Jewell."

Jonas grinned and kept raising and lowering the hat's brim, like a game of hide and seek.
 

She straightened the collar of Jonas's pinafore. "Of course, I'll follow my employer's orders."

"I guess that serves as a ‘yes’." With a shrug, he led them to a hole in the deck. "This way to your cabin."

Down a ladder he went, with Jonas held tightly in the crook of his forearm.
 

Mrs. Narvel went next and the baron helped her get to the last rung. "Your turn, Miss Jewel."

She could still feel the strength of his grip from his help on the plank. How long would the sensation of his hands about her middle, pressing into the boning of her corset, linger? No, she didn't want any more of that. Avoiding him, Precious quickly shot down the ladder. It was like a tree, and she'd been quite good at that and shoeing rabbits in Charleston's woods, before Mr. Marsdale made her a house servant.

Lord Welling's hands touched her waist and the tingles started again. "You've got this little man?"

Once Jonas was in her arms, she backed away the baron. "Yes."

Light spilling from the opening highlighted more boards and a corridor.
 

With his long fingers clasped behind her back, the baron led them to a door. It wasn't fancy but had trim and a brass plate. “There are two cabins on the ship; mine and one for my first mate. He’s graciously given up…."
 

He opened the door, and they found a man lying inside. Pounding forward like he’d discovered an enemy, Lord Welling stopped close and scooped the man up by his shirt. “Who are you?”

The stranger popped free. The whites of his eyes shined brightly. “The name is Grossling, Lieutenant Grossling. I’m your first mate on this trip.”

The name didn't seem to set Lord Welling at ease. No, it seemed to grate more, making his fingers tighten. “Ralston is my first mate this trip. Who sent you?”

“The War Department, Captain. They've gotten letters talking about violent attacks by the Xhosa. We need to know how unstable the situation is and how well the colony will manage under your leadership.”

“I see.” The baron’s face darkened. He didn't seem to agree. He took a couple of steps backward and leaned against the wall, folding his hands over his ebony waistcoat. “Well, this cabin has been reserved for the women. You’ll need to bunk below with the crew.”

The frown on Mr. Grossling’s face widened. “What about giving them yours? I said I am an official with the war department.“

“The captain’s cabin is for the captain, not a paper pusher. And I don't share without good reason. A last-minute male addition is not a good reason. You should be lucky there is space at all. We are loaded to the gills, taking supplies to Port Elizabeth.”

The man guffawed, but picked up his boots and his bags. “This is going in my report.”

“Make sure to capitalize the words, chivalry and last-minute." Lord Welling pointed toward the exit. "There is only one man in charge on this vessel, Grossling. Leave.”

Once the unpleasant man passed, the baron closed the door. Agitation lingered in his tense posture, casting shadows in his blue eyes.
 

Precious had seen the look before when she’d almost refused to sign on as an indentured servant.
 

He rubbed at his neck. “Ladies, I really need you to follow my warning. That fellow will be a bother.”

Mrs. Narvel unpinned her bonnet and took off her cape. A big belly puffed up her flowery gown. “Yes, Lord Welling.”

Making eyes at the little fellow, he stepped near Precious and Jonas. “I didn't hear you agree this time. Miss Jewell, you won't court trouble?”

She raked her fingers through Jonas’s blond mop. “Only if trouble comes for me.”

He plodded to the door, a shrug swallowing his shoulders. “Just stay below until I come get you, and none will.”

With that he was gone, the door rattling in its frame.

Precious put Jonas on the floor and fished in her sack for his blocks. Unwrapping them from a handkerchief, the boy started banging and stacking.