Falsely Accused Read online

  “All right, harlots.” Their chains were removed, but the fetters remained in place, heavy and restrictive. The constable in charge poked and prodded them out of the wagon and on to the wharf. Maryanne struggled along with a grinning Libby just behind her.

  “Doesn’t look much, Maryanne.”

  She tried to edge away from the Irish girl.

  “Don’t go all pious on me. Soldier boy paid well.” She jingled some coins together.

  “But, Libby.”

  “I want to live, I told you that. I’ll do anything to stay alive, and without coin for barter we’re as good as dead. There are about three hundred convicts, most of them men. Some have been waiting here for months. Officers will have first pick of us, soldiers next, any leftovers go to the sailors.”

  “Oh, Libby, no.”

  A prod in the back from the constable’s gun butt almost sent Maryanne sprawling. It was impossible to walk properly in the irons so she shuffled along, taking small steps at a time.

  The ancient ship, with age-blackened woodwork, didn’t look big enough to transport hundreds of people to the far side of the world.

  “Ah, Miss Uppity.” She ignored the constable’s rapacious leer by staring straight ahead. “Once the crew gets you on your back, you won’t be so high and mighty.”

  As they shuffled up the gangplank in single file, Maryanne stared fearfully at the rough sailors. They passed a line of male convicts loading stores. Heavily fettered, the men moved awkwardly lifting barrels and casks, passing the supplies from one to another, while a huge ape of a man yelled at them to work faster. He wore the grey garb of a convict also, probably a trustee put in charge of his fellow prisoners.

  She didn’t know why, but some force beyond her control caused her to glance upward, and a man’s moss green eyes bored into her. Only an instant in time, yet for a split second, they were the only two people left in the world. Her heartbeat escalated and suddenly, inexplicably, her whole body became infused with warmth.

  His hair, a mass of unruly curls, was coal black, his face, where a beard did not cover it, was tanned to a mahogany color. He looked tall, long limbed and graceful, with an arrogant pride even prison garb could not hide.

  “Maryanne,” Libby screamed as a tea chest hurtled towards her. She couldn’t move. Fear paralyzed her. Callused male hands dragged her to safety, and the box crashed to the deck, missing her by mere inches.

  “Maryanne,” the dark man said. She trembled with shock and something else she did not understand, as his grip tightened on her waist. “A close thing, my lovely.” The words, soft as a snowflake, caressed her skin.

  “Thank you.” His eyes, twin flames of green, scorched through the coarse roughness of her gown until her whole body felt as if it had self-combusted.

  “Get back to work, scum.” The ape-man lashed out with a booted foot, and Maryanne heard the crunch as it connected with bone.

  The dark man made no sound. His thick lashes fanned down over his eyes, but not before she saw them smoldering with hatred.

  “What’s your name, me darlin’?” Libby asked him in an exaggerated Irish brogue.

  “Jake Smith.”

  “I’ll be seeing you again, Maryanne,” he promised in a soft, alien drawl. Hot color burned her cheeks as she stumbled away.

  “He’s an American,” Libby volunteered the information.

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve met them before, he wants to bed you”

  “How can you tell?”

  Laughing, Libby tossed her head. “Nothing I don’t know about men.”

  “Line up, harlots,” the chief constable, a crude beefy-looking man ordered. “Captain wants to talk to youse.”

  The spring sun glided out from behind banked up cloud as they waited for the captain to appear. Several officers strolled up. None spoke, but they inspected the female prisoners carefully.

  “Picking their women,” Libby hissed. “Bastards.” She smiled invitingly at a tall, grey haired man who looked to be in his late forties. From the corner of her eye, Maryanne watched the redhead run her tongue slowly across her bottom lip. The man’s jaw dropped, and he passed on without so much as a glance at any other woman.

  “Smile,” Libby hissed urgently, and Maryanne glanced up. A young fair officer, blushing profusely, took a tentative step towards her.

  “Wh…What’s your name?” he stuttered nervously.

  “Maryanne Watson.”

  “She’s a parson’s daughter,” Libby said.

  Several sailors leered at them as they went about their business. Still no captain.

  “Letting us know just how worthless he thinks we are,” Libby stated.

  “Oh.”

  The officers moved away and stood in a group. “Discussing us as if we were cattle, toffy bastards.”

  “Libby, why did you tell me to smile at the young officer?”

  “Because I want him to choose you.”

  “What!”

  “I’d be prepared to take an oath on it, he prefers young men.” Her lip curled with distaste.

  “How ghastly.” Maryanne couldn’t hide her shock.

  “Yes, isn’t it? Don’t you see, he’ll have to choose a woman or the others will guess what he is.”

  Revulsion curdled Maryanne’s stomach. She had truly descended into the depraved depths of hell.

  “You probably wouldn’t have to do more than warm his bed and keep his clothes in order.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can tell by looking at him. That dark man, well, he’s the ship’s surgeon, handy man to be in good with.”

  Libby’s way of putting things sounded repugnant, yet Maryanne couldn’t dislike her for it. She was fighting for survival the only way she knew how.

  Her head ached with the effort not to faint or be sick. I won’t give in, she vowed desperately. I mustn’t. Gritting her teeth she concentrated on trying to recognize anyone in a group of newly arrived women.

  The men were lined up, too, now; most of them grim and sullen, with all the fight beaten out of them. Several sported raw welts on their faces. Her gaze locked with that of Jake Smith. His head was thrown back arrogantly. His lips softened momentarily into a smile for her, before taking on a determined harshness. He looked like a warrior, untamed, savage, and beholden to no man. Her legs shook and her knees buckled.

  Libby pinched her waist. “Don’t faint, wriggle your toes.”

  The captain, a plump, pompous little man with bushy side-whiskers, finally arrived. His uniform, though stretched tightly across his bulging stomach, appeared immaculate, and a fancy silver sword rested against his leg.

  The officers and crew snapped to attention as he marched up to the male prisoners. “It will take at least six months before we reach our destination. We will all get along splendidly if you remember one thing. I am the law here. I am God. I expect absolute obedience and will tolerate nothing less. You will be divided into messes of six, and you may elect your own leader. Rations will be reduced at my discretion. For those prisoners who show they can be trusted, there will be work above decks.”

  An angry mutter came from the male convicts.

  “If you behave yourselves while we are at sea, you will be allowed up on deck in two hour shifts. In port, the hatches will be battened down, and you will remain below decks. Solitary confinement on bread and water and flogging, awaits anyone who defies an order, for laziness or insolence to any member of my crew.”

  Maryanne kept wriggling her toes in case fainting might be construed as an act of insolence.

  “Our ship’s surgeon, Dr Anderson, will organize sewing and reading classes during the voyage for those who prove they can behave in a civilized manner. Act like animals, and you will be treated as such.”

  Maryanne glanced up to find Jake staring at her. She gave a tentative smile, and though his facial muscles did not move, his blazing eyes darkened.

  He stood head and shoulders above the other convicts, not
just because of his height and rugged, brooding features. There was arrogance in his stance, an aura of something almost primitive. An untamed savagery that reached out to ensnare her.

  Blood pounded in her ears, her heart thudded so wildly she wondered why it did not completely catapult out of her chest. Finally, they shuffled towards the hatchway.

  Below decks, the fetid air smelt foul with the stench of excrement, dirty bodies and unwashed monthly rags. Through the dimness filtering out from a couple of lamps her frightened eyes noticed two tiers of berths, one on either side, large enough for perhaps half a dozen people to lie side by side. She judged the heights between decks to be eighteen inches or so higher than her five feet two inches. How could she bear it? Already the confined space closed ominously around her

  “Here, Libby, I saved a place for you next to me.”

  “Thanks, Bridget.” Libby pushed Maryanne towards the closest berth to the hatchway.

  “We’ll get more air here,” Bridget went on, as they put down their pitiful bundle of belongings.

  “Maryanne meet Bridget.” They exchanged greetings as Libby rattled on. “I’ve taken this young miss from the parsonage under my wing.”

  “Ah, another of your lame ducks,” Bridget said in husky, not unpleasant tones.

  “Except for getting more air, the back part is better, closer to the men. There are only a few planks separating us. Some women have already worked out a signal system for communication.”

  “Now harlots,” a fat guard growled. “Your leg irons will stay on till we lift anchor, hatches will remain closed, too. If I got my way, I’d keep you filthy whores chained below decks for the whole voyage.”

  “Libby,” Maryanne’s voice wavered. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stand being locked down here.”

  “Don’t give up, me darlin’. Wonder how an American like Jake Smith ended up here? Must ask Bridget, nothing she doesn’t know about men. My guess is he bedded another man’s wife.” The redhead nudged Maryanne and gave a knowing wink. “He’s a lusty devil, I’ll wager my life on it.”

  Maryanne didn’t want to think of Jake Smith in such terms. She’d rather believe he was a victim of someone else’s treachery like her.

  The stench became overpowering once the hatches were battened down. She stretched out on the bench willing herself to sleep. Things could be worse. At least she had Libby for a friend and protector. Jake, too. She desperately hoped to see him when they were allowed up on deck again.

  “You’re in my mess.” An extremely thin woman came up to them. “There are six of us including you, Bridget.”

  “I’m Libby, this is Maryanne.”

  “Hannah,” the woman grunted. “Berths have to be cleaned by eight thirty. If you’re sick nine o’clock is when you see the doctor. All prison decks are supposed to be fumigated regularly. Haven’t been done yet.” She spoke in short, harsh sentences. “Chains off once we sail.”

  “How long have you been on the ship, Hannah?” Maryanne asked.

  “Three months.”

  “So long?”

  “A lot of women have been here six months,” Hannah growled.

  “What’s the food like?” Libby butted in.

  “Gruel mainly, oatmeal and water, pea soup sometimes, and a bit of pork or ships biscuits. There’s wine if you can afford to pay for it.”

  As the day wore on, Maryanne became more accustomed to her surroundings, and started to distinguish the different types of women. Some used the vilest language imaginable, one or two sounded quite cultured. Many spoke in the manner of uneducated country girls, yet they were all joined together by a common bond—survival.

  How many of them would be left alive by the end of their journey, she wondered frantically? To what depths of depravity would she have sunk by then?

  After a week of waiting they finally sailed. They had been allowed up on deck for only an hour each day in groups of ten. Though they wore leg irons and were chained together making movement difficult, it felt heavenly having fresh air blowing in their faces.

  Maryanne had not been able to speak with Jake Smith again, but she often saw him. The longing to get to know him better grew as each day passed. He took over her thoughts during the day and haunted her dreams at night. Those burning green eyes followed her every movement, even when he was in a work party loading stores.

  “Well, this is it,” Libby said as she and Maryanne clung together on their bunks. “I don’t think any of us will ever see old England again.”

  This comment intensified the moaning and wailing of several women who had left husbands and children behind. Word spread below decks like wildfire. They were making ready to put to sea. The shouted oaths of sailors, the noisy activity somehow permeated the closed in darkness of their prison. There came a loud groaning of timbers, and a tremor suddenly shook the ship as it lifted and rolled, causing Maryanne’s stomach to plunge.

  Within an hour most of the women were sick and vomiting. “Isn’t there something we can do?” she asked, using some of her precious water ration to dampen a rag so she could wipe Libby’s face and mouth.

  “I’m going to die,” the Irish girl moaned.

  “No, you won’t.” Maryanne reassured, swallowing down on her own queasiness.

  If we could just get some fresh air it would help. Dare she ask one of the soldiers for permission to speak with the ship’s surgeon? Surely he could give them something?

  I won’t be sick, I mustn’t. Libby looked to be in a dreadful state. If something happened to her they would both die. I’m doing this for Libby. She repeated the words over in her mind as she squeezed her friend’s hand. I would be dead by now if she hadn’t looked after me. With the ship rolling and pitching so badly when they had scarcely travelled any distance, it did not bode well for when they were out on the open sea.

  “I’m going to see if they’ll let me speak with the surgeon,” Maryanne said.

  “What’s the use, I’m going to die.” Libby started retching again.

  “No, you aren’t. Remember our pact. We will survive. Come on.” She took hold of the Irish girl’s hand. “Repeat after me. We will survive. We will survive.”

  “Oh God, not feeling like this I won’t.”

  “You will.”

  Puddles of vomit squelched under Maryanne’s feet. The ship pitched and swayed even more dramatically, so as not to lose her footing, she grabbed on to the berths and edged along sideways. Fortunately, they were fairly close to the hatchway otherwise she never would have made it.

  “Guard, are you there?” she yelled.

  “Wadda ya want,” he growled from somewhere up above.

  “Could you get the surgeon, most of the women here are sick.”

  “Get the surgeon for scum like you?” He laughed harshly.

  “Can’t you get anyone at all? I tell you some of these women could die.”

  “Let them, and good riddance.”

  “You unfeeling brute. I demand to be taken to your superior officer.” Her pleas went unheeded, and she racked her brain trying to think of what else to do. Jake wouldn’t give up at the first obstacle.

  I’ve got to do something to attract attention, she reasoned, staring up at the iron barred hatchway. What was the most feared thing on board a ship? Scurvy? Plague? Fire? Dare she?

  “Fire, fire,” she shouted, and several women took up the call. A few of them must have really believed they were in danger, because they screamed hysterically.

  “What’s going on down there?” A voice snarled through the hatchway.

  “I want to speak to the officer in charge.” Maryanne shouted to be heard above the din.

  “Someone said there’s a fire down there. I can’t see any smoke.”

  “I think it’s down the back,” she lied.

  The hatchway grated as it swung back, and Maryanne darted forward when a guard came down the steps.

  “There’s no fire. Lying whores, you’ll pay for this.”

  “It w
as my fault. I wanted to get attention for…”

  “Oh, Miss Uppity is it? Heard all about you,” he sneered. “The parson’s daughter who tried to kill her old lady. Well, you’ve got your wish.” His arm shot out and grabbed a handful of hair. “Right.” He yanked her up the steps. “We’ll see what the Captain’s got to say about this, you’ve almost started a riot.”

  The male prisoners had started making as much noise as the women. They truly believed there was a fire and they would be trapped and incinerated below decks.

  Armed guards rushed in from everywhere as Maryanne was dragged along the deck by the hair. A sudden, strong gust of wind unbalanced her, causing her to stumble, but the guard kept his merciless hold. He did not release her until they came to the Officer of the Watch, a thin man with a horrible pock marked face.

  “She.” The guard shook Maryanne vigorously. “Nearly caused a riot by screaming out fire.”

  “I did it to get medical attention for some of the women. They’re dreadfully sick.”

  “The surgeon does not go below decks,” the Officer of the Watch dropped the words slowly one by one. “Anyone who’s sick goes on sick parade each morning.”

  “They couldn’t wait until…”

  “Enough.” He caressed a vicious looking whip. “How would you like a taste of this across your bare back?”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” She tried to still her quavering voice so he wouldn’t detect her fear.

  “No?” He pushed his face right up close to hers.

  She recoiled as his pockmarked skin nearly touched hers.

  “All right.” He suddenly tired of toying with her. “A week’s solitary.”

  She gritted her teeth to stop herself from crying out and giving him the satisfaction he so blatantly craved.

  “Lost your tongue, Miss Uppity?” The guard dragged her off again. “If you’re nice to me, I could make things easier for you.”

  “I’d rot in hell first.” Dear God, she was beginning to sound like those other women. You are one of them, her conscience prompted.

  The solitary confinement cells were situated in the bowels of the ship, so dark that even in daylight it was pitch black. The boards beneath her feet felt damp, slimy.