As if he read her mind, Captain Langham greeted Silvia with a warmth that should have quickly set her at ease. He was a stalwart fellow, with bowed legs and large meaty hands. His walk had the smooth rolling gait of a man who had spent his life at sea. With welcome civility, Langham refrained from mentioning her unsightly appearance and spoke as if her comfort were his primary concern.
A black tricorn partially obscured his weathered, though affable face. Silvia strained to her tiptoes to see better. Something about him disturbed her. Yet at a glance his expression was full of reassurance as he insisted Mr. Schlange had given orders for her to occupy a small cabin usually reserved for paying passengers. Only a dull light in his steely eyes indicated all was not as it seemed with the master of the vessel.
Issuing a harsh shout that rang his authority, Langham hailed a deck hand to carry her bag below. Silvia quivered at the loudness of his voice. Turning, she saw no one, but heard the approach of the man from a distant part of the ship. Fitfully her eyes searched the fog, grown heavy again with a shift of the wind, but she could not determine the direction of the sound.
The attack on the dock had left her skittish and frightened and her heart beat wildly in her chest. She edged closer to the captain but just as she took the first step a thick hand reached out of the mist to close tightly over her wrist. A scream froze in her throat. The grizzled stump of two missing fingers bit into her flesh, but the other two fingers and a gnarled thumb tugged strongly, halting her movement.
The man’s face was shielded from her view, but from the place where it should have been she heard a scabrous grunt.
“You musn’t mind Eli,” Langham’s craggy voice rumbled from behind her. “Poor bloke’s dumb. Got his tongue cut out in the West Indies. An able seaman though. Worth two men any day and never a complaint from the dolt.” He laughed hoarsely. “He’ll take your bag, Miss Bradstreet.”
Silvia breathed heavily. Unknowingly her fingers clenched so tightly about the wooden handles that the knuckles were whitened and aching. Having suffered much to retain her meager possessions, she could not easily part with them. As Eli moved closer, his bulk and scraggly hair reminded her of a large black bear she had seen once in a circus. Yet there was a gentle nature in his rough features and his face held no threat. With a sense of relief she relinquished her burden.
Eli’s brawny figure disappeared as he brusquely walked off, effortlessly swinging her satchel and leaving her once again alone with the captain. Apprehension nagged like a little speck of doubt set in her mind and even Langham’s trustworthy appearance failed to completely rid her of it. The entire morning had been a frightening ordeal and she longed to reach the sanctuary of the cabin.
Like a plague of darkness, the fog was all around them now, until the air at her face felt congealed with the density of it. Her throat tightened. She could scarcely see the captain’s back as he threaded his way along the crowded deck. Following, she gasped and trembled when the hem of her skirt brushed against objects hidden by the oppressive thickness of the cloying haze.
With wide eyes, she imagined icy fingers clutching at her from the gloomy mist. Suffering a disquieting shiver, Silvia hastened to Langham’s side until they reached the passageway that led below.
“It’s small, but a sight more comfortable and private than the hold, Miss Bradstreet,” he announced heartily and with a nod of his head indicated the berth which nearly filled the dim cabin. As Silvia stood inside, weary and disheveled, scarcely able to keep to her feet, he pointed out a cupboard where her bag had been placed.
A sympathetic smile gave her a tiny bit of strength and she responded weakly as he lit a small oil lamp and anchored it in a rack set to the wall.
“Thank you, Captain. I’m sure the voyage will be a pleasant one,” she said hopefully. His words and the soothing flicker of the lamplight had begun to settle her nerves and now she sunk limply into a chair, drained of energy.
Langham took a long but polite look at her. “If you’ll pardon my saying so, Miss Bradstreet, you look a bit worse for the wear. Perhaps you’d like to wash and rest a while. We’ll not sail until this blasted fog lifts.”
Somehow when he said her name there seemed a bit of a sneer in his voice. Though before she could be put off by it, he turned, smiling fervently, to open a cupboard and show her a bowl and a pitcher of water.
“I’ll send a tray from the galley, then sleep if you like. Someone will wake you for the evening meal.”
Silvia accepted his suggestion and thanked him further. She was too tired to think clearly or to care about anything but resting. Her misfortune had left her sore and exhausted and even sitting in the hard wooden chair proved painful.
She stared blankly at the uneven planks of the door for a few minutes after he left. How she yearned to climb into the bunk and sleep. With a grimace of pain, she leaned over to unlace her boots thinking that she must be certain to express her gratitude to Mr. Schlange. Wickes had told her of the arrangements for bondservants, makeshift compartments in the hold separated by blankets strung on ropes. He had said only one other woman would be aboard and she with her husband, a smith Mr. Schlange had bought out of prison.
That being the case, Mr. Schlange must have decided she should not travel alone with the dozen or so men he had indentured. Though she had not expected preferential treatment, she wholeheartedly appreciated it and determined she would see that Mr. Schlange did not regret his kindness to her. Slipping free of the boots, she twisted slightly in the chair and placed them beside the bed.
Before she stirred again there was a light knock at the door.
“Miss,” a youthful voice rang out, and for a moment Silvia stiffened in alarm. “Your tray, miss.”
“Come in,” she said feebly, smoothing her hair and covering her stockinged feet with the folds of her skirt.
A boy of no more than fourteen shuffled into the room bearing a covered tray. He deposited it clumsily on the tiny table beside her and backed away looking baffled that a lady’s face should be smeared with so much dirt. At the door he paused and smiled awkwardly.
“I’m Wesley, miss. The cabin boy.” His lanky limbs seemed too long for his slender body and gave him the reedy look of a crane about to take flight. A ragged thatch of brown hair topped his head and a flock of light freckles spotted his cheeks and nose.
“Pleased to meet you, Wesley. Silvia Bradstreet.” She extended a hand and he eagerly stepped forward to grasp it.
His was the friendliest face she had seen today and his sunny smile lit her heart. His cheeks reddened as he wiped his hand on a trouser leg before accepting her hand. A pair of bright eyes beamed his pleasure and Silvia thought how young he was to be out on his own.
“Yes’m I know. Cap’n Langham told me. Said I’m to see to what you need,” he responded happily. “You just let me know, miss.”
“Thank you, Wesley,” Silvia said and exhaled a gentle sigh of contentment. How comforting to know she had a friend on board. Finally she was among people who treated her with kindness and respect. She returned Wesley’s smile and felt a consoling glow of happiness course through her.
“Anything you need, you call. I’ll be here in a snap,” he said in a voice not yet fully deepened. With a jerk, he spun around to leave and smacked right into the door.
“Sorry, miss,” he squeaked, embarrassment staining his thin face as he stumbled out.
Silvia enjoyed the first laugh she had known in ages. Her unease nearly completely gone, she uncovered the tray and realized the extent of her hanger. Rising by degrees to her feet, each movement causing her to wince, she eased to the washstand and poured water in the small tin bowl. When her hands were washed and her smudged face cleaned and her hair smoothed out as best she could manage, she returned to the chair to enjoy a bit of bread and cheese and the small flask of wine Wesley had brought.
Having eaten, Silvia poured the wine into a cup and sipped the sweet red liquid as she removed her clothes. The effect of the wine soon made her drow
sily lightheaded. She stumbled lethargically toward the bed. At last she was alone and safe. And she was so very tired. Unsteadily she reached for the clothing she had dropped on the covers.
Silvia held out the dress and examined the skirt. It was soiled and wrinkled and needed attention. She sighed and hung the garment on a peg with her cloak. The cleaning would have to wait until she rested. Her body and brain were numb with fatigue and she wanted nothing more than to lie beneath the welcoming blankets on the bunk.